True Beauty
Sometimes I’ll sit
in silence, and wonder
what life would be like
if everything were
perfect.
If everything went
according to plan,
if every plan
was perfectly done,
and if every person
was beautiful.
And sometimes
I wish it were so…
but then, I realize
how wrong
and tragic
and terrible
that would be.
Because life is not perfect.
Life is chaotic,
and messy,
and unpredictable,
and painful,
and tragic,
and lonely,
and yet it is so
very, very…
beautiful.
Beauty is not found
in perfection;
Beauty is found
in the flaws.
Beauty is not
a perfect smile;
it is the glowing warmth
of joy underneath.
Beauty is not
flawless skin;
it is the ageless sparkle
of life in your eyes.
Beauty is not
a perfect physique;
it is the depths of love that
pours out of your heart.
And beauty is not
great physical strength;
it is the spiritual strength to
admit that you’re weak.
We all have our own
self-perceived flaws,
but when we focus on those,
we then become blind
to the simple fact that
we have all been created
in His image;
in the image of the
most beautiful being
in existence.
And if He can love us
for who and what we are,
are not we then,
all of us,
beautiful?
The Calling
Close your eyes,
open your ears,
open your heart,
and listen.
Quietly.
Intently.
Secretly.
Listen.
Hear the noise that
moves through silence,
but listen for the
hidden cries
of the voices that are
too fearful to speak,
of the voices that are
not strong, but weak.
Help them.
Lift them up
with prayer and song,
lift them up
and help them along.
They need you more
then you’ll ever know.
They need you to help them
flourish and grow.
So nourish their hearts
and uplift their souls,
and tell them that God,
will ne’er let them go.
For they are the chosen,
they are the ones.
Can you hear them
calling?
Benediction
I am sorry, my God.
I have stumbled along
alone, and lost
the sight of Your
holy way.
I have fought so hard
and struggled so long –
my God, please
help me, I pray!
Help me to break
this cycle of doubt,
this cycle of fear;
open my eyes,
and open my ears.
Help me to see You and
hear Your blessed word.
Help me to cease my
own ways and just
stop.
I am sorry, dear Friend,
for letting you down,
for not having the
strength
to stand up and fight;
to stand up and fight
against this dark world,
to stand up and fight
against my own flesh.
It’s just so hard
to fight
every day,
every night –
even now, I think of flight!
Of running away
from the path ‘neath my feet;
I’m sorry, my Lord,
I am too scared and weak.
I am not good.
I am not strong.
I am not right.
I only do wrong.
Oh, what a wretch that I
am, I am –
Father, forgive me these,
sins, these sins
that constantly haunt my
dreams, my dreams.
Purge me and make me
clean and whole.
Restore unto me,
dear God, my soul.
Give me the strength,
Your strength, each day,
to walk as You walk,
in Your holy way.
Father,
forgive me,
these sins.
Woven Anew
Once I was lost in the noise of this world,
suff’ring a life filled with pain,
until You uplifted my heart and my soul,
and broke off my shackles and chains.
Woven anew with the threads of Your Grace,
You stitched up what was torn apart;
Filled with compassion and mercy and love,
Your Hands held me close to Your Heart.
I am now free from my grief and despair,
from the curse and the pain of my sin;
Quickened to life by Your Spirit of Peace;
By grace, I have been born again.
Lord, Shelter my soul and safeguard my heart
from the toils and cares of each day.
Hold to my hand and strengthen my step
to walk in Your Holy Way.
Aha! (The Moment I Heard My Calling)
As this semester of school is winding down, I’ve found myself reevaluating what I thought I wanted to do with my life. For the last year, my mind has been focused on becoming a college professor, because I want to inspire people the way my professors have inspired me. I want to help people see things in new ways and pull apart issues and look deeper than just the surface, and I thought “what better place than a college classroom is there to do that? After all, that’s where I was inspired! Why not follow in the steps of my teachers?”
I honestly thought I wanted to be a professor. In fact, my dream job was to become a college professor and write professionally on the side. So many people told me that it was a perfect fit for me, and I was really fired up about going to school. But this semester has been a royal punch in the face. My workload is insane (as of right now, I have to start writing a 7-page rough draft, revise another paper, study for a Spanish final, read a chapter in my Sociolinguistics book, do my grammar homework, and read 50+ pages in a novel by Friday – on top of working 26 hours at my job!), and my professors (while helpful) have been consistently late in returning graded work (which is infuriating!). And even though I have enjoyed (most of) my classes, I’ve realized that the academic world is not where I want to be. Yes, I have learned a lot, and yes, I love to learn – but I don’t want to be in school forever! And being a college professor would mean exactly that. I would be swamped with papers to grade, books to read, people to talk to, chaos to control, and I would find myself stretched so thin that, by the end of the day, I wouldn’t have time for me. I wouldn’t have time to do the things that I truly want to do. And I know this will happen, because that’s exactly what’s happening now!
And then it hit me – I never wanted to be a college professor. I only thought I did because I saw the greatness of joy that comes from being the one to inspire people. I saw the passion my professors had and how they had the power to change the lives of their students, and I thought that the best way for me to inspire others was to copy the ones who inspired me. But that was my mistake. By trying to follow in the footsteps of those who came before me, I was denying myself the chance to carve out my own path and be the man God wants me to be. And the moment that clicked in my head, suddenly everything made sense.
I have not been called to teach a room full of college students.
I have been called to write.
I firmly believe with all of my heart that writing is my strongest God-given gift, but I didn’t realize that until these last few weeks. I’ve always loved to write – anyone who has been around me or read my work knows this – and I’ve always maintained the position that, whatever career path I choose, I must have the time and energy to write. It is my deepest passion. When I write, I feel at peace. When I don’t, I feel out of sync with myself. It’s as if I’m denying a part of myself to live, thus keeping the rest of myself from enjoying life to its fullest. Honestly, I think that’s part of the reason why this semester has been so stressful for me – I just haven’t had the time/energy to sit down and write! And that has been slowly eating away at me. It bothers me to no end when I want to write but can’t, and that is why I know I cannot be in a profession that demands so much time and energy that I can’t even properly express myself through words.
But self-expression is not the only reason I love to write.
I love to write because my words actually inspire people.
Earlier this year, someone I had just met (and who is now a dear friend) said to me, “your words mean something. Never forget that.” I thanked her, of course, but I didn’t really understand the power behind her words until just a few days ago. It’s one thing for someone to say “Oh! You’re such a great writer!” But it’s another thing entirely to be told that what you write, that what you feel in your heart and let pour onto page actually means something to someone… I could barely wrap my head around it! But when I finally did realize this, I understood that I don’t have to be in a classroom to inspire people. I don’t have to sit though hours of lectures and schoolwork.
All I have to do is open my heart and write.
So, does this mean I’m going to pursue a full-time writing career? Not exactly. I still have student loans that I’m sure the government will want paid in full shortly after I graduate, and I know that one cannot become a great writer/novelist overnight (though I do plan on becoming a published author). Until that time, though, I need a steady job that will generate enough income for me to stand on my own two feet and become financially stable before I dare to try my luck as a fledgling author. I’ve already got a few things in mind, and I’ve been talking with people to see what my options are, but no matter what I know one thing for certain.
I am a writer. First and foremost. Whatever happens, I will continue to write, and I will continue to write because my words mean something to people, because they mean something to me. I believe the Lord has placed this on my heart for a reason, and I will strive to the best of my ability to fulfill this calling.
And now I feel compelled to ask the you this:
What have you been called to do? Are you heading down the right path, or have you realized that what you’re doing isn’t what you’ve been called to do? We all have our gifts, and we have all been called to serve and live our lives in different ways. I realize, though, that you probably have a life that demands attention and resists change. I have been lucky enough to realize my calling early on in my life. But it is never too late to answer your calling, no matter your age or circumstance.
Whether you see it or not, God has blessed you with a gift; if you let Him, He can help it to bloom and grow, and I promise you that you will be blessed beyond measure. All you have to do is have faith in Him and know that, through Him, you are capable of anything.
The Tree
Lord, didst Thou die upon a tree,
enduring pain and agony,
to save this wretched world below,
to save Thy precious, wand’ring sheep?
Eternal light and endless joy,
amazing grace sublimely sweet –
were these the objects of Thy sight
as nails pierced hands and wounded feet?
“The King of Jews!” they didst proclaim,
a crown of thorns upon Thy brow;
they tore Thy flesh, yet still Thou cried,
“Forgive them, Lord, they do not know!”
Oh, Gracious God, oh Spotless Lamb,
forgive this wretched, wayward soul!
Restore unto me a tender heart,
unbroken – Father, make me whole!
The Beautiful Mind of Van Gogh
Earlier today I was looking for a good inspirational quote to post on this site’s Facebook page, and inspiration struck me to search for a quote by a particular person.
I instantly found this one:
“As we advance in life it becomes more and more difficult, but in fighting the difficulties the inmost strength of the heart is developed.” – Vincent Van Gogh
Trials to Blessings
It is absolutely amazing to me to see God move through your life. He can take a terrible situation – a situation where you feel as if you’ve sunk to your lowest point, where you feel that no one understands what you’re going through or experiencing – and turn it into an unfathomable opportunity for blessing beyond measure.
Grace Eternal
Behold the Lamb of God
who purged away the stain
of sin from off our souls,
that we might be again
Quiet Whispers
As heart and voice are lifted high
in glorious song across the sky,
the Spirit whispers peace to me
and tells me by His grace I’m free.
The Song of My Heart
Create in me, Lord, a heart that is pure
and help me to rest in Thy promises sure;
that Thou wilt never leave nor forsake
Thy children, no matter the paths we may take.
For Thou art our God, the Shepherd of old;
always wilt Thou bring us back to the fold
and teach us to do what it is we are told.
Show me, O Lord, Thy ways.
Burnout
I’ve been kind of burned out lately.
Not from writing, or reading, or anything of that nature, but I’ve been burned out from the politics of religion – specifically, Christianity. I have so many different friends, all of whom are Christians, but each different circle holds a different set of beliefs. Some say Christ died for the world, others say that He died for His people; some say you must first hear the Gospel to be saved, others say Salvation is of the Holy Spirit and is separate from hearing the Gospel.
But then they get even more divided.
A Prayer for Perseverence
Lord, grant me Thy Wisdom
to hold fast and know
that I can do all things through You.
No matter how hard things
may turn out down here
help me to lean upon You.
In Remembrance
I remember your smile,
your bright, beaming smile,
when I would walk in late to church.
You would turn your head
and gasp – surprised!
A smile of joy on your face.
In the Stillness I Hear It…
In the stillness I hear it,
The breath of a whisper,
The faintest of cries,
The Voice of the One
Who is there.
Acts of Desperation
So, today at work, as I was diligently sorting my returns, my sister walks up to me and asks me a question.
“Tim, did you take the car to go get lunch today?”
“No…”
“Did you move the car at all?”
“Nnnoooo…”
“Oh, well, then someone broke into our car. Did you leave the doors unlocked?”
Hurting Souls
A few years back, a close friend of the family was killed in a car accident, and it deeply affected everyone – myself included. Though I didn’t dwell on it at the time, I’ve come to realize that I learned a lot from that experience. I learned about unexpected loss and tragedy. I learned about the fragility and fleetingness of life. And I learned about what it meant to be there for others, and to have others be there for you.
But mostly I learned that, no matter what, God is Lord over all, that all things work together for His glory, and that He is a refuge for the broken.
I wrote this poem those few years ago, but I don’t think I realized the depth and the truth of it until looking upon it now.
~*~
To Thee Doth My Voice Cry Out
Father, my voice cries out
from despair of the unknown;
my spirit doth tremble
at the crossroads.
Words of man give no
comfort to my soul, for
they are drowned out by
the dissonance
of my mind.
A Poem of Phillis Wheatley
Today I learned about America’s first black poet, and America’s first female black poet, Phillis Wheatley. She was born in Africa and brought to Boston when she was only eight years old in 1761. She was purchased by John Wheatley, a wealthy tailor, as a companion for his wife Susannah. In their household, Phillis was taught how to read and write, and she studied the Bible and famous poets. She was considered a literary prodigy; by the age of twenty her first book was published in London, and she became a poetic superstar in the British America.
