Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Tip - toe


   The soft grumble escaping my abdomen interrupts my concentration. The words I attempt to read refuse to allow me to focus on them.

Food is much more appetizing than homework.
                And then I remember..  there's two pieces of pizza left in the refrigerator.

     I quietly close my book and leave my bed, kitchen-bound. I don't bother to turn off my lamp; i'm lazy, and maybe just a bit afraid of the dark.

   I tip-toe down the hall until my hand feels the anticipated comfort of the light switch. I click on the living room light and a small sense of relief and safety come over me.

             I continue to venture on toward the kitchen, careful not to make a sound.

   My naked feet make sticking noises with each step across the tile. I finally reach the fridge, place both hands on the white, plastic handle and gently pull open the doors.
  The release of rubber seals disturbs such a stretch of silence.

                        I stare into the coolness.

   Oh! The beautiful cardboard box beckons me.

        I slide it out from the top of the egg carton and set it on the counter. The fridge closes its heavy doors all on its own, and the smack reminds me of my goal of silence. Oops.

I return to by box, open it with careful gestures, and retrieve my new, prized possession.

          What in the world are these?

Evil, little green shapes seem to stick out their nasty tongues at me.

With a sigh, I scoot over to the trash bin and meticulously pick off the contaminants. With every bit of pepper I remove, a plopping sound from within the garbage gives me some small sense of satisfaction.

    Now that I can thoroughly enjoy this pizza, I stick it in my mouth and make my way back to my bedroom.

Softly, quietly, and extremely content, I flip the switch and the living room light is extinguished. The dim glow of my lamp guides me down the hall.
             I gently close my door, tip-toe to my bed and enjoy the last few bites.

        It's times like these when I feel like a genuine college student.



Words of love pour over me. The tender touch of my Father
    As an old, wooden bucket gently drawing from the well, His love pulls forth salty tears down from within me.

      My legs are bent beneath me, my bare feet slightly crossed. Long waves of hair fall over my face as I tilt my head towards the floor.
   The darkness beneath my closed eyes release small and steady drops, leaving wet circles upon my legs.

              His words.

Words of blessing, restoration. He makes me new. He washes and cleanses. He holds and comforts me. In the palm of His hand I find life, I find truth.

   Peace overwhelms me. My heart throbs with belonging.
             In a crowd of so many others, I kneel upon the ground, alone with My God.....
                                  lost for words

Friday, October 14, 2011

I Must

   My eyes drift downward as my mind searches quietly for words. As I absentmindedly stare at the charcole tiles, he silently ventures past me. Small, unnoticed, making his way to some unknown destination. A small spider, unaware of my presence.
              He's gone.

   My eyes are left alone to gaze upon the stillness of stone. i drift my eyes upward, only by a small degree.

     Black canvass moves rhythmically over the rubber of soles as he taps his foot to the gentle music. The legs of his jeans rest high on his ankles, allowing his black socks to reveal themselves a bit to me. Hello, they seem to whisper.

          Her shoes are the red of the wall, shiny. 
Abstract in their own, solid way. 

     A small child pitters along in tiny, striped rain boots. A plastic honey bee resides on the tips of the toes.

     Her feet are average, nothing unusual or abnormal. Nothing but the simplicity of her feet, as they trod along in the basic comfort of black sandals, beckons for my attention.

     Soft light dress the wooden chairs in many shades of overlapping shadows. The depth intrigues.

                              The deep grinding of espresso disrupts me from
my subtle fascination with the cold, hard ground.

My hand begins to write as my mind mulls over my new found observations.

I must write them down lest I lose the fresh aesthetic of these words.

                  I must.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

In Silence

“Do I make any sense? Clara. Clara! Are you even listening to me?”

Her words are distant. From the corner of my eye, her mouth moves vigorously. Every sound, every complaining word, drifts past my consciousness and floats on into some unseen destination. All she vocalizes is meaningless.

The vibrations of foot traffic outside this little window create small circles in the lemonade. With every person passing me by, a new set of rings finds its way through the liquid, dancing with patterns. I lay my head down gently on the worn table, my hair resting over my tired face. I take my little finger and dip it into the small pool of condensation, spread it around with small movements. It feels cool against my skin.

The mixture of voices floats around me. Fragments of conversation collide and intertwine, adding a lively hum to the air. A young woman scolds her toddler. A man in the corner mumbles something under his breath about the paper before him. An elderly couple chuckle with one another as they sip their coffee and bite into their toast.

Kind. Gentle.

The glow of the morning sun fills the café with hints of warmth, yet I continue to find comfort underneath the wool of my sweater. The soft grey envelopes me as I sit across from Rebecca.

“See, this is what I mean! You always say you’re here for me, yet you act like I’m not even here. Oh my gosh, are you seriously going to ignore me? Clara!”

She sighs heavily, dramatically.

“Okay, you know what? I’m going to let you sit here like some sort of mute while I get up and leave this stupid café. For the love of Pete, can you at least say good bye?”

I continue to draw pictures with my finger.

She stomps away, her staccato footsteps interrupting the flow of the morning.

It hasn’t always been like this. We used to be close, so it seemed. We used to understand each other, engage in deep conversations. But ever since we moved to the city, our life has changed so much. We agreed to share an apartment as we ventured into our dreams and hopes for the future. We were so excited to decorate and make it feel as close to a home as we could. Everything went great the first few days.

We've been here a month. I’ve found a job down the street at a little produce stand and started to settle in as best as I can. Rebecca, well, she’s done everything she can to meet new people. And all those new people seem to be living in our home more than I do. Every time I walk through the door, there’s a stranger in the living room watching something on the television or eating something from the fridge. There’s always some sort of alcoholic beverage on the counters, and our place is starting to smell foul.

My sister makes friends so easily. Every person she meets will soon be locked into whatever intriguing conversation she leads. She’s quite fascinating. It seems as though anything and everything she has to say gets people instantly interested. She’s vocal, open, and interesting.

I prefer to sit alone in the safety of my silence.

I guess I don’t have anything more to say to her. I’ve tried to express how I feel. The fact that I never look forward to coming home is something she chooses not to listen to. I’ve tried to explain why I’m so angry with the way things are turning out. She just doesn’t see what she’s created.

Right now, life seems unsure. It’s big. I don’t know what I am going to do as of right now. Should I stay here in the city and tolerate my sister’s new crazy way of life? Move back in with my parents? There’s a lot of things to be figured out.

But I know one thing is for sure. In my solitary silence, in the soft light of a café booth, I can escape the worries of my life. I don’t have to be afraid of what is to come. Without opening my mouth, without using any breath at all, I can engage in the most splendid conversations. I can open up every sealed place in my heart and drink in the most refreshing advice and direction. I can be who I am, I can be everything I was created to be.

I sit up gingerly and wipe my finger on the napkin. I reach down towards the floor and retrieve my bible from my purse. I open it up and begin to indulge myself in words more alive than myself. The cares of my world are smudged into a hazy shadow far behind my concern. I’m alive, I’m renewed.

The table before me gently disappears into the ground. Like the passing of a whisper the walls melt at my feet and bring forth tall, unruly grass dotted with the red faces of wild flowers. The hum of voices escapes me and I’m left standing in the midst of serenity.

The words of my Father fall around me, caressing me as the soft passing of the wind.
Words of love, of guidance, of understanding. My skin is awake, my eyes filled with wonder. Every inch of my body is rejuvenated with the voice of my God. When I am hushed and still, this is when I feel His breath, so sweet and so beautiful.

His presence flows in and out of my whole being as I roam around ever so quietly.
                                    It is here that I know what is true, what is sure.