THE BROKEN RECORD

I was born to a family. A family of one caretaker. Fashioned and carved from a tree, I was crafted with skill. I am beautiful. My keeper kept me quite close in His home. A safety I recognized not. This wood had heaven if heaven was innocence, but time can be the killer of all things, and it dragged me outside into reality. I breathed in the breeze for the first time. I felt the wind of nature upon my face. Light rested upon my shoulders with a warming grace. Why would my keeper keep me so? I am but wood, and my limbs feel the water of life with the wind. Why would my keeper keep me so? My feet found a path as a new concept. A track. A way. & I wandered into the uncharted green. The soft rug of living carpet comforted my sensitive foundations. I am free. Why would my keeper keep me so? The canopy of light above descends into deep red and I am amazed. I lie down in joy and peace. Why would my keeper keep me so? Shivering cold and damp with dew a new meaning invades my world. The light has flown to another wood. The canopy has closed, and my heart sinks without hope. What is this reality? Where are you keeper? Keep me so. Fumbling for limbs of strength, and gasping for the wind I once knew. Where are you keeper? Keep me so. Love has gone away, and my heart is unsafe. I know what It means to be alive, to fight, and to die. Being lost has not been so new, and all of my words find meaningless caves, yet too few. What wood am I? A wood of this place? A wood grown of wind, rain, and light with its grace? This wood feels the arms of my keepers embrace. A memory far off, too distant to taste. Alone I am lonely. I know well to know. Where are you keeper? Please keep me so.

Sometimes it appears that there’s a fire burning. A constant creation that bears its blazing face whenever it chooses. It seems as if it has its own conscious. So It dances high and bright below the surface of the mirror mountain, and the cold cave shadows carry the messages that the fire speaks. I speak, but my words are cold. Where is that dance? The warmth of words like a blanket covering shivering skin. Do the shadows take all the love away? This fire is hungry. It’s an energy that needs to travel, and the speech sends shadows begging into the sky. What is this desire? Hear me or put me out. I have been seen for too long. Is it worth the risk, to pass through ice to find another flame? What’s funny is I’m not a flame at all. It’s just what speaks most.

I am slowly realizing why I’m here. On this Earth. & it’s not like I haven’t known this, but I haven’t felt it. I’m being shown and led into a life of pointing away from myself. If that doesn’t make sense, I’ll just be plain with it. I want to, now more than ever, point people to Christ. I don’t know what is really going on other than the fact that I am being shown some truths that haven’t resonated with me so far in this way. None of us deserve God’s love, but we have it. If you live by faith in God’s Son Jesus, then you are justified and forgiven your sins. That is an insanely amazing and mind blowing thing. Think on that. So anyways, I like art. A lot. & I like the way you can put meaning under meaning, and an emotion and message under the surface, but I’m slowly coming to terms with the urgency of the gospel. The magnitude of knowing or not knowing Christ. It’s literally a matter of life & death, I believe that. There are some really important things in this world. Art is a passion of mine. I love expressing what I believe in through art, but I want to combine it somehow with a more urgent & clear message. Which won’t be hard. So there’s my thought of the night…

In other news, I’m now working with a band called Seeker & Servant from Jackson, MS & helping them lead worship at a brand new church called Restoration Church. They are in “The Park” building off Lakeland drive. Yeah. The Park like go-carts and mini golf. Pretty awesome. We launch our first Sunday service March 24th, 2013. If you don’t have a church home, come visit and worship with us. Maybe you can learn how to be restored (get it?)!

If you don’t know Jesus or you don’t think you are saved, PLEASE ask me! We can walk through the gospel. It really really seriously is a matter of life & death.

The cursed pass out curses like treasures. It’s all they have and all they know. The glimmering shade of innocence has long since faded away, and there is nothing left in them worthy of love. Surely innocence is the fingerprint of God upon man. For it is lost with the fruit of the tree of knowledge alone. One thing we are all quite familiar with. As for me, I know no one else. I know their words and their wants, but I don’t know them. I don’t know anyone but myself. Surely no one longs for innocence as I do. I wouldn’t know. How selfish. Life is a resistant timeline of anti-passivity and responsibility. An unforgiving entity of vocality and truth. The deeper I fall, the darker I become. The farther I spy, the further I run. Because mistakes are not just occurrences in time. They are part of a plane of defiled existence within the reality of man. All linked to the singular essence of the knowledge of evil. The rarity and lack of understanding this everyday is proof of the ultimately passive power of sin. I mean, how can the victim be the bad guy? I cannot be a victim with what wrongs I hold because to perceive such victimizing occurrences as punishment is sin in and of itself. Jesus was a victim of the same evil, yet He held no wrongs. He truly deserved no evil, but all praise and honor and glory. Thank you Jesus.

I wander up to white fog ahead, alone with my paper concrete confidences. Thick rays of light creep out with a warm kiss upon my furrowed face. How her eyes are hypnotizing. I’m not so scared anymore. Shall I be wholly yours or you wholly mine? Shall we be wholly His? A desperate retreat to the tower of God finds my feet, and I rest in the false shade of an oak five spans round.  The night holds no truth like I said (but that’s what they want you to think, right?). Closing eyes for the last time, my hands lose their feeling. The pride of my planning doesn’t exist here anymore. Well, I guess I’ve got the light anytime. Here I’ll show you. Go on, close your eyes. Can you find it? How did I find it? No, she found me and most compassionately loved me, and she’ll save me once again.

I am breathing in cold air. Made hot by the heavy struggle we carry inside. Your tears are the only things I can see. I am here for you, but what good can I do. As the smoke of your beauty vanishes away, I am trying my hardest to pull you back. We only meet on nights like these. Rain pours down around us as we walk, and I wish you would tell me where we’re going. The grip of your hand is tight. “Lead me” is the only thing I hear. Words of desperation begging for some kind of direction. Was that my voice or yours? I think that’s the point that we’re getting toward. So you’ll fade off once more, and I’ll carry on. Leaving my spirit and soul in bits along the path of nights like these.

A sprout shoots up into sunlight. Years pass while his father protects his powerless frame. Long days of growth find him years of life, and the old tree is unfavorably found. The safety of this wild wood has fled. Chopped up and used for building, he finds himself shelved into a home. His purpose. He is sure of it. As imagined rest falls upon him, there clings a thing unsolved. Paint chips away, and dust collects, and this old exploited one, this tree, has been made. Woe is he! Now when darkness falls and the waters come, he finds himself carried. Picked up outside into the wind and rain. Chaos meets expulsion. A swimming child desperately takes hold of him, and they drift onward together into the mist of purpose.

I am captivated by this tide. I am blind, but I can feel it. This is better left unnoticed. Thoughts fall empty as the sirens sing, and I have peace. I love and I can not explain it. I near the cliff, this is dangerous. I will live or I’ll die. “We are poor, we are caring, and we will love you”, they cried. O how I want to believe you all. I want to agree, but your not the first sirens to sing to me. I’ve met them in passing, on trips, and as friends. They’ve molded me in iron and in bronze. The metals of man. “But you are happy! See you reflect the light of the sun.” And I say “No, I am a room with mirrors for walls. A heart that is silent when nobody calls. I am praise in the desert when a water drop falls.” I wake, and I find myself in a tired embrace. Two lives with nothing left. Here, the night hides the shifting breath of the sea. I am blind, but I can feel it.

I’ve missed these gravel paths. This country where I found out who I was. A mighty scape. My feet scrape the ground with a faithless gamble as my heart begs for the Father I once knew. O gentle shepherd, take hold of my soul. May your voice remind me of what I’ve been told. Take your face from this memory, and find me. I need to feel the rain of your provision. I need to breathe the wind of your embrace. In frost, I’ll wait for your person. In winter, I’ll believe in your word.