Wild Words: Wander With

For far too long, I've wandered. I've wandered away from God, and back again, grazing here or there at whim, whenever I felt like I wanted something particularly nice, a tasty morsel of God’s Word. But there was always the pull of greener pastures. And so I’d wander. Away.

There is a certain beauty in wild wandering. I like to imagine someone backpacking the emerald terrain of Ireland, standing above the coastal cliffs and looking out over the choppy seas and just owning the world for a moment. Or maybe someone trekking through the Redwoods, marveling at the immensity of those ancient forests. There’s just something wild and beautiful and free about the wilderness. Prairies, mountains, forests, rivers, seas. Exploration. Adventure.

But the type of wandering I've done for so long looked a lot more like…hiding. Running. Trying to escape. Because instead of walking next to God as we journeyed together through the beautiful places (and through the dark, difficult places – but always together), I would get scared. I would lose trust and hope, and so I’d run up to the crags, crouching among the boulders, skinning my knees and my hands as I fell on sharp rocks in an attempt to climb away, to hide.

But Monday night, everything changed.

Monday night, at a revival service, I wrestled with God. Because I've had this thorn in my side. And God was standing there with his giant spirit-tweezers, ready to pluck the thing out before it got even more infected, and I was running away and hiding like a child whose fear of the pain of splinter removal was greater than the fear of infection, hospitalization, even death (because who understands death anyway?).

So Monday night, I wrestled with God. And finally, I removed my hand from the thorn, from the wound. I exposed it. I let God see it, really see it, so that He could get in there with his spirit-tweezers and pull the thing out and cleanse the wound so that it would heal.

It didn't hurt nearly as badly as I’d thought it would. In fact, the most painful part was realizing that I’d been the one holding onto it. All this time I've been fighting and arguing with Him – whining, really – “Why, God, why? Why won’t you take this away?” And His simple, patient, loving response was, “You have to open your hands if you want me to take it from you. I can’t take something that you’re still holding onto.”

And last night, I realized that I was still holding onto the ashes of all the pain, the lies the enemy has been throwing at me for so long, the shame, the guilt…even the pleasure of all those things going on in my mind, all those things related to the thorn (which was now gone, but the remnants, the ashes, weren't). And so, I lifted the  ashes in my hands and blew them into the four winds, scattering the ashes to the farthest reaches, where they could no longer haunt me.

In the midst of all this change and giving up of self, I cried out to God, “I cannot wander away from you anymore! I want to wander with you!” And I heard God say (because I certainly would not have been able to make this up), “From now on, you shall be called Wander With.”

All Monday night and all day Tuesday, I wondered, “Wander With…what? Who? The name feels incomplete. I certainly don’t want it to be ‘Wander With…Evil.’ Can’t we put something definitive in there, God? Like, umm, ‘God’?” And again I heard God’s voice, that I would know the rest of the name Tuesday evening.

I was a little distracted throughout the revival service that night – not only because my son had refused to stay in the nursery and so I held him the entire time, but also because I kept seeking the rest of my new name. “Is it Spirit, Lord? Wander With Spirit? Or, what about Power? That kind of sounds nice.” I had to pray that God would keep me focused on Him instead of my search for my name, so that I wouldn't miss anything else important.

By the end of the service, after the minister had spoken about a whole list of things I could possibly tack on the end of “Wander With,” I realized something. God was right the first time. (Go figure.) It’s just “Wander With.” Because I am called to Wander With God, with the Spirit, with Jesus, with Passion, with Purity, with Fire, with Faith. Wander With a whole bunch of things.

But not Wander Away.

That is a thing of the past.

Micro Monday Flash Fiction: Dormant

Today's one-word prompt is "dormant." Inhabit the word, let it speak to you, and then write!

(I'f you're joining us for the first time, every Monday is our day to exercise our writing muscles by writing a 300-words-or-less flash fiction piece. Want to share yours? Either paste it in the comments below the post, or post it on your own blog and link up on twitter with #mmflashfic! Easy peasy!)

Have fun writing!

*****

She felt her lungs expand as she inhaled, then held that breath, staring at herself in the mirror. She could see the difference already in her eyes, in the glow of her skin, in the way the left corner of her mouth turned up just so. She exhaled through her mouth, expelling with her breath all of the negativity and criticism she had lived under for far too long. She had let other people dictate her life, her hows and whys, while she had slowly retreated, farther and farther into the dark recesses of her own self. She had been dormant for so long that she had nearly forgotten where she was. Who she was.

But not anymore.

Something had awoken her. She smiled at the memory. It had been so simple, so ordinary: a drop of dew on one of her roses out front. She had gone out for the mail and, for some reason, had literally stopped to smell the roses. Usually she was too rushed to pay much attention. But that day, something captured her.

She had lowered her face to the rose, so close that she startled when a soft petal brushed her cheek. She had forgotten how soft the roses were, and she gently held the petal between her thumb and forefinger, marveling at its velvety feel. And that’s when she saw it.

In a small dewdrop, she saw her own reflection. Upside-down.

And she realized that she had been living upside-down for far too long. It was time to set herself right again. To wake the wild spirit that slept within her. To set herself free.

As she looked at her reflection now, she smiled at how very not upside-down she looked. And, fully awake, she turned and stepped into her life.

Focus: Death of a Dragonfly

Dragonflies hold a lot of symbolism, much of which resonates deeply with me. I also tend toward the mystical side of life, and I see symbolism everywhere. I feel connected with certain elements in nature, particularly water and air. The emotional depth and peace and the color blue and all that stuff that goes along with water resonate, as do the flight, transformation, changability, and reaching higher things that come with air. Dragonflies merge the two elements, and are symbolic of the intertwining of them, as dragonflies spend much of their lives flying and hovering above water. And so, anytime I see a dragonfly, I am mesmerized.

Earlier this week I was afforded such an opportunity. I was sitting at my dining table doing art with my littles, and I gazed out the glass door at one point and noticed a brilliant, shimmery blue dragonfly. I grabbed my phone and started the camera, knowing the whole time I wouldn't get a good shot at all. But I cautiously opened the door and stepped outside. The dragonfly was sitting on the leg of an upturned child's chair on the deck. Just sitting there, watching me approach. I got within three feet and it leapt into the air, darting this way and that, but staying within the boundaries of the deck. I watched it hover and dart for probably two or three minutes before it took off straight up above me, and then I lost sight of it completely.

Moments like that make my days magical. 

So two days after that incident, my kids wanted to go swimming in our small pool. It's so small, it doesn't have a filtration system, so I had to go out and skim for bugs and leaves. As I was cleaning out the water, I noticed this beautiful large shimmery green beetle floating on its back. This little guy was so incredibly beautiful, an amazing creature, a piece of God's handiwork. And again, I was mesmerized. So I scooped him up out of the water and righted him onto the ground. It took him a minute to get his footing and figure out that he wasn't going to drown. I crouched down on my knees, getting in really close to inspect the marvel that was his iridescent green wings. (I'm pretty sure he was a green rose chafer. I should have grabbed my camera but didn't.)

When I stood up to begin scooping out more bugs, I noticed a greyish-brown dragonfly struggling on its back on the surface of the water. Well, you know me and dragonflies by now. So I completely forgot about the other bugs and scooped up this little guy onto my hand. He immediately flopped onto his side, three of his four fragile wings stuck together from being in the water. I brought him up onto the deck and watched him for a moment. He curled and uncurled his long tail, waved his legs about, trying to flip himself over to stand. But the water holding his wings together was just too much. So I gently blew onto his wings, trying to see if I could help the drying process, waiting anxiously to see his wings unstick and open up so that he could fly again.

I placed him gently on the deck rail, hoping that the combination of the sunlight and air would help him recover. But still he struggled. At one point I picked him back up again to examine him more closely, and I noticed that two of his wings seemed to be missing several of the shimmery panels - in essence, his wings had holes in them. When I set him down again on the railing, he began to do what looked like some form of dragonfly yoga - standing on his legs but curling his tail underneath him dramatically. 

And then he flopped over on his side, wiggled his legs exhaustedly a few times, and gave up.

I saw the dragonfly give up.

He quit fighting for his life. 

I blew gently on him a few more times, trying to provoke movement, reaction, anything. I wanted this little creature to make it!

But he didn't respond. The effort of trying to live after nearly drowning was just too much. His wings were too heavy. He couldn't make his body work the way it was supposed to. And so, he gave up. 

I saw it. 

I can't even explain to you how I know that this dragonfly, this tiny, seemingly insignificant creature, gave up fighting. But he did. He just...gave up.

My heart was heavy. I mourned the death of a dragonfly.

Every one of us has something unique to offer the world. You may feel small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But you are not. Each person has a part to play, a job to do, something great to create or achieve. You may feel like you're too broken, you can't possibly do what you used to do. Maybe you've lost pieces of yourself as you've fought life's battles, pieces you might never recover. Maybe you feel stuck. 

There is hope for you.

God is waiting to help you in your brokenness. He's trying to help you get back on your feet so that you can do what you were created to do. It may feel like the only option you have left is to give up. To let your life atrophy. To let yourself be swallowed into the darkness, to become nothing. Because maybe that's what you feel like.

But you are not nothing.

Take some time to see and understand that broken wings can be mended. That sometimes the thing that scares you most is someone reaching out to help you. That maybe you're not shimmery and flamboyant and what people would consider pretty. But you have a purpose - an important one. A beautiful one. 

And that your life is worth fighting for.

Wild Words: Wasteland

Above the earth, I look down. The streets run like veins, pulsing with life, the ebb and flow of strangers, people like me. There. There I am. I feel myself lowering until I hover at the rooftops. What am I doing? From here, it appears that I am just going about my daily routine. But then I am suddenly thrust into my head, beyond the external world, beyond the shapes and colors and fragrances and noises of daily life. I am here, inside my dark mind. And it is here where I tremble.

Thoughts attack my mind like drones. They are not peopled by caring, concerned human beings. They are remotely manned, sent in to do the dirty work. And they are dropping bombs all over my brain. The explosions are coming fast now. Before too long, my mind will just be a wasteland, a massive wreck of what it used to be. Broken. Destroyed. Good for nothing. Needing to be rebuilt. I have to stop the bombs somehow. But how do I do that, when I have no counterattack?

But it’s not just my mind that’s under attack. It’s my heart as well. Destroy one to get to the other. My mind is my fortress, guarding the inner secret passages of my heart. My treasure. The seat of my life-force that keeps me moving, living, breathing. Loving.

But what happens if my mind is destroyed? Then the enemy has instant access to my heart. And while my heart has defenses in place, they’re nowhere near as strong as my mind’s defenses. (Though even those are proving to be weak at the moment.)

What is the purpose in this relentless attack? Why must I suffer the devastation of this war? It leaves me homeless within myself. Surely this is not God-ordained. Do I take the story of Job literally, in that God said, “Yes, destroy my man Job. He loves me so much it doesn’t matter. Take away everything! Watch, you’ll see!”? This is not a God of compassion. That is like tempting fate.

I’ve been thinking about the difference between me with my issues and others with similar issues. Why is it that I keep coming back to God? Over and over again. I still feel that thread tugging on my heart, no matter how dark, no matter how deep I am. And others – I see them walk away. They take that leap that I’ve contemplated so many times but just can’t go through with. WHY? Why is that? What is it that saves me but not my friend? Is it really just my choices? Or is there something deeper? Does God really pre-ordain who goes to heaven and who goes to hell? Or is it all a choice? Sometimes, I feel like I have no choice. Because I always choose God. But I do have a choice. I just have steadfastly declared that I will not turn my back on Jesus. I cannot deny him, because I have experienced him. I may have doubts about other things, I may not have all the answers, but this much is true: I will not deny Jesus Christ. I cannot. He courses through my veins, sustaining, uplifting, upholding me.

Micro Monday Flash Fiction: Twilight

Welcome to the second Micro Monday Flash Fiction! This week, our one-word prompt is "twilight." And I don't mean the sparkly-vampire sense of the word, but the original meaning (taken here from the Oxford Dictionaries): "The soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon, caused by the refraction and scattering of the sun’s rays from the atmosphere." 

So, let that word settle into your senses. Feel it. See it.

Now, write it.

(If you're joining us for the first time, every Monday we have a one-word prompt for a flash fiction piece of up to 300 words. If you would like to participate and share your own, you may paste it in the comments below, or post it on your own blog and link up on twitter with #mmflashfic.)

***

The long grass caught around her toes as she made her way toward the center of the meadow. She tugged his arm, running ahead of him, and he lazily kept pace with her. 

"Where are you taking me?" she heard him say. But her response was a simple laugh. She smiled to herself and checked the sky.

"You'll see," she finally said, peeking behind her to check that the blindfold was still firmly in place. It was. But she also caught the trace of a smile playing on his lips.

Another moment and she had found what she was looking for. 

"Okay, this is it," she said, steering him by his shoulders to face west. "Now, lie down."

"What?" He seemed surprised, but also curious.

"Just do it."

He nearly disappeared among the tall grasses. She lay down next to him, and then pulled the blindfold off.

"Look! There!" she said, pointing. 

The sky above them was just fading purple from the pinks of the setting sunlight, with indigo toying at the edges. The first stars of the evening glimmered overhead, and the moon already held her place in the sky.

She watched his face, noting his eyes darting from star to star, the right corner of his mouth upturned slightly.

“You’ve really never just watched the stars come out? Really?”

He shook his head, still gazing upward. “No,” he breathed. “But, this is…”

“I know,” she sighed, falling back into the grass beside him. For several moments they just lay there, staring up at the twilit sky, watching as the light faded, and the indigo seeped across the remaining colors like spilled ink. “I know,” she whispered again.

And then she felt his fingers finding the spaces between hers, and she smiled up at the stars.

Focus: Trust

I've been on an adventure of sorts lately. About 2.5 weeks ago, I started an art journaling collective - 40 days in which several of us are learning how to put our feelings and thoughts on the page through painting, drawing, and found poetry. And oh my word, this journey has already brought up some deeply buried issues. 

This last journaling prompt I did has made me delve deep into my own soul. I have issues. We all have issues, but dealing with your own issues is...tough sometimes. It's tough to talk about with anyone else, but especially with yourself. So, I have these issues. And the words I found for the poetry in my art journal just kept coming at me, like darts, piercing straight into my heart.

And once I had the paint on the page, dried and ready, and I glued on the words, and I sat back to figure out what kind of artwork I would add to the page, I realized something.

I have a trust issue.

And I don't mean I have problems trusting other people. I mean, yes, it can be difficult for me to open myself up to people fully. But it's not because I'm afraid they'll hurt me. I have been hurt, certainly. But it's not other people I fear most.

It's myself.

I don't trust myself.

I realized that I often hold myself back because I'm afraid I'm the one who will do the hurting. Even if that hurting isn't seen or felt. 

There are things in my own soul that I am still working through. I probably will always be working through these things. Always. And it completely sucks. It feels like an injured limb whose wound never stops bleeding and never scabs over. And I just wanted the limb amputated. But that's just the easy way out. What I really need to do is analyze the wound; poke around, even though it hurts, to find the thing that makes it fester. I need to work through a process of healing, despite all the pain that comes with that. Because healing a part of myself so that the whole of me can be fully functional is much better than just chopping out and throwing away a piece of my soul. (And I don't know if you can actually do that, anyway.)

So. Yeah. I have trust issues. With myself. 

It's amazing the things that art journaling can bring up. I highly recommend it.