all boxed up

i find myself reevaluating what i believe.
what am i willing to settle for?
what am i willing to risk?

i never thought i knew it all --
but everything i thought i knew was shook up and rearranged.
i feel like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that were never meant to go together --
i'm comprised of confusion and absurdity and rawness and beauty and... and...

... and what?
why does it matter?
caught in a cyclical argument, my thoughts never surprise me, and i dont reach out anymore --
not to You, not to him, not to them.

i had the faintest grasp, but i took the pendulum and swung it in a direction that was easy to wrap my head around.

now we stand, staring at the box that i want to shove you into.
stop shaking your head at me. i know its wrong, but i know that this box is in the picture somehow.
could it be possible that i took the box from within you?

The Evolution of Simplicity

Is anyone else a little lost, or am I the only one feeling this?












I don't know when it happened, but somehow,
life
became
really
complex.















Life has become so cluttered, so busy and exhausting, so seemingly insurmountable and relentless that at times, it is more than overwhelming and too easily seen as a vicious cycle of fatigue, failures and false hopes.










So naturally, we panic.



























Panic doesn't always look the same.
It could be an outward break down, a collapsing of the forced pleasantries and social formalities.




It could be an unnerving silence, a piercing hush of anxiety and distress.





It could be a blind and desperate cry, a taking back of control through whatever means possible.
















What ever happened to simplicity?

















Can we come back to a point where simplicity is a little less complex and a little more... simple?






I'd like to believe it.
I need to believe it.

Thank God for Tina Turner

While she may not have been decked out in sequins or had crazy hair like the original Tina Turner, tonight I met a lady that called herself Tina Turner. 

Sitting under one of the lights outside of J's pizza, a lady came up to a friend and I talking in somewhat random sentences. Random things, but there was something about her. She told me to touch her hand -- and I did. Why wouldnt I? Because I was scared she might be unclean? I dont think that was a fear that Jesus had. 

I held her hand. 
A woman, who has a 14 year old daughter that wears the same size clothes as her; a woman that declared she was a grandmother; a woman that obviously knew the area and its residents well; a woman who no doubt didnt have someone to hold hands with often. 

And she was beautiful. 
She asked if my friend was going to walk me home. When she felt there was a doubt on my friends part, she offered me money for a cab ride home. She didnt look like she had a whole lot of that. Money. 
She told me that if I was ever out on the street, she would look after me and wouldnt make me work for her. She had my back. 

And I knew love. 
Simple love. 
From a stranger. 

Thank God for Tina Turner. 

take

sometimes i wish you would just take
because i seem to be really bad at giving

i give you permission, permission to take everything
no matter the pain
because i want to be ready for an eternity with you

i wont ask for what i shouldnt
because i know its not the right time
but just so you know
i really want it
real badly

take care of me
because i'm pretty fragile
you have full rights
please, take, take, take
and then a little more
until you have it all

i might be a control freak
but i'll let go
please, loosen my grip

love, love, love?

It sucks, doesnt it?
a) You know, when you know that someone has lied to you, but they dont know that you know, but you know because you've caught them in the act?

It sucks, it really does.
b) When someone takes something you've told them in confidence and uses it against you.

It sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks.
c) The person(s) that you've come to rely on the most can brush you off and make you feel as important as dust.

It sucks.

The response?

a) Become bitter. Fester rancorous and evil thoughts towards this person, and dont, by any leap, bound or stretch of the imagination assume the forgiving position.

b) Make like a Pokémon species, and ditto. Do exactly what they did to you. An eye for an eye may make the world blind, but at least everyone will be on level playing ground, right?

c) Play dumb, but at the most unsuspecting times and in the most innocent ways, throw in jabs, kicks, punches, daggers, guns and axes where you can.






There is another option, but its not very popular and most people opt out.
I'm sure you dont really want to hear it, the above options sound pretty dandy, but I'll list it anyway.

d) Love.

Love, love, love. Love, and then do it again. Love the people that lie to you, love them like you want to be loved. Love the ones who hurt you, make you feel worthless; love them because we are all worthy of being loved. Love. Love yourself. Love, because you are loved, valued, worthy and important.
Love the Lord your GOD, maker, manufacturer and provider of love.


Love. I told you its not a popular option, because it doesnt come in a paper bag with fries and a coke.
But just so you know, its an option.

3am

Hey there,
it's Barbara, can you see me?
Maybe put your glasses on, that might help.
Better?
No, its Barbara.
Barbara.
Remember me?
Barbara.

Yeah, that one.

It's 2am. Sorry, I know I'm about an hour early, but better early than never, right? I've come to visit you, make sure you're alright, feed the cat, water the cactus, be your company. I know you dont really want me here now, you'd much rather someone who was punctual. But every now and then, I just want to check and see if you're actually still alive.

I find you're much closer to being dead than the last time I was here, but I guess I think that every time I come see you. You're usually on the verge of death.

I guess I also visit you because we share certain qualities (that I feel rather foolish for sharing with someone like you). You're usually lonely, and when I visit you, I'm made aware of the fact that I am lonely too. And you dont really sleep, another thing you make me see in myself. And really? You dont have much of a life. Neither do I when I visit you, we just sit, with two and four around. Sometimes your neighbours make me uncomfortable, they're always there.

I've been talking for so long, I'm almost on time. Your time. I hate that it's always about you. For once, I think I'm going to just leave. I know you wont die tonight, your neighbour is always two kind to let me think you've died. You'll be fine. You'll make it to tomorrow. Maybe I'll check up on you then.

Have a good hour. 

Méfiance [mefjɑ̃s]

Often, I am skeptical of those emails that tell me I've won a lot of money and my personal info is necessary.

Often, I do not trust that man that pulls up in the big, windowless van and offers me candy and a ride home.

Often, I cannot believe that the knives advertised on televison will stay sharp for the rest of eternity.









And sometimes, I think that my distrust in such cases may be a good thing.

























But sometimes, distrust comes easier than trust does.
Sometimes, we dont trust, when really, we should.

























Often, I think it's too easy to treat friends, family and even God as if they were simply infomercials on late night tv, or an email that shows up in our junk mail.

Claims of love, fellowship and truth are all too easy to pass off as empty words, false promises, or perhaps even manipulative tactics to cause our demise or downfall.



Of course, they cant be trusted.







And so, we try to filter these things on our own, by ourselves, of our own human wisdom.
















Sometimes, we suceed.
Sometimes, we fail.


Often, I fail.
And when my filters fail me, I stop filtering, and shut down anything that may be coming my way.
Because sometimes, distrust comes easier than trust does.
Sometimes, we build walls, delete accounts, switch the chanel, we do anything to escape, when really, we should just trust.
















When Your wisdom seems like foolishness to the world God, make me a fool for You.
Help me to be wise and learn how to trust.

Is It Broken?

I feel helpless.
God, maybe I'm using it wrong. Is there a certain way to hold it or... how is this supposed to look?

What do you mean?

Always the questions with you, as if you didnt know. You know what I'm talking about. Is there a lever I've got to pull?

I'm afraid it doesnt work that way.

So, no buttons or activation fees?

Not this time. That's not generally how I work.

Well, you know, I'm not a fan. Why did you have to make this 'love' deal so hard?

What do you mean my child?

God, you might be really big and able to make things happen and maybe you can see all the reasons for life. But me? I'm stuck here trying to live it. I cant fix anything. And this tool you gave me? Love? It must be broken. It doesnt work.

Really? Go on.

So what? I love people. They dont get it. They dont want it. It doesnt fix their pain or make them care anymore. Why do I bother? Love? It's just another way to tire me out at the end of the day.

Oh. So, you dont need love?

Well, of course I do. But it doesnt seem to be that way for everyone. People throw it right back in my face, reject me! Why do I even bother to try?

For the same reason that my Son died. Rejection of something so precious isn't a new thing child. You love because you have hope. The rest? It's all, every bit of it, in my hands.

Are you sure you dont let some things slip out of your hands? I know your hands are pretty big, but what about the ones that fall? What about the ones that cant see you? Aren't you big enough for them to see you? Where's their hope?

My hands made the moons and the stars, the galaxies that fill the universe. Those same hands made every fibre of your being. My hands hold each one, old and new, from the very first, to the very last of creation. But love? No, I would not move my hand to make someone love me. That is the gamble child. Love inspires hope. Hope inspires love. And so, my beautiful child, you love, because I love. And from that love, you have hope.

You have this way of being really confusing sometimes. Sometimes, as in a lot of times. So, love? Sounds great, how do I use again? No manuals or love-by-numbers pages?

Ha ha, no love-by-numbers. But a manual? Sort of. It's more examples of how to, how not to. The idea is to follow, to listen to me, through prayer, other believers and my Word... your 'manual'. 

So I did miss a memo!

No, no its that book sitting under that pile of clothes you were going to fold last week. You know the one I'm talking about.

Oh.

I really was going to fold those clothes you know.

Trust me, I know.







a little bit about hope:
1 Corinthians 13.7
Titus 1.2
1 Thessalonians 1.3
Colossians 1.27
Romans 15.13
Romans 5.2b-8


a little bit about love
1 John 4.7-21
Ephesians 4.17b-19
Galatians 5.14
1 Corinthians 13.4-8a
Romans 12.9
Zephaniah 3.17

a little bit about both
2 Thessalonians 2.16-17
Galatians 5.4-6
2 Corinthians 5.11-21

A Little Mud Hut Called Home

Every day, its always the same, its always the same thing
Get up, get to work, gotta make your way

But hey, its got me wonderin', if someday, everything could chaange

And we could go, and move real slow, cause I kinda like the idea of a little mud hut called home

And now, tell me how, tell me how to be,
content always going not knowing which way to go

Even so, I'd like to hope, that someday, everything could chaange

And we could go, and move real slow, cause I kinda like the idea of a little mud hut called home

We could go, and finally leave this ever moving, never stopping, self evolved, self involved mediocrity
And we could know, and finally see, that fast, fast, fast, fast isnt the only way for humanity, to be...

And we could go, and move real slow, cause I kinda like the idea of a little mud hut called home 

Does this make me...

Does it make me weird that I like stale cheesies and cold Kraft Dinner? There's something about those certain fake cheese products that just tastes better the day after. I dont mind if it does make me weird, because I can accept the truth, but really, they do taste better.

Does it make me a nerd that I like to play certain computer games? I dont think so. Since when is Zelda a nerdy game? Warcraft III is pushing it, yes I understand, but still, lots of people play it! And okay, if you look at my youtube account, it will recommend certain cheats for Zelda (because I have looked up one or two things) but just because I looked up one or two things really doesnt make me a nerd right?

I dont think its wrong to try to feel justified here. Work with me.

Pickles go great with a grilled cheese sandwich (ketchup naturally fits in there too). So, why not grill the pickles right in?

When I use a knife and fork, I dont feel the need to confine them specifically to one hand. I say let's have fun and switch things up. I will cut with my right OR left hand and do the same for eating.

I dont have icons on my desktop. I see no need to justify this.

Some people find it odd that I carry bandaids in my purse/wallet. I carry batman bandaids and also bright colourful ones too. What if I meet a kid with a boo boo? What if I meet Gerard Butler and he has a boo boo? I bank on the side of safe rather than sorry.

I like the greyhound. Even though it takes me three days to get anywhere worth getting and there have been some sketchy incidents in the last year, I still like. You get a chance to see the country, meet interesting (sometimes weird) people, and you get to learn all the different ways to overcome being uncomfortable on a greyhound as you try to sleep.

It's not weird to sit down on the side of the street corner and play your guitar for money. I think it adds a nice ambiance, and I really dont care if 3 days ago somebody spit, smoked or wiped their shoes on that same spot. I can always wash my pants.

I like snow. A lot. Only people from BC (where they dont understand the joys of 8 months of snow) dont get this.

I'm Only Second Hand Smoke

I've been demoted 
Not that I mind, I dont need the control 
I'm second rate 
It was my turn to fly, now I'm stuck on the ground 
I've been forgotten 
Like a wave passing by, I'm now the foam on the shore 
Not so important 
There's none like humilty without the humiliation 

I was once the beer, now I'm a broken bottle 
I once was the mirror, now I'm a shattered reflection 
I expressed the tear, now I'm dried up and done 
I once was the fear, now I'm hollywoods re-run 

Who wants the second-hand smoke, 
when the cigarette has a better choke? 

How Do You Tell the World?

how do you tell the world
that you feel like
just another
broken beer bottle
suffocating under the downpour of depression,
forgotten in a lonely alley,
scattered and drowning in the crushing raindrops?

how do you tell the world that 
you 
cant
handle
the only attention that they give you?
the kind that beats you down and bruises you
if only to serve for temporal amusement?

how do you tell the world
that you need love,
that you need hugs,
that you need more than you can accept
from the ones that 
you 
cant 
trust?

how do you tell the world
anything
when you cant be sure you make sense,
when you are uncertain as to whether or not
your timid whisper will reach higher 
than the gum on the shoes of the begger
sitting outside the local corner store?

how do you tell the world
what do you tell the world
can you tell the world
anything?




...





would they listen
to someone
who doesnt seem to have any 
selfworth? 

my own one man show

strike down the gear, tear down the posters,
no more music to hear, its time to go home

when we
pack up the show, get ready to move on,
the neon signs dont glow, they lock the doors up

and well
when the rhythm dies down
the words dont resound
and it hits the floor
and the ringing ears stop
and the heart rates drop
you're left wanting more

then when the truth hits home
like i've never known
how close home could be
when its all said and done
this life isn't as fun
as the devil told me

because
at the end of the day,
when you recognize you cant keep pretending
and you're left alone
and you realize you're the only one standing
you come to conclusions
that make you the deluded, and so now you know

wherever I am, I'll be, forever, my own one-man show

Teach Me

My heart is glad, that you are my Father
Adopted to you, as sons and daughters
And Your love endures, as You said it would
And my heart sings...

Teach me, the sound of Your voice
With the faith to respond, to love you...
Teach me, to follow you close
With the faith you bestow, to love you...

My heart is glad, to serve you as King
Forgive the times, that I am stubborn
With a humble heart, may I come to you
And my heart sings...

Teach me, the sound of Your voice
With the faith to respond, to love you...
Teach me, to follow you close
With the faith you bestow, to love you...


Sometimes I feel like if I really knew the sound of God's voice, I wouldnt cry. I wouldn't be worried about stupid things and I wouldn't screw up. How can you, when you've heard the most beautiful thing in the world?

God knows how stubborn I've been.
Am I simply too stubborn to hear God's voice?
All I know is that my heart yearns for the day I'll be in heaven.
Am I trying to look too far ahead?
Am I trying to ignore the present?



Guilty as charged.

Teach me, the sound of your voice, with the faith to respond, to love you...

Relationship Status: Complicated

Why? 
Why do you do that? 
I wish you would stop waking me up to my depression. 
I was really rather content sitting in my blissfully ignorant state. 
Really, I was coasting along quite nicely before you knocked on the door of my emotions, 
with each thud on this 
hollow tin heart 
knocking off centuries of dust that has happily taken up residence there. 

Why? 
Why cant you just quit? 
I wish you would just leave me where I was at. 
I was able to have a somewhat functional bedtime before you came and shattered my peace. 
Really, now I am up from dawn to dawn, sitting, thinking, 
praying 
that your love would stop at mediocre. 
Why, why -- no how-- how can your love be so deep? 

And now -- now I am at a loss for words. 
Do I pray that you continue to throw my life in the air, tossed and blown in your steady direction -- which I definately cannot see? 

Or do I pray for a life unsettled, a life reminicent of a pebble on the edge of an unused path? 

Do I prepare for this constant churning-- 

do I prepare for nothing at all? 

Can I handle a life of rollercoasters? 
Can I handle a life of mediocrity? 



You are
SO
complicated.

amer(-ère)

Dont tell me.
I already know.

It's that feeling you get when you work really, really hard to have someone else rewarded.
Or that feeling when you've had something promised to you and then taken away.
Or that feeling when you've been hurt when all you've tried to do is good.
Or that feeling when you've been burned.
Or that feeling of harsh, relentless
biting, resentful, virulent,
caustic, rancorous,
distasteful,
bitter
or amer(-ère).


Yes. It's true. I've turned a deep shade of bitter.

I am bitter, and I've realized that it has become a problem.
I would like to blame it on being a woman, since all women obviously stew over all things and decide to not make anything right. I would like to blame it on this muliebrity that I have been cursed with since before birth, the one that makes all of my species overly emotional, overly prone to gossip, and overly ready to imagine that second conversation with men, that we all know isn't really happening.

Alas, I can not blame my personal grudges on my femininity -- although, I'm sure some I can use that excuse on a number of my other issues.

No, I am Barbara Swain, and I have chosen (although perhaps not as consciously as I would have liked) to be bitter.

Part of me wants to shed it, be rid of it, move on.
Part of me says, "NO. Hold onto this thing."

And even though the "move on" has the 70% and the "hold on" only has 30% of my will power, I cling to that bitter like there is no tomorrow.
Dang.

Is this a disease?
Can I claim this somewhere on a medical form?

God, change me, please.