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love despite unlove

Sometimes love is overwhelming.  I realize today was (I can say was because the day is almost done) Valentine's day, a day set aside for love...but I mean love in a way that I cannot really say or do the way I want to.  I mean love that makes me broken when its object is apart from me.  Love that contents my soul.  Love that has endured since the day I was made.  Love that forgives me instantly when I do something stupid and get too embarrassed to bring it up until its too late.  Love that confides in me when he won't confide in others.  Love that screams "Can I talk to Aunty M pleeeeeeaase!!" when I'm on the phone.  Love that trusts me to come home.  Love that asks God to protect me when I'm away.  Love that endures my imperfections everyday without complaint.  I mean love that breaks the limits of human rule.  Love that eats Hallmark cards for breakfast.  Love that is disciplined and active.  I mean agape.

C.S. Lewis said about love:  “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”


So love.  Don't just feel love; do love, be love, act love, live love.  Don't embalm your heart.  


I find myself lost in a quest for knowledge and reason and truth; and in those moment of wandering in the dark, reaching to the unknown, my hands are always found by my Love.  And he brings me water when I thirst and food when I hunger, and help when I'm weak and humility when I'm strong, and by this he Loves me.  And it takes me over, and I am lost in it but I am found in it.  And he Loves me.  And my life is not without pain but it is without stain because he Loves me.  I am saved because he Loves me despite. despite. despite my unlove.  He Loves me.  And so I Love.


yours, truly Yours,
Micaela

Newfound Writings

I started off the New Year today by purging my room at home of clutter.  I am very sentimental and therefore a notorious pack-rat.  I found every piece of paper I was ever given during my senior year of high school under my bed today.  I thought I would want to look back and reminisce or something, ya know.  They are in my recycling bin now.

I did keep certain findings, however.  In my extreme sentimentality, I have never thrown away one scrap of paper I have ever written on.  I rediscovered poems and writings from high school that express my teenage angst or tell a story or just ask a series of unanswered questions or capture an imagined scene in rhyme.

I thought I'd share some of these.  Enjoy.

8th grade English assignment.  Got extra credit.

You have to read it out loud in a pirate voice for it to be fun.

Ode to Pirates

Pirates lead

wonderful lives

of hoisting anchors,

cannons, and knives.

Scallywaggers,

swab the deck!

O, wonderful captain,

shall ne'r thee wreck.

So much

incredible treasure,

plunder, and booty:

too much to measure.

Pirates have

such joy in life

with swearing and killing,

but no guilt nor strife.

And without their effects,

what would a pirate be?

A gun, a sword,

I'm a better pirate than Mr. Smee!

If I were a pirate,

what fun I would have!

I would get dreadlocks, a tattoo,

and ne'r take a bath.

In the vast ocean below,

there only be one thing ye see:

it be the ne'rending sky

that leads me to my peg-legged knee.

I look to the heavens,

a tear in me eye,

and thank Him above

for letting a pirate be I.

Answer me now,

what reasons have thee

for refusing the honor

of...piracy?

Junior year Creative Writing assignment.

Clearly before I read the details of the Samson and Delilah story.

Cut the Power

I am the girl who cut off the power.

I took a sharp blade and hacked and chopped.

I sliced at the chords that gave him strength.

It was not my intention to do this evil,

I did the deed and it was done.

And I said, "It is finished."

I am the girl who, out of spite,

and in the moment, pure delight,

cut the power from his head.

He left the room, walked out the door,

and from his eyes the tears did pour.

The strength that God so graciously gave,

was gone from his body, gone as the grave.

Untitled

It is you I love and you I hate.  For you are the sun in my darkening sky and yet there is still no light.  The darkness lives, and the twilights that I loved so dearly once, that now taunt my love for you, are now my worst enemy.  If the love that you give to all creatures shall be mine at last, send to me a sunrise, that I may look upon the rays of your flesh and be blinded by the love in your eyes.  may our hearts be at last joined to one, and our fingers interlocked for all of time.  Be not the moon, which is so inconstant and gives not enough light for use, but the sun, in which I will bask so joyfully.  May I be a flower on the earth that you warm and may my love, like a flower, grow in the sunshine that is your love, if it is not an impossibility.  Woe to those who do not live on the earth of the flower, for they do not know the power that you possess.  If you wish to woo others, then let your light shine on them.  Leave me in the dark shadows of the moon.  But know this--no other flower or tree or shrub will know your colorful love, which you spread throughout my earth to nourish my soul.  It is you, O Sun, that keeps me alive when the moon comes after my heart.  I soak in all of your goodness by day so that, when day separates from night, I may be glad to know that life is in me during your absence.  O Sun, O Star, O Mountain, whatever is your name: do not stray from your true love; for it is love I am and your love I shall be from now until the earth meets its end. Amen.

I wrote this during a Creative Writing class; I did not like my teacher and apparently wanted to express the worthlessness of that day's lesson.

Not Worth the Effort

As I write this poem,

I feel despair.

This pain in my neck

and under my hair

keeps me from creating

such rhymes as I need,

the rules of transcribing

I no longer heed.

And so I sit

in desperation.

Look...there goes

my concentration.

Music in the Meadow

The wind tapped me on the shoulder and asked,

"May I have this dance?"

I curtseyed gracefully and took his hand;

the dance was one of sweet romance.

The woodwinds soothing melodies

were heard from the ancient forest,

and the birds that flew among the clouds

provided a harmonious chorus.

Twilight came, the dance was done.

I curtseyed once again

and promised that we'd dance another time;

yes, even to the drumming of the rain.

Untitled

I see what you wish I would not.  I see your fear, your pain, your confusion.  You try to hide them--oh, yes, you try.  Chin held high, you look at me with freezing eyes--you make believe they are not there, yet I know.  You wish I would not see right through you, into your soul,  yet I do.  You forget the power I have.  You forget that I see you cry into unGodly hours.  I know in your heart these nights are not so unGodly.  You know I hold fast to your hand as you wander.  You wander many hours, yet I am there, piecing together the questions of your heart.  Although you close your heart to love, mine is open to you.  When you decide to open your blinded eyes, through which I see clearly, to my love, my Love, I will be with you.  I will always be with you, though you will not see me (or maybe you will).  Until your last, sweet breath brings you to me for eternity.

Until then, my Love.

Peace Creators

Everything your hand has created is pure.

Peace, Love, and Truth give us life for sure.

Yet we go on ripping and tearing and gnashing

until you can hear our hearts burning and crashing.

If there is peace in this world,

we find a way to make a war.

If there is Love in this world,

we act so it exists no more.

If there is Truth in this world,

our tongues form the hateful lies.

It's no wonder that my brother cries

Where's the reparation? When will you arrive?

So much anticipation, wondering how we will survive.

Living in a broken place,

longing for your perfect grace.

Father, come down from above,

clean us with your unbroken Love.

This is not how we were created,

clarification comes belated.

We waste time and ignore Him

when we should kneel before Him.

He says:

"You break because you're broken.

Listen to the words I've spoken.

Come to me, my blood I pour

so you'll be broken no more."

Now we know:

Our purpose He did establish

so now all that I can wish

is to give life to this land

carry out His great plan.

So now I call on my brothers,

Let us all become lovers

instead of fighters and haters,

Let us be peace creators.

And God we know until you come

The fight will never end

Until that day to you, my Lord,

my life I do extend

Thank you for showing me

a Love I know will never end.

It was a great way to begin the new year.  Finding my old writings was like having a conversations with myself 4 or 5 years ago.  I share many of the same qualities as her still, though much has changed.  She questioned and feared so much that it was paralyzing to her soul, although she played the part of a carefree young girl.  I question, though I do not fear anymore.  She thought God wanted her to carry the weight of her world alone; I know that I am not expected nor able to do so.  Can you imagine having the opportunity to talk to yourself 5 years in the past, like when Scrooge is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?  I would tell her what I know now, what I have learned since then.  But I have learned in good time, because I have learned in His time.

So, having looked back, I now look forward.  I look forward to discovering more about myself and my Creator.  I look forward to hearing the sweet whisper of his still small voice in my ear, telling me which direction to take my life.  I look forward to what the Lord, the One I trust above all, has in store for my life.

Yours,
Micaela

silly spiritual idiocy

I had to make myself sit down and write because I have felt so much like that one line in that one song in the Sound of Music, "How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?"

I don't feel unusually happy, energetic, bouncy...but I do feel something that it took me a week to name.

Contentment.  And I had mistaken contentment for numbness.

I sat on my bed in a peaceful darkness last night and decided to pray.  I wasn't sure what I was going to pray about but I wanted to talk to my Father.  But as soon as I said his Name, I realized that it was not numbness that I felt.  I have just become so accustomed to feeling anxiety and frustration and confusion in the past months that I forgot what contentment feels like.  I don't know why I felt so surprised at the thought, either.  Just a week ago, I wrote down an extensive list of worries, frustrations, burdens and asked God to take away the pressure of dealing with all of it.

Yet again, God proves Himself to me.  "I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands."

Isaiah 49:15-16

I felt a silly sort of relief at the realization that God listened to my prayer and reacted.  And now I am telling myself, "Well, Micaela, you decided to believe in something crazy and improbable and unprovable.  If you believe God is who He says He is, have the guts to believe what He says." (I picture myself doing this with the face and voice of my dad when he is telling me something he knows I already know but don't want to admit...and I get that really impish "I know, I know" look on my face).  

So, I can laugh at myself because I am a silly spiritual idiot sometimes, like when the most basic form of communication between myself and God actually working leaves me dumbstruck.  The important thing is that it is a further proof that my Father listens to me, that He is.  

Yours,

Micaela

Frailty

I am looking back on this past summer with my brows furrowed in deep frustration.  

It was a summer of self-discovery and inspiration, hungering for more knowledge of myself and of Yahweh and his Spirit and his Son, peace and contentment of my soul.  I fell asleep each night lulled to the world of dreams by the quiet whispering of the One I love, the Spirit residing within my own soul.  I was in passionate love.  

Why, then, am I so emotionally distant from the same One with whom I was enamored a mere few months before?  Oh, I know the answer.  I do.  Not just to this question, but to the hundreds of questions that have attacked the security of my heart since coming back to Chicago and beginning this life again.  I was hoping that the answer would be more complex, more terrifying.  And in reality, it is, because simplicity is a rare glimmer of peace in a world of chaos.  The answer, it seems, is a not-so-unique emotional reaction to a new season of life and circumstances, and lack of communication with my God.   

Oh, my pride.  I thought I was harder to crack than all of that, I honestly did.  Even through my own blatant past mistakes, even under breaking circumstances, I knew my God stood next to me and I never faltered in recognizing his presence.  It has never occurred to me not to. 

Until now.

And now, I know I am frail.  I used my own pride as an excuse to cut off communication from the One who loves me best.  How dare you let me be lonely, I thought.  How dare you take away my security—my community, convenient access to you, my friends, those who know and care for me so well, my Kingdom-enriching job that I loved, my church, my everything.  How dare you open up the Old Testament to me and make me realize you are not as familiar to me as I thought.  How dare you let me feel depressed and lonely, purposeless and afraid. 

I have hurled bitter accusations in defense against that army of invasive questions often in the past few months; they have become more dull but have maintained their presence consistently, especially the past two weeks when almost every night I find it impossible to sleep until just before I have to wake up. 

I accused, and steamed in anger and confusion and ignorance and fear.  I crossed my arms over my chest, stuck up my nose, and closed my eyes.  I felt enlightened by the nothingness I felt for him and completely sorrowful at the loss of rock-hard strength I had known not so long before.  I dared God to make me feel peaceful again. 

And then I went home for a long weekend.  And, as they say, shit got real…on multiple levels.  I was confronted with everything I have been missing. 

I saw some of most important people in my life.  Tim and Jennifer Ayers picked me up from the bus stop and took me directly to my doctor’s appointment.  Because I am Christ’s and therefore their own daughter and they love me.  I spent the evening with Bekah Sardar and we lay on a blanket with her brother and mother and watched the stars and the candle in the newly carved pumpkin flicker in the darkness, laughing at Isaiah’s innocent energy.  I helped her pack for California and we talked about our emotional and spiritual exhaustion until the sun was only an hour or so away from warming our side of the earth again. 

I spent the day with my family at my grandparent’s farm in rural Indiana.  I held Braylen tightly in my lap as we slowly hovered over the grass in the go-kart, with which later Caleb and I cut lines and figure eights in my grandpa’s fields. 

I went to church on Sunday morning and listened to David Bell.  It is rare for a sermon to speak directly to my current situation, but when David spoke of the disciples who refused to abandon Christ, asking, “To whom else will we go?” my soul wept inside of me. 

I spent that evening (and the wee hours of Monday morning) sitting and listening to my dear friend Cally Abdelsayed, who moved to New York and got married while I was in Costa Rica, and whom I had not seen in almost two years.  Just her presence was comforting and reassuring.

But my heart continued to weep the next day when I had coffee with David and explained that I have felt miserable, confused, exhausted, lonely, and abandoned. And that I am unsure about the legitimacy of the Bible as proof of God’s existence and how flat out crazy our beliefs really are.  Legitimately insane.  And after much discussion and some tears on my part, he prayed for me.  In the end, we had come to the same conclusion as he did on Sunday and as the disciples did on that day that some abandoned Christ: 

To whom else will we go?

On the drive to the bus, I explained to my dad, in what seemed like broken English to me, what I was feeling.  And when we got to the bus stop and it was time for me to get out of the car and I fell into weeping, he held me and told me he would have the strength that I didn’t.  It amazes me how one man can have the strength of all the people he has strength for. 

So after a very full, very emotional, and very exhausting weekend, I came back to Chicago.  Homesick. 

A few days ago, David, Eness Jarvis, and Rob Yonan—three incredibly influential and dear people in my life—came to visit.  After Chicago deep-dish pizza and good conversation, they left.  Homesick. 

I am being as honest as possible.  It has been an incredibly rough semester and I cannot wait for it to be over.  I know the end of the semester does not mean the end of this complex thing I am struggling with.  But it means Christmas and warmth and familiarity.  It means Josh comes back from France.  It means music and “Silent Night” candles and building a snowman with Braylen.  It means I will be full of what I need when I return next semester, and that even if next semester is just as hard as this one, I will be assured of something good.  Like after my long weekend at home, I came back to Chicago still frustrated and sorrowful, but full of the knowledge that the people I spent time with care about my wellbeing and that, although I feel lonely, I am not alone. 

So, I have no happy ending for this story because it is still going on.  I dropped a class to relieve some stress, which has been nice.  But I am still just at the beginning of turning accusations into genuine questions of “How dare you still love me after such pride and weakness?” “How dare you give me a few friends in Chicago to keep me from total loneliness?” “How dare you forgive me over and over and over again?” “How dare you call me daughter?”

For everything there is a season.  I have known what it is to stand on a mountain and feel the Spirit so clearly that he is like the wind running his fingers through my hair.  And now I know what it is to walk blindly through the dark night of the soul, where wind stands still and nothing living dwells.  But I will wait for the rising of the son to bathe me in his warm essence and soak my eyes in mud and run his airy fingers through my hair.  As long as it takes. 

Methoughts I heard one crying, Child!

And I replied, My Lord.

-The Collar, George Herbert

Yours, 

Micaela

From The Temple, George Herbert

“The Altar”

A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears,

 Made of a heart, and cemented with tears: 

  Whose  parts  are as thy  hand  did  frame;

  No workman's tool hath touched the same.

A    HEART    alone

Is   such   a   stone,

As    nothing     but

Thy power doth cut.

Wherefore each part

Of   my   hard   heart

Meets  in  this  frame, 

To  praise  thy  Name:

That,  if  I   chance  to   hold  my   peace,

These stones to praise thee may not cease.

Oh  let  thy  blessed  SACRIFICE  be   mine,

And   sanctify   this   ALTAR   to   be   thine.

“The Collar” 

I struck the board¹ and cried, “No more;

I will abroad!

What? Shall I ever sigh and pine?

My lines and life are free, free as the road,

Loose as the wind, as large as store.

Shall I be still in suit? ²

Have I no harvest but a thorn

To let me blood, and not restore

What I have lost with cordial³ fruit?

Sure there was wine

Before my sighs did dry it; there was grain

Before my tears did drown it.

Is the year only lost to me?

Have I no bays⁴ to crown it,

No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?

All wasted?

Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,

And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute

Of what is fit and not.  Forsake thy cage,

Thy rope of sands,

Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee

Good cable,⁵ to enforce and draw,

And be thy law,

While though didst wink and wouldst not see.

Away! Take heed/

I will abroad.

Call in thy death’s-head⁶ there; tie up thy fears.

He that forbears

To suit and serve his need,

Deserves his load.”

Bus as I raved and grew more fierce and wild

At every word,

Methoughts I heard one calling, Child!⁷

And I replied, My Lord.

1. Communion table

2. Always in attendance, waiting on someone for a favor

3. restorative to the heart

4. The poet’s laurel wreath, a symbol of recognized accomplishment

5. Christian restrictions on behavior, which the “petty thoughts” of the docile believer have made into strong bonds

6. Skull, emblem of human mortality, and often used as an object for meditation

7. The call “Child!” reminds the speaker of Paul’s words that Christians are not in “bondage again to fear” but are children of God, “and if children, then heirs.” Romans 8:14-17

"...and so you must love one another."

This is how it's done. 

Don’t give up.

It’s just the weight of the world.

When you’re heart’s heavy, I

I will lift it for you.

Don’t give up.

Because you want to be heard

If silence keeps you, I

I will break it for you.

Everybody wants to be understood

Well I can hear you.

Everybody wants to be loved

Don’t give up

Because you are loved

Don’t give up.

It’s just the hurt that you hide

When you’re lost inside, I

I’ll be there to find you.

Don’t give up.

Because you want to burn bright

If darkness blinds you, I

I will shine to guide you.

Everybody wants to be understood

Well I can hear you.

Everybody wants to be loved.

Don’t give up

Because you are loved.

Don’t give up.

It’s just the weight of the world. 

Everyone needs to be heard.

You are loved.

(Josh Groban)