I arrived in Kansas City this past Friday for my internship with
Focus North America. So far, I really like the city. I will be
doing an official blog for Focus North America on its site
(www.focusna.org). This should probably be up and running by
next Monday.
I will still use this blog to post poems and other such items. Stay
tuned and I will let my audience know when things are up and
running on the FOCUS NA site.
My back has recovered pretty well, and I can now travel. Tomorrow I leave to go to Kansas City, Mo. to intern with the new panorthodox organization called FOCUS NORTH AMERICA. (www.focusna.org)
I will try to post updates on my blog.
Manna from Heaven
And they
they ate the bread of angels
that fell down from the sky
that appeared daily
to feed their hunger inside.
And they
they walked around in circles
for forty years
but their feet did not swell
nor did their clothes wear thin.
But I
I do not ask for the bread of angels
I do not ask that my feet never swell
or my clothes never wither and fade.
I ask for your presence to always surround me
engulf me
protect me
lead me
guide me
love me
I do not ask for the bread of angels
I only ask that you keep my head above water
when the storms
when the storm
come crashing down
And our hands tell the story of our lives
without words they form more powerful images
than the tongue could ever speak.
Big hands, small hands
gentle hand, rough hands
soft hands, calloused hands,
sweaty hands, chapped hands.
Hands are not simple
they are more complex
than what meets the eye.
Hands are alive.
They reach out to comfort.
They recoil in fear.
They are instruments of kindness,
messengers of wrath.
And I long to see
the beauty of Your hands,
the hands that formed
me in my mother’s womb,
the hands that with one soft stroke
carved out the Grand Canyon.
And I long to touch the hands
the hands that hold me in the dark
and gently wipe away my tears
the hands that dug the bed of the seas
and dripped into them salty sweat.
And I long to kiss the hands,
the hands that were scarred fro me.
The hands that bore the nails of the cross
for my sin, my guilt, my shame.
The hands that lift me up and carry me
when I am weary and exhausted.
And I lift my hands
in submission and praise to you.
I surrender all.
Oh Lord, take my hands
and make them pleasing to you.
My soul is like the wind.
It rushes
strays
blows violently
dances softly
but it doesn’t stay
in one place.
Sometimes I wonder
why God moved so far from me
why He wandered down the road
abandoning me along the way.
But God is a rock.
He doesn’t move.
It is me who flitters and flies
who scatters in all directions
looking for, longing for
what I have already found in Him.
For my heart is unfaithful
to the Lover of my soul.
The One I claim I would die for.
The One to whom
I said
“I am forever Yours.”
In me, meekness and humility
do not lie.
A spirit of dissatisfaction reigns.
Even though I sometime run into darkness
to hide myself from His piercing light.
His hand is always upon my shoulder
waiting for me to turn around.
And when I do,
I see not a hand
waiting to strike me
but arms
that gently squeeze me
and nuzzle me
against His heart,
the heart
that weeps with love for humanity,
His creation.
Suddenly silence engulfs me
and the floodgates of fear
burst forth something invisibly eerie.
My vision becomes darkened
no images
flash across the corneas of my eyes
to distract me
from this loneliness
I feel inside.
I don’t want to be here.
I need a diversion.
There is only me here.
A me that I have never encountered before.
I don’t want to think.
I don’t want to analyze
who is this “I”
and all the pain felt inside.
Turn the TV on.
Thrust me in loud, city, traffic.
Activate the garbage disposal,
but do not leave me here.
Shield me from myself
because the true me
is not as pretty
as I had believed.
This poem was inspired by the recent episode of the Orthodox Christian podcast Steve the Builder entitled “Fear of Silence”. Listen here.
There are so few people who embrace silence. Most people have to have some constant noise. They are afraid to see their real selves.
I am excited. This summer I will be the first intern of the brand new Orthodox social action minsitry FOCUS NORTH AMERICA.
Listen to this Interview with Fr. Justin Matthews, CEO of FOCUS NORTH AMERICA, on Ancient Faith Radio.
I was supposed to have left for Kansas City, MO on May 6.
However, my plans were not God’s plans. After church on Sunday May 3, I was talking to some friends. I coughed very hard and threw my back out.
The first couple of days I could not walk at all and my mother had to help me get dressed. However, I have been seing a chiropractor and hope to leave for Kansas City around May 22nd.
Pray that my back will heal, for I am excited about serving the Lord in this area.
Everything is sacred.
Everything is holy.
But to a people with a defiled mind
nothing is sacred;
nothing is holy.
Every foot step I take
is upon the altar
of the Most High God.
For everything is His
and He created all.
We have abused and maligned
His gifts, His handiwork.
We have shredded His masterpieces
and have tried to eradicated His Image.
Yet His Image
lays inside every human.
In some, that image
is buried under miles
of vileness
incased in layers of rock,
but it is still there.
Nothing can fully destroy
the Image of the Lord
in the one who was
made in His Image.
Lord, cleanse me.
Break my hardened heart.
Let your image be revealed in me.
Somehow I find myself
standing before You
raising my filthy hands
towards your immaculate light.
My face, hands, body, and feet
are sullied by my thoughts
by my transgressions.
Each day I wallow in mire.
But my mind is deluded
I do not see the mire.
I cannot fathom
that my shower of love
is filled with the muddied waters
of wanting something in return,
a sea of ulterior motives.
For one cannot truly love
and want something in return.
This is not a lesson I have learned.
For most of us want something,
love in return, honor, friendship, or respect.
Lord, cleanse me a sinner.
Let real tears for the love of humanity
pour out from my soul
to the point that even the
soles of my feet
are purified from within.
Let me exude Your love.
A love that asks for nothing in return.
(3-8-09)
Today, I found it
stuck under the table
next to discarded gum
that had lost its taste.
Yesterday, I found it
in the bottom
of the garbage
stomped on
and stained.
Last week, I found it
abandoned in the attic
cast away
for the next
generation to find.
Last month, I found it
under my bed
swept into a hidden place
out of carelessness.
Last year, I found it
buried in the trunk of my car
placed there with thought
but forgotten over time.
What we long for most,
search for most,
ache for most,
is everywhere present
and fillest all things.
Where will you find
your abandoned Hope today?
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