Prodigal

At some level, I trembled.

I did my very best to leave it unarticulated. To not put too much thought to this, this mass as it sank and twisted in the pit of me.

Again?

Still?

Worse yet, not daring to even put words to the twisted whisper,

always...

Is this what it feels like to choke?

I leaned a little further into the turn of my life, willing the surrounding scenery to speed and blur.

I wouldn't even know what to say.

To say I knew better would reek of inadequacy; An obvious, childish attempt to explain what should never have been.

How can I...

How could I...

And yet inexplicably, there it is, there He is... solid and unwavering caught half-visible before I squelch my eyes tightly against the sight.

It would have been easier to have been ambushed by a grotesque. After all, I am on speaking terms with the boogeyman these days.

Eyelash lines streak across the sliver of visible world as I risk another look.

He stands - a breath away.

It's not shock that catches me, that knocks out what is left in me.

It's confusion.

Why?

And the zephyr of a Hope, that had long been caught in the doldrums, lightening the dark mass of fear.

As He smiles - how can He smile? - this heart beats faster against a somehow too-tight chest.

And, just on the edge of articulation, I begin to understand the meaning of prodigal.

8/11/14

Why is it easier to plan for the disappointment? To expect the heartache?

Everything in me wants to run.

Wants to make contingency plans.

Wants to just plan for the sad, tragic, glorious end.

But I like it here.

And there's an inconvenient majority of me that wants to keep hoping 

Here in America

I always thought it was a Pan flute.

As a kid, the almost ethereal, bright tone carried an irresistible hope.

In retrospect it was an 80s synthesizer.

But these old words carry new weight, and they're shaded by the decades of dust between then and now.

And its melody scrabbles for purchase on the surface of my heart.

"Whither shall I go..."

The sky is truly the world all around, barely tied down by the swell of earth and shading of the clouds.

Even from this distance, the 60 shades of green - did you know there are 60 shades? - are broken with riotous orange, the stubborn clump of flowers sprouting precisely where it was planted.

Everything in me wrenches and chokes. All I can think of above the howl of the wind is,

"Even the wind and waves..."

The phrase roils about, getting lodged in my throat along with all the feelings, and it's tamped down almost reflexively.

The respite is brief, a matter of hours, until a message a week in the making - and at just the right time - comes, and everything escapes, blood oozing from the newly pulled scab, the sob finally releasing.

And all that can be done is to let it bleed,

let the tears come.

And listen.

"...whither shall I flee from Thy presence..."

Somehow the place has a tropical cantina feel to it.

Maybe it's the tin siding, or the humidity that's been building from the early prairie morning.

But the sweat builds up, broken only by the occasional breeze that makes it past the open garage door.

Somehow it's lonely despite the crowd, despite the World, despite the signs and wonders.

And the choke begins to knot again.

And then I see Him.

Nestled between the chipmunks and the commemorative decanters, but tucked under the TV.

"... loves me here in America."

"Thou hast searched me and known me" indeed.

Help thou my unbelief.

It will be something like this, I think.

This unbridled joy.

This wildness.

Every tongue, tribe, and nation.

Burn

There is something in me that yearns
no
burns

for the limelight

That longs for glory and renown

Something that gasps for air as it's suffocated and silenced

by better judgment

personality

and the weight of Eternity

Hunger

And then there are nights.

Nights when everything echoes in a sort of reverberating keen.

When the inner space is deeper, darker - a black hole that absorbs all.

When it's just too much.

And still there is nothing.

No rallying cry

No great resurgence

Nothing.

No one.

None.

didn't know I was lost

It looks cold out.

"So wake me up when it's all over..."

The stubborn Midwest temperatures have finally, slowly sunk into something resembling an October. But in here, it's easy to pretend the spicy tea is a ward against the thermometer and not a balm for a weary heart.

In here, the accents are all different.

The group in front, having politely borrowed my spare chair, cluster around a square meter table- after all there is always room for one more- their quiet voices and gestures signaling their home.

Their familiarity makes my same-sized table feel far too big and far too empty.

"All this time I was finding myself..."

The loud electronica blaring in my headphones provides a remixed soundtrack to the images playing through my mind.

Young and old treading familiar steps together, whirling around; The large room made small by their joy and exuberance. A man, quietly dancing around the outside circle, is unable to contain himself any longer and explodes into doubletime expression - his limbs coiled in energy and power.

"Hope I get the chance to travel the world..."

There's the table with seats too tall to touch the floor filled with the result of a melting pot nation. "Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free" indeed. Having just come from work, it's easier to see what they share than to list their differences. One's husband shows up, and there's familiar greetings and embraces around the table.

"...not afraid to close my eyes."

He is startled. I wonder if he's doubting his English comprehension. We settle that, yes I did go celebrate and dance with his people group. And I did it because I thought it was interesting and important.
I find myself with a dinner invitation I'm not sure how seriously to take.

There are three ages of globalization, the script reads. Really I should be watching the videos, but I'm far too behind to take the time. Each age is the product of that which came before it and the current climate. But all - for better or worse - are birthed when something "shakes us forward and shakes us free," as Rich said all those years ago.

"All this time I was finding myself and I didn't know I was lost."