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Showing posts from May, 2021

Redemption Looks Like

The smell of acrylic paint brings me back. It take me back to the dinning room table of the 3rd or maybe 4th house I lived in as a child. Takes me back to the simple wonder of mixing new colours. Of painting Christmas ornaments for all the relatives.   My earliest memory of painting is of the time I sat on the kitchen floor with a stack of printer paper and my Crayola paints. Painting landscapes and starry sky’s, where the sky never met the horizon.  I can remember this old notebook I had, it was fuzzy and had a crown on the cover. I was, for all intents and purposes, retaught the english language at 13 and 14 years old. I could not write at 5 years old but I would pretend. I would write page after page full of scribbles, trying to make it look like a story.  I was a shy child, I would not speak unless spoken to often times. And as I once said my words never failed to fail me. But look at me now.  This past Sunday I picked up a paint brush for the first time ...

Here pt.2

And the waves will beat against the shore.   And the rocks will come crumbling down.  And the sea will roar its grief.  And the mountains will heave into pieces.  And my knees will hit the dirt. And my face will fall to the ground. And my eyes will leak pure peace. And my heart will beat right out of my chest. This is it  this is the moment  this is the time  this is the end and the beginning  And He will be right there  right in front of my face  my face covered in awe-strewn tears   and He will be Here Because this is the place  this is the people  this is the generation  this is the time in which it will be And the trees will clap their hands. And the grass will wipe our tears. And the flowers will sing their joy. And the bees will dance with grace.  And I will be safe. And I will be loved.  And I will be held.  And I will be Home.

This Life

This life is weird and people are weird. And it doesn’t get any less weird the more you know or the more you learn. It just goes on getting stranger and stranger. I suppose there’s a simple beauty in that. Understanding that the more you know the less you’ll understand.   And the wind sounds the way the ocean does just without the water. And a bee, a bumble bee, came to look at my toes then flew away. I have no idea what I’m talking about but it makes so much sense. The clouds looked like a heard of bison migrating. It really does only get weirder from here.  But the thing is this life isn’t about finding a purpose and then striving to attain it, because what happens when you do? What happens when you complete you life's mission? I’ll tell you what happens, you sit in a stupor wondering what the point of all that was in the first place. I know because I did it.  My life’s mission was to survive the hellish landscape we call high school. I did it, I made it out. And ...

it's not the end.

I’ve never known Hope for long. She changes her face each time we meet and she never lingers for long. I’ve been trying to live in hope, for it is my namesake, so I’ve been trying to make a home out of hope.   But trying to make a home out of hope is like digging a well through a bunch of boulders. It’s hard and it hurts. Because the ground shook. The ground shook and cracked and heaved. So making a home out of hope doesn’t really feel worth it.  But the thing is, even boulders break. Even mountains move. So making a home out of hope, takes hope. Takes faith. That it’s all gonna be okay and if it’s not then it’s not the end. I’ve lived by that for the better part of a decade. And it hasn’t failed me yet.  But hope is a choice, and a hard one to make. Because hoping hurts. Hoping that it really does get better than this. That this isn’t the terrible end that was prophesied. That this just isn’t the end.  Hope is not some small thing far off in the distance, u...