Death Hewn Love: An Easter Reflection

Death

Man child

Offering self

Exchanging life for love

Ransom of blood, blood moon shadows

His death

Burial

Finished

Mourn beloved

Shaken by grief-filled cries

In hollow of created earth

He lies

Resurrection

Third day

Newness dawning

Blossoming with love hewn

From death; forever lost it’s sting

He lives

In honor of the upcoming Easter weekend my poetic offering is just that, an offering. 

Linking up with dVerse tonight, join us for a verse and the communion of conversation. 

I look forward to exchanging a few with you, thank you for your readership and 

for the comments that I hope you leave, they are of great worth. Blessings ~Apryl 

Stilled and Silenced

there are no children to pull off freshly painted walls tonight,

no needy husband’s hands to fence with

this night belongs to being

in a noisy silence

autumnal evening sounds

assaulting ears bent toward quiet

cricket song and the last of the cicada concerto

remnantsof a living earth preparing

for the hibernation of retreating into oneself

linger here at the dusk of summer’s end

maples bowing low and heavy

offering palm sized leaves

only southern trees can grow

and hereI sit amongst the California red grapes

and their blended blissful bounty

in gratitude for their harvest

blue velvet sky bleeds violet lines

with the surrender of the sun

I am in silence

I am at rest

I am whole

the fearfulness of truth

with this, a tiny revelation comes

reflectively hidden in stars

strewn ‘cross the blackening sky

heralded by twilight’s whispered presence

bound to human rest

a Sabbath understanding

there is Holiness

in the simplicity of stillness

I am awake now

these quiet eyes do see

purpose in solo revelry

secrets tucked into my heart

like tissues in pillow cases

for moments of weeping

draw them out

during the dark night of the soul

for it always cometh

amidst it’s plight remember

this stillness and grope for peace

with muscle memory

cultivated in solitude

one by one

and become again

bound to quiet understanding

and begin with the hope

of dawn’s promised procession

crickets quiet, owls steal away

and with the son’s arrival,

the first fat rays of presence

define us once more

as those who dwell among the living

drawn into the warmth of day

and remind us we belong there

in reverence we draw light with breath

and exhale luminous awe

from ominous oneness

and in that moment we shall

be still and know

Linking up with dVerse, we are looking at the moments of solitude... these are mine. 

This Quiet Absence

there is rhythm in the reckoning

of soul and body to it’s maker

designer of fortune and fate

I am the daughter of

a wayward father

lost in the translation of relation

we are one with the furthest point

of self same poetic expression spoken

into existence by prophetic utterances

and I am, we are

at the beginning again

circled ‘round and ‘round the question

is there truth in the utterances of men

or politics all

in all and through all, save one

and in Him only truth

truth sustained by mortal men

is fragile, and fallible

perfection in grace alone

provokes the soul to live

and flesh to breathe

bold and beautiful blindness

thrust  into me like a dagger

sing vibrancy into my voice

solidify my understanding

rewire my hardwired thinking

help me to begin again

loving is the act of learning

and learning the act of submission

to thoughts greater than those of one’s self

begin again with me

in this quiet absence

birthing substance from silence

fashion me new wings of understanding

from the debris of dissension

and we too shall be free

Linking up with dVerse Poet's Pub for Open Link Night. 

Existence Elemental

Existential transcendental

sleepless awakenings

the promise of satiety

slivered peace

through veiled consciousness

provoking like daylight

in the sequence of being

the molecular essence of truth

beneath surface of skin and self

elemental hunger, we need

to face this world victorious

Linking up for the Poetry Prompt by dVerse~Poets Pub 
Join up and Link up Click Here

Season of Mourning, the Dawn will Come

weep not beloved, by faithful bedside

watch was kept and angels wept, ‘twas his to decide

no tears, no doubt, no mourning for the living

spirit cried out, unfettered faith all forgiving

his beloved one, whose tethered heart knew home

drifted not from worldly bed but into life alone

awake oh sleeper, rise sweet sister

unencumbered will you dance as victor

released now from affliction, she is whole

dancing unashamedly, unhindered soul

body surrendered, the heart knows life

and with death bury strife

weep not beloved, the dawn is neigh

pain and anguish now subside

celebrate here a life well given

speak words of grace, for he is risen

Six Days, Have you Forgotten How to Fly?

My Kiddos at EPCOT 2011

There are exactly six days until the fullness of this school year marks away the days on my calendar with the inky reminders about games and practices, meetings and projects like Xs, they count them down. Six days and I will be chasing any available white space in order to pencil in quiet family moments. My children are growing up, it’s an undeniable fact.

                We returned from our Walt Disney World vacation nearly a week ago now and we’re still playing catch up. There are meals to plan, papers to sign, lunches to pack, and practices to blacken my coveted white space. I am a child at heart and I can’t help but feel the elevation of childhood memories, the hopes and dreams surfacing in my own heart as I watch my babies grow. I watched as they immersed themselves in the imaginary world create by the magic of Disney. I watched as their eyes light up during the fireworks as they burst over Cinderella’s Castle, or when Mickey Mouse defeated Maleficent in the show, Fantasmic. For those brief moments I pushed away all the details of our daily lives that are now threatening to chip away at the white space.

                For these six days I am choosing to take these moments and with them pause, allowing them to soak into my skin like a wine stain on the living room carpet, and wear them like the invisible kiss hidden in the right hand corner of Wendy’s mother’s mouth, from the Peter Pan story. This year in particular will mark me in a way that the others have not. My eldest daughter begins her senior year with much celebration, and a longing to cling to the last moments of her childhood  before leaping toward adulthood. My sweet middle child is experiencing the changes only a 12 year old girl knows. She’s becoming a woman, but her heart remains childlike, and her eyes filled with wonder. She’s navigating the world of middle school with hesitation and hope. She’s in for an awfully big adventure. My youngest entered his final year of elementary school. It’s the last year of play grounds and a single class room for math and reading, desks instead of lockers and recess every day after lunch. I have to admit, the Kindergarteners are much smaller than mine were, or so it seems.

                As a Mother I couldn’t be more proud of my children, of their successes and the attempts they have made to learn from their failures. I see their efforts to become the people they were created to be by battling who they don’t wish to become through the choices that they make. Each will craft a story I have yet imagined. Though I can’t help having concerns, I am holding tight to the knowledge that there is an author that knows the beginning from the end, whose hand is in the daily workings of their lives, and he will guide them beyond my reach, though my prayers will always go with them tucked inside their pockets like the mama kisses I used to leave on their hands when I would go out. Now they’re the ones going out.

                Six days, and for these six days I will live in the white spaces, the quiet moments before the barrage of practices and games take it from me. I have chosen to be present in these moments, to shut off the blackberry, to keep the laptop closed, the T.V. off and allow the time that I spend with my children etch memories onto my soul, and forever remember that,

“All children, except one, grow up.”

All Peter Pan References are from J.M. Barrie's book,  Peter Pan

Sea Of Forgetting-My Post from the Beach and last Social Media Contact Until We Return.

 In scripture it is written that the Father will cast sin into the depths of the ocean, into the place of forgetting. It’s like the forgiveness found in the arms of a lover that has released you from the place where you are obliged to love him and in doing so allows you to love freely. Our wounds, both inflicted and those we did inflict carry a great weight of expectation. We react or act based on what those expectations are and we live in the place of fulfilled or unfulfilled obligations. Obligation isn’t love, and dedication that brings obedience and the dedication of a lover is beyond what we could ask for in the sober realization of the damaged lives we lead.

                This week my family and I have accompanied my in-laws at a beach house that is nestled quietly on an obscure piece of beach on the Florida panhandle. As I watch the changing of the tides, the temperature of the water and how it differs from day to day I am amazed at the wondrous beauty. This ecosystem is vast and complex, delicate and severe all at once. Nature is said to reveal the glory of God. I believe that is true, but I believe that we have misunderstood some fundamental truths. God is a God of mercy, peace and grace, but he is not only those things.

                I remember speaking with a Pastor friend of mine one morning at Starbucks, he made a simple, but powerful statement, “You cannot have mercy without justice, the minute we forget that truth and begin to apply mercy without first examining the offense and the just punishment it requires we nullify the power mercy has to transform a life.” Wise words from a very wise man and I’m thankful to have heard them. Mercy and justice met on the cross, where Jesus took the full weight of sin on his own shoulders and with the crucifixion took the just punishment, and in doing so released mercy from the Father.

                An ecosystem can seem harsh, the death of a creature, the devouring one of another and then another. The severe weather conditions, the magnitude and the vastness of such things is beyond a lifetime of understanding. I am unable to examine or appreciate them all but this I do know, that a profound truth exists in understanding that God works in rhythm, seasons if you will. Though things change, a sin is devoured and taken to the depths of the ocean of forgetting another is allowed to roam freely. We exist in an ecosystem that is imperfect in it’s severity and it’s beauty and only through God's perfect sacrifice can we truly see them all as they are. 

                Today as I write this I have the ocean before me with little sign of land except for the small mass that curls around to the left of the horizon. Today, as I walk down upon the white sand beaches I will release to my Father some of the things he has been urging me to, but until now I had not possessed the strength. Obligations I feel are more a weight than a willful obedience that exists in the form of loving God back, and in doing so release this great need for acceptance from mankind. I have no illusions about walking away and not being challenged in this choice, but I do believe in the moments of choosing when we erect alters in our hearts, remembered times with the Father where we have a shift of thought or choice.  I will receive the mercy he offers, and I will release to him my sins, and with those quiet understandings tucked neatly in my heart I will be thankful.

 I have a few quiet days left here, and I hope to immerse myself in them all. I will not be participating in any social media forms from this time on so that I may be in a place of meditation, contemplation and appreciation for this gift. I do pray that as you read these words you are well and blessed. Much love, Apryl.

Tethered Heart

As a Mother I don’t expect to encounter a lifetime of angst when awaiting the arrival of my first child. This strange new traveler that would be brought through my body, cradled by bones, blanketed by flesh. In the quiet moments, with hands on stretched skin while she would turn beneath I would hope for a life grander than my own, and whispered silent prayers for health and safety. 

Our children are birthed into fallible arms, too weak to sustain a battle spanning their lifetimes or ours.

My eldest child turned seventeen years old this past month. Breaths away from the cultural standard of adulthood and I realize how much she still doesn’t know, more importantly, I realize how much I still have to learn. The influence of the world is not what we would have it be. In fact at times it is a full frontal assault to those of us that follow the way. I wish I could keep my daughter from the dark things of this world, but at best, I can prepare her.

Jesus, the light in the darkness, whispers to each of us, to Mother and Daughter to follow Him as he carves this unearthly path out of the darkness. I know many ways in which the world works, the seduction and empty promises an orphaned culture offers like a pimp, drawing you to a place where you are willing to sell the most precious thing you can posses, your intimacy with Christ. 

The world and all of its influence will not get smaller unless I come before the One who is bigger.

I am thankful that my heart is now tethered to Jesus, and it tugs when I am moving in a direction not toward him. I am a slave no longer to a life far from Him. My imperfect steps will bring me to my knees, and cause me to question my heart intentions. We’re fools if we think that we will escape the need for repentance and correction. We all have a choice to respond well to it, or build a fig-leaf-wall around our hearts or allow the clothing of Christ cover our woundedness, even if it is self-inflicted. My prayer for my children is that their hearts are tethered tightly to Him, and that their steps are drawn continually back upon the path that leads toward Him, and toward eternity.

Diving into His words surrounding the fleshly ears I hear though and them is the refuge from the world that I seek.

She’s going to college soon. She will have to make choices and accept real world consequences for her actions, not a simple grounding from the cell phone. I know that my daily influence will minimize, but my prayers will never cease. And that’s the only power we Mother have, the ability to surrender our Children to the parentage of God the Father when we are unable. He alone is the ever-present parent.

Allow me to pray along side you, as you parent your young ones. 

Rest in His Arms

Today I lay myself down committed to the rest and restoration of my body, a horrible earache caused by a virus. So I finally have the opportunity to write. The fragility of human strength is a very fine line we walk. The resilience of the spirit of man I believe is what Jesus meant when rebuking those he asked to pray for him, saying that the spirit is willing but the body is weak. Perhaps the human spirit is the very reflection of God. Today I’m reminded of that fact, the ringing in my ears and the strength rising in my Spirit that take the characteristic of Faith where I once saw despair. I see this revealed in the eyes of my children, my son with gentle kisses, rubs my back, prays for me whispering I love yous in my ear is the best treatment. This, I believe is evidence that we are creatures crafted by the hand of a loving God, able to show his love to a dead and dying world.

I think we forget what rest is, not simply the absence of activity, but the restoration of us entirely. Spiritual rest where the mending begins in the soul is a choice, and it begins in the surrender of oneself into the arms of the Creator. This day I leave nothing undefended in my life. Laying down my foolish pride, I surrender. Receiving care for the soul, the Lord Jesus washing away the muddy gatherings of this world, is a choice. Jesus came not just to save but also tend to, like a good shepherd, the fallible human condition. So I rest in His care, and am reminded that we all need to learn to allow him to care for each of us.

His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

Again and again I am reminded just how great the measure of grace that I need to sustain me is. How costly a price, and how often I chose to see the failings of my flesh instead of trusting the sufficiency of the cross to heal and transform me.
I am struggling. So many factors if I look through natural eyes promise despair. It has been nearly a year that I have received the diagnosis that I have PCOS, with insulin resistance, it’s the reason for many secondary health issues that seemed unrelated and now I understand that there is something beneath the surface of my skin, something unseen that is causing many of the other factors. We have suffered a series of financial setbacks including the death of a vehicle, the flooding of a basement and the loss of a job. Externally things seem disparaging. Internally I admit it seems that way as well.
I knew that I was being called into a time of refining, of sifting. There are things about following Jesus that I absolutely love, to watch the face of my children as they sing with hearts laid bare to Jesus. To see the peace that rests on the face of a friend when she speaks of the Lord and how he loves her despite the fact that her dreams that were once so vivid seem so hopeless now. The dying to self it is the thing that is not so pleasant, and it is the thing I must do. It’s true that the Bible is a mirror; it’s true it’s many things, a sword and our revelation of Jesus himself. There are times when I look into the mirror and don’t like what I see. The evidence of my fallen flesh and how dirty my feet have become wondering around in this muddy world. I have given far too much weight to my flesh and circumstances. I have given over the hope I had in Jesus to hope in the temporary fixes the world had promised. The narrow road seems littered with the idols of my life I continue to cast aside. Those things I trusted to fulfill and sustain me, though in the end they were empty promises. I have placed my trust in my own abilities, the words of others and the things I longed to possess. No more.
I hear the words of a poem I memorized long ago:“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

When I begin to look upon the ways I am to respond to this life, though unclear at times and tumultuous at others I am reminded that it is the light the world and its prince want to kill in those of us that follow Jesus. He tempts us to shelter the light, and provoke each of us to draw the basket masks we all wear over our heads and hide. Its purpose is to diminish that which Jesus surrendered himself to allow us. When we chose to cast them aside, all the ways we wish to present ourselves we can shine yes, but we are also confronted with the flaws we do not wish to reveal. It is the flesh we war against, our sin and doubt drawing us away from the vulnerability necessary to continue on and toward the hidden place where we cannot be seen by anyone for who and what we truly are. I am reminded what is at stake when I surrender to my wants, my temporary desires, it is the light that through me might shine. Though in unmasking myself I reveal my vast imperfections I will.

I have no power that He has not given; I have no grace that comes not from Him. I, like the hearts of my children now cry out, because he has given me the ability to do so thorough the gift of His Spirit. I call on the name of Jesus, not to save me for He already has, but to sanctify me and cleanse me with his Words. My weakness revealed as sin, my struggling revealed as doubt, and my hope revealed in Christ alone.

I chose now to walk again, no longer to stumble. It is time to stand up, to walk on, to follow His leading, though it may cost me my wants, though it may cost me my friends, though it may cost me my life, or the life I thought I should have. I will press on.