Leaves of a Tree

(Another excerpt from a yet unwritten piece.)

     The leaves on the trees slowly changed from a bright green to a deep red, a gradient of shades from bottom to top. A few leaves, mostly brown and orange, floated to the ground with the grace of a ballerina, flitting this way then that way in a beautiful dance.  Lillian leaned down and collected a strikingly red leaf from the grass and slid it into her journal. Autumn had always been her favorite time of the year.  She quickly wrote the date on the page next to the leaf and tied the leather cords back around it before slipping it into the bag slung over her shoulder. The crisp wind kissed her neck as she continued on her way.

The Way It Was

(This is an excerpt from a story idea I've been working with lately. It's loosely based on my high school years with my best friend.)

It was back when we listened to Dashboard Confessional and Death Cab in the bed of my truck, parked anywhere.  We talked for hours while we stared at the stars; and everything was okay with the world.  We drove down country roads with all the windows down and the stereo as loud as it would go, wearing secondhand sunglasses and drinking Jones Soda, only stopping to climb grass covered hills buried deep in the emptiness of abandoned fields, hidden away from suburbia by mere miles.  Those were the days. We ate Chinese food out of the box, then finished off our meals with peanut butter M&Ms.  We watched the same movie five times in a row, laughing hysterically at all the jokes.  And we talked about the future, what it would be like and what we would be like.

We talked about fame and fortune, happy endings and the unknown.  They were always pipe-dream discussions, but we didn’t care.  We believed anything could happen if we believed hard enough; not letting anything, especially details, get us down.  The world was ours and it always would be, because we were working for it.  There were days when we cried, tears falling like rain from an April sky in Nebraska. And there were other days when we turned our backs and didn’t talk, completely disregarding each other as we tried to pull ourselves together on our own.  Sometimes we got mad, and we took it out on each other.  We drove each other home in cars only filled with the heavy beat of whatever we were listening to at the time, words kept inside with our souls, stewing.  Then we would call each other and apologize for whatever wrong we’d done.  

We drove for hours, flipping a coin to decide which direction we would go.  We got lost on many occasions, laughing the whole way back to our little corner of the world, dancing as much as two people strapped into a car by seat belts can. We went through the best and the worst, the happy and the sad, the angry and the depressed, and a number of other emotions that we met along the way.  That’s the way it was, but now that’s in the past. Things are different now, more complicated.  In so many ways we’re so different than we were, yet in so many ways we’re exactly the same. 

Contrails and Beauty

When I am having a bad  day, or I find myself riddled with doubt, I like to take a moment and look up at the sky. When I feel unworthy, it comforts me. How could you ever doubt your own beauty if we have a Creator who can make a sky that blue?  If He can make flowers so intricate, and beautiful clouds and rain, then why would He ever create something that is ugly or worthless?

Tonight when I was driving on US-34, I looked up to the sky in front of me. The stars in this little corner of the world shine so bright. And in the light of the moon I could see a chalky white contrail. The plane was glowing like a star at the end of the trail, and the stream of a cloud flowing away from it shot across the sky like a spotlight pointing straight to heaven. It was absolutely beautiful... and I couldn't help but smile in awe.

God molded us each as individuals. We are all unique entities with traits that define us. No two of us are alike, yet we share traits with some of those around us. We are all beautifully and wonderfully made, just as it is written in Psalm 139:14, "I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Self doubt isn't going to vanish anytime soon. We live in a sinful world and we are all human. We can't be perfect, no matter how hard we may try. But the next time you find yourself doubting your beauty, your worthiness or you're just having a bad day, look up at the sky. Let the stars or sunshine, clouds or moon remind you that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.   

Dreaming Again

Blackest night

then scenes appear,

scrawling past my eyes.

Colors form, and light so bright,

to mold the dark blue sky.

From darkness come the faces;

the words once hidden so deep,

spiraling together slowly

in the place where memories meet.

They dance across my pillow,

keeping tempo with the clock;

then stretch amongst the bedding,

and run ‘til forced to stop.

Until waking hours they whisper to me,

telling secrets they swore they would keep;

and with fascinated eyes behind sleepy lids,

I’ll watch them play out a scene.

Horizon’s light creeps in the window,

a new day soon to begin;

the pictures hide

as darkness fades,

to return another night.

Deluge

(As I will be gone until Sunday for CIT, I am posting two more posts today for Friday and Saturday.)

Deluge

Tears well up inside

and I tell myself to be strong.

Thoughts start churning,

I try to quiet the storm.

A light in my heart flickers,

just for a moment;

darkness.

The warm glow returns

and I feel relief.

Words flow through my veins,

thick as blood;

rushing to my heart like a flood.

A deluge of comfort in the midst of pain

helps me walk away.

Nebraska Skies

The snow melts,

a world thawing

after a harsh winter battle.

The sun brings a subtle reminder

that a Nebraska summer

rests on the horizon,

bearing heat and humidity

in its midst.

The in-between of spring

shakes off the sludge of winter

and begins the fight for new life

and bluer skies.

The biting cold of January

has gone into hiding for another year,

followed closely by the

brisk breath of February,

as the sunshine of another month

Marches in.

The skies mourn the loss of another season

with the tear drops of April showers,

drenching the dead land back to life.

And as the gravel of winter finally washes away,

the escape of June moves in with

clear blue skies and fireflies,

that bring a renewed sense of hope

to a land I call my home.

Seashell

I found a seashell on the floor in one of the classrooms I was in during the past few days. Do you know how rare it is to find such an item on the floor of a classroom... in Nebraska? I was perplexed, in awe. I couldn't comprehend why the tiny, gray seashell would be on the floor in this classroom in the Midwest. The only reasonable explanation was that someone had put it there, dropped it there, left it there. And I found it.

Strangely it gave me a sense of hope. Surely if this seashell can find it's way to a classroom in Nebraska, I can manage my way around the life I'm currently leading.  Right?

Well, I can. A good friend reminded me today that timing is everything. Not just anytime, however, but God's timing. He knows what He's doing up there. I guess sometimes I forget that. I'm sure we all do. I get impatient. I want to make things happen when it seems as if I'm at a stalemate, but I can't just expect God to work on my time. How selfish of me to just assume that the King of all would listen to me, and work around my small, sinner's clock? Everything happens as He wants it to, and I need to be patient and understanding of that.

Because a seashell can find it's way  to a classroom in Nebraska... and my life is exactly where it needs to be.

The Great Fall

I fell with such difficulty,

weighing the pros and cons,

allowing my mind to cloud my heart

as it whirled out pictures

of you and me,

of what could be.

Slowly I began to see the

heart of the matter;

your heart in the matter.

It’s never been my decision,

but has it been yours?

Fighting it I got here,

fell completely off the cliff.

Yet so easily I turned

when you veered from the path

of your personality.

I stopped midair,

unsure of where to lay my

trust.

Now as I float,

suspended on pins and needles,

I badger myself for feeling,

reaching aimlessly for

a branch in open air,

a ledge to hold onto

and hide.