Belated Blog Christening

I was reformatting my blog today {thanks to some lovely malware issues - it's all resolved, folks} when I realized that I had never christened my blog with that traditional "First Blog Post Explaining the Inspiration Behind My Blog Title."
Yes, these post-types are a bit cliche, and not to mention that as mine is coming one year late, it is also anticlimatic.

But as the ancient men and poets of lore say, "Better late than never."

I wrote the following in September of last year. It seems to echo my thoughts behind my blog.


And because it was so beautiful, it set me longing, always longing. Somewhere else there must be more of it. It almost hurt me. The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing to find the Place where all the beauty came from. - C.S. Lewis in Till We Have Faces
 
      I had just spent an evening with family. Family that I loved dearly and saw rarely.  I am blessed with an extended family that shares the bond of salvation through Jesus Christ – that timeless bond with ties deeper than flesh and blood, uniting generations.  
      I was night-sky watching. Bewitched by the moon and her star-bright entourage, I thought and reflected and was burdened. A haunting sadness, a desperate longing, overwhelmed my heart. The emotion hurt, both numbing and burning. The hollow in my chest - where my heart beats and soul watches - felt pain. An intense yearning.  A sense of solitude – unadulterated aloneness – pulled at my heartstrings.
      I had just spent a lovely evening with some of my favorite people in the world, and yet something lacked. I had come up short.  I felt cheated. Because though I had glimpsed into the love of Christ and fellowship of His people that evening through the interaction of family, I knew, knew with all my heart, that there was more.  Beyond this life. There was Something dearer, purer, lovelier. Someone far more radiant. There had to be. The persistent longing said so.
      My soul wasn’t satisfied. It was starving. Ravaged with hunger. I had felt the community of Christ, but it was a far cry from heaven. It was but a taste, and that only whetted my appetite. I was no longer content with the shadows.  I burned to see the Bright Day. To see Truth. To see Beauty. To see Reality. To come face to face and hand in hand with Unconditional Love.  I wanted to see perfection with a perfect perspective.  All I saw, felt, or knew, was just a foreshadowing of the Glory that one Day I will gaze upon with utmost delight and incredible awe.
      There was beauty in that family gathering. The beauty of broken and dirty souls redeemed by the Son of God.  The radiance of believers fellowshipping and loving one another.  But, even so, my spirit ached to know where that beauty came from. I hurt to see the Source of that beauty.  "I felt like a bird in cage, when the other birds of its kind are flying home.”  There was pain in that longing, and there was joy. 
      Years later that throbbing desire still occupies my soul. In this dry and weary land, where there is no water, my soul longs to be satisfied. I long for the Day when I shall awaken and be fully satisfied, beholding the face of my God, and having sweet communion with Him – on that Day, my quest will end. I will then see with my own eyes, where all the beauty came from. I shall be face to face with Love.

May we always be idyllically occupied with desiring Christ. Yearning. Thirsting. Hungering. For Him. May we always be idyllically occupied and serenely content with longing to know where all the beauty comes from. May it be the sweetest thing in each of our lives.



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This Thing of Ours:

How Faith Saved My Marriage
by Cammy Franzese

Cammy Franzese was a lower-class girl. The oldest of seven. The daughter of a Chicano rights activist. She lived in the L.A. suburbs. She danced. And she married a mobster - a Mafia-Man.

This is Cammy's story of her young life, her courtship with big-time movie director {and highly sought-after criminal} Michael Franzese, her marriage to him, and the years of havoc that threatened to break her marriage vows asunder.

Cammy marries Michael, unaware of his criminal background. Beforelong, she finds herself in the midst of federal trials and FBI raids. On the weekends she and her young kids make the long drive to visit her husband in prison. For years this is her story. Her life. Her mundane day-to-day existence. But despite the bleakness all around, Cammy clings to her faith - the Christian beliefs that her mother instilled in her as a child.

This Thing of Ours is an true-life story of God's provision and conviction. It makes for an interesting read, however, Cammy's writing is sub-par. She also jumps around from short story to short story without smooth transitions, but with a few bunny trails thrown in for good measure. I would give this book a 3 1/2 stars.


Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 

A Rural Eventide

The compass winds hush the land and whistle in the vale
Roses lament as petals tent, and Pleiades sets its sails
The fields sleep-talk; the moon ghost-walks
Its glow is wan and pale

Ravens cry their lullabye, and owls their morning song
The hours creep as daylight sleeps, and eventide grows strong.
Stars breathe bright like twilight kites
Before the slumbering throng

Bracken twists o'er the creek; it haunts upon the stream
Ivy twirls and ferns refurl their echo-whispered dreams
The clouds sky-scrape, veil, and drape
An ochre-violet cream

The country church stands sentinel, silent hangs the bell
Gravestones old and concrete-cold, escape night's ubiquitous spell
The shadow-fog seeps, ancient secrets it keeps
Hoarding to one day retell

A Cloud at Sunset

Oh, how I skim along the sky
Near the dying, sinking sun
I feel its rays upon my back 
I wonder, sigh and run

I take on grey and purple hue
And mix within the palette 
I mingle with the twilight blue
I stop and muse about it. 

I sense the shadows of the night
And cling to day's waning power
The rosy pink gilding
Streams into my sunset bower

Like rivulets of the Nile
The golden threads of light
Break through my boundaries
Streaking me orange-bright

As the Empress melts into the ground
Flooding the horizon with glory
I darken emerald-azure
Like a treasure in a forgotten quarry

The sun's gaudy train fades
And I lose my brightness with her
I am but a cloud that is made lovely
When her last light is left uncensored

Lessons From a Dirty Closet

I tackled the daunting today. I cleaned my closet.

It was a "caliber of disaster." The nice little room, with shelves and rods, was spic and span last June. But much has happened since that sunny month, and entropy has made the closet its own personal playground. Odds and ends had accumlated. Disorganized piles spread like an infectious disease. Its disarray began to mar the tidy appearance of my bathroom and bedroom. Even with the closet door shut, I knew what clutter lurked inside.

And so today, I took a deep a breath. And conquered the mighty mess.

As I sorted and discarded, I considered the symbolism of my dirty closet. It's like my human <3.

Offensive dust balls cowered in the corners. I discovered trash, old papers, and broken items. I came across things that didn't even belong to me. A paper plate splattered with paint. My sister's contacts. A protracter. Letters. Chalk. A chocolate heart. I kept the dear, and the threw the trash.

What dust I have in my heart. What filth. The trash and junk accumulate. Brokenness pervades. I've allowed my heart to hold onto things that don't even belong to me - coveting what belongs to others, and hoarding it in my heart.

Clean clothes were strewn about. A few dirty clothes were folded neatly. The clean, yet discarded clothes represent the jumbled mess of priorities in my heart. Good priorities that have been dropped, and lost, and forgotten. I hung the clean, but wrinkled, clothes up - placing them in their specific place - (Shout out to all the color-coders out there!). The dirty clothes, I tossed in the washer. Some things that shouldn't, have taken tops in my heart. These selfish priorities need washing. The motives behind them need cleansing.

The Closet-Cleaning-Project took time. It required work. And desire. And caffiene. Had it been in the summer, it would have taken some perspiration. But slowly the closet became a lovely, organized room again. It was set right.

I am the closet. I am the disarray. I invite the dust. I collect the junk and trash. I cling to brokenness. I discard the most important priorities. I hold the clutter in behind closed doors. I am a dirty heart. Oh, who shall save me from myself? Who shall cleanse this heart? Who shall discard the junk, and wipe the grimy surfaces clean? Who shall make it lovely? Who shall set it right?

It is He who is knocking at my heart's door. He knows what clutter lurks behind, but even so, He has come to conquer the mighty mess.

He has come to set right what has been wrong for so long.

The Stalemate

Echoes plummeting from the peaks.

Dancing. Marching. Haunting streets 

With dark intentions, Night steals over Day

Cloaking light in His own way.

Transformed by the death of Dawn,

The Queen is dead, killed by the Pawn.

Voices murmuring amid the dark.

Raindropped statues in the park. 

And though the mystery doth prevail,

The path of morn' awaits to sail.

While moonlight lingers carefree,

Ringing chimes in the upper belfry.

Waves ebbing, breakers roll.

Crashing white. Overwhelming seamen's souls.

The wrath of Night cannot sleep,

Like coral castles in the deep.

The hush is loud, the tone is rough.

Crying sadly, "It is enough."

Leaves twisting, twirling past.

Singing. Sighing. Riding fast.

Midnight's come, and Midnight's gone,

The Phantom dances on the lawn.

The darkest point is coming soon,

And with it's passing, a lighter tune.

Piano music drifting out,

Down the alley, from the flat.

Human melody creates a hold,

Warming a Night turned burning cold.

The window lights shine faintly ill

Like some eyes unblinking still. 

Ancient creaks breaking silence.

Cavernous shadows. Geological science.            

Musty wind shudders with a wail

It knows the Queen will again prevail

She’ll come in time to reclaim

All that was Hers, which Night took away.

Wheat fields drifting 'neath the moon.

Watching. Waiting. Falling soon. 

Shadows crawl across the lands,

Misting acres with their hands.

Dew is setting into sleep;

The harvest readying to be reaped.

Ruins dying in desert lands. 

Crumbling obelisks in star-kissed sands. 

Amber skies are waking

Morning burns, light is breaking

Time yawns, Night’s day is ending

The Pawn retreats, with demise pending

Street lamps burning in the yards.

Flickering. Floating. Lighted shards.

The Queen awakens, holding Dawn.

The world waves goodbye to a broken Pawn.

Night is dead, and Day’s alive.

The board’s reset, and so life strives.

We Mis/DisCommunicate

"Oh, us and our good intentions."
"Good intentions are the road to good deeds."
"Dot. Dot. Dot. So, we'll make soap!"