I sat at a meeting a while ago and, as often happens, my mind began to wonder. The speaker was a professional Christian councilor and he talked about a balanced life, which was all together very intriguing to me. I would say that some of my deepest struggles come from searching to find balance. My wondering mind was originally on topic. I wondered if he prayed before he came up to speak. I wondered (as someone who had pondered a balanced life, and seemed to have attained it to a greater degree than me) what he prayed for. And then I thought about what I would have prayed for (as someone who has pondered a balanced life and not attained it).
As my mind is wondering my eyes catch a glimpse of the ceiling tile that the speaker was standing under. The roof of our building was currently being fixed because of some bad leaks in the roof. One of the leaks had caused the tile that the speaker was standing under to become stained brown, and bulging profusely. The roofers that were working on the roof were causing the tile to pulsate to the beat of their steps. I thought it was ironic that the room was arranged so that the councilor was standing under the only tile that looked as though it was going to fall. I wondered if he had seen the tile; I wondered if he would have moved the podium if he would have seen the tile; I wondered if I would pummel him to safety if I saw it falling on him; I wondered if he did see it if he had prayed for the tile not to fall. I pondered what I would do if I was the speaker, if I would move the podium or if I would pray for the tile not to fall, and why I would pray? My gut prayer would be that God would keep me from the embarrassment of the tile falling on me (sad that I would pray for my dignity before protection of the falling tile causing my neck to break). I contemplated the faith value in my prayer. Can I have enough faith that God would keep the tile from falling? If I did put “my faith in God that the tile wouldn’t fall” and it did fall what would that say about God? What would that say about me and my faith? Is that how faith works? I evaluated the spirituality of my own gut prayer and concluded that it was exceeding disappointing. I didn’t need to be concerned about the circumstance but where my dignity came from, and if the falling tile, or me being embarrassed would bring me closer or if I would lead to feelings betrayal. I think my prayer should have been more like “When I feel my dignity is gone, when I am embarrassed, remind me in the midst that I am loved and I am of value to You, remind me that I am Yours, allow me to feel Your presence in those moments.”
Disposable Life
Disposable plates, pans and cups
Cutting boards, and a toilet brush
Disposable towels and Tupperware
Books and plastic ware
You throw it all away
Disposable money, clothes and friends
Purpose, life and kids
Disposable pictures time and spouse
Faith, memories and house
You threw it all away
Disposable me, disposable you
Throw it away when you’re through
It’s easier to get a new
Then to fix the one you wound
Disposable me, disposable you
Throw it away when you’re through
A good friend of mine told me that you can always tell the age of someone by thier hands. Hands never lie about age.
I looked down at my hands, and they look ancient. I'm mortified. They could be the hands of someone 3 times my age. The irony is that the rest of me looks half my age!
I run to the nearest bathroom to look in the mirror. I stand in front of the mirror and I think, maybe I could just walk around the rest of my life with my hands in my pockets. So I put my hand in my pocket and they looked WORSE! They look like a silhouette of a skeleton! I shriek, and make a pact with myself to NEVER put my hands in my pockets again. I inspect every inch of them, I am compelled to find out why they look so old and how can I make them look younger, apart from wearing gloves. They are skinny, tendony, ropey vained, wrinkly, scarred hands.
I had forgotten about all the wounds. I have a scar on my pinky where I smashed my finger with a hammer and passed out. And a scar on my other pinky where it was slammed in the hinges of my angry sibling's door. I have a scar where I was accidentally burned with a cigarette. And many more that I have forgotten how they happened. I sit on the toilet, stare at my hands and day dream about all the things my hands have done, both good and bad. I wonder if my hands really do show my true age. So many wounds have a way of aging a person, making them grow up too soon. Hurts welcome us into adulthood before our time. For a time I grieve my age and pray for wisdom to accompany it.
These are the words to a song that is hidden among more popular songs on an album. It poetically puts words to a piece of me. I wish I could write poetry like this.
Gone away the days of wish and wondering
Far away like a vision in my mind
The child is grown and left me here alone
Looking back to what was left behind
Lullabies and pennies in a wishing well
Sad goodbye’s to friends of make believe
A love so pure
A treasure
Now buried in the sea of me
Melton lost his paradise
Dorothy lost her way
Vincent lost his sanity
Thomas lost his faith
Hoover lost the second time
Sigman lost his friend
Me I lost my innocence
And I want it back again
It’s all a war that’s going on inside of me
A calloused heart that wants to make a change
Well time prevails
fighting tooth and nail
keeping me set in my ways
Marco found the Orient
Geppetto found his boy
Lincoln found a unity that Lee could not destroy
Lindy found the other side
Gershwin found the stage
Me I found a stubbornness that seems to go away
As I dream of where I’ll go may I learn from where I’ve gone
And take the memories that I hold into tomorrow
Melton lost his paradise
Dorothy lost her way
Vincent lost his sanity
Thomas lost his faith
Hoover lost the second time
Sigman lost his friend
Me I lost my innocence
And I want it back again
I had it once before and I want it back again
