Impact.

i arrive at her home,
expecting to stay but a few minutes and then go.
i have things to do and i don't know her well,
i will sit for a few moments to be polite.
she struggles to find words, she does not speak my language,
i struggle to find meaning in what she says.
suddenly the words begin to make sense,
her intentions are clear.
we smile and begin a dialogue,
a conversation orchestrated by her Father, my Father, our Father.
she moves about the kitchen, making food from her home, the land she calls Home,
she sings songs to me that are familiar, yet I don't know the words.
we communicate through broken phrases and wild gestures,
we communicate.
she offers me a peek into the small part of the world that is hers,
and the small part of the world that is mine will never be the same.
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This probably won't make much sense to anyone else, but we visited the home of a family from the Dominican Republic over the weekend and I wanted to write about it : )

Her.

I watch for her, I'm always watching for her...
I think about her all of the time...
when will I see her again?
a glimpse here or there is all i've really seen so far...
she is always hiding...
i think she's scared.
if only she could see herself, the way i see her...
i love the way she thinks of others before herself,
the subtle way she lets someone know they matter...
she jokes around with her daughter,
she makes her husband feel like the luckiest man in the world...
i see the way her mom confides in her, like she's her very best friend...
and the sparkle in her father's eye when she calls him daddy...
people feel like they can be themselves around her...
they feel loved and special and they laugh and they smile...
but me, well, it's different for me...
my selfishness, it's suffocating...
the way i get angry at every little thing...
my daughter, she runs away if she does something bad;
she knows i'm going to yell again...
my husband, the poor guy, he takes the brunt of my bad days...
my mom, she loves me, i know she does, but sometimes i wonder why...
i don't even know what to say to my father, it's always so awkward...
i wish i were more like Her...
i want to be like that...
the woman that God intended me to be ...
i want to be her.

Not About Me

It's not about me, it's not about me, it's not about me. I have heard this over and over again for years. I was in India in 2005. I have never heard anything so clear as God telling me that this life is not about me. During those days while I was in India, and in the weeks that followed, I heard it everywhere I went. Indirectly, directly, from God's very own holy lips, from my own unholy mind, from every bird I watched and from every kid I hugged. I saw it in the sunsets and I felt it in the penetrating presence of the Lord. It's not about me. Yet, look at my life and I guarantee you would not say, wow, she really lives her life for the Lord. Two years ago is when I clearly heard God telling me to live my life with regard for Him and for the things that He desires for me, yet I am living my life for me just as much as I was then. The idea that this life is not my own is easy...the reality is much harder than I realized.

My Life

Though I am enticed by the freedom you offer
i cannot pry my fingers from my life
my time
my desires
my goals
me.
I have made my life the center of all that matters
and placed you in a small space behind my immediate gratification
my family
my friends
my enjoyment
me.
I've made me into You
and You into less than me.