How it goes.

God...I why did you put me in this place? I thought I was your daughter. I thought I was something you loved and held dear.

You are my daughter and I will forever love you, you have wandered off, come back to me.

But i dont understand why you put me in these places, these dirty grity places. I need you to help me get out...

All you have to do is ask, and I am there.

These walls are getting too high. And the water keeps rising. I don't want to grab your hand, it seems too high for me to grab on to. I can't jump that high. The waters rising, I need to climb my way out.

The walls arn't climbable, the nooks and cracks you see are empty and brittle; you'll fall down further than you are now.

I have a grip. I can do this my way.

On your own you will fail.

I have friends that can help me, their rope seem just strong enough to pull me out.

Their rope is temporary. My hand is forever.

Oh Lord...i thought they would help me, but they betrayed me and pushed me back in. I don't want this. Why arn't you listening?

I have never left you.

You weren't here so I had no choice but to go with them.

I am here. I have always been here. Come to me my child.

Lord...I can't go to you. I am a mess and I am left cripple. My legs are broken; now I know I can never jump to reach your hand. I am not good enough.

Nothing you can do can break my love for you, you are still my child and I am still God.

Where are you? I can't see..

Ask for me.

God please..help me.

I am craddled in His arms in an instant and carried to a safe place. His love washes me clean and slowly I heal from my wounds and broken bones. The choices we think are good can lead somewhere so far off. He is always there for me. Always. I'm so blind to what is really happening to me most of the time. As a people...we are selfish and as christians sometimes we think our way is the right way. The only way to fix me is God.

Giving in to the Wants of the World

So, before you read this, let me just say I'm strangely proud of this very short essay. It started off as a rant, but became something else. It will be published in a book full of other peoples work this spring, i believe; still i cant understand how it got accepted, nevertheless less...i am proud.



* * *
I remember the luxury I had when my mother made my own lunches
I felt like she was encouraging me to focus on the more important things in life, than the small pestering things such as lunch making.
The delectable roast beef sandwiches would hug my stomach in complete and total comfort.
I would have nothing else but the same sandwich every day.
My taste buds were simple and happy, they never once complained, with the exception of onions.
But now, oh how I long for the simplicity of my once simple tongue.
Now it is found corrupt among the many different foods out in this evil world.
They have grown to love other things, other tastes, sweet and sour.
Sour indeed. Like a conspicuous lover that roams the busy late night streets, looking for someone new every night.
If only there was a cure, a certain medicine to help my promiscuous tongue.
It all started with the sugar sweetness of candy. Once my tongue fell upon the sugar powdered donuts, candy-coated cereals and chocolate covered peanuts, my mouth was forever changed.
Depression came over my figure from the bitter choices I made in the past.
Curse you, tempting sugar cravings!
I can’t go back to how things were, no, I have no dignity left.
But, alas, I will not give in completely. I still have some self control in this life, I will conquer this or I will die by the doing of my tongue.