The in-between is often unsettling. You aren’t where you were or who you were, but you’ve not yet arrived or become. And the thing is I want to see the next step, know the path ahead, see with a little more clarity. But humanity is a cloak that keeps these things from me.
Sometimes the in-between results in the beautiful, like at sunrise or sunset. When the in-between equals the beginning and end of something that you can put your finger on.
Life is more of a vapour. Steps lay ahead unseen and yet I wonder if we would step forward if we knew the good or bad ahead. I think that’s part of why we don’t know…these things change who we are, where we are at…usually for the better, but since we tend to process things according to our limited knowledge, its often best that we are left in-between.
a picture is worth a thousand words
is what they say
and usually that means
its stunning, its exquisite
put this in a place of honor
but this picture
it speaks a thousand words
about everything this picture
the mask of smiles you wear
goes only so far as to flit across your face
it doesn’t go to your heart
it stealthily hides
the bitterness and gile that are your
i know about the pain he suffers
i know about the bruises
the words that cut like razors
the way your taunts reverbrate
telling him he’s not good enough
he’ll always be less than enough
and i see the glance between mom and son
she lives in a world of her own making
thinking he’s the golden child
that he’ll make something of himself
a name for himself for her for them
and she turns a blind eye
to the black eye
and the bruised heart
this picture is worth a thousand words
but they aren’t the kind you want to frame
the kind you want to put over the fireplace
these are the skeletons in your closet
creeping into the light
shove them back with a hard hand
keep them where they belong
don’t let them reveal the lie your living
wear the mask
wear the smile
let it fade away
till all that remains
is the grisly grin
of your skeletal remains.
the truth has been revealed
and darkness and deceit drown in the light
you’ve got nothing left…
hang those skeletons out to dry.
by Janel Andrews
written July 27/2013
“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”
― Stephen King, Different Seasons
shared by Kris Camealy on facebook
Yesterday we headed out to a driving range for a little fun. My dad has played a round of golf once in his life, abd my brother has played a couple times in different charity events he’s been part of. I have been known to hit a good round or two…in mini-golf! So all that to say we’re definitely not professionals!
In highschool (10+ years ago) we had some golf lessons as part of gym class. It was a small private school, so there were only about 25 of us so we each were able to get in some practice.
Even though I’ve been to the driving range a handfull of times I’ve ingrained in my head the ‘rules’ I learned. Make sure that your non-dominant hand is holding on at the top with your thumb pointing down. Remember to wrap your dominant hand over your thumb. Keep your one arm straight, bend the other at the elbow. Bend your knees and stick your butt out a little. Keep your eye on the ball.
I’m not much of a multitasker so keeping all these points is sometimes a bit overwhelming, but I managed to do pretty well. After awhile though my elbow began to ache and my dominant hand began to throb. I put my club down and started to stretch my hand. In my head I was realizing that I was holding the club very tightly. I encouraged myself to hold it loosely, but realized with such a narrow handle that would be difficult. I was ledt realizing that I could choose to quit or continue on inspite of the ache.
As I pondered this ‘golfing experience’ this morning and read Jennifer Lee’s post about how present our God is in EVERYTHING…I was reminded of the ache of holding on so tightly, and how it doesn’t have to be that way in our lives. There is no desperate holding on to a steel shaft to keep things under control. There is no way to hold on that might make the ache we experience be removed. Surrender means that all his strength takes over our weary selves. Surrender means letting go and knowing He is there…we have nothing to prove or lose with Him.
As my hand ached and I thought about holding things loser I was reminded of how much stress and burden I take on trying to figure out life on my own…when I could be laying my burdens down and walking free in His strength and grace.
Oh how hard it is to let go of the grip I have on life that says “I can do this, I don’t need others, I can carry this, I can figure it out myself.”
What burdens I lay on my back that He longs to take from me…and as my muscles cramp and my back aches I swem to think there is something to be gained by pushing through.
When will His grace and refreshment and peace become something my weary soul longs for, thirts for?
For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies…
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise…
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,
Sun and moon, and stars of light.
When we are self-conscious, we cannot be wholly aware; we must throw ourselves out first. This throwing ourselves away is the act of creativity. So, when we wholly concentrate, like a child in play, or an artist at work, then we share in the act of creating. We not only escape time, we escape our self-conscious selves – Madeleine L’Engle