When my goals don't align with your expectations

When my goals don’t align with your expectations.

It almost feels similar to incarceration.

No matter what I do or don’t,

I feel your eyes watching to see if I will or won’t.

 

And when I break the news that I’m doing something unexpected,

I know your thoughts rush to, how will I be affected.

And when others ask for an explanation,

You rush to defend my strange inclinations.

 

The problem is you see, it’s true.

By association my actions reflect on you.

To be my friend you must condone,

ALL the choices I made on my own.

 

That’s not true you start to say,

It matters not what YOU do all day.

But if you stop and think again,

You might want to get out while you can.

Finding My Place

About a year ago I took down many of my blog posts. I was getting negative reactions from people who were close to me. They were trying to help but their words cut me, made me feel like a horrible person. It's human to question, have doubts and be curious. As a child these qualities are fostered to encourage learning, growth and exploration. Why then, are they looked down upon when we get older? Why is it when someone questions one's core values it is taken as a threat and a defensive shield is put in place. It is not my goal to harm you, to take away what you have or to look down on you. My goal is to find my place in this busy world and figure out what it means to be me.

A Stranger

A stranger’s kindness can change your mind,

Their actions can sway you

And change you in time.

A stranger’s insult can burn real deep,

The words can cut

And they sometimes keep.

A stranger’s smile can brighten a day,

Bring light to a darkness

What kind of stranger were you today?

The Frog (Or, Comfortable is not always right)

I find comfort in the songs, sung a capella, in an echoy place.
I find comfort in the benches, hard, but familiar.
I find comfort in the monotonous cadence of the minister as he speaks.
I find comfort in the blessing, the same one I heard as a child.

I find discomfort in the hipocrasy.
I find discomfort in the closed minds.
I find discomfort in the exclusivity.
I find discomfort in the judgement.
I find discomfort in the ideology.

While temporary comfort is a solace, the frog didn't jump out of the pot when it started to boil. His comfortable world warmed up around him and he didn't notice the overall feel. That resulted in his death.

We all know that story and how it goes, so why do I keep jumping between the hot pot, that I know is hot and a cooler one. Why do I feel the need to sit back down on that hard bench and hear that monotonous voice when I disagree with every other word? When I no longer find solace in that hot kettle and I am searching for one that won't boil over and leave me feeling empty.

More Life and Death

There is something about witnessing a death that puts life into perspective.

Pulse fades

Breaths slip

Stop

And what was, still is, but isn’t

Breaths catch

Tears come

Silence

And Truth sets in

Sobs begin

Jaws shake

Reality

Arms reach out for something, someone

Even if you didn’t know him

You can feel the presence of this man

As his family holds his hand
In this body, in the bed, minutes ago lived a man -who now is dead.

Grace

I recently heard a sermon when I was home that stated that people leave the church because they feel that God's grace couldn't possibly cover their sins. Basically they leave because of a lack of God's grace. Sitting on my hard wooden bench, listening through the whispers of kids playing on the benches ahead of me and their parents hushing them, I fought the urge to yell BS! If I was to pick a reason to describe why people leave, its not because of a lack of God's grace but a belief that God has more grace than this church will admit. While I am admittedly struggling in the religion department, personally I believe that assuming their is a God (I think so) he/she is going to give grace to more than just a few scattered North American congregations. This brings to mind a lecture I got in a college religion class.
During a war at one point in the history of this world, a military official was with another from the Asia or the Middle east. As they were strolling the streets of whatever city they happened to be in, they heard a man calling out in prayer to his God. The local official looked to the man of America and asked "Does your God hear his prayers?" This spiked a thought train for the official. If his God didn't heard the prayers how could he be all knowing? If he heard did he answer them? If he heard but did not answer the calls of this man in need what kind of God was he? If he heard and answered then what does that mean for Christianity?
The church I grew up in is small, maybe 5,000. According to them they are the only ones who will be saved, along with all the children of this world. Everyone else is screwed. If people are leaving because they feel there is a lack of grace, it is not the grace to cover their own sins but the sins of the world.

My Voice

Sometimes I struggle,

To hear my own voice,

To know what’s from me,

And what’s external noise.

Sometimes it’s hard,

To hear my own mind,

To know what I want,

And what to leave behind.

Sometimes I wonder,

Was that my choice?

Or something another.

Said, over my voice.

Sometimes I wonder,

Where I would be,

If no one else’s thoughts mattered

And I did things for me.