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.

An Easy Way

I wish there was an easy way,

To say, Hei Hei!

And a leave without a peep.

I wish there was an easy way,

One without a price to pay,

Or a price that’s not so steep.

I want to take different road,

One that goes away.

A road that brings me somewhere new,

Where I want to stay.

I want to take a different road,

Problem is I’m told,

If you take a different road,

Some will likely scold.

But if the way was easy,

And my burdens here were light,

Then perhaps I would not learn as much,

Or understand the plight.

Chance

Chance is something that you can't predict,
You can try to make rules
but they just don't stick.

Chance can surprise you for better or worse
Things will get dicey
not like you rehearsed.

Chance is opportunity, a chance to really find,
What are your true feelings,
are there any that you hide?

Chance is what keeps us guessing,
Always wondering now,
what will be the next thing, and when and why and how.

Life and Death

Hands grip

Knuckles white

Trying to reach

That end light.

Sitting on the hard hard floor

Staring at a far away door,

Wishing there was less, or more.

Teeth clenched

Breathing tight

So you know,

It’s not alright.

So sincere

Not a tear

Knowing death is near.

There is something horrible about your hands being the only thing separating a cloth from tightening around the neck of someone attempting to take their own life. To pull away with all your might, only to have them work harder in return. To see the look in their eyes. As they look through you. Your words meaning nothing to them as you cry for them to stop, to listen to you. But they see through your clichés and they see your fear. They are in control and control is something they don’t have. You are pushed away but you can’t stop because if you did, if you would have blood on your hands. It’s a struggle between life and death.
(after note: this is based on something that happened at work)

Sometimes

Sometimes we are down and don’t know what to do,

Sometimes the world keeps clashing with you.

Sometimes the days drag on into nights,

Sometimes it feels things will never be right.

That’s when we need a friend.

Sometimes our plans crash in our faces,

Sometimes life takes us to strange, new places.

Sometimes our minds take us on long trips,

Sometimes we struggle as loneliness slips, in.

That’s when we need a friend.

Sometimes we knew what we wanted,

Only to find when we get it we are daunted.

Sometimes it’s hard to know,

Exactly which path is the one we should go.

That’s when we need a friend.

Sometimes life throws kinks in our plans,

Coming up with things we don’t understand.

But no matter where life takes us or not,

I’m glad that I’ve got,

You.

My Friend.

To help me through life,  during the sometimes when I need it most.

The Sky is Blue

“The sky is blue, Child.” Said the Grandmother to the little girl in her lap. “The sky is blue.” But what about the sunrise, thought the granddaughter as she wondered about the old woman’s words. But as she started to raise the question she stopped because the grandmother was no longer listening.

 “You know, the sky is blue!” said the excited young boy to his playmates, as they ran around the yard playing ball, talking amongst themselves. They all agreed that this was so.

Late into the night, the girls giggled amongst themselves, snuggled into blankets a whisper could be heard, “the sky is blue.”

The teenagers laughed and gossiped and bickered but throughout it all they stuck together because they all agreed on one thing, the sky was definitely blue.  

They stuck together, those blue-sky people, because even if others knew that the color of the sky was blue, they didn’t understand its importance.

And they had children, and as they rocked them they sang, “The sky is blue.”

One little girl had a question, “Daddy, what about when the sky turns pink and purple and pretty?”

“That doesn’t matter sweetheart, what matters is the sky is blue.” He says gently as he sends her off to bed.

“But what about the clouds? And days when the sky turns orange or into a icky grey?” she pushes.

“Darling, the sky is blue, remember that.” He whispers as he strokes her hair and tucks her in.

The little girl falls asleep and dreams of blue skies.

She grows up a perfect blue-sky child.

And then one day she meets someone new.

And when she tells him the sky is blue, he asks her a question. “What else do you know about the sky?”

And she is at a loss. Because all she knows is of the blue sky. And that the sky is blue.

So she steps back and takes a look as sees that yes, sometimes the sky is blue, but look at the birds, the horizon, the sunsets and the stars, the sky is so much more than blue, and she is forced to reconsider everything she has ever known.