Friday, June 30, 2006
I feel that the older I grow the more I lose my sense of imagination. What happened? Words, characters, stories, drawings, inspiration that used to flow so easily now struggle to stream by. Time alone that used to be fun has just become lonely. My optimism has just turned into a depression I fight to keep at bay, sometimes so dark and acute I can't control. My love for people has curdled into something sour, something I have to constantly remind myself to do. My heart that used to be so soft is now hard with criticism and rejection. I older I grow the more I want to escape- but from what? I built this reality, this personality, this life I wake up to by my own choices. I'm weak, its true. But when I was young, I never dreamt so often of leaving the country to some foreign wonderland. No, I was so happy every morning to a future so distant and misty but nontheless existant. When I was young, I never craved for the things that I do now. When I was young, I never made excuses for my own emotions or for other people just to satisfy and patch up my own illusions. I never used to be so afraid of the unknown. I never used to be so tired all the time. I never used to be bored, period. I never used to be so withdrawn and closed-up. When I got lost in my thoughts, it was in fantasies and daydreams, not in doubts and fears. Life never used to be so monotonous and so boring, and frighteningly so.
Ah, I just want to be a kid again. You think the things they do are childish? Sometimes they have even more fun then us- so, seriously, what do kids have to look forward to in adulthood if it isn't more fun? Sssh, don't tell them it can be so bleak. Let's tell them what we were told, whatever will be, will be.
ISA 44:3 For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry
ground; I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring, and my blessing on
your descendants.
debbie at 3:19 PM
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Take my hand
I want nothing more
Take the lead
I can go no further
If I run I weep
Through desert sand
I lose my footing
Tell me things
I don't know
Take the trouble
To love me further
Test my love
I want to prove
Throw me in an embrace
I can't untangle
Through every trial
Please remember
Take my hand
I'm blind
Through desert sand
Into starry skies
debbie at 10:17 AM
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
If you want
I'd give up everything for you
I'll pluck the stars and moon
I'll swim a million rivers and seas
If you want I'd scour the sands
I'd scar my hands
If you want
I'd love you with all my strength
If you want I'd die for you
My time, my breath
If you want so easily death
If you want I'd not exist
I'd have no identity but yours
If you want I'd starve, I'd cease
If you want I'd give myself
Until there's nothing left
Not a strand, a scent
If you want I'd take the risks
I'd fall a hundred times
I'd break and crash
If you want
Just say the word
Anything, everything
I'd succumb, I'd believe
If you want
I'd not resist
Because
Only in your love
I
Can live
debbie at 12:51 PM
Sunday, June 25, 2006
HE CHOSE THE NAILS, MAX LUCADO:Five-year-old Madeline climbed into her father's lap."Did you have enough to eat?" he asked her.She smiled and patted her tummy. "I can't eat any more.""Did you have some of your Grandma's pie?""A whole piece!"Joe looked across the table at his mom. "Looks like you filled us up. Don't think we'll be able to do anything tonight but go to bed."Madeline put her little hands on either side of his big face. "Oh, but, Poppa, this is Christmas Eve. You said we could dance."Joe feigned a poor memory. "Did I now? Why, I don't remember saying anything about dancing."Grandma smiled and shook her head as she began clearing the table."But, Poppa," Madeline pleaded, "we always dance on Christmas Eve. Just you and me, remember?"A smile burst from beneath his thick mustache. "Of course I remember, darling. How could I forget?"And with that he stood and took her hand in his, and for a moment, just a moment, his wife was alive again, and the two were walking into the den to spend another night before Christmas as they had spent so many, dancing away the evening.They would have danced the rest of their lives, but then came the surprise pregnancy and the complications. Madeline survived. But her mother did not. And joe, the thick-handed butcher from Minnesota, was left to raise his Madeline alone."Come on, Poppa." She tugged on his hand. "Let's dance before everyone arrives." She was right. Soon the doorbell would ring and the relatives would fill the floor and the night would be past.But, for now, it was just Poppa and Madeline.*Rebellion flew into Joe's world like a Minnesota blizzard. About the time she was old enough to drive, Madeline decided she was old enough to lead her life. And that life did not include her father."I should have seen it coming," Joe would later say, "but for the life of me I didn't." He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to handle the pierced nose and the tight shirts. He didn't understand the late nights and the poor grades. And, most of all, he didn't know when to speak and when to be quiet.She, on the other hand, had it all figured out. She knew when to speak to her father- never. She knew when to be quiet- always. The pattern was reversed, horever, with the lanky, tattooed kid from down the street. He was no good, and Joe knew it.And there was no way he was going to allow his daughter to spend Christmas Eve with that kid."You'll be with us tonight, young lady. You'll be at your grandma's house eating your grandma's pie. You'll be with us on Christmas Eve."Though they were at the same table, they might as well have been on different sides of town. Madeline played with her food and said nothing. Grandma tried to talk to Joe, but he was in no mood to chat. Part of him was angry; part of him was heartbroken. And the rest of him would have given anything to know how to talk to this girl who once sat on his lap.Soon the relatives arrived, bringing with them a welcome end to the awkward silence. As soon as the room filled with noise and people, Joe stayed on one side, Madeline sat sullenly on the other."Put on the music, Joe," reminded one of his brothers. And so he did. Thinking she would be honored, he turned and walked toward his daughter. "Will you dance with your Poppa tonight?"The way she huffed and turned, you'd have thought he'd insulted her. In full view of the family, she walked out the front door and marched down the sidewalk. Leaving her father alone.Very much alone.*Madeline came back that night but not for long. Joe never faulted her for leaving. After all, what's it like being the daughter of a butcher? In their last days together he tried so hard. He made her favorite dinner- she didn't want to eat. He invited her to a movie- she stayed in her room. He bought her a new dress- she didn't even say thank you. And then there was that spring day he left work early to be at the house when she arrived home from school.Wouldn't you know that was the day she never came home.A friend saw her and her boyfriend in the vicinity of the bus station. The authorities confirmed the purchase of a ticket to Chicago; where she went from there was anybody's guess.*The scrawny boy with the tattoos had a cousin. The cousin worked the night shift at a convenience store south of Houston. For a few bucks a month, he would let the runaways stay in his apartment at night, but they had to be out during the day.Which was fine with them. They had big plans. He was going to be a mechanic, and Madeline just knew she could get a job at a depeartment store. Of course he knew nothing about cars, and she knew even less about getting a job- but you don't think of things like that when you're intoxicated on freedom.After a couple of weeks, the cousin changed his mind. And the day he announced his decision, the boyfriend announced his. Madeline found herself facing the night with no place to sleep or hand to hold.It was the first of many such nights.A woman in the park told her about the homeless shelter near the bridge. For a couple of bucks she could get a bowl of soup and a cot. A couple of bucks was about all she had. She used her backpack as a pillow and jacket as a blanket. The room was so rowdy it was hard to sleep. Madeline turned her face to the wall and, for the first time in several days, thought of the whiskered face of her father as he would kiss her good night. But as her eyes began to water, she refused to cry. She pushed the memory deep inside and determined not to think about home.She'd gone too far to go back.The next morning the girl in the cot beside her showed her a fistful of tips she'd made from dancing on tables. "This is the last night I'll have to stay here," she said. "Now I can pay for my own place. They told me they are looking for another girl. You should come by." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a matchbook. "Here's the address."Madeline's stomach turned at the thought. All she could do was mumble, "I'll think about it."She spent the rest of the week on the streets looking for work. At the end of the week when it was time to pay her bill at the shelter, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the matchbook. It was all she had left."I won't be staying tonight," she said and walked out the door.Hunger has a way of softening convictions.*If Madeline knew anything, she knew how to dance. Her father had taught her. Now men the age of her father watched her. She didn't rationalize it- she just didn't think about it. Madeline simply did her work and took their dollars.She might have never thought about it, except for the letters. The cousin brought them. Not one, or two, but a box full. All addressed to her. All from her father."Your old boyfriend must have squealed on you. These come two or three a week," complained the cousin. "Give him your address." Oh, but she couldn't do that. He might find her.Nor could she bear to open the envelopes. She knew what they said; he wanted her home. But if he knew what she was doing, he would not be writing.It seemed less painful not to read them. So she didn't. Not that week, nor the next when the cousin brought more, nor the next when he came again. She kept them in the dressing room at the club, organized according to postmark. She ran her finger over the top of each but couldn't bring herself to open one.Most days Madeline was able to numb the emotions. Thoughts of home and thoughts of shame were shoved into the same part of her heart. But there were occasions when the thoughts were too strong to resist.Like the time she saw a dress in the clothing store window. A dress the same color as one her father had purchased for her. A dress that had been far too plain for her. With much reluctance she had put it on and stood with him before the mirror. "My, you are as tall as I am," he had told her. She had stiffened at his touch.Seeing her weary face reflected in the store window, Madeline realized she'd give a thousand dresses to feel his arm again. She left the store and resolved not to pass by it again.In time the leaves fell and the air chilled. The mail came and the cousin complained and the stack of letters grew. Still she refused to send him an address. And she refused to read a letter.Then a few days before Christmas Eve another letter arrived. Same shape. Same color. But this one had no postmark. And it was not delivered by the cousin. It was sitting on her dressing room table."A couple of days ago a big man stopped by and asked me to give this to you," explained one of the other dancers. "Said you'd understand the message.""He was here?" she asked anxiously.The woman shrugged, "Suppose he had to be."Madeline swallowed hard and looked at the envelope. She opened it and removed the card. "I know where you are," it read. "I know what you do. This doesn't change the way I feel. What I've said in each letter is still true.""But I don't know what you've said," Madeline declared. She pulled a letter from the top of the stack and read it. Then a second and a third. Each letter had the same sentence. Each sentenced asked the same question.In a matter of moments the floor was littered with paper and her face was streaked with tears.Within an hour she was on a bus. "I just might make it in time."She barely did.The relatives were starting to leave. Joe was helping grandma in the kitchen when his brother called from the suddenly quiet den. "Joe, someone is here to see you."Joe stepped out of the kitchen and stopped. In one hand the girl held a backpack. In the other she held a card. Joe saw the question in her eyes. "The answer is 'yes'," she said to her father. "If the invitation is still good, the answer is 'yes'."Joe swalled hard. "Oh my. The invitation is good."And so the two danced again on Christmas Eve.On the floor, near the door, rested a letter with Madeline's name and her father's request."Will you come home and dance with your poppa again?"---------------------------------------------------------------------Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here
---debbie at 9:46 AM
Friday, June 23, 2006
In the play of shadows
In the stillness of silence
In the whisper of wind
In the soft kiss of rain
In the flicker of passing light
On my bedroom walls
In the tremble of rustling leaves
In the rhythm of eyelids
Open and close
In toiling thoughts...
Finally finding rest
In the gentle embrace of evening breeze
And twinkle of stars against cloudless skies
In the perfect harmony of this lulling night
For one moment
In this serenity
Hush
I find you.debbie at 10:29 AM
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Don't blame God for the bad decisions you've made in your life when you want the freedom of choice.debbie at 9:58 AM
Sunday, June 11, 2006
I lie awake
Yes wake awake
The sleeplessness that drowns me
Like a song that unwinds itself backwards
That I can drown on concrete pavements
With a feast can still starve
Is this sleeplessness
Like a fast run through the wilderness
Panting and gasping without having moved
Without having been anywhere
At any time or any place
Give me all your grace
This is the eyes wide open
Crying that they're blind
This is the helplessness
Trying to help it self
This is the brokenness
Trying to mend its cracks
This is my frailty and failures
This is my nakedness that I'm ashamed of
This is the world that I cannot condone yet am in
I struggle to sleep with and wake to
Yes I lie awake
Try to wake a wake
Realise
Everything about my life is a lie
You're all that I depend on
Save me from my unworthiness
I cling onto you
Like a drowning man clutching at straws
Because there's nothing left
I can cling onto
When the world's another drowning lover
This time
I just want to f l o a t
debbie at 4:28 PM
I always hear people saying that light and darkness, good and evil must co-exist, and one cannot do without the other. So many teach that if there's goodness there's bound to be evil and we can only accept this evil- we can never get out of it, because darkness and light must co-exist. That's not true. Imagine if a room is so bright, so bright, there will be a time that it'll be bright enough there's not one shadow left. Light can engulf all darkness and shadows by itself.
Where did the devil Lucifer come from? From God? Why did God create the devil? Maybe God needs the devil because there must be a balance between good and evil so that we'll know what's good. Because if there's no evil, we don't know what's good.
Then again God doesn't need evil to demonstrate he is good. He is good, full-stop. It's not true that without evil we don't know what's good, without what's bad we don't know what's good. Are we that stupid? Don't we have a soul, a conscience, morals and things just innate, just instinctual in us telling us what's good? The same way we all agree murder is wrong, we just know in the snap of a finger, instinctively, what's GOOD. We don't need cruelty, torture, rape, oppression before we know it's good to have love, to have peace, to want these things even. Human nature has even in most primitive stages protected their communities, outcasted murderers, and all our societal values of what's right and wrong has evolved from those days. A modern group of men in business suits didn't sit around a table and decided what's good for us. We know what's good. What's only true about evil is that it exemplifies the light- the darker the shadow we know the brighter the light.
I don't believe in a balance of good and evil- cos if there's a balance, how can you tell who's really GOOD GOOD and who's really BAD BAD to go into heaven? If you have your own scale, you have this kind of 'goodness' whereby badness can also co-exist in that person, isn't it so subjective- is that fair? how can you judge goodness if evil can also co-exist? Like if a murderer starts to do good deeds for the rest of his life- which part of the black and white are you going to put him in- the grey area? he may have done much good, but are you sure that's enough to have excused his evil? i mean, who are you to judge and how are you to decide? just make sure one keeps doing good deeds until you feel that you've over-rode your bad deeds? however then, will you know if its enough, and are you fit to judge, when you don't even know the weight of your own sins? only God can decide? and if you put him in this grey area- how can there be a heaven filled with people from grey areas? it'll give us room to excuse our own short-comings and say, its okay to have done that, i can redeem myself and then i can still go to heaven. but can we ever redeem ourselves?
I feel that religions that condone this co-existence in the name of 'harmony' actually gives humanity a nice way out of committing evil. oh, just you know, do more good deeds, and redeem yourself. But why would I want to worship in a religion that tells me that I can redeem myself? You mean I can be on par with my God and the decision to go to heaven lies in whether in my own life I want to do enough good things to be in heaven? Why if my God is all-powerful can I be on par with him by my own imperfections? I'd much rather prefer a God SO GOOD that a lifetime of trying to do good things to redeem myself CANNOT EVEN qualify me for heaven. That's the heaven I want to go to, not a heaven filled with people who have redeemed themselves.
I don't want a God that's going to allow me to redeem myself especially when we're all sinners simply because- that's the extent of the goodness of God? If we have only sinned ONCE in our lifetime, we HAVE sinned, and our imperfection can never measure up at all to Him, imperfect people cannot redeem their own imperfections even if they spend their whole lives in a race of trying to attain 'perfection' or whatever others call this chase- nirvana? If we have no right or capability to judge our sins and how much goodness we can ever do to replace our sins- or if its even possible, then you'd agree that the only way we can replace our sins is by a complete purging of our lives- or letting us die and being borned again. And I only know one God that does it without me spending hundreds of lifetimes going through it physically to 'learn' some lessons- learn what? How many lifetimes do you need to know men's hearts are evil and the world is evil, and a hundred years before or after is exactly the same as today? You will never be perfect no matter how many lifetimes you live, because this is our humanity's flaw- we have a tendency to sin. You think in a hundred million lifetimes you can purge yourself after finally living half a millenium and undoing all the wrong things you've done and and you can be pure? You will commit a sin whether in this lifetime or in the 134th lifetime, and every life will have the temptation to sin.debbie at 7:45 AM
Friday, June 02, 2006
i suddenly thought of something. you know, sometimes we complain that God doesn't hear us. we think that our prayers and groanings are useless.
so i was thinking this, and my dog kept barking at me and scratching my bible- cos im looking at it la, and she wants my attention. then it striked me- its very hard for me to ignore her when i love her and i know she wants my attention. similarly, if we cry out to God so hard, i think, maybe this will sound a little boastful, but its hard for God to ignore us when he loves us. I don't think we'll be ignored eventually (i mean assuming you think there has been no response from him for some time..), because even the most imperfect of us will respond almost immediately to someone we love when they call for us- what more God?
so anyway, all my dog wanted was for me to pet her. then she barked and barked and barked... just for that. guess it doesn't matter the problem u present to God, just present it to him anyway, his love for u is great enough to die for u, i think he'd respond even when you say, i can't feel you, i'm feeling dry, and all i want is for you to touch me.
The door that never shuts- is the door of prayer.debbie at 12:53 PM