First for everything.

My first love was Ben.

He was beautiful. His eyes and his smile knocked me over every time I saw him. Those brown eyes were just too much for me to resist.

He was on the shorter side, with black hair, speckled here and there with tan and white spots. He had floppy ears that perked up when you called his name.

And he had a limp.

We don't really know why Ben limped, but considering he strolled in from the street, we can guess pretty accurately. He was just plain lucky.

I loved Ben more than anything. He was someone I could take care of; someone that needed and thrived on my love.

But just a few short months later, after I had enough time to grow attached, Ben threw himself in front of a car.

But I loved Ben.

"But the least of these look like criminals to me
So I leave Christ on the street"

4 giant tents.
500 hot dogs.
12 people setting up and tearing down.
300 each, water bottles and flyers.
7 beach chairs.
2 boxes of veggies.
5 cases of soda.
1 iPod Shuffle.

The results were amazing. I loved seeing people working together for Christ and being Christ to others. I want to do this every week. I want to always be at the beach living Jesus for people, giving them what they need- food and water- and what they're looking for- Nourishment and Fulfillment.

Go figure- when Jesus said to feed the hungry, he meant just that! So what's our big deal? Why can't we occasionally go give out free stuff and offer people the Gospel?

"And may the Bread on your tongue
leave a trail of crumbs
To lead the hungry back
To the place where you are from.
And take to the world this love, hope and faith
Take to the world this rare, relentless grace
And like the three in one
Know you must become what you want to save
Cause that's still the way
He takes to the world."

Ever the same

There was something vastly attractive about the old man's demeanor. It was a small porch, made of rotting pine and rusty nails. His rocking chair creaked loudly, the white wicker having lost its lustre and youth, along with the man upon it. Youth, perhaps, but not lustre.

His white and gray hair in two plaits fell along his shoulders and nearly down to his waist while a massive turquoise ring tapped against the armrest. The part in his hair revealed a wrinkled but firm forehead and strong eyebrows. His lips pursed together as if he was considering carefully his words before he spoke them. His ears, one pierced with a feathery dreamcatcher, clung to the sides of his head like weary travelers hanging on for dear life despite their fatigue.

His hands were leathery and worn, remnants of a lifetime of hard work and soft caresses, of harsh hammering and delicate beading. Needle pricks and tool callouses appeared side by side, co-witnesses of the life this man had endured.

But the eyes. Oh, those eyes! Blue as the sky on a sunny day, gray as the sea after a storm. They told stories, tales of days more simple, nostalgic yarns of peace and war were spun in those eyes. Hardened by battle, yet soothed by the touch of a woman. Cold as ice, yet warm as a summer afternoon. They were smooth and coarse, caring and painful, refreshing and stinging. The eyes are the window to the soul, and this soul had been wounded and healed many times. The song of the ancients danced in the lights of the eyes, giving life to a face that would have been otherwise quite dead.

The wind blew gently, disturbing the wisps of hair that had escaped careful braiding. Winds of change, he was thinking. The winds that came every year at this time, and would always come. That would never change.

The dry lips parted and began to sing a tribal tune.

Single Dads and why they rock.

For a long time, I’ve thought I would end up with a single dad. There are several reasons for this; I will enumerate a few.

1. I don’t want to have my own kids. For as long as I can remember, the thought of bearing children makes me cringe. And I only see more and more homeless children out there that need a loving home- why be selfish and want something of your own flesh when a chosen child will appreciate so much more your sacrifice?

2. I don’t need much attention. Single dads are wrapped up in their kid(s) and often a wife who is not the child’s mother feels left out. I, on the other hand, see the children as first priority. A single dad who remarries needs to make sure his children are happy through an uncomfortable situation. He has the greatest connection with them and a marriage often comes second. I’m okay with that.

3. Single dads are devoted. You will never see anyone as attached to their children as a man who had to raise them by himself. Especially if they have a daughter, single dads are so love with their kids that it spills over into every area of their life and that relationship becomes crucial to every other relationship that they have.

4. Single dads are mature. This is not true of dads who don’t have full custody. If they just have visitation or partial custody, they often live a wild life when their kids are not around. But dads who have to gauge every decision on how it will affect their family grow up, fast. The well-being of others is always in the forefront of their minds, and so they tend to be more respectful, more kind and considerate, and above all, more loving.

5. Most men DO want their own kids. But, as aforementioned, I don’t. This is the perfect compromise. Single dads already have their ‘flesh of my flesh’ and can often be satisfied with this. Women who feel that their marriage to a single dad is not complete until they have a child together are sadly mistaken. Having your own child is often too great a temptation for you to play favorites. Besides, if he sees you loving his children as your own, won’t he love and respect you even more?

Finally, single dads usually already know how the marriage thing works and it’s that much less stressful for everyone when they do remarry. They’re lower maintenance than your average newlywed, and since they’ve been forced to care for themselves and their children, they are usually more responsible with their resources. They also know the value of quality time.

So whether or not I end up with a single dad, those of you who have been wondering what my deal is with them now know. Christian single dads are God’s gift to independent women who still want to have a family.

Broken Fairy Tales--The Way I Remember It.

The more I think about it, the more I realize there were a lot of us up in that tower. It just felt so lonely. We all truly believed we were alone.

We each had our wishes, our dreams, our cross-stitch ideals and needlepoint fabrications. We hid our faces from ourselves and, unknowingly, from each other, the veils disguising what only one would ever see. The way I remember it, I was alone. One small bed in the center of the room, shrouded with sheer drapes. A vanity, with a small stool. A dresser and an end table with a vase of daisies. But there is only one such tower, so there must have been many more of us there, all believing, all alone.

I dreamt of the day I would escape the tower. That day would come and I would climb down, mount the Prince's horse, and ride into the sunset.

A few Princes came and they would start to help me out the window, but then run off and leave me dangling to pull myself back in.

Then HE came. With a ladder. He propped it up against my tower and climbed in, brushing the nonexistant dust off his broad shoulders. He was everything I had dreamed of. He was well-dressed, well-mannered, bold, honest, with his firm set of beliefs. He charmed me and I could not help but believe that he would rescue me and take me away to be his princess.

It was all going to plan- he even had a white horse waiting at the bottom. So I took his proffered hand and climbed down from my tall tower into his waiting arms. I wanted to give him a token, so I removed my veil and offered it to him. He took it graciously and helped me onto the glorious steed.

But as we rode off together, he elbowed me off callously and I fell into a spiny thicket. The thorns dug into my skin and tore my gown as I fought to free myself. I called after him. I cried his name. I wept bitterly.

My exposed and brazen face felt so naked now. I had given this to him, and he'd so harshly tossed me aside. If only I had my veil!

I picked up my skirt and let the torn pieces slide through my hands, seeing the jagged shards of my dreams slip through as well. My tear-stained eyes looked briefly in the direction he had gone and saw my veil caught on a branch. He'd let it go. But his horse had trampled it and the cloth was shredded and filthy. Still, it was my dignity.

I picked up the discarded veil and tried my best to cover my facing, knowing that I'd never be clean or beautiful enough for any other Prince that would come along. I yearned to be back in my ivory tower, but that was impossible now.

But as I gazed up into the window from which I had once looked down, I saw now the faces of so many others, peering across the plains, hoping for their Prince to come. What good could I do them? What comfort could I bring? I had lost all that would endear me to any other Prince. And now I couldn't even be rescued.

Your Own Personal Easter

I know it's been a while, but I finally feel ready to finish this.

We couldn't even convince ourselves to try.
You couldn't even remember the way home.
I couldn't even pick myself up.
They couldn't even defend themselves from their own mental accusations.
It couldn't even see in front of its own nose.
He couldn't even allow himself to mourn.
She couldn't even talk to herself.

That's where we all find ourselves. We are lonely, sorrowful, furious, guilty, stranded, desperate failures. There's no hope for us. We're sad wrecks, and we know it.

But what if I told you that there is hope? This hope is Jesus. When you embrace His Truth, you realize that the answers to life are much more simple than our problems make them seem.

She couldn't even talk to herself. Jesus took her loneliness and whispered Belonging.

He couldn't even allow himself to mourn. Jesus replaced his sorrow and let him cry tears of Joy.

It couldn't even see in front of its own nose. Jesus stole away its rage and allowed it to see Love.

They couldn't even defend themselves from their own mental accusations. Jesus forgave their guilt and gave the full Pardon.

I couldn't even pick myself up. Jesus drowned my failure and made me Victorious.

You couldn't even remember the way home. Jesus picked you up, stranded, and gave you a Home.

We couldn't even convince ourselves to try. Jesus took our desperation and spoke conviction to us, giving us Courage.

What's beautiful about this truth is that we don't come to Jesus as blank slates. We come with all our past, all our history and reputation, and Jesus turns it around. What was meant for Evil, He uses for good.

No matter what your plight, your sin, your problem, Jesus knows about it better than you do, and he sees how you can serve others with that. This is why it's important to note that we are not worthless. We are unworthy, yes. But not worthless. God uses what we are (remember: He made us!) to bless others!

Dramatis Personae (Part Shichi)

Have you ever given up? We gave up. We knew that we couldn't make it, so why waste the energy?

Life had dealt us a stiff hand. We knew that no matter what we did, how we lived, we'd die anyway. We thought of our friend. Healthy as a horse into old age. Drank eight glasses of water a day. Swallowed a tablespoonful of cod liver oil. Ran ten miles. Did a hundred sit-ups and push-ups before and after running. And then cancer came and took our friend, forced us to watch a slow and painful death- and this was someone that had done it right.

So, we figured. What the hell? If our friend didn't drink or smoke or eat unhealthily or party all night and still died, what difference did it make if we abstained from all those? Health just wasn't a good enough reason.

So we went out. We drank ourselves silly. We smoked in spades. We partied. We didn't care what we ate, or when, or how much. It was futile anyway. Why grow old and die slowly when we could die young and quickly? Who really cared anyway?

But it wasn't good enough for us either. We needed a greater reason to live. Life was not about who could make it to the grave the fastest, nor was it about who could avoid it the longest. It was about living well the time allotted to us.

But we didn't know how to do that. Our ideas all seemed too small for such a piddly unremarkable existence. So we quit. We gave up.

We got stable jobs. We got married. We had children. We went to book clubs and tee ball. And then one morning, we woke up and found that our lives had past us by. The life we had been so eager to begin living was gone. Forever. Despair closed its cold fingers around our throats.

Despair.

Finally our generation could understand the word. So desperate, in fact, that we couldn't even convince ourselves to try.

FIN
(Or is it?)
_____________________________________________________

Breaking the continuity for a moment, I feel I must share this. D turned me on to Writer's Almanac, and I immediately looked up the listing for my birthday this year. Here is what was published that day (I thinks it's very me):

Poems: "Essential" and "Employed" by Beverly Rollwagen, from She Just Wants.

Essential
She just wants to keep her essentia
lsorrow. Everyone wants her to
be happy all the time, but she doesn't
want that for them. There is value in
the thread of sadness in each person.
The sobbing child on an airplane, the
unhappy woman waiting by the phone,
a man staring out the window past his wife.
A violin plays through all of them,
one long note held at the beginning and
the end.

Employed
She just wants to be employed
for eight hours a day. She is not
interested in a career; she wants a job
with a paycheck and free parking. She
does not want to carry a briefcase filled
with important papers to read after
dinner; she does not want to return
phone calls. When she gets home, she
wants to kick off her shoes and waltz
around her kitchen singing, "I am a piece
of work."