Staying awake

 

How do we live this one life well?

When others seem happy.
Successful.  Beautiful even.
Community full.

And the posted pictures.
Proving our lack.

And so.

We deny. 
Get busy.  
Distract.

To feel good. 

Tripping all over ourselves. 
And others.
Demanding attention.
In a thousand little ways.

Or withdrawing into our own world.
The ache chewing us up inside.

And when the evening shadows fall.
Losing the battle.

Darkness creeping in on cat feet.
Capturing our heart.  Our soul.
And we despair.

And online.  The other day.

Celebrities. 

Faces scarred and marred.
Through expensive surgery.
Beauty now forever gone.
What were they thinking?
We laugh; it's that incredible.
To see it in others.

So young and so beautiful.  Successful.
Throwing it all away.
In the insecurity and the never-enough.
This frantic search.

But it is also very sad.
And I grieve.

Because I see it in myself.

Not for surgery.
But that longing deep.
The incessant wishing for more. 
To satisfy.

But instead of God.

Filling to the full.
With empty.

So much in this life.
Breaking us. 
Making us sad.
Scared even.

And so often.
The only glimmer of hope
we see through the cracks
in the sidewalk of our lives
is our feeble attempt.
For happy. 

Chasing it.  Running hard.

And ultimately.
Bringing despair.

Even the story of Louie Zamperini.
Filling the news cycle.
His life; in print a page-turner.
Brilliant and fearless and unbroken.
Shockingly difficult life experiences.
Survival unparalleled. 
Victory. It would seem. 
To endure and live strong.

But in the end.
Haunted by what he could not control.
Could not grasp. 
Even Louie.

The chase.  For elusive happy.
Wringing us out and tossing us aside.
Every time.

There is better.

What Louie ultimately found.

Darkness running away.
Through surrender. 
Being broken after all.
The not-enough bending the knee.

To worship.

Filling to the full. 
With God.

Then.
Staying awake.
To His glory surrounding.
Every day.

That's how.
He lived his one life well.

Staying awake.

 

 

Glimpses

 

 

 

 

Still there.  Still there.  Still there.  Gone.

Exquisite.  This ritual.
Never tiring.
A summer sun sinking low.

An orange ball of fire.
Mesmerizing.
As it drops.  Little by little.
Magic created daily.

Amidst great fanfare.
Or in the quiet solitude.

And suddenly.  No more.

And our hearts full.
For having participated.
Grateful.
For the glory displayed.

And then.

Dusk.
Also a thing of beauty.
Wrapping us in a cloak of warmth and gentle breeze.
Covering with the gradual parade of stars.

God continuing.
To write poetry.
All over the skies.

And then in our lives.

The night sky filling the senses. 
Warmth and flickering stars and night breezes.

No wonder it is calling our name.

A season so full of promise.

How it resonates.

In a way we cannot understand.
Or explain.
But we chase it.  Long for it.

To see.

Glimpses of eternity in the everyday. 

For a better story

I packed up and went to the shore yesterday.
On a moment's notice.
A whim.  You might say.
No planning ahead.  Just doing.
Serendipity.

For me.  A flight of freedom.
Of nostalgia.  Of independence.
Wind in my hair.  Music loud.

And over the dune.  Another world waiting.

Ocean surf crashing.
Gulls wheeling.  Their incessant crying.
Making me feel, well . . .  happy.

And as wide as the sea; the sand.
Sparsely populated this day. 
A few, small islands of beach towels and chairs.
The occasional burst of distant laughter.
Conversations wafting like a poorly tuned radio.
In the early summer cool.

Sitting back.  Breathing deep.
Of the sweet slow.
And the filling of beauty.

And there.  In my beach chair.
Reading. And finding for others too.
This quest for rest.  In a life.

White space.  It's called.
Those areas intentionally left blank.
A place for the eye to rest.
In graphic design.

Because.
Life requires editing.

In the midst of hurry and busy and too much.

Rooms and wardrobes and stories and works of art too.

A discipline, yes.
In order to be better.

Whole scenes sometimes relegated to the editing floor.
In the making of art.  A movie.  Or a book. 
The styling of a room even.
Because.
An eye can be overstimulated by too much good.
Something has to go.

Our lives too.

A necessity. To edit.
A waste of time.  Never.
Creating white space.

For beauty and tranquility and the mooring of our lives.

A season.  A day.  An hour.
To slow down.  Unplug.
The letting go.
Finding margin in our lives.

For a better story.