Friday, March 30, 2007

The tear.

She rolled out of bed, and stumbled our of her room
A single tear rolled down her cheek

She ate her breakfast, and caught the bus
A single tear rolled down her cheek

She went to class, and pretended to listen
A single tear rolled down her cheek

She talked and laughed, surrounded by others
A single tear rolled down her cheek

She ate a meal, and pretended to pray
A single tear rolled down her cheek

She went out with her friends, and felt just as lonely
A single tear rolled down her cheek

They told her Jesus could fill her
A single tear rolled down His cheek.

Monday, March 12, 2007

A salty soaked pillow lies motionless on my bed.

it is not this room that

traps me.

i could break through these

four walls.

my obstruction lies in the skeleton of

my mind,

the practically indestructable


the only hammer that can break through is


but at times like these prayers is

too hard.

i am


He knows

too much.

and i no longer know how to


at His feet, and beg for


because i am not


i am so scared because i know that what

i want,

may not be what

He wants

Friday, January 05, 2007

Broken and Unworthy

As the songs in my iTune library were shuffling through, and while I was eating lunch, the song "Carried to the table" by Leeland came on. Being one of my favorite songs, I put it on repeat, and it got me thinking. I had heard this song was based on 2 Samuel 9, but I really wanted to dig into it.

Wounded and forsaken,I was shattered by the fall
Broken and forgotten, feeling lost and all alone
Summoned by the King, into the master's courts
Lifted by the Saviour, and craddled in his arms

I was carried to the table, seated where I don't belong
Carried to the table, swept away by his love.
And I don't see my brokenness anymore, when I'm seated at the table of the Lord
I'm carried to the table, the table of the Lord

Fighting thoughts of fear, wondering why he called my name
Am I good enough to share this cup, this world has left me lame
Even in my weakness, the Saviour called my name
In his holy presence I am healed and unashames

As I am carried to the table, seated where I don't belong
Carried to the table, swept away by his love
And I don't see my brokenness anymore, when I'm seated at the table of the Lord
I'm carried to the table, the table of the Lord

You carried me.
You carried me my God. You carried me.

After reading 5 versions and a commentary, I picked up some really interesting things.
David was searching for a descendant of Saul so that he could show him some kindness in honour of Jonathan.
One of Saul's servants named Ziba happened to be there, and to David's question, he replied, I imagine almost reluctantly: "well yes, there is one. Jonathan's son, but he is lame in both feet."
David was quick to ask where he was and without losing any time he sent for him.
When Mephibosheth (also known as Meribaal) arrived he fell to his knees, in fear, and said "I am your servant".
David told him not to be afraid, but that he wanted to return all of Saul's land to him and that Ziba (and all his family and servants) would be working for him.
Mephibosheth was so astounded he asked David, "Who am I that you pay attention to a stray dog like me?"

I think this is a real testament to what my life is like with Jesus.
"Who am I that he should pay attention to this wreck?"

In the notes in my bible, I found something I though was really interesting. It voices what I feel
"Mephiboseth was afraid to visit the king, who wanted to treat him like a prince. Although Mephiboseth feared for his life and may have felt unworthy, that didn't mean he should refuse David's gifts. When God graciously offers us forgiveness of sins and a place in heaven, we may feel unworthy, but we will receive these gifts if we accept them. A reception even warmer than the one David gave Mephibosheth waits for all who receive God's gifts through trusting Jesus Christ, not because we deserve it, but because of God's promise (Ephesians 2:8,9)"

And then I was reading a commentary on this passage, and this was written, and it really touched me:
"As David was a type of Christ, his Lord and Son, his Root and Offspring, let his kindness to Mephibosheth remind us of the kindness and love of God our Saviour to fallen man, to whom he was under no obligation, as David was to Jonathan. The Son of God seeks this lost and ruined race, who sought not after him. He comes to seek and to save them!"

I guess I have felt like I have been called to the table, unworthy, fallen, broken, and I come time and time again, and he keeps inviting me back, accepting me back. And when I am seated at the table I don't see my brokeness anymore.

Friday, November 17, 2006

little boys and distant homes

Last night I started to read the book, "Shake hands with the devil" by Romeo Dallaire. He starts his introduction off with the story of a little boy. He was driving through a rough part of Rwanda, one that had been completely destroyed by the Hutu's went through and either killed everyone or drove them out, when a little boy appeared on the road. This little Rwanda boy, was covered in dirt, smelling like rotting bodies, with a small biscuit. Finally, when LGen Dallaire found the young man who was taking care of him, Romeo was sure he wanted to take this little child home with him and give him a loving household to live in. Romeo never did end up bringing the boy home, but that image will stick with him forever.
I was asked today by someone if I had a son. I thought that was a sill question, being only a few weeks short of my 18th birthday, but it got me thinking. There are 13 Million orphaned children in this world. 13 million children having no home to call their own. I cannot imagine not having a house of my own to walk into every day after school, or a mother to spill my problems to, or a father who would go play ball with me. These children need a family, and there are so many people with the resources to adopt, but choose not to.
So do I have a son? No. I hope I do someday though.
Do I want him to be my own flesh and blood? I don't know.
I want to help give these children a hope. A new life.
How do I do that? I don't know. I am only 18. For now all I have it

Monday, November 13, 2006

broken pieces and Elmer's glue

Posting is hard for me. I don't know why, I have just never really been the writer in the family, that was mom or Laura's job. But I can't help but post on this. Why? who the heck knows. Chances are no one of consequence will read this, but maybe that is what I am searching for right now. I don't know.
You will often hear me say a phrase along the line of "this is why my life is so hard", but by saying that I am just being another self-consumed member of society who is oblivious to the world around them. 12 years ago the Rwanda genocide rocked the African world, and my ears were closed to it. Now, Darfur is being turned upside down by another genocide and what am I doing? Sitting around complaining about my life. 1% of the population of the world has a University degree and I am complaining about it? I am blessed beyond belief and I am not even thankfuf. I can't see a letter to my MP helping much. They already have the world on their shoulders. Why can't I just go, fix things? I know the answer is prayer, but it is so hard sometimes. I like direct results and simple directions and prayer doesn't come with either. What is this world turning into? What if it was us?

Monday, November 06, 2006

burnt toast and roasted onions

As I was waiting for my Themes test to be picked up today my mind swayed back to late summer in my Quispamsis Superstore. I was shopping for groceries in preperation to make a meal full of Jamaican Chicken, Sweet Potatoe Fries, Green Beans, Honey Carrots, long grain and wild rice, and chocolate cheescake. Anyways, while looking for the best garlic I could find a man suddenly started talking to me. I do not remember how we got talking bt he started explaining to me how to make "real chicken". He said that chicken should not have to be marinated (I personally disagree), and that all I should need is corn flakes, milk, a little shacking and an oven. He told me of how to cook everything, and make it a real meal. He explained how I should clean my house before, and I ended up talking to him for half an hour. Leaving his presence I had an awkward contentment in my stomach. Although some people may call his behavior "weird and assumptive", I really enojoyed how he took his time out of his day to teach someone else. My journey with him was not yet over though. While searching for olive oil, I met him in the isles again and proceeded to teach me to how to properly make my house smell good, what kind of oil I should use, and what makes a fantastic dessert. He told me some of his story, how he used to run a bread and breakfast and how if you want people to discover your hunger you burn toast in the morning or fry onions at lunch or supper. He gave me a bag of cinnamon and told me to cook it on the stove and my house would smell fantastic. I have not seen that man since I left that store. My meal tasted great, and my house smelled fantastic. I never tried his chicken recipe, and I did marinate my chicken, but that man will remain in my mind forever. He took the time out of his day to teach me something. I didn't take all of his cooking advice, but his genuinity and kindness was the real lesson that I learned. So, if this ever reaches you, man in the Superstore, I thank you. I thank you for being willing to give us a chance, to listen and to talk to a complete stranger. You will not be forgotten.

Monday, March 27, 2006


I don't know if you have ever met someone who is beautiful. I don't mean fake beauty that can be created by make-up, hairstyles, diets, surgery and clothes. No, I mean the beauty that resonates from within. A beauty that makes everyone else around them smile, a beauty that shows a constant joy. Ryan was beautiful.

Ryan came to camp last summer alongside hundreds of other children, but unlike the rest of them, Ryan's eyes will never escape my mind. Ryan was young, 7 or 8 maybe. He had these bright blue eyes, and naturally bleached hair. Ryan walked with a limp, but once you knew him his faults were part of what made him so beautiful. Ryan was in my drama class, I am not quite sure now if drama was what we were supposed to be teaching but that is what it became. Our skit for that week was a mixture of different scenes of plays, including Romeo and Juliet, and the Titanic. To no surprise of anyone, Ryan captivated us with his wonderful Romeo and passionate Jack. I remember Ryan dressing the characters, wearing one of his cabin leaders shirts that made him look completely ridiculous, until we tucked it into his pants and gave him suspenders, he looked amazing. In his slightly slurred voice he would express the most beautiful sounding "I'll save you Rose, let me get my water wings!" that I will ever hear. He was amazing, and I only wish that I will become half the person that he was. Thank you Ryan, I cannot tell you how much you have influenced my life. I am rather jealous of the angels who are spending time with him now.

"I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children." Matthew11:25