Journaling on the Blog

So, today I went to a new church with my friend Sarah. It was the first time I had been to a service since Easter and I walk toward the church only to see lawn sign with “Is the End Near?” written on them.

I’ve gone to private school. I’ve had “Rapture Happy” teachers who liked to scare students with stories of the “end times” and the rapture of Christians. When will it occur? Pre-trib, mid-trib, or post-trib? Who will be taken? Who will be left behind?

While I’ve grown up in that culture and can honestly say that I’m a believer of the one true God and his son, Christ Jesus, for the first time, in a long time, I didn’t feel scared of the end.

While I am scared of the act of dying, it is not my destination that worries me anymore. I don’t have to stick my hand up and ask to be saved every time we have a prayer. I know I believe in God and I know God loves me and has accepted me into His kingdom.

What is still awe-inspiring to me is watching others in worship. How they take that love they have for God and let it manifest itself into praise, the way they raise their hands and close their eyes seeking God’s love and guidance, reveling in the fact they are His chosen people, His children.

I am no longer worried about whether I’m a good person or not, whether my “trying” is enough. God is making me a better person, a better Christian just through my daily act of loving Him and seeking out His word. The message today talked about how to grow in our faith is just a matter of “get in His presence, live in obedience” and love others with no bounds. Show other’s God’s amazing love.

While the image of those people in worship will remain engraved on my mind for the rest of today and even this week, what I took out of the lesson the most is how by giving my life over to God fully, all my worries, my family, my career choices, my relationships, my job I can only become more buried in Him. I can only become a woman who is so rooted in God that someone trying to know me truly, honestly, will have to seek God out as well.

And to me,
there’s nothing scary about that.

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Love her with no bounds.

love like this woman here
is vessel,
cave of wonders.
To be inside her is
to let yourself
quake,
to buckle,
to watch her shiver as you call out
her name
and hear it bounce back
like an echo.
To touch her with love means
to steady,
to push back all pretenses
and watch her undulate,
like a wave against your body.
To go down on her
is to remind her,
she is a treasure,
you, a worshipper.
Every time she shakes,
you feel like glory
is that much closer.

Love her,
like she was made for you
to show your love to.
Love her
like she is the most precious thing
you will ever make love to.
Love her,
because she wants to know that her body
is worthy of being treated right,
worthy of being taken care of,
worthy enough
for someone.
Only love her if that person
is you.

When You Come to Worship

Peel me back,
let the choirs clean the dust from my lungs
if only so I can exhale a 
hallelujah.

Turn my body into hymnal and run your fingers free form over the notes.
I want to be more than a crescendo.

Make sure the light reflects the stain glass rainbows on my pages.
Make sure I am held like lamb,
but revered as lion.

Hear the choir sing:
“Kingdom come,
kingdom come.”

Let your mind roll under the pews like lovesick children.
Let your knees crack the prayer bench.
Let my tongue be your altar,
and I will gently
throw you down.

An echoing aria,
Holy Ghost, God, and Son.
Hail Mary when she recites the only abiding truth written for the likes of us:
we
are more than than holy,
we
are the life blood.

Sacrilege

To me,

your hands might as well be gods;

if this is so,

I will gladly convert to polytheism.

Because with each breath,

the rise and fall of my chest,

praise is escaping

my body.

I worship 

the feel of your hands 

as they climb across the hills and valleys

of my being,

building me up into the person

you want me to be,

and with one grab 

causing me to crumble;

I am left undone.

I find it completely ironic

that as my head is pressed to the floor

in reverence,

you lift me from under my arms and

tip my chin up,

telling me that 

you are the one who should be 

bowing down 

because 

if you are any sort of god

you need a dwelling place.

You press your lips close to my ear

begging to inhabit me;

because regardless if I am guilded in gold,

or if there a curtain separating those less holy 

from my inner sanctum,

you assure me that

I am a temple,

and you are in rapture,

longing to immerse yourself in me

when we join together in glory.