At church today, the pastor spoke from Luke 15. His message brought up new truths I hadn't thought of before that God used to teach me the same lesson He's been teaching me for a while, because it apparently is taking a long time to sink in.
Anyway, the sermon also reminded me of this poem I wrote a while back. It's spoken word, so it doesn't translate perfectly into text, but here you are anyway. It's very simply entitled "Prodigal." You know, sometimes I feel like that man in the story/ shoveling pig slop to swine, wishing the whole time that I was dining on a dish as fine as that./ 'Cause the taste in my mouth is the bitterness of doubt left over from chasing after the lustful illusion of wealth/ wondering if I was wrong to disown my own father/ and take ownership of this mother-ships life course. The self-elected captain of this cabin/ calling the shots without counting the cost of my own reckless extravagance/ spending bits of my own soul sowing seeds in whatever the world tells me is worthy/ ending only in my poverty. But His sovereignty keeps me praising a prodigal God whose generosity provides despite my hearts animosity. Cause my heart was lost, you see/ Chasing the dreams that my mind schemed/ Thinking that words on a page or a screen were the key so that I wouldn’t feel so lonely/ Purposefully filling my mind with the world’s darkness, turning day into night/ Because without the light, you can’t see how much it hurts, right?/ I mean, isn’t that how it works, right?/ We hold on tight to the things that make us feel alright/ in spite of the fact that it’s harder to get through each day and night/ We’re broken kites. Unable to fly because our broken crosses keep us collapsing/ We say we’ll change but we’re relapsing back on old patterns/ thinking that we don’t need anyone to save/ I call it “independence.”/ Others call it being “brave”/ But either way it’s the same. It’s our pride and our shame that keep us from calling out to the Creator who breathed out our names. And that’s insane Because the Lord’s protection is freely given/ He says, “When he calls to me, I will answer him/ Away from her, all evil will be driven because I protect the ones that love me; the ones I call my children.”/ And that’s what we are! Adopted children of God. So if the Creator of the cosmos has chosen to adopt us/ and spread his heavenly winged protection atop us/ then who are we to say “No thanks, God; I got this.” We look at ourselves as a prodigal son or daughter/ forgetting the whole time that we have a prodigal father/ One who has spent everything—to save us/ Whose reckless extravagance, extraordinary when he exercised his graciousness to exorcise our lowliness/ His showmanship displayed in the culmination of the greatest love story ever written/ when his only Son descended for the purposes of death and resurrection/ A reconciliation initiated by the one who could rightly throw us out of heaven/ Too sinful to stand his presence, he presents us with the present of our present salvation/ gift wrapped and freely given if we only turn toward him/ So brothers and sisters, why wallow in your sin? Rachel Fruit and Labor
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I know I haven’t written for a while. Like a month, a while.
I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to write. I’ll sit down and start typing, and then be completely unable to finish. I’m not entirely sure I’ll finish this one. I think it’s probably because I haven’t been so great lately. I feel like I’ve been on autopilot. I’ve been acting like it, too. I wake up. If I wake on time, I read my Bible. If I’m late, I rush to get ready for work. Go to work. Come home. Eat. Kill time with [reading/sermon listening/netflixing/exercising/guitar/video gaming]. Dinner. Read something spiritual. Sleep. Rinse and repeat. I don’t have a problem with routine. And it’s not like anything is outright wrong. It’s not as though I had some sort of breakdown, or fight, or unusual conflict. It’s just really, really hard to be focused and engaged. And it sounds so… trivial in the face of things I know other brothers and sisters are going through that I hate typing this for fear of feeling melodramatic. But I think I may need the catharsis of putting this out. I sort of anticipated the whole summer was going to be like this. And to a degree, it has. I’ve felt myself existing in this tension all summer, attempting to remain engaged and passionate in the midst opposition. Not the “Christians r dum!” blatant kind of ‘hater’ opposition, but the snide comments, sneakily judgmental, we will isolate you kind. And it was hard, but God is faithful. In our weakness, his power is perfectly shown. I know. I have felt him closely. Perhaps I just feel rather weak right now because I don’t, and I don’t like how I’m acting in response. I know part of it is because I’m without community; the few times I’ve visited friends, I’ve felt rejuvenated. I love nothing more than hearing about what God is doing in their lives, what he’s teaching them whether it is easy or difficult. I love being able to serve them in whatever capacity I can offer. Being with them refreshes me, and God seems nearer. I do better with people who hold me accountable, not with any words or actions, but merely by their presence. People who love me. But most of it is me. Call it sin nature; call it poor patterns of pre-Christian living, whatever. It doesn’t make a difference to me what you call it because we all know that roses are themselves despite alterations in terminology. When left to my own devices, I have a tendency to revert back to not engaging. Because, let’s face it, my mind is a much, much brighter, more interesting, and just in general better landscape that whatever reality can produce. Reality brings things that are hard and things that hurt. My mind is different. I can invent any little world I want to there. And I get to control what happens. I am the creator. I am a god. Because isn’t that what I’m really saying? Every time I want to retreat into my head, or a book, or a storyline of any kind (produced by someone else or myself) aren’t I really saying Well, God, I know you gave me this life and all. But I can make something better. I know you’ve promised me all sorts of things. But they haven’t happened yet, and it hurts me to wait, because it feels like you lied, and I don’t want to feel that way about you. So I’m just going to avoid all of this. I know a different world I can go to. It’s really nice there. Better than what you’ve given me. And then I’m off. The thing is, it’s not even a conscious choice anymore. It used to be. But now I slip into an alternate fantasy [I refuse to say alternate reality because it is not, in fact, any form of reality] without even realizing I’ve done so. I’ll suddenly realize it, and then snap back to the present only to check the clock and see that I’ve been “gone” for 20 minutes. It isn’t reality. It isn’t true. And therefore it is the poorest quality of rank, polluted water compared to the finest, most fragrant wine of reality that God provides. No matter how bitter I think the wine tastes. I’m in the midst of fighting this recurring sin off. Again. I’ve fought it before, but it’s come back again. And it’s always the sin that leads me to sin in other ways, and I cannot allow it to dominate me the way it used to. So that’s why I haven’t written. Because I can’t engage in anything. I can recite to you what parts of Mark I’ve read in the last month, but I can’t tell you anything that God taught me because I wasn’t really there for it. I’ve been trying to keep to my routines of reading scripture and prayer even when I don’t feel like it, even when I feel like I’m speaking empty words or doing empty action. I ask God to accept the best I have to offer, even though it is the worst; I ask him to take my actions as those done out of faith, because I really don’t feel like doing much at all. But I do them anyway, and pray that they please Him. But I’ve been here before with God, and I know He’s there, regardless of what I’m feeling. And right after I typed that last sentence, I had to step away from the computer for 52 minutes because I received a phone call from a friend who loves me and wanted to remind me of that. God continues to take care of me. And maybe that’s why I was able to finally write this post. I needed to remember that. Rachel Fruit and Labor |
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