Conquering a dragon in your life is not easy. If it was easy, it wouldn't be worth conquering, over-coming, vanquishing. The question you have to ask yourself is: is it worth it?
Because dragons can lie there undisturbed for ages. Silent sins that invade your life, deadly and solemn. They lie there.
And you think to yourself that it doesn't really matter. The beast isn't hurting anyone. The sin, this dragon, this creature of darkness.
But in all honesty, it's hurting everyone.
It hurts you. It silently weakens your defenses. You grow jovial, fat, weak. A knight accustomed to the creeping, sleeping beast.
It hurts others. It poisons your relationships, your thoughts and your will. Its venom runs deep into your veins.
It hurts God. The silent sin that you think no one else sees. The dragon haunting the corner.
So much easier to let it lie.
But life's not easy.
So conquer it.
But it hurts sometimes. It bites and kicks and scrapes and growls. It does not let you forget its ever lingering presence.
"God give me strength!" cries the Ordinary Princess. Because she wants to cast out the dragon.
But it's so very hard.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
The Unflinching Offering of a Child
Silence bit through sullenly, oppressively. The air was thick with the buzzing of unspoken thoughts, questions, someone's lost "good-morning."
It was too early to be singing. Or was it? Is it ever too early to worship God?
The crowd didn't answer the question. They accepted it as fact. So when someone begged for songs to praise Christ with, eyes darted, mouths curled into crooked corners, everyone waited for someone else with a bigger and braver heart to begin.
Courage is sometimes a difficult thing to find in a room full of strangers. It doesn't often make its presence felt. The funny thing about children -- they pick up courage as easily as black sweaters pick up white cat hair. Children snatch courage from hidden places: bravery is innate, fearfulness frowned upon.
The begging of a song. The touches of the somnolent summer sun. The long and laborious waiting.
And then... the unflinching offering of a child.
A voice conquered the silence. A melody, tune, composition of notes poured forth, leaking onto the singer's brown-like-coffee hands. The girl, for it was indeed a child, plucked the song from the air -- timidly at first, then with surety, raised it up in her hands, holding it towards heaven, volunteering her offering, no matter how small.
And we were awe-struck. The brown-sugar-sticky hands of a child holding the glassy and glistening pieces of a melody. She had dared to do what we were all too apathetic and afraid to do. She had given God all she had, tipping out her heart so that the contents over-flowed, leaped, splashed into her hands, dripped over the sides, were handed to her neighbors to satiate their thirst then presented to God as a sacrifice.
It was too early to be singing. Or was it? Is it ever too early to worship God?
The crowd didn't answer the question. They accepted it as fact. So when someone begged for songs to praise Christ with, eyes darted, mouths curled into crooked corners, everyone waited for someone else with a bigger and braver heart to begin.
Courage is sometimes a difficult thing to find in a room full of strangers. It doesn't often make its presence felt. The funny thing about children -- they pick up courage as easily as black sweaters pick up white cat hair. Children snatch courage from hidden places: bravery is innate, fearfulness frowned upon.
The begging of a song. The touches of the somnolent summer sun. The long and laborious waiting.
And then... the unflinching offering of a child.
A voice conquered the silence. A melody, tune, composition of notes poured forth, leaking onto the singer's brown-like-coffee hands. The girl, for it was indeed a child, plucked the song from the air -- timidly at first, then with surety, raised it up in her hands, holding it towards heaven, volunteering her offering, no matter how small.
And we were awe-struck. The brown-sugar-sticky hands of a child holding the glassy and glistening pieces of a melody. She had dared to do what we were all too apathetic and afraid to do. She had given God all she had, tipping out her heart so that the contents over-flowed, leaped, splashed into her hands, dripped over the sides, were handed to her neighbors to satiate their thirst then presented to God as a sacrifice.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Cloudy Cauldron Thoughts
She tried to sort her thoughts out. Honestly, she did! The Ordinary Princess stared into the cauldron that swirled and whirled and gurgled as it spit out ideas and emotions. Happy thoughts were a pinkish color of smoke and went into one pile. Sad ones, a dismal green-as-a-hurricane-promised-sky went into the other. Angry ones were squashed quickly beneath her foot. Who has any use for those?
But as the thoughts rode out of the cauldron, hugging piggy-back-tight onto the steam that crept languidly around the room, she wasn't sure if she could sort out these new ones arising. There was more than just one emotion hidden deep in their cloudy hearts.They promised her so much...
The Ordinary Princess sighed deeply, breathing puffs of smokey ideas across the room. They disappeared as quickly as they had come, creeping, slinking, skulking away to hide in corners and nurse their hurt feelings of rejection.
And the ideas swirled and whirled and gurgled again, reminding the Ordinary Princess of what could have been, what might have been, what could still be if only she'd let it be; but she wouldn't let it be, she couldn't let it be....
Could she?
But as the thoughts rode out of the cauldron, hugging piggy-back-tight onto the steam that crept languidly around the room, she wasn't sure if she could sort out these new ones arising. There was more than just one emotion hidden deep in their cloudy hearts.They promised her so much...
The Ordinary Princess sighed deeply, breathing puffs of smokey ideas across the room. They disappeared as quickly as they had come, creeping, slinking, skulking away to hide in corners and nurse their hurt feelings of rejection.
And the ideas swirled and whirled and gurgled again, reminding the Ordinary Princess of what could have been, what might have been, what could still be if only she'd let it be; but she wouldn't let it be, she couldn't let it be....
Could she?
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Silver Shattered Joy
Everywhere she went, she bled joy. It leaked out of her pores and dropped on the ground and shimmered silver-sparkles. Diamonds and silver pennies. Sometimes people stepped on it. Broke it. Dirtied it with their muddy feet and apathetic, sluggish eyes.
Like parade confetti, swept to the gutter, torn by windy kisses, scattered by children's hands.
The funny thing is, deep near the inside corner of her heart, she didn't mind. She just kept leaving little pieces of joy everywhere she went.
"Someday they'll appreciate it," she'd sigh. One of those break-your-heart kind of sighs. And then she'd smile.
Because sometimes someone somewhere would pick up a piece of her joy. They'd bend down, all curious like, eyes squinted, mouth pinch-pursed. Grab at it. Snatch it up.
And realize what it was. They'd clutch at it, because joy is so hard to find in this weary wandering world. But look closely and you'll see the silver shattered pieces of the Ordinary Princess's heart.
Like parade confetti, swept to the gutter, torn by windy kisses, scattered by children's hands.
The funny thing is, deep near the inside corner of her heart, she didn't mind. She just kept leaving little pieces of joy everywhere she went.
"Someday they'll appreciate it," she'd sigh. One of those break-your-heart kind of sighs. And then she'd smile.
Because sometimes someone somewhere would pick up a piece of her joy. They'd bend down, all curious like, eyes squinted, mouth pinch-pursed. Grab at it. Snatch it up.
And realize what it was. They'd clutch at it, because joy is so hard to find in this weary wandering world. But look closely and you'll see the silver shattered pieces of the Ordinary Princess's heart.
Monday, July 2, 2012
"We are the king and queen of the world."
Fireworks. S'mores.
Shared grins, sticky fingers.
Long nights spent talking
and laughing and doing nothing.
But doing everything.
"We are the king and queen of the world," I say.
And he agrees.
And for that moment, when time is wrapped around my little finger
Nothing can interrupt.
And it is just us.
But it doesn't really matter, because
I don't have to let the world in.
Not yet.
And it is just us.
Summer nights and stars and water and fire and friends and
Us.
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