Fun

Fun
I’m not sure
What you are now

Are you a thing

An event
A state of mind

Can heavy hearted people

Have fun
Does fun make the heart
Less heavy

I have memories of fun

Of times
When I was just happy
Not thinking
Just lost in the living
Just being

Skydiving was fun

Going to Letterman was fun
Island vacations were fun
Concerts were fun
Going dancing was fun
Buying new stuff was fun
Hope was fun

My life right now

Not fun

The only thing

I would find fun
About jumping out of a plane today
Would be secretly wishing
That the chute
Didn’t open

The only thing

I would find fun
About planning a getaway today
Would be hoping
That I never
Had to come back
 
So I don’t think fun
Is what I want
Fun is temporary
I want something more permanent

I want to be done with this

I want to breathe again

I want lack of pain

 
That would be fun
I would like that a lot

Now how
Can I get myself
Some of that

Writing

Writing is how I hear myself
How I know I have a voice
Where I tell the unacceptable truth
How I talk myself down from the ledge
My anti anxiety pill
My company on the bad days
And there are so many bad days

Writing

Gives me
Temporary peace
Relief from what is hurting

I write so much

Because I hurt so much

And all that

Finds its way to paper
Started as hurt
Started as a big ball of pain
That had to get itself sorted
Had to get itself out of my guts
So I could keep moving

I’m sure I’d cry more

If I didn’t write
Probably implode
If I wasn’t able
To name my pain

Because hurt

Needs a name
And pain
Needs a voice

Even if no one wants to hear it

Even if no one is listening
Even if it’s my own voice
 
I am listening
I hear it
And I want to know
What it has to say

Fall

Fall
When everything fell           
Leaves
Life

It’s no wonder

I don’t like you
Anymore

Helped

It confused me
For a while
That though there were  
So many helpers
I didn’t feel helped

Lots of people around

Doing things that were kind
So why
Did I feel
So alone

I think

It has to do
With this

They offered a lot

They brought help

In tangible forms
That I accepted
Food
Company
A shoulder

But they also brought pain

A belief system
That I rejected
God planned this for you
All works for good
It will turn out ok

Material comfort

Spiritual isolation

No one to blame really
Help in any form is kind

No one to blame

Because beliefs are personal
Should never be forced

No one to blame but also

No one to confide in
About the disconnect
Between what I knew of God
And what was now my life

My material needs

Were well met
By loving people

But the help that

Would have made me
Feel helped
Feel cared for
Feel not so alone
Was spiritual

Help in the form

Of words that said
I don’t know where God is in this
This doesn’t make sense
With what I believe about God either
This doesn’t seem to be getting better

That help

Was not found
In church

And that

Rejection
Of the reality
I was living and still live

Has left a scar

Deep in my soul
That is taking
A long time
To heal

About Waiting

Real life
Authentic life
Is a lot
About waiting
With people

Waiting

Waiting with them in their unknown

Waiting with them in their misery
Waiting with them when it is uncomfortable to wait
Waiting though you can’t fix a thing

Waiting because it’s the only thing to do

Waiting however it’s called for
Waiting in whatever capacity you can wait

Waiting

With each other
For life
To reveal
What’s next

Heard

I am quiet
But I want to be heard

Everyone wants to be heard

Those that talk a lot

And those that whisper

All wanting the same thing

All just wanting to be heard

 

Acknowlege

Sometimes
People ask
What words
Of comfort
Could be said
That would ease
My pain

And I think

There are
No words

But it helps when people

Don’t guess at the reasons
Or the tell me how it is going to turn out

It helps when people

Don’t ignore my pain
Talking about everything but

It helps when people

Just acknowledge
How hard it must be
Say I’m sorry if they are

Just

Acknowledge
My pain

That would be nice

You’d be surprised

How rarely
People
Acknowledge
What they fear

Too Much

It’s all too much
And it’s just
Not enough

Too much

That everything
To do with him
Falls on me

Not enough

That progress
Almost two years out
Is simply
That he smiles

Too much

The effort required
To handle suffering
With some kind of grace

Not enough

To be
The only one
Making an effort
To live

Too much

The work
Of making room
For blindness
Mental illness and
Love

Not enough

Emotional space
Mental capacity
For all that’s
Vying for attention

Something has to give

And it can’t be me for once
My giving well is dry
 
Someone else
Has to give now
Or not

And whatever
Comes apart
When no one is able to give
And nothing is left to give 
Is really alright 

Is really just the way

Things go

Because it’s all become

Too much
 
And it’s really just
Not enough

Rubble

Church is
Worship team practices
Did I get that note right
Humor filled sermons 
Hug filled greeting times
Committees, programs and outreach plans
Last minute scrambles for
Sunday School teachers
And oh no who
Will do coffee
This week

Grief is

Standing alone
In the rubble of 911
Covered in soot
Demolished inside
Lifting one piece at a time
Moving it aside
Taking one painful step
Then repeating
Every day
No progress to show for it
Exhausted

Thinking back every so often

To practices and greeting times
Plans and coffee times
Wondering
How any of that
Relates to
My rubble
Or anyone’s rubble
For that matter

Thinking

No offense but
How cute
Those old
Church problems
Were

Knowing
Those days
Are gone

Knowing someday

I’ll be out
Of the rubble

But the rubble
Won’t ever
Be out
Of me

Knowing

I won’t be
Sidetracked
By cute problems
Again

Not with

So much
Rubble
All around

Mess

When people
Avoid
What they don’t
Understand

When they

Limit access
To the great big world
And all it’s made up of

They also

Limit access
To God

Because God is

All over
This world

In the saints

And in the sinners

In all that is tidy

But especially
In the messes

And to avoid

What’s not neat
In this life

Is to avoid

Much of what
Makes up life

And to miss

Much of what
Makes up God

Is to know well

The God
Of what’s tidy

But miss knowing

The God
Of the mess

Where Pain Fits

Churches
Don’t welcome
Pain
That lasts

They fight against pain

The same way
People in pain
Fight against pain
 
They just want it to go away

They rationalize it with
        It is for a greater good
They place blame with
        It is to discipline you
They deny it with
        God never gives
        more than you can handle
They minimize it with
        It is to refine you

They just won’t

Accept it
As is
Let it be

Churches

Acknowledge pain
Briefly
But they don’t
Allow it
To stay

That would be too messy

Would require them

To figure out
What it says about us and
What it says about God
When pain doesn’t leave
 
Churches
Don’t welcome
Pain
Because they haven’t
Figured out
Where pain
Fits

And as a result

They haven’t
Figured out
Where people in pain
Fit

And that’s a shame

Because this world
Is chock full
Of people in pain
That don’t fit anywhere
Who could really use
A place
To belong