fear love

leave me to stew in dark cold first light
alone & unsure
surrounded by glass, steel
and the ghosts of my sin

come twilight i’ll seek forgiveness
and hope
that i won't be alone

until then there’s routine
what’s expected and allowed
comfortable apathy on tap

leave me here and I’ll percolate
dreaming of light and in-betweens
I have everything
and need something else

leave me to mull in the shadow chill
lonely & doubting
surrounded by commercial, sleek
and the hauntings of my failure


come starlight i’ll seek redemption
and accept
that i fear love

tacos, God, & diamonds

I’ve been a Christian for as long as I can remember. The first place I went as a newborn was from the hospital to my house, and then church that Sunday. Being a Christian wasn’t a choice; it just was.

It’s weird now to realize I have a relationship.

There was this party in a basement Sunday while it rained. A friend, a stranger, and I were nomming tacos and fresh fruit. And somewhere in the middle of a conversation about what makes us different and what makes us the same, I realized I was gushing – about God.

Not a big deal for those Jesus freaks born in Southern states who don’t know any better… but I am not one of those people.

I’ve always prided myself on wrestling with my faith, being one of those rebel Christians who lived a decent life and just happened to go hang out with friends and talk about God on the weekends. And the only thing I’ve not poked at or just flat out disbelieved at some point, was that Jesus loves me. Everything else – from what’s right, what’s wrong, heaven, hell, cussin’, drinking and sex – has been up for debate. Loud, cynical, skeptical debate. It doesn’t matter if I was born on a pew; that’s just where I came from. It’s not where I wanted to stay or how I wanted to be identified.

Until it was.

So back to this moment, when I felt like two people – one who spoke and one who reacted. My friend asked how I became a Christian, and I went through the list: parents went to church, explored in college, found a church after, yadda, yadda. She nodded smoothly, and said, “So recently.” It wasn’t a question, and it caught me off guard.

My decades in the church, my tradition, my pride stung. I’ve been a Christian, my mind stuttered. Born on a pew, hello. Baptized at 4. That’s street, erg, church cred right there.

But all of a sudden this thing I did on the weekends; this thing I ran far, far away from in college; this label I tossed into the back of my self-identity closet looked like a diamond on my ring finger.

I can’t say I don’t know when it happened. Looking back, it was a slow, easy thing, like dawn breaking, but at the time it was a choice, a hard one. Then it was easier choice, until it became a desire. Now, it’s a need.

I can’t explain it, except to say I feel loved. It’s a weird, illogical place to be. But it was worth the harder road.

a smaller hallelujah

I have to start this with a confession: I am far too literal a thinker to be a writer. There are themes I don’t get, and phrases that I like, but I can’t tell you why.

What I don’t understand could fill books. Grey’s Anatomy-sized books. And I would read those books, to try to figure out how to see what other people with more imagination see instinctively.

There are a couple of glaring examples I’ve seen recently. The first that immediately springs to mind is the book “The Giver.” I really admired the writing style, enjoyed the story, and the process; thought the idea behind the story was definitely worth time and attention – but I did not get the ending.

It’s not that I didn’t like the ending, or that I didn’t get that it was the first memory passed to the Receiver. I just… didn’t get it. I could see the start, and I read the end, but I have no idea how the two connected.

I wracked my brain for longer than I care to admit to come up with the idea that the ending was supposed to be representational; that the red sled was blood, and how freedom requires choice and weighty, worthy responsibility. Stretching the idea a bit farther, I could even see how, given the subject matter of the story being based in a significant and sad piece of Jewish (and on a grander scale, human) history, the Receiver was a scapegoat, and only through the shedding (or sledding, yes, I pun) of his complete innocence and absolute sacrifice were all the things that make humans textured – sin and glory, hope and hate, broken, cold hallelujahs – freed to be shared, and covered in a lingering grace.

I have no idea if that’s what the author meant with that scene, though… and I am still disappointed with the ending. I can follow the song. I can see the beauty. I just don't understand that hallelujah.

Conversely, one of the first authors to show me a different hallelujah, a different way to worship was Kathy Tyers. She wrote Star Wars novels, and loved Jesus. Why does that matter? Because before her, I didn't know anyone else who loved Science Fiction and Jesus, and there's nothing like a good story full of stars and possibilities to make one feel less alone. I could understand her song, although it was challenging and different. Her hallelujah made mine seem far less broken.

Ms. Tyers wrote a book recently, Wind and Shadow, part of the Firebird series, that presents a haunting, challenging beauty. Taking literal stories I know as well as most women know faery tales, Ms. Tyers reimagines them as characters with warp drive and interplanetary agendas. Wrestling angels, demons, aliens, and seriously fierce fire fights, somehow her characters show a faith and devotion my often lackluster hallelujah longs for...

I know there is a universe full of things and people and ideas I don't understand. I don't always get how to get from the Giver to the sled, and I hate that. I hate that not understanding makes me feel small and powerless. I want to know everything, know it now. I want an app for that.

There should be an app for that. There should be something I can just click and get the information I want, the maturity I need, the power-up for the next level. Following the journey grinds and frustrates.

But those that give, stars, and God remind me that I am a story in the writing, representational, messy and broken. And all of that is a worthy hallelujah.

There's a blaze of light in every word

It doesn't matter which you heard

The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah

"Hallelujah"

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?


It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah


Hallelujah

-Leonard Cohen