What does it take to die here? And what was it You called me to? I feel the rhythm but I lose the beat. ... clapping along was never successful. I have two feet in the mud, and I had thought that I left this dark puddle a while ago. ... but the cool between my toes is captivating- at least enough to excuse my static locality. "I am covered in skin. No one gets to come in. Pull me out from inside." Her pink pants. 145. Her. Can't you see I am colour-blind? Uptight yet chill. Freeing yet so far. ... freeing? I am not released to dance because I am convinced there is more. I am not released to ask because I believe for what is bigger and yet to come. So I am left: me here: picking my nose: dreaming of Canada, but currently void of taste, touch, sound... until there is colour. I am ready. I am ready? ... I am framing doctor Seuss and wondering at the space that is left around his rhymes... reading between the lines. I am a fragile warrior awaiting rescue. ... or am I meant to be rescuing? He rescues. Follow me to a place that is delicate, that is real, that will cost you. Follow me? Why me? I follow. When the line is blurred it is hard to tell the difference. I don't stand up straight and I hate shoes. I also hate games and social events. .... I am really not very likeable at all. But, follow me? Trust me, I follow. Don't trust me. This is me, just over here, carving my name in the wood ... My name. Aaaahhhh. "But round here we talk just like lions but we sacrifice like lambs." I am swooned by the presence, and yet so easily distracted by it all. So I am left: me here: picking my nose: dreaming of Canada... void. ... Colour-blind still. What would it take to really die here? ... wouldn't that be what you call me to?

As for me, I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Saviour; my God will hear me. Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness the lord will be my light. Micah 7:7-8

Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be men of courage; be strong. 1 Corinthians 16:13

When I am afraid I will trust in you, In God whose word I praise, in God I trust I will not be afraid. Psalm 56:3-4

.... yeah... like that... so what could it take to really die here?




... You are not your own. 1 Corinthians 5:19b

The faintest inclination toward uncomfort and I put up a front. Thinking of my future makes me want to run and hide, camouflage my movements to match the backdrop. How have I detached faith from life? And in all of it, how have I lost a lively faith? Dear January, how did you come so fast?

Every time I laugh really big I can feel the war paint on my cheeks cracking just slightly. Why is it there? I somehow feel unwilling to leave this station, the FM dial reads "normal"-- the jokes, the rhythm and words that stick to my skin and leave a stench like tar. I don't pull away. It is only a reverberation of what is already there. I am broken, impassioned and weeping about the indifference and yet I too am a part of this age group that seeks sensation, marriage and job security before their God. We candidly decide that those things are what God wants ... meanwhile possibly making them our god. Worry-- It is an inconspicuous, proper and praised sin and a powerful master. Worry is the antithesis of faith. I watch myself as I am enveloped in the rerun of the hurting Jaki calling out for something greater, and still the boredom and apathy that eats at my senses causes ache. Surely it would be better for me to pluck out my eye if it causes me to sin... and what of my ears... and my mind... and my heart...? My eye is caught by the over animated geniuses just off the side of the road-- they arouse the bright orange curiosity that is within me. If I allow, they can teach me something of the green plaid tones that decorate the doorway and leave me enthralled by His Majesty.

Nothing about a human being is created to just... be. There was intimacy, and it was He who reached out His hand and painted the purple and green lines-- His fingers warm along the apple of my cheeks, toward my nose. It was He that designed the calling, the red and the maple leaf, the bright light that spreads, the soft soil, the painter's hand. It is He who clothes me and readies me for battle. A great, flat field, soldiers wielding swords, running toward each other, about fifty metres away... yells and screams and adrenaline and cheers and sweat-- green will conquer, green has victory. I am there with the army, staring at the grass, and the mud, and noting the rain. My sword is at my side, ready to be drawn, but my hands are in my pockets and the golden stains upon them are no longer catching the light. How did this become about me? Why was the victory not captivating enough to have me fight? Why are the painters hands hidden?

Everything seems frightening. Everything seems grey. A year from today seems miles away. In the middle of the chaos, I chose to be fixated on the things that are seen. The things before my eyes... and they know nothing of reality, they know nothing of Truth, they know nothing of the Battlefield that I was born to fight upon. I had forgotten the design... Worry-- It is an inconspicuous, proper and praised sin and a powerful master. It chooses to see the seen and not the unseen. That is why it works against faith. That is why it works against me.

Arise, oh Great and Mighty King, take Your victory over all the red space... remove my eyes and replace them with your sight.. and your hands.. and your heart. Remove and rebirth. Your sons and daughters prophesying, your old men dreaming dreams, your young men seeing visions. ....

I invite you January, to invade my life... a year from today may still be miles away... but that day belongs to the King.

There had to have been more of it because we couldn't handle less.
There were fragments decorating the floor and the frame, the dust and the dirt.
Nobody honestly waits here expecting no response. In between what was meant to happen and what did happen was a space of fear and insufficiency... a lack of trust that produced itself to be a catastrophic emotional blast that could have been distinguished with more clarity had it lasted another moment.
Moment passed.
Is it possible that we really have accepted a savior while refusing a king? We accept His grace enough to be lord of our own lives?
There is a proposition made, communicated in sense, hints and whirlwinds while being lost in the the kindling.
I would assume it would read, "patent pending" but it isn't physically there, so I just sit and stare.
We are ridiculously gentle... but the cost is intense. 
I am monotonously keen, promiscuously worshipful, continuously distracted by the next patch of green... washroom break please?
In one moment is beauty, possibility and breakage. The greatest risk is allowing myself to enter the King's dominion and turning around to proclaim it to the world.... it begins like this... "Repent... the kingdom of heaven is..." .... not exactly what people want to hear. "Please.. I have come to invite you to a crucifixion... it is yours... and the death of you might hurt... but the fruit it produces... oh just you wait" ... oh-kay...
If true atheism is actually refusing to see the image of God in a human being... than walking through the mall is a dangerous place to be...
Plastic.
Consumption.
Tan.
Size 1.
Sex.
Object. ...

Oh please Jaki... run...
Canada.
Brokenness.
The kingdom of God is here...
Freely you have received, now freely you give...

"Look at the nations and watch-- and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told."

There had to have been more because we couldn't handle less.
In this place is a beautiful breakage. A willingness toward a kingdom. A fear that is deep and not from God.
In this place are the fragments of me as Jaki will be... one day... chasing after a King, losing my religion...
An attempt at everything that should be...
I am sure my label still reads "patent pending" but what the kingdom sees isn't physically there... so I just sit and stare...

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen....