Ask/See

Ask/See

A/C unit in a brick high rise:
a box backed into the window
blocks--like a beam in the eye--sight
of the wild, open sky
that, subdued, is allowed to enter the room
through a slit in its side;
the softened wind rustles that contraption's pleats
and sails across the sheets. Easy
to bring the cold air to the cheeks.

Who leads the breath into the sleeping,
cools the life-blood,
calms the body's seas?
A college student finally sleeps
as the thing hums and heaves,
forgets sweat, heat, fatigue.

Makes life bearable not to burn
with questions of the unseen
for eight hours
out of eternity.

Struggle to Speak

Being ready to give a reason for the hope that is within me is something that the Lord daily challenges me on--no more so then when I am in class and feel the Holy Spirit's prompting to ask a probing question or acknowledge God or defend Biblical truth. I have seen that the Lord is giving me a greater passion and boldness (and desire!) to share him one-on-one with others, but I still am often hesitant to speak to someone about Jesus.
As I read about the evil that men are capable of in memoirs from the Holocaust, about the guilt and shame that haunts hedonist Romantic poets, or about the broken families and relationships of my writer friends, God is deepening my conviction in the power of the gospel alone to transform hearts and save the world. Yet, the struggle to know when to speak and when not to continues in my heart.
Walking home today, the opening line of the poem below came to me and I wrote "Struggle to Speak." The work is definitely fresh, and so I know I will probably rework and sharpen it, but I thought I would post it and invite any thoughts. May God fill you with His love and give you more opportunities to share it with others wherever He has placed you!

Struggle to Speak

The moment before question or comment:
I hold onto the thought
like the hand of my younger brother
who wants to run across the road
and pet the dog on a leash with a sparkling collar
who tugs his owner towards us.

I wonder what impulse--
Spirit within--pushes or stirs
or restrains the words
that when let go
could brave the distance and touch
or, racing forward,
cause you to do the same
into speeding impact
before they reach
and save you.

When no one's looking

Spring break was nothing like I planned (thanks to a week-long sickness) but was still full of unexpected blessings. I am eager to write about these. However, because the thought "Will I ever catch up on school work?" runs through my head about every five minutes, along with a prayer for grace (more like cry for help! ha) not to be anxious, I think I should touch on the break's "blessings amidst bummers" next week.

So in the meantime, in an attempt to keep my re-commitment to posting, I thought I would post some poetry that I wrote last year. Enjoy!

I'll start with something lighter on this dreary day :) It's a "ekphrastic poem." Ekphrastic poetry comments on another art form. The poem below was inspired by Cezanne's Girl at the Piano, the picture accompanying the post (take a close look at it).

When no one’s looking

Girl does not play something
studied, practiced, perfected.
Woman’s feet appear,
and she drops the shroud of a hand
to grasp real hands of Man,
who left his chair alone
to enter on her left.
Watch her chestnut eyes lift
and brighten to find his.
They dance against the stripes on the floor,
with the red and white shapes,
around the room, along the wall.

The sound of other steps join theirs—

Girl’s dress catches on the piano.
She stifles a laugh.
Woman resumes sewing
without a needle.
Man darts out of view,
forgets to rearrange the pillow
he moved.

This Trial

I'd love to hear any thoughts or criticism on the poem below. It's the first one I wrote in the new year and is definitely still "in revision." I hope it encourages you as you seek to have a godly perspective amidst suffering, small or great.

Also (this is slightly off topic) the other day, I was searching for verses that talked about joy and was struck by Job 6:10. It says that Job's joy in unrelenting pain (now that's suffering) was that he did not deny the words of the Holy One. This is a different way of thinking about joy than I normally do--joy did not come after the removal of pain, or even from the hope of its removal, but in resisting the temptation to sin (here, deny God) in the midst of intense suffering.

No matter what I go through as a Christian, I want to have true joy from knowing that my life proclaims to others (and does not deny) that "God is who He reveals himself to be in His Word (both through the Bible and His son Jesus) and every word (every promise) will prove true even if my situation shows no evidence (that I can see) of it." I know that this is only possible through AMAZING grace.

Here's the poem:

This Trial

Isaiah 53:4 "Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows..."

As wind comes to snow on branches
and brushes off a place for leaves,
come to this with faith--
this: the barrenness before green.

As silence comes to a woman
and the timid man she loves,
come to this with faith--
this: the quietness before speech.

As song comes to the invalid
after the fever's left his head,
come to this with faith--
this: the restlessness before peace.

As a pioneer comes to water,
stripped of his dirty clothes and shoes,
come to this with faith--
this: the nakedness before clean.

Why this? Jesus, why this?
Come to this with faith in me--
this: the brokenness before free!

After a while

Tonight was a gift from the Lord to me: I leave a "joke-about-it" dinner of mustard sauce and desserts in shot glasses at P.F. Changs, a local (though part of a chain) Chinese restaurant; neither of my friends Brad and Emily are hungry, nor am I, so David, our waiter, brings us coffee and tea. He's our friend too, evident when he doesn't charge us anything and then sits down at the table after he's clocked out (and when I forget to thank him later or leave a tip but only laugh and give a quick goodbye). We catch up for a while as the last few customers finish their meals.

I find as I push through the tall, glass doors of the restaurant to leave that I'm wishing I had talked less and listened more...but still I feel secure in their love and care--amazing, not to have to be perfect to be loved.

The truth is that as much as "talking too much" is something I often wish I could change about myself, I see the Lord's kindness in surrounding me with dear friends who listen well--sifting through my many thoughts, anecdotes, frustrations, and dreams--and latch on to what's most important in what I've shared. Then they speak to that with words that resonate in my heart as we leave peach tea, dim lighting, and laughter over the ridiculous wisdom in a fortune cookie, and I drive home in the cold and clear of a night after snow.

I realized again how thankfulness leads to peace and a beautiful trust in God's love and perfect control and activity in our lives. Insecurity and fear only rob from the store of blessings God pours into our lives to build in us a trust in His goodness!

God used David's thoughtfulness (literally, the thought: "I wonder if Lizzie has posted anything new on her blog?") to prompt me to start posting again. In the midst of a still incomplete understanding of who God has made me to be, I know that he has made and saved me for a reason, and that the experience of joy promised me when I'm in His will will be an indicator that that work I'm giving myself to, is, in fact, fulfilling part of the plan He has for me and bringing Him much glory. When I'm writing authentically, I feel that joy, so I know I must do it and His grace will be motivating it. Many things hinder me from sitting down at my desk (some things legitimate, some things sinful) but may I begin to respond more readily to the prompting to "post a little somthing"--maybe a thought, an anecdote, a frustration, a dream, maybe in poetry, maybe in prose...maybe in sentence fragments (haha).

My hope is that in the (wonderfully) unpredictable process of creating and writing, people will find something worth latching on to and taking with them: a moment of truth, a glimpse of God's heart, the knowledge that their struggle is shared, an encouragement....