good old webster’s definition of real: genuine and authentic; not artificial
i believe this blog was founded on that definition and i’ve been told throughout the couple years i’ve written, that this place is honest, authentic and unfearfully real. thank you. i am sincerely humbled any one time someone says they read this thing, let alone subscribe, link or comment.
i don’t have any bombs to drop today but i do want to ask for your prayers. this has been a week of great, unexplainable loneliness and grief. a week where every turn i make is the wrong one. every word i say is the wrong one. every shoulder i cry on is the wrong one.
seemingly.
and its hard. its even harder to explain.
at 4am i was awoken with the extraordinary need to be near God. if you know me at all… i would never wake up at 4am by my own will. i asked my God to comfort me in the only way He can. make me still enough to feel Him. make me silent enough to hear Him. make me wise enough to listen to Him.
after a lot of tears He confirmed something that i already knew about myself. that even if it seems like things don’t look like they “should” look like – it means i’m on the right track. after all… i’ve never been conventional… i’ve never flowed with the currant… i’ve never fit the mold. and this uncharacteristic desire to fit the mold, goes against my grain and how i was created.
halle-frickin-lujah.
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the hug poem (excerpt)
bradley hathaway
BEAR HUG ME MAN
Take your old school carpenter arms and
throw them over my upper body leaving
my arms dangling underneath
yours somewhere and I can barely move
them because your squeezing so hard
And hold me, hold me here in your arms
until I start to cry because
I WANT TO CRY
But I just can’t seem to do it on my own
I have been teary eyed once recently
but not even enough for a drip down my cheek
Theres just hurt in my soul that needs to be purged
so hold me in this hold pose until the pain
is flowing from my eyes and nose
