Perfect

It is really hard to be perfect
Even if I was made that way
I really wasn’t made that way
Born too soon into a broken reality
Everyone’s eyesight is skewed
And mine is too

Perfection isn’t what I strive for
Because I know I’m more than mediocre
I am more than meets the eyes
Every single time

I feel lost in a mess
Where I’m trying too hard to impress
Everyone around me who can judge
And then they do judge
And judgments will always find the imperfections

I don’t want to be flawed or broken
But that’s the world I was born into
We are all flawed and broken
Constantly striving to be more than
Always feeling less than
Perfect

Blogging Everyday in July|Vanilla Coke

Bottle me up
Take care of me
Fizzy sweet cream
I scream

Thought I’d become a rarity
But you’ll never get rid of me
Find me freezing in your fridge
The perfect hostess

Offered up
Not one for sharing
Can’t let them know that you’re not health conscious
Convince yourself I’m healthy
As I rot your teeth
Stain your sheets
Spilled over

Perfect job
Perfect body
Always trying
Never reaching
Perfection

Originally
Unoriginal
Though everybody loves me
Until love turns to distaste

Stop looking for me
You won’t find me in stores
Not your average pour
Still waiting inside your fridge door

Blogging Everyday in July|Bad things, Good People, and Whatever’s In Between

There is a such a common question that is asked.  It’s asked to trip up those who have faith into doubting what they believe.  It’s asked genuinely, really wanting to understand if God really is as good as we say he is.  It’s asked out of curiosity.  It’s asked, just to see what kind of answer I can come up with.  But I’m okay with not having all of the answers.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

I believe that God is perfect.  He created the world to be perfect.  But we failed, thus the world was corrupted.  However, God continues to love us anyway.  Because his love is perfect where we fall short.
Some people like to think that God orchestrates everything that happens in this world, but that’s not the case.  I mean, yes he could do that, but he gave us free will.  So, as humans, we have choices to make, choices to do evil, and choices to do good.  Hating someone because they’re a different gender or race?  That’s a choice.  Loving someone, even though they’re different, or might not love you back?  That’s also a choice.  And for those of us who had the misfortune to be born after the original sin in the garden, sometimes making the right choice doesn’t make sense.  Because we were born into sin.  So vision gets skewed sometimes.
But choice doesn’t answer the question as to why some people get cancer, or are born with a mental “defect” that makes life harder, or why people develop dysphoria, or even why I’m bipolar.  Am I not a good person?  I’m not answering that.  But it’s because this world is corrupt.  This world has sin in it.  And sin isn’t just an action anymore, it’s in the world.
God did not create the world originally to contain sickness and hurt and anger.  Those all came after sin.  And even if someone tries to live their whole life never sinning, they still live in sin.  Because sin is in the world.  It’s in the air we breathe.  It’s not something we can just escape.  We can’t fix a corrupt world overnight.  I’m not even sure if we can fix it at all.
And if we ask why God doesn’t step in and destroy all of the things that are not of him, I think it’s because he loves us still.  He loves us regardless of if we love him.  It’s not as easy as, “those who don’t accept Christ are going to hell.”  It’s complicated and unexplainable, God’s love.  His desire never was, is, or will be to destroy us.  Even when he told Moses on the mountain that he wanted to kill all the Israelites and start again, he didn’t destroy them, and he never ceased to love them.  Even when he sent the flood to make the world new, he broke his own heart and promised never to do it again.
But all of these answers aren’t really answers.  No answer I can ever give will ever be good enough.  And I’m okay with that.  I’m okay with the mystery of God’s goodness.  I’m okay with simply knowing that we don’t know what he’s doing, because we are inside of time, where he lives outside of it.  We don’t know what awful thing he’s going to use for some amazing goodness in our future.  And we also don’t know what awful thing he hated to allow, but did because of the corrupt nature of the world, and the rampant free will that he didn’t interfere with.

I’m bipolar.  And I accepted my crazy a long time ago.  I used to believe that God created me this way, and that somehow it was going to be used someday, and I spent so many hours angry at him for it.  But maybe he didn’t create me this way.  Maybe I just am this way because of the corruptness of this earth.  But that doesn’t mean it won’t be used someday.
I both do and do not try to hide my crazy.  I can get really excited and feel so much love for my friends and want to do so many fun things.  But that excitement will get used up.  I’ll hit the mountaintop and drop off a cliff.  I woke up yesterday knowing I shouldn’t see people.  But I chose to drive to Nashville for the first time with them instead.  If it had been smooth, with a plan, and a city tour guide like I had in Michael Glenn, or Jackson, or even Jamie with his San Francisco list, or Aaron with his Portland list, and maybe a whole day, then my landing at the bottom of my depression might have been smoother.  My city exploring might have been something worth doing.  But instead, instead the chaos inside my head matched the chaos outside.  Instead I didn’t know what I was doing.  Instead, it was as if I had never been to a city before and things like paying for parking had to be mansplained to me.  Instead, I saw no river or beauty, I saw the ugliness that comes with all downtowns.  It was loud and hot and too much.  Why I ever thought that kind of adventure on a bad day would have been a good idea is beyond me.  Because I can’t explain my broken soul to those around me.  I’m unhelpable.  I’m broken.  But I’ve accepted it.  It’s just embarrassing when I’m spilling out onto the floor and the only thing that can be done is to mop me up.
Life is chaos.  Life is chaos.  Life is chaos.  And I could go on screaming at God to take me from it, because I’m not going to do it on my own.  Or I could find a way to take this chaos and make it art.  Find the beauty in the ugly.  Be Tyra Banks for a moment.  That’s not something I know how to do at the bottom of the cliff, but I will find my moment at the top again, and I will be living amongst the beauty again.
And none of this is to say that I had zero fun in Nashville, because I did have fun.  I love my friends here, they care about me.  It wasn’t there fault that I can’t handle my own existence sometimes.  That will never be anyone else’s fault.  That’s not what I want to be taken from this.  I am flawed.  We are all flawed.  Welcome to honesty hour.

 

Nobody’s Story

Nobody’s story is simple
To get to where you are now had to come from somewhere
Even growing in perfection has moments of misdirection
Every stained glass had its broken moments

The one who has it all together had to learn to stretch to wrap their arms around the broken years
The one who shines so brightly in the light has trouble falling asleep at night because of fear of darkness
The early riser, morning conqueror never fell asleep in the first place
The one so quiet and concentrated has learned to gather scattered thoughts to keep from going crazy

We try to put everyone in a box
Believing no one can understand
That everyone’s life must be easy
Because you can watch them breathe while you feel as though you’re suffocating

Things don’t go to plan
Because the chaos of the universe already has its order
As we try to grasp it we fall apart
Developing a story to be told

Nobody’s story is simple
To get to where you are now had to come from somewhere
So tell it

Father

You’re a good father
And you are my father
A perfect father
Yet I find ways to forget
I run from you
Making mistakes
Because I want to
Because I know I’m not perfect
And I find ways to prove it

Why would anyone look up to me?
Finding reasons not to forgive myself
Even though you already have
Because you’re my good father
That’s simply who you are

Yet it’s even more complex
Than that
Isn’t it?
You gave it all
As my father
Died as my friend
Paying all my debts
And wrapping me in your loving arms

You give me all your mercies
None that I deserve
And take my hand
To walk with me
Through the destruction I cling to

I should be broken at your feet
Thrown from your sight
Left for dead
Yet you search for me

You find me so easily
Never tiring of this hide and seek
Teaching me a new game
I just never got the hang of it

I don’t want to search anymore
You tell me you were never hidden
As I bask in your power
Dwell in your presence
Prayers on my lips
My soul sings
As you dance with me

Flawed Perfection

I think about finding mostly perfect things
But I see no perfection in myself
Because I understand that we are all flawed beings
And I see beyond your flaws so easily
To the soul you are within
Why is it that when you do the same I can’t comprehend?
It’s like my fractured soul skews the light that hits my eyes
It’s like my mirror is from a fun-house

Maybe we all have fun-house mirrors
We see only distortions of who we really are
Rather than the image that we’re really putting out

Maybe I only see my brokenness
When it’s not even there anymore
Am I even broken to you?
Because you’re definitely not broken to me
A little flawed, maybe, but you don’t need fixing
You’re already mostly perfect

So maybe I’m mostly perfect too
Maybe I just can’t see my mostly
I search for this perfection everywhere
Rather than accepting that I have already truly found it

Let’s throw out our fun-house mirrors
We don’t need them anymore
You have a perfection worth fighting for
And I’m going to do my best to fight for you
Just promise that you’ll fight for me too
And we can be mostly perfect in a flawed perfection

About Choice

The thing about utopia is how imperfect and broken it is.  With ridding life of pain, of conflict, of disagreement, we take away so much.  We take away joy, and love, and color.  We take away choice.

Some believe that with choice, we always choose wrong.  Look at Adam and Eve.  They had the choice to live forever, and instead chose knowledge and death.  Is it because they didn’t have all the facts?  We may not ever know.  But maybe that’s okay.  So many of us say that if it were us, knowing what we know now, we would have chosen differently.  I’m not so sure that this is true.

I would love to rid the world of its corruptness.  I would love to end all wars and hunger and racism and all of that.  However, this may never be possible.  Not because people always choose wrong, but because the wrong choices sound the loudest.

If someone never knew pain, lived in a world without pain, and was surrounded by people who only knew the same, then once pain arrived it would scream in their face.  Everyone would feel it.  And to stop it, more pain would arise.  Or maybe it wouldn’t.

All I know is that the world is fallen, that I am fallen.  All I know is that I am redeemed.  All I know is that this all can be washed clean.  If only we would make the choice.