Taking Chances- Jesus Party of Two

Imagine you’re in a room where all your favorite people were, and it’s a party people are serving themselves at this grand potluck where it’s always going to have anyone’s favorite food at any given time. Why? Because we are all close and everyone knows what you like, and so on you are surrounded by the portraits of how everyone is at any given moment. Sounds good so far right? It gets better the music never ends and there is an never ending loop that provides all the feels that your little heart can take. You meet the best people that your parents talk about exactly how they imagine they would appear and exceed expectations you didn’t know you had. Your sphere turns into a buffet line where you have conversations with your deceased relatives that you know are passed, and for a moment you figure that you’re being given some cosmic insight into how feel good the universe and God is and how this moment hinges on all of creation.

Imagine now all this starts to flicker like a neon light outside of a bar or night club in the evening, and suddenly this grand event in your honor starts to look like unplayable characters from a video game. Now these people start to leave, the dip is gone, and you’re stuck eating olives, plain lays chips, and drinking ginger ale that someone bought to be polite. The songs become routine, and unfamiliar, and you realize the people you were once talking to are gone, and that if you had only kept in place like your parents old TV antenna perched on the house, or the TV set you would have good reception back, or would have been able to have a little more time.

Okay so now the culture of this party that you remember changes from bright and beautiful to edgy themes, and maybe you weren’t sure why it’s changing but you now that you’re angry that it did. But your friends, and the people that surround you on an everyday basis are angry for real reasons like war, their job isn’t that great, pride, they are having car troubles, or maybe they can’t communicate with their significant others. Maybe they are just as alone as you are?

But you feel that your anger isn’t justified so you hide it under your bed and go to school, go to work, go out and have fun, go to church. But it’ a lit cigarette under your bed that someone lit at your party once upon a time and you don’t know it’s there and it burns into everything you do. Making you weird because other people know that you had this awesome party once, and they weren’t invited how dare you not include them in this awesome experience. Then you start to realize some of the people at your party weren’t what they seem, and were never there for you in the first place, and these people were important centers of the party. You want an explanation to why they pretended, and hurt you, and why they showed up to your party in the first place, but these people have moved away, changed their address, and number. The pull towards these people start to feel less because of the rift between you and them, and now the constant doubt to whether you want to approach the situation. But you know that you can’t sleep at night and you’re up praying for them rationalizing with yourself whether or not it’s all in your head which most of it is. The pieces that you are missing to this puzzle are now outside your reach for two reasons; the first being that these people aren’t sorry for their trickery, the pain they caused you. They instead feel as if you owe them because maybe your party wasn’t like their previous parties that they went to, or maybe they just wanted to inflict on you which was why they came. Perhaps the dream of punching you drunk in front of your guests would make them strong, or maybe they didn’t get a chance to hit you and they instead pulled you in to stab you anyway, or they wanted to lead others away from you. Maybe this was successful but the bottom line is that these people aren’t sorry for anything that may have come against you on their behalf.

The second reason is that these people are unreachable for a few reasons like they have passed away, or they have moved and you have no way of contact. Perhaps these people ruined things so bad that it’s going to cause you damage just approaching them in any means. But you still know that you have to move past this and so there is now a four way intersection that you are parked at.

You still remember how awesome the music was, and how the food tasted, and smelt and those conversations you had with the ghosts of family past. But those people who are no longer are still on your mind, in your heart, and in your blood and as much as you try and forget your party has become a series of locked doors, a museum of thought, and memorial to a period in time that no one can see which is meant to represent some of the best pieces of you. You find love, and again and again but it strikes a match against this cold wet idea that you recall for flashes in the pan of excitement because the band is back together, and the droves of people will come back. But they don’t and you lose grip on the people around you, and become more and more angry because now the lit cigarette you left under the bed is now a roaring fire threatening structural damage.

One day you drown in flames then you jump into an ocean with no end, and in the sinking you are brought to the light, and in an instant these doors unlock, and the rotting water, and the dust are swept away by a carpenter that is now beginning to renovate the place in your heart where you kept these things locked. He then starts to rip out the molding, and the water, and fire damage that you sustained, and you begin to see that the party you threw once upon a time was very small. The people that you chased, and everything  you had wasn’t a means to itself and the party was actually really small, and the ghosts that haunted you weren’t what they seemed. So you’re alongside this carpenter helping by throwing away things he’s telling you need to be discarded, and you find things that you realize aren’t what you want to hold to.

Suddenly everything is different.

He begins to re-tile the floors, and rebuilds the room but then he doesn’t stop there he starts knocking down walls, and changing the layout of the house. Smoothing out the areas of full collapse, and cleaning out the animals that lived in the basement while finishing, and resetting the foundation. You don’t recognize the house anymore but it carries a familiar look, and those people don’t recognize you anymore and suddenly you’re able to detach.

But those people never gave you closure, and there’s one room that is still locked.

You have two options, you allow Jesus in so he can deal with the last remaining blocks of decay in your heart. Or you can hold onto it until you are dragged along with no means of letting ago you will eventually be stretched so thin you have to make a choice between your sin, or God?

What was your party? Who did you invite? How did your guests respond and would you invite them again?

What kind of life could you have if you were to fully let go of the past, and step into the upward calling of Christ Jesus without being cynical would you make that leap?

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The Sky Boys: Part 1—Skylines

Substance bleeds in like foreign sunlight no ghosts fill the ashes the former vast like diamonds. Faces haunt the windows as they were a gazed fixed eternally on the well in chests now nostalgically asthmatic. Uphill the climb to be a fixture of decay as the neck ties, turn into coast lines, then into skinned knees on bike rides racing towards the scene of crimes long atoned for. 

Elegant the waltz of careful comfort as fear escapes the ridges of wounds self inflicted. The ankles of the heart perpetually sprained over and over as the fingers trace the way back home around the lip of the same cup of coffee. That’s evaporated into the eye lids that never open in this haunted house there is a depth that is carved out in this man like a key in a book that no one is allowed to read. It’s kept on a shelf in a house constantly being demolished in rubble built upon rubble. 

There is a sovereign hand that peels back layers refined in justice for this sprain. Contoured is the hollows of this hand as the dream is allowed to properly decay. Grey morning skies tremble in as grace flumes around in the air in the front porch light. Unwilling to leave as sweet conditions illuminates the inward image as the glass breaks. The inward sinking is properly buried as the dim look one gives a burial at sea inside a fresh meadow overlooking a patch of trees, grave, and a well. No longer does one linger in the same dead end streets that promise promises with its sunsets, and romance. There is no longer hair styles that can tame the desire of where we are going. There is is just a soft voice in white that leads on.