Dance with Me.

Here I am, sitting on my bed, colouring in the colouring book My Daddy bought for me. He sits on a chair in the corner, reading the newspaper, smiling at me as I hum along to tune of my favourite song. I’m wearing my favourite dress, light blue with a big white ribbon on the front, the one He bought me to wear to my very first valentine’s dance. I will never forget that night. He took me in His big, strong arms and smothered my face with scruffy kisses and told me, “My daughter, You are mine. I know You. I love you.” And we danced, my Daddy and I, hopping and skipping, waltzing and swinging, smiling and giggling as He tells me He loves me so very very much.

I know My Daddy is always watching over me. He will always protect me, always take care of me. Some of my friends ask me how I know this, why I’m so trusting of my Daddy. It’s because He tells me so. He whispers sweet words to me, singing His love song over me.

- – -

Here I am, sitting on my bed, my iPod plugged into my ears, singing along to the tune of my favourite song. My Dad sits by, watching me from the corner, as I’m lost to the silent world of melodies and harmonies, oblivious to anything else. It was a hard day at school and I just want to block it out. The girls like to tease me, picking fun at the way I like converse and hate the colour pink. The boys never look at me when I’m walking down the hall, and for just a selfish moment, I wish I just got one second glance.

“Will you dance with Me, daughter?” My Dad’s voice is soft, but melodic and soothing like the ripple of flowing water. The question I love. The question I dread. I’m older now, not the little girl I used to be. Why does He still ask me to dance? It’s silly and childish.. but yet I love the way He holds me. His arms are so strong and when I dance with My Dad, I can rest my head upon Him and know that it will all be alright in the end.

He takes me in His arms and He plants a kiss on the top of my mussy blonde hair. “My daughter,” He soothes as I close my eyes and He begins to sway, “You are Mine. I know You. I love you. I created you, and when I created you, I made you beautiful.” You made me beautiful, Dad? Why don’t I feel beautiful? Why doesn’t anyone notice me? The thoughts in my head keep blaring and shouting and I don’t even hear His sweet words anymore, as the love song He sings drifts off into silence.

- – -

Here I am, sitting on my bed, with tears on my face, a broken heart from yet another emotional roller coaster ride. The room is dark, and I’m on my knees again, as the empty promises of man echo through the walls of my heart. My favourite dress has become tattered and filthy, reeking of garbage and cigarette smoke. It’s a constant pattern of catch and release. I clung to the hollow words of the deceiver, getting caught up in the glimmer and glitz of the world outside my Father’s house, and I allowed myself to wander aimlessly into the snares of the world beyond. The deceiver, he asked me to dance with him. He grasped me close and he caressed my neck and I gagged at the smell of brandy on his breath. He wouldn’t let me go and he wiggled and writhed like a snake in its den. He called me words that made me cringe, words that made me feel naked and exposed. And he wouldn’t let me go until I forced my way out of his vice-like chains and stumbled my way back to my Father’s house.

I know my Father is standing in the corner, watching me as the tears flow. I can hear His deep breaths through the silence, constant and calm. I wait for His voice to reprimand me for my foolish ways. Oh, stupid stupid girl…

“My daughter.” His warm hand upon my shoulder. My muscles tense at the touch. “You are Mine.” I relax as His arms begin to embrace me, as my Father effortlessly picks me up and cradles me. “I know You.” I dare to look up into His face, His handsome face. His eyes are full of tears as He weeps over me, his deep brown eyes filled with compassion for me. “I love you. I created you, and when I created you, I made you beautiful.” I close my eyes and I rest my head upon His shoulder. “You will always be beautiful to me.”

And as the tears begin to fall again, I realize that He is the lover of my soul, the One who has loved me since I was created. I was made to dance with my Father. And as He holds me, He whispers sweet words in my ear, singing His love song over me.

Emmanuel.

It was a silent night. Stars glisten in the sky above, shimmering brightly throughout the night, beacons of light to the town below. The forlorn cry of a wandering sheep echoes from afar, as it bleats softly for its shepherd. The city sleeps, so still, unaware of the hope that has come to Israel this night.

She sat silently, looking down upon the wrinkled face of her son. God’s son. Tiny fingers, fragile and wrinkled, reached out to grasp the vast air above, and a gurgle escaped from his pursed lips. This is my Savior, she pondered. This delicate, innocent bundle. This is my God. Here in my arms. Tears flowed slowly down her slender cheeks, as her heart filled with wonder at the thought.

What life would He know? He, whom the angels worship. He who deserved to be crowned and given a kingdom above all kingdoms. Would the world accept Him? Would they love Him and honor Him? Would He usher in His glory and bring His salvation to a people in desperate need of a Savior?

Not this night. This night He laid, sleeping, peacefully, serenely. Oblivious, in this moment, to the darkness beyond. She looked down tenderly to see His eyes wide, full of wonder, brimming with light. Those eyes that had seen the glories of Heaven, that had seen the forming of the earth’s foundation. Those eyes that had looked into the very face of God Himself, now looking up at her. As He closed His eyes, drifting off to sleep, a gentle sigh escaped His lips, and she smiled affectionately.

If only she knew how much her son would change the world.

- – -

It was a silent afternoon. Clouds fill the sky, as darkness envelops the light. Lightning flashes in vibrant shades of yellows and whites. The very foundations of the earth quake. The forlorn cries of the flock echoes softly, as they cry for their Shepherd. The city bustles with business, so abuzz, unaware of the hope that has come to Israel this day.

She stood silently, looking up upon the blood-stained face of her son. God’s son. His hands were stretched, pulled and hammered, and a cry echoed from his pursed lips, penetrating the silence. This is my Savior, she pondered. This bleeding man, scarred and sacrificed. This is my God. Here on the cross. Tears flowed slowly down her wrinkling cheeks, as her heart filled with wonder at the thought.

What life had He known? He, who deserved a throne. He to whom all knees should bow. The world had rejected Him, scorned Him, crucified Him. The world had hated Him and mocked Him. If only they knew He was bringing His salvation to them, who so desperately needed Him.

It was this day. This day He laid down His life.  This day He hung, beaten and marred. She looked up in awe to see His eyes, brimming with sorrow, filled with compassion. Those eyes that had seen the splendour of Heaven. Those eyes that were of God Himself, looking down at her.

And as He closed His eyes, those eyes that had seen the forming of the world, taking that one final breath, her lips turned up into a small smile.

She knew now. She had caught a glimpse of just how much God’s Son would change the world.

CW- Chicago

Disclaimer: CW = Creative Writing. It’s basically just any excerpt from my writing journal that I thought was interesting or enjoyable. ^_^

Chicago; a city bustling with culture and business, glamour and life. Everywhere you look, there are people of all races and ethnicities, genders and social statuses. From toothless hobos lurking in the shadows to the Gucci-obsessed businesswomen who strut down State Street without a fear or inhibition, you see all ways of life, making the Windy city a melting pot of ideas and hopes, dreams and ambitions.

This is the third largest city in America… yet in some strange, surreal way, it feels just like home. I lose myself in the grandeur of the skylines and express lanes. The fast pace of the city just clicks with my lifestyle like a jigsaw puzzle. After a little adjusting, it fights right in.

And yet in all its busyness, there is a piece of Chicago that leans back to the times long-gone. The rhythmic hum of the Els as they rickity-clack their way along. The same wind that whistles through the towering giants of Willis Tower and the Hancock building. The wafting aroma that drifts about Chicago streets, introducing the world to the pungent wonder that is Starbucks coffee.

In all the honking and moving and bustling and screeching, there is organization to it. There is an order to the way things run. You just have to look past the glitz and glamour to see it. To see the everyday people going about their everyday jobs in that everyday city called Chicago.

The Mirror

The following is a story. A story that mirrors the hopelessness of this world. A story that describes the constant struggle of every man. Yet, it is a story of hope. A story of redemption. A story of light penetrating even the darkest abysses of our souls.
In a world that screams perfection and flawlessness, deep down, we all face the mirror. Deep down inside, there is a battle far beyond anything we can see. It is a battle of Life and Death. Light versus Darkness. It is a battle of the soul. A battle often lost, unless we look in the mirror.

(As a side note, I’m sure many of you will read this and think, “Oh my goodness, what’s wrong with Cheyenne?” Don’t. There are dark things in this world that cannot be ignored. We live in a world where darkness, depression, broken hearts, depraved souls scatter the streets, live in our homes. We come into contact with them every day. We need to connect with them in a way that they will understand. In a way that the light will seep into their lives of sin… into their darkness. The gospel is not always butterflies and rainbows. It’s real. It’s deep. It’s penetrating. This is why I wrote the following. Not because I’m depressed and need to rant. But because there are lost souls out there, lost souls who need to look into the Mirror and find the true Light… people out there who want to find some semblance of hope in their despondent lives.)

—
A mirror, deserted in a barren room. In a room where I stand alone.
Look in the Mirror.
A smile traces my lips as I take in every inch, every curve, every detail. I am Strong. Mature. Reliant. I am Beautiful. Flawless. Perfect.
I turn my back, ashamed at my contemptuous pride, but a soothing voice whispers, “Look in the Mirror.” My fingers trace the smooth frame, my entire being yearns to look again at the beautiful figure it sees. Moving slowly, I turn again, looking closely to see my own beauty, my own faultless perception.
The Mirror deceives me. Staring back at me, an ashen ghost, eyes of black, lips parched, limbs feeble. Frantically I look about, wondering what illusion has befallen me. These blackened eyes, they follow me, staring blankly into mine. Darkness creeps slowly about me, the mirror swallowing the light around me. It moves, it breathes, it whispers, this darkness.  Suffocating, poisonous, it captures me. Blood seeps from my wrists, opened wounds that never quite healed. Suffocating, I struggle through the darkness, stumbling deeper and deeper into the shadows. Lost. Completely lost.

And before me, pounding softly, faintly, my heart sits on a pedestal. Stabbed and torn, it lies in pieces, bleeding, seeping… broken. Disconnected and cold, it pounds slowly on, ceaselessly, ceaselessly pounding. Falling to my knees, I cry out to be removed from this nightmare, but my words echo in the tenebrous abyss. Moonlit tears grace my cheeks as I grovel in the dust, worthless being that I am. Who am I to think that I am anything? I am broken. I am stained. I am a pile of pieces that have been left for disposal. Where is hope? Where is light in the depths of my soul? Oh, there is nothing in me that might be found worthy. There is no word that passes through my parched lips that could ever redeem my dismal state. I am the wretch. The thief. The murderer. Blood clings to my dampened clothes, the blood of those I’ve wounded, the blood of those I’ve bruised. Names, countless names, echo in my head, the names of those I have taunted and teased, names of those I have forgotten and ignored.

Pounding, pounding, this hammering echoes through my mind. More than just a fabrication. This was real, these sounds. My reddened eyes lift to grace the mirror, and there I see the one that I have killed. His hands bleeding… just like mine. The tears falling… just like mine. His life waning… just like mine. Oh, where is hope in this dark world? A world that would kill the innocent? Where is hope in a wretch like me, who mocks the very name of the one in the Mirror? Where is hope? Where is hope? My head in my hands, the words spill from my lips, repeating, repeating, pounding in my soul.
Hope is lost, breathes the voice within me. I cringe and close my eyes tightly. No, no. It can’t be lost. It must be found. It must be somewhere. Hope is lost, it repeats again, soothingly, seductively, entrancingly. Where is perfection? Where is beauty? Lost, lost, in the darkness surrounding. Murderer. Murderer. You killed him. You killed him.
A voice, filled with sorrow, penetrates the darkness. “Forgive her, for she knows not what she does.”
I do not deserve forgiveness, I cry, sobbing hot tears that flow from my eyes.  Dare I look upon him? Dare I bring myself to see the one who hung on a cross, because of me?  The One whom I murdered? As I lifted my eyes, my darkened eyes, He looked at me. Light, glorious light, radiated from his eyes, piercing through the darkness. My arms, feeble, weak, lifted towards the mirror with all the strength I had left, with the last breath I had within me. Slowly the light wanes through the mirror until a mere shimmer lingers. All but suppressed by the darkness around it, it waits, a glimmer of hope in the starless world around me. Crimson blood seeps from between my fingers, falling, falling, soundlessly into the darkness below. He was holding me, grasping me in his arms, pulling me from the darkness. The blood from his hands flows freely down around me, a crimson flood to fill my weakened soul. His blood falls upon my wrists, cleansing my wounds, erasing my scars. It sweeps upon my eyes, those fathomless holes, and emerged eyes to see, eyes not blinded by the light.
The darkness fades like the evening dawn as He stands, a mighty warrior, a loving father, a merciful savior. I sit in awe, worthless wretch I am, unholy, unrighteous, unworthy.
I feel a weight by my side, the muscles in my arm tensing. I look down.
A rock in my hand.
I don’t understand.
“Destroy it.”
My eyes grace the mirror, the epitome of darkness. In the glimmer of moonlight, a pedestal stands. And upon it, a single object sits, constantly pounding, pounding. My heart. Scarred. Beaten. Maimed and desolate. My hands shake unceasingly. This is the last piece of me. The only bit of my nightmare remaining. Destroy it, my body screams. Destroy it once and for all.
I cannot. I will not. My fingers relax, as I close my eyes. The rock falls to the ground, deafeningly.
“Don’t ask me to do this!” I cry, tears flowing freely from my cheeks. It’s too hard, I mutter. I’m not strong enough… Can’t you see?
“Let it go.”
You do it. Pick up the rock and throw it, God. I’m willing… I’m waiting… just don’t make me do it. You’ve taken my pride. You’ve taken my bitterness. You’ve taken my guilt. Isn’t that enough? Don’t ask me for my heart. I can’t give it. I just can’t.
“You can.”
Something about His voice… soft… trembling… Tears fell from his tender eyes as he stoops down, the rock in his hand. With tender love, he places the weight in my own, whispering once more. “Destroy it.”
From the depths of my soul came a moment of strength. Clutching tightly the rock, the burden I carry. A wail escapes from my lips as it hurls towards the mirror.
The sound of splintering glass. The sound of a stopping heartbeat. The sound of tears as I fall to the ground.
Silence.
“Look in the Mirror.”
Pieces, thousands of pieces. Broken shards of glass….
A thousand rays of light illuminate the mirror, broken and maimed. At last I see, truly see… The shadows flee, the darkness hidden, my broken heart no longer visible, covered by His light that shines through the mirror.
The darkness that once was has been transformed into marvelous light. His light.
No longer stained, tainted, haunted by the darkness of my own sin.
No longer depraved, broken, scarred and beaten.
No longer hopeless.
For now I know that He is my hope.

Look in the mirror.

Do You Remember?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the past.. about how God has been present in my life… and I tried to convey my feelings. The following story is the outcome.

—–
“Lord, where are you?” a voice, my voices echoed silent about the still confines of my bedroom. The shadows linger eerily as I kneel before my Savior. Shimmering tears drip from my eyes, mirroring a heart that yearns for His presence, His gently, comforting whisper. “In these past months, you have seen so distant. And I can’t find you. This pain, these trials, where are you in them? I’ve felt so lost. So abandoned.”
“Where was I? Don’t you remember?” A voice echoes through my mind. I shut my eyes slowly, cautiously. A figure fades into view, like a blurred screen slowly clearing.
Louise. My grandmother. Wisps of snowy white hair graced her balding head. With every movement, little hairs flitted to the floor. Large, inflamed abscesses covered her once-smooth skin, now flaking and oozing. Cancer dwelt in the farthest, deepest abysses of her deteriorating body. Her eyes, those deep brown eyes, still sparkling and twinkling, filled with anguish and longing.
“Where was I?”
Another scene, of a young girl composedly walking through the woods, a smile alight on her lips.
Emily. A rope, caked with crimson blood. Winds wisps through creaking boughs, looking down upon a serene figure lying breathless on the ground. Cold-hearted, ruthless murder. Leaving behind a brokenhearted family, brokenhearted friends, wondering why.
“Where was I?”
As the woods dimmed from thought, one final figure took its place. A girl sitting in her bedroom, tears dripping slowly down her face as the door slams below, brushes away straight blonde hair from before her eyes. From outside, a tall brown-haired man walked away from his family with no goodbye. Zach. My brother. My confidant. My friend. The one who left me behind, the one who turned his back on me… Who left me groveling with my bitterness against him, yearning for my love for him. Tears fell freely from my cheeks, mirroring a heart broken, mirroring a heart in need of healing, in need of His presence.
“Child. I was there.”
I remembered. June 30th, 2007. Standing in a small room, eyes tear-stained, staring at a coffin. An open coffin, where the ashen face of a women I held dear sullenly lay. No longer to utter another word, no longer to wrap loving arms in embrace, no longer to pet, no longer to encourage. As a line of family members filed out the door, a young lady remained. I remained. Creeping up to the coffin, I stared at the motionless lips, the closed eyelids. She was in a better place. She no longer felt any pain. She was dancing before the throne of her Savior. I was flooded with emotion, peace pushing aside my fears, my doubts, my sorrow.
“Child, I was there.”
I remembered. September 27th, 2008. In the woods, Emily struggled, the rope wrapped tight around her neck. Gasping, fighting, crying, praying. The nameless face of a man stared back at her. She stood alone. No, not alone. With arms wrapped wide around her, a figure stood. He stood. Holding her, caressing her, whispering in her ear that He was so proud of her. Whispering in her ear that He loved her so much. Finally whispering in her ear that it was time to go. With a little sigh, He carried her to His kingdom.
“Child, I was there.”
I remembered. Countless day upon countless day. The computer screen stared at me with his name blaring in my head. Zach Lehto. His name lingered in my chat box, my message board, my inbox. Could I not get past my pride, my doubt, my bitterness and forgive him? Though he didn’t… doesn’t deserve forgiveness? Let go. I forgived you. You must do likewise.  I must forgive him. I must pray for him. I must try to love him again. I will love him again. Just as You loved me.
Silence.
“Do you see me, my daughter?”
I can’t speak. Tears of painful memories are turned to tears of joy.
“Where was I? No, my child, ponder this. Where was I not?”

A Simple Story…

A couple of months ago, I had the pleasure of volunteering for a classical piano recital put on by doctors around the area. My piano teacher asked me to help, and so I went, not expecting to enjoy myself… They had free pizza for the volunteers, and after finishing a few odd jobs, I took a seat. Facing me were 5 other teenagers, ranging in height, age and gender. They were conversing quite loudly, and I couldn’t help but listen to what they were saying. They all looked like ordinary teenagers, extremely self-conscious, etc. except for one sitting at the far end of the table. He was definitely what the world would call “a geek.” A pair of glasses sat atop a very sharp nose. His eyes hid behind a pair of very bushy eyebrows… you get the picture.

He was a straight A student, as we quickly found out. Another guy, a very proud, arrogant junior, began to ask him all these questions, about his school work, extra credit work… All those questions posed in a kind way, but meant to secretly make fun. Anyways, I am sad to say that I hid the fact that I am *almost* a straight A student and that I almost always do extra credit…

It’s interesting how we can hide ourselves from strangers, not telling lies about ourselves but hiding our true identities. We allow people to make their own assumptions about us without telling them whether they are right or not. Looking back at that night, I reminded myself of the Pharisees and religious leaders of Jesus’ time. In one word, it reminded me of hypocrisy.

Anyways, later on that night, once we were done having our pizza and preparing for the performance, I was given a choice of which door I would like to stand by. Since we were ushers, we would be moving about quite a bit and personally it didn’t matter to me. So I picked a door, walked through the doorway quickly and smiled weakly. I had gotten the door with “Mr. Geek.” He smiled as well, pushed the glasses up onto his nose once more and said quietly, “I noticed the book in your bag as you walked by. You like Shakespeare?” I shrugged, not sure what to say, trying to inch my way to my starting position, waiting for someone to free me from the conversation. After I had walked several feet, I heard him sigh. “I don’t really expect anyone to come through this door,” he said quietly to the wall. I stopped, shook my head at my stupidity and walked back down the stairs.

I looked at him in the eyes and said, “Look. No matter how much they tease you and pick on you, ignore them. I know I didn’t say anything earlier, but I just want you to know that I was very impressed at how well you took what those guys were saying. It takes a really strong person to hold his tongue like you did.” He looked at me strangely. I think I shocked him a little.. okay, a lot. But I was doing what Jesus would have done at that moment…

He looked at me and smiled, saying… “So, DO you like Shakespeare?”

I find it interesting that throughout our lives, we are placed with simple tests of our faith… Whether it consists of sharing the gospel or just being different, they always pop up at the strangest moments. When I went to volunteer that night, I didn’t know I would have an impact on anyone. Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I have no idea why God placed “Mr. Geek” in my path, but He did. I’ll never know the real reason, but I hope that I planted a seed.