Because You Came

Because You Came
By: Joy Ortiz

Sleep is pit stop instead of a refuge.
Morning breaks, promising rather than grey.
Work is rewarding though payment is absent.
We become rich giving money away.

Life is redemption.
Grief becomes peace.
Love meets religion.
Faith becomes deeds.

Kindness reaps healing.
Weakness is power.
Hope never falters.
Grace wins the hour.

You shatter and heal us.
You bang up our pride.
You strip and reveal us.
You won't let us hide.

You douse us with wisdom.
You shake us with grace.
You bend us and stretch us.
You show us your face.

Your mercy is painful.
Your goodness cuts deep.
Your justice points fingers.
Your love makes us weep.

Our pride falls in splinters.
Our shame breaks like ice.
Our fear turns to courage.
Our self, sacrifice.

Our lives become worship.
Our breath becomes praise.
Our words become wisdom.
Our deeds become grace.

Our hearts become holy.
Our minds become pure.
Our eyes become windows.
Our ears become doors.

Our arms become shelter.
Our lips become truth.
Our knees become altars.
Our scars become proof.

I Am; I Will

I Am; I Will

Heavy-hearted
Weak and tired
Same old battles
How long, oh Lord?
Seeking freedom
Living pain
Breathing questions
Lying down
Hands are empty
Knees are raw
Voice is gone
Eyes are dry
Wait in silence
Hope for peace
Wade through lies
Search for truth
Reach for love
Cry for mercy
Hold to promise
Tie to faith
Work for future
Wait for growth
Trust for answers
Pray for home
Call for Father
Cling to Friend
Reach for Savior
Walk in light
Don't stop loving
Don't give up
Keep on trying
Follow God

Retro post from Dec. 31, 2011: A Bird In the Hand

My mind has been restless for a few days.  Old uncertainty and fear have been trying to steal my joy, and I have had to make a conscious effort to relax.  I feel like a bird in a cage.  Much of the time I am content to perch and sing, to eat the food and drink the water that is given to me, and to tuck my head under my wing each night as I sleep safely.  Every once in awhile, though, the confines of my cage feel like a trap instead of a haven.  Then I throw myself against the bars, beating my wings in a frenzy, trying to escape it.  All memeory of safety and tranquility are lost  in my desperation to get out.

What makes me afraid?  It is when I glimpse the sky through an open window that my cage feels so small.  When a sweet breeze blows through the room carrying the fragrance of trees and meadows, my heart longs to be free, to explore the wild world, to see what lies beyond the threshold of my master's door.

I came to my master as an egg.  When I was born, my mother and father placed me in his hands.  I grew and perched on his fingers.  I ate seeds from the palm of his hand.  He taught me to sing.  It was from his shoulder that I attempted my first flight, more falling than flying.  He delighted in me, and I thrived under his care.

When I had grown into my feathers, my master presented me with something new.  It was another bird, a male, different from me.  I cocked my head as I inspected him.  He was handsome and young.  His song was sweet.  I hopped onto my master's finger, and the boy followed me.  Together we ate seeds from the master's hand.

I had grown up in captivity.  Though I had seen other birds and even fluttered around my master's house in their company, I had never met one who was the same species as myself.  I was a rare hybrid with strange qualities.  I had inherited my father's showiness and pride, but it was tempered with my mother's faithfulness to the master's voice.  As a result I became a bird who would fly forth in great showy displays, then return to the master's hand.  I thought the boy might be the same kind of bird as me.  I watched him sing and fly with the other birds as I sang my own song.  I met him in the master's hand when we went there to eat seeds and sing for him.  I even tried to teach the boy some of my songs.  He tried them, but he never grew to love them as I did, so I continued to sing alone.  Still we would meet in the master's hand, and there was no other bird whose song sounded as sweet to me as his.

Thoughts on Why I am a Christian

I choose to be Christian after going through a battle with depression and grief over my parents' divorce. I was raised Christian, but I seriously doubted God's existence after my family origin fell apart. I sought truth and answers for a few years as I dealt with my grief and mental illness. Here are some things that made me believe in God again, and I'm not looking for any arguments or to prove a point. Just sharing a bit of my own humble thoughts:

1.) There is good and evil in the world. We feel it, and we recognize it when we see it in ourselves and others. I believe that a higher power must exist as a differentiator between the two, and a guide to human behavior. There is an invisible standard that makes us feel something is right, wrong, good, or bad. I believe that unseen is God. 

2.)  I have witnessed the transformation of broken people. Myself, close friends, family, and others have moved from lives of mental illness, shame, addiction, selfishness, and immaturity to lives of kindness, health, grace, freedom, and maturity. Their eyes have turned from themselves and sought beauty and truth. They learned to love themselves and others unconditionally. They learned self-control. They found peace in incredibly painful circumstances. Over and over, I have experienced and witnessed these things. 

3.). Life is full of pain and unanswerable questions. If we don't learn how to find beauty and purpose in the midst of them, it is easy to be overwhelmed. For me God was a guiding light out of the painful maze through which I was walking. Believing that there is a purpose for the pain I experience helps me to endure it with peace and patience. There are certain kinds of pain that can be numbed or avoided in life, but to keep growing, living where we are, and maturing, we must face our problems and deal with them. This means experiencing pain. Faith in the goodness,  purpose, and promises of God inspires courage to face pain. 

These are just a few reasons for my choice. Again, I am not looking to start a theological argument or bash anyone else's choices. Just sharing my own thoughts. :0)

Raven; Thief

Raven; Thief

He comes like a raven to steal our hope. 

He circles and hovers,

His eyes filled with greed. 

See how we nestle, so small, in the earth?

Tender and vulnerable

New-planted seeds

Are delicious to ravens. 

He followed us here,

Perching and waiting till

We left your hand.

Scavenger, stealer,

He preys on the weak,

Searching forest and field,

Mountain and sand. 

He chases the sheep herds

And snatches the lambs,

Newborn, from their mothers,

Crying and torn. 

His mouth is a knife

Meant to tear and divide. 

Disdaining their bleating,

He croaks out his scorn. 

He is clever and cunning. 

He mimics your speech. 

His voice croaks damnation

From gore-crusted beak. 

He feasts on the garbage. 

He picks at dead flesh. 

He lives to devour

Both rancid and fresh. 

His hunger is endless.

He's jealous and shrewd. 

He flies the earth over

In search of his food. 

Deceptively graceful,

He glides, loops, and plays,

While hoarding his harvest

From thieving forays. 

Now, here comes the raven 

To steal and devour

The seeds that were planted

That dark, stormy hour

When rain washed the ground

And gave life to the dirt,

When grace pierced our crust

And spilled hope into earth. 

So he circles and greedily 

Starts to compute

Which tender young seedlings

To pluck and uproot. 

Which ones are the tastiest 

Hopes to ingest?

He will save some for later

But first eat the best. 

New life?  Or forgiveness?

Friendship, perhaps. 

Acceptance?  Redemption?

He eyes them askance. 

It's so hard to choose!

They all look delicious. 

Then his eye starts to gleam

With a hunger quite vicious,

For he has spied love 

Peeking up from the dirt. 

There are several varieties. 

Which to pick first?

Self-love is smallest. 

It's barely alive. 

God-love is largest:

Quadruple in size. 

Next is friend-love,

Budding new in this hour,

Like sex-love that's damaged

Yet promises flower. 

These loves are the most precious

Seedlings of all,

For, when grown, they are trees

Standing steadfast and tall.  

The raven dives swiftly

To scoop up his feast,

But before he can reach it,

A cry is released!

What horror!  What anguish!

Oh what is that voice

That seems to transfix him,

Withheld from his choice?

It ruffles his feathers 

And shivers his skin. 

It pierces his eardrums and

Crumples his wings. 

Louder than thunder,

A voice fills the air,

"This is my garden. 

Death-bringer, beware."

Shaken and shattered,

The raven takes flight

To return to the dung-heap

And rest for the night. 

Tomorrow he might chance 

A second foray. 

Then again, there is garbage 

Aplenty today. 

There's a voice that sings over us

Wider than sky,

Taller than mountains, and

Deeper than sea. 

It covers the wilderness,

Desert, and fields. 

It echoes through caverns

And thunders through trees. 

He doesn't forget us

Down here on the earth. 

He nurtures and shelters

The work of his hand. 

His eye is upon us. 

He comes to our aid

When deception would steal

The hope from our land. 

Give thanks to the God 

Who is stronger than death. 

Give thanks to the God 

Who is louder than lies. 

Rest safe in the garden

Well-planted with hope. 

Be still in his presence. 

Grow, bloom, and rise. 

By: Joy Ortiz

05/28/2013

Begun at the breakfast table, and finished while hiding in the bathroom at work. 

Remember the Plain

Remember the Plain

I.

I was a barren landscape. 

You covered me with green.  

I was an empty field of dust. 

You planted hope in me. 

Slow-growing trees will outlast years

Of swifter sprouts that fade. 

Your planting  is perfection. 

Every seed was deftly laid. 

You gave me a heart of oak. 

I rise with every year,

Growing, stretching closer to 

The glory of your sphere. 

I reach with limbs and branches,

Bathed by sun and rain. 

A shelter and a home, I stand 

In beauty and in strength. 

A lonely field became a grove. 

A storm-swept plain stands green. 

From dust sprang tender shoots of hope,

Then saplings grew with faith. 

Now, love stands strong and bears much fruit. 

Beneath me lies the field. 

My roots will ever hold it fast,

No longer dead, but healed. 

Part of me; not who I am,

The past was fertile earth. 

Time and faith transformed me

Into green and growing berth. 

II.

Look at the birds 

who sing in my branches. 

Hear how the wind 

rustles my leaves. 

See how the deer 

lie down in my shadows. 

Touch verdant mosses 

that fur my rough bark. 

Smell pine needles rotting. 

See spiders spin lace. 

 Find bluebells and berries. 

Watch ants on parade. 

My being swells with life. 

My heart beats with creation. 

I am a forest, 

Raised by your hand. 

III.

You saw me and changed me. 

I'm not who I was. 

You claimed and remade me. 

You brought me to life. 

I was dry, flat, and empty. 

You sowed me with seeds. 

You saw I was thirsty. 

Your rain washed me clean. 

I sing with the birdsong,

I run with the deer. 

I fly with the insects. 

I sleep with the bears. 

I'm sweet with wild berries. 

I'm spicy with ferns. 

I'm fresh with the dew. 

I'm wild with the wind. 

I am your forest, 

And you are my God. 

I'm filled with your goodness. 

I burst with your love. 

I grow in your kindness. 

I'm rooted in faith. 

I'm lush with your mercy. 

I'm blooming with grace. 

IV.

Let all of creation see and take hope. 

Though you're lonely and barren,

Life still can grow. 

A God who is faithful

Sees you and knows

Your dust is a garden

Where Eden can grow. 

His spirit brings promise. 

His love can transform. 

His hand sows redemption. 

His grace is a storm. 

He bathes us in mercy. 

He stirs us with pain. 

He heals us with sunshine. 

He cleans us with rain. 

Our lives are a field. 

Our hearts are the earth. 

Salvation plants seeds there.

Faith gives them birth. 

Hope keeps us growing. 

Love makes us strong. 

Joy buds and blossoms. 

Our sap runs with song. 

He sees us, delighted. 

He walks in our shade. 

We are his dwelling,

The forest he made. 

V.

Praise to the sower

Of everything good!

Praise to the grower

Of peace-hearted wood!

Give thanks for the beauty. 

Remember the plain. 

Delight in the sunshine. 

Find strength in the rain. 

Grow, bloom, and prosper. 

Give shelter and shade. 

Stand tall, green, and growing. 

Keep roots deep in faith. 

Knowing and Known

Knowing and Known

Night falls on our circle of secrets. 

We stir with the wind

That sweeps us;

Teases out our stories. 

Word by word

We shed our skins.

Monsters?  No. 

Sisters and brother,

Candlelit, laughing, weeping,

Shouting truth louder than thunder;

Safe and honest

In our shelter from the rain. 

You live in our silence. 

We are prophets and priests. 

Our pasts crisscross

Again. Again. And yet again.

We walk backwards and see our sisters.

Our brother leads us with pain held high. 

We know where he's been,

And he is beautiful. 

Our scars revealed,

Washed by rain,

Bound by secrets,

Lit by truth,

We study the threads that connect us.

Indisputable proof. 

We are not alone. 

Siblings in secrets,

Stormed by redemption,

Washed by acceptance,

We depart, knowing and known,

And we are blessed.