I am Not Broken Like I Used to Be

I read this book recently about the tales of a crack addict. The tales of well-educated, successful young gent who chose crack over all else for a long time. There was a point in the book when he had copious amounts of crack in his hotel room and he had jugs of vodka and he had a bottle of pills he intended to consume. And when reading this sordid account of a well-educated, successful young gent's untimely demise, I had an epiphany.

I'm not broken like I used to be.
I'm not broken at all, actually.
I used to be, though.
A terrible mess, really.
I'm not broken like I once was.
I'm light and free and punch drunk love.
I still get tweaky and squeaky and scared,
But He calms me and I know I'm spared.
I'm not broken.
I'm repaired.

By the grace of God, I'm not broken like I used to be.

And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my grace comes in the form of Christopher David Broussard. A line from the same book put it all together for me.

“...he loved me…knowing what he knew, seeing what he’d seen, putting up with what he chose to put up with, he was the only one who ever could. The question I never asked was why.”

God gave me the gift of Christopher's love, because I needed real-life unconditional love in order to truly understand that I am forgiven. And I guess, I picked up that random crack addict story while perusing the bargain bin, because God wanted me to see that I am not broken like I used to be.

"Forever" by Sarah Writes

I read this beautiful poem today and wanted to share it with anyone who would read it.

Forever My Friend

Where would Bonnie be without Clyde by her side?

What would have happened to the three amigos if one of them died?

What would be me if I never had you?

The only person I tell everything to.

The person I call on my best and my worst.

Whether I’m crying or laughing I think of you first.

There have been times when I’m stuck in more than a bind

But you have been there to save me from myself every time.

Without judgment, comment, or a condescending gaze.

You have always been there through my every ridicules’ faze.

You’re like a rock, and I’m like the wind.

You’re stronger than me, you have always been.

Your tougher, more stable, and wont me moved by my breeze.

By same unpredictable wind that has pushed everyone else away from me.

Gentle or fierce I can go off both ways, yet your strong foundation never sways.

You are loving, and caring honest and true

And if I’m in a fight I always count on you.

To be by my side, guns drawn left and right

Pointed at the opponents, even if you know there right.

I don’t thank God enough for putting you by my side

My forever best friend, even after I die.

In my world you’re Bonnie, and I guess that makes me Clyde.

:)

She has more awesome poems. Check 'em out!

Reuniting With a Lover

Parting was indeed such sweet sorrow.
Would you return tomorrow?

No more time would the government let us borrow.
Parting was indeed such sweet sorrow.

But the reunion is sure to be Heavenly.
I sit at LAX awaiting eagerly.

My mind, my heart, my body think of you only.
The reunion is sure to be Heavenly.

I have only written one other poem in my life, and it was also a couplet.

Emma

At the Dollar Store, I found a poetry workbook for third-graders and thought it would be fun to work through. While I was sitting at LAX awaiting my flight to Honolulu, I did the first worksheet and wrote my poem "Reuniting with a Lover."

Emma

I got her when she was five days old,
When someone left her out in the cold.

She was so spunky.
Her meow was so funky.

Her attitude was so fractious.
She even sometimes got jealous.

She hated Channing and Mike.
But truly adored anything tuna-like.

Joey, Pumpkin and Brytin haven't said a word,
But Chris and I feel empty and awkward.

So so so soft was her fur.
She constantly required me to pet her.

She used to fat, and then got so thin.
She'll never lick my cheek again.

She is now gone, I am so sad.
At her I will never again get mad.

Poetry

I read recently that the subtle nuances in poetry can express beauty better than any essay ever could.

Tonight, as I stood on my back porch, soaking in the full moon, I greatly wished for the gift of prose. But alas, I have none.

The way the moon back lit the sporadic clouds was simply breathtaking. Adding to the glory were the random, barely visible stars. Included in the sight was the ominous darkness of the "moutains" (big hills, really, but the closest thing to a mountain I have ever lived near.)

I wish I could write you a poem so you could see it too. Maybe my inability to write "fluffy" is a side effect of often skipping the description in books and jumping to the action. Hmph.

I know from experience that a photograph would do that sight no justice, so I did not even try. But that imagine will be forever ingrained in my mind.

Romans 1:20 "The basic reality of God is plain enough. Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes can't see; eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his diving being. So nobody has a good excuse." (The Message)