Passion & Pain


Comes & goes.
Remains {even when weakened} in tiny doses.
Even if only remaining as a faint memory.

Nothing can make it disappear.
Not loneliness or failure or defeat.
It does fade so, sometimes.
Like life slowly leaving your body…
The life that is your passion sometimes slips away.

For me, America does this.
And lies. And selfishness.
{Both my own & yours.}
America does this with her indifference & apathy,
With her sales that excuse indecency.
With money that allows murder.

But, Truth…
Truth brings passion to life even more.
Brings her from the darkness back into light.

When I get passionate, I can’t help but talk about how it brings me to life.
How Truth fills my heart with passion that calls me to action.
So, when I’m not supposed to, when you might be offended,
When the Truth that is His starts to cause discomfort & I’m taught not to share,
It fades.

Fades & fades until I wake up pinching myself to make sure the life I’m living is real.
Just needing to make sure I can still feel pain.
If I can’t feel pain, I must be dead.
If I don’t have passion, I feel dead.

Passion & Pain are real.

The absence of either causes a numbness that requires the return of one, or the other,
In order to know that one is still truly living.

So when passion is quieted by the bottom line, or hushed in the wake of expected normalcy,
She starts to fade like a memory you try so desperately to hold onto.
She turns and moves slowly in the other direction,
You beg to see her face, to see her turn & look your way.
You beg for just a moment more to have the joy {that comes with being lit up inside} fill you once again.
Just glance in my direction so I can feel alive once more?
But she’s gone.

Gone forever?
Lost completely?

It’s that moment in a film where everything’s dark
& the only sound we hear is the steady, lifeless sound of the heart monitor.
No rising or falling, just flat.
No feeling or breathing, just gone.

After awhile, there’s nothing left & a pinch won’t wake you from this numbness.

Then, through blinking eyes, we’re blinded by the hospital lights;
And there’s life.
Beeping that signifies the return of breath to the lungs & blood to the heart.

We can see her face.
It’s passion, she’s coming our way again.
Maybe not as bright as before.
But, real.
She is so real.
And beautiful.
And you can’t help but speak of her because,
After all, she’s given you breath again.

Hear me:
I do not mean to idolize passion in a way that says,
“Passion is what gives us life.”
But rather, a way in which Jesus
Brings our hearts to life, brings our lives to their purpose,
Brings us closer to Him, sets us free from the burdens that would be
Too much if it weren’t for His freedom & Truth.

So let your heart feel the pain of this world,
Let yourself understand that you can make a change.
Let your mind grasp that you are responsible.
Let your passion lead you to where you are able to
Press your palms against the wounds of a broken & hurting world.

Why I Write. (Part Two)

Warning: I think this will be a long post, but I’m really hoping that it will be worth your time to journey with me.

Inspired by the last post, thanks to Dallas Clayton, here are my thoughts on why I (want to) write.

At some point during this fantastic friend and family filled weekend, I was sharing a teeny, tiny bit of my story and I noted that I was a Marketing major before Africa. And more importantly, that Africa totally wrecked my life, and now, that’s definitely not what I want to do or be.

If Africa changed everything, what do I want to do, who do I want to be, NOW?

A writer. Oh, how I do want to be a writer.


Later, as we were driving to Orlando to be with family, I told John about how strange that felt.
How it seems like maybe after Africa I should want to be a nurse or a teacher, or a missionary permanently.
And maybe that’s what people expect to hear when I tell that bit of my story.

Even though I considered those things, I know I want to be a writer. Why? Continue reading “Why I Write. (Part Two)”