Change

OK OK last bit of poetry stuff, then I'll write something that actually matters. This is another spoken word piece that I did because the mood struck me.

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Late the other night I was driving down the street, black as only darkness can be, waiting while both my car and my mind idled. The candy apple red held me to a stop and when the Christmas colors exchanged places, I saw that the light did something that I’d been aching to do for far too long, change. See I’ve been rolling down the hill of my life like a cliché snowball But I just gather clutter and insecurities to me. Like gum on the bottom of my show it clings, and although I’m moving forward, I’m going nowhere. I’d like to blame external forces, like everyone and everything else but me, because then I don’t have to look into the mirror and face the person I haven’t become.

The dust on my Bible’s gotten so thick that when blown off the motes dance like pixie dust in the failing light.

Change hasn’t come hunting me down like I’d long believed it would. No dire quest has presented itself and honestly I’m not sure I’d fit into those superhero tights anyway. It’s terrifying to know that you are your own arch-nemesis and that you’ll fight the good fight right after American Idol. Turns of the catalyst to a radical new life was written thousands of years ago and all I’m asked to give is everything. Not that bad in retrospect, I could’ve been asked for more. I’m told by authors of old that my soul has been sold by faith not by gold. I’m politely informed that I’m part of the body of Christ, but that’s OK, I’m pretty sure I’m a spleen. God wants to use me and all that he asks is everything, thank Him it isn’t more. Guess I’ve been conditioned to be commissioned, but I’ve been in remission because of an omission but Christ has been fishin so I guess I’ll bite. The road is narrow but at least it’s well lit, and I swear I can see myself in tights on the other side. What do I have to lose?

1) My foolish pride. It clings to me, invisible to my eyes but it’s like a neon sign to all of my friends. I’ve grown so used to the weight that the light doesn’t keep me up at night, and I’m afraid that without my bravado I’ll become too mundane to be self-important. My pride has been a constant companion whispering sweet lies in my ear telling me that it’s not good enough to be good enough, it’s better to be better than everyone else. So I tear others down and plant my flag in their rubble. When asked to give up my pride the silence was so profound, I almost didn’t hear the quiet voice of the creator whispering, “You are mine, and I love you.”

2) My delusions of grandeur. I’ve dreamt like every young boy who’s never grown to be a man of my name being known far and wide and commonly used as a synonym for awesomeness. Sick, sycophantic, sideways, screwed up, stupid, silly, notions of needing to hide my face long enough to relent to the adoring masses that flocked to be near me. I’ve always thought that the pinnacle of achievement would be to have my image be synonymous with fame, but Christ said that I should be synonymous with His holy name. To be known not by who you claim to be, but by whom you represent. Not by deeds of self glorification, but by a presence of purification, that would be quite a sensation, worthy of presentation.

3) My time. My internal clock was constantly reading “Who Cares?” and the alarm never went off. I was living under the notion that a simple profession was all I needed to give and from then my life would in of itself be lived for a higher cause. Much to my dismay, like dragons, this just wasn't true either. It turns out to say and to do are not distant cousins and invoking one didn’t invite to other. I was hoping by telling others that Christ loved that that would be enough, I never expected I’d have to show them it was true. So my time shifted from Call of Duty to the duty of the call, from pretending to preaching, from sleep to study, from texting to the text. When the seconds of the minutes of the hours of the days starting adding up I started seeing Christ in the margins and soon as the sum. It made the difference of chocolate and vanilla and I hate vanilla.

4) My heart, soul, mind and a couple of bucks in change. Once the currency of my self-importance became depleted, it turns out I was broke. Broken. This is exactly where I needed to start with God, broken and looking for him to fix me. Like a master craftsman he reforged me using all the best parts and making me anew. Once again I didn’t recognize my reflection because it was no longer my image that I saw but myself made in His. I was a spleen no more.

I am His hands doing good works and holding the hands of those who have lost hope. I am the feet, walking with others towards Christ and guiding those back who have lost their way. I am the mouth speaking the words that Christ has put there, spilling out verbs like faith, love, and hope that I’d always believed were nouns. I am the ears hearing the stories of the forgotten, listening for the cues to tell that there’s more to this life and like Dorothy they’ll find it in stunning Technicolor. I am the eyes, seeing people as Christ sees them, perfect because he made them. And I am the back that bears the cross daily, dies to myself and lives the way he designed me to.

I found that the more I gave the less I wanted to hang onto and the more he used me the more I wanted to be used. I’d been re-positioned to become fully commissioned. Low and behold all that he asked from me was everything and it turns out that really wasn’t much to give at all.