snowfall!

I wake up +
the world is transformed–
tiny flakes zip by me,
pleased with themselves.
even a single little twig is
covered in layers of sugar,
not a single one has been overlooked.

how sad,
the leaves missed out on the experience–
how good,
they were spared its destruction.

the flurry of white origami,
crafted by the Maker Himself,
cares not for me–
but He obviously does.

Taken outside Sanderson one of those snowy mornings God blessed us with ๐Ÿ™‚

Punchinello, a tribute to Max Lucado

If you’re unfamiliar with the story of Punchinello by Max Lucado, I would recommend reading it here!

——

I finally knew how to let the dots fall off.

but.

I have to let go of the stars.

too.

As long as I hold on to my
stars from those around me,
{ my value <– them }
I’m not acknowledging that
it comes from my Maker–
I come from my Maker! When
I need their stars,
I fear.

It is vital.

Let it go.
Look at Him.
Act on your freedom.
Act on the love you’ve received.
Only then will you, will I, be
able to love +
able to live.

—–

originally scrawled (by me, I think??) on the back of the program of the Vega Quartet’s performance at Covenant College – Thursday, November 14, 2019. I’ve edited it a bit + formatted it in this post, but the majority of it came from that almost undecipherable piece of paper I found in my room randomly XD

My Own Scent

I finally have my own scent;
I no longer have to miss yours.

I really like my perfume
Almost as much as I liked your cologne.
I inhale +
Almost forget what it was like to 
Breathe
While clinging around your neck.

You never gave me anything that smelled like you.
Instead, you bought things to smell like me,
Despite feeling like you,
Artificial.

Now that I'm separate from what held me back
I can find what makes me
Smell sweet +
Breathe deep +
Rise like incense.
Instead of you permeating every sense.

I'm learning to like my own scent,
+ I'm hoping God does too.

The sweet smell of holiness
Can't be forged but only be forged
By the Master Heartsmith
May my prayers smell sweeter than
My perfume.

This was inspired by the fact that I got a great deal on a lovely perfume recently and get to regularly wear perfume for the first time, given that my mom has a pretty severe allergy to most scented anything, even natural.
In past relationships, I’ve always enjoyed the cologne/aftershave, especially because I’ve grown up in a fragrance-free household. But, being at college, I’m realizing that I can finally experiment and find olfactory satisfaction without being a relationship, and I think that’s pretty swell ๐Ÿ™‚
However, scent is most definitely a metaphor for confidence and identity too. I’m enjoying finding out who God says I am in Him and in relationship with Him. That’s the most fundamental change and I take it for granted too often.

The Privilege of Prayer

It’s a privilege, Lord
To talk to You in prayer
You bend your ear
And listen there

My filthy soul
You see as clean
All because of
Christ in me


I know this is the third poem in a row, so if you don’t like poetry, sorry, haha.ย  If you do like poetry, then here’s a little background:

The first stanza was written in March 2016, and the second stanza over a month later. But I wrote them on the same piece of paper, so I read them together, and I quite liked it. So, this is a composite prayer-poem. I hope it touches you as much as it continues to touch me. ๐Ÿ™‚

Sydney

J-SALT fam

The rain came down / And the friends came / Together

The power of piano / And paper airplanes / Thank you, Sarah / Paul

The dining hall / Is now my home / And J-SALT / Family


I don’t like how WordPress formats my poetry in the excerpt for the posts, so I’m trying a new format…

This poem was from the prompt “A Storm”, and I wrote it in Camp Gilead’s dining hall after cleaning up with the rest of the junior counselors, who were working as kitchen staff during Teen Week. The usual kitchen staff are SALT members (Service And Leadership Training), so we called ourselves J-SALT (Junior Counselor SALT). There is a piano in the Hall (don’t ask why), and our SALT leader, Paul, and the lovely Sarah, the nurse’s assistant who helped out whenever she could, played us some lovely piano pieces. It was a really sweet time, so I pulled out my poetry prompt journal to try to express what I was feeling.

Camp is officially over, and I’m trying to reclaim some sort of normalcy before I start school on Monday Hopefully I’ll get some more posts written and all that jazz. ๐Ÿ™‚

Squid

Trees

With quiet dignity

Standing as a refuge

For those who flock to you.

You are shelter,

Security,

A place for us to

Grow.

Rooted in reality and

Reaching to the sky,

You remind me that

An acorn has to

Die

Before it can

Thrive.

Hey, guys! It’s been a busy summer at Camp Gilead, so this is a poem I wrote in April on the prompt “A Tree.” I look forward to reconnecting with you all after the end of this last week of camp!!

-Squid

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