A Barbaric Yawp

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering: these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life; but poetry, beauty, romance, love: these are what we stay alive for. --John Keating, Dead Poets Society

All day long I've looked forward to getting lost in blog world, but alas, it's way past my bedtime, laundry is drying and I can't seem to quiet the thoughts rolling around in my head like marbles on a hardwood floor. Though, thankfully, their trip across the stained trees is a silent one. Funny how the ordinary takes away from the extraordinary.

Often, I am invisible, but writing gives me a voice. Sometimes, merely a whisper in the wind, while other times, I feel I must scream at the top of my lungs; a "barbaric yawp", if you will. I feel few people really "get" me. I could be completely mistaken. I spend a lot of time thinking within myself. I suppose that's one of the burdens an artist goes through. (I've only recently started referring to myself in this way. Trust me, this is an accomplishment in and of itself.)

I found something in a journal, which I wanted to share. Silly me, I didn't date it, but near as I can tell, it was written around 2002. See what you think:

Your grace continues to amaze me

When I'm lost beneath the sea of humanity

Consumed with worry

You become my breath of life

Guiding me to places I've never been before

Though You, I am restored

It amazes me how You continue to do great things in my life

I often wonder why You bother

When at every step, I strive for self-sufficientcy

Is it to show me Your grace?

Or the fact that You'll bless me despite my humaness

Or do you just simply love me?

Why is that such a hard concept to grasp?

I suppose it's the human condition to place levels of love on others

My human mind doesn't understand

Why You continue to love me,

Despite all the sin in my life

Despite my shame

But you don't see any of that, do You, Lord?

Since I am covered in Your Son's blood,

All You see is Him...

His perfectly shed blood covers my sinful frame

And washes me clean as freshly fallen snow