Jason Michael Mills

I planned on sitting down and devoting hours on deep expression into this post because the subject matter is oh so worthy of it!  But I am currently running on negative time and by the time I have enough time to do this justice, it will be way past his birthday, so here goes!

22 years ago, my little buddy was born.  He rescued me from a life of selfish only-ness! (Well, he tried, I still managed to turn out rather self centered, but I would've been so much worse!)  I made him sing the Nala parts of the Lion King because I wanted to be the star of the show and sing all the Simba parts.  People thought we were twins (until he grew 2 feet taller than me!).  Even when we moved and had our own rooms, we would take turns sneaking into each other's rooms at night, especially when one of us had a nightmare.  One time, we were reading a scary book together on his top bunk, when the lights suddenly went out!  We flew off the bed and into the safety of the lighted hall way.  He burst out laughing so I did too, it was pretty funny how scared we were, at least, that's what I thought we were laughing at, until he said, "no, the funny part is, I peed my pants!!!"  Nope. I'll never let him live it down.  We did everything together as kids.  People were shocked at how well we got along (little did they know that was largely because he was content to let me boss him around all day.)  Once we were in the car with Grandma and she suggested we stop for an ice cream cone, but when she noticed Jason fast asleep, she suggested we wait.  "Look!  He's awake, Grandma!  He's awake!" I declared frantically while holding Jason's eyelids open with my fingers.

In our tweens, he was the steady, happy, secure anchor for my wildly melancholy soul.  Many times, my only true friend.  Even in high school, Jason was the friend I could find simple truth and comfort from.  Wholesome and steady- what I desperately needed.

Now he's halfway through college.... WHAT?  Time makes no sense to me.  He will always be my little buddy, but that doesn't mean he isn't growing up.  He astounds me with his integrity, his passion in worship for God, his loyalty.

I admit, I kinda have this thing against the male gender, but Jason breaks down my prejudices.

I love you, little buddy!  And I'm praying God leads you deeper into His heart and purpose for you this year.  You are not a failure.  You are faithful.

Reaching for stars? Or bending toward flowers?

Cyrano: "I aim to bring a star down from the sky-
And stoop, in shame, to pluck a common flower.

Roxane: "A common flower has charm."

Cyrano: "But not tonight.
Tonight I want the star!"

So maybe I'm taking this quote a little out of context, but it's been running through my head all day and is the only way I know how to describe my life right now.
I am so confused.
Especially after watching Machine Gun Preacher last night.  Don't watch it unless you are willing to take on the responsibility of knowledge of one of the most grotesque realities of human suffering and exploitation.
I can't live here like this while others live there like that. or, at least, I don't want to.  I know I can't change the world, may never see much redemption in my lifetime.  But I MUST do something.  I don't even have words for [this].
Do I continue seeking opportunities to go?  Sell everything?  Abandon everyone?  No if/ands/or/buts, only following Him at any cost?  Am I even willing to?
Or.
Do I choose contentment here in the little things?  Is God trying to teach me pure and simple obedience without the "grandeur" of my dreams?
Do I fight?
Or do I let go?
I don't think I know anything anymore.  The more I think, the more tangled I get.
I know I can grasp each with both hands, but I'm so weary of the struggle.
Can I please get out of the valley of uncertainty, Lord?

Covers

Found this lovely and applicable prose poem today and thought I'd share since my own words are tangled up in wires.

Covers

by Kathryn Cowles

I learn to knit so I can knit covers for things, easy things at first covers for my hands covers for my feet for my head and neck soon I am making covers for friends as well I am adept at covering I cover handles on doors I cover the tops of pots, themselves covers, covered with knit yarn, I cover things for my daughter, small things, I make a cover for her eye and a cover for the eye of her doll I make a cover for her doll covering the whole thing except for the eye, for which I have already made a cover, I cover her dollhouse in great patches I connect the patches I am on a roll, I learn to knit in my sleep with the aid of a sleep knitting machine I cover my bed over and over again at night I become more and more adept until I can knit covers for myself as I walk, slow business to be sure but faster and faster for I find I need always to be covered everywhere I go so I knit the cover and trail it behind me to cover where I've been. 

"Tell me everything that happened; tell me everything you saw."

"They had lights inside their eyes...They had lights inside their eyes..."

"Did you see the closing window? Did you hear the slamming door?"

"They moved forward and my heart died...They moved forward and my heart died..."

"Please, please tell me what they looked like; did they seem afraid of you?"

"They were kids that I once knew...They were kids that I once knew..."

I can say it, but you won't you believe me.

You say you do, but you don't deceive me.

It's hard to know they're [out there,]

It's hard to know that you still care.

I can say it, but you won't you believe me.

You say you do, but you don't deceive me.

Dead hearts are everywhere!

Dead hearts are everywhere!

"Did you touch them, did you hold them? Did they follow you to town?"

"They make me feel I'm falling down...They make me feel I'm falling down..."

"Was there one you saw too clearly? Did they seem too real to you?"

"They were kids that I once knew.  

THEY WERE KIDS THAT I ONCE KNEW."

*"Dead Hearts" by Stars

I don't know what to do with the ache.  Pray.  But why pray for them when I could be there for them? Showing them God is good?  Did I give up too soon?  If we are God's plan for fighting injustice- not just brokenness and pain, but injustice, what am I doing here?  Is this conviction or merely ambition?  Yes, we are called to make disciples wherever we find ourselves.  Yes, injustice exists [here], but much more so there!  And so few know it; so few have SEEN it.  How can I know and still be here?  No, I cannot spiritually save every orphan, or even just ^these^ whom I know and love; no, ministry in Ukraine does not need *me*

But I can't live like [this] knowing they live like  < that > and I could do something about it.

sleepless nights

“Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation. We put no obstacle in anyone's way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry,  but as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: by

great endurance,

in afflictions,

hardships,

calamities, 

beatings,

imprisonments,

riots,

labors,

sleepless nights,

hunger; 

by purity,

knowledge,

patience,

kindness,

the Holy Spirit,

genuine love;

by truthful speech,

and the power of God; {with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left;}

through honor and dishonor,

through slander and praise.

We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide open. You are NOT restricted by us, but you are restricted in YOUR OWN affections. In return (I speak as to children) (((((((( widen )))))))) your hearts also.”

-2Cor. 6:2-13

I love how the Message says verses 11-13: “Dear, dear Corinthians, I can’t tell you how much I long for you to enter this (((((( wide-open )))))), spacious life. [We didn’t fence you in]. The smallness you feel comes from within you. Your lives aren’t small, but you’re living them in a small way. I’m speaking as plainly as I can and with great affection. Open up your lives. Live openly and expansively!”

When the weather falls...

     That hint of spiced crispness in the air? The slightly faded shade of sky?  That soft sound like a continuous inhale?

     Yes, Autumn.

     Okay, so maybe it's only 76 degrees outside, but hey, in FL that means it's time to pull on your boots and button up your flannel!
     And, for me, Autumn means horse ache.  Robin loved the Fall; she'd perk up the moment the temp. fell...
     For a while, I forgot how much I missed horse life.  When Robin died I filled the void with dance and school and writing and work.  Then I heard about Freedom Ride and decided to pick up a few more community service hours...

     Six-thirty in the morning.  “Bugler’s Dream” woke me from what was more like a nap than a night’s sleep.  It was freezing dark.  Getting out of bed was the last thing I wanted to do, but I did.  “Why exactly am I doing this again?”  I asked myself once my brain relearned how to construct coherent thought, my head hanging over the bathroom sink, listening to the water drip off my freshly scrubbed face and gurgle down the drain.

     A steamy mug of bold coffee laced my morale, made the morning a little brighter, and my heaterless car a little warmer.  Little encouragements started trickling through my mind: You love horses.  This will be fun.  It’s only for a few hours.  It’s sure to warm up soon.  I curved my car into the Freedom Ride property and parked in the bare grass lot.

     I shivered, and not just from the cold.  Life in the equestrian world ended for me only two years ago, but it was a whole different lifetime, things had changed.  What if I had forgotten how to halter a horse?  Would I remember barn jargon?  How would I react to being around horses again?  Sometimes, I still cried myself to sleep.  Memory would strike like lightning, the thunder echo “never again,” then the rain would pour.

     Ducking under the white fence, I saw a short, lean woman with brown curls bursting out from under a baseball cap, wearing a green Freedom Ride Staff hoodie, approaching me from the barn. 

     “Hi there!  I’m Lisa, the barn manager.”

     “Abi,” I responded, shaking her hand.

     “One of our horses is named Abby!  I’m awful with names but I won’t forget yours for sure.”  

     I followed her chucking into the white-washed barn.  Excitement crept up my spine as old but familiar things flooded my senses: the scraping of boots on cement floors, the jostling of feed buckets, the sweet smell of dusty hay, clicking halter buckles, the snorts of anxious horses impatient to leave their stalls and roll in the pasture.  It was like the voices of old friends calling, “remember me?”

            Yes, yes I did.

            After signing in my name and the time, 8:02am, on the clipboard in the tack room, I followed Lisa past the stalls of the horses we would turn out.  Dusty, Lucky, Ginger, Bella, Abby, Image… each horse had his or her name painted brightly above its stall.

     “You know how to halter a horse?”  Lisa asked me.

     I nodded. 

     “Can you grab Dusty for me then?  He’s gonna go in the gelding pasture, the one in the far back corner.  Oh, and you’re cool with taking a blanket off right?” 

     I was.  Dusty’s halter hung beside his stall so I snatched it as I walked in.  As a therapeutic riding horse to tons of disabled kids, Dusty wasn’t the least bit shy.  His ears pricked up and his thick, muscular neck craned away from his feed bucket to look me over before plodding closer, pushing his nose into my hands.  I felt the mist of his warm breath as he introduced himself with short snorts- horse courtesy.  

     It was the smell that got me, the musky, sweet, earthy, spiced, idiosyncratic smell that is undeniably horse.  My throat contracted and I swallowed hard, then let my face fall into his neck and simply breathed.  It was so good to breathe that smell again, to simply breathe it, not to remember, not to regret, not to anguish, simply to smell, and to heal.

     ... Oh, what sap!  But hey, a girl's allowed some sentimental expression now and then.

Listen, you know those days when you get the Mean Reds?

... for me, going to Tiffany's wouldn't help at all, but whales do.

And these were too epic not to share...







Someday, I'M going to be the person behind the camera.  Or even without a camera.