Glass House

This glass house might break; don't ask me how I'm doing

I might really tell you how much I'm really hurting

You say you miss the old me but she is gone and buried

I'm learning to find the peace of mind where this glass house can feel safe again

The place that used to stand so strong is now moved with the slightest wind

Ever mindful of the pain that endlessly wounds and weakens the foundation

This glass house is transparent and clear, unable to hide

the fragments left over and the emptiness inside

The warmth and security left when the veil fell down that day

I have no strength to mask the heartache that is on display

While I don't want to share my grief with all

It's impossible to contain the pain, the guilt, the loss

So I am destined to identify with this fragile state of mind

A glass house in essence, but fragile in real life

Don't expect me to take the steps you think I should be taking

I'm fragile and I could break if I rush because you make me

The heart that once knew perfection is buried, you see

And this glass house can't help but show this burden of grief I carry.

Franchesca Cox

HIGHER!!!!

Returning to the backyard bliss of my childhood tonight was comforting. I was in the playground where I used to go as a teen and swing because I was bored. But today I was there, desperate for a sigh of relief from the relentless waves of grief. Relief from this thing I call the aftermath of my fate. Life without the one who was my purpose seems so shallow. I have daily reminders that pull me a million or so directions, urging me to continue in this unfortunate world.



For a split second, I was swinging.


                               Higher…


               Higher…


Higher…


I almost convinced myself that I could escape. Swinging has a whimsical likeness to it. The increasing speed and hustling wind against my face brought such an illusion of flight. I had a thought that if I could go high enough, I just might escape this harsh reality; this new normal as we like to say. I kept swinging because for a few moments my feet were off the ground that often required more of me than can be handled. The ground where we buried our firstborn. The ground where all my burdens would meet me when I stopped swinging.


And amid this useless wishing, the grace of God prevailed. I saw her in the sky. Flying to a faraway destination, no doubt a safe place. All alone, small and insignificant to this world, yet perfect. And in the blink of an eye she was gone. Just like that.


These feathered creatures remind me of her likeness. Her unfathomable beauty. The swift tenderness of their beings relates so perfectly to her fragile self. Now and then.


Words cannot begin to describe my agony tonight. I talk a lot about hope and I have it. But tonight my empty arms are crushing me.

We're doing this...

That's what Mrs. Marsha (my pastor's wife) told me when we knew she wouldn't make it. It helped me. Today I just realized that my grandmother is taking Jenna's death pretty hard. Today's her birthday and tomorrow Jenna will have been gone a month. God is still good. I have been contemplating a series on emptiness. Emptiness can be devastating but it can also be healing. In fact feeling empty helps me realize my need of the Savior. I guess the Lord can't fill my cup until I'm empty. Empty of myself, my thoughts, and my ways.