Refinery

still.  thinking.  receiving.  grace.

the eye of the storm will calm me,

the walls of confusion will swallow me,

the ground beneath me will shake me,

when the wind grows violent my hope will strengthen me.

To come out refined.

Stand, sit, eat, sleep, breathe and meet.  The strands of my hours weave into a mural projecting my heart.  Frays and stains all apart of the framework, a creation designed for beauty in the eyes of the Beholder.  I am pieces of imperfections woven together. 

Mmmm.  I just baked some Japanese sweet potatoes from Whole Foods.

       I keep realizing how my actions are not exclusively tied to myself.  My choices affect so much, which can feel overwhelming, but also brings purpose to my existence, so technically without this reminder I am more apt to spiral into the desolation of existential turmoil.  I am grateful for the people who remind me of this.  The people who use words as well as actions to impel me to be free and good again.  These people who may not even know the effect they have on my heart, it's all very beautiful to me; a moment of truth, vulnerability, honesty, brokenness, openness, desperation for help.  To be helped or to help someone, there is only a very fine line when it is something that happens between two people or persons.  I think we are designed for one another, to build a civilization, to communicate, to watch and wonder, to hug and wave to, listen and talk to, wait for, and at times to leave.  I don't think we can be independent of each other.  Of course these are my thoughts deriven from my beliefs, and I am imperfect, but how good it is to know someone who knows you, the frayed dismantled you, and remains in consistency whether in an embrace or from an arms length.  Always visible, even when feeble to your torrent atmosphere, to have a friend with the courage to stay and bear your bearings.  

       To be this friend. 

       To have this friend.

       Though something more amazing in all of this is to search out those who need this friend.  To search for them, surprise them.  Is this not what pumps passion into our hearts?  To be beside ourselves with courage and enter some violent darkness with whatever flashlight or candle in our hands, shaking, but determined to look anyway.  This is life.  Those that suffer, and those that save.  Always interchanging.  I suffer, I am sought and rescued, I seek and save, and then again.  Knitting the stitches, up and down, with an extravagant picture being put into motion. 

       Refining my heart in a fire; the joy of being refined through the suffering of the fire.

       Maybe I'm thinking too much, but these are the things I am thinking...

JmeGrey.