June 23, 2008

From: Gary West
Sent: Monday, June 23, 2008 12:11 PM
Subject: Campfire

I am pushed back from the campfire of God.
The warmth and security of my location. The sense that I was close
to Him. The safe wellbeing that surrounded me is gone.
I am back in the wilderness, only cold surrounds me. The warmth
that emitted from Him is no longer here. Have I been sleep walking? Did
I wander away?
Or did he just move camp. Does He care if I am lost? Does he know
that I am cold. Did he think I was prepared for life without Him. What
is he thinking?
If I didn't walk away, did he just leave me while I was sleeping?
Did he forget me.
The sun and moon are dark, the wilderness is desolate, empty,
lifeless, lonely, and void. Without the warmth of His presence I am
weak. I am torn up.
His actions confuse me. Why would he give to me the very air of my
spiritual being. Why would he fulfill my dreams only to return a few
months later to remove them.
The very scent of my dreams are removed. I am subjected to the
tormentor. Does he pull me limb from mental limb. Am I but a twig to
toss on the fire and burn up. I do not feel sorry for myself but I do
not understand my Heavenly Father.
I was tough on mine, but he exceeds me. He must have given up on my
value, my influence, my worth. He crushes my life like grapes to prepare
a drink for strangers. I sit at the table and watch the drink offering
as it is consumed.
I am wounded, but not unto death. I must continue. But to what
direction. Where is He now camped?
What is my path back to His security? Do I dare think that the
security of God is no longer for me? What if I am left exposed to be an
example? An example of what? Am I elevated so I can be slammed down?
Broken into a million shards of pain filled glass. Each shard lost in
the sands around a cold long gone campfire.
Gary





From: Gary West
Sent: Tuesday, June 24, 2008 11:56 PM
Subject: Tears

Tears of maternal joy many years ago, now turn to tears of anguish and
motherly loss.
Tears of happiness at a sweet proposal now turn into manless tears
of mourning for young wives.
Tears of birthright turn a fathers heart into liquid that seeps as
the tears of a life not lived, lessons not taught, battles not fought.
Manly conversations not entered and laughter forever silenced, they
dissolve on the cheek and prick even hearts of stone.
Tears of time past and times not realized, turn grandparents tears
into perpetual rivers of memories.
Friends lost in the current of smiles, photos, and shared dreams,
their tears drive them to wonder why.
For the tears are a pop off valve for all the pain, all the
lostness of the grief cycle, they trickle down on quivering lips and
chins. They let God know that we are indeed human. That we can't move
without remembering, without our chest constricting. That no pain
compares to the loss, to the finality, to the emptiness, to the sign now
reading dead-end.
Yes this pain deserves more than a simple river of tears. It is too
great to remedy. Tears are an injustice. They are cheap adjectives for
the depth, breath and length of the cut, the tearing of the organs from
the family body. The blood of our tribe is taken and we are left but
tears to describe the event, to celebrate the ambush of our future.
Tears are so inadequate. So shallow and so necessary.
G