Truth is the Goliath we don’t want to face
Yet he draws the line of battle

Two choices

Stand brings risk
Risk of challenge
Risk of rejection
Risk of solitude
Turned against – forgotten

Shrink brings censure
Censure from me
Censure from family
Censure from others
Loss of self – respect

Dare I?
Dare I stand and risk
Dare I?
Dare I shrink and risk you
You continuing forward blindly
Groping towards falsehood
Can I save you?
Should I?

Fear and Bravery meet

I stand
Sling in hand
God help me.

© Rachel Svendsen 2014


Be Careful What You Pray For?

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“I’ve heard it said, ‘Be careful what you pray for, because you just might get it.’”

My pastor’s voice came over the nursery loud-speaker. My arms were full of sleeping infant.  The woman beside me listened with closed eyes to the sermon overhead.

“Hmmm,” she grunted. “That is so true.”

My arms were asleep. I shuffled and looked down into the tiny face.  My mind ticked away. I failed to stop the words leaking from my mouth.

“No,” I said. “No, it isn’t.”

I’ve heard that phrase many times growing up. Most often when a preacher would stumble onto James 1:3. The passage says: “for you know that the testing of your faith produces patience.” The preacher would look up from his Bible and say, “This is why we need to be careful when we pray for patience.”

People…we’re missing the point.

What is prayer? Prayer is our direct communication with God. Sometimes it feels like God is so far away. Prayer is our link, our chain to him. It’s the time when we stop to talk to him. Sometimes we cuddle in his lap, cup our hand around his ear and whisper to him. Other times, we weep and scream. Our Father delights in all these moments. He wants to share them with us: the hurt, the fear, the joy, the sorrow. Looking at the Psalms you see hundreds of prayers. Those saints too whispered, screamed, cried, and sung for joy. It was just as essential in their spiritual walk as it is to us today.  It moves us closer to abiding in the beautiful, unfathomable love of God.

C. S. Lewis said, “If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” God made us for more, and as we grow closer to him we find our true love and desires molding to his, giving us the fulfillment we’ve always craved. Our defective sinful natures keep us locked in the temporal, but closer abiding changes us.  It changes our prayers.  Our prayers morph from “God I want a new car” to “God please give me more patience.”  God wants us to seek patience.  Increased patience will give us increased joy.  Permanent joy.  New cars give us temporal happiness.

So, should I truly fear to ask anything of God? What’s the worst that will happen? Truly.  Is it the “no” I fear?  That saying would teach us it’s the fulfillment of such I should fear.  No. The answer comes in the verse just prior to James 1:3. It says, “count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds.”  Joy people!  Joy!  Not happiness.  Not a faint smile, but real, deep, abiding, joy.

Ironically, seconds prior to these words over the loudspeaker, my companion and I had been discussing my miscarriage.  This time last year I was pregnant.  God chose to take my child from my husband and me directly to him.  It would be a gross understatement to say this has been hard on us, we both desperately want a child, but the fact of the matter is, I have never once been angry at God for doing so.  I ask him “why”.  It’s a legitimate question.  I don’t know the answer.  What I do know is this.  I learned through my miscarriage that God loves my husband and me.  I learned that he is in ultimate control of everything.  I learned that I can fall into his arms when I’m hurt and frightened.

We have two thoughts before us.  One: we need to be careful to ask God for things or we’ll get them.  Two: I received desired spiritual lessons from my miscarriage.  If we believe thought one to be truth, than thought two is a direct result of thought one. Thus the only conclusion we can draw is that I would be holding my baby today if I had never asked God to teach me to love and trust him more.  I submit to you that this is heresy.  If not, then it’s safer for us to restrict our prayers to the weather.

God is not the divine author of agony.  He does not sit on his throne waiting to squash us with trials, death, and fun sucking.  He wants the best for us.  He wants us to have peace.  He wants us to have joy.  If we truly believe that, we will never fear to ask him for anything.  Our spiritual growth brings joy to us and God.  I found joy in my trial.  Yes, I found grief too, but the joy is pervasive.  One day I will see my baby again.  I believe this. Until then I find joy and love in the arms of a God who will fill the aching hole that my baby left with me.

I have not stopped praying for God to teach me to love him more.  I will not stop.  And, so far, the roof of my apartment hasn’t caved in and my refrigerator isn’t infested with genetically enhanced arthropods.

Johnny Johnny Jack

Johnny Johnny Jack was a hypochondriac
Each ache and pain would put him in a stew.
He drove his folks insane ‘bout the tumor in his brain,
And how his liver function was askew.

Johnny Johnny Jack was a hypochondriac.
His cabinet a banquet hall of pills.
A full colorful display that could chase his pains away.
He took day trips to pick up his refills.

Johnny Johnny Jack was a hypochondriac.
His catalogue of specialists ran thus:
From a gastroenterologist to dozens of psychologists,
They weekly met his illness to discuss.

Johnny Johnny Jack was a hypochondriac.
He weakly wheezed and whimpered while he wailed.
And his list of maladies that could cause fatalities,
Was longer than the Appalachian trail.

Johnny Johnny Jack was a hypochondriac.
He rose each day assured that he would die.
An inhaler in each hand and his nurse at his command,
He somehow did this daily doom defy.

Johnny Johnny Jack was a hypochondriac.
Though sick perhaps he lived to Ninety-two.
His body was donated when at last it was vacated.
His incurable disease to thus review.

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

Walmart and Mr. Bean

“I’ve been thinking…”

My husband was pushing the shopping cart. He looked up at me blandly. I get these “thoughts” rather frequently. They are conceived in my fevered imagination, and burst unexpectedly from my mouth at all odd hours of the day and night (in the middle of a film…during a church service… when he’s trying to kiss me…). One can never guess when I’ll turn to him and say these words. Truthfully, the majority of these moments aren’t even preceded by this three and a half-word warning. His introduction to this trend came early in our dating history. I remember one particular phone call when I answered my cell, skipped the greeting, and blurted out, “What exactly is a sarcophagus?”

Perhaps a more tangible explanation of this strange proclivity of mine, would be to compare myself to Dug, the golden retriever in Pixar’s movie “Up”. Throughout our journey getting to know the scatterbrained pup, he will often break off mid sentence, stare into the distance and shout, “Squirrel!”. My husband burst into raucous laughter when we first saw this moment of movie magic. I laughed too…until Timothy leaned over and whispered, “It’s you!” I grimaced at him. “Very funny Timothy. Veeeeery funny…”

Regardless, we were in Walmart, picking up this and that. We were approaching the dairy section. I had my eye on a particular brand of sour cream. A gentlemen and his companion sidled up to the area I was required to approach, and broke into a short discussion. We queued up behind and waited our turn. That was when I turned to my husband.

“I’ve been thinking, what if someone went all Mr. Bean on people at the grocery store.”

My husband smiled at me and chuckled. He knew immediately what I meant. The poor man has had more servings of Mr. Bean force-fed to him than most people get in a lifetime. My thought process ran thus:

I imagined myself standing directly behind, almost uncomfortably close to the gentlemen in front of my beloved brand of sour cream. He picks up vanilla yogurt. I too pick up the same brand and container of vanilla yogurt. He shrugs and wonders why that odd duck needed to stand so disagreeably close to him. Cart leading the way, he shoves off towards the chip and pretzel aisle.

After browsing the current selection of Lay’s potato chips, he lifts a bag of the salt and vinegar variety. Something in his peripheral vision catches his eye. He turns. Blinks. There I stand, looking him over with an unidentifiable expression, somewhere between amusement and disdain. I reach over. I lift not one but two bags of the same potato chips. I sneer. He widens his eyes, grunts, and heads to the next aisle.

What else did he need? Bread! Right. He stops to gently squeeze a loaf. Fear and curiosity tickle the hairs on the back of his neck. Hesitantly, he looks over his shoulder. Yes. Yes I’m there. I already have three loafs of the same bread in my cart.

He dashes with his cart into the next aisle. His heart beats hard against his ribs. He stops short in the middle. His head turns back and forth several times. The freak is nowhere in sight. He takes stock of his surroundings. Candy and gum. He walks down towards the Twizzlers. A pick-me-up would be lovely after this bizarre experience. His hand stretches for the cherry bites. Just before his fingers touch the plastic packaging, a hand reaches from the void and snatches it away. He closes his eyes. Lifts his hand for another. That one too disappears. He finally turns his eyes to mine. I slowly shake my head.

My husband and I finished our trip to Walmart. We hopped into our little white Honda in silence. I was staring off into the distance.

“Buckle up,” Timothy said. He turned the key in the ignition. I turned my head towards him.

“They’d curse me out wouldn’t they?” I asked.

“Probably. But if you want to do it, I’ll follow you and video.”

Fear not, thou unsuspecting shopper. I’m not brave enough.

The Great Escape

On a dark and stormy night,
Two cows were on a mission,
Wandering through the soggy fields,
In search of ammunition.

For farmer Jim was plotting thus,
To slaughter them for meat.
They knew this was their only chance,
They’d have to be discreet.

The ducks were watching from the wall,
To warn if he should wake.
The sheep were packing up supplies,
To aid in their escape.

The pigs did not assist at all.
They slept right through the chatter.
They had their warm and sloshy mud,
To them it didn’t matter.

The cows returned with ample load,
Of varied kinds of missiles.
They dug and scrounged all they could find,
From basketballs to thistles.

Assemble swift the catapult,
And drag it to position!
A piece was hidden in each stall,
So not to rouse suspicion.

The signal left the gander’s throat.
The mares threw wide the door.
They loaded up the weapon full,
And made the rubbish soar.

The bedroom window crashed right through,
And woke Jim with a start.
He slipped into his boots in haste,
With hand over his heart.

The second load crushed in his roof,
Just as he stepped outside.
His eyes fell on the animals,
And he was mortified.

The charge was roared in unison.
They rushed at him en masse.
Jim screamed in horror as they came,
And hid in the tall grass.

With copied truck keys safe in hoof,
The cows jumped in the seat.
They turned the key to start her up,
And floored it down the street.

A quick high-five, a hearty laugh,
They made it! They survived!
They sent a postcard to their friends,
Home in the countryside.

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

Sonnet No. 2

Sometimes it seems like we have always been.
Was there a time without a You and I?
So tell me darling how could I begin,
To dream of life without you by my side?
So here I stand your hand in mine to ask,
If you would let me change your name to mine.
Though living life can be a fearful task,
Together even darkest days will shine.
If you accept this ring and take my heart,
I’ll walk beside you till the day we die.
For only death my dear could ever part,
Two hearts that fit so well as you and I.

My dear one take this ring I offer you
And make that solemn sacred vow, “I do.”

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

A Year Ago

A year ago I walked away
Far too nervous to look
Your father had tears in his eyes
Two pink lines
I was so nervous
I shook
I put my hands on you
Asleep inside me
The nightmare came too soon
Always weak
Always ill
My heart knew something was wrong
“Tell him not to leave us.”
Your father would put his lips against you
As close as he could
“We love you. You stay in there”
Always weak
Always ill

We came that day to see you grow
Cold office
Cold reality
“We’re so sorry”

A year ago I walked away
Far too wretched to believe
Your father had tears in his eyes
Two grieving parents
I was so broken
I shook
I put my hands on you
Dead inside me
The nightmare wouldn’t end
Always weak
Always ill
Weeks dragged by relentlessly
“Why did God do this?”
Your father put his lips against my forehead
As close as he could
“I love you. We will be okay.”
Always weak
Always ill

Has it really been one year…
Still loved
Still missed
“Goodnight my Angel”

© Rachel Svendsen 2014