E. F#. G. D#m.

Going around and around the same old mountain, the same akiles heal

Perpetually falling, constantly stumling, weak in my sin consistently

(Bride) C#. E. G#. F#/D#

(Chorus) B. C#m. B/D#. E.

Sow for yourselves righteousness. Reap the fruit of unfailing love.

And break up your fallow, unplowed ground. For it is time to seek the Lord.

Verse

(Bridge) Until He comes. For His bride . whose pure white. Clothed in righteousness.

Until he comes. For His bride. Let’s seek the Lord till He comes. Back for us.

(Chorus) until He comes. And showers righteousness. On us.

SONG OF SOLOMON 4:1-4

B. E/B. F#m. B.

Oh that you were one of my brothers. Oh that you were raised by the same mother.

So that when I found thee, I could have kissed thee

And not a soul would judge or try to stop me

A. E/B. C#m/B. B/A.  because you would be mine

Oh that I could lead you to my mother’s house. that she would instruct me on how to be a good wife.

That she would have you to drink up my life. The juice of the fruit turned into spice wine.

Fermented. Waiting solely on you.

(Chorus)

Because you would be mine. You’d drink of the wine. Of the fruit of my life. You would be nourished, satisfied.

Then when i stopped to breathe instead of running headless throughout the city, like the bride of Solomon running throughout the city for her beloved, i asked myself if I had seen him whom my soul loves. And I asked myself what that my soul-lover even looks like. and as the bride had described her husband in Song of Solomon 3, I began to describe the void inside my heart. What does my heart long for and miss so much? And I began to describe this void…

My heart misses the river, the flowing waters of a hurricane marina lake. It misses the rush of the freezing cold Rock Island water as my bare skin meets the waves like heaven meets earth. My heart misses the deep felt laughter that comes from its inner being as a friend makes a joke and keeps the story going until I can’t breathe from laughing or they can’t handle my obnoxious belting any longer. It misses the partnering of her Mexico-bound dancing intercessor as we Spanish-move and ballet flow throughout Bock Properties Venue at one in the morning. It misses the deep conversations prolonged late into the night at Dolce outdoor tables. it misses all nighters that turn into morning sunrises at Sparta Outlook or Waffle House. It misses the carefree, unhurt summer days of caring nothing of what had been lost or gained, just riding my bike through town and weighing 117 lbs because of it. My heart misses being free.

My heart misses the scarcity of heartbreaking fights over the phone or in the car. It misses the days when there was nothing to disagree hatefully about or be offended about. It misses being not so defensive, not living her life like a wounded dog ready to attack anyone who rubs her the wrong way. My heart misses the sound of her inner-man when its filled with satisfaction and peace, instead of the hallow echoing of an empty cave. It misses feeling broken but still sustained by that which broke her so that He could carry her back home. My heart misses being whole.

My heart misses the company of Masters Commission students and alumni, talking memoirs and theology and music and intimacy. My heart misses the counsel of wise spiritual mentors and friends and mother figures and father figures. It misses the hours spent talking about heart issues and God features. It misses the long drawn out bible classes in Masters and overheated, under-managed book clubs. It misses the hours spent in the Masters Chapel speaking to a God who loved to hear her pray. It misses falling asleep in the prayer room, and getting in trouble for it. It even misses falling asleep at Congress Center, but not getting in trouble for that—definitely not. My heart misses being hedged in by such a strong community like that. She misses it very much.

My heart just misses friends in general. She misses the friendship she used to have with her mom, and her dad, and her sister, and her brother. The friendship she used to have with every boy she treated with disrespect, before she treated him wrong. The friendship she had with every girl before she lost their respect or didn’t amount up to their expectations of her—or worse yet, before they didn’t amount up to hers. My heart misses being pursued unreservedly and without expectation of anything back. It misses other hearts that love to give the same amount of attention that I am able to give them. My heart misses those who soak up every minute that I can give them and doesn’t get overwhelmed with my over-the-top, overbearing affection and attention. It misses those who love my laughs and love to make me laugh. it misses those long, long conversations that never end but have “to be continued” every time one or the other have to depart. My heart misses authentic, simple friendships.

My heart misses the piano. It misses hours goofing off with my own original pieces. It misses harmonizing with the random Jill or Jacob that stops in to say hi and ends up playing and singing along. It misses practicing worship songs in the church choir room to quickly compile a two-hour worship set. It misses getting instantaneously filled with the spirit when the guitar or his voice hits a certain note. It misses writing songs that actually are transcribed, printed out, recorded, and posted online for society to benefit from. My heart not only misses but thrives on her music—on life behind the keyboard. My heart misses making music all day. My heart even misses college classes! It misses the diversity of her classmates and the eclecticism of my professors. I miss learning unnecessary piece of information that are subconsciously stored in pieces of my brain that randomly pop up in related parts of conversation. My heart misses having the hype and tension of deadlines, having late night study groups in the library and energy drink infested mornings of writing papers and cramming in history or biology information. It misses reading—or pretending to read—books by the dozen to keep up with “the Jones’” but finding out later I studied too much and didn’t get enough Vitamin D in the winter sun.

My heart misses learning. But most of all, my heart misses just being. No sporadic, overly energetic, stress-infested mood. Just simply being. The kind of being that only comes with pace-set consistency and mature vulnerability and discrete transparency. The kind that lives a sort of drunken sobriety, the mindset of being constantly filled with the Spirit and empty of frantic worry and infantile personality. The kind of being that brings benefit in the prayer of righteousness, a victory in the yoke of faithfulness. The kind that believes I can ask for anything and He gives it freely because I ask with His Son in mind. That believes that whatever I put my hand to shall prosper, because I walk with the fingerprints and attitude of Christ. I miss being of Christ. I love being of Christ. And that is where I find myself… well. As myself. That is where I find home. That is where I am. Me. When I’m with Him…

“On my bed by night, I sought Him whom my soul loves. I sought Him, but found Him not. I will rise now and go about the city, into the streets and in the squares; I will seek Him whom my soul loves. I sought Him but found Him not. The watchman found me as I went about the city. ‘Have you seen Him whom my soul loves?’ Scarcely had I passed them when I found Him. I held Him and did not let go until I brought Him to my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her who conceived me.” –Song of Solomon 3:1-5

i wanted to puke yesterday. instead, my tongue spewed out words of secrecy and then of rudeness to a new friend due to my tummy ache and exhaustion. I’m still in awe of how one lives in their state of drunkenness. unaware of the reality of its affect on others around them, people will do anything their unstable bodies are impulsed to do. if that”s pee on a porch, it’s pee on a porch (no, i didn’t pee on a porch. the bathroom is still my favorite place to pee so far. besides the woods.) i wish we could understand why it’s so much more difficult to control yourself while intoxicated. why some unearthly force seems to take over you while drunk.

ugh. i’m so ready to be drunk not with alcohol or muscle rub or even any earthy love, but with the Spirit of the reality of the knowledge of God. I’m having withdrawals from knowing a piece of God and wanting more and more and more and more of Him !!!! I NEED ME A FIX !!! who wouldn’t want to be drunk with love to know God?? who wouldn’t want to affect others while being impulsed to follow and please the Father, the Spirit of holy drunkenness? who wouldn’t want to be controlled by some unearthly Force while intoxicated with His presence and His manifestation?? who would ever need or want any other earthly fix when a whiff of who Christ is can satisfy more than a thousand beers or a hundred packets of cigars or a million whiffs of any hookah (er w/e). if i am not drunk on God, i’m sober enough to worry about tomorrow. to be immersed in the cares of this world. to live for the purpose of pleasing myself. i cannot go back to this life of soberness !!!!!!!!!!

ENDRUNKEN ME. GOD, BEFORE I RETURN TO MY OTHER FIXES !!!

remind me of Your Spirit’s promise for baptism in the reality of You…

(written June 29, 2009. stored until today, July 10, 2010)

by Talitha Valentin
I feel like a queen

when you hold my hand and when you leave my house kept pure and clean

i feel like i’m dreaming

when you gaze at me like i’m the only girl you’d ever wanna be

with, you bust the myth

that loneliness is cured by one night stands

that love is only given with tongues and hands

that relationships must be fast as one night trains

and all men do is play the game

and then leave. and even when you do, you come back to me

i wear my heart on my sleeve. and you protect it with his merciful majesty

i feel like a queen….

by Talitha Cumi

VERSE ONE:

of kings and jugdes, who make mistakes and smudges
who screw up perfectly good lives
who can’t even love their own wives
oh kingly, oh judgely, who are you gonna be to me?

CHORUS:

carry the strength, not of samson or his arrogant wit
not pride in his power, abusive or taking for granted his gifts
but carry the strength of little king david, humble and patient, willing to wait
till what is not his is given to him
and when he claims her as his own
he fights for her till death, he dies to himself
oh kings and judges, what you gonna to us? are you gonna wait for us?
oh juezes, o reyes, van esperar para ellas?

VERSE TWO:

 oh judges and kings, who take pride in not things
not of prestige or not wealth, who live not for themselves
whose desire is strengthened and lengthened
by long-suffering and authentic growing
whose love started small as a mustard seed
whose love developed… softly… slowly…
oh judgly, oh kingly, who are you gonna be to me?

(CHORUS)

oh reyes. o juezes. quienes hacer errar y ensucia?

With two graveyard stones. One for the stable horse. and one for the Wild Filly.

every spring, Yellow the Bumble Bee brings the pollination of every flower of the meadow, flies down into the dark valley, and showers the bed of flowers over her. He pretends to play tag with the invisible image of his favorite friend, sings songs of springtime and games until he falls asleep on the head of her grave. and he dreams. of moments spent with his Wil’ One. when she loved nothing but creation and him…

~

“Tag, you’re it!”

She patted the bumble bee and then bolted the opposite direction. Running as fast as she could from Yellow, Filly almost flew in the early spring thick grass field of Wisconsin. Her heart beat a thousand miles as she laughed infectiously at her best Bee friend Yellow.

“You can run, Filler, but you can’t hide!” he snorted his corny joke.

“You wanna bet!” Filly screamed gleefully.

Her calico coat danced in the wind as she sang out laughter and skipped into the cliff valley to the river bank.

Distracted with dehydration, Filly stopped to take a drink and quickly forgot her heated friend flying fast behind her. As she bent over to drink, Filly left her rear in full view of revenge.

“OW !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You could hear the loudest neigh to ever echo the cliffs of the country reverberating in every creature’s ear that day.

“I cannot believe–” Filly turned around in hot anger.

She looked at her tail and found a red mark from Yellow’s sharp sting.

“You’re gonna die now, you can’t sting me!”

“Oh, c’mon, Filler, everyone knows that’s a grandma’s fable… you saw it comin’, so don’t be whinin to me for your pain.”

“Oh I’m so angry with you right now, Yellow…”

“No you’re not. you could never stay angry at chye’r bee”

She inwardly laughed. he was right. Her very DNA making was stained with giggles and affection. It was her, through and through. And no one could make her happy like Yellow could.

“Well… I suppose since you won this round…”

She flung her long mane his way as the tips of her hair snapped at Bee’s yellow and black fur.

“Hey!” He retorted her unfair tag.

“Catch me if you can,” her infectious laughter rang in his ears once more.

He couldn’t help but play along with his best good friend. Who would ever not want to?

Irritated with her silk robe, Lyric let its long sleeve hang on her arm so her fair shoulders could feel the evening breeze.

“Where is he?” she asked as she paced the palace floor.

Solomon was supposed to be home an hour ago, and although she had so carefully planned this special night for her hard-working husband, she was losing love-interest fast and trying to maintain emotional control.

But she had just bought this top this very afternoon! And the sheer silk hanging over her small breasts cooled her heated skin. She had waited all week for her Love to return from battle, and had longed with anticipation to make love to her warrior and bridegroom after his long week of war. She had felt the excitement building as she thought of his tough body pressed hard against her fragile one. But His tardiness had allowed time for these desires to die down and substituted with agitation. She was growing tired, and even as she slept lightly on the love seat, her heart was fully awake.

Wait! Was that a knock? Had he finally arrived? “Open to me, my sister, my love, my perfect one, my dove.” For a blissful moment, Lyric’s heart sang, followed by a sore reminder of the late hour.
She could hear the drops of evening dew drip from his armor and could only imagine his thick locks drenched with the perspiration of success and passion.
But determined to repay him for coming home so late, Lyric called out from the window with her cute, whiny voice.

“Oh but honey, my robe is already put away and my feet are washed. Must you ask me to soil them by opening the castle moat tonight?”

Ignoring His wife’s ridiculous questions, Solomon put his soaked hand to the latch of the door and her heart beat wildly within her. What was she thinking? Of course she would open the door for him…

Covering her shoulders once more, Lyric rose to open the door to her lover, humbly drenched not with dew but with the myrrh of sacrificial obedience to her master.

But as she opened the thick door, he was… he was gone! Hope sunken and heart failing, Lyric fled the room barefoot, calling madly throughout the castle and even outside the fields. No answer. Apologies rose in the air. Still no answer.

“Oh Solomon,” she whispered helplessly. Wait. The town! Perhaps he had retired to the hotel for the night after her cold response to his beckons and knocks. Stupid bride!

Reaching the city, she approached the gatemen with a request to enter. But why did they look at her funny? Was it her bare feet? Her frizzled hair? Gasp! Her see-through top! In healthy embarrassment, Lyric crossed her arms as she repeated her request. But the watchmen instead hungrily approached her and abused her. Defiled from head to toe, bruised not due to violent lovemaking but impermissible rape, Lyric was given free pass to enter the city with sealed lips and no cloak to cover her molested breasts.

No longer a coy mistress awaiting her lover in the suite, Lyric turned into a wild woman, angry and longing and searching the city for her lover…

“Oh city-daughters! Oh town-dwellers! I adjure you, I implore you, I beg of you. Have you seen my lover? If you find Him, please tell him I am about sick of love! Tell Him to come quickly while I am still sick WITH love for Gim.”

Lyric tripped over a brick in the road and fell over a passerby couple walking tightly together to fight against the wind.

“Oh please,” Lyric pulled on their garments, “Please, have you seen him? My Beloved, my Husband, I am sick for him!”

“What is your Beloved among other husbands, you beautiful, wild, hungry woman? What has he more than others that you bother us with your adjurations?”

Shocked at such a question, as if they did not KNOW Sir Solomon, Lyric explained his identity. “My Beloved is radiant. He is as ruddy as a summer horse ride.” SHE was at the moment as ruddy as a horse ride—even starting to wonder why she didn’t send her manservant to search for Him. But this thought fled quickly as she knew ONLY SHE had the passion to search with such length.

From head to toe she described every feature and trait that she had grown to love and loved to experience. From his black and white hair of youthful vibrancy and ancient wisdom to his eyes that gazed longingly with the commitment and focus of a dove who had chosen his life partner; from his lips previously dripping with dew that were touched with the scent of healing lilies and of painful myrrh to his ivory body and golden glazed legs; from the firmness of his Lebanese appearance to the sweet taste of his delicate mouth. “This, dormant passersby, is my Beloved and firstly will always be my Friend. Oh inquisitive couple of the city, I am my Solomon’s and he is mine.”

Completely in awe by such brazen descriptions, the dazzled couple asked yet another unnecessary question. “Well…” the man stammered and quickly self-composed. “Where IS this … this so-called Beloved of yours, o hungry woman? Where has He AWOL-ed that we have to seek Him with you?”

Annoyed with such questions, Lyric quickly reminded herself of the ignorance of dead lovers. She recalled the last place Solomon’s heart would ever be if not at war or with her. Not at the bars, not out jousting, but out tending… She smiled. “My Beloved Solomon is down in his garden. In the marriage bed of spices, he is grazing in the gardens to tend his sheep and to gather the lilies. I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine. His heart grazes among the very lilies of true healing and aptly gentle words.

“At that very moment, Lyric all of the sudden felt her heart pound wildly within her. Gasping for breath, she knew. She knew he was close. Her voice box itched to sing! “You, my dove, only you are as beautiful as Tirzah!”

Could it be? Could it finally be that he had risen to awaken her heart and rescue her soul? Was he finally here? Turning to gaze upon him, Lyric’s longing eyes pierced his tired ones. He completely melted at the sight of her.

“Turn your eyes away from me,” he said as he put his strong hand over his eyes of doves. “Turn, for they OVERWHELM me!” And just as she had described his every persona, he began himself to sing over her lyrics of love so fresh and so on fire. Even to the point of describing her teeth as flocks of ewes, coming up from being washed, Solomon sang of being washed by the water of his words. He commented on the many women he had seen and known but, “You, my dove, my perfect one, are the only one purely perfect for me, the only wife good to me all the days of my life. Before I knew you, you were good to me; you were praised in the streets, blessed by all. You look as bright as the dawn, as beautiful as the moon, as awesome as an army of banners. Oh beloved Lyric! I’ve been waiting. I went down to our garden, and examined the orchard of our blossoming heart to look at the flowers of the valley. To see whether the vines have budded, whether the orchids were in bloom. And before I knew it, the lyric of my lifesong, my desire set me among the chariots of fire filled with desire and consummation. And then I knew, dear. Only then did I know that you were ready. You were hungry enough for me. And only THEN could I return that I may look upon you, that I may watch you dance by firelight in the Garden State and tell you stores of my goings away and my sleepless, hungry nights for you.

Oh Babe. You. Your feet are. They’re beautiful with goodness and prepared nobility. Everything about you! Your flowing locks are like purple royalty and they dance with worshipful warfare. Your King, he is captured, captivated, locked up in your heart by such tresses. I am Yours, Beloved, and My desire is for you.”

Yes, finally. The two vibrant and holy love doves went out into the fields; they lodged in the village and went out early into the vineyards to see whether love had finally budded. Of course. Love had been awakened. And of course it was time. All former sin, all past hurts of molestation and shame were washed over with the reality of love. There, dear reader, there real love was given. And there all that had been stored for the perfect moment had finally been poured out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prompt
4.15.09
* Exclaiming to be a hero
* Overdramatic apology
* Awkward Silence

Ugh! How can I think about expressing only two enforced topics when my heart is going a thousand places at once. While at one time, it was secluded—no, suicidally isolated—from all things pleasureable and painful, this heavy heart has been recently SET FROM from all guilt and bitterness and loneliness. Now it flies with purpose and intention and energy. It carries a NEW HOPE given simultaneous to my giving up of the old dreams long dead and the leachful wrongness of begrudged bitterness. It’s been coupled with the LOVE of my life, the Apple of my eye, the Song of my soul…this new found hope has been the salvation of my existence, the resurrection of my happiness. This hope has been the trusted sidekick of the Hero of my Story. And the self-proclaimed, uncreated Hero of God has been the berath to my nostrils and the Wind beneath my feet. How I love this Heart-Enlarger, this Hope-Giver.
But how this new life carries such an interesting burden—tis heavy though light, exhausting though exuberating, freeing yet captivating. This hope awakens me early to simply meditate on its attributes, or keps me up late to invest in the most recent victim of its life-sucking, life-giving company. It leads me to the higest peak of joy and it brings me to the deepest valley of sadness. It demands an open hand to share but a humble heart to receive. It requires a boatload of screaming seraphim to satisfy its demand for praise but still asks for a still trusting quiet—almost an awkward silence—for the heart to experience or partake in any of this…weird and glorious praise. Such an interesting life my heart has chosen to live…and hudred places at once it runs toward. But only ONE place does it choose to wholly look upon…

24 > I have written and completed about 30 hardback diaries, usually in two months time for each. I love to write and frankly find myself most happy while doing it.

23 > My only other earthly passion other than writing is probably music. my piano skills are mad ridiculous and developing most enjoyably. My hope is to use these two to completely freak God out with love and glory.

22 > I’ve never been truly committed to television shows, but I love romance/romantic comedy movies or a good action/suspense. My favorite thing to do when it refers to that stupid technological screen is cuddlin up close to someone warm and pudgy and breathing in both their scent and the sound of the movie in the background.

21 > my favorite buildings in the world are Dolce Coffee Shop in downtown Cookeville and ATL-IHOP in Lawrenceville Georgia. I have so mch time to invest in my writing, my quiet time, my reading, my worship, and my community here. I want to build my own CHOP/coffee shop someday lol.

20 > Who would major in Education but want to homeschool their children while teaching in American school systems? No. I want to teach. And I want to support my self on the mission field. So why not switch my major to World Culture and Business? Maybe minor in music/Spanish/writing, and then get my teaching license. All who oppose may leave the building, please.

19 > my oldest and best friend has been and will always be my mama. She’s a hoot. And I love ‘er… no matter how much we’ve gone through, and even because of how much, she will forever be most dear to me and I would support her every cause and hear her every dream. She is my delight.

18 > I just finished my first short story!! So happy about this one …

17 > secret: I’m reading matt manchester’s things about me as I write mine and patterning my things after his … and now I’m stuck as to how to copy this one. So I’ll just let the secret out now. (phew. I feel soo much better about myself now)

16 > secret number two: I’m presently at ATL-IHOP this blessed moment watching the purple and blue stage lights shadow the piano worshipper…. Oh ! there goes Billy … haha. Who is so jealous of me right now?

15 > I have currently promoted God from being a Lover to being a King … good thing! I was about to divorce my Husband due to His control freak-requests. But you EXPECT absolute control from a King… don’t wanna be beheaded so I choose to wholly obey THAT Guy …

14 > I am madly in love with the idea of being married and having children and have yet to dethrone this idol… so until then I get to be a single lady wit no ring on her finger. Can I get a HALA from all tha single ladies!

13 > my original, uncut songs are usually in between 11 and 28 minutes. I just don’t shut up and it keeps going and going and going and going and going …

12 > I have most recently been introduced to Coldplay and am now in love… they are so freakin’ amazing it really shocks me that an un-Jesus band can be that captivating to my affections.

11 > I used to demand at least 3 hours to myself a day while at Masters, where you could NEVER be alone if allow yourself to… I do believe solitude is necessary for sanity and reflection and inspiration.

10 > I currently own one orange, two bags of oatmeal, and three stalks of vegetables in my fridge. Oh the joys of being simple!

9 > I slept in my underwear last night. Yes. It felt so freeing. i hear it’s actually  good for your body to have that much air at one time! yay yea…

8 > I have the biggest fear of failure. Tell me no, deprive me of accomplishing something I’ve fought for, and I will feel as if I’d failed all expectations imposed on me by God and man and self. Do not tell me no…not unless you want me to be beautifully broken …

7> I love schedules and lists … give me consistency and rigidness and I thrive ha…

6 > I have never drunk a beer.. but I’ve been around it enough to hate its affect on people. I mean c’mon I’m drunk on love and God anyway so why would I want the substitute ??

5 >I am currently obsessed with facebook and refuse to spend more than 20 minutes a day on it lol

4 > I love tea whole bunches and it makes me happy to drink green tea in the morning and chamomile in the evening … oh plus orange juice AM and milk PM. Yay-yea. Could live off liquids!

3 > I am absolutely in love with the trees and the wind and the water and the grass and the Creator of all things and love and hope and affection and music and dancing and screaming and laughing and ….

2 > fav singas : Jason Upton, Misty Edwards, Jon Foreman, Audra Lynn, Coldplay, Mewithoutyou, Erin Erb, Talitha Valentin (ha!), ..

1 > if in Chariots of Fire, the missionary can think that God takes pleasure in his running, I do very much believe that He takes pleasure in first my singing, second my dancing, and third my swimming

yes. she’s finally completed her first post.
too bad it’s corny as all get out. lol.