At the Mention of a Kaleidoscope...

I smile,laughter tickling my lips.

My eyes lusting after the twirling figures, their luminous colors given texture and life as the light passes through it.

I feel excited, yet not fully understanding why.

Why after simply hearing it's name my mind is sent racing, releasing my long slumbering Child-Nature, who now wishes to come out and play.

Could it be the shimmering colors?

The shades awakening a deeper conciseness reaching even to my soul.

Or is it the shapes?

Dancing effortlessly throughout the patterns, hypnotizing.

But still maybe it's the light, bringing depth and clarity, completing the pleasing display.

Even still, I believe it's because every picture is different, every image a once-in-a-lifetime.

With every turn I witness that which will never be seen again.

My own private miracle.

One would imagine that with such a rare and striking beauty before them, there it would remain, untouched, satisfied with the vision of rarity.

But of course, it is quickly sacrificed, it's individual wonder never to be reclaimed in full again.

All in the hope of beholding an even more awe inspiring scene.

Like a water that leaves you thirsty, the sight of Beauty does not extinguish the craving, but rather enhances it.

It's frozen dance begun again with the desire for something better, something more.

We will never stop turning, we can never be satisfied.

The Beauty of Today will be sacrificed in pursuit of The Beauty of Tomorrow.

Always.

All the Kings Horses...

Broken.

My very being.

"I am broken" they may say when life gets to be too much.

But for me it means so much more than sorrow.

It is my condition.

My incurable sickness.

"I am broken" I say when I mess up. Again.

Something is profoundly wrong with me.

I can not do it. I can not win.

I am broken.

To accuse something of being broken is to admit to having an idea of what it is to be fixed.

To work.

To know it's purpose, what it's designed to be. To do.

I see. I know.

But I am broken.

I've tried to fix myself, pretended to make it well.

But no one is fooled.....least of all me.

Something about me is not right.

I am incapable. I am a failure. I am a mess.

I am broken.

I see myself as a tiny and fragile doll.

Cracked. Bruised. Fake.

A cheap imitation of what I could have been.

Should have been.

Broken.

I can do nothing. I am nothing.

And everybody knows it.

Weak. Worthless. Damaged.

I have no use. I am pointless.

I can't.

Failure slowly crushes my soul. What's left of it.

Something is wrong.

This is not how it is supposed to be.

Why am I so dysfunctional?

Why don't I work?

Why do I feel so empty, so incomplete?

A Fall, the past remembers...

It shattered me.

From then on I have been trying to recover. Relying on myself to undo it.

But how can something that has been broken fix itself?

Since that day I have been changed.

Marred. Disfigured. Less than.

Broken.

Cut off from Perfection. Barred from Peace.

Brokenness.

It is a disease.

And I embraced it.

"The Fall" they have named it, but I tell you the truth: I jumped.

Headlong.

Realizing too late what was done as my very being splintered with the impact.

Broken I have lain. Broken I have lived.

Something is so very wrong.

Can it be put right? Who among us could?

Can we be healed? Who among us would?

I am broken.

Pathetic. Meaningless.

I am wrong. Can I be righted?

Dear God, I am broken.

How could you ever want me?

Jesus according to a Three Year Old.

"What is Jesus like?"

I always love asking little kids this question. Their answers are always so simple and yet so profound. Besides, they seem to understand Him at a deeper level than the rest of us. They seem to be nearer, closer. So I enjoy their unique insight into the spiritual realm, witnessing their perfect assurance and trust. Believing isn't a struggle for them yet. They just know. About a month ago I asked my youngest sister that question, not expecting the answer I got to come from a three year old. Her picture of Jesus is simple,pure and absolute. One of the most beautiful I've encountered. I had just been sitting there in her room one day, after she'd asked me to come watch her play, when I ask her, "What is Jesus like Cybil?" She looked up at me smiling, kind of shrugged her shoulders and replied "I no know."She returned to her playing for a while then added "Jesus loves me." "Not exactly original" I contemplated to myself "but it's something." I tried again "What does he look like?" "Brown." she answered with complete certainty, wrapping her baby-doll tightly in her blanket. "Brown hair?" She nodded. "Then what color are His eyes?" "Brown." she echoed, giggling as if it was something I should have known. "Common knowledge" her look implied. "Jesus loves me." "Yes He does." "I had a scary dream." Guessing she had changed the subject I asked what it was about. "Monsters." she replied frowning with seriousness. "What happened in your dream?" "Monsters are in my bed," she began, distress in her small voice, "And I crying. And a lion comes..." "Really," I interrupt "A lion?" "Yeah, yeah," she cries with excitement "and RAWR! And all the monsters go away," then adding "and then the lion turns into Jesus." As if nothing could be more natural. I said nothing as she she looked at me, a grin spread wide across her pixie face "I love Jesus" she sighs. She may not have known what she was saying but it didn't matter. Out of the mouth of a child, a baby, came praises of the Lord. "...And then the Lion turned into Jesus." I wonder if she knows the one where He turns into the Lamb.......

And thus, the Parade is begun...

So...here I am. *pause* Yeah, I don't really know what you were planning on "learning" here, because I can promise you that this whole "letting Caitlin have a blog" thing could do more damage than good. So prepare for rants, ramblings and other such adjectives starting with the letter R. Because they'll be here. In all their random and profound glory. Streaking unashamed through out your unsuspecting brain.

The Parade has begun...will you join me?