Knowing Christ

Will I know Christ when He comes?
Will I recognize His face—not because I have seen it, but because I see His light?
Will He call me friend, because I have endured to the end?
Who will I be in His sight?
Will I be stuck because my heart is numb?
Or will I be pure white from doing His right?
What will I regret or have left undone?
Will I be ashamed and feel to blame?
Or will Christ and I be one and the same?

April Murdock
9.1.02

my thoughts on thunder and rain

eccentric waltzing across the sky
prelude to the life-supporting rain
fat drops plunking, streaming, kamikaze
flash across the sky
illuminating for a brief moment, then

pause

BOOM

shake my bones, rattle my brain
oooh, another one!

awestruck and breathless at this beautiful reminder of God’s glory
spellbound, I could watch the performance for hours.

April Murdock
6.21.02

Ode to Clark (the Paper Man)

Good-bye, dear friend, who always stood tall even when others around you slumped. You never shirked responsibility. You always listened, never interrupting or speaking harsh words or bullets of sarcasm. You always greeted me with a cheery grin on your face, hand raised in friendship.
A true man for all seasons, you survived the apartment, “Oh, no, the toilet overflowed” water fight and trek in the snow to Frontier Pies.
Those were the days.
Pigtails in our hair, prom dresses with running tights and shoes, we could hardly have asked for a better date. You were willing, inviting, comfortable and safe. You stood for a lot, and while many could not see all of your amazing qualities, they knew you had character and a kind heart. Never mind that you were not quite in proportionyour creator admired you anyway.
The day came that you were rolled away, tucked up and forgotten. I missed you sorely until our joyous reunion. I didn’t want to be selfish, so I let my little sister share you with her senior English class for a creative assignment. Yet you were so underappreciated. Standing in their class, day after day after day, hardly a soul even looking at your friendly visage. Then you were torn down, crumpled to the floor and tossed in a can. Oh, the cruelty and abuse! The horror to imagine that anyone could be so heartless! Did they not know, did they not think that someone cared for you and was anxiously awaiting your safe return? You can’t be replaced. You were one-of-a-kind and the last of your breed. There can never be another Clark.

April Murdock
5.22.02

Healing?

You hurt me once.
Not just once, but a long time ago.
I didn’t understand how my heart was scarred,
But things in my life were not right.
I failed to make the connection between my problems and you.

I’m learning now,
and it’s painful
and it hurts.
Now I’m trying to let go.

I’m so angry
I can’t express it.
But part of me doesn’t want to.

I thought I had to protect you.
Mad was not okay.
I thought if I never felt mad,
I had let go.
Boy, was I wrong.

It was about control.
I could control my feelings by stuffing them—
Stuffing them with food.
But then the ugly tyrants Food and Appetite took hold of me—
Quite a paradox.

I hated myself.
I did not deserve love.
How could I love myself
When I ate so disgustingly?

And then I got worse.
I look back on where I once was,
Thinking I was so terrible.
Compared to now,
Back then looked better than my current cow.

I used to fight it vigorously, forcefully.
I was obsessed with controlling my food,
Yet still it controlled me.
Now I’m too tired to battle and numbly concede.

I can’t get satisfaction.
It’s never enough.
My stomach is not a bottomless pit,
But I think it’s not connected to my brain.
I’m stuck in a rut
With a huge butt.

Some days it’s hard to have hope.
I’ve been through this before,
And I don’t seem to be getting better.
I’m just trying to cope.

What do I have to look forward to?
I have many blessings;
I acknowledge that.
But they’re almost impossible to see
Through the thick fog of negativity.
The fog tries to smother me and
When I’m weak, leaves no room for felicity.

I feed off of negative thoughts—
Multiplying, swarming my mind like devil biting flies,
Whispering and snarling at me that they’re true.
They try to erase my memories of peace and hope.

They tell me I’m not worthy.
They tell me I’m bad,
I’m defective, unlovable,
And yes, it’s sad,
I’ll never be good enough.

Not long ago I felt, for the first time in my life,
Fully LOVED.
It was a gift from God,
And I didn’t know why it suddenly came.
It filled my heart and I felt my worth.

Yet it slowly waned
And I wondered what was wrong with me
That I couldn’t keep it.
Oh, how my heart ached!
To finally have such a beautiful gift
And for it to quietly slip through the holes in my heart.

My life’s an emotional roller coaster,
From moment to moment fluctuating.
I hit the valleys and rise to the peaks.
I want to puke from the ride.

It’s more than confusing and frustrating.
What do I believe?
Each moment seems to be the new truth,
Erasing what I felt just moments before.
It seems that all I can trust is my logic,
Yet that seems to be failing too.

Like a tulip bulb that lasts through winter,
My hope lies dormant that all the negative thoughts are false
(I avoid claiming them as mine)
And some day I won’t hear them anymore
Or at least not listen to them.

Inside of me there is a beautiful, radiant woman
full of love and joy,
Shining and doing good.
But her treasure remains buried
Deep under the dirt that has been heaped upon her.

Is she lovable with the dirt still there?
Of course, she’s acceptable without the dirt,
But while she’s being excavated and polished,
Is she still worth as much?

I suppose value lies in the esteem of the beholder
Does God still value a recently dug-up treasure
As much as He does an already shining jewel?

The world looks at the dirty treasure as flea-market material.
But it’s my heart, and I guard it carefully.

How does God see me?
He tells me that He loves me
And that He’s pleased with my efforts.
Can it be true?
I have so FAR to go,
So much dirt to dig through,
That I can’t accept that I’m acceptable.
Not until the dirt is gone.

Sometimes instead of digging through the dirt,
I would rather smooth it over and plant a garden.
But if the flowers can’t grow because they’re planted in poor soil,
then I need to change it.
And as much as I wish I had a new garden,
Changing plots is not allowed in this field.

So my task seems to be learning to garden in rocky territory.
The tree that grew in the rocky soil was the strongest.

April Murdock
5.18.02