YES, I AM PRO-LIFE. NO, THAT’S NOT AN ENDORSEMENT OF TRUMP.

It’s almost as if I’m in competition with myself to write posts that satisfy as few people as possible. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And away we go…

I am pro-life. More than that, I am anti-abortion. Passionately anti-abortion.

And I am not voting for Donald Trump. I didn’t vote for him in 2016 and I don’t plan to vote for him in 2020.

I’m not going to bore you with an elaborate explanation of my reasoning. It’s a personal choice. And it’s painful. There’s nothing I want more than to abolish abortion and I know that a Democrat president will quickly undo standing executive orders that protect the unborn, and will nominate pr-abortion judges.

Which is why I am not voting for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris either.

To my pro-life and pro-Trump friends:
Perhaps you’re concerned that I am aiding in the election Biden/Harris. I understand. And I am sorry. I hate it. But I cannot vote for a man that I can’t defend and I cannot defend Trump. I can defend many of his administration’s policies, but I cannot defend the careless, callous, irresponsible, unprofessional way he speaks to and about women, racial and ethnic minorities, the under-resourced, or basically anyone he views as “other”. This is about far more than inelegant speech. I was, and still am, a fan of George W. Bush. I found his inelegant speech endearing and humanizing. I find the things Trump says far more divisive and dangerous. And frankly, I am just too damn tired to defend the hot communications disaster that is Donald Trump.

(I confess, this would probably be a more difficult decision if I lived in a battleground state. Here in the Democrat fortress of Connecticut, my vote for president won’t change who gets the small handful of Connecticut’s electoral votes. And so my decision stands.)

To my pro-Biden/Harris friends:
You may think that, comparatively at least, Biden and Harris are the better choice. I understand. Given the circumstances, I get it. Voting is a personal decision and you have to sleep at night, too. All I ask of you is this: When you fill in that bubble or mail that ballot or pull that lever (Does anyone use levers anymore? I miss them. I felt like the Wizard of Oz. Damn you hanging chads!)…anyway…

When you cast your vote, please do so with the full knowledge that you are endorsing the wholesale murder of millions of unborn children every year, and perpetuating a lie – one that promises freedom but instead physically, emotionally, and spiritually ravages women, families, communities and the world.

I am not too proud to admit that I hope your vote for Biden/Harris is as painful for you as giving up my vote is for me. If you believe they are the better choice, at least enter into it honestly. At least admit the cost. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is worth it. That is the chance you’re taking.

And truly, TRULY, I do not judge you for it. How can I if my non-vote helps put Biden/Harris in office?

But we must, all of us, face the cost of our CHOICES honestly if we are to ever understand what it is we’re fighting for. If we really want to make a difference in this world, we must take responsibility for our actions, big and small, individual and collective.

No, I am not saying you can’t vote for Democrats or Republicans, but damn it, why can’t we demand more from them?!

If you’re a pro-life Democrat, demand better from your leaders. Stop giving them a pass!

If you’re an anti-racist Republican, demand better from your leaders. Stop giving them a pass!

Otherwise, what incentive will they ever have to change?

(but also, I really do l love you)

©️ Nichole Liza Q.

August 28, 2020 0

Belong

You can’t fly a kite without strings But you can watch it spread its wings Soar and dip, gently fall Swoop high over the garden wall You can watch her spread wings Your love was just an offering Leaning there on the garden wall You let go of all you are Your love was just an offering Like a nightingale song, or a church bell’s ring Yet letting go of all you are Something slowly fills your heart A nightingale song, a church bell’s ring We can’t hold on to anything But let the star-wind fill your heart And with open hands, belong ©️ Nichole Liza Q., August 2020

The month of August in the 2020 calendar by Jess Franks*: https://www.jessfranksart.com

*One night, while searching for inspiration for a submission to my monthly poetry group**, I paused to meditate on the Jess Franks calendar that hangs by my bed. Butterflies have been on my heart a lot lately, but it was her two line poem that really caught my attention. BAM! Suddenly the spring opened and there I was at 2:00 a.m. scribbling away. Jess’s art is great example of how inspired creativity is like a mountain spring, or a deep well, a gift that keeps on giving. **As part of our poetry group prompt for August, this poem loosely follows a form known as Pantoum, a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first.

August 21, 2020 0

Inseparable, Free

(a paraphrase of Psalms 23, 73, 91, 139 and Zephaniah 3)

Where can I go to get away from You?
Where can I run, that You are not already there?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there
And if I descend to the depths of despair
Even to the grave, there You are

You are with me when I am flying high, soaring through life
But if I land in an unfamiliar place where no one knows my name or speaks my language, still You are holding on to me

If I grieve and weep and wail with bitterness in my heart
If I stand before You like a brute beast, acting without understanding
If I throw a tantrum like a spoiled child
Or hide under the table trembling in fear
If I shut You out like an angry teenager
If my body fails me
Or my mind becomes weak and I cannot even remember You
Nevertheless, You are with me
Your right hand will hold me fast

You have shattered glass to rescue me
Shaken mountains
Torn down walls
To get to me
To set me free

As the song goes, “You don’t give Yourself in pieces”*
So I won’t give myself in pieces either
and “You don’t hide Yourself to tease us”*
So I won’t hide myself from You

Actually, not even darkness can hide me from You
You see through every darkness
Even the darkness of my heart
Even the darkness that hides in darkness
You see the real me

The spark of my soul rests in Your heart
Untouched by human hands, my being hides in You

I will rest in You like a baby bird beneath the shadow of her mama’s wings
Even in the presence of my enemies
You will feed and nourish my soul
You will sing to me with joy

We are one
You and me
Inseparable, free
Your love will never let me go

©️ Nichole Liza Q.

*Song lyrics from “Pieces” by Amanda Cook

Thanks to Andy Willis for making this photo available freely on @unsplash 🎁

July 15, 2020 0

The Dream

You are the dream He dreamed
He dreams
the song He sings
when the whole world sleeps

You are the whisper in the wind
wonder hushed
on angels’ lips
a secret He keeps

You are the gift He gave
He gives
the life He lives
in the depths of the deep

You
are the dream
the act, the scene

You
are the masterpiece
penned without ink

You
are the ballad
sung by the trees

You
are the mystery

You
are the dream

©️Nichole Liza Q.

July 10, 2020 4

Into the Unknown

The contemplative spiritual journey is a journey into the unknown. The more I know God the more I realize how much I don’t know about God. This can be frightening and frustrating, or we can allow it to fill us with wonder and awe. The mystics refer to this as The Cloud of Unknowing. We are all called, like Abraham, into this unknown and it is there in this cloud of unknowing that we experience God in pure spiritual faith.

Yet few of us want to step into the unknown. In fact, in my experience, “knowing” is one of the pillars of the western evangelical Christian tradition. We are taught that we can know God, know our destiny, know the Bible, know how to pray, know right from wrong, know God’s will in everything. We know so much there’s no room to wonder, doubt, question or debate.

Continue reading →

March 18, 2020 0

A GIRL AND HER BASKET OF BROKEN THINGS

There I was, a little girl standing before Jesus, with a basket in my arms. My basket of loaves and fishes. Everything I had to offer was in that basket.

As Jesus stretched out his hands for my basket, I hesitated. Dipping my chin, I took one last look at my offering. Suddenly, shame covered my small frame like a wool coat five sizes too big.

I had worked hard to fill that basket. And while I felt the weight of all my attempts to get it right, to do something good, to bring something special, my basket was filled with nothing but moldy crumbs and eyes and scales and bones. It might as well have been empty.

I wanted to run, to disappear, to make excuses – but there’s none of that nonsense when you’re face to face with Jesus. Shaking and uncertain, I looked up at him through tears. What would he say? What would he do? Would he be disappointed? Or angry? Would he yell? Or shake his head and pass me by?

Continue reading →

February 20, 2020 4

Sex Culture, Christians, and a Call for a New Conversation

THE WRONG CONVERSATION
Recent discussions sparked by John Crist’s public confession have led me into a strange land, one where I spend a lot of time thinking about the generational differences of sexual behavior, beliefs, and norms. What I’m realizing, now more than ever, is that the western evangelical Church (the Christian subculture I am a part of) is woefully ignorant about what is actually happening in the sexual culture of today’s teens and young adults. This is especially apparent when sexual sin and misconduct within the Church become the topic of public debate.

After the story of John Crist broke, many prominent Christian voices asked, not for the first time, how we can best address and care for those who “fall” into temptation, commit “sexual sin,” and experience “moral failure.” Usually, by the time the Church starts to engage in a conversation publicly, individual churches are already engaging in similar conversations. Individual churches are talking about sexual temptation, sin, and moral failure – from the pulpit, in our small groups, at youth group. There’s no shortage of books, studies, or sermons on sex, sexual sin, and how to avoid it. Our problem isn’t that we’re not having the conversation – our problem is that we’re having the wrong conversation.

Continue reading “Sex Culture, Christians, and a Call for a New Conversation” →

December 15, 2019 7

Playing Potter

trapped behind these
one-way eyes
inside
the lies we wear like make-up
spread thick
slick
with a spackling knife
layer slapped
on layer

we play Potter
with counterfeit clay
covering lines and
carving new ones
making mud masks
that bury us alive
that harden
into barrel helms
heavy
on our heads

necks bent
beneath the weight
of myths we can’t remember
shoulders hunched
around our hearts
a blockade
gazes fixed
on fingers

we can’t even look each
other in the eye anymore

Would it matter if we did?

This poem was written in response to my poetry group’s July prompt “differences”. The first line popped into my head and inspired the rest of the poem.

July 18, 2019 0

Ocean at Night

I listen to the sea
As it beats against the earth
My mind a soft resounding
No words
No words
No words

No words to make you hear
Unless you’ve heard before
Wide-mouthed waves devouring
The shore
The shore
The shore

The shore as mute as I
While the roaring ocean pens
Her prayer of ceaseless pounding
Amen
Amen
Amen

‘Ocean at Night’ was written in response to a prompt in my poetry group, in which were to focus on onomatopoeia, which led me to thoughts like “How do you describe the sound of ocean waves crashing on the shore to people who’ve never heard it before? Is there any description that does it justice?” My answer was this poem.

*Sunset on Treasure Island, FL. Photo by Nichole Q Perreault*

June 19, 2019 3

The Ruins of a Faith Built on Ideas*

Jesus is Laid in the Tomb, Charcoal Drawing by Kate Tortland, used with permission **

I close my eyes and see my feet on stone, the landscape around me rocky, colorless, empty. Where is my love for You, Lord? I catch a glimpse. So thin, so fragile, this gold-leaf love. Floating away on a zephyr created by my own reaching hands. I cannot grasp it. Cannot feel it. This precious, flimsy love. I’m so hollow, I have become a question.

With eyes still closed, I explore this vision. Words of revelation come to me:

I am standing in the ruins of a faith built on ideas.

A faith built not on God, but on ideas of God.

I thought I knew Him, this God of Jacob. I was not a foolish girl. I had heard He was a God who could not be bought, a lion who would not be tamed. But I didn’t know Him until He dragged me into the wilderness and refused to answer when I called.

He tore down mountain after mountain, rearranging hills and valleys until the landscape was unrecognizable. Both my physical family, after the loss of my brother, and my spiritual family, after a challenging season, were shattered. And the greatest sting was not experiencing God’s absence. The greatest sting was knowing that the all-powerful God of the universe was right there, witnessing everything, and doing nothing to stop it.

I think I understand the disciples better now. How they might have felt as they watched Jesus submit to death on a cross. As they pried His bloody hands from the nails and carried His lifeless body to the tomb. As they laid him there and said good-bye, turned their backs and walked away. And He, their Messiah, their conquering King, Israel’s Salvation and Deliverer, did absolutely nothing to stop it. (Matthew 27:57-60)

They thought they knew Him, this son of David. Thought they’d built their faith on Him. But they’d built their faith on ideas of Him instead.

We, too, can build our faith on ideas of God. Like the disciples, we can fashion scripture into formulas and platitudes that fit our own understanding, if that helps us sleep better at night. Like the disciples, we can lean on teaching that reduces our walk to a step-by-step method for successful living, if that helps us feel more in control.

Or we can persevere like David, wide-eyed, wide-hearted, refusing anything but the true, untamed heart of God. We can hold on fiercely to God like Jacob, wrestling with Him in the midst of our trials, until we get to the good stuff…the real stuff…blessings that change us, alter our journey, even if that means we walk with a limp. We can reject platitudes and shallow teaching like Job, and brave the whirlwind of God’s mighty presence, that we might also say, “

Jesus Rises from the Grave, Charcoal Drawing by Kate Tortland, used with permission**

I admit I once lived by rumors of you; now I have it all firsthand – from my own eyes and ears!” (Job 42:5 MSG)

I stand in the ruins of a faith built on ideas. But beneath my feet lies the Foundation that will not be shaken, the Promise that will not be removed.

Like the disciples, I carved myself a God of my own design. But now, as the dust settles and rumbling quiets, I see Him and I hear Him saying “Afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted, I will rebuild you.” (Isaiah 54:11)

I am so empty I have become a question. But like the vacant tomb, I am a question of freedom and of hope. A witness to the Truth. And I, like Mary Magdalene battle-worn and broken, run crying in the streets, “I have seen the Lord.” (John 20:16-18)

*The above post was written for Wintonbury Church as part of the Stations of the Cross 2019 booklet.
**Digital photographs of original charcoal drawings by Kate Tortland. These two drawings are part of her 14-piece Stations of the Cross collection which depicts Jesus’ journey from the Garden of Gethsemane to His resurrection. The collection is on display each year for Good Friday at Wintonbury Church; and an accompanying booklet with photos of the artwork, scripture, and meditations written by church members is provided for guests.

April 20, 2019 6