Beats Rhymes & Life

To Write Love On Her Arms

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 01:48:57 -0500

Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won’t see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she’d say if her story had an audience. She smiles. “Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars.”

I would rather write her a song, because songs don’t wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.

Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn’t slept in 36 hours and she won’t for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she’ll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn’t ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.

She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of “friends” offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write “FUCK UP” large across her left forearm.

The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.

She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I’ve known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she’s beautiful. I think it’s God reminding her.

Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando’s finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.

She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott’s) Travelling Mercies.

On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I’m not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.

Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We’re talking to God but I think as much, we’re talking to her, telling her she’s loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she’s inspired.

After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.

She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She’s had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn’t have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.

As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: “The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope.”

I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we’re called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.

We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she’s known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.

We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don’t get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won’t solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we’re called home.

I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.

I’ve never walked this road, but I decide that if we’re going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes

West Coast Fresh Most

Sun, 04 Dec 2011 22:37:28 -0500

YOU KNOW YOU ARE FROM WASHINGTON STATE WHEN: You know how to pronounce Sequim, Puyallup, Enumclaw and Issaquah. You consider swimming an indoor sport. You see a person carrying an umbrella and know they must be a tourist. Your lawn is mostly moss and you don’t really care. Your daily commute to work involves riding a ferry. Honking your car is for absolute emergencies. You’re extremely picky about……… your coffee. You rarely wash your car because it’s just going to get washed by the rain tomorrow. Northfaces are always in fashion. You take a heavy coat and a hat with you for a day at the beach. Half of your food is organic. You are a full supporter of one of Seattle’s sports teams, even though you know they arent that good. You play the “no you go” at four-way stops. You can tell the difference between Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean and Thai food. You know what a Dick’s Deluxe is. You wont go to Forks because of all the Twilight fans. You will never forgive A-Rod. You are a fan of all things green. Also, you know you are from Washington because when you visit other places you experiance a sense of euphoria when a rain drop smacks you on the forehead.

Searchers.

Sat, 03 Dec 2011 18:06:22 -0500

Never doubt the power of Palankas. <3

fuckyeahmacklemore: Macklemore and Grieves Never knew these...

Sat, 03 Dec 2011 18:05:12 -0500

fuckyeahmacklemore:

Macklemore and Grieves

Never knew these guys liked turkish style wraps. But i always knew they spit golden style raps.

BLUNTS

Fri, 25 Nov 2011 16:22:46 -0500

Cut it.

Gut it.

Stuff it.

Turkey Turkey Turkey!!

The Tipsta and Miss Jones

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 18:12:00 -0500

The Tipsta and Miss Jones:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rLoscbxjcwU

Qtip goes off and Norah just has beautiful vocals. JUST CLICK AND LISTEN!

Photo

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 18:08:01 -0500

You know you're from Seattle when...

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 18:06:28 -0500

seattlechillin:

you have to figure out what type of rain you’ll be dealing with each day it’s supposed to rain.

Submitted by xjennersonx.

TCQ

Tue, 08 Nov 2011 21:08:51 -0500

1988 senior year Garvey High…. All the guys were corny but the girls were MAD FLY

Photo

Tue, 08 Nov 2011 20:55:30 -0500

"In Our Darkest Hour. In My Deepest Despair. Will You Still Care?. Will You Be There?. In My..."

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 20:31:45 -0400

“In Our Darkest Hour.
In My Deepest Despair.
Will You Still Care?.
Will You Be There?.
In My Trials.
And My Tribulations.
Through All Doubts.
And Frustrations.
In My Violence.
In My Turbulence.
Through My Fear.
And My Confessions.
In My Anguish And My Pain.
Through My Joy And My Sorrow.
In The Promise Of Another Tomorrow.
I’ll Never Let You Part.
For You’re Always In My Heart.
<3 MJackson.”

macklemore: Anyone that reblog’s this will most likely win a...

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 20:29:46 -0400

macklemore:

Anyone that reblog’s this will most likely win a horse.

macklemore: Anyone that reblog’s this will most likely win a...

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 20:28:53 -0400

macklemore:

Anyone that reblog’s this will most likely win a horse.

Smell of Seatown

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 21:19:13 -0400

Petrichor:
Noun; refers to the way the earth smells after rain fall.

(Otherwise known as olfactory of Seattle).

Real quality old school rap, Soul Candy!

Mon, 17 Oct 2011 00:15:43 -0400

Real quality old school rap, Soul Candy!

Carly <3

Thu, 06 Oct 2011 19:39:00 -0400

Depression is never something to take lightly. Be there for those you know who have been robbed of their happiness. A day may come when its too late, and nothing can fix the permanent damage. Love can always overcome this destruction.

Because even when we loose those we love to a tragic death… LOVEstillWINS.

I love you Carly Henley.

nwhiphop: Blue Scholars || Blink They say talk is cheap, but...

Thu, 06 Oct 2011 19:32:03 -0400

nwhiphop:

Blue Scholars || Blink

They say talk is cheap, but war is expensive
I speak ‘cause it’s free and these words are my weapon
Don’t think for a second I will not question
U.S. foreign policy, imperial aggression
Inventing war for the quenching of the thirst for the oil
‘Cause money don’t trickle down to workers who toil

LET FREEDOM RING

Mon, 03 Oct 2011 20:30:00 -0400

Amanda is free now!! Thank you God, justice is served… and please bring her family back home safe to us. <3 <3 <3 I LOVE YOU ASHLEY KNOX.

solsays: Dope fan art…

Sun, 02 Oct 2011 23:29:22 -0400

solsays:

Dope fan art…

prometheusbrown: PROMETHEUS BROWNBROWNOUTS, VOL. 1calabs,...

Sun, 02 Oct 2011 23:25:06 -0400

prometheusbrown:

PROMETHEUS BROWN
BROWNOUTS, VOL. 1
calabs, b-sides, rough drafts, photos (2008-2011)

click the photo do download (166.68 MB, .zip file)

01 Michelle Malkin
02 Church
03 Focus
04 A Sound Supreme
05 Divide and Conquer
06 Komrades
07 Paradise Life Relaxin
08 Home Cooked
09 Oh Really (remix)
10 The Game Needs Me
11 Living Life
12 Reset
13 Can’t Go On
14 Spliff Remix
15 Into The Sun
16 Close Your Eyes
17 Huh
18 Town Talk (Part 1)
19 The Alien Song
20 Soul Fly
21 bell hooks
22 Take Me Home
23 Fly Me
24 Mga Kababayan

Beats Rhymes & Life

To Write Love On Her Arms

West Coast Fresh Most

Searchers.

fuckyeahmacklemore: Macklemore and Grieves Never knew these...

BLUNTS

The Tipsta and Miss Jones

Photo

You know you're from Seattle when...

TCQ

Photo

"In Our Darkest Hour. In My Deepest Despair. Will You Still Care?. Will You Be There?. In My..."

macklemore: Anyone that reblog’s this will most likely win a...

macklemore: Anyone that reblog’s this will most likely win a...

Smell of Seatown

Petrichor:Noun; refers to the way the earth smells after rain fall.

(Otherwise known as olfactory of Seattle).

Real quality old school rap, Soul Candy!

Carly <3

nwhiphop: Blue Scholars || Blink They say talk is cheap, but...

LET FREEDOM RING

solsays: Dope fan art…

prometheusbrown: PROMETHEUS BROWNBROWNOUTS, VOL. 1calabs,...

Petrichor:
Noun; refers to the way the earth smells after rain fall.