Alexandra

Sitting in our makeshift studio space She was contestant number four
Taking camera in hand I asked the question I had asked all afternoon
How does Jesus change your life?

Squirming and squinting
She shifted her small third-grade frame from one bony hip to the other
‘Well…’ she said ‘…well…’

It shames me to say I was counting each second
Waiting for the next oh-so-cute, incoherent comments
Of a child raised on vacation bible school and a cartoon version of Jesus

‘Well I was sick when I was a teeny, tiny baby
I was what you call a pre-eeemie…’

As she squealed forth ramblings of her parents’ plans
Regurgitated memories that weren’t her own
I contorted my face into bland curiosity
And began to long for the moment I could press the red button again
Until I could check off my list
The tiny blond whose face was more braces and glasses than skin
Edit her down to a sound-byte
Of ‘Jesus loves me’ and of ‘this I know’
Slap on the big screen an image of childish ignorance
Bask in the glow of high-def purity
To fulfill some fantasy
That we
Have the gift of laughing maturity
In my flawed perception of what she could, should and would be
I hoped at most for a small bit of quotable clarity
Is it too much to ask that you just say ‘God loves me’
And let us move on

But she
Had a story to tell
And in a room filled to the brim with my own high-minded ignorance
I almost missed her resurrection truth

‘When I was a teeny, tiny baby
I was what you call a pre-eeemie…
So how Jesus changed my liii-ife is…
He spared my life
He made me live’

In her small, tiny voice she declared the Gospel truth
‘He made me live'

In my premature, immature understanding of a God
Who looks like me
Talks like me
Who perceives, believes, and intercedes like me

I guess I am what you call a preemie
Bumping up against a glass partition
Fists clenched in empty air
On display for a world of disconnected observers
Unable to tell my own story
Lacking the language to shock my heart back into rhythm
I have grown small
Blind to the reality of my own resurrection

So God…
I come
Needs unspoken
Heart broken open
Looking for a childlike clarity
To stand tall, rooted in faithful frailty
To complete that which was started
In me, by You

In the name
Of Alexandra Vallieu
I proclaim:
I was a preemie
And how Jesus changed my life is
He spared my life
He made me live

Moments.

I have had my moments—
Moments before the rain falls
With the door swung open
Sounds of far-off wind chimes and rustling leaves through the screen
Deep within that place and those moments
I can hear the whispers of ideas that I want to take to the world
Just whispers
Creatively, musically spun together
so that if I were to listen a little more carefully
it might really change me

But clouds always gather again
Tree-leaves and wind chimes are silenced by sounding distractions
That turn my head ever so slightly
until I’ve all but lost those soft, soul-murmurs
left with the fleeting sensation I brushed up against
something
important

So these are moments I’m searching for – these missing moments
Melodies you can’t get out of your head
A taste you can’t quite name
which lies so ironically on the tip of your tongue
A face in a crowd that looks just like someone you’re so sure you should know
Or have known and maybe don’t know anymore
And isn’t it sad that you just can’t quite remember

These are my missing moments

Some are gentle and peaceful
Bright white like the color of dandelion seeds
after they’ve turned all fluffy and soft

A moment like this seems to linger and settle
and fill my mind with such peace
that all the sounds in the world melt together
As if they’d been crafted by God and by hand for that one moment alone

Others are like memories
Darkly deep yellow like the walls of my mother’s kitchen
Inspired by paintings of Tuscan sunsets
and Spanish pottery
and African tea-trays
Surfaces colored by ancient brushstrokes in swirling, wandering
patterns of age

Many times my moments are mistaken
for things quite ordinary
Perhaps that’s why so often they stay just out of reach
Away from my critical, cynical world
My mistook, mistreated moments are wise and crafty
and they know me well

So today as I type with my eyes closed and the door open
I work at letting go
Peeling away the fear and rejection
so that my moments will know me when they see me
recognize me as the one they belong with
Because there are moments—
faithful, Spirit-brushing moments meant just for each of us

Filling the spaces
The cracks within us
in such a way that no room is left for doubt
There is Truth in the center of our moments
Glimpses of a creator-God
who has weaved us and wrapped us around those Spirit-pieces
Of a father-God who smells of earth and rain
who has given us life in such a way that we are not just of Him
but also within Him
Of a mother-God who has brushed the insides of our souls
with a color uniquely our own

We have stood and stumbled and sprinted in these bodies
and She has held open Her arms
Wrapping tightly with a love both fierce and faithful
Waiting for those moments to rise and be recognized

And to all my missing moments – I apologize
I’d forgotten you aren’t really mine
that you don’t belong to me
And I’m sorry I left
that I turned you away
but so grateful you stayed
I may lose you again or misplace you,
but I have seen you and heard your truth,
and I will keep looking

Be faithful moments
Be kind and merciful and forgiving
Be growing
moments of greatness
so that I am filled with only these moments

Thank you for dreams and words and this life
Thank you for graceful whispers of truth
and thank you for love

And may you—
may you find in this place a new moment
A new taste
A new face
A new sweet-sounding melody
dripping with peace and harmony and justice

And trust this
Because you don’t
want to miss
your moment