ghost's word

tightly closed

2011-09-14T15:24:00.000-04:00

Ultimately aphotograph looks like anyone except the person it represents.

Every photographis a certificate of presence.

—Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

I want to photograph my grandfather—hecarried shadows with him: afternoonshadows of war and intense energy finally woven like a hundred strings intoempty stares and forgetfulness. Iremember sweltering summers spent at the lake with him and my grandmother. The Oklahoma days were punctuated by catfishcatching, toad hunting and shockingly cold swims. Numerous photographs of those summers survive,but without opening an album I can recall many of the images: they aremy memories. There are also—albiet fewer—imagesof my grandfather when Alzheimer’s caught him. His empty look tells me he is not there—he is his own index, his own wetbreath on a mirror. Despite his absence,the photograph and his body become "a certificate of presence"—a legal documentverifying his ability to reflect light. He would often leave my grandmother notes onthe kitchen counter telling her where he’d gone—"Gone to the Boat Dock. Me." They were images of his "that-has-been." Now he has-been and is-no-more,but his fragile index remains. LikeBarthes' Winter Garden photograph, I do not need to show a photograph of my grandfather to report who he was (closingmy eyes is enough), nor do I need to photograph him to remember who hewas. For me, this index becomes the "air (the expression, the look)" of hisface apart from his body, but inexplicably more important.

crochet communion and other words written in stitches

2011-04-16T20:02:00.000-04:00

i never understood my grandmother. she lived with us off and on (while i lived at home off and on) for a few years. often she was in the way, apologizing for not being in the way, or looking on in such a way to make us all think she was going to get in the way very soon. there are many things about my gran that i never tried to get my mind around, and many things i simply couldn't. i came from her, but i never connected to that part of my past. when i tried to chat with her i couldn't get past the tired stories and complaints. she loved to read, and so i'd buy the thickest history tomes i could find. she devoured them. i wanted to talk about what she'd read, but her tired stories were the only ones that surfaced. even after a library's worth of books, she couldn't stop talking about the slights.

when i was quite young in an effort to connect with me she tried to teach me how to crochet. we began with a tiny little needle and some floss-like yarn. doilies were on the menu. but doilies were not my thing, and my hands weren't deft enough for the tiny needle and thread. i gave up quickly. it seemed like an antiquated craft of a bygone era--i had stuff to do, and blankets could be bought in stores. what did i need hand-work for?

several years ago my gran died. i loved her--she was my grandmother. but i wanted to like her. i wanted easy laughter, bits of unsolicited advice, and moments of matriarchal compassion. right before she died she sent me an apology for the time we'd just spent together--it had been unpleasant and she knew the inevitable was upon her. her words were rough and kind--she was a washer-woman and the words of a washer-woman were all that would do. she died a few days later.

i never had a chance to reply to her letter--my response was written, but never posted.

a few years later i came across pictures of some beautiful crochet work--brightly colored swirly hexagons in mustard and green and turquoise. i was enamored by the even stitches and rich colors. i wanted to learn. as i looped the yarn around the needle and the hexagons began to take shape i thought of my grandmother. she wanted me to do this--to pass on the language of evenly tied knots that talk about family and home and loss and relationships. as the blanket took shape i began having a conversation with my gran for the first time in my life. no words were spoken. no words were needed.

as i work with her needles and fresh yarn, every stitch i make is a moment with her. i accept her apology. she forgives me. she tells me about her childhood in west texas. i tell her of my adulthood in north texas. she admits her fears. i admit mine. i come to terms with my grandmother's inability to communicate with me because i have found a way to remember her--not for what i wanted her to be, but for what she was: a woman whose washer-woman hands knotted a language of beauty her mouth never could.

i think i like my gran. we are more alike than i knew.

for those who are UnKnown--after beckett

2011-02-26T12:19:00.003-05:00

"you weep, and weep, for nothing, so as not to laugh, and little by little . . . you begin to grieve."

endgame, beckett

sometimes you cry because you're supposed to. at funerals. at sentimental love scenes in movies. when you fall on your bike and scratch your face. when your heart is broken. when you're three and you can't find your mother at the market. you cry. you may even weep. you may burst into bawling because it's what you do. you get that tightening in the back of your throat. the tingling in your nose. the welling of tears that threaten rain. and the tears teeter on the edge of your lower lid. and you resist--which only makes it worse.

and you hope someone will make you laugh. you hope there will be a witty joke or a happy remembrance or an arriving mother or just a distraction to stop the ensuing weeks of rain--the tingling in the nose. you want something to divert the tears.

and then you laugh. you laugh well. and you think that will stop the tears. it does. for a moment. but the laugh has made the tears fall. and somehow the combination of tight throat and laughter that rises from your middle has caused you to cry. and the dam breaks. and you find your nose running and tears running and you're chuckling--or smiling or guffawing.

and then you are silent.

pause

and if you give the silence time, you wonder. you wonder at what you are. at why you are crying or laughing. or both. and if you give it long enough, the silence lets you ask questions.

and so the match begins. and in only a moment you have asked enough questions to fill a thousand-thousand books. and sometimes you have the courage to wait for answers. sometimes you're not afraid of the silence into which the emotions have hurled you consentless (or senseless or spent).

and you wait.

pause

and there is time. there is all the time you have to wait. to go about your business while you wait. to live in a state of waiting silence. to listen. to not be afraid that the players have forgotten their lines or forgotten to show up or forgotten.

and in the silence you remember grief. grief that smells like wet and shoes and salt and cotton candy. and because of the silence you give in (or you resist). and you grieve because the volley of questions is unending or the volley of answers are unsatisfactory or the volley of silence is unalleviated.

silence. silence. silence. silence.

take off your shoes. your hat. look around you. measure the space. find its edge. sit or stand or walk or dance. listen to the sounds--sometimes it sounds like words. sometimes it sounds like babble. sometimes it sounds like weeping.

but wait.

"do not climb on toads"

2011-02-25T16:50:00.000-05:00

evidently, someone of great import is being quoted on this sign. and because of the profundity, these things should be posted somewhere other than this sign which stood so near said toads.

and please, if you're having bowel trouble. well, you know. . . don't use the water feature. however, if you're not--go right ahead and use that water feature.

the toads won't mind. really.

. . . or what I will call a reflection on dismemberment

2011-02-22T21:22:00.000-05:00

I am more than nominally intrigued by the dismemberment motifs in the Bakkhai and Oedipus the King. People lose arms, legs, hands and (most notably) eyes. What is it about the loss of such integral appeditures that Euripides and Sophocles were so fixated on? In both plays the apex of tragedy begins its sweep upward at the announcement of Penthus's limbs being torn off and Oedipus's eyes being gouged out. We respond (how could we otherwise?) with disgust and untenable curiosity when the horrific events are announced. We are at once revolted by the conjured images of our imaginations--How could a mother do that (rip and tear and shred bare-handed) to her son? And how could a son do that (Oedipus-like) to his mother. And then gouge out his eyes? And at the same instant our curiosity is unconstrained--How much blood did Penthus have in him? What did Aguae look like when trance-like she began the frenzied dismemberment of her beloved son? At the moment of action, what was the "look" in Oedipus's eyes? What did he see? And what is the wrenching sound of dismemberment?

As the true tragedy of the plays is revealed--a stew of hubris, god-ignoring, and fate--the disgust and curiosity is in some small way satisfied. The lament of Agaue and Kadmos is more wrenching than the imagined sounds of the dismemberment--they too are being dismembered while their own disembodied limbs lie strewn across the stage. The cure for the curiosity is more potent than the curiosity itself. No need to see Oedipus in the self-mutilating act--his tearless cries at the sound of his daughter's sobbing is enough to satiate our want of eyes.

We have seen enough.

And maybe, if we were watching, something in us has lost a limb too.

o the sparrows (with apologies to fortinbras).

2011-02-15T13:13:00.000-05:00

maybe it was the sparrows.

maybe it was the ecphonetic O.

or maybe it was fortinbras' fault (when you can't blame bill gates, blame fortinbras).

last week after class i did not take the interstate home. i intentionally avoided the most efficient route. my car turned left (sans premeditation, predetermination, preordination, or election) when i wanted it to turn right. as my car habitually neared the familiar route, i decided to listen to my right-turn-self in a moment of action and eschew the interstate.

i defy augury.

i also defy the interstate.

in the moment of decision, i wondered if this habit-defying action would really change anything. would i get in a wreck not intended for me? would i pass something or someone that would alter my perception of the world so much that i'd never be the same? would i run over a wooly worm that would have otherwise survived if i had run over a beetle on the interstate, and this said beetle's great-great-grand beetle would eventually (butterfly effect-like) cause the destruction of mankind? have i seen too many movies? the extrapolations are endless.

what if (dangerous isn't it?) claudius had allowed hamlet to go to wittenberg? would it have been action enough to get him out of denmark and distract him from revenge? would he have been off packing his bags trying to decide which vintage t-shirts to take, and which ones to leave behind when ghost-dad made his appearance? would rosencrantz and guildenstern (or was it guildenstern and rosencrantz?) have stayed home because hamlet wasn't there to behave erratically and force their invitation? would polonius have continued blathering empty axioms until ophelia ran off to become a carny (tragedy indeed)?

and then there's fortinbras. lest we forget the formidable viking lord of revenge, he's always doing something: marching, defending honor, sending captains off to chat with kings, revenging, this and that. if hamlet had gone off to wittenberg as planned, fortinbras would still have arrived to revenge his father's honor. ergo, claudius dead. ergo, a bigger stack of bodies.

so what? moody hamlet turns right towards wittenberg--avoiding the proverbial butterfly. there's always fortinbras waiting in the wings to do the deed. claudius gets revenged.

i went interstate-less. i missed the crucial beetle of world destruction. no worries, fortinbras was in the car behind me--i saw his norwegian complexion in my rear view. i got a new view, however. i looked at the city in a new way. i saw the surface streets. i saw people i'd never seen before at a stop and go 45 rather than 70. and now rather than non-active habitualness, maybe the habit-breaking act makes the next one easier.

revisions, reflections, refractions and the bold brew of the day

2010-12-18T13:10:00.000-05:00

one semester down.

hard to believe i've been at this since august. it seems like a few weeks ago that i showed up like a first-day-preschooler with a proper book-bag and a little lunch. i was terrified. admittedly, i still am. however, i have an ounce more courage than i did four months ago. for what it's worth, much has been shoved into my tiny little brain, and the results are as yet unknown. so, in the spirit of my tiny little brain (is there a spirit in my tiny little brain?), here is a grocery list of the damage:

1. i have never been very disciplined. this is changing--not in the traditional sense. the less i have to choose from, the more room my brain has to create. so, i keep my clothing options narrow, my grocery budget low (so i have only what's on sale to choose from), and my daily activities simplified. this is an experiment. it may be faulty. but i have the luxury of such simplicities right now.

2. revision. revision. revision. it never ends. and when you think you've revised enough and you go to deliver the paper (that you hope christmas-story-like will receive the A+++++!), you discover you used an "an" instead of an "a" and you rue the moment you stopped revising. the illusive perfection girl-slaps you in the face.

3. don't be fooled. it isn't as cool as it sounds. trust me. a phd in aesthetics is just putting one word on the page at a time. have you ever travelled out of the country to an exotic or remote locale, and expected to feel totally different when you get there? and you don't? and there are still people there, and they remind you of the people in the not exotic/remote locale? that's what it's like. there are still people there. and most of them are pretty average. i am not alone.

4. don't be fooled again. you can be lonely anywhere, and you can be content anywhere. don't believe the lie. it's not about circumstances. it's about faith. faith overcomes a multitude of circumstances. i am pummeled with the verse: "this is the victory that overcomes the world: even our faith." stunning. everyday has been overcome already. faith in Christ instills courage. the only kind.

5. i feel refracted. direction changed. check. altered. check. the light is hitting me in all new ways altering my vision. i feel pulled in by the depth that leaps off the canvas. i am incapable of escape.

6. don't buy the pike place. buy the bold pick of the day. pike place sucks--it tastes like brewed bug backs (there is extensive research to back this up). one needs a strong brew that burns all the way down when one is spending so many hours reading. bold brew makes for efficient thinking. pike place just makes you jittery without all the fun. resist pike place. it is the dark side.

7. never stop. work everyday. find a routine and stick with it. find a space and claim it. some days creativity will occur. other days will be a failure--or they will be perceived as a failure--they are really preparations for success. wait. wait for the ideas--they will eventually come. but you will have to work very hard with little success before they come. and when they come, you'll wonder why you didn't think of that before. never stop working.

block

2010-11-20T18:48:00.000-05:00

there are days. all sorts. this is one of them.

today i am stuck. there are no proper words to write about the zillion things i must before the 9th of december. yesterday i was creative. i was steady. i worked for 7 hours straight, and completed something. i was rashly productive. today i am dry and distracted and want to eat an entire loaf of bread chased by a pot of coffee. i want to sleep or watch simpering movies or do both at once or neither at all.

i wonder if this is the day i ran out of something to say?

so i'm afraid. i'm afraid this day's failure is the result of all past failures and the harbinger of all future failures. and i am faced with several options: do i accept the days failures and write them off as part of the process? do i let this day's failures be the root of tomorrow's? do i allow the fear to consume me? do i keep forging ahead in the remainder hours of the day? do i just let it be for the day and call tomorrow a new day? i'm fairly certain letting this day ruin the rest of them is a bad idea, however, this is the option that seems inevitable today. so, instead, i'm trying to face the fear. call it what it is, and hopefully move forward. tomorrow.

because i fear today is lost.

dorothy made me do it

2010-08-25T23:20:00.002-04:00

after assigning ten books and numerous essays last week, my professor gave us a brief instruction for reading the aforementioned books: (and i paraphrase) "when you come across something in your reading that makes you think: stop. if it is on page 23, don't read the rest of the book. stop and think about what you've read. if you have one good idea all semester, you have succeeded."

so, my goal this week was to have one cogent thought. thankfully, i had a couple. however, i'm not sure if any of them constitute "one good idea." they are more like a few good amoeba-ideas.

today, i decided to run my errands on foot since the heat broke, the skies opened up, and it felt like greenville (sans the abundant farie rings i hear tell of). it was one of those soggy days that keeps you attempting to breathe under water. good for the skin. good for the grey cells--keeps them lubricated.

one of the essays i read this week left me thinking: "translation: literature and letters" by octavio paz. ironically, it is a translation from spanish, so it makes the reading even more faceted. the essay speaks not of the impossibility of translation (even though he acknowledges most scholars believe this impossibility exists), but of the unique outcomes of translation, and the act of creation which occurs when a text is translated. his use of the term "translation" begins to broaden as the essay develops to the point where he proposes that "no text can be completely original because language itself, in its very essence, is already a translation: first from the nonverbal world and then because each sign and each phrase is a translation of another sign, another phrase. however, the inverse of this reasoning is also entirely valid: all texts are originals because each translation has its own distinctive character. up to a point, each translation is a creation and thus constitutes a unique text."

ok. that's the background. my point is to establish that his use of translation is not only referring to a dictionary in hand, linear, reproduction of a text from spanish to english; but an understanding of a text even in one's mother tongue. the explanation of what we mean by a phrase requires the use of another phrase (another paraphrase of his idea--if you're following this: a phrase to describe a phrase that was originally a phrase! a translation if you will--have i lost you?)

well, now that we're all relatively on the same page with this paz fellow, here's the interesting part: (he quotes an englishman quoting a frenchman--we're marinating in irony now): translators "should make themselves invisible behind the texts and, if fully understood, the texts will speak for themselves." and here's where i make MY point: performers of all types are translators of text. when an actor or musician steps on stage, he or she is translating a text for an audience. going back to mr. paz's (consulting my strunk and white) text: "each translation is a creation and thus constitutes a unique text." the goal of a great performer is to make him or herself invisible, and allow the text to speak for itself. all the while, embracing the act of translation as an act of creation with the outcome of a uniquely personal text.

this is not deconstruction in its pejorative sense! i can't help but think of dorothy sayers and her thesis that all humans are creators because we are the product of The Creator. this thesis is the soul of WHY we "translate" as humans. it is the beautiful symmetry of secular and sacred at the heart of all truth.

now i shall ponder the epic mysteries of dorothy's journey through oz. i'm sure to find something there.

book lists and other things that make my head hurt

2010-08-16T22:16:00.000-04:00

my book list has come in. now, when my ship comes in.....we'll save that for another day.

for those of you that might find this of interest (for those that don't--humor me will you? i'm a pathetic mess here in big D, and i'm just looking for some affirmation):

Everything Is Miscellaneous: The Power of the New Digital Disorder

Continental Short Stories: The Modern Tradition

The Structure of Scientific Revolutions

Homo Ludens

Futuring: The Exploration of the Future

The Unanswered Question: Six Talks at Harvard

New Perspectives on Historical Writing

Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature

Adaptations: From Text to Screen, Screen to Text

Film Art: An Introduction

How to Study History

Telling the Truth about History

The Return of Martin Guerre

Le Retour de Martin Guerre

The Poetics of Space

some look more manageable than others; some look more interesting than others; and some make me clutch my hair in abject terror (hence the head hurt). the last book on the list looks to make my heart sing. i started reading it, and although my virtual dictionary has had the champagne smashed over its bow, my heart started to sing (even if tentatively, and with the accompaniment of a sluggish, hot dog fingered bass player). but imagination, phenomenology, housework, and logos are weaving themselves into an anemic harmony that might become a one hit wonder.

when you step out your front door

2010-08-12T22:30:00.000-04:00

last week i stepped out of my front door (well, actually it was my garage), got in the drivers seat of my car, and followed a blue and orange rental truck for 18 hours on its way to dallas, texas. all the way here i wondered why i would leave friends, a barn-get away, familiarity, and a steady income to enter into this unknown. besides the obvious (going to school--again), there is a good answer: because if i didn't, it would be wrong. i've not felt so sure that something was so right for so long with so many reasons to say no. i'm not very adventurous, i'm terrified of meeting new people, i'm afraid of everything, i don't generally live on the edge financially (when i reach 5,000 in my checking account, i'm broke), and i frankly wasn't interested in going to school again.

for the last few years i became discontent with my career (yes, i have a career--weird). i was ready to quit and get a job at starbucks. i wanted to do something--anything--different. a year ago i went to peru, and survived 10 days in or near the amazon rain forest. i took a backpack. i took very few showers (and when i did get one it was cold). i slept on the front porch of a school perched out over the amazon river right by the "bucket" (feel free to ask me about the night all the used toilet paper ended up in my bed). i was hungry, tired, dirty. it was the happiest i'd been in years. nothing i needed mattered anymore. i went to sleep one cold night on the front of a dirty boat, and woke up to the sun rising over the amazon river and pink dolphins arching out of the water. everything i needed i had in that moment. and it was enough.

so i decided it was time to suck it up. i would like my job--no matter what. i would do the very best i could--no matter what. i would work hard--no matter what. i would put aside my fears and complaints (against everyone and especially GOD) and excuses and i would suck it up. if i could live out of a backpack on the amazon and like it, why couldn't i do my job and like it? if GOD could call me to peru for 10 days and give me courage and joy, why couldn't he call me to teach and give me courage and joy? it made perfect sense.

i started liking my job. it didn't happen overnight. it happened though, and i didn't realize it. i was too busy working. so i applied to school in a field i never imagined possible for me, to a program that was clearly beyond my reach. i didn't believe it would happen, and neither did anyone else (thankfully, they didn't tell me that until later), but i was content with that because i liked my job.

so here i am back in peru. i have my backpack (it's got a little more in it this time around), and i might wake up in the morning with toilet paper in my bed. but this is where i am today, and it's where i'm going to continue to suck it up and enjoy the journey. because who knows, maybe tomorrow the sun will rise and there will be purple dolphins. and that will be enough. and it will be all i need. and i will be thankful for the simple gift of this opportunity.

bookend.2

2008-08-06T23:19:00.003-04:00

i promise, i won't bore you with anymore of these pictures, but i had to show you the planter i got to harness all those little things that make a mess next to one's bed (books and pens and lip balm). more importantly, i am 32 years old, and i still wear my retainer (especially since i'm going to the dentist tomorrow...one must look one's best you know)!

a little secret for you (don't tell my brother): i just started flossing on sunday so i wouldn't have that icky bleeding at the dentist tomorrow (oh how i despise flossing). do you think i can fool him?

nightly bookend

2008-08-04T00:28:00.003-04:00

before i went to bed the other nite, i decided to quickly take a picture of my bedside table (i think a bedside table says much about a person--it's the things that happen right before one goes to sleep and right after one wakes up that bookend your daily tromp). my bedside table configuration changes daily (i'm thinking of taking a picture every nite to see the progression), and this evening proved to be telling.

this picture represents the two things i'm working toward in the next few weeks/months:

first, pray for china during the olympics...the persecution is staggering. to get one of these bracelets go to voice of the martyrs. for a small donation to a great ministry (thanks mom), you can have one too.

second, yes i'm seriously considering it: vote for someone who can't possibly lose (even if the popular vote is for someone else). He is sure not to disappoint.

oh, wait...

2008-08-02T23:18:00.004-04:00

we can't forget this little gem....this one i'm starting tonite (i'll let you know how it goes):

(environmental stewardship in the Judeo-Christian tradition)

reading and toes

2008-08-02T17:39:00.004-04:00

the toes are a bit icky i agree. but the book? well, that's a different story altogether....

The Naked Seed

2008-05-25T02:06:00.001-04:00

My heart is empty. All the fountains that should run
With longing, are in me
Dried up. In all my countryside there is not one
That drips to find the sea.
I have no care for anything thy love can grant
Except the moment’s vain
And hardly noticed filling of the moment’s want
And to be free from pain.
Oh, thou that art unwearying, that dost neither sleep
Nor slumber, who didst take
All care for Lazarus in the careless tomb, oh keep
Watch for me till I wake.
If thou think for me what I cannot think, if thou
Desire for me what I
Cannot desire, my soul’s interior Form, though now
Deep-buried, will not die,
— No more than the insensible dropp’d seed which grows
Through winter ripe for birth
Because, while it forgets, the heaven remembering throws
Sweet influence still on earth,
— Because the heaven, moved moth-like by thy beauty, goes
Still turning round the earth.

c. s. lewis

a seed

2008-05-16T15:35:00.002-04:00

"the disposition...to leave the dearest objects of our hearts in the sublime keeping of the general and unspecific belief that GOD is now answering our prayers in His own time and way, and in the best manner, involves a present process of inward crucifixion which is obviously unfavorable to the growth and even the existence of the life of self."

t. c. upham

quick words

2007-06-15T21:09:00.000-04:00

"for the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart." hebrews 4:12

i always viewed the Bible as a lifeless book full of promises apparently meant for other people. where was all this "quickness" that was so life altering? what was it about GOD's promises that made the george mullers of the world test their limits? something in me wanted to prick GOD's word just to see if it would bleed.

it does. there are times when i find myself cutting my name it it's pages, and every time it oozes enormous drops of redemption.

multi colored wisdom

2007-06-08T13:36:00.000-04:00

"he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom." -gandalf

spoken after saruman declares his disdain for his former rank of "white." "white light can be broken," he says, to which gandalf replies: "in which case it is no longer white." which begs the question: is there value in "breaking a thing?" as an artist of sorts, my first reaction is: no! you destroy the artistry and impact of a thing by breaking it down into its strands of DNA; but the scientist in me (of which i must confess is *not* legion) says: but the strands of DNA are equally as beautiful as the body they compose. let's consider our town shall we? a beautiful treatise on the complex appreciation of simplicity. am i aided in my appreciation of the "live every moment" theme by understanding each character's individual lines? when i follow the spine of emily's development as a human, and my own identification with her plight (simple though it may be), am i more satisfied with my our town experience? (is the fact that i'm even having this schizophrenic, sybil-like dialogue with myself an indication that "breaking a thing" is indeed profitable?) yes, i have to admit, it makes the overall aesthetic experience more satisfying. i can step away from the analysis, sit in my seat and revel in the message thru salty tears. but what happens if i define that aesthetic experience only by it's component parts? what if i "watson and crick" emily's double helix? what if when i sit and observe our town (note: i used the action of the scientific method) am i only amused or wryly facinated by the helixy curve of her character's spine thru my electron microscope? it seems to be less of a satisfying experience. it lacks artisty as only a distant observation of the adenine, cytosine, guanine and thymine that form the building blocks of the play.

so, do i agree with gandalf? yes: to break a thing (and leave it broken) is most definitely folly. and no: to break a thing (and put it back together) is wisdom. white light broken is many colored (and saruman of many colors is definitely not what i'm going for here), but who would want to miss the varietal shades that make up white?

summering

2007-06-04T16:14:00.000-04:00

1. a little-lady bird built her nest in my garage last week when i left the door open. do i leave the door open and let her finish, or do i keep the door closed so she won't be lured into a hopeless situation?

2. to get a screen for my windows or not? the aforementioned little-lady bird tried to fly in the house the other day. she was perched on the window sill trying to tell me she needed in the garage to finish her nest.

3. i can get in a good swing at the park if i use "american pie" as my time-guide: all 8 minutes and 28 seconds of it.

4. the library is a wealth of words. how can one get bored when there are still words to be read in the world i ask you!

5. the library is also a wealth of documentary dvds: i await the medici family (it is the original "family" after all).

2007-04-21T15:40:00.000-04:00

“no doubt, if we’d had our minds on our job when we were at the ruinous city, we’d have been shown how--found a little door, or a cave, or a tunnel, met someone to help us. might have been (you never know) Aslan himself. we’d have got down under those paving-stones somehow or other. Aslan’s instructions always work: there are no exceptions.”

--the silver chair

i’ve been reading james of late--such a vast book for only five chapters. chapter four has been on my mind perpetually. i tend to skip past the first few verses to get to “you have not because you ask not.” i park there, try to “work it out,” and then get upset with GOD because He seems to break His promise in my circumstance. i decide there is no way i am “asking amiss” to “consume it upon my lusts.” after all, i’m not lusting after anything....right? so, where does the warring come from? from my desire for my own way. from wanting what i don’t currently have. and what does that lead to? asking amiss. so, maybe the thing i pray for isn’t wrong, but could the thing i want be my last ditch effort to escape from the thing that i really am “consuming upon my lusts?” possibly. definitely in my circumstance. my mom always says that God has to peel away the layers in order to get to the heart of the issue (see dragon-eustace having his scales torn away until he emerges a tender peeled switch). when God’s working on the current one, we forget about the numerous layers beneath, and how the outside one is not the ultimate issue, but merely a symptom of an overall dragon-problem.

“but He gives more grace”

just up the street

2007-01-06T18:02:00.000-05:00

today the tree got a new home outdoors. here is its first taste of fresh air and sunshine in two weeks:

getting ready to be covered with yummy midwestern soil:

happy january tree:

ebenezer

2007-01-04T00:21:00.000-05:00

yet this remains love's plea:
"i won't let the Creator break His promise to me.
a great pledge, sealed and signed, to me was given,
a charter of rights in perpetuity."

rabindranath tagore
"i won't let you go"

like most people, when i make a promise, i try my best to keep it. but there are times when one thing drives out another, and the pledge is driven out with the another. blame it on human nature. blame it on me. blame it on the rain. imperfection vainly striving to produce perfection.

my friends will tell you i'm forgetful. i've never been able to remember my PIN number for my ATM card no matter how many times they have to send me a new one, or the date my credit card bill is due, or my students names from last year. but there are advantages to forgetfulness: i don't remember the inane things i uttered in class last semester, or (apparently) my encounter with a girl who wanted to beat the stuffing out of me in high school. these are things i wouldn't deem worth remembering.

but not Him. not the eternal Promiser. i find great comfort in the two edged sword of remembering. He never forgets a promise made or a forgiveness offered. while i'm struggling to remember why i stacked these rocks here (and why i made them so darn tall), He is whispering in my ear of promises made as i hospital cornered the sheets on my bed in hell.

and so i won't let the Creator go, even if in this fog i forget.

adopt a tree

2007-01-01T23:53:00.000-05:00

some of you may remember the orphaned tree we recycled last year at christmas. we rescued it from early recyling at the local tree recyling center. this year we trumped that event. a week before the big day we were scanning the aisles at anthropologie and my mother noticed the "adopt a tree" sign in the foyer. we inquired. we adopted. and just two days later, boarded a truck for the reunion.

you may notice it's a little imperfect with a jaunty tilt to one side, and uneven limbs; but the little birds feel right at home in it. (which one of us isn't a little imperfect with a jaunty tilt to one side?)

the best part of this story is that this is a live tree. not a live, cut tree of the ordinary kind, but the real balled-and-burlaped deal. the kind you put in the ground. the kind that needs water to survive. the kind you can visit for years to come.

we will visit this one and say a friendly hello.

today's treasure

2006-12-27T12:25:00.000-05:00

just found this in my desk.
very jetsonian....

a consortium of whistle-pigs

2006-12-25T21:09:00.000-05:00

adam decided to practice a little art on my sweet potatoes. (note: it looks as if one of them had a little accident whilst pondering the action of the next photograph.)

out of necessity, i practiced a little science on them next. notice the proper tools, clean cut, apron, and interesting interior of the subject.

they were delicious.

happy christmasing to you all.

סלה

2006-11-07T12:06:00.000-05:00

selah

nora's loophole

2006-10-28T14:20:00.000-04:00

i've been thinking a lot about samson lately. today in class we were discussing nora helmer (our old doll house-door slamming friend), and an interesting comparison between these characters made itself known.

as we discussed the Christian response to nora's shattering door slam, i brought up the argument that our problem is not really with nora, but with ibsen. he's created this deterministic world where nora has just two choices:

1. stay (live with an abusive husband who treats you like a plaything, destroy your children by your presence--via determinisim, and destroy yourself in the process)

2. go (leave the safety of a comfortable home, destroy your children by your absence--they're already ruined anyway via determinisim, and destroy yourself in the process)

both pretty appealing options, eh (thanks for that henrick, old fellow)? but here is what we know: "there hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it." ha, ha! take *that* ibsen! there are more than two options nora! there is a way to bear this temptation.

which brings me to samson. as he stands in that philistine hall after all that mess with the hair (ibsen would be apt to call deterministic--circumstances deemed it inescapable after all), the end seems inevitable doesn't it? now if ibsen had written this story what would happen? samson would have two choices:

1. live (blind, weak, out of sorts with GOD, enslaved)

2. die (blind, weak, out of sorts with GOD, enslaved)

but GOD (He's good like that) gave him a third: a way to bear it. death yes, but the death of faith (of the hebrews 11 type). "let me die with the philistines!"

ibsen take note. nora look up. in the words of torvald, "the most wonderful thing of all" is more than possible. it's promised.

eventually

2006-10-23T19:30:00.000-04:00

i'll be back.

i promise.

i've been caught in a whirlwind.

listening for the voice of stillness.

the impossible

2006-10-12T19:47:00.000-04:00

i'm studying for this.

one small step for most.
one giant leap for me.

should i stay or should i go?

2006-09-29T19:37:00.000-04:00

pray about this will you?

i am in desperate need of clarity.

(the angst is caused in part because i am this.)

true love

2006-09-22T16:58:00.000-04:00

heard from my office mate before tossing a book about finding one's
"true love" entitled "when dreams come true" on her desk:

"discover a love worth waiting for? i don't need to discover love. GOD
already loves me, and i don't have to wait for that!"

2006-09-15T21:53:00.000-04:00

appearing only for a short time: my hair.

(yes, it is no more)

look fast. it will soon be a thing of the past.
(not the hair, the picture)

overheard at the tail end of a conversation whilst sitting in atlanta bread company

2006-09-14T16:29:00.000-04:00

10 feet from me: a 20 something girl said: "tell me when you *ever* spent time with us? and i'm not talking about coming to a soccer game. i don't care about the soccer games. when did you ever spend *time* with us?" and the 50 something male responded: "well, what do you want me to do." response: "that's not the point dad and you know it...i felt like all you ever cared about was just paying the bills."

and they left.

identity crisis?

2006-09-06T17:46:00.000-04:00

"it's hair. it will grow back."
-wonder woman

finally, wonder woman and i have something in common. we're both going undercover to apprehend our identities.

(temporarily) lost and (eternally) found

2006-08-31T16:24:00.000-04:00

i can't say i've ever thoughtfully considered the Body of Christ analogy, but several events of late have caused me to wonder at its elegance. one being an ongoing situation at my place of employment (yes, being cryptic on purpose), another being my obsession with hebrews 11 and 12 (11:39-40 in specific), and finally an unexpected (but oddly anticipated) phone call from a friend. i am amazed at how GOD works wonders in my life: He shows me a principle and then begins to reveal it's ramifications (both negative and positive). the harmony of the whole process makes my soul sing.

the principle: hebrews 11/12. this witness-cloud you see forming in the distance is cheering us on in faith. our faiths are made complete in each other thru the axis of Christ. the Body: all of us from adam to eternity! we are all currently and eternally in the Body of Christ. in every generation a new Body is not formed. nope, we're all there in one (pardon the expression) gigantic eternity-bound Body (that i like to imagine is never on a diet). so you, me, my grandmother, abraham and adam are all there. the cloud just keeps growing.

the ramifications: negative and positive. in the aforementioned cryptic situation i am reminded of how often the hand cuts the arm of the Body (but i digress). i can remember feeling pious in high school when i discovered the verses on the Body of Christ. the ones about how every part is needed, even the "uncomely parts." *especially* the uncomely parts (i think i fancied myself one of those--i've now come to believe i'm an eyebrow hair or some such nonsense). i realized on some level that every part was important, and we should all appreciate what each of us does in "service to the LORD" (read with reverberation). which brings me back to the arm cutting: when i choose to disrespect a fellow believer (note: i did not say disagree or lovingly truth-speak in order to restore) by making a mockery of him so as to make myself look better, i'm the cutter. i'm "dissin" the body. everybody from abraham to my grandmother. but here's where the healing enters. yesterday an old friend of the dearest kind called. we spoke of life and liberty and best of all our Savior-friend. of loss and perfect sight and miracles and willy wonka. there was no Body loathing that resulted in closet cutting (although there have been times when truth was lovingly
delivered to restore) just the reminder that there is no lost, only an eternally found. and this, i suspect, is the Body at peak performance.

the mystery which truly was no mystery

2006-08-30T19:01:00.000-04:00

all it needed was water, light and love...presto!

thanks adam for the mystery message plant.

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother
What will I be?
Will I be pretty?
Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me:

Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.

What will be, will be.

words pressed btwn. pages of white

2006-08-28T18:09:00.000-04:00

1. One book that changed your life:
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
any book i've enjoyed, but in order to not sound terribly predictable (ad nauseum): Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
The Chronicles of Narnia with copius footnotes from The Message Remix

4. One book that made you laugh:
Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (Anne Lamont)

5. One book that made you cry:
Alan Paton's Cry the Beloved Country (every time i read it)

6. One book that you wish had been written:
The Chronicles of Narnia with copius footnotes from The Message Remix or The Message Remix with copius footnotes from The Chronicles of Narnia

7. One book you wish had never been written:
Madame Bovary (yes, i *actually* finished it--there really is no need for this mess.)

8. One book you’re currently reading:
A. Scott Berg's Lindbergh

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
Catching Light, Finding GOD in the Movies

10. Now tag five people:

justy
josh
caleb
cheryl
michele

11 today

2006-08-28T18:01:00.000-04:00

if 50 is the new 30,
then 30 is the new 10.

today i'm 11.

what i did on summer vacation:

2006-08-23T18:13:00.000-04:00

there are several accounts that are standard fare for vbs Bible story time: zaccheus and the tree, philip and the ethiopian, abraham and the potential isaac slaying, and noah's ark. whilst the kids and i were sloshing around in that big old boat with noah and all those animals, i couldn't help but think of the similarity of the ark and the cross. GOD used the ark to rescue His chosen people from a worldwide flood. He used the cross to rescue His chosen people from eternal damnation. you have to love the symetry of that! something else came to light in the midst of all this thought that i love even more. GOD's instructions deemed that the ark be a certain size. He obviously knew how many animals would have to be brought on the ark and how much room they would occupy, so the ark could have been *exactly* the right size. but it wasn't. it was too big! not just "we could put another animal there mrs. noah" too big, but "did i forget my other menagerie mrs. noah" too big! GOD provided a 120 year sermon with object lesson for noah's observers. He could have wiped them all out without warning or wooing, but instead there was this enormous gopher wood box that had the foreshadowing of "cross" written all over it. by faith noah...built a boat sans sight, became an object lesson for every generation, and as a result: "became intimate with GOD."

where do i sign up.

she's baaaack!

2006-08-23T17:57:00.000-04:00

if you're still watching....

chairs 2

2006-07-14T12:14:00.000-04:00

along with all the reading, television watching, and relaxing i throw myself at in the summer, here are a few other things i'm working on:

this is a chair i purchased at goodwill for $10.96 that was a horrible shade of antiqued green and brown. it was screaming for this shade of blue. my sister saw it and asked if she could taste it. the color is positively drinkable.

this looks like a chair with a story doesn't it? yes, the pattern is quite outdated, but it's the one i chose almost 25 years ago. (i couldn't resist the little farming people--i remember that vividly!) the chair belonged to my grandmother, and it originally sat in her little consignment shop in the sticks, oklahoma. i don't remember the previous pattern, but one summer when i, my brother and my cousins were there for our annual 2 week visit, mammaw took me to the fabric store to pick out the pattern (maybe she had a vision of my future-she also bought me minature baking pans one Christmas). she told me then that someday i could have the chair. so, 25 years later the chair is in serious want of an update. the new fabric is purchased (although i'm not as committed to it as i was a year ago) and now i'm waiting for the nerve to strike.

foodies

2006-07-11T23:36:00.000-04:00

for those that are dairy free (or are thinking of going dairy free--it will change your life--you know who you are) try this site. there are some great substitutions for things like heavy cream and buttermilk (although nothing can ever replicate smoked brie or denny's moons over my hammy or a pumpkin vanilla shake or....ahh!).

also, i've come across this blog as well. although i don't participate in the gluten free lifestyle, this woman is terribly entertaining. she photographs her food and weaves the recipie into her recent excusions. very entertaining.

who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

2006-07-09T23:27:00.000-04:00

my greatest fear:
forgetting and not forgetting.

"you're going to think to yourselves, 'oh! we're outnumbered ten to one by these nations! we'll never even make a dent in them!' but I'm telling you, don't be afraid. remember, yes, remember in detail what God, your God, did to pharaoh and all egypt. remember the great contests to which you were eyewitnesses: the miracle-signs, the wonders, God's mighty hand as he stretched out his arm and took you out of there. God, your God, is going to do the same thing to these people you're now so afraid of."
deuteronomy 7:17

"forget about what's happened; don't keep going over old history. be alert, be present. i'm about to do something brand-new. it's bursting out! don't you see it? there it is! i'm making a road through the desert, rivers in the badlands."
isaiah 43

(while visions of habakkuk danced in her head)

so, what are you afraid of?

confession is not (always) good for the soul

2006-07-01T15:14:00.000-04:00

as you know i’ve been sleuthing about with the spirited mme ramotswe of the no. 1 ladies’ detective agency on zebra drive in the hauntingly beautiful country of botswana. i didn’t expect the LORD to reveal Himself so clearly in my fiction reading, but i must admit when He does (as He is wont to do--no surprise) i become nearly giddy. i love the idea of the unregenerate writer unwittingly exposing miraculous truth. madame detective relates a story of when she was in primary school and the head teacher was trying to catch a young thief. he makes everyone come to his office and swear on a Bible: “i am not a thief.” everyone comes in. everyone swears. the culprit is not discovered. precious ramotswe was not guilty of the theft, and so swears. but when she arrives home to tell “the daddy” and aunt of the events, she realizes that a week prior, she had eaten a doughnut that was sitting on the kitchen counter. she fears the head teacher’s promised lightening strike, and after a sleepless night, confesses the thievery. her aunt smiles and says: “but that was meant for you, that doughnut. you did not steal it.”

so maybe it’s just me, but sometimes when things go well, and the LORD gives me something (like a doughnut for example), i feel the piper paying is piping its way around the corner. that i didn’t deserve it, or maybe that i even stole it, and eventually i'll have to cough up a good deed or a confession. that maybe all this stuff about “unconditional” is just a well planned ruse to get me to steal the doughnut and then confess. but the doughnut is meant for me, and so i can’t pinch it. no confession or deed will make me any less or more worthy of the cream filled delight. my mantra today: i am not a thief--that doughnut was meant for me.

care to join me for some bush tea?

2006-06-29T18:21:00.000-04:00

typically my summer reading works itself into a frenzied theme. i've had a talking animal book summer (the chronicles of narnia, redwall series, wind in the willows, beatrix potter, watership down, mrs. frisby and the rats of nimh), a pendragon summer (the once and future king, lewis's science fiction trilogy, susan cooper's greenwich series, tales of king arthur, lloyd alexandar's newbery winning high king series), fairy tales retold summer (wicked and all other's by gregory maguire, eragon, and several other's ferreted out at the library whose names i can't recall), my non fiction summer (galileo's daughter, the professor and the madman, longitude), and even a summer at sea (patrick o'brien's aubry/maturin series, treasure island, mutiny on the bounty). as has been the habit, this summer has proven to reveal it's own theme. after completing last summer's theme (on a down note i might add) by reading "son of a witch," the sequel to maguire's "wicked," i began what may be the best summer reads i've had in 13 years (except maybe the christmas i re-read the laura ingalls wilder books, and couldn't wait to get up to my room to find out what laura was up to). this has been the summer of "the no. 1 ladies detective agency" and the gently perceptive precious ramotswe as she sleuths about in the peaceful country of botswana. the smell of her red bush tea lures me in every evening. these quite possibly might be the most charming books i've ever enjoyed.

and it helps that red bush is my tea of choice (try it with a little cream and sugar).

never too late

2006-06-28T16:32:00.000-04:00

letter noodles!

yesterday!

(we cheered and jumped like we were 7 in the aisle at the market-the people around us gawked.)

we deemed it the "find" of the summer.

2006-06-15T22:17:00.000-04:00

i hate verizon.

paper or plastic?

2006-06-12T11:16:00.000-04:00

in keeping with my most recent reminders of tournaments that require intellectual stamina, i feel a responsibility to mention the highlight of the tournament season: the annual rock, paper, scissors championship. the dualing begins monday night at 10/9 central on a & e. don't miss it!

(make sure you find a little extra time today in your schedule to practice some juvenille hand-slapping yourself. it might come in handy when making those big decisions.)

what we can't see

2006-06-10T23:43:00.000-04:00

last sunday nite at church we had a brief testimony time. typically i’m not one to get up and say anything even in the tiny church in which i grew up (yes, they endured the perm, the sometimes scarry easter dresses, and the bandanna phase). rather, i find it much safer to expose my feelings in writing to a large group than in person. in the midst of the testimonies about GOD’s simple provision of salvation and fellowship, the LORD slammed me with: “more and more grace, more and more people, more and more praise!”--the very mantra He’s whispered in my soul since october! i heard Him say: “erin, are you willing to let me keep doing this work? my work? remember this was never about the things you wanted, but about us. this is more of the more and more people you asked for.” and the next thing i knew i found myself up on my feet speaking of the relentless pursuit of my Father through promised sanctification. oh what grace! more and more praise.

“every detail works to your advantage and to GOD’s glory: more and more grace, more and more people, more and more praise! so we’re not giving up. how could we! even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where GOD is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. these hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. there’s far more here than meets the eye. the things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. but the things we can’t see now will last forever.” ii cor 4:15-18

more dragon-adventuring

2006-06-05T16:13:00.000-04:00

"but how do you begin being a Deliverer?" philip asked, sitting up and feeling suddenly very grand and manly....

"there's lots of different ways," said mr. perrin. "your particular way's simple. you just got to kill the dragon."

"a live dragon?"

"live!" said mr. perrin. "why he's all over the place and as green as grass he is. lively as a live kitten. he's got a broken spear sticking out of his side, so someone must have had a try at baggin' him, sometime or another."

"don't you think," said philip, a little overcome by this vivid picture, "that perhaps i'd better look for lucy first, and be a Deliverer afterward?"

"if you're afraid," said mr. perrin.

"i'm not," said philip doubtfully.

"you see," said the carpenter, "what you've got to consider is: are you going to be the hero of this 'er adventure or ain't you? you can't 'ave it both ways. an' if you are, you may's well make up your mind, cause killing a dragon ain't the end of it, not by no means."

"do you mean there are more dragons?"

"not dragons....not dragons exactly. but there...i don't want to lower your heart. if you kills the dragon, then afterward there's six more hard things you've got to do. and then they make you king. take it or leave it. only, if you take it we'd best be starting....."

"suppose i don't want to be a Deliverer." said philip slowly.

"then you'll be a Destroyer," said the carpenter. "there's only these two situations vacant here at present."

"the magic city" by e. nesbit:

ursprache

2006-06-02T12:24:00.000-04:00

a few pictures from the pre-bee activities:

"quick! somebody hand me the noodles, i need a "t"!"

(the flurry of spelling with spaghettiO's)

to bee or not to bee

2006-06-01T10:58:00.000-04:00

don't forget about the most shocking television on tonite. this annual event will be feasted with fish and alphabet soup at our house (the former as brain food, the latter as practice). go see bee information (look at the pictures for the most intensely geeky kids ever. they're spelling in their free time!)

can you spell ABC?
that is the question.

(oh, i couldn't leave well enough alone! yes, that's a boy with a list of words at a PIZZA PARTY! if you look closely at the mom's shirt, it says "WORD." geeky people being cool is so cool. you think i'm making fun. i'm not. love this stuff.)

migration

2006-05-31T16:56:00.000-04:00

the spirit said migrate northwest.
and i did.

(at 9:30 pm)

how very much i love the midwest.

“may he live forever”

2006-05-29T20:13:00.000-04:00

shasta and i escaped from calormen today. “the horse and his boy” has always been one of my favorite of the chronicles (i admit my favorite is always the one i’m currently reading--or listening to in this case). every time i feast on these treasure-books i taste something fresh. you must know that between my reading and hearing of the books i’ve been thru them nearly 100 times. really, i’m not exaggerating--it may seem that way, but i started reading them when i was but six, have no tv (not for any noble reason except that i get no reception in the woods and have unusual purchasing priorities--i LOVE television--really, i’m not exaggerating), and consider these books a favorite snack. sometimes i’ll pick one up to start right in the middle--the finest way to read them. so trust me when i say i get it. this time though, i got something new: you know how shasta encounters the “accursed narnians” in tashbaan? how he is mistaken for prince corin? and how he never tells them of his quest before escaping? (stick with me here will you) why didn’t aslan send shasta and his traveling companions off with the narnians from tashbaan? why does he tease shasta with a taste of narnian-nectar before he lets him go? he whets his appetite for the reward, then forces him to endure the nite of terror amongst the tombs, the sole-burning sands of the desert, the frightful thirst, the (wink, wink) lion attack, and the “run, run, always run” of the arrival. as we walked with the witless horse over the mountain pass, shasta and i made the same complaint (yes, i chose shasta’s side this time): “i have been most unfortunate!” i’ve always loved aslan’s response here--i stop breathing. he doesn’t explain his work to shasta, he just says “i was the cat.” and when asked which cat: “myself.” then he’s gone. the point is not the shasta-story, but the aslan-story: how his swift of foot love touched each moment, how that love wrote the shasta-story, and how that story was meant only for him.

may he live forever.

$41.43

2006-05-29T15:37:00.000-04:00

"commoners often stood through the three-hour performances at the globe, in either rain or shine."

(yes we stood, and it was worth every tired calf muscle)

WICKED

as a pot

2006-05-25T18:53:00.000-04:00

i was struck by something very powerful last nite: my Bible. yup, pretty powerful! most of you have read of my recent neglect, and so should read of my recent foray. i got thirsty last nite--take a bath thirsty (see "big fish"). one of the biggest hindrances to my Scripture reading has always been: "where do i start?" if i were running a marathon, just shooting the starting gun wouldn't do it. you'd have to start shooting me with the starting gun. so, i got pointed at last nite and decided to run--straight into the rain. it came in great sloppy drops of psalm 119:

With your very own hands you formed me;
now breathe your wisdom over me so I can understand you.
When they see me waiting, expecting your Word,
those who fear you will take heart and be glad.
I can see now, God, that your decisions are right;
your testing has taught me what's true and right.
Oh, love me—and right now!—hold me tight!
just the way you promised.
Now comfort me so I can live, really live;
your revelation is the tune I dance to.
Let the fast-talking tricksters be exposed as frauds;
they tried to sell me a bill of goods,
but I kept my mind fixed on your counsel.
Let those who fear you turn to me
for evidence of your wise guidance.
And let me live whole and holy, soul and body,
so I can always walk with my head held high. (73-80)

my complaint has been of being the "object lesson", and look what HE dropped on my head! i'm not an object lesson--i'm evidence. no, i *get* to be evidence. and again, it's not about me. does the pot yell for the Potter to stop because He's doing a rotten job? this pots been trying!

still yelling.
not at the Potter.

"take heart and be glad--there is abundant wise guidance!!!! oh be sure of it."

(you've been yelled at)

broke my bodum

2006-05-23T12:46:00.000-04:00

well, it finally happened: i broke my bodum. i've been feeling it coming, and the other nite whilst putting away my dishes, the cookie sheet got a little winky and knocked the bodum beaker into the floor. (i think the cookie sheet was a little jealous because it *never* gets used, but the bodum gets all kinds of action. note: my cookie making acumen is a bit dull. hence the neglect of the sheet.) loud crash. loud scream. major disappointment. so, in looking for the replacement part, i came across this. i can hear the soothing sucking coffee sound even now as i drift off into french roast oblivion....

modern day cowboy

2006-05-22T14:17:00.000-04:00

(with apologies to t. s. eliot)

"with his cell phone rather loose in it's holster"

i saw him yesterday on the way to church: hat, jeans, boots, shirtless and tan, cell phone locked and loaded.

if in danger, call 911. rawhide!

for only 3 bucks

2006-05-19T16:31:00.000-04:00

[ok, i took it down....some people are not very nice and can't enjoy a little disturbing whimsy.]

yup, it says "FAITH"

really, how could i not buy it.

post production blues

2006-05-19T13:09:00.000-04:00

i do not like post production work:
the wrap-up that makes me feel like a failure.

because i am an avoider, when a task is finished i like to be done and
then avoid all memory of it. the problem is that when i'm in the middle
of something the avoider thing still holds true.

so, i'm pretty much in a cycle of avoiding everything by living in my
own fantasy where someone else will face all the hard stuff for me, and
i can sit by and imagine what it would be like to have the courage to
face all the hard stuff.....blah, blah, blah

ok, back to work.

the unplan

2006-05-17T13:58:00.000-04:00

then they spoke in words all common:

"it was like i had no choice"
"i wasn't planning on that"
"i wasn't expecting that either"
"that's not where i thot this was going to go"
"it was a situation i didn't choose"

(words spoken in testimony bounded off the verbal page to sear
themselves on my memory. each suprised by the unplanned plan. each
wholly satisfied to walk in the unplan.)

(καιρος) the right moment

2006-05-15T09:13:00.000-04:00

confession: i haven’t been reading my Bible. it’s been a few weeks. i’m trying to come up with a clever way to make an excuse, and i keep typing sentences only to delete them. (just did it again) it’s not that i haven’t tried, and it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just that the last six months have been the Christian walk on speed, and i’m weary. tom bombadil and i have been chillin in the front parlor with tea and bread, and my finely tuned ear for the black riders has grown dull. so, i started fresh. the siren call of job lured me in (hmm, i wonder WHO’s voice that was). right now i’m on the slow journey of trying to process it all, but here’s the tea and bread for the day: “when i speak up, i feel no better, if i say nothing, that doesn’t help either. i feel worn down.” (job 16:6) yep, that’s all. i could rant and rave at the LORD for turning me out the front door on an adventure-road that seems to lead nowhere: wouldn’t help. i could completely break down, say my last words to GOD and walk out: wouldn’t help. hey, i could just skip the last words: still wouldn’t help. so, worn down, i sit here not feeling how i feel.

you know what i remember from the nite at tom and goldenberry bombadil’s? it wasn’t just one nite. the adventurers didn’t know how long they were there. they just rested....and waited. kairos.

two hands

2006-05-13T14:55:00.000-04:00

here's what my two hands did this last week.

reduce.
reuse.
recycle.

what a lovely idea.

revelry of orange

2006-05-11T16:55:00.000-04:00

the bracelet has returned of almost a week and a half ago.

this time for celebrating so many fresh things:

orange hair.
two hands.
green eyes.
safety.
courage.
green hope.

"behold i make all things new...."

midnight wanderings

2006-05-04T17:48:00.000-04:00

me and my silver torch.

last nite we had a little chat about some hard things, but there was a breakthrough. i want to be on this journey of faith. i want to be on it even if it means deep hurt. i want to be on it even if it isn't safe. i miss the journey. i've been resting in the house of tom bombadil for a few days, and now it is time to face the barrow-wight.

do adventures ever have an end?

i hope not.

hello....goodbye

2006-04-28T12:44:00.000-04:00

"come, and trip it, as you go,
on the light fantastick toe..."

via milton

(sans phone, sans cash, sans planning)

now lie in it

2006-04-26T08:39:00.000-04:00

if i make my bed in hell

GOD is there.

leading me and holding me with his right hand.

in memorium: reginald phillips 1914-1988
(for listening to all of my moanings which cannot be uttered last nite)

satisfaction

2006-04-24T14:32:00.000-04:00

i will no longer be satisfied with scraps.

i want the feast, or none at all.

"o woman, great is your faith! let it be to you as you desire."
matthew 15:28

psalm 20

2006-04-19T20:28:00.000-04:00

may the LORD answer you in the day of trouble;
may the name of the God of jacob defend you;
may He send you help from the sanctuary,
and strengthen you out of zion;
may He remember all your offerings,
and accept your burnt sacrifice. selah

may He grant you according to your heart's desire,
and fulfill all your purpose.
we will rejoice in your salvation,
and in the name of our God we will set up our banners!
may the LORD fulfill all your petitions.

now I know that the LORD saves His anointed;
He will answer him from His holy heaven
with the saving strength of His right hand.

some trust in chariots, and some in horses;
but we will remember the name of the LORD our God.
they have bowed down and fallen;
but we have risen and stand upright.

save, LORD!
may the King answer us when we call.

faith fighting

2006-04-18T10:01:00.000-04:00

"you will not need to fight in this battle. position yourselves, stand
still and see the salvation of the LORD, who is with you...do not fear
or be dismayed; tomorrow go out against them, for the LORD is with
you."

and then they sing.

and in that faith the enemy is routed.

"praise the LORD, for His mercy endures forever!"

2 chronicles 20

shout out ii

2006-04-14T08:38:00.000-04:00

the fun is over.

grant wickensimer rocks.

(no more shouting people)

shout out

2006-04-13T13:01:00.000-04:00

grant wickensiemer rocks!

whispered wanderings

2006-04-12T08:47:00.000-04:00

as of late, i have found myself wandering about in the near woods after the dark descends. this usually involves the old pair of jeans with the pocket on the leg, my worn out red tennis shoes, a hooded jacket, and an old stainless steel flashlight that my parents bought me when i was seven (which goes into the aforementioned pocket). tonite it came in handy for avoiding the downed power-line. although, there was a lovely moon, and i probably could have done without the torch. up at my front door i heard the gurggling water from the creek below in counterpoint to the frogs that called to one another. i don't know what it is about sitting in the almost too cold glow of the disk of starry-silverness that makes the woods turn magic, but i can faintly see the will o' the wisps giggle down the trail at the invocation of the faerie-pipes. on silvery nites like this, i believe anything is possible. nothing seems too big for the GOD of heaven when you are swallowed by the silvery-green smell, the giant moon-disk above, and the embrace of the weeping trees. tonite we whispered. there would be no spell breaking. so we whispered and then we laughed (quietly so as not to disrupt the will o' the wisps). and He whispered back: "nothing is impossible to him who believes." and i am sure of what i heard.

cloud of witnesses

2006-04-11T16:32:00.000-04:00

the faith of generations assist

heb 11:39-40

plot

2006-04-11T10:54:00.000-04:00

have you ever geotracked anyone?

fun, fun....

deus ex machina

2006-04-07T16:45:00.000-04:00

i'm guilty of praying for quail. i think the Heavenly Storyteller likes a good story, and not one that finishes with a jolting deus ex machina. a finely crafted story with twists and turns makes for much better reading than one where God pretends He's a deist, and finally when His people can do no more He swoops in for the rescue. first of all, i can't do anything on this journey. francis shaeffer talks about a moment by moment faith (the same faith of justification) that leads to glorious sanctification based on nothing but Christ's "it is finished." so every step on this journey is by this 5 year old faith in a finished work. no diest-god here. secondly, when i start to pray for deus ex quail, i'm denying a personal GOD. i put my faith in a god who ignores my cries for help while he sacks out on the couch showing up at the last minute to drop quail in three foot piles. oh, and what was your name again?

so when i have moments of quail-wishing, expecting GOD to ignore me, i must flee to the personal, present GOD of the universe who's pillar of fire has never left me for a moment. sans deus ex machina...

radical quantification

2006-03-30T14:57:00.000-05:00

funny how i shout "miracle!" from the tops of buildings, but when things get personal, and it's my turn to get one, i say no. this happened to me a few days ago. the LORD gave me a miracle (i almost said a *small* miracle, but i don't think they can be quantified by size), and i said "no". my mouth actually formed the negative. let's just say my view of sin has radically changed as of late, and the silent grief began. so yesterday the LORD gave me another miracle, and i was tempted to say "no", but instead i whispered a tiny "yes". i told Him i could walk, but i couldn't dance.

and then a miracle happened.
now i have to dance.

breakfast rule #1

2006-03-29T08:49:00.000-05:00

don't eat cookies for breakfast. it will ruin your day.

trust me on this one.

(i pondered committing suicide with my stapler yesterday as a result of
the less than nutritious morning sustenance)

waterworld

2006-03-28T13:41:00.000-05:00

i've just passed day 35 in my journey through the desert with the israelites. there is so much miracle-working in this desert walk, that it is fast becoming my favorite story in the Bible (at least until i read my next favorite story). as i've been touring about with joshua before he takes the last big march into the land of promise, i've been struck with the physical position of the trial. the isrealites are hemmed in on both sides by water. at one point they're begging to go back to egypt--did they forget the red sea? at another point they're begging to go forward (after realizing they missed their opportunity because of unbelief)--did they forget the jordan? there is no way out of their predicatment except by the miracle working hand of GOD. it would even take a miracle to backslide. so i'm in the midst of this checking over my shoulder at the leeks and onions of six months ago--seems awfully safe. and then, woa! oh yes, the red sea! totally forgot about that. i can't go back without a miracle. but then i look ahead to the milk and honey (or silk and honey for us lactose intolerant in the tribe), and hey that looks even better! and then i hear the rushing jordan in my ears. i can't go forward without a miracle. this all makes me think of a verse in psalm 119: "barricade the road that goes nowhere; grace me with your clear revelation. i choose the true road to somewhere, i post your road signs at every curve and corner." the road to nowhere? doubt (egypt). the road to somewhere? faith (silk and honey land). the road signs? ebenezer (help stones). so which miracle am i picking? i'm going with the one that has yet to happen. the one in front of me.

on to day 36.

days

2006-03-25T18:36:00.000-05:00

150 days of solitude.

echthros--from the greek, meaning “enemy”

2006-03-25T18:19:00.000-05:00

i would like to propose a word that needs to be “echthrosed.” if you’ve ever read madeline l’engle’s book “a wind in the door” you’ll know what i’m talking about. if not, let me explain. the ecthroi are black hole-creatures. they make nothing out of something. they don’t kill things, they “x” them out so they never exist. they anti-create. they unname. that’s what i’d like to do with the word “coincidence.” give it the old madeline’s “x.” in the past i have been guilty of tossing this word about glibly, but no more. i believe in a GOD that has absolute control over everything. nothing happens unless He has done it, or allowed it. a few posts ago i mentioned the elijah homegoing in 2 kings 2. i’ve been pondering this passage this evening in light of some things that have happened lately, and the application is becoming clearer. elijah ask elisha what he wants before he rides off in a blinding chariot, and elisha tells him he wants a double portion of elijah’s life repeated in his. here’s the condition elijah establishes: “if you’re watching when i’m taken from you, you’ll get what you’ve asked for. but only if you’re watching.” so these two best friends keep walking together discussing their favorite starbucks flavor, old inside jokes, that time elijah ran faster than ahab’s chariot, the amazing things they’ve seen GOD do, and then “wham!” the gossamer veil is pushed aside to give a peek of heaven. the chariot and cavalry enter without warning, sweep up elijah, and are gone. elisha sees it all happen! he tears his clothes in mourning, picks up the cloak elijah discarded before riding off, asks GOD where He is, goes to the edge of the water, and slaps to part it just as elijah had done. and it works! GOD gave him the power of elijah. coincidence? nope. elisha? nope. the work of the Heavenly Miracle Dealer? pretty much. so why do i miss the miracles? i’m not watching. i’m too busy looking for coincidence to see the miracle of the mid-prayer phone call, the unanswered email, and the forgetful colleague.

consider it xed.

on being 29 (or older)

2006-03-20T20:54:00.000-05:00

"It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than she was ten years before; and generally speaking, if there has been neither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcely any charm is lost."

Persuasion, Jane Austen

bonafied miracles

2006-03-18T15:18:00.000-05:00

yes, they do happen.

trust me.

my office mate and i lived a stunning one yesterday.

"GOD is back, looking to the needs of his people!" luke 7:16

of hems and dancing

2006-03-16T10:02:00.000-05:00

have you ever tried to view life from the inside of your closet? in there the meaning of life has something to do with hems. i have found my closet to be a solitary place of chat with the LORD, and last night, that’s where i ended up. we didn’t discuss my need to clean the closet, organize my shoes, or fix the hem of that skirt i’ve been ignoring, although those are definitely topics we will revisit. no, last night i went in there thinking i would give the LORD a little piece of my mind, and i came out with a little peace of His. there was a point in my prayer where i felt the need to shut up--something i think the LORD would like to hear from me more often--so i curled up in the corner of my clothes cave and just got soul-silent. i found it trying to silence my thots, then once that was accomplished, i drifted off to sleep (i actually considered staying there all nite because it was so warm and cozy). not going real well at this point right? that’s what i thot. i don’t know how long i was in this state (it’s weird how all conscious time stands still), but at some point i figured GOD must have chosen to be quiet too. i broke the silence with the words: “LORD, i’ve been so careful...” and then the rain began to fall in great sloppy drops. i heard: “and that is precisely the problem erin.” wait a minute, that’s not at all what i expected! i thot careful was good. i thot careful was reverent. i thot careful was godly. (all to be said in tones of piety) “don’t be careful!” the silence said, “i’m sick of your timidity! i’ve had enough, and things are going to change starting now: i’m careful so you can be carefree. go!” and then there was a great deluge of remembering: joshua boldly blocking the sun and moon, moses demanding a fulfilled promise, peter requesting a water walk, elijah calling up a great storm, elisha demanding GOD’s presence at the whisking away of elijah, david joy-dancing for the return of lost glory, gideon confirming the wet fleece, and a thousand unnamed beggars, lepers, children, blind men, cripples, hungry, hurting, and lost. all abandoning carefulness for the reckless faith that made them whole. and throwing caution to the wind, i went. not very carefully i might add, but with utter abandon. so when i left the closet, i was afraid. no longer afraid that GOD won’t answer my prayers, but afraid that He will. this is not terror, but carefree in the hope that GOD is more likely to answer than not. (after which we might revisit dancing)

cloud watching

2006-03-15T21:19:00.000-05:00

i am currently marching with the israelites thru their three-day-weekend-turned-forty-year-desert holiday. at every turn they are in awe of GOD’s powerful provision of bread, water and safety, and then at every other turn complaining that there’s too much bread, bitter water, and scary egyptians. i find myself thinking: “hey, can’t they see what GOD is doing? are they that stupid?” of all the wandering-trials the israelits go thru, i think boredom would get me faithless fastest. think about it: GOD is up on mt. sinai, moses is up on mt. sinai, joshua is half-way up mt. sinai, the people have spent three days getting scrubbed up for this, and there’s a barricade around the mountain so no one can even touch it. moses and GOD chat for forty days and nites with no word. from our telescopic position we can’t fathom why the israelites would throw together their egyptian-jewelry and build a cow. i mean, come on, a cow! at least they could have been more creative than that right? they inform aaron they want gods that will lead them since moses went and disappeared, and so they choose a cow. (silent shaking of head in disbelief) i love how i can be so smarmy about this from the comfortable place in my warm bedroom by the glow of a new art-deco lamp, and not even hear the herd of cows mooing over my left shoulder. i don’t seem to be getting anything out of my Bible reading (that i spent all of five minutes on), so i follow a cow-christian book instead. i try to pray, but i get so distracted that i give up and listen to my own thots about (off all things!) cows. God doesn’t seem to be answering my prayer of a week ago, and so i decide to “take the bull by the horns” as it were, and manipulate the situation to get my answer. well now it doesn’t seem so far fetched that had i been amongst the israelites, i might have even suggested the cow-idea. am i really all that different from them? doubt it. they hadn’t heard from moses or GOD in forty days. maybe they thot GOD had forgotten them. maybe they thot He had given up on them. maybe they thot He stopped caring and chose a different nation. sound familiar? when it seems like nothing is going on, i am tempted to think i’ve been forgotten, shunned, and maybe even disowned. what the israelites didn’t know was that during those forty days GOD was reavealing to moses exactly how His people could best show other nations His great love for them, and “setting apart” of them (not to mention, they never even noticed the hovering lightening cloud). what i often don’t notice is the passionate patience GOD is developing in me, the promised land faith, and the lightening cloud of peace He offers if i would but see.

2006-03-14T10:51:00.000-05:00

green hope

more words...

2006-03-13T19:30:00.000-05:00

destitute

(tonite i am)

gotcha prayers

2006-03-13T10:30:00.000-05:00

i've been calling up some sabotage prayers as of late for several
people. so here are the rules for sabotage praying: it must be for
something life-changing, it must be specific and intent, and most
importantly, it must be kept from the person for whom it is prayed.
what makes this really fun is when you pray intently for someone you
barely know. i see it now: i spy charles on the sidewalk (name has
been changed to protect the innocent), covertly nod, seripticiously pray
my violent prayer, smile politely, and bam! he's been sabotaged! how
much fun is that? i get a secret glee from doing this sort of thing.
it's like GOD and i have a little thing going on-- an "i know something
you don't know" sort of moment. so, right now i have this one person in
mind that is receiving my death dart prayer. what's really great is
that he pretty much only knows my name. we've spoken of weather and
wind briefly, but as far as he is concerned, i do not exist. this is
where the sabotage comes in. i know a bit of delicate information about
a paticularly trying situation in his life. we all know this sort of
information about people right? information is leaked. we are briefed.
we are "in the know." well, i figure i've been given this information
for a reason, and i'm pretty sure it's not to spread it around to
everyone else i know so they can spread it around to everyone else they
know, and the cycle continues. so i'm going to do whatever i can to
sabotage this unsuspecting boy's life as much as GOD will allow. he
does not know the peril in which he lies.

end

2006-03-09T12:53:00.000-05:00

the orange beads came off today.

i'm a little sad.

thinking about tying it back on.

end in joy

2006-03-06T17:36:00.000-05:00

last night i was forced to grade papers. i am familiar with roughly six novels of approximately 4,000 pages in length that i would choose to read over doing the accursed thing. dusting even trumps the threat of the unspeakable (and if you’ve seen my house, you know you could start a worm farm in the dust). so, this afternoon i organized all the work, entered the grades i could, and brought the rest home to finish after church. all during church i could hear the stack in the car making nasty remarks about how i had great intentions of getting the work done, but would flake at the last moment and clean house instead. the papers have been silenced. i got home, had pancakes, ignored the dishes i made (they were uncommonly tempting tonite), sat down with a clock to my left, and began. i’ve disciplined myself to spend a certain number of minutes on each paper, otherwise i obsess over the tiniest comma or unimaginative adverb (if i have to read the word “very” ever again, i’m going to go very mad). amazingly i achieved my goal in a record amount of time with little soul pain. the real fun began as i placed the final green stroke. the “so shall the night soon end in joy” song began to giggle from the cd player. of course, i had to jump on the bed to celebrate the end of grading and the end of the night in joy! and i jumped and jumped and jumped until i couldn’t jump any more because of the soul wrenching laughter that ensued. i ended in a joy filled, giggling heap at the foot of the bed. maybe i should grade papers more often.

the dramatist and me

2006-03-06T17:24:00.000-05:00

“but only if you’re watching”

2006-03-04T10:59:00.000-05:00

the thin gossamer that separates the natural world and the supernatural world: elijah’s chariot-homegoing, elisha’s observance, and the commencement of water-parting power.

2 kings 2

words, words, words

2006-03-02T21:34:00.000-05:00

i’ve begun to complile a list of essential words. here are the first few. please contribute:

agony
abandon
endeavor
ensued
thin
whirligig
unapproachable
irresistable
malice
certain
mayhem
gossamer

leftovers out. shoes on.

2006-02-28T18:11:00.000-05:00

our Heavenly Father is a great story teller. i love to read of the daring deeds of leaders who rode off into battle with nothing but lamps and horns, of well-digging patriarchs who picnicked with angelic visitors, and prophets who could float an axe head, keep up with a moving chariot, and part the waters with the slap of a cloak. as a churched child of seven or eight, my favorite stories were those from the old testament when GOD talked to His children from bushes, clouds, and donkeys, partly beacause GOD seemed quite creative with His message sending devices, and (on a more ridiculous note) the flannel graph for the old testament stories was just so much cooler (the moses in the basket/out of the basket piece always did it for me). which brings me to moses. what child can’t get excited about the story of the plauges? i don’t care if you’re a girl or boy, the mere thought of a whole country being invaded by slimy hop-frogs can bring on visions of “invaders from mars,” and how big was the hail? i’ve been rereading this account recently, and between flashbacks of the flannel graph pieces, i’ve been struck by something entirely new in it’s theme. when GOD burning-bushes moses, He tells him the long term plan: He’s going to release them from their egyptian slave-masters, and take them to milk and honey land. after moses makes a few excuses, GOD gives him the thing he’s supposed to ask for: ask pharoh if the people can go on a long weekend into the desert to sacrifice to their GOD. that doesn’t seem like too much right? what employer couldn’t live without new bricks for three days? possible. then GOD tells him, to make things more exciting, He’s going to harden pharoh’s heart in this matter. GOD is going to make sure pharoh doesn’t let them go. in fact, as the plauges become more and more severe, instead of pharoh getting fed up with the mess of dead fish, frogs, flocks, and fields, he just gets more recalcitrant. GOD’s got a bigger thing going on here! He’s not just interested in His people getting to do a little three day sacrificing. He wants to give them a homeland where they can sacrifice anytime they want (not to mention throw in a little exit bonus of designer egyptian jewelry and clothing), and in the process increase their faith in a GOD who is creative enough to give them some really great stories to tell. He doesn’t want them to be satisfied with the possible, but to be passionately patient for the impossible. He wants to give them more. when GOD doesn’t answer my prayers precisely the way i think He should at this moment, it’s not that He’s saying no, it’s that He’s doing a bigger work behind the scenes. pharoh’s heart may be hard, but that doesn’t mean he won’t give in at the precise moment GOD wants him to. GOD is probably trying to get me faith-ready: bags packed, shoes on, and bread rising, no trappings holding me back from stepping out the blood-washed front door into the night where a Divine Fire will be my north star. i just have to have my leftovers thrown out and my shoes on.

oops!

2006-02-27T17:39:00.000-05:00

i tied this to my arm a week ago, and i can't get it off. so it may be on my arm for the next two years.

it's happy orange.

it doesn't match my clothes, but it matches my soul. my soul is green.

“do adventures ever have an end?”

2006-02-23T08:50:00.000-05:00

as i’ve prayed for the impossible there have been answer-moments when i’ve found myself asking the LORD: “is this the impossible i’ve been praying for? is this the ‘more’ you promised? is this it?” it is at these moments i’m tempted to grieve. i had such a moment this last week. you must know, i hate endings: the last day of summer vacation, graduation day, when the lighter inhabitants of middle earth sail off in a glimmering ship, lucy and edmund’s final crossing from narnia, emily’s farewell to coffee and clocks. i typically go thru a milder version of grief at the end of a stirring book or movie (neurotic i know). this last week i had a little answer: something i had not anticipated, or frankly, had any control over. the painful thing is that i was given credit by a well meaning individual when the credit was not rightfully mine. it was for Another. i immediately began to grieve. it felt like an end. in the name of Aslan, i was taking the adventure that had fallen to me, and some yard crew came along just at that moment and ripped out the thicket exposing the backside of the wardrobe that was supposed to be the conduit of my big adventure. so i asked, “is this it? is this my ‘more’?” when the curtain closes on the best Story ever written we touch eternity, we see the bright and morning star, and we hear the eternal invocation “come!” it is then we realize we’ve been invited to come on an adventure in the first chapter of a book no one has ever read where every chapter is destined to be better than the one before by the Author who has no appetite for beginnings or endings. so, is this my “more”? no. this is only hobbit-me stepping out the front door onto a road that will lead into a life where adventures never have an end.

testing "the power of now"

2006-02-20T17:40:00.000-05:00

"GOD can do anything you know--far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us." eph 3:20

an article on living abandonedly in faith.

“i would rather be eaten by you, than be fed by anyone else”

2006-02-19T16:56:00.000-05:00

i think i have a warped view of submission. it’s an idea/word that we toss about glibly without understanding it. submission has come to imply a forced response under diress (either self-diress or other-diress). usually the idea of submission causes me to shutter. there doesn’t seem to be very much faith in the concept, but rather a sight walk of pushing one’s self into obedience. yes, i can force myself (for a time at least) to submit to GOD. (notice the importance of *myself* in this.) i’m no scholar, but i’m not sure this is what the LORD meant by submission. i believe submission is abandonment. think about the difference between these two “obediences.” abandonment implies letting everything about self go. when i abandon to GOD there is nothing i can hold onto, because everything i have left to hold onto has been swept away in the act of abandonment. in reality, abandonment is harder than our warped view of submission (and yet, so much easier) because i have no control when i abandon. instead of curling up in a ball, protecting the most tender parts of my body and soul at the feet of the LORD, i have allowed Him to place me at the foot of His throne, back on the ground, heart exposed, arms spread wide. is this safe? no. do i serve a good GOD? most definitely. (read “til we have faces” for a stunning example) there is learned faith in this kind of obedience because i have stopped looking up from my place of fetal-position-obedience, and started looking up at a good Father from my heart-exposing-obedience. He is all i see. this is not blind, existential faith, but rather GOD-seeing faith. i may choose to lay with hands pressed firmly on my eyes in a blind position of abandonment , but it’s not until i have had my hands removed to see Christ that i have fully abandoned.

like hwin (“horse and his boy”) i choose to be eaten.

a stack of rocks

2006-02-17T21:02:00.000-05:00

last nite was ebenezer. a monument-pile of rocks in the sand to mark the place where the LORD has so gloriously provided. a stone of help. a "this is how far the LORD has helped us" stack. i think when the israelites set up an ebenezer, they would come back on holiday to remember. to remember with those that had been there with them. to remember with the children that were as of yet unborn. to remember with their children's children. and on and on and on it went: a vast timeline of remembering--stacking one generation on another.

i think if i had been vacationing at ebenezer, i would have brought a rock.