Due to an unfortunate dinner conflict, I missed out on the adventure to the bookstore :/
Currently, I am finalizing my San Francisco itinerary and factoring in a few unforeseen events into the "gap" hours.
Oh. And I made cheater flashcards with directions to each place that I want to go written across the front, and detailed maps pasted onto the back.
It's a good thing I'm doing this trip alone; I think I'd drive a travel mate bonkers. Muhaha. But the only thing as fun as a trip is PLANNING a trip.
Flashcard 1: SFO Airport to my hotel, including a Bart trip and a bus and a ten minute walk. WOOhoo.
Flashcard 2: my hotel to Fort Mason.
The list continues. I have Mills College and USF in there, along with the Opera House, Land's End, some obscure wine bar I want to try (alone in a strange city? I better wear black and a beret and bring a book of poetry).
I'm quite the little adventurer. I'd promise to keep you posted; however, I'm not bringing my computer. I'll journal to your hearts and have many ridiculous tidbits on which you may feast upon my return.
Unless somewhere on the adventure I manage to hijack a computer.
In a few hours, it will be illegal for me to say that word.
Jan 28, 2009
Rude awakenings
This morning I woke up, inhaled, and realized I couldn't breathe.
After a moment's panic, I realized my mouth was closed and my nose was occupied by a severe reaction to the cat, who had decided to nestle beneath my pillow.
I scooped her under her white belly and tossed her to the floor, swung myself out of bed, and scrambled around looking for some sort of anti-allergy drug. I found Airborne. Insufficient but I thought I could trick myself into believing it was useful.
It was NOT.
Now my allergies just taste like citrus.
On the agenda for the day: Baby Mama with my little sister, and a bookstore with Johnathan Hayward! BOOKS. I might jump outta my skin.
I'm going to spend the next few hours perusing my book of Irish castles and pretending I am a princess stuck in a tower.
After a moment's panic, I realized my mouth was closed and my nose was occupied by a severe reaction to the cat, who had decided to nestle beneath my pillow.
I scooped her under her white belly and tossed her to the floor, swung myself out of bed, and scrambled around looking for some sort of anti-allergy drug. I found Airborne. Insufficient but I thought I could trick myself into believing it was useful.
It was NOT.
Now my allergies just taste like citrus.
On the agenda for the day: Baby Mama with my little sister, and a bookstore with Johnathan Hayward! BOOKS. I might jump outta my skin.
I'm going to spend the next few hours perusing my book of Irish castles and pretending I am a princess stuck in a tower.
Don't be a Cheese.
Today was filled with friends and family and I am surrounded by joy.
Blonde hair is a greater hit than the brown was--mainly because it's proof that even though I'm surrounded by my old world, the new "Me" still survives, still thrives in the familiar environment.
Beckie Ruggles appeared in my driveway today and I haven't been able to stop smiling since I saw her beautiful face. I really don't think that woman ages. Her eyes sparkle with the joy and hope of twenty-something. I can't wait wait WAIT to see her again.
Went back to my cousin, Kyle,'s house tonight with Heather and we baked banana bread and masked the drywall dust smell with the warm aroma of baking. There really is nothing like the bond of family--the camaraderie, the familiarity, the trust built on a lifetime of relating and understanding and growing together. And the love that transcends all conflict, all turmoil, and perseveres. If anyone needs an example of what God intended for our Love relationships--look to my immediate and extended family.
My bags are packed with every professional outfit I own. Heels and all. I can't wait for my pumps to go clickety-clack against the pavement of the streets of San Francisco. I think my hotel's in a sketchy area though. Better bring some mace. Or just my fist. baha.
My heart's struggling, my friends. Pray for strength and understanding and compassion and wisdom. I pray for new excitement to infiltrate your everydays :)
---
W. Somerset Maugham is funny:
"The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes; he makes the best of us look like a piece of cheese."
Blonde hair is a greater hit than the brown was--mainly because it's proof that even though I'm surrounded by my old world, the new "Me" still survives, still thrives in the familiar environment.
Beckie Ruggles appeared in my driveway today and I haven't been able to stop smiling since I saw her beautiful face. I really don't think that woman ages. Her eyes sparkle with the joy and hope of twenty-something. I can't wait wait WAIT to see her again.
Went back to my cousin, Kyle,'s house tonight with Heather and we baked banana bread and masked the drywall dust smell with the warm aroma of baking. There really is nothing like the bond of family--the camaraderie, the familiarity, the trust built on a lifetime of relating and understanding and growing together. And the love that transcends all conflict, all turmoil, and perseveres. If anyone needs an example of what God intended for our Love relationships--look to my immediate and extended family.
My bags are packed with every professional outfit I own. Heels and all. I can't wait for my pumps to go clickety-clack against the pavement of the streets of San Francisco. I think my hotel's in a sketchy area though. Better bring some mace. Or just my fist. baha.
My heart's struggling, my friends. Pray for strength and understanding and compassion and wisdom. I pray for new excitement to infiltrate your everydays :)
---
W. Somerset Maugham is funny:
"The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes; he makes the best of us look like a piece of cheese."
Jan 27, 2009
I could hold on a little tighter, I know.
But even if it kills me ...
----
Well, the room is nearly cleaned; all the people in their prospective boxes. All the clothes in the suitcase. All the makeup in its place.
My hair is blonde again. Sort of. More like the sun kissed me on the forehead and bled its tears across my locks. It's nice. It's more familiar. And I feel better. Chin's a little higher.
San Francisco in two days. Kyle's house tonight for banana bread with Heather. And hopefully some life-counseling. And "where do I go from here?"
'Another suitcase in another hall. Take your picture off another wall.'
---
... I'm gonna smile.
----
Well, the room is nearly cleaned; all the people in their prospective boxes. All the clothes in the suitcase. All the makeup in its place.
My hair is blonde again. Sort of. More like the sun kissed me on the forehead and bled its tears across my locks. It's nice. It's more familiar. And I feel better. Chin's a little higher.
San Francisco in two days. Kyle's house tonight for banana bread with Heather. And hopefully some life-counseling. And "where do I go from here?"
'Another suitcase in another hall. Take your picture off another wall.'
---
... I'm gonna smile.
Jan 26, 2009
Blue Fire
If I don't make it in the world of poetry, I'm going to travel agency school. And then I'm going to book all my own vacations all the time. And I'm going to teach everyone else how to have fun on my itineraries and live vicariously through my clients--only so that I can make enough money for each adventure.
I'm pretty sure in my ideal world, that's what I would do. And I'm going to come up with all these zany places to send people so they experience places normal tourists don't ever see. I want to teach the world to fall in love with travel and with learning another culture, rather than just treading our toes all over someone else's turf.
This desire is a direct result of my current "vacation planning"--I began outlining a very detailed itinerary of Ireland: How-To-See-The-Most-And-Spend-The-Least-In-A-Month. When that proved such a brilliant success, I began planning my trip to San Francisco for this weekend. You would BELIEVE what I've got in store for myself! I'm a genius. In between grad school interviews, I'm going to ransack the city. Look out world. I've been bitten by a bug.
I really do think I may abandon my grad school ideas. Or do travel school while in grad school. WAIT that's an excellent idea. And then, once I've finished my schooling, I shall travel the world and publish stories of my adventures.
Now to find a home base. Hume Lake? Santa Barbara? San Francisco? Santa Clarita? Simi Valley? Spokane? Seattle? Washington D.C.? Where is my heart?
It is all these places. That's what makes me feel so fulfilled and content. It is all these places and their people and the blood that pulses through all our veins in the familiar heart's throb of Life.
I miss... but my heart's built itself strong enough to keep standing. Strong enough to keep pressing forward and thrive on the hope of tomorrow and not the fatigue of today. The ache is exhausting but my toes dig into the forever sands and my hands stretch to the wide sky, blue as my heart and everlasting as Joy. So many wrinkles have arched their way across my eyes in this space of time, where I am left wondering and wandering--but Still, in Peace. Resignation. Keep moving, Heart.
And everything I see glows blue and gold and the world I embrace spills into my skin
and out my fingertips, to stain, to paint the black-and white faces, the smiles, the eyes, the places
in Color.
I'm pretty sure in my ideal world, that's what I would do. And I'm going to come up with all these zany places to send people so they experience places normal tourists don't ever see. I want to teach the world to fall in love with travel and with learning another culture, rather than just treading our toes all over someone else's turf.
This desire is a direct result of my current "vacation planning"--I began outlining a very detailed itinerary of Ireland: How-To-See-The-Most-And-Spend-The-Least-In-A-Month. When that proved such a brilliant success, I began planning my trip to San Francisco for this weekend. You would BELIEVE what I've got in store for myself! I'm a genius. In between grad school interviews, I'm going to ransack the city. Look out world. I've been bitten by a bug.
I really do think I may abandon my grad school ideas. Or do travel school while in grad school. WAIT that's an excellent idea. And then, once I've finished my schooling, I shall travel the world and publish stories of my adventures.
Now to find a home base. Hume Lake? Santa Barbara? San Francisco? Santa Clarita? Simi Valley? Spokane? Seattle? Washington D.C.? Where is my heart?
It is all these places. That's what makes me feel so fulfilled and content. It is all these places and their people and the blood that pulses through all our veins in the familiar heart's throb of Life.
I miss... but my heart's built itself strong enough to keep standing. Strong enough to keep pressing forward and thrive on the hope of tomorrow and not the fatigue of today. The ache is exhausting but my toes dig into the forever sands and my hands stretch to the wide sky, blue as my heart and everlasting as Joy. So many wrinkles have arched their way across my eyes in this space of time, where I am left wondering and wandering--but Still, in Peace. Resignation. Keep moving, Heart.
And everything I see glows blue and gold and the world I embrace spills into my skin
and out my fingertips, to stain, to paint the black-and white faces, the smiles, the eyes, the places
in Color.
Jan 25, 2009
Joy means a Smile even Through Sorrow
My heart is warm and my soul is full.
Yesterday my cousin Heather, my sister Hayley, and I went to high tea at the Tea Garden and had cucumber sandwiches and picked our favorite teas from the list of 120 options, then sat around sipping the warm liquid as it spilled down our throats, nibbling on chocolate scones, and musing over questions of love. The entire experience was rimmed with golden laughter and the love of family.
We proceeded to the theater, where we watched Bride Wars and exploded our sides with laughter.
At seven pm, I dropped Hayley off at home and ditched town to embrace a wonderful reunion with Bre.
We spent the night downtown and met a young man from Ireland, who called me gorgeous, gave us travel tips, and dropped the "F" word as much as we use the word "like." It was actually beautiful. Rolled off the brogue like honey.
I spent the night with Bre, fell asleep to Veggie Tale's Jonah, and woke to the happy smile of Abbe. We sat around talking in the kitchen, pretending we were going to leave and start the day but never quite got there. After berry pancakes and an afternoon of shopping, I ditched that town again and made my way to my cousin Kyle's new--BEAUTIFUL--home, where his mother shared important wisdoms with me and I remembered how fast I've grown up in the last month.
I don't remember the childish anxieties that used to pierce my gut and render me useless for hours. I don't remember the whine that squeezed from my lips.
Instead, my heart pours itself out daily and is filled with the love of the Spirit and the wisdom of His people. I am surrounded by the Faithful.
I am loved by the Friend.
Yesterday my cousin Heather, my sister Hayley, and I went to high tea at the Tea Garden and had cucumber sandwiches and picked our favorite teas from the list of 120 options, then sat around sipping the warm liquid as it spilled down our throats, nibbling on chocolate scones, and musing over questions of love. The entire experience was rimmed with golden laughter and the love of family.
We proceeded to the theater, where we watched Bride Wars and exploded our sides with laughter.
At seven pm, I dropped Hayley off at home and ditched town to embrace a wonderful reunion with Bre.
We spent the night downtown and met a young man from Ireland, who called me gorgeous, gave us travel tips, and dropped the "F" word as much as we use the word "like." It was actually beautiful. Rolled off the brogue like honey.
I spent the night with Bre, fell asleep to Veggie Tale's Jonah, and woke to the happy smile of Abbe. We sat around talking in the kitchen, pretending we were going to leave and start the day but never quite got there. After berry pancakes and an afternoon of shopping, I ditched that town again and made my way to my cousin Kyle's new--BEAUTIFUL--home, where his mother shared important wisdoms with me and I remembered how fast I've grown up in the last month.
I don't remember the childish anxieties that used to pierce my gut and render me useless for hours. I don't remember the whine that squeezed from my lips.
Instead, my heart pours itself out daily and is filled with the love of the Spirit and the wisdom of His people. I am surrounded by the Faithful.
I am loved by the Friend.
Jan 24, 2009
Pulse
"Pulse"
The sharp snap echoes across the wood floor
and bounds down the hall: through walls, out doors.
It crackles again and a splintering sigh
drenches my cheeks, drags fists
over sight
(Wide-eyed and weary from staring beyond,
the break shatters again:
my heart in my palm.)
and the Savior,
though distant, still cries: "Carry on!"
(c)KP
The sharp snap echoes across the wood floor
and bounds down the hall: through walls, out doors.
It crackles again and a splintering sigh
drenches my cheeks, drags fists
over sight
(Wide-eyed and weary from staring beyond,
the break shatters again:
my heart in my palm.)
and the Savior,
though distant, still cries: "Carry on!"
(c)KP
Jan 22, 2009
I just miss you all too much
So, I stayed away a day. A brief hello to the nether-world of internet.
This post may take me two hours to complete, because the internet shuts off every thirty seconds.
Currently, my dad is traipsing about the roof, taking down our Christmas lights and I just could NOT resist the opportunity to inform you all of our belated de-decorating. As the Valentines' Day hearts go up around the house, my mom has finally decided to order down the remnants of Christmas.
On my desk are three packets, addressed to USF, Mills College, and Seattle Pacific. At the conclusion of this posting, I shall pick them up, cradle them in my twitching arms, and send them off to the criticism of their recipients. And then we shall see if I have a future.
Last night I had a nightmare that I was a Disney princess performing on a large stage. I had a plastic knight on a white horse and everything. My dress was long and pretty and pink and my hair in those perfect little ringlet curls. But as soon as I stepped off the stage, the crowd rushed me and my audience ripped my hair off my head and broke my crown and knocked over my knight. His arm shattered off. It was bizarre. They were angry, for I was feeding them lies about Happy Endings. So I let them rip me apart. And I was left looking like something from Cinderella pre-Fairy Godmother.
Only Cinderella still looked like a princess in her rags.
On my journey home yesterday, I had a long talk with my dad about life. We discussed romance and Don McLean and motorcycle road trips and treks across the sierras. I feel enlightened, and inspired to keep walking. To keep moving forward. To rest in my high school room and muse over old notes, letters, love stories. And to wait, and keep waiting, for another fall of rain.
"And in the streets the children screamed,
the lovers cried and the poets dreamed
but not a word was spoken.
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most: the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
the day the Music Died."
This post may take me two hours to complete, because the internet shuts off every thirty seconds.
Currently, my dad is traipsing about the roof, taking down our Christmas lights and I just could NOT resist the opportunity to inform you all of our belated de-decorating. As the Valentines' Day hearts go up around the house, my mom has finally decided to order down the remnants of Christmas.
On my desk are three packets, addressed to USF, Mills College, and Seattle Pacific. At the conclusion of this posting, I shall pick them up, cradle them in my twitching arms, and send them off to the criticism of their recipients. And then we shall see if I have a future.
Last night I had a nightmare that I was a Disney princess performing on a large stage. I had a plastic knight on a white horse and everything. My dress was long and pretty and pink and my hair in those perfect little ringlet curls. But as soon as I stepped off the stage, the crowd rushed me and my audience ripped my hair off my head and broke my crown and knocked over my knight. His arm shattered off. It was bizarre. They were angry, for I was feeding them lies about Happy Endings. So I let them rip me apart. And I was left looking like something from Cinderella pre-Fairy Godmother.
Only Cinderella still looked like a princess in her rags.
On my journey home yesterday, I had a long talk with my dad about life. We discussed romance and Don McLean and motorcycle road trips and treks across the sierras. I feel enlightened, and inspired to keep walking. To keep moving forward. To rest in my high school room and muse over old notes, letters, love stories. And to wait, and keep waiting, for another fall of rain.
"And in the streets the children screamed,
the lovers cried and the poets dreamed
but not a word was spoken.
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most: the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
the day the Music Died."
Jan 20, 2009
A Day in the Life
Well, my friends. Today. Today has been a day. It's weird, not having anyone to talk about it with; I want so much to pour myself out and to be poured into. Instead I have four solid walls and a cold rock floor, a vacant upstairs and a cup of hot chocolate. And you, dear reader. Be my signpost of sanity in my final days before I return to civilization and this new chapter of my life.
Maybe I should recount the day in chapters.
I. Heartthrob
Fresno occupied my day, and I spent it at the side of a wonderful woman named Suzanne. And we're going to plan the ministry of a lifetime. More later. Just know that what I'm dreaming is huge. And it's going to happen because its not everyday you sit in a car with a near stranger and are introduced to a ministry opportunity that makes your heart pound and your blood rush to your ears, not just because it's intimidating--but because He's there, pushing it on your heart and I can't ... I cannot refuse. I have no desire, no ability, to say No to the Call. Here I am. Send me.
II. Americana
In other news for the day, I officially exist inside the government's computers: my fingers have been engraved into the System and now I'd better not rob, cheat, or kill cause they'll have me with the click of a button. Furthermore, the hiring process is nearly complete--a few days' processing time and I can officially begin my semester's project: to rock the hearts of these students for writing. And history. But mostly writing. :)
III. A Pink Felt Onsie
While waiting the arrival of her husband, Suzanne and I milled through children's clothing stores--her daughter has a six-month old. I slipped my fingers in and out of the small sleeves, caressed my thumb through the shoes that were the width of two fingers, watched a girl child tip-toeing among the clothing racks and rubbing her small round cheek against a pink felt onsie ... and sighed. I can't even remember the music they played but I watched Suzanne call her daughter, asking whether the baby would wear a particular color, and trailed my fingers across the front of a buttoned jacket, picturing the clothing filled with the soft curves of innocence.
IV. Drug Busts
Additionally, I participated in a rather sketchy sale of a motorcycle to a lovely Brazilian man who crouched in the back of our car and handed us a wad of cash and breathed the American Dream into my hair. I got a detailed report of the life of a city man of Brazil, down to the fire that burned from his eyes when he described the streets and the affectionate detail of the commute, and, in a thick accent laden with devotion, he whispered, "I will return to my Brazil." A gentle touch of the fist on the chest, his handshake a token of respect and a rush of adventure, and he was gone on a motorcycle and we were left, jaws hanging open, as he made his way back across the States.
V. Mute
Either tomorrow or the next day, I head home. I don't believe I will write for a little while, my friends. My heart is laden with questions, with sorrows, with pain, with hope, but always with Joy--all this I must bring before the Lord, for He alone has the answers and the comfort I crave. Please, friends. Pray for me daily. I pray for you always; and I do not toss that phrase around flippantly. If you would like personal updates, please write to me: kparkinson@westmont.edu. I will more than willingly pursue dialogue with you, dears.
My love for you cannot be contained in a simple adieu, but if words could embrace:
May my spirit wrap around you.
Maybe I should recount the day in chapters.
I. Heartthrob
Fresno occupied my day, and I spent it at the side of a wonderful woman named Suzanne. And we're going to plan the ministry of a lifetime. More later. Just know that what I'm dreaming is huge. And it's going to happen because its not everyday you sit in a car with a near stranger and are introduced to a ministry opportunity that makes your heart pound and your blood rush to your ears, not just because it's intimidating--but because He's there, pushing it on your heart and I can't ... I cannot refuse. I have no desire, no ability, to say No to the Call. Here I am. Send me.
II. Americana
In other news for the day, I officially exist inside the government's computers: my fingers have been engraved into the System and now I'd better not rob, cheat, or kill cause they'll have me with the click of a button. Furthermore, the hiring process is nearly complete--a few days' processing time and I can officially begin my semester's project: to rock the hearts of these students for writing. And history. But mostly writing. :)
III. A Pink Felt Onsie
While waiting the arrival of her husband, Suzanne and I milled through children's clothing stores--her daughter has a six-month old. I slipped my fingers in and out of the small sleeves, caressed my thumb through the shoes that were the width of two fingers, watched a girl child tip-toeing among the clothing racks and rubbing her small round cheek against a pink felt onsie ... and sighed. I can't even remember the music they played but I watched Suzanne call her daughter, asking whether the baby would wear a particular color, and trailed my fingers across the front of a buttoned jacket, picturing the clothing filled with the soft curves of innocence.
IV. Drug Busts
Additionally, I participated in a rather sketchy sale of a motorcycle to a lovely Brazilian man who crouched in the back of our car and handed us a wad of cash and breathed the American Dream into my hair. I got a detailed report of the life of a city man of Brazil, down to the fire that burned from his eyes when he described the streets and the affectionate detail of the commute, and, in a thick accent laden with devotion, he whispered, "I will return to my Brazil." A gentle touch of the fist on the chest, his handshake a token of respect and a rush of adventure, and he was gone on a motorcycle and we were left, jaws hanging open, as he made his way back across the States.
V. Mute
Either tomorrow or the next day, I head home. I don't believe I will write for a little while, my friends. My heart is laden with questions, with sorrows, with pain, with hope, but always with Joy--all this I must bring before the Lord, for He alone has the answers and the comfort I crave. Please, friends. Pray for me daily. I pray for you always; and I do not toss that phrase around flippantly. If you would like personal updates, please write to me: kparkinson@westmont.edu. I will more than willingly pursue dialogue with you, dears.
My love for you cannot be contained in a simple adieu, but if words could embrace:
May my spirit wrap around you.
I'm bracing myself for a Reality Check
I believe with each passing book I become more and more delusional.
Karen Kingsbury--for all that she writes beautiful novels of the journey of faith and the joys of a God-focused life--is giving me false expectations about everything from romance to the Christian life, to fame, and beyond. All her stories circle around some tragedy and are dramatically reconciled in a brilliant flourish of faith and love. And her love stories--even her love stories make me bawl.
Is that healthy? Is that normal? To become so enraptured in her world of fiction that I find myself wishing I was the girl standing on the dock of the lakeside property, looking out over a sunset beside the love of her life; wishing I had the creativity to paint scenes of beauty like another character and become a well-renowned artist; pretending I am holding the hands of the characters' children and laughing at the beauty of an eight-year-old's antics. I want to get involved with Children's Theater because of the joy that blooms from the heart of one of the characters, who directs at a Christian Kid's Theater. Is that weird?
Yes, the books are encouraging and have helped firm up the faith that has blossomed in my heart ... but all these Happy Endings are really getting to my head. All these happy families and small-town romances and walks of Faith. Really getting to my head.
In other news, tomorrow I'm going to Fresno for fingerprinting for the school. It just occured to me that I'll have cell-phone service for the first time in ... I can't even count how long. Of course, I reached for my phone and realized I didn't have a charger and the battery's plum out. So much for that.
God, is it okay to have hopes and dreams that may never be realized? I guess it's all in Your time; You know the plans you have for me. So should I even have my head in the clouds or should my attention be on my feet and trying to stay on the path you're forming?
I need a breather.
Karen Kingsbury--for all that she writes beautiful novels of the journey of faith and the joys of a God-focused life--is giving me false expectations about everything from romance to the Christian life, to fame, and beyond. All her stories circle around some tragedy and are dramatically reconciled in a brilliant flourish of faith and love. And her love stories--even her love stories make me bawl.
Is that healthy? Is that normal? To become so enraptured in her world of fiction that I find myself wishing I was the girl standing on the dock of the lakeside property, looking out over a sunset beside the love of her life; wishing I had the creativity to paint scenes of beauty like another character and become a well-renowned artist; pretending I am holding the hands of the characters' children and laughing at the beauty of an eight-year-old's antics. I want to get involved with Children's Theater because of the joy that blooms from the heart of one of the characters, who directs at a Christian Kid's Theater. Is that weird?
Yes, the books are encouraging and have helped firm up the faith that has blossomed in my heart ... but all these Happy Endings are really getting to my head. All these happy families and small-town romances and walks of Faith. Really getting to my head.
In other news, tomorrow I'm going to Fresno for fingerprinting for the school. It just occured to me that I'll have cell-phone service for the first time in ... I can't even count how long. Of course, I reached for my phone and realized I didn't have a charger and the battery's plum out. So much for that.
God, is it okay to have hopes and dreams that may never be realized? I guess it's all in Your time; You know the plans you have for me. So should I even have my head in the clouds or should my attention be on my feet and trying to stay on the path you're forming?
I need a breather.
Jan 19, 2009
To reach for Hope and not a reason
May God maintain the fire that has ignited in my spirit. He is the fuel and the flame.
I am learning about prayer here, where there is no buffer between me and my God. Some days, I don't want to pray, for I fear the silence after "Amen": the reminder that no matter how long I call to Him, no voice will fill the void after mine stops speaking.
Last night, I sat staring at the Word of God and could not do anything but plead, "Lord, help my unbelief"(Mark 9:24). And the strangest thing happened.
Inscribe me on the tablet of your heart and I will walk with you.
It's a verse from Proverbs3 and in my study of prayer I have glanced at it numerous times. But here, He might as well have whispered it in my ear, for how loud it resonated across my soul. It's no voice-from-the-burning-bush, but I've forgotten the purpose of God's word: it's not just so we can have a bunch of rules to follow and stories to read. He gave us the Bible for these hours when we need conversation with Him, that through reading and meditation on His Word, we might commune.
Not every day may be filled with enlightenment and understanding through prayer and Scripture; but I know that if I do it faithfully, the days when He breaks through the cloud to shout His grace into my Soul--
those days change my life.
I am learning about prayer here, where there is no buffer between me and my God. Some days, I don't want to pray, for I fear the silence after "Amen": the reminder that no matter how long I call to Him, no voice will fill the void after mine stops speaking.
Last night, I sat staring at the Word of God and could not do anything but plead, "Lord, help my unbelief"(Mark 9:24). And the strangest thing happened.
Inscribe me on the tablet of your heart and I will walk with you.
It's a verse from Proverbs3 and in my study of prayer I have glanced at it numerous times. But here, He might as well have whispered it in my ear, for how loud it resonated across my soul. It's no voice-from-the-burning-bush, but I've forgotten the purpose of God's word: it's not just so we can have a bunch of rules to follow and stories to read. He gave us the Bible for these hours when we need conversation with Him, that through reading and meditation on His Word, we might commune.
Not every day may be filled with enlightenment and understanding through prayer and Scripture; but I know that if I do it faithfully, the days when He breaks through the cloud to shout His grace into my Soul--
those days change my life.
Jan 17, 2009
I wear my heart on my sleeve
and it always gets me into trouble.
I crave honesty. Trust.
I am wary to admit it, because I know many of you read Me for encouragement, inspiration ... My loves, today: I am discouraged. Hold me in your hearts, please.
In other news: I built a fire all on my own. But it's pointless to build it if there's no one to share it.
I'd like a road-map. A script. 3x5 cue cards that feed me the right lines. A floating orb of Destiny. A "One Way" sign.
I'd like a hug. I'd like wisdom.
Oh, I crave wisdom.
and a hug.
So God gave me this:
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope.
"And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.
"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own LOVE for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."
(Romans 5:1-8)
"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
they are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
"I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore
I will wait for him.'
[...]
"I called on your name, O Lord, from the depths of the pit.
You heard my plea: 'Do not close your ears to my cry
for relief.'
You came near when I called you, and you said,
'Do Not Fear.'"
(from Lamentations 3)
I shouldn't complain. I have a job, and a roof over my head. But it's a weakness of my heart. I crave ... comprehension. A vision for my future beyond job security.
I crave honesty. Trust.
I am wary to admit it, because I know many of you read Me for encouragement, inspiration ... My loves, today: I am discouraged. Hold me in your hearts, please.
In other news: I built a fire all on my own. But it's pointless to build it if there's no one to share it.
I'd like a road-map. A script. 3x5 cue cards that feed me the right lines. A floating orb of Destiny. A "One Way" sign.
I'd like a hug. I'd like wisdom.
Oh, I crave wisdom.
and a hug.
So God gave me this:
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope.
"And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.
"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own LOVE for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."
(Romans 5:1-8)
"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
they are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
"I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore
I will wait for him.'
[...]
"I called on your name, O Lord, from the depths of the pit.
You heard my plea: 'Do not close your ears to my cry
for relief.'
You came near when I called you, and you said,
'Do Not Fear.'"
(from Lamentations 3)
I shouldn't complain. I have a job, and a roof over my head. But it's a weakness of my heart. I crave ... comprehension. A vision for my future beyond job security.
Jan 16, 2009
the Battled Queen
I did a lot of letter-writing today and am currently overwhelmed with a bout of nostalgia.
In other news, I repaired a sink! Yes, in fact, I CAN survive on my own AND I'm self-sufficient! Get ready for the story.
So I'm doing the dishes, minding my own business, when I start to realize I'm hearing a lot more running water than I should be hearing. Plus, my toes are getting uncomfortably... well, soaking wet. I look down and a river--I kid you not, a river--is pouring from beneath the kitchen sink. I think, Well. That cannot be good.
So while my pizza burns in the oven--one I made from scratch thanks to my lovely cousin's recipe :)--I fling open the cabinets under the sink
AND THE PIPES WERE ALL DISCONNECTED!!!!
Nope. Definitely not good.
So while water gushes everywhere, I scramble for a towel and try to scrape all the bottles of cleaning solution out from under the sink, so the stuff doesn't all get wet and make a huge bubble bath.
When the towel proves insufficient, I grab a huge trash can and begin collecting the waterfall gushing from the sink. I soak up all the surrounding water as the coursing river slows to a trickle, and decide to try an experiment.
I turn back on the faucet.
Idiot.
Unleash Niagara.
Well, at least I was sleuthing. The pipe that had become disconnected--an elbow pipe, not a goose neck as I was to learn--was supposed to be connected to this vertical pipe that drained the sink; however, the joint was off and the nut that was supposed to be screwing the two together was failing royally at its job.
After much hard work and an emergency "Call-a-Friend" (my dad), I ended up figuring it out on my own. I jigged the pipe up and made my OWN seal--since the one that was supposed to be working was...not working.
Now, hours later, my jig is still functioning beautifully and I'm extremely proud of my handiwork.
I may not know how to make Chicken Parmesan, but I can make a mean batch of baked goods, I can dig out a driveway, I can battle spiders, and hold my own beneath the sink.
In other news, I repaired a sink! Yes, in fact, I CAN survive on my own AND I'm self-sufficient! Get ready for the story.
So I'm doing the dishes, minding my own business, when I start to realize I'm hearing a lot more running water than I should be hearing. Plus, my toes are getting uncomfortably... well, soaking wet. I look down and a river--I kid you not, a river--is pouring from beneath the kitchen sink. I think, Well. That cannot be good.
So while my pizza burns in the oven--one I made from scratch thanks to my lovely cousin's recipe :)--I fling open the cabinets under the sink
AND THE PIPES WERE ALL DISCONNECTED!!!!
Nope. Definitely not good.
So while water gushes everywhere, I scramble for a towel and try to scrape all the bottles of cleaning solution out from under the sink, so the stuff doesn't all get wet and make a huge bubble bath.
When the towel proves insufficient, I grab a huge trash can and begin collecting the waterfall gushing from the sink. I soak up all the surrounding water as the coursing river slows to a trickle, and decide to try an experiment.
I turn back on the faucet.
Idiot.
Unleash Niagara.
Well, at least I was sleuthing. The pipe that had become disconnected--an elbow pipe, not a goose neck as I was to learn--was supposed to be connected to this vertical pipe that drained the sink; however, the joint was off and the nut that was supposed to be screwing the two together was failing royally at its job.
After much hard work and an emergency "Call-a-Friend" (my dad), I ended up figuring it out on my own. I jigged the pipe up and made my OWN seal--since the one that was supposed to be working was...not working.
I may not know how to make Chicken Parmesan, but I can make a mean batch of baked goods, I can dig out a driveway, I can battle spiders, and hold my own beneath the sink.
Monsters in the Closet
I got attacked by a demon
So gross. I walked into the hallway and saw this ugly creature on my jacket and thought--Well. Now I'm not going outside. So I sprayed the thing with bug spray (although after intense scrutiny of the label, I realized its mostly just for flies and mosquitos. But hey, its a bug). It scurried into hiding under the collar of the jacket and I stood in the hall, screeching in a rather high pitch that I'm not sure I've ever reached before.
I retreated into the laundry room and found a mop with a long handle. Flinging open the door of the washing machine, I prepared the cage for my future prisoner. I tiptoed toward the jacket and skillfully maneuvered the mop-handle so that I could lift the jacket without rustling the captive (the only thing worse than seeing the spider was worrying about it dropping on the ground, scurrying up my leg, and biting me. Because that would have been the likely outcome had this lifting process gone awry).
So, I levitated the jacket and managed to shove it into the washing machine, slam the door shut, and pressed every button I could to get the thing running before the spider could escape and seek revenge.
Last night I dreamed about spiders in my sheets and crawling in my ears. Sick. And my skin won't stop itching. I woke up screaming at one point, thinking there were spiders crawling across my face, only to find I was merely strangling myself with my unruly hair.
In other news, I'm coming home in about a week, so I can pack up some school clothes and get the rest of my belongings before moving back up here for the rest of the semester. I'm thinking I should add "Bug Repellent" to the shopping list of supplies.
Also, while I'm home, I'm planning a visit to Westmont (those dates would be about Feb 5th/6th). So: see me. Because I don't think I'll be able to get down the mountain for the rest of the semester.
Time to figure out some plan for lunch.
Love.
So gross. I walked into the hallway and saw this ugly creature on my jacket and thought--Well. Now I'm not going outside. So I sprayed the thing with bug spray (although after intense scrutiny of the label, I realized its mostly just for flies and mosquitos. But hey, its a bug). It scurried into hiding under the collar of the jacket and I stood in the hall, screeching in a rather high pitch that I'm not sure I've ever reached before.
I retreated into the laundry room and found a mop with a long handle. Flinging open the door of the washing machine, I prepared the cage for my future prisoner. I tiptoed toward the jacket and skillfully maneuvered the mop-handle so that I could lift the jacket without rustling the captive (the only thing worse than seeing the spider was worrying about it dropping on the ground, scurrying up my leg, and biting me. Because that would have been the likely outcome had this lifting process gone awry).
So, I levitated the jacket and managed to shove it into the washing machine, slam the door shut, and pressed every button I could to get the thing running before the spider could escape and seek revenge.
Last night I dreamed about spiders in my sheets and crawling in my ears. Sick. And my skin won't stop itching. I woke up screaming at one point, thinking there were spiders crawling across my face, only to find I was merely strangling myself with my unruly hair.
In other news, I'm coming home in about a week, so I can pack up some school clothes and get the rest of my belongings before moving back up here for the rest of the semester. I'm thinking I should add "Bug Repellent" to the shopping list of supplies.
Also, while I'm home, I'm planning a visit to Westmont (those dates would be about Feb 5th/6th). So: see me. Because I don't think I'll be able to get down the mountain for the rest of the semester.
Time to figure out some plan for lunch.
Love.
Jan 15, 2009
Beyond our Galaxy...
The first thing I read this morning, a wisdom from Thomas Merton, reminded me yet again that I cannot do anything on my own: that my own resources are inadequate and any plan I can make for my life will never compare to His.
"There is a paradox that lies in the very heart of the human existence. It must be apprehended before any lasting happiness is possible in the soul of a man. The paradox is this: man's nature, by itself, can do little or nothing to settle his most important problems. If we follow nothing but our natures, our own philosophies, our own level of ethics, we will end up in hell.
"This would be a depressing thought, if it were not purely abstract. Because in the concrete order of things God gave man a nature that was ordered to a supernatural life. He created man with a soul that was made not to bring itself to perfection in its own order, but to be perfected by Him in an order infinitely beyond the reach of human powers. We were never destined to lead purely natural lives, and therefore we were never destined in God's plan for a purely natural beatitude. Our nature, which is a free gift of God, was given to us to be perfected and enhanced by another free gift that is not due it.
"This free gift is 'sanctifying grace.' It perfects our nature with the gift of a life, an intellection, a love, a mode of existence infinitely above its own level. If a man were to arrive even at the abstract pinnacle of natural perfection, God's work would not even be half done: it would be only about to begin, for the real work is the work of grace and the infused virtues and the gifts of the Holy Ghost."
--Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain
God, thanks for not leaving me to my own devices.
"Still, Father, forgive them,
they don't understand," the Savior
sighs, as He lowers His head,
blinks rain from His eyes.
Hearing, I kneel in the quaking of
days: the words pour their healing
over souls
decades scathed.
While the sky beats its torment down onto
His frame, He instead soothes Forgiveness;
His gaze whispers my name.
Therefore, I blink blindness out of my humble sight
and when we plunge in the spear
He melts shadow into--Light.
(c)me. today.
"There is a paradox that lies in the very heart of the human existence. It must be apprehended before any lasting happiness is possible in the soul of a man. The paradox is this: man's nature, by itself, can do little or nothing to settle his most important problems. If we follow nothing but our natures, our own philosophies, our own level of ethics, we will end up in hell.
"This would be a depressing thought, if it were not purely abstract. Because in the concrete order of things God gave man a nature that was ordered to a supernatural life. He created man with a soul that was made not to bring itself to perfection in its own order, but to be perfected by Him in an order infinitely beyond the reach of human powers. We were never destined to lead purely natural lives, and therefore we were never destined in God's plan for a purely natural beatitude. Our nature, which is a free gift of God, was given to us to be perfected and enhanced by another free gift that is not due it.
"This free gift is 'sanctifying grace.' It perfects our nature with the gift of a life, an intellection, a love, a mode of existence infinitely above its own level. If a man were to arrive even at the abstract pinnacle of natural perfection, God's work would not even be half done: it would be only about to begin, for the real work is the work of grace and the infused virtues and the gifts of the Holy Ghost."
--Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain
God, thanks for not leaving me to my own devices.
"Still, Father, forgive them,
they don't understand," the Savior
sighs, as He lowers His head,
blinks rain from His eyes.
Hearing, I kneel in the quaking of
days: the words pour their healing
over souls
decades scathed.
While the sky beats its torment down onto
His frame, He instead soothes Forgiveness;
His gaze whispers my name.
Therefore, I blink blindness out of my humble sight
and when we plunge in the spear
He melts shadow into--Light.
(c)me. today.
See the Art in me
My heart buzzes with a thousand words and the warmth spreads from the core of my chest, out into my extremities and each time I flex my fingers, the electricity pulses outward, outward,
Out.
Now I know why the snow melts. My joy is spreading.
And tonight I rested with my head on the pillow and stared into the darkness of the room and for once, I wasn't filled with anxiety, I didn't feel the tired tears seeping down my cheeks, I wasn't desperate for another voice to break the silence.
It was just me: with the whole wide world, spread out at my feet.
Somewhere, I still feel Limbo-ed; I still want that threshold of home. But instead of longing, I am waiting, ready to be In-Between for as long as it takes for Him to decide that I am ready to belong. For now, He wants me stretched into temporary discomfort--and that's okay. Out here, surrounded only by the skies and strangers, I still wait for the day when I can relax back into the arms of the familiar and sip tea beside a fire I made myself, whispering long into the night to a voice that doesn't vanish when I hang up the phone.
But I am not helplessly longing. I am simply: waiting. And while I wait, I savor every minute I'm given in this place, for this time in my life.
Thanks be to God. Only He has numbered our days.
Out.
Now I know why the snow melts. My joy is spreading.
And tonight I rested with my head on the pillow and stared into the darkness of the room and for once, I wasn't filled with anxiety, I didn't feel the tired tears seeping down my cheeks, I wasn't desperate for another voice to break the silence.
It was just me: with the whole wide world, spread out at my feet.
Somewhere, I still feel Limbo-ed; I still want that threshold of home. But instead of longing, I am waiting, ready to be In-Between for as long as it takes for Him to decide that I am ready to belong. For now, He wants me stretched into temporary discomfort--and that's okay. Out here, surrounded only by the skies and strangers, I still wait for the day when I can relax back into the arms of the familiar and sip tea beside a fire I made myself, whispering long into the night to a voice that doesn't vanish when I hang up the phone.
But I am not helplessly longing. I am simply: waiting. And while I wait, I savor every minute I'm given in this place, for this time in my life.
Thanks be to God. Only He has numbered our days.
Jan 14, 2009
Catching my breath...
People.
I got.
The
JOB!
God: Either You are out of Your mind, or I am out of mine.
I cannot believe this is happening. Two days ago I was wasting away, crying my insecurities out and praying for a miracle.
I got. My. Miracle.
SO: the details: I have to take the CBEST (ew) but all I have to do is pass it (I hope it's easier than it sounds), I start around February 12 and go til May 29th, it's a group of gorgeous 8th, 9th, and 10th graders, I'll be teaching Language Arts (mostly teaching them how to write and structure essays and analytically discuss literature--all three of my specialties) and Social Studies (Geography--I'm screwed but I have a whole manual haha--and some other history things). Ultimately, they needed someone who can give these kids the writing skills they need to succeed.
Ok, so next week sees me in Fresno, filling out paperwork with the Education people down there, and fingerprinting, the works. Then the CBEST is the beginning of February. And I start just after that.
The community up here is full of Life and Joy. Tomorrow I'm going to spend some time with a bunch of the staff people up here--Emily, the beautiful woman whose class I'm covering and her husband have invited me to come get to know everyone!
So much for the "recluse writer"! (thank goodness; I was getting lonely).
As the snow begins to thaw, I launch into my next adventure.
My life is so much better when I let 'Someone Else' take the reigns.
I got.
The
JOB!
God: Either You are out of Your mind, or I am out of mine.
I cannot believe this is happening. Two days ago I was wasting away, crying my insecurities out and praying for a miracle.
I got. My. Miracle.
SO: the details: I have to take the CBEST (ew) but all I have to do is pass it (I hope it's easier than it sounds), I start around February 12 and go til May 29th, it's a group of gorgeous 8th, 9th, and 10th graders, I'll be teaching Language Arts (mostly teaching them how to write and structure essays and analytically discuss literature--all three of my specialties) and Social Studies (Geography--I'm screwed but I have a whole manual haha--and some other history things). Ultimately, they needed someone who can give these kids the writing skills they need to succeed.
Ok, so next week sees me in Fresno, filling out paperwork with the Education people down there, and fingerprinting, the works. Then the CBEST is the beginning of February. And I start just after that.
The community up here is full of Life and Joy. Tomorrow I'm going to spend some time with a bunch of the staff people up here--Emily, the beautiful woman whose class I'm covering and her husband have invited me to come get to know everyone!
So much for the "recluse writer"! (thank goodness; I was getting lonely).
As the snow begins to thaw, I launch into my next adventure.
My life is so much better when I let 'Someone Else' take the reigns.
Jan 13, 2009
About to slip into sleep ...
Whether or not you're a praying person, send a shout-out to the Big Guy for me: tomorrow I venture to the school to see what I might be getting myself into.
I'm gathering a more concrete idea of who reads this out-pour of my soul and have been thinking of you; God grant you all Peace tonight.
I'm gathering a more concrete idea of who reads this out-pour of my soul and have been thinking of you; God grant you all Peace tonight.
Today I've learned something Powerful.
After all the choices I've made, and the way He lets me make my own choices even when He knows I'll mess it up while the world turns to mush in my hands--the one thing I know without a doubt is the grace of God, and His forgiveness. His redemption keeps me going.
"He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." (Colossians 1:13-14)
And at the end of the day, and at the dawn of each new morning, when I don't know how to turn myself out of the bedclothes or how to bear up under the pressures of the world, I realize I am not alone. I don't have to ever be--alone. He has placed me in the middle of the Faithful, and reminds me daily that Love keeps our feet moving forward, puts our heads back on our shoulders, and shoves my glasses up my nose as I enter each blessed moment.
"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with one another and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity."(Colossians 3:12-14)
"He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." (Colossians 1:13-14)
And at the end of the day, and at the dawn of each new morning, when I don't know how to turn myself out of the bedclothes or how to bear up under the pressures of the world, I realize I am not alone. I don't have to ever be--alone. He has placed me in the middle of the Faithful, and reminds me daily that Love keeps our feet moving forward, puts our heads back on our shoulders, and shoves my glasses up my nose as I enter each blessed moment.
"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with one another and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity."(Colossians 3:12-14)
Phil 4:6-7
I am missing that sense of belonging.
The feeling of complete peace in the pit of your stomach when your foot crosses the threshold of permanence into Home.
When will I cease to be "guest" and begin to be "member"? To be part of the core of a household, where the decorations on the walls are my creations, where the frames are littered with my friends and family, where the phone rings and I know it could only be for me, because this is My Home.
As much as I love the adventure of Limbo--the loitering in-between, belonging everywhere and nowhere--my chest aches for solidarity. Right now, each place is just a rest-stop. I temporarily occupied a few rooms on a college campus for years while I got a degree; I pause in the basement of a relative's cabin and write into the night; I visit the trees and walk around a path that circles a familiar lake, knowing I'd better do it everyday because there will be a time when I can't. Soon I'll go home and borrow a room in my parent's house until I pack up my world again in a suitcase and traipse to the next adventure. June sees me immersed in Ireland; July catapults me into the possible grad-school future, riddled with apartment rentals where you can't paint your own walls and have to share spaces with people who have no history in my life.
My faith and God are the only permanent features in this whirlwind; In a whispered instant, His Peace overwhelms me and I am transformed from the flailing fool into the grounded believer.
You cannot know the plans I have for you, he soothes. You cannot even begin to fathom.
Still, I long for the tangible, predictable presence of belonging: beneath my feet as I tread, or beneath my head as it rests on a shoulder, or before my eyes as they gaze over a familiar, reliable landscape.
For now, the only commitment I make is a life of service to the Creator; the only library I own is His Word; the only home I have is His arms.
I pray for you all, my readers. Every morning. Even if I don't know you all by name. Please let me know how I can be specific in addressing your needs.
The feeling of complete peace in the pit of your stomach when your foot crosses the threshold of permanence into Home.
When will I cease to be "guest" and begin to be "member"? To be part of the core of a household, where the decorations on the walls are my creations, where the frames are littered with my friends and family, where the phone rings and I know it could only be for me, because this is My Home.
As much as I love the adventure of Limbo--the loitering in-between, belonging everywhere and nowhere--my chest aches for solidarity. Right now, each place is just a rest-stop. I temporarily occupied a few rooms on a college campus for years while I got a degree; I pause in the basement of a relative's cabin and write into the night; I visit the trees and walk around a path that circles a familiar lake, knowing I'd better do it everyday because there will be a time when I can't. Soon I'll go home and borrow a room in my parent's house until I pack up my world again in a suitcase and traipse to the next adventure. June sees me immersed in Ireland; July catapults me into the possible grad-school future, riddled with apartment rentals where you can't paint your own walls and have to share spaces with people who have no history in my life.
My faith and God are the only permanent features in this whirlwind; In a whispered instant, His Peace overwhelms me and I am transformed from the flailing fool into the grounded believer.
You cannot know the plans I have for you, he soothes. You cannot even begin to fathom.
Still, I long for the tangible, predictable presence of belonging: beneath my feet as I tread, or beneath my head as it rests on a shoulder, or before my eyes as they gaze over a familiar, reliable landscape.
For now, the only commitment I make is a life of service to the Creator; the only library I own is His Word; the only home I have is His arms.
I pray for you all, my readers. Every morning. Even if I don't know you all by name. Please let me know how I can be specific in addressing your needs.
Jan 12, 2009
We'll call it Karma
This morning, I got off the phone after an enlightening and empowering conversation with my ideal grad school prospect, consumed another fantasy novel about dragons and pretty ladies with white hair, stood on the front porch of the cabin, and exhaled for as long as possible.
Even if I can't spew fire-breath like the dragons can, I still felt powerful. And if I had wings, I'd be tearing across the sky.
I screamed happily to the heavens, "GOD! HELLO! WHAT'S NEXT?"
Not an hour later, I received a telephone call from a friend up here asking if I wanted to do a long-term substitute teaching job until June, for the junior highers' English and History class.
I got off the phone, walked back to the balcony with my fists on my hips, and growled at the sky:
"Verry funny."
When I first heard about this prospective job, it was a week ago and I decided God and I weren't on speaking-terms, because I was angry at his little joke.
Now, I surrender. Because He kept bantering me, albeit gently, to get out of my own way, and realize that I have been presented with a golden opportunity to rock the hearts of children, when it's not too late to make an impact before they're launched into the world.
So, Wednesday morning, I go to observe the classroom and talk with the teacher whose place I would be taking (she's going on maternity leave).
My God is a great comedian. My God likes to throw me for a loop and see how I fare. He does it because He likes what crawls out the other end of the jungle-gym.
My God is a great comedian. And He'd rather make me laugh with His irony, than see me cry when I fail because I take my life into my own hands.
I'm no tragic hero; I am no fool. I'm no Desdemona.
I'm the mage that burns white fire from her palms; I'm the nymph peering at you from the tree.
Dream for me, Creator.
Sweet Jesus, make Your dreams: reality.
Even if I can't spew fire-breath like the dragons can, I still felt powerful. And if I had wings, I'd be tearing across the sky.
I screamed happily to the heavens, "GOD! HELLO! WHAT'S NEXT?"
Not an hour later, I received a telephone call from a friend up here asking if I wanted to do a long-term substitute teaching job until June, for the junior highers' English and History class.
I got off the phone, walked back to the balcony with my fists on my hips, and growled at the sky:
"Verry funny."
When I first heard about this prospective job, it was a week ago and I decided God and I weren't on speaking-terms, because I was angry at his little joke.
Now, I surrender. Because He kept bantering me, albeit gently, to get out of my own way, and realize that I have been presented with a golden opportunity to rock the hearts of children, when it's not too late to make an impact before they're launched into the world.
So, Wednesday morning, I go to observe the classroom and talk with the teacher whose place I would be taking (she's going on maternity leave).
My God is a great comedian. My God likes to throw me for a loop and see how I fare. He does it because He likes what crawls out the other end of the jungle-gym.
My God is a great comedian. And He'd rather make me laugh with His irony, than see me cry when I fail because I take my life into my own hands.
I'm no tragic hero; I am no fool. I'm no Desdemona.
I'm the mage that burns white fire from her palms; I'm the nymph peering at you from the tree.
Dream for me, Creator.
Sweet Jesus, make Your dreams: reality.
Are you Listening?
Hi, God ... It's me, Kellie.
I know You think You're invisible, so You can be everywhere at once. But I caught You today and You know it.
I felt You when You waited by my bed for me to wake, whispering Your love across my face.
I felt Your Touch upon my cheek as I lifted sleepy lids to greet the day.
I saw You, trailing Your hand across the trees so the snow would fall like glitter to the forest floor.
I saw You, tiptoeing across the rim of the mountains, trailing iridescent clouds in Your wake.
You think You're invisible, but I can see You.
And I'm glad.
I know You think You're invisible, so You can be everywhere at once. But I caught You today and You know it.
I felt You when You waited by my bed for me to wake, whispering Your love across my face.
I felt Your Touch upon my cheek as I lifted sleepy lids to greet the day.
I saw You, trailing Your hand across the trees so the snow would fall like glitter to the forest floor.
I saw You, tiptoeing across the rim of the mountains, trailing iridescent clouds in Your wake.
You think You're invisible, but I can see You.
And I'm glad.
There's an Insect in my Sheets.
(thought that might catch your attention!) I've discovered a spider in my bed. I chased it out but I have a bite on my shoulder and I'm afraid to get back in. Plan of attack: I'll creep on the edge, peering over the comforter with bug spray ...
Kelsey has reminded me: all you Westmontians start school again tomorrow. And me? I have a telephoned grad school interview at ten-o'clock in the morning, followed by another week of solitude (Heather and Bobby flee to civilization with their dog, leaving the rabid beast--me, not the dog--caged in the cave). Baha
I'm going to start shout-outs. Tonight I wish to say HELLO to Santa Barbara :) Stick your toes in the ocean for me.
School. Who'd have thought that so soon liberated, I'd be rushing to apply for the next phase?
Tonight, God brought me grace in the context of a conversation and through the conduits of Love ... before I'd even remembered to ask Him to hold me, He'd wrapped His arms about me and the phone was ringing with the gentle voice of my heart on the other end, so many hours away. Our God is Good, sings my soul.
After the conversation of inspiration and encouragement that I received from Zak, I made myself a cup of boiling hot chocolate and stood outside, with my feet in the snow and my nose in the stars.
In the next few days, I may be quite Still, in Prayer and quiet meditation on the wondrous things with which He has surrounded me.
Keep my heart and my soul in your prayers, my gentle readers. And I shall cradle yours in mine.
Kelsey has reminded me: all you Westmontians start school again tomorrow. And me? I have a telephoned grad school interview at ten-o'clock in the morning, followed by another week of solitude (Heather and Bobby flee to civilization with their dog, leaving the rabid beast--me, not the dog--caged in the cave). Baha
I'm going to start shout-outs. Tonight I wish to say HELLO to Santa Barbara :) Stick your toes in the ocean for me.
School. Who'd have thought that so soon liberated, I'd be rushing to apply for the next phase?
Tonight, God brought me grace in the context of a conversation and through the conduits of Love ... before I'd even remembered to ask Him to hold me, He'd wrapped His arms about me and the phone was ringing with the gentle voice of my heart on the other end, so many hours away. Our God is Good, sings my soul.
After the conversation of inspiration and encouragement that I received from Zak, I made myself a cup of boiling hot chocolate and stood outside, with my feet in the snow and my nose in the stars.
In the next few days, I may be quite Still, in Prayer and quiet meditation on the wondrous things with which He has surrounded me.
Keep my heart and my soul in your prayers, my gentle readers. And I shall cradle yours in mine.
Jan 11, 2009
I cannot feel my fingers
Therefore this typing is an interesting experience. Apparantly my joints freeze up in the cold just like an old person!
I ate it twice today, walking around the lake. Once at the very end of the lake path, once just before reaching the cabin. Guess I got cocky when I knew I was almost done!
At least I wasn't alone--Heather and Bobby and Hudson were there to witness my demise.
This is very difficult to type. My fingers are like useless french fries at the end of my arms.
I ate it twice today, walking around the lake. Once at the very end of the lake path, once just before reaching the cabin. Guess I got cocky when I knew I was almost done!
At least I wasn't alone--Heather and Bobby and Hudson were there to witness my demise.
This is very difficult to type. My fingers are like useless french fries at the end of my arms.
Jan 10, 2009
My Heart just shattered in a thousand pieces
I've accidentally deleted a bunch of my journal postings ...
I hope He's listening to my heart tonight because I have no words. Just more wrinkles.
Nothing more to say.
As I lay me down to sleep
I pray thee, Lord, that as I weep
You cradle heart's last fading cry
and press the sleep to tear-stained eye.
I hope He's listening to my heart tonight because I have no words. Just more wrinkles.
Nothing more to say.
As I lay me down to sleep
I pray thee, Lord, that as I weep
You cradle heart's last fading cry
and press the sleep to tear-stained eye.
When I was young, I knew everything.
Two out of three personal statements nearly done. Praise God. And I think, after hours: of sitting staring at a silent lake; of waiting over a blank page; of creasing frowns into my forehead while searching for the perfect words--I think I am beginning to understand what I am passionate about. With everything else, with every other influence, stripped away, I am left with only my own thoughts to get me through the day. I am driven by my own needs, and my own desires, and am free to daily turn them over to God that He may clearer direct my path.
So: I'm starting to discover--Me. No strings. Just me. And I like what I see.
In other news, I've acquired some company; my cousin--Heather--and her husband--Bobby--have joined me for the weekend and a fire crackles happily upstairs while my companions read by its glow.
And. I got to babysit a dog who thinks it's a child.
Strange little creature.
Hudson also believes himself to be a lapdog and attempted to prove it by crawling over my notebook--upon which I was furtively scribbling my grad-school work--and fit half his body atop my legs
Listening: Secondhand Serenade, "Almost Alive". Beautifully tragic and emo. Not a reflection of my mood but I so enjoy the lilting, mourning acoustics. It's the kind of music that makes you want to lie on your bed and stare at the ceiling with your hands behind your head, while heaving really, slow, sighs.
I just realized my cell phone hasn't been on in eleven days.
Beautiful
So: I'm starting to discover--Me. No strings. Just me. And I like what I see.
In other news, I've acquired some company; my cousin--Heather--and her husband--Bobby--have joined me for the weekend and a fire crackles happily upstairs while my companions read by its glow.
And. I got to babysit a dog who thinks it's a child.
Hudson also believes himself to be a lapdog and attempted to prove it by crawling over my notebook--upon which I was furtively scribbling my grad-school work--and fit half his body atop my legs
Needless to say, I didn't get any work done until I'd carousel-ed him around the couch about eighty times, chasing him in an "attempt" to steal his toy, and eventually caused him to collapse in exhaustion--over my lap. Using him as a table, I frantically scribbled out four pages of Personal-Statementing before he woke up again, ready to run in more circles.
Listening: Secondhand Serenade, "Almost Alive". Beautifully tragic and emo. Not a reflection of my mood but I so enjoy the lilting, mourning acoustics. It's the kind of music that makes you want to lie on your bed and stare at the ceiling with your hands behind your head, while heaving really, slow, sighs.
I just realized my cell phone hasn't been on in eleven days.
Beautiful
Jan 9, 2009
Leona Naess is my Happy Place
After a long trend of going to bed at 2am and waking up at 7:30, I slept in until 1pm today.
Mind you, I did wake at the usual 7:30. However, this morning the cave was so cold and the atmosphere outside the window was a hushed blue, tainting even the snow to an eerie aqua as if the sky was still sleeping in the snow. So I lay (laid?hmm) in bed, with the comforter pulled up to my chin, and whispered at Moo Cow (stuffed cow. don't ask): "Do you think they know we're awake?"
They being the two squirrels who were boldly crouching outside my window.
Moo Cow didn't respond, so I took it as a "no" and rolled over, back into sleep.
At ten a.m., my alarm went off again (I have two, as precautionary measures against this very occasion) and I pressed it off and looked again out the window.
Though the squirrels had abandoned their post, the sky was still sprawled over the snow. I decided, if the world doesn't have to wake up, then neither do I.
Two hours past my second awakening and I'm blinking groggy eyes to the Reader-World in order that I may make my confession: I have wasted half the day lolling in bed and I don't care.
In between my sporadic awakenings, I had the strangest dreams. Some were frightening and I can't remember them; some were just strange. Probably the product of last night's decision to watch television before sleeping (a rarity up here): A Baby Story, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, That 70s Show, Punk'd and Bridezilla crept their way into my dreams in a very strange combination of Will Smith-meets-Triplets-meets-Pranks-meets-me-alone-at-the-altar-because-I-made-my-bridesmaids-wear-Neon-Green.
Additionally, in the episode last night, Will decided to alope with his girlfriend and they went to Vegas for a wedding involving a boistrous 'soul-brother' and a chorus of women impersonating the Temptations.
So naturally, at my groom-less, weddingparty-less, nearly audience-less (Ashton Kutcher was in the front row waving like an idiot) wedding, the Temptations made an appearance and I was wearing an abnormally large black afro-wig with a strange little tweaked tiara resting on top of the horror.
And you wonder why I kept going back to sleep.
Mind you, I did wake at the usual 7:30. However, this morning the cave was so cold and the atmosphere outside the window was a hushed blue, tainting even the snow to an eerie aqua as if the sky was still sleeping in the snow. So I lay (laid?hmm) in bed, with the comforter pulled up to my chin, and whispered at Moo Cow (stuffed cow. don't ask): "Do you think they know we're awake?"
They being the two squirrels who were boldly crouching outside my window.
Moo Cow didn't respond, so I took it as a "no" and rolled over, back into sleep.
At ten a.m., my alarm went off again (I have two, as precautionary measures against this very occasion) and I pressed it off and looked again out the window.
Though the squirrels had abandoned their post, the sky was still sprawled over the snow. I decided, if the world doesn't have to wake up, then neither do I.
Two hours past my second awakening and I'm blinking groggy eyes to the Reader-World in order that I may make my confession: I have wasted half the day lolling in bed and I don't care.
In between my sporadic awakenings, I had the strangest dreams. Some were frightening and I can't remember them; some were just strange. Probably the product of last night's decision to watch television before sleeping (a rarity up here): A Baby Story, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, That 70s Show, Punk'd and Bridezilla crept their way into my dreams in a very strange combination of Will Smith-meets-Triplets-meets-Pranks-meets-me-alone-at-the-altar-because-I-made-my-bridesmaids-wear-Neon-Green.
Additionally, in the episode last night, Will decided to alope with his girlfriend and they went to Vegas for a wedding involving a boistrous 'soul-brother' and a chorus of women impersonating the Temptations.
So naturally, at my groom-less, weddingparty-less, nearly audience-less (Ashton Kutcher was in the front row waving like an idiot) wedding, the Temptations made an appearance and I was wearing an abnormally large black afro-wig with a strange little tweaked tiara resting on top of the horror.
And you wonder why I kept going back to sleep.
Hello, Anonymous
I would like to give you all a warm hug. Ahem
I wonder
if we foster the fundamentals of plagiarism in children
when we encourage them to do puzzles.
Today, I finished a puzzle and declared (loudly, and to ... nobody): "Look at what I made!!!"
And then I thought. I didn't make this. Well, I put it together. But someone else made it. That's someone else's painting. Someone else intricately cut all those pieces so that the poor unsuspecting puzzlefiend--me--would sit for hours under the dim overhead lighting and press the little things together just to hear them
SNAP.
I didn't make that. I just poured the little glories out of a (rather charming) wicker basket and matched the colors together.
After the feeling of defeat had fully filled my deflated ego, I descended into the basement to make... a completely brilliant beret. Out of yarn. Crocheting.
I'd take a picture and post it but I am too embarrassed.
I am also. Very Proud
I wonder
if we foster the fundamentals of plagiarism in children
when we encourage them to do puzzles.
Today, I finished a puzzle and declared (loudly, and to ... nobody): "Look at what I made!!!"
And then I thought. I didn't make this. Well, I put it together. But someone else made it. That's someone else's painting. Someone else intricately cut all those pieces so that the poor unsuspecting puzzlefiend--me--would sit for hours under the dim overhead lighting and press the little things together just to hear them
SNAP.
I didn't make that. I just poured the little glories out of a (rather charming) wicker basket and matched the colors together.
After the feeling of defeat had fully filled my deflated ego, I descended into the basement to make... a completely brilliant beret. Out of yarn. Crocheting.
I'd take a picture and post it but I am too embarrassed.
I am also. Very Proud
.
Jan 8, 2009
Vul-Ner-A-Ble? ...
... Im-Possi-Ble...
Today I sat beside a lake.
I did not bring a phone--they don't work here. I didn't bring
a map. I wasn't going anywhere.
I did not bring a camera, to capture
another mountain
behind a lens.
I did not bring a pen: there were not sufficient words to write
the breeze that froze in the air, suspended
over my skin like the lips
of a lover;
like the hand of a Friend.
Today I sat beside a lake.
I did not bring a phone--they don't work here. I didn't bring
a map. I wasn't going anywhere.
I did not bring a camera, to capture
another mountain
behind a lens.
I did not bring a pen: there were not sufficient words to write
the breeze that froze in the air, suspended
over my skin like the lips
of a lover;
like the hand of a Friend.
Jan 7, 2009
This is not my Night ...
I met the Devil today.
Only he didn't have a tail and horns; he was round and ugly and full of boiling oil.
Pick me up, he hissed, You're going to get grease allll over the counter.
And I thought, oh good idea 'little, innocent, unassuming mocha-can': didn't want to make a mess!
So I lifted my right hand and wrapped my thumb and first two fingers around its rim, raising the can from the counter and thinking, "Something feels very wrong."
Hisssssss said the Devil and flaming fire scorched its heat across my skin, burning my poor sensitive fingers and requiring me to type this journal entry with one hand.
On top of the Devil, I burned my bacon beyond recognition, much less capability of consumption.
On top of the Devil and royally failing at food, I bawled like a baby for a half hour--no, not exaggerating--while I ran my burns under ice-cold-water. Once I'd recovered my dignity, I had to clear my fogged glasses, so I took them off and set them down to wipe my eyes.
Imagine my terror when I went to feel for where I thought I had set them and couldn't find the dumb glasses. So I'm stuck there, blind in the kitchen--and you really need to understand how BLIND I am: without glasses/contacts, I can't tell where one thing changes to another. Colors blend together, everything looks like one-big-one-thing.
Of course, when I picked up the first circular thing my fingers could find, imagine the scream that tore through the house when it ended up being the Devil again, sinking his teeth once more into my already weeping skin.
Needless to say, I eventually found my glasses. In the meantime, the egg I'd left cooking on the skillet had adopted a costume similar to my scorched bacon.
No longer hungry, I slumped down here to cry alone in the basement of a house surrounded by snow. So emo.
Only he didn't have a tail and horns; he was round and ugly and full of boiling oil.
And I thought, oh good idea 'little, innocent, unassuming mocha-can': didn't want to make a mess!
So I lifted my right hand and wrapped my thumb and first two fingers around its rim, raising the can from the counter and thinking, "Something feels very wrong."
Hisssssss said the Devil and flaming fire scorched its heat across my skin, burning my poor sensitive fingers and requiring me to type this journal entry with one hand.
On top of the Devil and royally failing at food, I bawled like a baby for a half hour--no, not exaggerating--while I ran my burns under ice-cold-water. Once I'd recovered my dignity, I had to clear my fogged glasses, so I took them off and set them down to wipe my eyes.
Imagine my terror when I went to feel for where I thought I had set them and couldn't find the dumb glasses. So I'm stuck there, blind in the kitchen--and you really need to understand how BLIND I am: without glasses/contacts, I can't tell where one thing changes to another. Colors blend together, everything looks like one-big-one-thing.
Of course, when I picked up the first circular thing my fingers could find, imagine the scream that tore through the house when it ended up being the Devil again, sinking his teeth once more into my already weeping skin.
Needless to say, I eventually found my glasses. In the meantime, the egg I'd left cooking on the skillet had adopted a costume similar to my scorched bacon.
No longer hungry, I slumped down here to cry alone in the basement of a house surrounded by snow. So emo.
Prepare Yourselves
Ladies and Gentlemen, Friends, Family, Enemies and Loves:
I. Have. Begun. My. Personal. Statements.
And they are rocking my world.
I decided to first work on Seattle Pacific's, since it's a Christian University and they don't want to know why I want to go there; they want to know what's gotten me here, as it relates to my personal journey.
So I've got a paragraph down. *ahem*
By my junior year of college, if asked about my spiritual life I would have presented my dissertation beginning with a pretentious snort and ending with: "God's a malicious deity who got bored and created these humans who could choose to either worship him for eternity, or spend it burning with all the other individualists." No, I didn't grow up in a pagan household, nor did I go to a school-for-heathens--in fact, Westmont College prides itself in the presence of God on its campus. We all attended chapel three times a week, took the compulsory religious courses, and demonstrated our 'Christian fidelity' through enrollment in as many "Ministry Clubs" as possible.
ba ha. Anyway, a little later, after salvaging my dignity and explaining that this is a story of grace, I explain my initial motivation for picking up the pen:
Though I didn't have the nerve to doubt this obscure Listener/Diety/Other, I decided we--the Christian community--had gone severely wrong somewhere in our summation of Him. I didn't know how to pray anymore, so I began to write.
Even if I decide the page-and-a-half I have is not worthy of submission and do away with it, it's been an interesting experience, trying to trace my reasons for turning my back on, and then running full force towards, that Other against whom I held so many grudges, only to fall faceforward at His feet--not finding Him grinning "maliciously" as I had anticipated,
but gazing down in a sigh, from a face streaked with Tears.
I. Have. Begun. My. Personal. Statements.
And they are rocking my world.
I decided to first work on Seattle Pacific's, since it's a Christian University and they don't want to know why I want to go there; they want to know what's gotten me here, as it relates to my personal journey.
So I've got a paragraph down. *ahem*
By my junior year of college, if asked about my spiritual life I would have presented my dissertation beginning with a pretentious snort and ending with: "God's a malicious deity who got bored and created these humans who could choose to either worship him for eternity, or spend it burning with all the other individualists." No, I didn't grow up in a pagan household, nor did I go to a school-for-heathens--in fact, Westmont College prides itself in the presence of God on its campus. We all attended chapel three times a week, took the compulsory religious courses, and demonstrated our 'Christian fidelity' through enrollment in as many "Ministry Clubs" as possible.
ba ha. Anyway, a little later, after salvaging my dignity and explaining that this is a story of grace, I explain my initial motivation for picking up the pen:
Though I didn't have the nerve to doubt this obscure Listener/Diety/Other, I decided we--the Christian community--had gone severely wrong somewhere in our summation of Him. I didn't know how to pray anymore, so I began to write.
Even if I decide the page-and-a-half I have is not worthy of submission and do away with it, it's been an interesting experience, trying to trace my reasons for turning my back on, and then running full force towards, that Other against whom I held so many grudges, only to fall faceforward at His feet--not finding Him grinning "maliciously" as I had anticipated,
but gazing down in a sigh, from a face streaked with Tears.
Jan 5, 2009
You're Just jealous cause we're young and in Love
"I'd like to stay eighteen forever," I thought as I lifted
through Seventeen magazine, then stared at the mirror
in horror,
realizing I was two years away from any sort of "teen"
status and beginning to count the wrinkles that say "young adult."
gah. Where did these lines come from?
The ones etching their fingers around the corners of my eyes
and the creases of my lips. The ones dipping into my forehead
and cresting my wrists.
Aren't I only sixteen?
Aren't I nineteen?
Twenty-one and I'm already sketched like a map?
I wore my sunscreen. I lathered the lotion. I drank the water.
Wrinkled at twenty-one and they're not age-lines
but story-lines, weaving their words in and out of my skin
like a needle through a fine piece of silk.
Sometimes it snags; sometimes it runs;
sometimes it pulls a threaded tear along behind it,
but still the needle slips its way across my face
and my friends can point and say, "Here. Here is where we laughed about the shoes
that were too small, or the wine in the hall."
And then others can squint and say, "Look, there.
Look where I brushed your arm and teased
your hair and we ran for miles but we were going no-where."
Still others will touch a line embedded
in prayers and whisper, "I knew you, when you broke
right there."
And the others will cry along with the lines
that drag away twinkles from world-weary eyes.
And the Listener waits to sketch new lines on my face.
"Okay," I say. "Paint away."
through Seventeen magazine, then stared at the mirror
in horror,
realizing I was two years away from any sort of "teen"
status and beginning to count the wrinkles that say "young adult."
gah. Where did these lines come from?
The ones etching their fingers around the corners of my eyes
and the creases of my lips. The ones dipping into my forehead
and cresting my wrists.
Aren't I only sixteen?
Aren't I nineteen?
Twenty-one and I'm already sketched like a map?
I wore my sunscreen. I lathered the lotion. I drank the water.
Wrinkled at twenty-one and they're not age-lines
but story-lines, weaving their words in and out of my skin
like a needle through a fine piece of silk.
Sometimes it snags; sometimes it runs;
sometimes it pulls a threaded tear along behind it,
but still the needle slips its way across my face
and my friends can point and say, "Here. Here is where we laughed about the shoes
that were too small, or the wine in the hall."
And then others can squint and say, "Look, there.
Look where I brushed your arm and teased
your hair and we ran for miles but we were going no-where."
Still others will touch a line embedded
in prayers and whisper, "I knew you, when you broke
right there."
And the others will cry along with the lines
that drag away twinkles from world-weary eyes.
And the Listener waits to sketch new lines on my face.
"Okay," I say. "Paint away."
Dumb Sun melted the snow off the balcony Banister
Today, I am severely upset with J.K. Rowling.
She took a perfectly decent mythical beast--the basilisk--and stigmatized the creature so that I can't use him in any of my stories without thinking "Moaning Myrtle."
Ugh. Damn woman.
I forgot to eat lunch this afternoon and now I'm having dinner a half-hour late; however, I'm stoked because I've dropped the story that required the presence of said basilisk and have moved on to writing a random story (courtesy of Zak) that has to involve, among other things, a trip on a boat.
Which, I suppose, negates my original idea of a forest adventure. Another stipulation is a character that changes ... Maybe I'll turn a dog into a man.
I giggled to myself even if none of you think it's funny.
This sure beats writing Personal Statements.
She took a perfectly decent mythical beast--the basilisk--and stigmatized the creature so that I can't use him in any of my stories without thinking "Moaning Myrtle."
Ugh. Damn woman.
I forgot to eat lunch this afternoon and now I'm having dinner a half-hour late; however, I'm stoked because I've dropped the story that required the presence of said basilisk and have moved on to writing a random story (courtesy of Zak) that has to involve, among other things, a trip on a boat.
Which, I suppose, negates my original idea of a forest adventure. Another stipulation is a character that changes ... Maybe I'll turn a dog into a man.
I giggled to myself even if none of you think it's funny.
This sure beats writing Personal Statements.
Jan 4, 2009
Solitude?
I really would like to go upstairs and get one of my delicious, freshly baked muffins; however, all the lights are out and I'm afraid of being alone in the dark. :( Going hungry tonight!!
I do miss people and feel silly for missing them after so short a time. People just make my writing ... better. It's hard to write about people when there aren't any around.
"Unmarked grave"
slouched on the rock surface
of the basement floor since sunrise, attempting
to write my future by sifting
through: the past.
Ancient pages slip forth, words
release
into my haven, dragging their scars
anew--the trails wafting images of
yesterday,
of last Year.
Curled on the basement floor,
without the voice of my present,
without the ghost of a future.
Mourning:
alone, in the shadow
of a Prayer.
(c) Kellie Parkinson Jan 4, 2009.
I do miss people and feel silly for missing them after so short a time. People just make my writing ... better. It's hard to write about people when there aren't any around.
"Unmarked grave"
slouched on the rock surface
of the basement floor since sunrise, attempting
to write my future by sifting
through: the past.
Ancient pages slip forth, words
release
into my haven, dragging their scars
anew--the trails wafting images of
yesterday,
of last Year.
Curled on the basement floor,
without the voice of my present,
without the ghost of a future.
Mourning:
alone, in the shadow
of a Prayer.
(c) Kellie Parkinson Jan 4, 2009.
Flailing.
I am having ... trouble ... writing ... anything.
I have to start my "Statement of Purpose" for three graduate schools who all want to know, "Why study here?" "What is your 'intellectual autobiography'?" "Describe your development as a writer?" and I only have--blank screens and empty pages and a vague humming in the back of my mind that sounds suspiciously like the ticking of a clock. But the clock is on steroids and the deadlines are in cohorts with Time and they're both working against--me.
Against me.
God. Give me something significant to say. Please.
I am missing people. People. and conversation.
I have to start my "Statement of Purpose" for three graduate schools who all want to know, "Why study here?" "What is your 'intellectual autobiography'?" "Describe your development as a writer?" and I only have--blank screens and empty pages and a vague humming in the back of my mind that sounds suspiciously like the ticking of a clock. But the clock is on steroids and the deadlines are in cohorts with Time and they're both working against--me.
Against me.
God. Give me something significant to say. Please.
I am missing people. People. and conversation.
Think slower; breathe Deeper; speak only in a Whisper
This morning I woke to a blanket of snow, cold toes, and a mysterious scuffling outside my sliding glass door. After making the leap from my bed to the couch, where my robe was surreptitiously slung, I wrapped myself in the chilled warmth, stuck the frozen feet-digits into furry slippers, and sludged myself toward the window. A deep breath and two stuttering starts later, I flung open the curtain to reveal--a squirrel on the porch, tapping himself against the window and trying to get at something lodged in the screen-door-track.
I didn't know what to do so I froze, watching the squirrel dig his way at the metal. Within a few moments, he must have realized I was watching for he snapped his beady little black eyes up at me, blinked through the glinting glass, and went streaking across the snow and into a neighboring tree.
Now, two hours of meditation, prayer, and reading of Thomas Merton later, I'd nearly forgotten about the encounter; however, as I sat down to write this morning's post, a sharp, angry trilling from the tree outside sent me racing to the window: the squirrel has managed to dislodge a bird from one of the overhanging branches. Twittering angrily, the bird swoops around the giggling squirrel, who seems quite content to sit upon the disputed branch, batting an occasional lazy arm at the fluttering feathered creature.
I don't have a creative transition at the moment, so I dive right in:
This morning, Merton said "There is not a flower that opens, not a seed that falls into the ground and not an ear of wheat that nods on the end of its stalk in the wind that does not preach and proclaim the greatness and mercy of God to the whole world."
Just previous to this, he had been addressing a common cry of the people of the world: "If a merciful God exists, why are there so many wars? Why such suffering and pain and sorrow if the God who created us all is the source of ultimate Compassion and Mercy?"
"On the contrary," Merton says, and I can only imagine a calm smile that does not reach his eyes, for in his eyes rests the wise sorrow that comes only from empathy--only in asking these same questions can he have ever even begun to touch on an answer. "On the contrary: consider how in spite of centuries of sin and greed and lust and cruelty and hatred and avarice and oppression and injustice, spawned and bred by the free wills of men, the human race can still recover, each time, and can still produce men and women who overcome evil with good, hatred with love, greed with charity, lust and cruelty with sanctity. How could all this be possible without the merciful love of God, pouring out his grace upon us?"
I'd like to say my greatest spiritual struggle was long ago, and my 'own mental Pompeii' (image courtesy of Merton) lies buried beneath years of distance. In reality, I am still within that struggle; however, I've come leaps and bounds from where I was even a year ago. This time last year, Merton's argument never would have sufficed: I was convinced that the creation of humanity evidenced a bored Creator, who decided to draw up a people destined to fail--by His own malicious dictation--and forever required to praise and glorify that same Creator in order to not perish eternally. Therefore, Merton's explanation would have inspired in me a sarcastic, angry response about how God allowed "sin and greed and lust and cruelty and hatred and avarice and oppression and injustice" so that we would eternally need him.
Which is true. But for different reasons than my last year's mindset would have asserted. Allow me to digress for a moment ... I promise its relevant ...
Innate to the desires of every human being is the drive for independence, the seeking of freedom, the craved absolution of all bonds so that we may flit about in liberty. The desire is the core of humanity's existence--it is my belief that, though Christ's death on the cross is certainly a great sacrifice, the Creator's most significant sacrifice came at the beginning of our existence: He denied His right to manipulation, to dictation, to Order and gave us that Freedom we crave. We have Free Will to choose as we will [ which, of course, led to the required sacrifice of Christ on the Cross, due to our inability to choose paths that won't lead to personal destruction and eternal condemnation! ]
The only way we can completely embrace that Freedom is through the Surrender of that Will: Christ demonstrated this very thing in the Garden, the night before His crucifixion. "But not my will," he says. But not My Will.
The point is: war and pain evidence God's grace as powerfully as the face of the flower; as bold as the compassion of the saint. War and pain may be the direct result of our Free Will; but, God's grace enters, regardless, and grants us the embrace of a stranger, the smile of a child, the repentance of the sinner.
"... there is no positive power in sin, only negation, only annihilation: and perhaps that is why it is so destructing, it is a nothingness, and where it is, there is nothing left--a blank, a moral vacuum" (Merton Seven Storey Mountain).
Lord, make me not a "moral vacuum" but a conduit of grace. Occupy me. Only through emptying mySelf, through pouring all of Me out can I be completely filled-to-the-brim:
with You.
I didn't know what to do so I froze, watching the squirrel dig his way at the metal. Within a few moments, he must have realized I was watching for he snapped his beady little black eyes up at me, blinked through the glinting glass, and went streaking across the snow and into a neighboring tree.
Now, two hours of meditation, prayer, and reading of Thomas Merton later, I'd nearly forgotten about the encounter; however, as I sat down to write this morning's post, a sharp, angry trilling from the tree outside sent me racing to the window: the squirrel has managed to dislodge a bird from one of the overhanging branches. Twittering angrily, the bird swoops around the giggling squirrel, who seems quite content to sit upon the disputed branch, batting an occasional lazy arm at the fluttering feathered creature.
I don't have a creative transition at the moment, so I dive right in:
This morning, Merton said "There is not a flower that opens, not a seed that falls into the ground and not an ear of wheat that nods on the end of its stalk in the wind that does not preach and proclaim the greatness and mercy of God to the whole world."
Just previous to this, he had been addressing a common cry of the people of the world: "If a merciful God exists, why are there so many wars? Why such suffering and pain and sorrow if the God who created us all is the source of ultimate Compassion and Mercy?"
"On the contrary," Merton says, and I can only imagine a calm smile that does not reach his eyes, for in his eyes rests the wise sorrow that comes only from empathy--only in asking these same questions can he have ever even begun to touch on an answer. "On the contrary: consider how in spite of centuries of sin and greed and lust and cruelty and hatred and avarice and oppression and injustice, spawned and bred by the free wills of men, the human race can still recover, each time, and can still produce men and women who overcome evil with good, hatred with love, greed with charity, lust and cruelty with sanctity. How could all this be possible without the merciful love of God, pouring out his grace upon us?"
I'd like to say my greatest spiritual struggle was long ago, and my 'own mental Pompeii' (image courtesy of Merton) lies buried beneath years of distance. In reality, I am still within that struggle; however, I've come leaps and bounds from where I was even a year ago. This time last year, Merton's argument never would have sufficed: I was convinced that the creation of humanity evidenced a bored Creator, who decided to draw up a people destined to fail--by His own malicious dictation--and forever required to praise and glorify that same Creator in order to not perish eternally. Therefore, Merton's explanation would have inspired in me a sarcastic, angry response about how God allowed "sin and greed and lust and cruelty and hatred and avarice and oppression and injustice" so that we would eternally need him.
Which is true. But for different reasons than my last year's mindset would have asserted. Allow me to digress for a moment ... I promise its relevant ...
Innate to the desires of every human being is the drive for independence, the seeking of freedom, the craved absolution of all bonds so that we may flit about in liberty. The desire is the core of humanity's existence--it is my belief that, though Christ's death on the cross is certainly a great sacrifice, the Creator's most significant sacrifice came at the beginning of our existence: He denied His right to manipulation, to dictation, to Order and gave us that Freedom we crave. We have Free Will to choose as we will [ which, of course, led to the required sacrifice of Christ on the Cross, due to our inability to choose paths that won't lead to personal destruction and eternal condemnation! ]
The only way we can completely embrace that Freedom is through the Surrender of that Will: Christ demonstrated this very thing in the Garden, the night before His crucifixion. "But not my will," he says. But not My Will.
The point is: war and pain evidence God's grace as powerfully as the face of the flower; as bold as the compassion of the saint. War and pain may be the direct result of our Free Will; but, God's grace enters, regardless, and grants us the embrace of a stranger, the smile of a child, the repentance of the sinner.
"... there is no positive power in sin, only negation, only annihilation: and perhaps that is why it is so destructing, it is a nothingness, and where it is, there is nothing left--a blank, a moral vacuum" (Merton Seven Storey Mountain).
Lord, make me not a "moral vacuum" but a conduit of grace. Occupy me. Only through emptying mySelf, through pouring all of Me out can I be completely filled-to-the-brim:
with You.
Jan 3, 2009
Prismatic
Imagine the horror I faced when I stared at my blank journal-screen and found I had: nothing to say. Half-a-day's silence produces a mind, not full of words, but--white noise.
Of course, I would have keeled-over half dead, had I not realized that the silence of the mind entitled me to the first line: "Imagine the horror" dot, dot, dot. I should have left it as is and let you all worry around your rooms, wondering what possible horror I could be referencing. Perhaps--the bear's unwelcome invasion of my kitchen as I pull the pizza from the oven. In my ignorance, I had maybe left the door open to waft out the smells from the gas oven--I am always worried of asphyxiation by carbon monoxide. Awakened by the strange aroma, the bear lifts himself from hibernation, shakes off his cave of snow, and comes lopping into my kitchen, wondering if I might share with him the treat I've just pulled from the stove.
No, I tell him, I am very sorry Sir. I have a very limited supply of food and, should I share but a little, my stores might run out before my family comes to liberate me from my asylum of snow.
The bear nods heavily--one of those big, heavy nods like the ones you give children when they're telling a very very important story about how their teacher made them sit in the corner today for eating glue.
...
Hm.
For the confused portion of my Reader: I was able to consume my pizza sans-Bear-interruption.
Of course, I would have keeled-over half dead, had I not realized that the silence of the mind entitled me to the first line: "Imagine the horror" dot, dot, dot. I should have left it as is and let you all worry around your rooms, wondering what possible horror I could be referencing. Perhaps--the bear's unwelcome invasion of my kitchen as I pull the pizza from the oven. In my ignorance, I had maybe left the door open to waft out the smells from the gas oven--I am always worried of asphyxiation by carbon monoxide. Awakened by the strange aroma, the bear lifts himself from hibernation, shakes off his cave of snow, and comes lopping into my kitchen, wondering if I might share with him the treat I've just pulled from the stove.
No, I tell him, I am very sorry Sir. I have a very limited supply of food and, should I share but a little, my stores might run out before my family comes to liberate me from my asylum of snow.
The bear nods heavily--one of those big, heavy nods like the ones you give children when they're telling a very very important story about how their teacher made them sit in the corner today for eating glue.
...
Hm.
For the confused portion of my Reader: I was able to consume my pizza sans-Bear-interruption.
Jan 1, 2009
A little exhale ...
"Peace is Joy at rest. Joy is Peace on its feet."
--Anne Lamott, quoting her pastor in Salon.
--Anne Lamott, quoting her pastor in Salon.
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