Promise of Paradox

I've Been Tagged!

2008-11-04T18:55:00.002-06:00

Ok Athena, you tagged me with the hardest Tag of all...THE RANDOM FACT TAG! Arrrgggg!

Here goes a random rant of nothing:

1) Being an English teacher and an avid reader still has not allowed me to change one really annoying reality about my brain/memory...I cannot remember character's names, the general or specific plot, titles of books, author's names, or any significant details from any book I read just one time. I must discuss my books IMMEDIATELY or have someone give me the "Cliff's Notes" summary so that I can dig the book out from under the other mess in my mind.

2) What I described above applies to movies, songs, poetry, jokes, and, now that I think about it, it is the general way that my life is organized! (For instance, I cannot remember how many random facts I am supposed to generate....ugh)

3) I collect movie stubs. Most of the really old ones are all faded, but they are stuffed in two or three different loose change jugs I have around my house.

4) My future husband and I share the same name...my middle name is Renee, and his first name is Rene.

5) I won third place in Jr. State Tennis #2 doubles.

6) I never tag anyone when I do these things. I enjoy reading everyone else's; sometimes I like filling them out for myself; but, I never, never, never tag anyone. So basically, the fun stops here. Sorry!

One Day

2008-02-07T23:11:00.000-06:00

Van Gogh and Damien Rice.

Walk into this room, downstairs in the basement of the soul. Watch your head as you descend the damp wooden steps into the unfinished and unvisited room forgotten beneath the home. The ceiling is low.

Look at the window along the eastern wall. The weeds have grown without notice in the window well, creating a curtain that can't be drawn from where you stand. A few struggling rays of sunlight illuminate the one tattered poster taped to the cement wall. A cheap reproduction of one of Van Gogh's final oil paintings. Wheatfield and Mountains. Inspired by the view the genius gazed upon from his barred windows in the Saint-Remy asylum.
Beauty.
Beauty as seen through bars.

You stand and reflect on the wide sweeping movements of battered wheat and swirling clouds rising above the solemn structures of the field--wood and rock.

You are lost in the view. Listen to the song that begins to rise from the dirt floor you stand upon. Repeating piano chords dripping from the ceiling. Soft vocals wrap like a fog around your form and thoughts. Then the ache, shock, and refreshment of cold water on the broken soul.

Cold,
cold water
surrounds me now.
And all I've got
is your hand.

Lord,
can you hear me now?
Lord,
can you hear me now?
Lord,
can you hear me now?
Or
am I lost?

No one's
daughter
Allow me that
And I can't
let go
of your hand

Lord,
can you hear me now?
Lord,
can you hear me now?
Lord,
can you hear me now?
Or
am I lost?

RESPONSE:
Don't you know
I love you
and
I always have
Hallelujah
Will you come with me?

Cold,
cold water
surrounds me now
And all I've got
is your hand

Lord,
can you hear me now?
Lord,
can you hear me now?
Lord,
can you hear me now?
Or
am I lost?

A prayer exhaled in the basement of the soul.
Amen.

Seven Month Silence

2007-05-30T20:11:00.000-05:00

I have been becoming simple...ironically, it's been too complex of a process to explain here. I was telling someone the other day that I am empty. Empty of everything that has mattered (well almost). Relationships that mattered---several gone. My work---not secured. My family away from home---moving away from here. Some who have led the way---lagging behind. My home---up for sale. The place I want---not mine. Promises made---not fulfilled. My current dreams---not yet real. My most comfortable passions---attacked. My current place among roommates---drawing to a close most likely. My collaboration among familiar sisters---perhaps finalized. My movements of faith toward desires---not joined. My sights set on clarity from the light above---but only I see? Really? Why?
I HAVE TO speak this reality. I find very few people of "faith" who have much tolerance for reality. Personally, I cannot find that uncommon faith I thirst for in this life without tracing the harsh edges of every day. The deeper I name my emptiness, the wider the expanse to be filled up. I watched a documentary yesterday that I'll share with you later. The artist was talking about shadow. In that darkness is the reality of a presence. Shadow only exists in the contrasting reality of light. Certainly, becoming empty has helped me discover clearly what makes me feel full. Can you have HOPE without HOLES?

So the documentary. Above is a photograph of the artwork of ANDY GOLDSWORTHY. His work has made me think and experence something emotional like none before. He works in nature---collaboratively. His art does not often last very long. It returns to nature. His medium is movement. As seen in the above photgraph, he would artfully arrange these beautiful leaves in a shallow pool. Then he watches the tide come in and the art changes, continually becoming. If you would like to view more of his amazing work click HERE. If you want to be inspired by meeting the artist as portrayed in the documentary, I suggest you watch Rivers and Tides. The following sculpture is probably my favorite one highlighted in the documentary.

Here, Andy is connecting these strong, dry grass stalks into a web that is suspended from a beautiful tree. He uses thorns to connect the reeds of grass. I am drawn to this man because he is able to see much farther than the work of his hands. He knows full well that his sculptures will be fleeting. In fact, there is frequent footage of Andy's sculpture disintegrating within his hands as he is crafting it. In this example of the weaved reeds, a gentle wind presented itself in the moment of filming---while he was discussing this work he was in the process of creating. He stopped talking. He immediately took verbal note of the change in the wind that he felt. He noted immediately the potential impact the wind might have on the web. And as he spoke this reality, theweb began breaking. Andy reached up, instictively, and tried to steady the art. He was ever so gentle, too. He held his hand in place for what seemed so long. The art eventually gave way to the gentleness of the wind.

There was something so dynamic in that scene, to me.

I appreciated his balance as an creator of ephemeral art. He delighted in watching his art change. Yet, he completely grieved when his art was interrupted, or he failed to accomplish the piece as planned. When that web began falling apart, you knew he was not finished with it yet. You could feel the loss and disappointment. He didn't hide it. Perhaps he would place a rock in place and the entire stack of rocks would fall apart---hours of work gone---each time I felt like he should get up and kick the ground and cuss! There was that tension though. He ususally responded with a deep sigh, a groan, long silence, a little rocking back and forth, and then he would pick up the pieces and begin again.

I'll leave you with one more picture. Look carefully. This is a rock. Andy located icicles, broke them into pieces, and sculpted them into this form on the rock. Beautifully becoming all day long.

Paths Through The Prairie

2006-10-30T23:24:00.000-06:00

I just want to give you a window into one of my favorite things to do recently. I love to walk out at the KONZA PRAIRIE. I actually have not walked the trail that gets close to the bison, but I love this picture nonetheless. What amazing creatures. They look kind of prehistoric, don't they?

The landscape of the prairie is such a dichotomy: gentle shades of lighting, soft colors, rolling edges of earth, delicate grasses bending under the weight of a breeze...warm, inviting.

Yet, there are enormous limestone rocks being "birthed" from the dirt womb, mile long shevles carved by harsh edges of ice, cutting into tender earth to the very marrow of sturdy limestone hidden beneath, exposed surfaces burned by the sun and dried by the wind, very few places to hide or seek refuge.

I love the paths. There are three trails for the hiker to choose from. I usually just do the 2.5 mile trail. Yesterday, I opted to add a few miles to the hike and went the middle path, 4 miles. I loved standing on the crest of the limestone studded hills and looking at the path that stretched below.

I sort out alot of life standing on the two-foot wide grey path, looking out to the endless landscape of the prairie.

Ms. Shipley. Part 2

2006-10-01T11:47:00.000-05:00

The intention of my previous posting was to create a context in which to place the poem by Robert Frost. I never set out to spend most of my time describing Ms. Shipley. But, since posting, it has been her memory that has lingered longer than the words of Robert Frost. I have more to share about her.

I know that Ms. Shipley passed away about 10 years ago. A friend from high school, Marion, emailed me with the news. I met Marion in Ms. Shipley's class. She was sitting behind me when the wire basket sailed above. We struck up an enduring friendship. The friendship lasted until about two years into college (actually I would still consider Marion a friend). She went to the University of Missouri and became a journalist. I went to a University in Kansas and became an educator.

Marion read in our hometown newspaper about Ms. Shipley's death. She looked me up (somehow) and emailed me the news. I hadn't been in contact with Marion at that point for about six years. I haven't been in touch with her since. I mention these details so that you can get a sense of the impact this one woman had on the lives of those she taught. Like the brevity and power of her poetry, Ms. Shipley's life was honored by a single email exchange interrupting the two streams of conscious living.

I remember Marion mentioning in the email that she had driven by Ms. Shipley's house the last time she was in our hometown. Ms. Shipley's house sat off the main street that runs downtown. She lived directly across from our postoffice. Her place was a very simple, small white house, much like a breadbox. What set her house apart from the other white breadboxes was the green door. Ms. Shipley was proud of her green door and how it stood out from the others. Marion noted in the email that the trademark green door had been repainted. It was a way of naming our loss.

I did a little research this morning on Ms. Shipley. I was trying to locate some of her poetry that might be posted on the web. I haven't found her works, though I have found the titles to some poetry she wrote and will be pursuing those titles later.

What I did find is a poem written in Ms. Shipley's honor by, what I can gather, another former student. I have provided a link here, in hopes that you can read of a life that gracefully impacted many people beyond what she could have possibly known. The poet's name is not noted on the website, although he has written other poems posted on the site. He is just like me (in fact I wonder if he is from my graduating class from some of the references in the other poems). His life has continued, carving out his own path and sometimes ruts, but he has been drawn back to the simplicity of this one woman and the mysterious gift she offered each of us through poetry. I need to continue to remember Ms. Shipley's example of a life that leaves marks on others, even so unsuspecting. She visited the living room of my life for only nine short months. During that brief stop through, she left more green paint on my interior walls than many who stopped in, stretched out on my couch, and stayed for decades. I guess some people haven't even decided on a color for their paintbrush. My life is different because Ms. Shipley showed up having picked her color. If I was to write a poem in her honor, I would title it GREEN PAINT.

Read the poem from the link below:

RED INK (FOR BETTY SHIPLEY)

The Great Designer

2006-09-29T09:19:00.000-05:00

I have been posting poetry recently. This is ironic. I have never felt a mastery of poetry, and have always viewed it from "afar"--as if it is a mystery too great for my involvement. Ms. Shipley, my 9th grade English teacher, was a bizare and intriguing person. She was shorter than any of us, and would be described as "round" in physique. Her hair was a natural mess of wavy grey/brown streaks. Pieces of uncontrolled beauty would fall down into her view while she was talking to you, causing her to frequently brush hair away from her face and adjust her glasses. Her glasses were often slipping down toward the end of her nose. She was both very calm in her demeanor, and very agitated. She wore a sullen look on her round, wrinkled face, but smiles would pop out of nowhere and soften her into a youthfulness. I was drawn to her quirky, surprising approach to teaching and relating with us. It did not intimidate me, as it did so many other people in our class. An example of her element of surprise can be seen in this one snapshot moment from class: We were all working quietly at our desks. Sitting in rows of about 5 desks in each row--it was a long narrow classroom. It was an advanced English class, so we were emersed in our work, and no one was causing any disruptions. Ms. Shipley's desk sat facing her students' profiles. On her desk was a two-tiered wire basket, like an in/out basket of grading. As we sat quietly working, Ms. Shipley sat at her desk grading papers. With one swift move, rising out of the stillness of that bleak, monotone classroom, Ms. Shipley grabbed the entire top wire basket and flug it across the room. The wire basket flew in an arc above our heads and bounced hard against the empty desks at the far side of the room, landing with a clatter on the tile floor. As it sailed over our heads, papers fluttered down, raining on us. A changing of seasons in the classroom. All of this occured in a split second. But being ripped out of a lull by such a surprise, made the experience play out in slow motion. I remember looking over at Ms. Shipley. As papers floated down around us, she sat at her desk, grading the stack of essays she had been working on since the beginning of the hour. She didn't look up. She didn't say a word. I was facinated by Ms. Shipley. Others were intimidated. I liked that she kept us guessing as to who she was and what we might experience. Mrs. Shipley was a well known and awarded poet in the state in which I went to school. She socialized and worked in circles of creative people who valued the power of the word and its ability to impact the soul. She would tell stories of facilitating writing workshops in high security prisons across the country. She would read us poems that men who were on death row had written. Then, she would ask us to write poems. I was intimidated by Ms. Shipley's offer to engage poetry. Poetry was mysterious and surprising to me. It seemed to invite me places that I wasn't expecting to go to. When I arrived with the poem in this private place in my soul, I couldn't figure out how we had gotten there. How could a poem about ordinary things linger in my mind all day long? How did it intice me ponder things of life and death? I was used to writing my thoughts in a composition and getting wonderful feedback from my teachers, but how do you take a handful of words carefully picked arrange them in a purposeful way, and carve out a path the soul? I tried to write poetry in Ms. Shipley's class, but it was stiff and stilted. She did not like my poetry, and she told me such. She never said I couldn't write poetry. She just told me she didn't like the poetry I was writing. Ms. Shipley intrigued me. Poetry intimidated me. I find it ironic that as I am processing some thoughts in my life right now, I am drawn to poetry. I think I owe this to Ms. Shipley. She allowed poetry remain mysterious. She engaged us with intrigue. She let me wrestle with words and emotions and thoughts. Thank you, Ms. Shipley. The desire to look for my soul in the reflection of poems today is a result of her invitation. We have been talking about sovereignty and love in Seminary. The discussion has been in terms of "which is greater." I have been contemplating my ability to embrace Sovereignty. Some discussion of this concept tends to produce fire in my soul, and other thoughts draw me in close to my Designer. Here's a poem I found that makes me understand the Soveriegnty of God, the Master Designer. Design
by Robert Frost

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth-- Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches' broth-- A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, And dead wings carried like a paper kite. What had that flower to do with being white, The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? What brought the kindred spider to that height, Then steered the white moth thither in the night? What but design of darkness to appall?-- If design govern in a thing so small.
From The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1916, 1923, 1928, 1930, 1934, 1939, 1947, 1949, © 1969 by Holt Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright 1936, 1942, 1944, 1945, 1947, 1948, 1951, 1953, 1954, © 1956, 1958, 1959, 1961, 1962 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1962, 1967, 1970 by Leslie Frost Ballantine.

Robert Frost on the Seasons of the Soul

2006-09-23T15:22:00.000-05:00

AFTER APPLE-PICKING

by ROBERT FROST

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

thank you, Robert Frost, for your warm eyes and gentle words that embrace the winter, the harvest, the labor, and the sleep.

Emily Dickinson #657

2006-09-21T23:39:00.000-05:00

I dwell in Possibility--
A fairer House than Prose--
More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--

Of Chambers as the Cedars--
Impregnable of Eye--
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky--

Of Visitors--the fairest--
For Occupation--This--
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise--

thank you, emily. beautiful.

Movie Recommendation

2006-09-09T21:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday. Would you like to meet her? What about her daughter, Beauty? And she is. They both are.

If you think the most engaging thing this side of heaven is the simplicity of a human's story, you should watch the story of grace unfold before your eyes in the movie called YESTERDAY.

The people of Africa with their dark, smooth skin, radiant smiles, and penetrating eyes. The Zulu language complete with staccato clicks intermingled in words that bubble off of the tongue. The sociolinguist custom of long greetings and courteous inquiries at the crossroads of the journey. The singular images captured against the canvas of the African landscape---a child playing in the river, a mother standing in a dusty garden, women sharing in community around the village water pump. The love of a woman for her child. The capacity of a human to bear a gift not asked for and still forgive and love the broken giftgiver.

Thank you for the recommendation, Maris. I want to share this movie with someone just as you did with me. YESTERDAY an hbo film on dvd

Sacred Silence

2006-09-05T22:47:00.000-05:00

It's been a good month. I've watched seven monarch catapillars transform into butterfies. Each one has been shared with other people. Each person has been simply surprised at their own reponse. Most people do not realize that they will be so moved by watching the transformation and releasing the butterfly. Here's a picture of the last one I released this past Saturday.I have seen transformation in three relationships in the past three months. Not any different than the stages of this insect's transformation. Each is in a different stage, but significant none the less. Most notably, a foster daughter has returned home to find me and brought a heart desire to reconnect. Ten years of waiting. She initiated the return. I had told God I would wait. It was very difficult. But the return was beautiful.

I thought it was all I could do to wait on that one relationship to find it's way through God's hands. Then I was asked to wait on another friend, a very dear friend, who was needing to sort pieces of life out for a time. She initiated a return to relationship this past week. One and a half years of waiting. Forgiveness and the beginnings of restoration. It was beyond hard. But the return was beautiful.

Waiting is not easy for a dreamer. A dreamer is someone who connects good eyes to see with a passionate heart to feel. When you have eyes to see, you want to see. When you have a heart to feel, you want to feel. Eyes are not meant to wait. Hearts were not meant to wait. The heart was made to beat with consistency---no hesitation.

I've thought several times about the story of the prodigal son. I wonder often about the father. Why do we get some verses on the prodigal son's day to day happenings, even some interactions he has with others. Perhaps we even see a bit into the older brother's life--what he is doing and thinking. But I have always felt like there is a gap--a glaring gap--in the story. My heart needs to know what the father did, who did he talk to, what did he say, how did he spend his days waiting, how was his heart...while he waited? I think because there is no insight into the days, weeks, months, years (?) the father waited---how he grieved and lived--I think we may tend to sugar coat his experience. Perhaps we make him out to be this resilient man who had no problems releasing his son, no problems waiting for the unknown, no problems handling his sorrow for a broken relationship.

Tonight, I'm thinking the scripture is silent on the father's days of grief because of how sacred his experience of waiting was . I'm thinking off the top of my mind and heart here, but really the only person I can think of that we get an up close look at the face of pain, loss, and grief in the New Testament scriptures is Jesus--seeing his blood drops, hearing his cries of mercy, watching him look around for others to join him for relief and support. The only other places I can think of (with the amazing exceptions of the Old Testament lives of Job and David) would be that we see people mourning at Lazarus' tomb, but what a brief glimpse! We can understand that the father of the prodigal son must have been deeply affected by the loss of a most precious relationship, but we do not see how he handles it. It is so personal. It is so sacred.

I want to see what happens in that chrysalis. It's the only part of the transformation I'm not privy to. I can watch the caterpillar chomp on milkweed. I can watch it shed it's outer layers of skin. I can watch it weave a connection to a flat surface and hang in a "J"--waiting to change. I can even watch the caterpillar begin to shed that last layer and become a chrysalis. But then...I can no longer see anything. I wait. The most amazing transformations are happening at that point in the process. What once was a caterpillar mouth with jaws and "teeth"--in the chrysalis becomes a butterfly's tongue--no chewing leaves, only an apparatus for sucking nectar from flowers. Legs turn to wings. Thick and pudgy turns into light and free. But in the meantime, all there is to see is an emerald green sack dotted with shimmering gold "buttons." No movement. No changes. I have no window to peek in. No matter how long I stare, or how many different angles I look from, or how many different people I get to check the chrysalis...I can see nothing happening. Even the 12 days of a caterpillar melting in a chrysalis crucible are too sacred for us to know.

I wait.

I AM HERE

2006-09-01T20:21:00.000-05:00

yes. i am here.

i'm on my hands and knees.

coughing.

taste of blood on my cut lip.

first, a blow to the jaw

next, shoved to the ground

finally

kicked in the gut.

the wind,

my last breath,

knocked out of me.

from here i see the sky

clouds scroll above

swimming through a blue mute canvas.

I can hear kids playing in the park.

blink.

blink.

blink.

tears run down the side of my face

landing in the dust

with no sound.

where am i?

why did that happen?

who am i?

when will help come?

im on my hands and knees

filling my lungs with breaths of air

taste of blood and dust in my mouth

yes. im here.

i'm about to stand up.

Random Stuff

2006-07-07T10:29:00.000-05:00

I realize my postings recently really haven't been about anything very far into the internal parts of me. Give me time. For now, I'm just feeling like posting when I come across a quirky something that makes me laugh or makes me go "hmmmm." Also please take note that since changing to a MACBOOK from a DELL PC, my Blog posting template is missing the "link" icon...it has the "checkmark ABC" for checking spelling and the "picture" link , but no access to creating a web site link. So...does anyone know what has happened? And...all my links are going to have to be written out as I don't care to figure out the HTML code within the template. Ok, enough techno babble. Here are some interesting things from today's readings on the internet:

I chuckled at these knuckles.
Are you street material? Just get woozie under the needle of a tatoo artist? Consider knitting needles! You too can be a knitting thug! Here's the web site you need to go to for a pattern and more pictures of some creative messages for your knuckles: http://knitty.com/ISSUEsummer06/PATTknucks.html

Ok...next item.
I don't have kids to entertain on long drives across the country...but if I did, I think an etch-a -sketch could solve alot of car travel boredom issues. And it might just inspire the latent artist in your kid! That's the story of this young man's art. Check it out! http://www.gvetchedintime.com/# He began at 10 years old etch-a-sketching the US Capital Dome. When I was 10, I was showing off my "box within a box" to the captive audience in my family's stationwagon. I could never get rid of that connecting line or perfect the circle. And any little unexpected bump....grrrr. Kudos out to this artist extrordinaire!

I saved the what I found as the most humorous to the last. I've heard my share of cell-phone bashing jokes, but the journalist who penned the "10 Commandments Of Cell Phone Etiquette" has nailed it. I encourage you to take your time and read each commandment in full, as his sharp wit crescendoes throughout the writing. It is a carthatic reading. Enjoy! http://www.infoworld.com/articles/op/xml/00/05/26/000526opwireless.html

Tangled Webs

2006-06-27T13:33:00.000-05:00

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17.
Scottish author & novelist (1771 - 1832)

"Touche"...Sir Walter Scott has the angle on human nature when the aim is deceit. But what if weaving tangled webs is actually more about our NATURE than the character quality of deceit? Period. Weaving tangled webs serves all of our human purposes, not just those of deceit. I have been intrigued by the wave of social networking in our recent internet realities. If this interests you also...if you like to peek in a window of the nature of humankind and what we are hungry for...then take the time to read this article revealing what MYSPACE.COM tells us about ourselves.
Facinating. Even if you don't read the article, thanks for stepping out on a thread of my web.

Creativity in Computer Software Design

2006-06-22T07:19:00.000-05:00

I'm not really well versed in technology. But I can appreciate ideas that seem to take what is most natural about our lives and transform them creatively into technological realities. I was mezmorized by this 6 minute clip showing a new organization program for computers. The program is called BUMPTOP and you can see its prototype at work if you click the link I've provided. Brilliant!

PS---I suggest you check out the longer version of the video clip...the 20 second "Hip Hop" version is simply distracting. Creative minds on overload!

A Tribute To My Java Junkie Friends

2006-06-19T00:22:00.000-05:00

To every person who extolls the wonder of a morning cup of coffee...please check out the latest Folgers Coffee commercial made just for you!

Remember...."you can sleep when you are dead!"

Holy Home Theater, Batman!!!

2006-06-07T20:58:00.000-05:00

Looking for a home theater set-up? Look no further! It's a BATCAVE HOME THEATER! Seems kinda damp to me...

Noah's Wife Addresses the Department of Interior

2006-06-06T16:27:00.000-05:00

Here's a poem I came across the other day in an assigned reading for a graduate class I'm taking this summer. I got a kick out of it and thought it was time to share a poem. This one is from a Nebraska (don't hold that against her...) writer named Grace Bauer. Check her other works out at this web site.

NOAH'S WIFE ADDRESSES THE DEPARTMENT OF INTERIOR

Birds, though they sing
sweetly, can be hell
when cramped in cages.

Cats of all kinds
do not take well to boats.

All primates stink
albeit they are clever.
Giraffes are a pain
in the neck to feed.
Try it once, you'll see.

Chickens are dumb
and geese are mean.
Swans are not always graceful.

Bears are loners. Wolves
stick with their kind,
though elephants warm up
to strangers rather fast.

The snakes weren't half
as bad as I'd imagined.
Rats--though they, too, have
their place--most decidedly were.

The insects, I got used to,
though at first I forgot
and swatted a few. Lizards
are more tempermental
than turtles. Pigs make better
housemates than gazelles.

Now that we just have
a dog and a couple of goldfish,
the place seems kind of empty.
There's nothing to pet.

Of the whole menagerie,
I'd say I miss the zebras most.
One dove still visits
twice a year, though
considering the state
of affairs thses days,
he is often a bit depressed.

When I think of what we
went through trying to keep
that whole damned zoo afloat--
the times I sat up all night
with a homesick horse, the time
all the deer and elk came
down with the croup

Of course, when the rainbow
arced new hope on the horizon,
I realized it had all been worthwhile.

But now, when I see
what we managed to save progress

Well, if I wasn't a God-fearing
woman, I swear, some days
I'd start praying for rain.

Grace Bauer, 1992, Noah's Wife Addresses The Deparment of Interior, Frontiers: A Journal of Women's Studies, XIII(1), 167-168.

Ipad...Ipod

2006-06-01T22:57:00.000-05:00

Ok...hokey title. I just was sitting here debating over which topic to blog about...my new "pad" (i.e. home, residence, place I live) or the amazingly cool Ipod case I just purchased. I will have lots to say about the concept of home, life, etc. in the coming months, so I think I will post about the Ipod case! Side note. The fact that I am enjoying aspects of life, even the small aspects, is in large part due to the new living arrangements. So, actually, to speak of new Ipod cases IS to speak of the Ipad too!

Alright already! I'll tell you about the Ipod case. Go to IFROGZ.COM and start having fun designing! You can see the one I created and purchased right here! Idesigned it with THE SNOW CONE LADY motif in mind...this is why the snowflake was chosen. Anyway, makes me want to own a whole bunch of Ipods and dress them up! Kind of like the BARBIE for the 21st century! Enjoy!

Deep sigh...

2006-05-14T18:30:00.000-05:00

I used to enjoy the thought of being a vagabond kind of person---flexible, ready to go, turn on a dime...what an adventure! I certainly think I will always have those characteristics, just maybe not as full throttle as a decade ago. I remember begin proud that I could fit all of my possessions in my orange VW Bug back in the college days.

And now, due to some twisted and never trained responses to life, I have some "monkey on my back" debt that keeps me from being quite everything of who I am. I have been on the slow, drip plan for debt reduction. Chipping away month after tedious month. Three or four years later (see...I so easily loose track of things I have to count), I am ready for the fast-track, try to get debt-free in a year plan.

The fast track plan means I move out of my house for a year and rent it out. I pack up six years of home-ownership and shove it into a garage sized storage area. I do not relish the thoughts of moving, but I do feel excited when I think about the potential for a life change in the course of a year.

So...boxes. Where do you get boxes? Is there a box fairy somewhere I can just call out to? And what about all the disheveled crap in all the corners of my house? Can't hide it if I invite others to come help me move. Can't get motivated to pack it up unless others are present. Can't lift couches and dining room sets alone. Ahhh Catch-22.

T minus 2 weeks. I'm a mixture of sad (to be leaving my house), mad (that I'm even in this dadgum place of debt and it means I have to put out such effort), and happy (to be living with other alive people I enjoy).

An awful lot of my life seems less than stable. I need something in my life that isn't changing and being boxed up, packed away, and stored for later. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for places to rest the weary head for a season and grand ideas of freedom awaiting. But there is no substitute for that place you call home. This weary traveller looks forward to coming home.

Grief In Our World

2006-05-01T15:22:00.000-05:00

I am so very sad to report that the baby birds, at only 2 and 3 days old, did not survive. The details of their death is a mystery. It could have been a number of things. I went out of town to have dinner with some friends and knew I would be home really late. I left the porch light on, eventhough I had up to this time made a point NOT to have the light on at night. It shines right down on the nest. I do not know if this detail had an impact on the final outcome. When I arrived home around 11pm, having had non-stop rain and wind, I discovered the nest had fallen and was up-side-down on the ground. The baby birds could not have survived the fall. Even if they had, I did not have the nerve to check. I thought through all the possibilities--had the light made them prone to attack? Had the mother/father bird perched on the nest (which had been hanging precariously off the ledge for the last couple of days) and it fell? Had the wind or rain caused the fall?

I'll never know. But it was sad.

I do not enter into the presence of death very easily. I have had several baby birds die in my yard over the past few years. In fact, I think I have at least one every spring. I have always had to call my friends Julie or Stephanie to help me remove dead animals--even if there is no gore. Last summer my long time pet rabbit, Rumsey, had to be put down by the vet. They took special care to wrap him in a blanket and and additional outer wrappings. They had him in the pet carrier, wrapped up, when I went to retrieve his body to bury him. Again, my friend, Julie, had to come over and pick him up out of the carrier to place him in the hole I dug in my back yard. I wept like a baby. You can look back at a posting I made last fall, when I was considering getting another pet hamster for my classroom. I am often disuaded simply by the fact that I do not want to have to endure the little pet's death. I've buried two other hamsters and suffered a dark cloud on those days. It seems so trivial, just a hamster, but it is flat out miserable for me.

Friday night the black cloud visited again. I was sick to my stomach thinking of the little birds' death. I thought about the mom and dad robin. Saturday morning when I left my home, I pulled the front door shut behind me, and sitting on the branches where they had always been every morning were mom and dad robin. They began their loud screeching and fluttering around. It was a quick snapshot of grief. I don't know if birds grieve or not. But I know these birds were aware of something. They were behaving as if they were very angry. Understandably so. It was as if they met me at the door because we were the three living creatures who were witness to the deaths. I just stood there, face to "face" with them. I watched and listened to them. Call me crazy, but I had been talking to Rosalee every day when I walked by her nest to my front door--telling her in a soft voice (hoping it would keep her from attacking me) that she was such a good mother. This morning she spoke clearly back at me. After a moment of watching them (and I do mean they were looking right at me--perhaps scolding me, I do not know), I told them I was so sorry about the babies.

I haven't seen mom and dad robin since.

Two and Three Days Old

2006-04-28T11:28:00.000-05:00

Forgive the blurry pictures from here on out...I have time to click about two pictures before I get attacked by Mom and Dad robin. The babies are getting fuzzy.

The Family of Robins

2006-04-26T09:17:00.000-05:00

We have babies! Yesterday one of the robins hatched.

This morning the other one was sitting in the nest. Or being SAT ON in the nest! It looks like we've got a sibling slumber party.

I don't know what happened to the two other eggs. I have looked around the ground beneath the nest, but there is no evidence of dropped eggs or baby birds. Nature takes care of life and death somehow---it is a mystery.

Mom and Dad Robin were VERY protective this morning. I was almost attacked at my truck by one of them. I don't think they are very interested in the photos I am taking! They were not only very vocal toward me, but they both swooped down at me, long after I had left the vicinity of the nest!

More updates as more feathers appear.

Garden Gate

2006-04-18T15:02:00.000-05:00

Here's a fun project a friend and I did together. I modified the original idea (to nail cans to a painted board to create a container garden) when I found this gate at a second hand store in town. At the same store was a case (2 dozen or so) Campbell's Soup cans--commemorative edition money banks. Ah-Ha! I got an idea...instead of nailing old cans to a [ainted board, I wired these cans (having opened the can) to the gate. I'm not really sure that there's enough room in each can for the individual flower I planted, but we'll see if they can survive! I wish it would have worked to have planted tomato plants in the tomato soup cans!

Rosalee the Robin

2006-04-15T21:49:00.000-05:00

Please meet my new friend, Rosalee the Robin.

She and her husband, Robert, completed their nest in the kitchen window sill of my home. If I stand in front of my door, I could reach out and touch the nest, it is so close! I have been rather concerned that Rosalee would either attack me when I come and go from my house, or would abandon the nest on account of the distrubance of a human presence. Alas, I am thrilled to announce, Rosalee has staked her claim to the nest, watched me very carefully as I walk down my front stairs, and has resisted attacking me!

Here's a close up of Rosalee. She is a a beautiful bird.

And...she is the proud mother of FOUR, soon to be hatched, baby robins. I did a short search on robins and their eggs. If you are interested in some very user friendly information about this common, but very lovely, bird you can go to THIS SITE.

Basically, from that site I learned that robins typically lay only four eggs. An egg a day. I think Rosalee finished laying her eggs about last Wednesday (three days ago), perhaps. I learned that they incubate the eggs for about 12-14 days. I look forward to sharing the first pictures of her hatchlings in a little over a week from now.

Here's a glimpse of Rosalee's clutch.
Aren't they cute! Ok, well at least I think the color of the eggs is stunning. What an interesting color. Where else in nature can you find that shade of blue? Again, out of my curiosity for this amazing canvas God has painted called NATURE, I looked up some information about the color of a robin's egg. Coloration of eggs (and evidently there is a wide spectrum of colors in which bird eggs occur) is created from the hemoglobin in the blood of the bird. It creates the pigment as red blood cells rupture in the mother bird as she lays the egg. Birds who lay colored eggs often have predators that are color blind. The robin's eggs blend into the nest when the color blind predator peers in! Brilliant!

Evidently, from my research, many other people have had close encounters with robin nests. The advice I read from others who have lived in close proximity of a protective robin mother's nest indicated that the greatest risk of being dive-bombed really is only in the days right before the eggs hatch. One expert suggested making eye contact with the bird and carrying a balloon or broom above your head, as the bird will go for what it thinks is the top of your head. I don't think you'll catch me walking up and down my front steps with a balloon every day! I think I'll risk it! (of course my tune may change the first time I get attacked on my head!)

I have looked Rosalee directly in the eyes as I pass by her comfy residence into mine. I speak gently to her and go my own way. I'll keep you updated!

Legs Were Broken

2006-04-12T14:45:00.000-05:00

Well, it was a successful school play. Here we have a random snapshot of the main character (a game show host) and his make-up artist. I really am not sure what moment this is, as we did not have any loud, sharp noises...perhaps a yawn? Actually, this student really was one of the better performers because he was willing to use very exaggerated experessions.

The kids had memorable experiences both nights, and the director (me!) did not get injured backstage like last year. These are the standards I try to meet! Thanks to everyone who came and supported these kids and our time and efforts.

In this picture you'll see the fine work done on the costuming...a tribute to what can get done when you give your student teacher a shirt, fake knife, paint, and duct tape! Please note...no middle school students were harmed in the production of this play!

The Herdman Kids Star in Another Play

2006-04-02T20:50:00.000-05:00

So have you ever read THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGEANT EVER? If you haven't...please do read it. Discover who the Herdman children are. You will get a chuckle. I'm not chuckling, myself, right now. But I will be in about five days. If I make it that far into the next week!

The past three months have been my yearly tango with middle school kids. We've been rehearsing for the all-school play. I'm the director. I have a cast of 45+ 7th and 8th graders who have been memorizing and forgetting lines, taking ordinary moments and making them funny, missing cues, tripping over scenery, breaking props, making hilarious facial expressions, and in general working hard and having fun.

I have to remind myself right about now (two days before show time) that this is a MIDDLE SCHOOL performance! I cannot take myself or them or this whole experience too seriously. Lending some perspective to my building stress, a friend encouraged me saying, "It's not like this is for a Tony Award or anything, right?" That is so right. When I find myself obsessing over how all my cast walks on stage and simply stays frozen in one spot (eventhough I have suggested perhaps 14,593 possible movements to add to the dialogue), or I get snippy about the feet I can see scurrying beneath the stage curtain, or when we sit in darkness between scene changes waiting for that one cast member to find the prop she forgot to place back on the prop table....(deep breath)...ahhhh. It's a middle school play. Middle school.

No real Tony Awards here, thank goodness. Then I'd have to be worried about what to wear on the red carpet! But I do think there will be some memorable moments. They won't play out all on the stage, and they really are not the scripted kind of scenes. It's for the following type of scenes that I do this each year:

When I stand at the stage door and give each of them a "high five" and they walk up the narrow backstage stairs to a pitch black backstage area...there's electricity in the air; the spotlight comes up and the student assistant director steps out with me and we make our welcome, blinded by the stage lights and faintly seeing familiar smiling faces in the audience...I leave the student out on the stage to complete the welcome...the cast backstage is still holding their collective breath; the utterance of the first line; the first laughter that errupts from the audience...every pubescent heartbeat quickens and then relaxes with a big smile; the first cast member who exists off of the stage and comes backstage, literally pulsing with excitement, whispering about how amazing it is to be on stage and how bright the lights are...all the others with sweaty palms lean in; in the crowd, proud parents and grandparents grow unaware of their gaping mouths and permanent smiles...they respond to their child on stage without any restraint; little sisters and brothers proped up, their knees upon the cold folding metal chairs speak outloud, "There's Josh, mommy!" and a giggle sweeps across the crowd...a controlled grin struggles to skip across Josh's face; after the show, friends will walk near and say, "great show"; mom's and dad's will take their actor/actress out for ice cream and siblings will want to stand in line next to the famous family member; before bed, the middle school kids will take a reflective pause in front of the mirror as they try to wash off the make up...and lying down in bed that night with the moonlight coming in through the bedroom window, I hope they pull the covers up to their chin, look out at the night sky, and think "I'm a star!"

Me? The exhausted director? You'll find me at home, asleep, lights off with the TV still on in the background, my limp arm hanging off the edge of the couch, half read newspaper in hand. If you look really closely, you might see the bluish-grey flashes from the television reflect off of a shiny gold statue on my mantel. It will be an award-winning night.

A New Spin On Recycling

2006-03-26T21:16:00.000-06:00

Check this site out--ReadyMade: MacGyver Challenge. You see one guy's technologically cutting edge use of a couple of ALTOIDS TINS. I'm intrigued with the evidence of sheer ingenuity. If you have any left over strawberry containers and demonstrate your own ingenuity, you might win the next challenge! And if you are looking for some wedding cake ideas....
It's made out of DING DONGS :)

Squirrel Fishing

2006-03-25T17:53:00.000-06:00

I think this is so funny. This guy and his friend went out with peanuts tied to the end of strings. They called it "squirrel fishing" :) It reminds me of the squirrels on our university campus. If you want to see more photos this guy took of these determined squirrels, click here.

By the way, to my knowledge, no squirrels were harmed in this liitle fishing expedition. Desperation requires no hooks!

One Clip At A Time

2006-03-25T11:31:00.000-06:00

Wow. That's a big paperclip!

I want to put a plug in for the paperclip. Certainly, as a teacher, I already have a working relationship with the clip (we're on nickname basis with eachother), but as of last night I have a renewed interest in them.

Last night Susie and I watched a documentary recommended by a co-worker who is Jewish. The movie is called PAPER CLIPS . It followed the unfolding project at a middle school in the back hills of Tennessee. The project began from a simple question asked by one of the middle school students during a lesson on the holocaust: "What does 6 million look like?"

In the graduate class I am taking this semester to complete my Master's of Education, we are talking about how it is that people really learn. Is our education system really using effective methods? Our manner and styles have gently changed over the years, but the philosophy of education really hasn't. Basically, we function in a very "top down--dump knowledge into waiting minds" way. My own philosophy of education has evolved away from this mainstream flow. I love that this documentary showed the power of trusting kids to ask questions. Trusting kids to want to know things, to desire to discover, to work hard at uncovering mysteries, to reflect and connect deep human tendancies with their own mundane lives.

I loved that the paperclip project took a very ordinary object and made a monumental symbol out of it. Can a simple paperclip really impact a heart? One paper clip can attach two pieces of paper together. That same paper clip can also link two human stories spanning decades, distances, and differences.

Is there anything too small to be used in unthinkable ways?

Spring Will Come...

2006-03-22T18:09:00.001-06:00

I spent the first part of Spring Break with a friend in Omaha, NE. It was a needed trip. A journey away from a battlefield and into a home that had warm light spilling from the windows. As I settled into an almost permanent place on my friend's couch, it began to snow. And snow. And snow. I was given a blanket of white winter wonder. It quieted the swirling thoughts a bit. The blanket wrapped me up in the warmth of a home and a friendship. I took sips of the warmth from moment to moment and appreciated the cold contrasts. My friend offered me two really valuable gifts: space to just be and a reassuring reminder of who I am. Ok...there were other gifts taken....I liked the mega cable stations to flip through, snacking on her food, and snuggling with her cat, too.

Linda has known me since 1987. That is a long time. Nineteen years. She's seen me as an aquaintance, a roommate, and a friend. Do you have friends who remind you from time to time who you really are? They are gifts. I hope I am that kind of friend. A warm space in the presence of winter storm warnings. A reminder that spring will come.

Here I am.

2006-03-14T23:09:00.000-06:00

Today is my birthday. There is a full moon tonight. I think it is beautiful, bright, captivating.

It is full--complete.

I just came from a coffee shop where I was surrounded by several of my friends. Friends who know me for who I am (or are getting to know me) and were willing to sit at a table and visit with me and eachother. It was delightful. I feel full---Thank you Kelly, Dee, Liam, Darci, Maris, Ben, Susie, Scott, Heather, Jean, Anna, Amy, Julie W., and Kristen.

With only 45 minutes left of the actual day, I think I will note some of the things I am hopeful for this year:

1. I hope I am able to have several more experiences like tonight....I love it when the cross section of people I love and care about get together and make connections among themselves.

2. I hope amazingly surprising things happen in the most unlikely situations and relationships.

3. I hope I move back into my home June 2007 a free woman.

4. I hope to break from darkness into bright sunshine. I want to have bright eyes again.

5. I hope I have a delightful summer as the Snow Cone Lady!

6. I hope I can be true and live full.

7. I hope I complete my Master's Degree this summer.

8. I hope I understand new dimensions of grace, peace, desire, contentment, and love.

9. I hope I get a new platform bed that has a down comforter and many, many down fluffy pillows so that I can
read in bed and read "in style."

10. I hope I go on another road trip with a friend.

Goodbye...Hello

2006-03-13T16:25:00.000-06:00

This the eve of my birthday.

I have several things rattling aroung in my noggin today. I think I would like to make a list of the things I have lost and gained this year. Then tomorrow I will make a list of things I am hoping will happen in the next year of life.

Things I have lost---with the post-script that I believe NOTHING can be fully lost. Even loss will have some redemptive element within it:

1. My masked view of my past. Looking at things with someone and naming those experiences for what they
really were is a painful freedom involving both loss and gain.

2. Two dear friendships.

3. More than 10 pounds. Thank you Weight Watchers!

4. The contents of my garage due to an intentional clean sweep.

5. Rumsey my pet bunny who died this summer after 9 years of being cared for by me, and Babs the butterfly who left home to live the life she had been waiting for!

Things I have gained:

1. A wonderful roomate for three months. Very redemptive!

2. New dreams and passions. Namely, I have new ideas brewing in my head and heart regarding things I
want to do and accomplish with my teaching, my business, and future creative endeavors.

3. A renewed sense of direction regarding the pursuit to be debt free in a year.

4. A life changing experience shared with the Indonesian people and my teammates.

5. A tiny, tiny, tiny interest in writing my thoughts down (like in this blog). Like a burning ember.

6. Perspective to see the end of the journey toward my Master's Degree in Education. This perspective led to
the needed committment to see it through.

7. An fruition of a dream and an amazing small business that encompasses so much of my potential. It came with a road trip with a dear friend. The business makes delightful fun for many and many delightful memories
for me.

8. A small, and growing ever smaller, number of people who want to walk with me through anything. I'm grateful
for them.

9. A new pair of black pants that both feel and look good.

10. Several new friends/aquaintances--about five come to mind immediately.

11. Two really enjoyable student teachers with whom I shared my life, students, and classroom.

12. Three separate individuals who gave me gifts that actually sustained me through three separate droughts.

13. Much more clarity about who I am. When I look really honestly at who I am, and I ask others who know me what they see...I really do see amazing value in who I am. Reason enough to celebrate tomorrow!

2006-03-10T20:40:00.000-06:00

Castle Neuschwanstein in Schwangau, Bavaria, Germany. This is the MSN Picture of the week that I voted as my favorite. I think it is simply beautiful.

Mark Twain Moment

2006-03-07T22:45:00.000-06:00

OMPOUS.

Mark Twain is known for his quotable quips. Here is one, for example: "All you need is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure."

I was talking through this week's spelling list with my students. I help point out spelling patterns, things I love or appreciate about the words, or help them with the meaning or use of the words. I spontaneously had what I am calling a "Mark Twain Moment" when the kids wanted to know the meaning of POMPOUS. Here's what I came up with:

pompous= when your head grows larger than your heart

Alot of my seventh graders were perplexed for a moment...some demanding they were certain that your head is supposed to be bigger than your heart. I asked them if they could think about the statement in any way OTHER than anatomically. It was fun you see the light bulbs come on-----Ahhhhhh. Yeah! Ohhhh....They got it....it means a person is "full of himself!"
As the laughter died down, I seized the moment and hinted to them that perhaps the second syllable of the word really should be spelled differently! More puzzled looks. And then some creeping grins. Only a couple of kids each hour got that last tongue-in-cheek comment!

So my Mark Twain Moment unfolded further when I got home...
You are pompous when your head grows larger than your heart and suddenly drops down into your posterior region.

Lord, help my head and heart be in proportion...and keep me from becoming anything that resembles my posterior region!

Simon...renamed Peter

2006-03-02T15:20:00.000-06:00

I'm thinking about Peter. One of the twelve who was called out by Jesus. A common fisherman, called to be an uncommon Fisherman. Believer...betrayer. Faith to step out...fear causes him to sink. He's known by his extremes. But it is what makes him the loving, tender, leader-learner.

Peter is a man who utters his heart, "You are the Christ, Son of the living God." (Matt. 16:16) His heart is marked by Jesus in that moment as one that is aware of the revelations of God himself. His heart is alive and receptive to things others' hearts are not. In the face of a broken reality...that Jesus would have to suffer and die...Peter utters his heart again, "This shall never happen to you!" (Matt. 16:22) Jesus identifies Peter's heart as something very different than "in touch" with the heart of God. Peter's heart is trapped in the net of his mind and flesh.

Would Peter have responded like that if he had not first adored Christ? I think not. He saw the truth. He hated the outcome. Jesus was the truth. Jesus became the outcome. How does Peter learn to embrace this, the greatest of disappointments? Truth crucified. I'm looking for this revelation.

My view from this playground

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

A blog friend tagged me. Here's what I see from my spot in life:

Seven things to do before I die:

1. travel around the world in whatever amount of time I want with someone i love
2. thru-hike the Appalachian Trail with a community of people or have people i love join me for sections of the journey
3. enjoy a husband and children
4. be an actress in one major motion picture (comedy)
5. do a cartwheel down a grocery store aisle
6. start a children's museum in my hometown
7. carve my name in a tree and find a message floating in a bottle (ok...I cheated there...I know)

Seven Things I Cannot Do:

1. cartwheels
2. fly a kite
3. dance
4. talk about things that require seeing relationships in math
5. save money
6. jump out of airplanes
7. remember specific things about movies or fiction books

Seven Things That (Would Be) Attract(ive) (to) Me (in a potential) Mate

1. moves toward god
2. willing to connect with his heart and the heart of others
3. likes to repair drywall, change spark plugs, and do the bills
4. leaves surprise love notes in the lunch I take to work
5. listens and wants to be listened to
6. laughs from his gut
7. passionate about something in life (in addition to me, of course)

Seven Things I Say:

1. Ok, the bell just rang. You need to clear off your desks and fill out your planner.
2. do you know what I mean?
3. shoobiddee shoobidee
4. sure
5. pass you papers in (this is to be sung aloud)
6. ahhbidee ahhbidee ahhbidee
7. you need to put that note away or i'm going to tear it up into a million little pieces and snort it up my nose!

Picture the World

2006-02-23T22:26:00.000-06:00

Here's an invitation to visit MSN PICTURES OF THE WEEK.
You can sign up to recieve weekly emails linking you to the site. I love looking through these each week. I find so many things I enjoy in the pictures---whether it is the angle, the subject matter, the irony, or surprise...I always find at least one of the pictures that really impacts me. At the very end of the slideshow you are invited to vote for one of the pictures. I take my vote really seriously; it's really interesting. This may seem simplistic, but I made the rule for myself that my vote will go to the picture that evoked the most emotion from me. If there is not specific emotion that over rides all other emotions, then I vote for the most artistic photo or most unusual. Once you vote, you are shown the rankings of the pictrures to that point. You kind of get to see how your vote impacted the group vote.

This is the photo I voted for this week. As soon as I saw it I had an emotional response. You'd have to be dead not to! Here's the story that goes with this amazing shot:

"Anthony Enso, 23, hugs his son Anthony Enso Jr. at a hospital...on Feb. 19, after the 1-year-old was rescued from the mudslides that buried the nearby village of Guinsaugan two days before."

What a redeeming moment in this for this little one and his father! What a loving moment.

Elizabethtown Road Trip

2006-02-19T00:23:00.000-06:00

I watched the movie, ELIZABETHTOWN, tonight with a few friends. The first thing I will say is, if you want an amazing soundtrack, I imagine this one's a winner. I really liked the movie as an integrated whole. My favorite partof the movie is how the significance of road trips is worked into the story line. A road trip is given by one friend to another. She didn't go with him on the road trip, per se, but she made his road trip happen. She made it meaningful with a handmade map, interactive no less, where every moment of the trip had purpose with thoughts to ponder, places to visit, people to meet, and songs burnt on CDs for each turn in the road. It reminded me of the discussion I had with a couple of friends about the idea of PILGRIMAGE. What would it look like to go on a pilgrimage? What would an actual spiritual pilgrimage look like today for a community of Christians? To me, it would look alot like the road trip in this movie. Drew, the main character, rediscovers and discovers life on this trip. He was both alone, and accompanied by his friend. Hmmmm...you'll have to watch it to understand what I mean. I wish I had one of those handmade road maps. What an amazing gift!

The movie also scored bonus points with me when Drew's friend included OKC (my humble childhood abode) into the important places to stop. On his road trip, Drew went by the round barn located in Arcadia, Oklahoma...just a hop-skip-and-a-jump from my house.

As Drew continued on the road trip, he began to reorganize his view of failure, disappointment, death, dreams deferred, and survival in life. One such moment occurs as he approached the Survivor Tree located at the Oklahoma City National Memorial for the bombing victims of April 19, 1995.When I visited the memorial the first time, I was most struck by this tree myself. It is a 100-year-old American elm that was the sole surviving tree across the street from the destroyed building. This amazing tree holds a story, stands as a living witness, and continues to grow with the message of resilience and hope. You should take a road trip there if you haven't already.

The final message of the movie, spoken by a renewed Drew, is "No true fiasco ever began as a quest for mere adequacy. The motto of the British Special Air Service is, 'Those who risk, win.'* A single green vine shoot is able to grow through cement. The Pacific Northwestern salmon beats itself bloody on its quest to travel hundreds of miles upstream. Against the current...with a single purpose...life."
*Side note...the movie got it wrong evidently. The official motto of the SAS is actually "Who Dares Wins." Crazy Americans translating English wrong!
**Double side note...if you have never checked out the links on the sidebar of this blog, please do. The one called ROUND AMERICA is about a couple's road trip across America.

DISCIPLINE

2006-02-15T12:58:00.000-06:00

Here's a definition of DISCIPLINE my heart knows.

Discipline

Throw away thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath :
O my God,
Take the gentle path.

For my hearts desire
Unto thine is bent :
I aspire
To a full consent.

Nor a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep :
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove ;
Love will do the deed :
For with love
Stone hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot ;
Love's a man of war,
And can shoot,
And can hit from far.

Who can scape his bow ?
That which wrought on thee,
Brought thee low,
Needs must work on me.

Throw away thy rod ;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God :
Throw away thy wrath.

- George Herbert

From: Herbert, George. The Poetical Works of George Herbert.New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1857.

Shared coffee

2006-02-14T10:32:00.000-06:00

It only makes sense that I would want to "share" in the coffee! And what about this paradox: ice + coffee!?!

You Are an Iced Coffee

At your best, you are: hyper, modern, and athletic

At your worst, you are: cheap and angsty

You drink coffee when: you're out with friends

Your caffeine addiction level: medium

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

CANDY HEART POEM

2006-02-14T10:07:00.000-06:00

Ok...so after saying that I am not about Valentine's Day, here's a candy heart poem! My student teacher did a lesson in class today using candy hearts. Given 12 candy hearts, we all made a poem using the phrases. Here's mine:

home sick.
this heart
wants
more.

one thing
I know,
sure
love.

hope.
go home

(remember...we were limited to the words on the hearts!)

February 14

2006-02-14T08:18:00.000-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day! I'm not usually someone who would be interested in highlighting valentine's day...kinda too commercialized and cheesy. But my heart is a little lighter today. Not because of Hallmark.

I received a package in the mail yesterday. The stuff in the package really wasn't what made my heart lighter. It was the overall message. My friend did something very practical that expressed that she was thinking of me. Simple and received. It breathed hope into that aching muscle of my heart.

It reminds me that it really does not take much honest movement toward a person's heart to release floods of healing.

In the movie, Wit, Vivian Bearing is participating in an agressive treatment for terminal cancer. She is reflecting on the work she has done throughout her life as a scholar of the poet John Donne. She recalls that she devoted a major portion of her life assisting her mentor in editing a collection of John Donne poems. Her point, after this labor of love and work, was that she was mentioned by her mentor in the preface of the completed work. One line of thanks. That was all she needed to feel appreciated and connected to the work. Just a small, honest movement of being seen, known, and appreciated. This same mentor was the one who showed up and offered presence, simple presence, "being there" in Vivian's moment of utter pain in the shadow of death.

It doesn't take much.

Here's a thought

2006-02-11T13:43:00.000-06:00

Christianity, as has been offered to me throughout life, sometimes seems to be about exclusivity. ONLY ME AND JESUS. As if life is about knocking away everything until all you want is Jesus. As I entered my Seminary experience, I kind of thought of my life like a bullseye. The outer circle represented other people--relationships. The next circle in represented me. And the last circle, the inner bullseye, represented God. I don't think I can make this metaphor extend into the rest of my explanation, but bear with me as I bounce around.

So the struggle of life, under this model, is to have God swipe away anything upon which I am leaning that is not HIM--the center. Some of the mindset resulting from this includes thinking (especially when you hit disappointment) "Oh, I must have been trusting this outcome or this person too much! I have been replacing God with that thing or that person!" Then I feel shame, guilt, etc. and beg God to take those things or people away. "I'm so sorry I was leaning on them and not you!" Life's mission becomes getting rid of desire because it is dangerous! And If I can't get rid of my dangerous desires, I will get rid of people who draw them out of me! Who knows when you might just press in too much toward any given thing or person!!! If I do make that unwitting mistake of pressing in too hard, God will come by and knock me to my feet--make me fall into His arms.

In college I encountered a deep hurt from some friends. A life-marking disappointment. A spritual mentor told me to "look on the bright side...God is getting rid of all the distractions to trusting Him alone. God is about the business of knocking away all of the support structures we lean on instead of leaning on Him" The message is that your life should consist of only that bullseye--try to get rid of the other circles. Life is about making space only for God.

I REJECT THAT. I don't reject the ultimate aim--knowing and being sustained by God is the ultimate aim. But I don't think His path is the one of getting rid of everything else in the picture. I think my experience toward trusting God completely has been one of MAKING SPACE, not diminishing space. Making space for others, not getting rid of them. Making space for me, not denying my desires. This makes space for God. There's room for all of us.

It was not good for God and Adam to exclusively inhabit this earth. That's not my opinion...it's God's! The plan is not for Heaven, or Earth for that matter, to be my individual, exclusive experience. It is community. Heaven will be all of those desires for connection many Christians run around trying to erase and feel guilty for---guilty that they actually need others in their deepest points of pain. Guilty that, by needing others and being needed by others, we will end up disappointing eachother at some point. Can people really fill that God-sized space for all of us? No. Even when I lean on others in my points of deep pain, God alone meets me in my soul. But isn't heaven just about God? Yes, God in community.

Why do I need others when there is God? I need others in my deepest point of pain because that is how we are created. Not for exclusively needing God, but for needing God in community.

So my path isn't about God teaching me hard lessons by knocking away all the things that "get in the way" of me leaning exclusively on Him? NO! It is about me valuing all that He's made me to be. It is about being able to embrace others for all that they are because I have embraced myself. And by embracing others and myself, I discover that we are desiring to face our God, the bullseye. There is space for me, others, and God.

So, how does this account for disappointment and pain? The above picture seems void of any "issues." Well, this side of heaven, there is still the issue of sin as seen in pain, suffering, and brokenness. Relating to others is painful. When there is space for all of us, we can learn how to "live in our skin." I can finally have the freedom to communicate where I start and you end, and where you start and I end. It is both autonomy and community--all at once. I can tell people that they have hurt me. I can be told that I have hurt another. I can live confidently with desires for relationship and confidently with all of who I am. I can finally trust. Trust myself, trust others, and trust God. Disappointment no longer is equated with shame.

Pain in relationship doesn't mean that God is trying to "teach us a lesson." We stand together, living in our skin, in the presence of our God. In Heaven, when I no longer have skin to live in, I will no longer experience having to tell people where I start and they end--how I've been hurt or how they've hurt me. Space for us all, in heaven, will have no boundaries.

Life, on both sides of Heaven, is about making space not about hitting the bullseye.

Bold lines & Contrast

2006-02-07T22:22:00.000-06:00

This is a painting done by an artist named STUART DAVIS. This one is called G & W. His paitings are said to reflect his interest in Jazz. Lots of bold lines and colors setting off a series of contrasts and groupings. There's a light edge to his abstract renditions--so playful. I'm thinking of painting one of his designs on my basement wall.

May it be known

2006-02-06T20:13:00.000-06:00

I tried to call also. Just to say that I celebrate your life today. No answer. No space to leave my message. So I got the idea (from others) to leave my message floating in space. Available. Believing the best.

SuperBowl Winner: Good Friends

2006-02-05T22:18:00.000-06:00

Just wanting to say how much I appreciate the friends I spent Sunday night with watching the SuperBowl. Life doesn't have us crossing eachother's paths very often, but we've done a decade of life together (some of us). It's just nice to know and be known by these friends.

The View From My Broken Mountain

2006-01-29T21:55:00.000-06:00

I'm taking a class through EMMANUEL HOUSE SEMINARY called Cultural Literacy. I was asked to reflect upon seeing Brokeback Mountain and post my thoughts on our class message board. Below are the reflections I shared with my classmates:
-------------------

Yes. I've thought about it. I am a mixture of grateful, grieved, sobered, and hopeful to have walked through the story with the characters. A person's sexuality is perhaps her/his most sacred, holy dimension this side of heaven. Perhaps it is the delicate outer shell of the soul.

I am grateful someone (not surprisingly someone "outside" the faith community) was brave enough to place the story on the radar screen of life.

I, too, was grieved by the stories intertwined on the screen. The two men, the wives, the children, the parents. Broken people with some really beautiful hearts beneath the rubble. They all want the same things.

It would make life so much easier if we could compartmentalize our sexuality from every other aspect of our daily lives/interactions. It would be easier if we could just chalk this movie up to a radical, shocking, liberal stance pointing to an obvious agenda. Draw a line. Pick a side. It's not that simple. Instead, I thinkit is an opportunity to take a fictional look into real lives. I'm sobered.

Hopeful. Yes. Our Creator wrapped those souls in such a tender covering, on purpose. With Grace, He actually lives more intimately with the stark realities of all of our brokeness than even we do. He seems confident enough to continue to woo us back to him, day after day, regardless upon which broken mountain we live.

Trust

2006-01-27T21:17:00.000-06:00

Read the following:

The Paradoxical Commandments
by Dr. Kent M. Keith

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.

© Copyright Kent M. Keith 1968, renewed 2001

I don't know how to live like that without people to remind me that I have those things in me. How do you know when you need to be these things spoken of above, or when you need to "protect your heart"? It is really hard to live in mis-trust and still live from the center of your heart. I think it is impossible. I imagine (as my original hunch was all along) that when I am admonished to "protect your heart" it is so that I will eventually realize it is an impossible task. I cannot protect my heart to the measure that it needs protection.Only the one who created the heart knows how to protect it.

Are you eccentric?

2006-01-22T19:56:00.000-06:00

Yep. I watched another documentary this weekend. It is called VERNON, FLORIDA.As usual, you get to meet real-life, eccentric people--a man who lives, almost solely, to hunt turkeys; the couple who travelled to a desert area of the USA and has been watching their self-made souvenir jar of sand "grow" over the years; the old man who has an opposum caged in his back yard; and my personal favorite, an old man who talks through his personal theology as he paddles us through a swamp. He shares a dialogue he had with his neighbor about the existence of God. He recounted that his neighbor kept explaining the meaning of life, our existence, etc. with the fall-back phrase "It just happens." This wise elderly man suggested that his neighbor needs to decide that definition of "Just Happens" is the word/concept "God." He actually said it much more eloquently than I have explained it here.

His eloquence, like every person we meet in Vernon, was seen in his refreshing simplicity.

Are you simple enough to be eccentric? I looked up the word "eccentric" to find that it means "out of the center." I think that is why I am so drawn to watching documentaries about people. They tend to be people who live out of the center. They step out of the expected pattern for life, step away from the mundane. Maybe the way we become unique and most completely who we are is when we are simple. When we find the simplicity of our own "center" (live from the center of your heart, for instance) we are finally free enough to live outside the box.

Here's a peek into how my mind works. From these thoughts above, I begin to think about the concept of abiding as seen in John 15. There is nothing more simple than thinking of the life of a piece of fruit on a vine. A life of remaining attached and growing from within. Fruit grows from its heart (seed within) and finds its existence outside of itself---out of the center. Simple enough to be just what you are so that you can find life outside yourself. How eccentric!

Academic Degrees, Money, and Things That Last

2006-01-17T22:00:00.000-06:00

I got an email over Christmas break from a very kind person doing her job in the College of Education. She asked me if I knew that I was only 2 classes from completing my Master's Degree in Secondary Education. Only TWO classes away from completing a career goal. It is so close I can taste it! Actually taste it. Unfortunately, the classes I have to take are bland. Dry and bland.

Alright. The classes get a little more tasty when I think about the pay increase next fall. Tangible evidence of a degree, true.

But here's the thing. The benefits from a rich career goal are not best seen in a Master's Degree or pay increase. Here's how I measure the richness of my career...meet Nicole, Jessica, and Katie.

These three girls are Freshmen in college. They are why I love my career being a teacher. I was Nicole's (l) 7th grade English Teacher. There was a group of girls (anywhere from 3--10) back in the 1999--2001 school years (7th and 8th graders) who used to come into my classroom after school just to hang out and chat about life and laugh. They named themselves the "After School Club." When they were leaving for the high school at the end of 8th grade, one of these girls (Nicole??) asked if they could have a slumber party over at my house to celebrate the end of middle school.

The slumber party was great! We ate pizza, played Balderdash, tie-dyed t-shirts, pillow cases, etc, watched movies, etc. I let the girls use markers and draw pictures and write messages on the walls of a spare room in my basement. It was crazy fun! I found out that they even slid down the stairs on my couch cushions after I had gone to bed. Crazy kids!

These girls went on to grow close and experience life together. They've had amazing ups and downs in the last five years. They have come to be known as leaders--so well respected by the adults in their lives and well loved by their peers. They are every bit playful, fun-loving teenagers and mature, tender-hearted people. I love that they have begun to develop the habit of living life to the fullest--living it well.

Gratefully, most of them have made efforts to remain connected to me in some way. Last year I led a Bible Study with six of them (the 3 pictured above included). It was their senior year in high school. What an honor to share that weekly time together last year. It was a "full circle" moment for me.

So, to top it off, this past weekend we had a "reunion sleepover" at my house. Could
I be any more blessed? How many people are able to watch people grow and change over the long haul?

This weekend the girls added new pictures and messages to those basement walls. There's no space left, even if wanted to hang a picture...or say, a framed Master's Degree! What great honor has been bestowed on me by these girls. How rich I am!

What's up with HILLS and MOUNTAINS???

2006-01-16T22:54:00.000-06:00

Well, so, I watched two movies today. One was Brokeback Mountain. The other movie was The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill

I need some time to process BBM. So check back with me in a few days, or chat with me over coffee about that one. I'm not sure where I am on that mountain of a story.

BUT...regarding the hill. I think I must have docu-fever. I can't get enough of them right now. This documentary is about a flock of wild parrots that routinely fly to a neighborhood of San Francisco called Telegraph Hill. Mark Bittner entered into the lives of this flock simply as a curious observer. He soon became a dependable friend to the flock. The documentary captures the individual stories of these birds, their personalities and interactions. Can you believe that I actually loved learning about the birds? I even have my favorite stories!!

Connor is one of the favorites. He's a Blue Crowned Conure. The only one in this flock of Cherry Headed Conures. He had been in the flock long enough to have outlived all the other original parrots. He was not accepted as a full member of the flock because he was a different species, but he still remained with the flock. He would step up his involvement with the other individuals whenever there was an injured bird or some other random bird not accepted by the flock (a random budgie that travelled for a few days with the flock for example).

Mingus is an injured parrot that Mark cared for in his home. Mark described Mingus as "the only wild bird that didn't want to be wild." He would never take the opportunity to leave Mark's home. Part of his injury was that he had a permanently broken leg. When in good spirits, Mingus would "dance" while Mark played the guitar. The next moment, Mingus would be attacking Mark's shoes, sqwaking and arguing. Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde--ish. Mark indicated that to discipline Mingus for acting agressively, he would put him outside as opposed to placing him in a cage for "time-out." For this hurt, disabled parrot, being placed outside on the porch, in his original state of freedom, was the ulitmate punishment. He wanted the security of Mark's home.

I also loved the story of Olive and Pushkin. Simply put, Pushkin took care of the babies while Olive was recuperating. What a father! It really is a love story.

The movie is in-fact based on Mark's book by the same name. Please note the sub-title though..."a love story....with wings."

A nice story set on a hill.

Breaking Loose

2006-01-14T10:45:00.000-06:00

I think I am Babs the butterfly (see my previous post). I get the stuff of life more than ever before. Relationship, community, authenticity, trusting, holding my intense desires and even sharing them, asking others for help, giving from my heart, dreaming, and believing truth. It is the stuff of Jesus. If you are reading this, you are participating. Thank you! I'm breaking loose!!

The Heart of a Happy New Year 2006!

2006-01-02T23:19:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year! Can you believe that it's 2006??!!!

I will share this really intense poem I re-read recently. It was one of the most memorable and impacting poems I read while in college many years ago. I re-read it for the first time a couple of days ago. May God have entrance into this heart in need of mending, so that He may regain control of the overthrown parts. Ravish Your love and grace upon my heart!

Ponder this poem:

BATTER MY HEART
Holy Sonnet XIV
John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

One year later...

2005-12-22T15:47:00.000-06:00

I've been looking back through my pictures of the trip to Banda Aceh province on the island of Sumatra, Indonesia last March. Only days from now these people will mark a year since a surge of unfathomable proportions carved deep loss into their lives. I thought I'd share some of the meaningful pictures. Please let me know if you would like to see more or hear more about what I found when I went to help.

Look closely at the people.
They each had a story to tell.

The Hole and a Friend

2005-12-21T20:52:00.000-06:00

The other day I was really lonely. It was a day like many others. I asked a friend if I could just be around her. She invited me in (she jumped in). While in her presence, we watched several episodes of THE WEST WING. In episode #32 Noël, Leo tells Josh the following story:

"This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out.

"A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

"Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

"Then a friend walks by, 'Hey, Joe, it's me can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole.

Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'"
===============
The priest, the doctor...well meaning prayers and fix-it solutions---been there done that. There are plenty of people willing to peek down at me out of interest, and throw something in from afar.

The friend in the story who jumped in...Wow! That's love. That's presence. I need that.

Have you been in the hole before? Do you know the way out? I'll trust you to help me find the way out. I trust that we could find the way out together. Open invitation to anyone who has found him/herself in a deep, dark place alone and gotten out by God's grace. I need you.

Taking a Risk to Love

2005-12-07T10:49:00.000-06:00

I'm just going to put this out on the table. I think it is a really hard to risk loving. Hard because I don't like hurting at all. I mean it...I DON'T ENJOY PAIN IN MY HEART! Look at this quote I found recently. It is from written from the wise heart of C.S. Lewis. I know enough of his story to be certain that these words are from his heart--a heart that experienced pain and joy. A heart that risked to love.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements, lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all dangers and perturbations of love is Hell." The Four Loves

I've been thinking about getting another hamster for my classroom. I actually have had to talk myself through the death of that "future hamster" because I've had to see two previous ones die. I catch myself thinking, "Geez, it's just a hamster! Get a grip!" But the truth is, I can't get a grip on a heart that is beating with something eternal--love. Lewis is right...even caring for an animal is risky!

I've been really sad thinking about Melisa, my foster daughter of two years. She had another birthday last Saturday. The 10th one that passed without me being able to let her know that I really care. Ten years ago, she left my home and told me she didn't want me to contact her. That's a decade of broken heartedness. In fact, when she left, she took a part of my heart with her. Ouch. I'll get that piece of my heart back in heaven?

I am currently grieving the death of a friendship. My dear friend did not die. No, just the friendship. It is pretty fresh in my life. It has made me question whether anything that I found valuable about the experience of that friendship and what I found delightful about her as a person was even real. My heart, beating with the eternity of love, HAS to believe that it was all real.

I can't get a grip on my heart and make it stop loving. Make it stop risking. And that is a good thing.

Waaaaa sniff sniff

2005-11-29T10:21:00.000-06:00

My counter keeps advancing, but nobody ever leaves a comment.
:( Please let me know you stopped by from time to time. Your presence brings me joy!

Ball O' Twine

2005-11-21T13:14:00.000-06:00

This is a ball of twine. Actually, it is no longer able to support the shape of a sphere...it is more like a lump of twine. It is, nonetheless, impressive. I would suggest, if you travel a distance farther than 1 hour to visit this site, you should make additional plans. Go explore that general area of Kansas. The Ball of Twine is worth the trip, but there is really nothing else to see in the town. Well, there is a woman in this town who is an artist. She has reworked some famous paintings and has incorporated a ball of twine into each picture. There's an example of THE SCREAM by Edvard Munch below. The first one is the real picture. The next one is the Cawker City ball of twine painting.

The REAL ONE....................CAWKER CITY'S (can you find the ball of twine?)

My friend (who has amazing hair) and I thought it would be funny to have our picture taken smoking cigarettes next to the ball of twine. We are SUCH REBELS! They were fake cigarettes.

We then travelled through DOWNS, KS. The cafe closed at 2:00, so we had to get chicken from the grocery store deli and have a picnic in my truck. We met a woman at a gift shop there who taught us how to weave on an old, old upright loom.

We ended up at a bed & breakfast and I would highly recommend this historic limestone homestead. I discovered that I actually know the owner through a mutual friend. Click here to be linked to the B & B site.

Another MUST SEE is Wilson Lake. I think you really need to take a hike at Wilson Lake park. It will wind around and over some hills and after you crest one of the hills you will see the lake and some sandstone formations that took our breath away!

We finally ended up in LUCAS, KANSAS. I thought perhaps we took a wrong turn and ended up in the Twilight Zone! This town and it's people are something that should not be missed! Through the GRASSROOTS ART MUSEUM I met several people who inspired me. They are people who decided to do art in their own peculiar way. Complete abandon, no concern for perfection, lots of space for creativity! Here is a link to a good article that introduces you to some of the people and their art.

And here are some more photos:

Art, friendship, roadtrips, curiosities, quirky people, nature, good walks and good talks...AHHHH that's life!

Sight Given To The Blind

2005-11-14T12:38:00.000-06:00

I watched this documentary recently. It was deeply moving. I think it is my current favorite visual depiction of the human capacity to change through the mysterious intervention of sight. I believe the passageway into these children's souls has been through their eyes.

Here is the synopsis of the documentary as published on the movie distribution company's web site. Click anywhere on the synopsis to be linked to their web site:

A tribute to the resiliency of childhood and the restorative power of art, BORN INTO BROTHELS is a portrait of several unforgettable children who live in the red light district of Calcutta where their mothers work as prostitutes. Zana Briski, a New York based photographer, gives each of these youngsters a camera and teaches them how to take pictures, simultaneously causing them to look at their world with new eyes.

The kids would meet with Zana for photography lessons. Several times she would bring in the proof sheets for them to look at together. I loved watching the children learn how to express an opinion about something. She gave them permission to talk about the things they liked and did not like in the photographs they took. They were also welcome to critique eachother's pictures. It seemed this was a vital step in process of opening their hearts up to change at a spiritual level.

Zana took them on field trips--to the ocean, to a photo developing shop, to a water park...she dismantled the doors and walls of their prison. She invited them to look out the window of the red light district and see all the options life presented them.

I admired Zana's willingness to help open up life to these kids, but not to take control of their lives. She showed her heart of compassion for them, used alot of energy up upon their behalf, she battled for their lives. But she was not devastated by their imperfect choices or the thwarting of her best efforts. I loved watching her live her belief in their ability to one day see their lives, the possibilities, and the world around them.

These kids gained sight into their surroundings and into their own souls. They actually ended up caring, dreaming, wondering.

Three years after Zana's photo lessons with the children of the brothels, she organized a reunion for them (this would have been last January). Most of them are in high school now. All of them have some strand of hope woven into their current stories. None of the girls in the group are "in line" to be prosititues. That is a miracle in itself.

One of the most poignant parts of the documentary is a selection in the DVD "extras." During their reunion together last winter, the children asked to watch the documentary. Zana and her partner, Ross, filmed selected parts of their viewing of the work. Basically, you had the opportunity to see the children as they watched themselves learning how see themselves through the eye of a camera. It was beautiful! As the scenes of their own lives played out in front of them, the flicker of the TV reflecting in their eyes, you could see all the way down into their broken hearts on the mend.

The sight was an absolute picture of beauty.

Please consider looking into the foundation Zana has created on their behalf. Please consider letting them tell their own story to you, rather than being satisfied with my rendition. You can rent the DVD anywhere, and click here for the link to the KIDS WITH CAMERAS foundation.

Babs Takes Off!

2005-10-10T13:55:00.000-05:00

Please follow the progress of my dear Monarch friend, Ms. Babbles (Babs for short). The first image is of her in her chrysalis--bright green with the "golden zipper."

The next picture is of the final transformation of the chrysalis before she busts out...it turns completely black. Really the chrysalis is translucent and is showing the black outlines of her wing patterns and body. You can see the mosaic of the orange color patterns on her wings. As I watched this transformation (the turning black part) it was as if the last stage was the melting away of any film of color on the chrysalis. There was actually liquid that formed in the chrysalis--evidence of that liquid appreared on the bottom of the jar when she broke out of the chrysalis. I was on my way to Council Grove Lake to kayak when she busted out of the bottom/front shell of the chrysalis. Maris and I pulled over to the side of the road and took pictures.

You can see in the next picture that her wings are curled and kind of connected together still. She just hung onto the chrysalis shell and tried to get her footing. Within about 30 minutes her wings were straightened out, but they were still wet. Maris and I tried to find some flowers with nectar so that she could have food available immediately. She did not seem interested in food--she was all about drying those wings out.

She was beautiful! Once we got to the cabin, Maris and I spent about an hour just looking at her--all of her intricacies. An amazing creature! She looked dry from our vantage point, but every so often and tiny drop of clear water would fall from the tip of her wings. We ended up kayaking for about an hour and returning to find her fluttering about the jar.

There was a very difficult decision to make---we were so hopeful to watch her fly off. What a proud moment that would have been, but here was the dilemma: do I keep her until she is ready to fly and let her go back at my house OR do I let her free in the most beautiful wildflower patch imaginable (for October in Kansas)? The final picture is one of the wild flowers where I let her come to rest on a sweet white cosmos flower. I am confident she used her wings to fly.

I said my goodbyes to Babs. What a beautiful creature!

---BABS---

Artifacts and Scenes from a Country Road

2005-10-05T16:06:00.000-05:00

( I haven't figured out how to get this picture down by the SUNNY SIDE UP section...)

I went on a retreat this past weekend. It was a class I signed up for in my Seminary experience called Prayer and Retreat. One of the assignments for the weekend was to take a walk, experience nature, and bring back a scene or artifact that reminded me of my spiritual journey. Here are some things I brought back in the back pocket of my jeans and stuck up the sleeves of my memory:

The following are excerpts from my journal dated Saturday, October 2nd.
THE STONE BARN:
Last night Ben, Maris, Jenni, and I stayed up and snooped around the bookshelves of the Stone Barn (our retreat location). We discovered the "owner lady's" unique expressions of art. She makes, binds, and writes books that are very unique. We read her stories aloud--they struck me as a little bizzare and very, very captivating. Intriguing.
I went for my walk this morning and the first thing I noticed was that the name of the road on which this house resides is called JUSTICE ROAD. This "owner lady's" stories all centered on Justice---the justice played out through the passions of ordinary people. The man who collected road kill and buried it, the people who paid their taxes in rice and beans, the woman who left her husband's shallow, empty life of materialism. How interesting that this woman would build her house on Justice Road.
I looked back at the house from the top of the hill on which I was standing. The Stone Barn sits much like a lighthouse. It is a Kansas Lighthouse. Casting light from the core, radiating out to the land around it. A lighthouse of Justice?

MILKWEED--the scarcity of the resource:
As I walked, I continued to be on the outlook for milkweed. Milkweed is the only place where Monarch Butterflies (caterpillars) reside, as they only eat this plant's leaves (aside: the milkweed is poisonous to almost every other insect--this poison transfers to the Monarch's bloodstream and makes the caterpillar and butterfly poisonous to its predators).
As I walked along this country road in Northcentral Kansas, I saw one lonely plant. I thought, "How scarce this plant is! It would be amazing for a butterfly to even be able to locate this plant out in the middle of this area of Kansas!" This made me sad--the lonliness of this one plant. Then I thought from the perspective of blessing. What joy for the one butterfly who finds this plant in the middle of this milkweed-barren field of Kansas! What relief and welcome!
I pray my lonely moments can be expereinced from this perspective.

SUNNY SIDE UP FLOWERS:
As seen in the picture above, this is a tiny relative of the daisy (maybe the diameter of your thumbnail). Along my walk down the dirt road, I saw flowers just like this....tiny, dainty, miniature daisies....but they were LAVENDER, not white. Let me tell you why all of this description is important.
When I was a child, I can remember playing with these tiny white daisies. My sister and I would play like we were cooking breakfast. The little flowers would serve as eggs---served sunny side up--to our dolls, stuffed animals, and even to each other! Imagine a tea party where eggs are served!
The flowers along the side of this road were just like the ones from my childhood---except they were a marvelously alluring shade of lavender with the typical bright yellow center. They caught my eye---first because of their color--second because they reminded me of my childhood.
I picked a few of these for my show-and-tell back at the barn. Immediately I remembered a comment Precious made during the last PERSONAL ISSUES IN SPIRITUAL DIRECTION class last week. She was reviewing a case with us. Talking through the story of a woman whom she had counseled a few years back. She told us that "Sally" had come in for help, hoping that she could get rid of her symptoms of depression, etc. Hoping she could return to the person whom she had once been. Precious explained that her vision for "Sally" was that she would fully become the person God desired her to be---not return to who she had been.
Hope for the journey. I may just return home vaguely familiar, but now with a presence that is alluringly vibrant. A color that catches the eye. I love the little girl serving Sunny Side Up "eggs" to her stufffed animals. But I long to become the friend, sister, daughter, co-worker, neighbor, lover, mother, journeyer who serves a Sunny Side Up life, heart, and spirit with all the allure and intrigue of this beautiful lavender flower along the side of the road. I am eye-catching in my soul.

STAND STILL AND LISTEN:
I stopped in the middle of the road. There was no chance of any traffic. This is a very secluded area---surrounded with hundreds of acres of farms and fields. When I stopped I became suddenly aware that in the act of STOPPING, I can really experience where I am and what surrounds me. While walking, almost all I hear is my feet, my pants rubbing together, my breath, my thoughts. When I stopped, I felt the breeze on my face, heard the birds in far away branches, saw the insects dancing through the brush, discovered the sand and the sandstone beneath my feet, watched the grass bend, listened to the distant bellow of a cow, noticed cattle eating and drinking only yards away from me, and heard and watched the rippled waters and cautious warnings of a duck on the pond. Hmmmm. Stand still.

I SCARED THE CATTLE:
Peaceful cattle drinking from a stream---startled by my presence. Why did they run--as if I was going to harm them? They almost injured themselves in their overreaction. Chain reaction--stumbling over the rocks, then their own feet, warning all the others. I was only an interested observer of their lives. I had simply walked into their moment, stopped, and took notice. Why run?

HEDGEAPPLES--SO UGLY, BUT SO USEFUL:
Hedgeapples dropped from a tree---scattered all over the intersection of a country road. They are really ugly, you know. Large, hard, putrid shade of greenish yellow, pock-marked. And what are they anyway? A fruit? A pod? A nut? All I know is that their reputation in the world--at least all I've heard about them recently--is that they will fend off spiders unwelcome under your bed and couch, and they could even deter mice and rats from making a nest whereever you place the hedgeapple. Ugly things, so useful for good.

AHA

2005-09-20T15:00:00.000-05:00

Disappointment is only a comma, not a period.

Learn to have mercy and grace on yourself, you have just learned to offer it to another.

Where do I form my fist against life/people/God?

Pop a cap in Tuesday's ass. (quote from co-worker/friend...I think it lends an interesting balance here)

The Gift at My Front Door

2005-09-15T15:21:00.000-05:00

Eyes to see that I am home.
You knew I would be checking,
opening the door between my comfort
and the mysterious evening air.

Words that wrap and fold and cover
safe invitation to look beyond.
Someone told you what I needed
you knelt and placed and left.

Heart of Truth. A Gift.
Waiting at my front door.

Notes on napkins and tales from the trash

2005-08-07T14:54:00.000-05:00

I love the notes my mother used to write on a napkin and place in my school lunch box. I like to think that my mother invented that idea and is the only person who ever has expressed love that way. It meant that much to me. Actually, I'm glad that many other mothers have followed my mother's example (I'll just believe she was the trendsetter, ok?).

I grew up just a little bit more last week. Maybe I just looked at a piece of reality and saw it clearer. Last week I rented a commercial-sized dumpster. It was the length of my driveway! I filled that dumpster half full of my childhood, among other accumulated sundries.

Purge. That seems like a negative word. What a horrible thing to throw away such precious treasures, like a piece of love written on a napkin. Reality came into sharper focus though. It was a battle. A battle in my heart, soul, and mind. I'm not joking; I think most of you understand that. I have convincing reasons why I need to hold on to each of those napkins that no longer take up space in my childhood lunchbox, but actually own space in a larger box of memorabilia shoved into any free corner of the garage. It is rather easy to present a convincing argument for holding tight to things of the past when I am the only one who has to be convinced. I am the best orartor to my own ears! So I shook my head a million times to the desperate pleading voice in my head saying, "Hang on to that piece of your childhood....you'll never see that again....don't get rid of that!!!!!!"

I grieved. I grieved the reality of an innocence lost, the hindsight vision of a broken heart and rich life--blurred together, a time when I knew less but needed just as much. I saved one of the napkins (hey, who saved those napkins in the first place??!!!!! ...MOM.....!), along with a smattering of other important treasures (letters from grandmothers, the deck of kitty cat playing cards I inherited from my sister, a flute-like instrument my parents brought back from Israel, my grade cards from every year in school, a ticket stub from an OU football game my brother took me to when he was in college...to name a few). What sweet memories. Now my childhood relics own only two medium sized boxes that fit managably in a designated location of the garage. The memoribila has decreased in size, my tight grasp has loosened, and my heart has grown. It has grown to fill the spaces of my 36 year old life.

One final insight. I was not alone in this undertaking. I had to ask someone to walk into the messy places in my house. To do a "Clean Sweep" of my possessions required that I invite someone to accompany me---for the sake of courage and focus. Thank you to Jools who allowed me to cry, saw me become very short tempered, and was willing to validate the importance of each item with which I struggled to loosen my grip. When my eyes glazed over at the sight of the next closet of piled up life, she would step forward toward it and encourage me to come with her. She handed it to me, a piece at a time. When I would feel overwhelmed with the reality of how I had saved erasers and bookmarks, and assigned them value, and shame welled up in my heart.....she responded so gently. "That's so sweet that you liked that eraser so much. You're not screwed up; you're so sensitive!" Her gift allowed me to throw away my symbolic treasure. She reminded me where my real treasure is.

I think I need to go write some love on a napkin!

GLEANING: I believe God shows us that He is mysteriously transforming our lives when we can see a pattern of change occurring in more than one place in our life. It encouges me that I responded to a need two years ago to get my finances in order, I responded a year ago to get my inner life in order, I responded a week ago to getting my physical house in order, to name only a few. Each time I heard the invitation for change, I could not go there alone. In each place I was deperately frozen. Yet these places were opportunities to face reality and be guided through my reality with a loving person(s).

How wide, how long, how high, how deep is the love of Christ!

twenty-two

2005-07-15T23:34:00.000-05:00

Thirty-six years, four months, and one day ago I was born into a wonder-filled and broken world. As spoken so well by friends of mine, at that moment the life-line was cut to the safest place I had known in this world, and I let out my first cry of lonliness and disappointment. I've been crawling through this world ever since looking for the entrance so as to get back into that place where every need was supplied. What a desperate life!

Thank God for a plan that involves redemption! Today I mark, with time, the twenty-second year since second birth. When I was fourteen years old I made a very child-like decision to trust that my Creator had certainly provided a doorway back to paradise. In a very limited way, like a newborn, I understood that I needed that doorway back. Thinking about being a "young adult" in my spiritual life has made me curious today to think back on what life was like when I was 22 year old in world years. I wondered if there could be any similarity between how I responded to the expereinces at 22 physical years as I do now at 22 Spiritual years. It was a very interesting exercise. Here are some gleanings:

I was 22 in 1991. The circumstances--I had just graduated from college. I had made a decision to stay in Manhattan for the summer. A first--all other summers in college I had spent at home in Oklahoma. Priority #1 was to find a job. I had two interviews that summer. The first, Manhattan/Ogden, rejected me. The second, Geary County, hired me. Gleaning: it was a time of self-relient (good term) ventures of faith. It was a time when I did not get my first desires, but the side roads I was directed down proved to be amazing.

Another key characteristic was simply my decison to stay in Manhattan long term. I made the decision with as much wisdom as I had, but it was a wisdom beyond my years and understanding. I see it now as a vote for community. Most of my college friends had moved away in May, but I had no desire to leave. I recognized that a community existed--even beyond my college friends--and I sensed that something life-altering had already begun in my life. Gleaning: it was a time for noting the truly important things in life and embracing them without hesitation. A time to value the role of community.

The final most important detail had actually precipitated from an experience two years prior. A painful experience left a wound on my heart. I really didn't realize it, but the master Gardener had planted a seed in that wound. Just like you would use a trowel to plant a row of seeds in the garden. It was about this time--the summer of 1991--that seed began to germinate under the thick layers of my heart. Gleaning: there is a death that will result in life. A season for everything under heaven. You can't see the seed die, and you can't know for sure that it is sending tender green shoots up through the fertile soil. You wait. You believe. You trust. You hope. You live.

If you wonder who I am as a 36 year old body living in a 22 year old life... I'm that girl, just out of college, setting out on her own, embracing community, and on the verge of new growth.

Her eyes are set on the doorway.

The knife's edge

2005-07-11T18:50:00.000-05:00

There is a place where the best of who I am meets up with the most depraved and shriveled up portion of who I am. I've been thinking alot about this place. I think it is found in my soul. I liken it to a knife's edge. That imagery initially causes me to wince. But the longer I ponder the image, the more I think of it as the leading edge of a full life.

I'm so grateful to be a part of a seminary experience that is spreading out space for me to sit down and ponder such important images. I'm grateful that my seminary classroom is an actual livingroom in a house. A living room. A living room where I meet with other people in my seminary classes. I'm grateful for a living room/learning room that extends beyond the touch of humans, including my own grip. I go about my daily life in a Holy living room--I believe it is called the footstool of Heaven. In this living room I have to reckon with relationships. I'm beginning to understand that we all have these "leading edges." Through an actual act of grace, each of us in the living room is permitted to bump into one another. This is what L & P talk about when they encourage us to bring "all of our story" to the story of another." It is impossible to accomplish this without pain and reward. They call it "messiness."

And isn't that what the purpose and result of a knife's edge really is (if you exclude using it as a weapon)? A knife is meant to be a tool that accomplishes things we cannot do in our human effort--yet it uses such drastic measures to get such good accomplished. None of us are very happy when we go to cut that juicy T-bone steak and all we have is a butter knife, or worse...a spork! No leading edge. I'm learning to value my leading edge. It seems that, when I do value it, anything of immediate comfort, security, and seen value is lost. When I look at my leading edge as the place of full life, in the process, I am first emptied and then an overriding confidence that comes out of absolutely nowhere surfaces. I experience abundantly full life.

I had an "AHA!" moment last Friday, July 8th. I was having a "knives' edges bumping together" talk with a dear friend. A comment that had been given to me during seminary echoed in my mind and then gracefully floated to the surface of my heart. The comment/admonition: "Allow yourself to have grace on the parts of who you are that you hate." Allow myself to have grace on something bad? I mean really, the bumpy conversation I was having with this friend was actually painful for both of us! I felt responsible. Have grace on that place? It was one of those conversations that we both knew had restored our relationship, but we would most likely be in this place again, facing these same issues again. Probably soon. Mainly because our leading edges don't change in one experience. When you hone a knife you use many repetitive brushes against the whetstone. Even when you are satisfied with it's renewed sharpness, you will have to return to the whetstone over time and with use. So, my friend and I, we left this painful converstaion actually encouraged, but there was a sinking feeling that we would have to feel the pain again.

It was at this moment of quiet contemplation that the admonition popped above the surface of my conciousness and adheared to my present reality. "Have grace on the places in your heart that are so easily wounded." If I can learn to have grace on those places---to sometimes even have to look (and really temporarily BE) defeated by my wounds, and then choose to replace the normal response of loathing wounds/weakness by chosing to have grace on myself. To create space for weakness. The real AHA moment came when I realized that by exercising those atrophied muscles of grace as given to myself, I would eventually have the capacity to extend grace to others--the very ones who bump their leading edge up against me in the living room of life. And isn't that one of the deepest, most fulfilling responses to others and ourselves? Grace and love.

Water and Rest

2005-06-24T11:25:00.000-05:00

What is it about the movement of water that inspires me to stop and rest? I'm on my way to Minnesota for five days. I'll be staying at a cabin on a lake. My preference for water vacations is actually the ocean, but I don't think you will be hearing me complain while I am enjoying the lapping waters of this lake on my legs as I sit on the dock! A recent discovery has been the thrill-seeking, full-tilt, need for speed enjoyment from jet skiing. I absolutley love the feeling of skimming over the surface of the water and feeling the spray hit my face. Another favorite is kayaking on a perfectly still morning or evening, the boat cutting through glass as I make my way toward a vibrant sun sitting on the edge of the earth. It is interesting that a body of water can provide two very different experiences. I'll take them all!

I look forward to actually starting and completing at least one book while I am there. When I am not in or on the water, I will be laying on a gigantic round intertube thingy (usually used in the water, but I pull it up in the yard by the lake) reading in the shade. I love the limited lifestyle of reading a few pages, taking a sip on my diet pepsi, rolling over, closing my eyes, napping for 15 minutes with the breeze chasing over me, opening my eyes and reading some more... ahhhh. Other than the full body massage I got last week, that scenario sounds as close to heaven as I can create here on earth.

Hope you guys back in the landlocked portions of this country can get to the water soon!

Snow Cone Lady

2005-06-17T14:21:00.000-05:00

This is my current epic adventure. Yep. Snow Cones. But it is more than shaved ice, really. Let me brainstorm some words and phrases that come to mind:

faith, blueprint for abiding, trust, adventure, challenge, place that requires presence, community building, unlocks creativity, making memories, smiling at kids, out of the box, space to express oneself, kitschy, opportunity to ask for help, opportunity to be believed, opportunity to shine, movement of a story, weaved connections between myself and others---pulls them in, stirs delight in others, creates hope for redemption in relationships, bridges gaps, stirs hearts of those who love to see dreams come true and want to participate, loved by so many---they will even eat sugar and be bitten by bugs for my sake, opportunity for others to discover their passions & talents, experiences in "leaning into" the next obstacle, bringing meaning to that which might seem trite, hmmm soulds like all those years of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood might be paying off!

The Role of Rememberance

2005-05-23T12:10:00.000-05:00

During a Saturday morning hike on the prairie with a dear friend (my friend with amazing hair--jools, you know who I'm talking about! Of course you do...you are making me write this! Oh...this is a bizarre aside that is very distracting to the deep thoughts from me...but it does need to be about you, right???) Back to the prairie...I actually said something to this good-haired friend that made me stop and take note in my heart. The meaning of my thoughts, turned into words, turned right around and landed full circle back on my heart with an "AHA!" It never sounds as good as it did in the moment, but here goes...

I was trying to explain some random, but meaningful, tidbits of information I had learned on the last hike I took on this prairie about a month ago. That trek was with my seminary class and we were led by one of our classmates who is a docent. We would stop every so often and he would share details about the things we could see around us....the large tree that had survived many decades of prairie fires, the types of grasses, the story of the river and stream left in the dried up places along the banks...

The part I tried to explain to my good-hair friend on this most recent hike was about the limestone "bluffs" that seem to project out of the rolling hills. Given that this prairie once was under water (An ocean? I mean that is how limestone is formed, right?) these plateaus/bluffs of limestone were actually the result of the carving out of ocean "shelves" millions of years ago. If one is able to take her ground's eye view and swing a 360....you notice that these shelves actually exist at various levels, and each level has other bluffs, perhaps even miles away that match the same elevation...because they are actually the same limestone shelf! It causes me to do a "zoom out--wide angle" view of my world...well at least my prairie. How amazing that view is!!! So connected! I don't know how to put words to this, but that experience of seeing the "big picture" of the prairie and its land forms gives me shivers of awe.

So I continued to recollect to my good-hair friend on Saturday, as we meandered through the last leg of our hike, that I had been out in another location of our city a few weeks ago. Again, I was on a seminary class trip--a silent retreat--lounging on the prairie again. It wasn't this section of prairie, rather it was probably 10-15 miles NW of this location. Lounging in the NW section of our prairie, I was on my stomach looking at the small limestone rocks jutting out of the ground. I noticed that one of the rocks was cracked...about to split in two. Because of my curiosity, and because I had time to do introspective things like this on the retreat, I broke the rock in two only to discover something beautiful! There was a seashell fossil as clear as could be! The "big-picture" limestone underwater shelf comment and this "up-close and personal" experience with an individual rock created a very poignant moment for me. Quite a juxtapositioning of myself, face-to-face with my place in the big picture of things. At that moment of discovery (the fossil discovery), I marvelled thinking about how I was the first person to ever see this sight. No one had "planted" the fossil there...no one had ever seen it since it began its fossilization. It was a "first in history" moment. In that very moment of awe, I had a word whispered to me from the Spirit. He said, "Just like this fossil is etched into stone over the course of millions of years, I have etched my mark on your heart."

Let that settle in. I was grateful for fossils, the prairie, limestone, seashells, and the whispers of the Spririt.

Well, as I am explaining this to my good-hair friend (Yeah, jools, I am trying to keep your name current in this rendition!) we begin touching on the topic of evolution, greenpeace, tree hugging, etc. I shared that my belief embraces both evolution (organisms changing--usually for the better--in order to survive) and devolution. In regard to the creation as a whole, I believe it is in a state of devolution--slowly decaying and drifting father from its intended use/expression. For instance, we just happened to be walking and talking on the trails through some of the last natural prairie ecosystem in the world. Why is it gone? Shouldn't it still be here? Isn't the fact that we have to intentionally save it a sign that something has gone wrong, really wrong? So what is to be done? Should I become a tree hugger? Work for Green Peace? This tension finally settled into this line of thought...I should do only what I feel is necessary to maintain rememberance. I believe the prairie preservation we were walking on has a very specific function. It is there to remind us of what the world/creation once was. It is there to remind us that everything is decaying. It is there to remind us of our desperate need for restoration to flood over the layers of our very soul. In the rushing waters of restoration I hear the whisper..."You are marked for discovery. You are marked for rememberance. You are marked."

WHO NEEDS THE ICE CREAM MAN????

2005-05-16T15:48:00.000-05:00

I want to be the Snow Cone Lady of my midwestern hometown. Ok, really, it's shaved ice, but who's going to get excited over the "Shaved Ice Lady"? I am excited to try my hand at an entrepreneurial venture that might allow me a creative outlet and a venue to continue interacting with kids and families. Right now the idea is to have a concession cart that is mobile. Perhaps I could visit each of the three Parks & Rec pools throughout the week. Perhaps they would even let me do the Arts in the Park events. Could I even make cameo appearances at the ball parks???? Geez, that would be fun! I love the idea of kids leaving messages and comments on the trailer (dry-erase markers) and being able to vote on the flavor of the week. I also think it would be fun to have a "Brain-Freezer Question" (question of the day) printed on the cups. Should they be a random assortment? And then from that random assortment, one of the questions could be on the trailer each day for people to respond to on the trailer. HMMmmmmm. Any other ideas out there???? Perhaps there could even be a "customer spotlight" each week. Their pic on the trailer, free snow cone, and their favorite flavor...or they get to create a new flavor...I love it! I'll keep you updated!

Language and Life

2005-05-05T20:26:00.000-05:00

Ok..if you are not an English teacher or Linguist, you may want to skip this posting...

Actually, I DARE you to stay and read it. I wonder if you will get even a glimmer of the same "AHA" moments I have in my classroom when I teach grammar. Let me have a go at it here...

I've been teaching the 8 parts of speech to my 7th graders. I tell them at the beginning that NO ONE will ever get a better job, a promotion, or out of a speeding ticket for being able to list the 8 parts of speech! Being an expert in the structure of language is not about anything immediately practical! Rather, it is about the invisible layer of life. Abstract realities that are absolutely necessary. I get absolutely PUMPED UP when I talk about/think about/explain how the structure of language gives us a window into how we experience the world around us.

Are you still with me????

Here's what I hope will be my condensed version of a 9 week grammar unit:

Look at the world around you...we experience it all and desperately need a way to express our experiences. If you sit still and look around at the immediate world around you you will notice that everything of the world is either a thing or energy.

Those things in our world are nouns/pronouns. So I sit here in my classroom and I can name things. Naming things is an important part of our need to experience the world around us. I see a computer screen, chairs, carpet, dirt, etc.

Once you notice these things around you and name them, you notice that they are either moving or are simply being. We need some category to express the movement of things, action verbs. And we need a way to express that some things are not moving, but simply exist--state of being verbs/linking verbs.

Now let's admit that we really do prefer a world with color rather than a "forever Ansel Adams experience" of black and white existence. We have words that are responsible for the dimension of "color" in our language--the adjective and adverb.

And what about those pesky prepositional phrases??? They help us express the presence of space/three dimensions in our world. The squirrel doesn't just run now, it runs up a tree. Now we have our desperate need to understand direction taken care of!!! I mean we all like to know where we are going, right?

So now we have a world that has things, movement, color, and space/direction. There are still a couple of things missing. Fortunately, we are no longer cavemen & cavewomen dragging our clubs behind us, struggling to stand up straight just to say, "Me hungry!" Nawww....we have become much more sophisticated! In fact, we like the idea of multi-tasking. I can walk, talk, and chew gum. I'm rather evolved! Because we are able to consider and do more than one thing at a time, we need a type of word that is like glue. What is word glue? The conjunction. We love and hate the complexity of life. I mean how many people really love to become conjunction experts---dying to communicate about a series of things so that you are forced to figure out where the commas go and where the semicolons go?!

Finally, we have everything we need to express an understanding of the world around us. What's missing now? Ahhh...our favorite! The simplest part of speech to understand because it originates in our heart. We need something to help us express our inner world of emotion. Hip-hip horray for the interjection! No crazy rules, just raw emotion. You can insert an interjection anywhere, and it kind of stands alone, even in the context of a sentence. Hmmm.

Whew! If you are reading this line, I think you now understand how quirky I am! Grammar, language, words, structure...I LOVE it!

PS--I also think it is beyond cool that today is May 5, 2005 (05/05/05).

Why the name?

2005-05-03T12:09:00.000-05:00

The Promise of Paradox

First of all, a disclaimer. I did not come up with this title on my own. As the experience goes, I attended my brother's church in Tulsa and met a woman who works in Nicaragua. In our brief encounter I was intrigued by her work with indigenous people and her heart to defend the defenseless. My curiousity led me to her website http://www.esperanzaenaccion.org/ where I read through her suggested resourse list. One of the quotes she shared in her list caught my eye.

" In a true community we will not choose our companions, for our choices are so often limited by self-serving motives. Instead, our companions will be given to us by grace. Often they will be persons who will upset our settled view of self (and of God) and of the world." ~Parker Palmer, The Promise of Paradox

I have not read Parker Palmer's book, so do not take this as an endorsement (although, I intend to read his book once I can get my hands on a copy). But I was struck deeply by his words. Touched in the same place God frequently places his mark on my soul. And I was absolutely smitten by the title. I made it mine.
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Promise. Paradox. They are both words of tension and freedom.

Let's start with paradox. The word origin suggests something that is contrary to expectation. I still remember the day I was walking home from a class on campus at KSU. The walk from my British Lit. class in Eisenhower Hall to my apartment on Thurston Street took me past several older homes. I walked on a sidewalk, the pavement sections shifted and uneven. I strolled under beautiful trees embracing me from above. It was a path that invited reflection. That scene was repeated many times over, throughout several seasons of change, but one particular day stands out in my memory. It wasn't really about the day. It was about the dawning of a new understanding. I remember allowing my thoughts to pour over the poem we had looked at in class (Who was it we were studying back then??? I can never remember those types of details. Grrrr). My thoughts meandered at the same pace as my stride on the sidewalk. Gracefully, my mind landed on the concept of paradox, specifically the paradox as seen in the image of God being both the Lion and the Lamb. It rattled my soul. A conclusion was born in that instance. I am filled with life and wonder when I ponder paradox. I love the crashing of images and the resulting spray of hope. Paradox. It is a place that invites you to linger for a moment longer.

Promise. There are few things that can lift higher or crush harder than promise. Promise beckons the rising up of hope which, in turn, creates the tension of risk and return. Whisper a promise to my heart and I will burn up--disentegrate in anticipation--like the phoenix burned on a pyre--awaiting the fulfillment. Fail to fulfill the promise, and the result is a process halted--a pile of ashes. What risk! Follow through with the fulfillment of a promise, and I will rise up out of the ashes a new creation, color bursting forth from ashes. What return!

This is my heart. A life that seeks the promise of paradox. A life that can willingly enter into the crucible of contrast, momentarily remain as a pile of ashes, and gracefully take flight on the wings of fulfilled hope.