By the Stream

Baby Steps

2007-09-18T12:22:00.000-04:00

In a few weeks, I'm participating in the "Baby Steps" Walk for Life as a fundraiser for the Crisis Pregnancy Center and Hannah House Maternity Home in Bloomington. Before you click past this as "just another fundraiser letter," let me say that this is the most incredible non-profit I have ever had the honor of being a part of. I've volunteer for 4 1/2 years and have been on the board for going on three. I treasure the times I get to go and serve women and families, and I actually look forward to board meetings because the members are so dedicated to honoring to God.

If you already know about this ministry and just wanna go ahead and pledge for my 2-mile walk, just skip to the bottom after the stars. If you want/need to learn more about the ministry, please read this...

True to the name. this ministry serves women in CRISIS pregnancies: unsafe home lives, financial duress, emotional instability, or simply friendlessness. I have seen an incredible staff be more selfless and loving than any human being should be. The center provides free pregnancy testing and counseling (a major gift to the IU community), as well as support for families in the way of diapers, clothing, formula, etc... It provides life skills and parenting classes, and more than anything, a friendly face to talk to in the midst of life changing situations. The Hannah House provides safe lodging for expecting women and their babies, consistenty staffed with more of these Christ-walking people. The ladies are expected to learn to fend for themselves when there time here is over, working on GEDs, learning how to get jobs and how to run a household. The House holds up to 8 women and their babies. Indianapolis recently closed their maternity home, and our waiting list grows daily. We're currently a full house - with two babies to come into the world this week!

*****HOW TO HELP*****

1. Leave a comment with your pledge and the best way to contact you. I'll get in touch with you for the details.

2. Send me an email, rayjean@mail.com. Ask any questions you want, or let me know how to get back with you. This is a registered non-profit in its 21st year of serving. All giving in tax-deductible. You will get a statement in the mail!

3. Go online to learn more at www.cpcbloomington.org.

Please contact me by Wednesday, October 3.

Thank you for taking time to read this. For those of you who have given in the past, thank you so very much. Your generosity has changed lives - I am privelidged to have held some of those very lives in my arms!

Hope to hear from you soon!

Peace of God,
Denise <><

P.S. If you're in the neighborhood, you can also walk yourself and collect support for the event! It's Oct. 6. 9:30 a.m. at Clear Creek Christian Church in Bloomington. Breakfast and lunch provided; games and prizes, and bouncey toys all a part of the fun! Go online to register, print forms, and see tips for collecting pledges: www.cpcbloomington.org.

Crayon Clouds

2007-08-06T17:36:00.000-04:00

What cloud islands today! Just how
a child I could have borne by now
would draw them, in all their crayon perfection
of loose-loop tops and crooked bottoms. Each
seemingly a nation, floating soft
in July blue.

My mind-scissors cut out
a piece of the parchment air –
I run to tack it to my internal refrigerator.
I want to rush home to hold her:
light long curls and a serious mouth,
a hug all arms and legs and weight
of total trust. Such heavy invisible love.

It’s not the first time this figment-child
has drawn me. I carry her
in hip-saddled grocery bags
and tell her of the castles along I-74, those
tall and grey and royal silo kingdoms
surrounded by green more Ireland than Illinois.

Yet, she is only me sometimes,
wanting mommy stories and a magic eraser
for all I wish I did not have to know
or fear
or hate.

To think I may have found the backdoor
to my own innocence…
laying under all these words.

Early Morning Sighting

2007-08-02T17:28:00.000-04:00

Through fuzzy eyes, the International Space Station was seen by one just-caffeinated dj in the parking lot of Spirit 95 studios at 5:46 a.m. Wednesday. It amazed the humble early-riser to contemplate the view from that point of light - how all her familiar surroundings of buildings, county, state would be indestiguishable from there. That smoothly-sailing light won't even slow down if passes over the birth of a child whose mother was contemplating abortion just a few months ago, the death of a grandmother in Texas, or a group of Christ-believing Taliban prisoners. The dj turned her face back to the earth, feeling very small, yet somehow one with the universe. Before walking from the parking lot in a renewed frame of mind, she raised her eyes once more and said, "Stacey says hello!"

[dedicated to my friend Stace, who has inspired a little more sky-watching than usual.]

HomeKey

2007-07-11T17:55:00.001-04:00

After a 6-day vacation, I found myself at the office door this morning, putting my house key in the lock.

The auto-response of where my body apparently thinks I should be always seems a phenomenon to me. It brought to mind a quote that Anne Smith shared at a Women's Prayer Retreat I was at almost a year ago from Rachel Remmen...

"If you lose the key, throw away the house."

The braveness of this sends a quake through every safety net I ever knitted. Proof of a pack-rat? Evidence that I am more materialistic than I let on? It's deeper than that. The future is. Scary. Especially if there is any hint it will be different than this brea(lity)th.

What houses do I no longer have access to? What dwellings do I need to walk away from? My Key has morphed - it refuses to let me re-enter the houses of Meek Denise, Directionless Wandering, Fat Kid, Teacher's Pet, Never Asked to Dance, Ignored Daddy's Girl. Forget walking away. Those are condemned buildings that, if I don't tear them down, will haunt me even if they Key won't turn.

The truth is, I can still jimmy a window and let myself inside. Everything is dimmer and dustier, but recognizable, and I risk injury in the dark. Even truer: I need those building blocks - there are new structures under construction than can only be built on those reworked stones. Strip the moss and mold off Shame to build Beauty. Beneath the rot and rust of Selfishness is Love. And by shattering Assumption, there are a million cornerstones of Learning.

Here comes the neighborhood...

So new, it just saw ink this afternoon...

2007-05-25T16:47:00.000-04:00

Airing out

We are airing out; a people of pale
arms, fed through drivers’ side windows.

And like our flesh, the earth remembers heat.
Eats it. Soaks its toes. Stores it for breakfast.

While the sun cleans out our ears:
a birdy conversation in answer to the trees,
the breeze climbing the rise like a man,
a new green louder than death.

It’s spring and I want to catch fever,
meet my poison and swallow my fear.

It’s spring and I’ll race you to the hill
where this laughter already passes
and our souls already stand.

This actually began as a re-write that then worked in about three old haikus from last spring. Still a bit rough, so could use feedback!

words that sun and leaves bring...

2007-05-13T15:34:00.000-04:00

Brother David and I just donned the walking shoes and struck out for downtown - where I write now from the library. It has to be one of the most perfect weather days we've had yet this spring.

My straw hat tied to by back and sunscreen on my shoulders - Lord, help me if I don't feel like anything is possible.

Today I had the blessing of being in worship with two of my dear church families... and I still feel so full after being with them. A call to women on this Mothers' Day: Dear sisters, we are so beautiful when we know we are strong! Don't let anyone tell you that you have to hide your intelligence, your voice, your ability to see deep. Dear spirit mothers and fathers, speak to the young women in your lives, tell them how they are beautiful, how they are strong. We need you.

All dear ones, remember spring. Remember the coming alive that happens. Remember to wonder over it.

What does it sing about you?

2007-04-19T13:25:00.000-04:00

Today is Top Ten Song Day - an excuse for me to make my very own list! These were heard 7-8:15 this morning on my show...

10. Say Won’t You Say, Jennifer Knapp. From The Way I Was Made, 2001.
Admittedly, I wanted to be Jennifer Knapp when I was 20. She’s such a rock star. So I have this inability to play any of this project and not croon along.

9. No More No Less, MercyMe. From Coming Up to Breathe, 2006.
Who doesn’t desire to be understood? And how do I live my life so that there is no question that “this is who I am?” There’s so much about this CD to love.

8. You Never Let Go, Matt Redman. From Passion: Everything Glorious, 2006.
Singing this in worship this past summer with my friends at Tehillah ( Genesis Church) and reading Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge is what caused me to own the fact that I am always pursued.

7. Something Beautiful, Newsboys. From Go, 2006.
It took all of 10 seconds to fall in love with this song. As Paul Colman said when we talked with him this past week, it’s no mistake that we can feel the Ultimate Beauty in otherwise common things.

6. In the Middle, Mat Kearney. From Bullet, 2004.
From the moment he hit the chorus of “Undeniable” at the Bloomington concert with Shane & Shane, this guy had my attention. I bought the CD that night (but stupidly, I didn’t have signed; ah, well, live and learn).

5. Where to Find Me, Watermark. From All Things New, 2000.
I just imagine myself standing at the top of that mountain, singing these beautiful words in to the wind, to be carried to my Maker. When I want to offer praise and be reminded of who we are in Christ, I turn to Watermark (especially The Purest Place album.)

4. I Have Always Loved You, Third Day. From Time, 1999.
Away from home for a good year, I heard this for the first time at WQME, where I worked during college. To this day, this beautiful love letter reminds me of how my life right now is a product of eternal Love.

3. “Divine Romance” Phil Wickham. From Phil Wickham, 2006.
I was mystified by Phil’s voice, and ran out to buy the album after hearing the very first radio release, “Grace.” Musically, this is one of the most engaging albums I’ve found in the past couple years.

2. “Little Boy Heart Alive” Andrew Peterson. From The Far Country, 2005.
C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien references abound on the project, and the line “grab a hold of the golden mane/This is the love of Jesus/So strong, but he is not tame” brings tears every time. “Queen of Iowa” and “For the Love of God” also rank right up there. I’m also enamored with Carried Along and his Christmas album Behold the Lamb of God.

1. “Loving a Person” Sara Groves. From Add to the Beauty, 2005.
If I wanted to be Jennifer Knapp in college, I now imagine myself as Sara Groves. Her poet’s heart shines through in absolutely every single song on this album. And this is a theme to a lesson God is teaching me right now, that love is starting where a person is and stopping my own mouth long enough to hear what this beloved of the King has to say.

Bringing out an old rhyme

2007-02-15T17:28:00.000-05:00

Less a rhyme... more a segment from this past November. Read at the Runcible Spoon last month.

I know a few stories

I know a few stories
mostly about magical fish,
deep, dark woods and handsome heroes.
They’re all about knowing
a pond’s worth of an ocean.

February seventh and I’m down another one

2007-02-08T12:16:00.000-05:00

[It's been nearly forever since a blogging, but here's a little seasonal treat...]

Lost another left glove today
somewhere between the bank and the front door.
Think a girl would notice a speck of black
in all that snow.

But I abandon it as another clue to my existence.
One more unmarked monument
to the way my fingers bend,
where my coat rubs my wrist,
how I consume my share of road salt
by removing the first finger with my teeth,
how the ring finger hasn’t learned
to bulge for a diamond.
So many hollow tributes.

Are they ever pecked by the same bird?
Shoved by the same snow plow?
Neglected by the same person?
Is there someone,
constantly baffled by his propensity to find
left-handed gloves?

There should be a Rescue somewhere
For unpaired February things.

Landlocked

2006-10-21T15:01:00.000-04:00

Landlocked (10/21/06)

So many spines, nerve-
endings – so what’s in
a name, boyfriend? Sing.

[Post Runcible-Spoon-breakfast, David and I went walking around to local downtown CD and book stores. We wandered (though purposefully) in this fabulous local music store, Landlocked Music, where I found about five titles that I had lent out and never got back. Makes me wonder if Josh knows I still have Janet Teducci and Swingers.]

A Worth-It Movie

2006-09-23T18:44:00.000-04:00

Not even sure if anyone is returning to this page anymore. I have been caught up in the world of myspace. Allow me to be a bit of a commercial, as I say that is great to be able to track down so many college and high school friends that I haven't seen in a very long time.

Here's commercial #2. This next Friday night is opening night for a fabulous faith-centered movie about, what else, FOOTBALL. I saw it a few weeks ago at a pre-screening and was just blown away by the amateur cast (all volunteer, by the way), the beauty of it (coloring paid for by the church the brother-producer/director/actors attend in GA), and the way it has touched me.

So go see the trailer right now: Facing the Giants

And then check out the theater near you (type in your zip code). Remember your dollar does most to help a movie have a longer time in the theater by going the FIRST weekend.

Happy movie-going. Let me know what you think!

Entering another world

2006-08-25T20:16:00.000-04:00

Currently working on a myspace account...

This is sooo time consuming. So come and find me. Make me your friend. :)

lines from a Sunday

2006-08-22T16:16:00.000-04:00

These gifts I wear like memories.
Grandma's ring. Michelle's necklace.
Daddy's sweater.
A few try to escape
when I press them for what they know
of beloved backyards and pansy patches.
A field of corn does the same dance
in Ohio as in my belly, but
tell me no secrets, while
the scent of talcum powder opens
ancient jewelry boxes.

There is a Forest

2006-08-14T12:22:00.000-04:00

Prayer today at work was amazing. One of those times when we really allowed ourselves to sit down and show our hurt to each other. And what came of that, but the realization that we are all at a similar place.

Last week, one coworker "shared" that she came to the realization that we are all misfits. Every one of us, ill-fitting in the spectrum of normalcy due to all the extreme things going on in our lives. At that point we just chuckled and nodded.

Today, we broke.

We are all crying out, "Just show me LORD! I know there's stuff You'd have me do. Got it. Okay, let's start already! I'M WAITING!"

But then we hear, "Dear one, I'm waiting on you."

While I've been standing still on the corner I've staked as mine, poking my sneaker at the lamppost base, God's been blazing the adventurous way through the woods to my left, just out of my peripheral vision. Dare I turn and stare at the trees and poison ivy? Will I miss the cold light of the lamppost? Is it possible that I won't have a claustrophobic attack as soon as I can't see the sky? And the real question: Do I want what is on the far side of the forest? Enough to bleed for it? Enough to trust it even exists?

The Choice

2006-07-31T19:04:00.000-04:00

All this is raw.

Bible study ended eight minutes ago, and I have got to do this before I move on with my night (and believe me, I had plans)!

I had the realization the other day - and was smugly ruminating in it - that I have a hard time trusting the sincerity of men, especially in spiritual matters. Sorry, guys. I thought I had dug a lot of that out of me while reading Captivating by John and Staci Eldridge.

Anyway, here's what Bible Study was about: Matt 7:1-6 - judging. (We're stepping through Joyce Meyer's Battlefield of the Mind.) And here's what hit me between the eyes: OFFENSE IS A CHOICE and WHAT I AM OFFENDED BY USUALLY HAS DEEP ROOTS IN WHAT I DON'T LIKE ABOUT MYSELF.

A direct quote from my notes: " I want people o think/believe/know I am sincere - why I have so much trouble believing the sincerity of others."

I have a hard time not scoffing quietly in my heart when certain people pray aloud - people I must have at some point decided weren't holy enough! LORD, forgive me! I have been hard, non-receptive, untrusting and haughty. God, show me how to repent with meaning and have LOVE take root instead.

Prov. 4:23, "Above all else guard your heart, for it is the well spring of life."

And I wonder why things aren't going the way I'd plan (remember those big plans I mentioned - need some prayer if I'm actually going to follow through)! God, shut me up! Help me listen to others, not to talk, but to learn their heart - to accept them as human and faulty and beautiful. Talking is my job, but I have got to change the way I do it - am I speaking with utter (complete and vocal) love???

Love always believes the best in others (I Cor. 13: 4-8 - may my responses be with patience, kindness, not pride or boasting, without being rude or seeking something I want, rejoicing in truth, always protecting, always TRUSTING, always hoping, never defeated).

I will buy peaches

2006-07-29T12:32:00.000-04:00

[Showers Plaza Farmers' Market - earlier today in Bloomington - inspired this unfinished piece.]

A half-dozen earocorn on my hip,
wild-haired children of sun and rain and earth.
I buy tomatoes just so I can hold them,
those secret-shrouding ruby jewels, one per palm.

I move through the crowd
like the wide-eyed babies in strollers (toes fat and umbrellaed
like the blackberries) and their older peach-fuzzed siblings
who marvel at guitar songs
and men in funny hats.

Something aches to start speaking to my brownpaper wrapped cornbaby,
to point out the faces in the zenias
and the flowers in the people.
Tell her how all the red
and yellow and brown and green
isn't by chance. Look at the intent
spoken to the heart of the gladiola,
enough for future generations. See,
carrots and potatoes are cousins
in their love of dirt, but their unique strivings for life
are both needed gifts to our bodies. Believe Someone
put this here for you.

But I am happy to breathe in
summer through the skin
of an imperfect peach.
A sacrifice of its own right,
calling up the child I was
and giving life to the one I will carry.

[I though about titling this entry - and this poem - "When I am pregnant, I will buy peaches." I didn't want the p-word to flip my mom out, she should know by now what I mean. Comments? Other title options hidden in there? How should "umbrella" be treated if I want and -ed at the end? I know my writing hasn't been real consistent. Thank you for visiting anyway! (Even today I'm mainly writing because I should be doing something else.)]

Detours

2006-07-13T20:57:00.000-04:00

Moving, working, 4th of July partying, working, working, church, working, driving, working, getting ready for Vacation Bible School, swapping voicemail messages, praying, working, cleaning, volunteering, working, feeding the cat, helping Hidi get a tow truck, praying, working, going back to work. Now you're caught up. Sad the working thing out weighed the praying thing. But you'll also notice that in all honestly, BLOGGING is no where to be seen.

This is a detour notice.

Next week is VBS. I've been (yes) working like a nut to get ready to have the four days off the same week our live fair broadcasts begin. So. I likely won't be back until late next week. I'll return with some poetry, though, I promise. I have to get ready for a women's writing retreat in August - sooo very excited!

My Eternal Fame as a Comic Character

2006-06-26T13:22:00.000-04:00

So I have, out of necessity, become a new, resurgent character in my brother David's live journal. Rather strange to see how my life intersects with his world in this way. I'm humbled. Honored. And praying I don't say or do anything really dumb that ends up for all those faithful comic-reading buddies I've never met to read. Also, now that he's meeting some of my friends, it's fun to see his representation of them. (Don't worry Aaron, Hidi, Michelle, Neal - I think he likes us.)

All that to say, if I don't keep up so well with my own blog, I have a backup version of for you all. Like two different historic writers, we'll be offering our own points of view on the same span of time and space. Or something.

A Big Fib

2006-06-22T08:59:00.000-04:00

A phone conversation with the Word Nerd last night introduced me to the Fib poem. And at her suggestion, here's the first of what will be many to interject into my Daily Haiku project...

Summer Day One: Fireflyfield

Light
bulbs
dangle
amid blades
of dusk darkened grass;
illuminate tiniest worlds

An Away Message

2006-06-21T11:36:00.000-04:00

The boxes are dwindling, the boxes are dwindling! I still can't find the book I was reading or my can opener, but thankfully dear brother David has already unpacked both of those categories. He said he'll give me a few more days to get the boxes outta there.

I must officially thank the dear friends who moved my stuff Saturday. It was hot. I fed them chicken. So to Jan, Kenny, Kate, Aaron, David, Mom, and Sharon (for the use of her truck)... You are my heroes!

Great news! Bronte the Cat is doing better than the vet expected. We are cutting back on meds. Hallelujah, 'cause sitting on her three times a day was not fun for either of us.

I so much enjoy that little ball of grey fluff. She loves the windows at the new place. Still intimidated by our cardboard kingdom, though, as she is even more often underfoot or sitting by by side.

I hope to be back to reveal more of this exciting life (and the poetry challenge from the WordNerd from the last entry) soon.

Not a Painter

2006-06-13T12:55:00.000-04:00

Pealing the masking tape from the newly painted "Green Twig" walls of my brother's room at our new duplex, the author realizes she's not perfect. Primer shows through in spongey reverse blotches. Even painter's tape isn't enough to keep all the baseboard lines crisp and clean. And yes, there is at least one splotch on the white ceiling. But I refuse to do another coat.

Do you hear me, oh sprites of guilt and imperfection? I refuse!

Besides, I don't have time.

David actually is unloading into the house today. Now we are waiting to see how God takes care of a little car thingy (I don't even want to call it an issue and give it any credence). I'll just say that this is a great testimony in the making.

And I hope my mom isn't reading this, 'cause it tends to maker her nervous when I say such things.

Define Home

2006-06-09T12:45:00.000-04:00

Last night I picked up the keys for the house that my brother David and I are moving into this month. Now it's real. I really have to put every plate and sock and picture frame in boxes and haul it all across town. I know for certain the nesting syndrome is setting in. I have BIG PLANS. Starting with doing laundry without quarters and planting irisis in the dirt I'm renting. If I can figure how to do pictures... Maybe you'll get to see some of my handiwork.

Day 365

2006-06-08T12:58:00.000-04:00

Started the Haiku-a-day project 06/06/05. And to quote Karin and Linford again... "I thought that we'd be further along by now..." somewhere in the recesses of my brain I thought that I'd feel different or at least have some greater understanding of life in general. You know, like how I thought turning 25 would automatically grant me a comprehension of a century.

Instead, I'll just grant you with Haiku number 365:

String me some pearls. Chase
beauty in shades of sand and
secrets, stone and time.

Maggie's Advice: How to take a vacation

2006-05-30T20:11:00.000-04:00

"If it feels like work, looks like work, smells like work, or even slightly reminds me of work, I'm not doing it. I add an Amen to let god know it counts as a prayer, a rule make under His watchful eye, and is therefore revocable should he so desire." Margaret Becker, Coming Up For Air, pg62

I wrote niegh on to 45 pages in that red journal from Friday night to Monday night(including photos of the Richmond trip and drawings and collages - pictures are worth a thousand words, right?) . Oh, and drained two pens that were on the way out. And beyond the Haiku-a-Day segments, no poems.

At first, I was shocked. Then, as I wrote Monday night, " I felt that happening - felt the resistence when forming lines and trying to OUTPUT. No. This weekend was about INput. And it's going to continue through this nextweekend. Then what?? I turn into a poetry-writing machine? Mmmm. Probably not."

The Three-Day Get-A-Way... Beginnings

2006-05-30T19:52:00.000-04:00

It all started with a book. A promotional book at that, which ended up on my desk for possible interviews and give-aways. As always, I perused a few pages to see if our listeners would be interested. About three pages in, Margaret Becker asks the all-dread question for self-motivated work-aholics, "When was the last time I had a vacation?"

I just about started bawling right there. And I started planning my get-a-way with God for Memorial Weekend. No cell phones. No radio. No watch. Brand new red journal, some new pens, and a notion to visit a random coffee/bagel joint in Richmond. Three days to sit and learn to listen again. To find myself in the midst of the continual monologue of my self-narration.

I bought the book, Coming Up for Air, on Wednesday, May 24th.

I had internal begun spending afternoon hours thinking about how to center on Monday, May 22nd. The biggest problem was trying to decided why I felt I was about ready to split down the seams. I wasn't sick or depressed, really. I just needed... space. Three days worth.

Honestly, Friday night I just had to break down and yell at that internal editor and tell her shut up and get out of my way, I was trying to hear the owls. Romans 8:1 sustained me: "For there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Hear that?? I yelled. You cannot condemn me for taking this time!

Second Star to the Left...

2006-05-26T17:17:00.000-04:00

Title: Peter and the Starcatchers
Authors: Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson
Genre: YA (Young Adult) fiction
Length: 451 with plenty of pictures

Snapshot: How Peter Pan got to be Peter Pan (the flying boy, not the peanut butter).

Best stuff: For all those who ever wondered where Neverland really is, what Cap’n Hook’s name was before Peter fed his hand to the alligator, and when Tink and Peter met, this is really fun addition to the J.M. Barrie legend. A great read-a-loud, though my cat did get a little annoyed with me and just decided to leave the room whenever I’d pull out the book. Good humor, especially in the dialogue. Strong character development with the children; you watch Peter become the mischevious, ageless boy.

Bummer points: Quite a bit on the predictable side – but what do you expect, when you already basically know the ending.

Pearls & Lace

2006-05-19T14:09:00.000-04:00

I've had a couple requests for the text of what I read at our Mothers & Daughters banquet night at church. Here's the intro and the basic outline for the "beauty tips" (again, I am indebted to another writer who had the same10 "treatments" - though I did change their definitions and the scripture references).

It almost comes naturally for us to know how to care for (preserve, hide or draw attention to) physical beauty. Many of the same principles apply when caring for spiritual beauty.

But you need to be aware you have a spirit to care for. So before any of the treatments, we have to find a mirror, someone in your life who reminds you that you are more than this body on this earth at this time. You have to have someone who holds up a “mirror” by saying, “This is how I see the Eternal Creator God in you.” Something esle also acts as a mirror, revealing what we are supposed to look like: the Word of God.

1) CLEANSER: removes all unwanted impurities. CONFESSION – forgiveness though the blood is our spirit cleanser. I John 1:9, Ps 51:2, 7

2) MOISTURIZER: soften, nourishes. COMPASSION – seeing others and their needs (how God sees them) will soften us. Phil 2:3-4

3) WRINKLE CREAM: smoothes, preserves against effects of time. FAITH – letting go of worry (no worry lines!) Heb 11:1, 2 Peter 3:9, 1 Peter 5:7

4) FOUNDATION: provides an even base on which to build. WORD OF GOD – the starting place for everything. John 1:1, I Cor. 3:11, Rom 10:17

5) BLUSH: brings color and radiance. GOD’S LOVE – sets us apart, highlights our beauty. Matt 5:16

6) EYE MAKEUP: accents the beauty of our eyes, protection. VISUAL INPUT – what goes in comes out. Matt 6:22, 1 Cor. 6:19

7) LIPSTICK: makes lips full, sweet, pleasant. OUR WORDS – how we speak to others, how we talk about our lives, how we praise. Prov 16:24, Prov 18:20-21, Song 4:11

8) HAND LOTION: Keeps us touchable, soft and feeling. GOOD DEEDS/GENEROSITY – when we think of others first. Prov. 31: 13, 31, Ja 2:14-16, Prov. 28:27

9) FOOT THERAPY: gets rid of our calloused roughness. GOOD CHOICES – treating our feet as special, the paths they travel important. Jer 6:16, Ps119:59, Ps 18:33

Pre-packed

2006-05-12T14:46:00.000-04:00

I'm enjoying my apartment now more than before, probably because I'm at the one-month-and-three-day mark before moving into a new place with my beloved brother. A co-worker brought a huge computer box in for me today for packing purposes, so that just brought it home (er, rather brought my home to the box, or something).

Just this morning I was admiring my plant and photos arrangement on the TV of all things. But I have to admit that I am having strange nesting tendencies while thinking about the new place. I have a list of projects that I want to do for it and stuff I want to buy (top on the list: a big red reading chair). I want to frame artwork and put down payments on dishwashers and arrange rugs. I'm planning yard furniture and garden arrangements. I'm thinking I'd better own my own place soon, or all this hard work will just be temporary.

Better get back to putting stuff in square, marked cubes.

Updating

2006-05-09T12:33:00.000-04:00

No, that does not have anything to do with my social life, except that these are likely what's been occupying me otherwise. That and I've for some reason picked up an old cross-stitch project that I never finished when I was in high school. I have some strange desire to see "Girl with Wildflowers" completely done.

Anyway, I'm pasting part of my In My Ears and Eyes segment here, as what I'm reading/listening to/watching has changed some.

BOOKS:
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickenson, Ed. Thomas H. Johnson. The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis. Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams. Coming Up for Air, Margaret Becker.

MUSIC:
Phil Wickham, Phil Wickham. Add to the Beauty, Less Like Scars, Sara Groves. Seeds. Shane & Shane.

MOVIES/TV:
"Walk the Line" - it's my dad's birthday present, but don't tell him I watched it first.
"Millions" - kids with English accents, finding hundreds of thousands of pounds, beautiful cinematography.
Just finished the last of "24" taped by a friend's mother. After three years, I'm still allowing myself to give up nearly an entire a day to watch the beautiful agony of Keiffer Sutherland's narrow escapes. Part of my knows this could be especially dangerous addiction once I actually have cable here in about a month...

Interactive Haiku

2006-05-05T13:13:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm addicted.
I count while you speak, my dreams
rhythm themselves silly.

I'd like to see yours;
haiku me. Under the scar,
is something that feels.

I'm back and this is new, so be nice

2006-05-03T12:31:00.000-04:00

I know I've been gone so long. The past couple weeks have been some of the most trying and most rewarding - isn't that how it goes??

So my present is a new new new piece that I just wrote last week at the Bloomington Women's Writing Center. I read it for them, but otherwise it is uncritiqued and I welcome your comments.

Anesthesia, or Anticipating Holes Where Once was Wisdom (Teeth)

One hundred. Ninety-nine. I practice
deep belly breaths and believing
this sleep is the same as last night’s.
Just a few less teeth when I awake.

Ninety-six. Ninety-five. The room is so
small, my heart-beat echoes off
the far wall. A mauve-framed country
scene, a girl picks blue flowers. Ninety-one,

ninety, eighty-nine. My hair relaxes into
the smooth, tan lap of the chair. I try to keep my arms
from floating away. Eighty-five, eighty four, my mother’s
shadow is next to me, I think it’s singing with the musak.

eighty my toes dance
to meet me later seventy nine
seventy ei- the blue picking
flower girl looks at my soul –ght
seventy my eyes seven sink in seven
for a closer in
ty spect
sev
ion
en

Couched thoughts.

2006-04-18T11:50:00.000-04:00

(Written 04/17/06, 8:43 p.m., but I am so in denial.)

One of those house/decor magazines entertained Hidi and me for a while at a bookshop today. I have never seen so many ugly kitchens in my entire life. Too many blank, polished places ordained with a single ancient artifact. Furniture with sharp, uninviting edges. Hidi said something in the parking lot about how she'd much rather look at (let alone sit on) my couch than anything we saw in the glossy, captioned pages.

You have to understand how in love I am with my couch. (I'm so smitten that I really wasn't going to write about it, but here I am.) It's gold with pink and green and white oriental scenes on it: trees and flowers, people hauling wood, digging in the dirt, uscythesythes. It is especially worn in the left-most cushion as you look at it, because that is the best place to sit. The matching material pillows are tube-like and there seems to be one more than one really needs. Those are kept company by the green and brocadecaide pillows my mom made when she was in high school for her mother (plus two unmatched green, velveteen garage sale pillows for accent).

And it is true that thinking you might be losing something makes it more precious. The couch quite literally just made the cut into this apartment. And the dimensionallysionly gifted friends who forced it in the front door immediately informed me that I will either have to 1.) convince my landlords to rent the couch with the apartment when I leave, 2.) chop it into little pieces, maybe keeping a wallet-sized portionmementoomento, or 3.) lower it out the third story patio window. So I'm on the lookout for rope in anticipation of this June's move.

Oddly, this $35-couch has become a symbol of my adult life, having nursed me through colds, given rest to my visiting familycommonalitymonality to deep spiritual conversations, cushioned my grief at my grandfather's passing, and been the center piece of my finding a decorating style.

I realize now that I appear rather materialistic. Going on and on about toothbrushes and couches. I think the truth is that Iinterestedintersted by the impact our surroundings have on us. Would I be a happy person if I absolutely had to sell my couch, could never find another toothbrush like Glen again and was forced to live in a house with a stainless steel buffet/sideboard? Okay. I am convinced other small, temporary gifts in this temporary world would come to the fore and captivate my gratefulness. That's part of the secret of this world's beauty, I believe we're riveted most by things that cannot last. A sunset. The first moments of a baby's life. The calm in a storm. Memories of moments already past. Even huge canyons and ocean waves are constantly changing, and we soak the view in, knowing we will have to walk away.

I'm Apriled

2006-04-13T14:28:00.000-04:00

A tribute to that lovely exercise of making up words. I actually composed this an April or two ago... And weather-wise it really was more fitting for yesterday's gorgeousness.

I'm Apriled

On this everbloomed daffodil day
I laugh for east-chased clouds
and hum with the winds, tuning
to their change my once winter whistle.

What daughter loves more
the contemplation inside a new tulip?

What gifttaker pines more
over the words in a single branch?

What beloved knows more the sweet,
untold stories in windowpane rain trails?

Such Beauty
splits my senses and
I am unsummed,

unfrozen, unwintered and freed;
forefinger, inner ear,
little toe, wristbone,
hairwhisp caught on end
seeking rhythm in the world.

Much obliged

2006-04-10T12:54:00.000-04:00

Does the word "obliged" come from "obligation?" Answer (thanks to Dictionary dot com), they both have the root of "to bind" - in other words, the binding of the favor or courtesy is on the giver. Though it would have been a bit more fun I think if "much obliged" really meant "one who has many obligations."

Must just be me. Bronte the cat sits just a block or two away, where she's been at the vet since Friday. Were she human, she'd easily be in AARP - I don't really know how old she is. But we're dealing now with medication for the rest of her life. *sigh* Having to be an adult, making life and pain and death decision is not what I wanted to do today. Can't I just go home and stuff Easter Eggs? I suddenly feel how precious that simple companionship of a cat is. Yes. Apparently I'm going to be one of those old ladies some day.

A toothbrush named Glen

2006-04-04T08:44:00.000-04:00

I just bought a new toothbrush. It's like a Cadillac for my gums. I could hardly stop brushing, it felt that good. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I broke my rule and paid over a dollar and half for it. Maybe it's because my last one bore a closeresemblancece to a spoon than a toothbrush. Maybe it's because it is pink.

I thought only a new dress or a concert could make me feel so good. But here I sit, beaming because of my toothbrush. Nearly wishing it was in my mouth right now. If she were sparkley, I'd name her Glenda. But minus the sparkle, she's just Glen.

I think I have to write about things like Glen, because I forget how little things can be just as pleasing and just as important for my self esteem as pay raises and surprise hundred dollar checks and winks across a room. I need to successfully cook a meal. I need to wear turquoise on a Saturday. I need to feel good about my toothbrush.

Shoot. Maybe next week I'll buy socks. Why do they package socks and cotton underwear in re-sealable packages, anyway?

I saw beauty

2006-04-03T13:27:00.000-04:00

"You can take no credit for your beauty at sixteen. But if you are beautiful at sixty, it will be your soul's d0ing." - Marie Stopes

This weekend we celebrated my grand-aunt's 90th birthday. Dressed in regracefullyull in low heels, she flitted from grandchildren to church friends to card-playing buddies. She seemed always on the verge of uproarious laughter, no matter at whom her brown eyes sparkled. I sat watching from a table decorated in pink and blue and yellow balloons (just as fitting for nine as 90). She must have forgotten all about birthdays after the age of 35, she just decided to stay young.

Aunt Wilma. Singer of high school operettas, master of the church organ, widowed these ten years. And one mean birthday party hostess.

That night, more partying for me and Mom as we go to her High School Alumni Banquet. We don't even make it in the doors before someone is calling her name and hugging on her. And I watch very closely this woman that I have held myself up to for as long as I can remember, as she interacts with the people from the era of her life I most dreamed about. [There was just something magical to the little girl I was, sitting next Mom on her bed, opening jewelrey box that smelled like time erased, going through the old 4-H and honor society pins, hearing the stories of girlfriends and senior trips and proms.] As she talks to friends not seen in 10, 20, 30 years, she is that farm girl again. And she is stunning.

These women of my family, their beauty, feed my soul.

Clock Exchange

2006-03-31T13:56:00.000-05:00

For the first time in decades - hey, at least the first time since I've been alive - Indiana will be on Daylight Saving Time. My part of the Hoosier state moves an hour ahead at 2:00 a.m. this Sunday.

I'm all for progress. And I'm really glad that this happens on a weekend, when I'd normally get more sleep, and not a week night when I'm good to get 6 hours. I'm just going to miss seeing the sky start the amber glow of day at 5:15 a.m. when I'm driving to work. And then there's the going to bed in broad daylight part at 8:30 or 9 at night. It'll be an adjustment. I suppose it'll cause me to have more sympathy for my 3rd-shift-working friends.

I think I may win the prize for setting a home's clocks ahead an hour the earliest this year. I'm going to change them all Saturday morning before I take off for the weekend to visit family.

Take my inhibition, please

2006-03-29T13:39:00.000-05:00

I've finally conquered a small portion of my fear of breaking into the arts community here in Bloomington. Last Friday, I packed up a few poems, called a friend to force me to go, and downed a Steak-n-Shake sippable sundae before heading to an open-mic poetry night at a local cafe. Several published poets read first. I had forgotten how much I love to hear people read. Almost soothed me into a kind sleepiness before nerves would have kicked in.

So here's one that I ended up reading...

Holiness

What happens to a soul
after it detects holiness in a peeled egg?
In grinding tomorrow's coffee? Chopping vegetables,
stacking soap suds and clean dishes?
An ordinary soul dancing in stocking feet
through the drips
on the kitchen floor.

How can it possibly be prepared - how
could it even survive -
the Revealing to Come?

Try to understand,
no moment is unsacred.
Lighting a match
will echo into eternity. Now
stare into the flame.
The match burns shorter as eternity arrives.
Take care not to burn your fingertips.

Snow in My Socks

2006-03-21T14:06:00.000-05:00

One thing about driving to work at 5 a.m., no one had to fall vicitm to my slip-sliding around Prospect Hill. Ah, the exhilleration of pressure on the breaks and the ABS vibrating up your leg while the vehicle continues to move forward. Almost missed it.

That and snow in my socks while pushing snow off my windshield.

Happy Spring! Honestly, though, having 50-plus-degree weather just a few days ago sure did make this short dance with Winter a little sweeter. Like a familiar friend visiting breifly. Then I'll hang him on my laundry rack to dry. No regrets. I'm ready for tulips.

A Year Still Green

2006-03-17T14:33:00.000-05:00

Somehow I got to work today with out a stich of green on. Thankfuly I was handed some sparkly twisty-tie type shamrock garland, which I promptly put in a button hole. How festive, I think to myself.

I must share a major accomplishment. As of today, I have officially kept a plant alive for one whole year. A shamrock plant I was given last St. Patty's Day is thriving on my end table - even blooming! I wasn't aware shamrocks were more than green, but between the white flowers and red undersides, I find it is quite captivating.

And I have to say my Easter violets are fairing quite well, too. It's never to late to change one's perseption of oneself. Perhaps my thumb isn't brown and wilted. Soon I'll be cooking and singing arias.

Like a Band-aid

2006-03-16T11:57:00.000-05:00

It's really been three weeks? My many apologies to my friends that had been so great about checking in on me. I'm finding I can slow down a bit now. So this will very much be a newsy entry.

WORK:
Last week was our big radio-thon for the non-profit Crisis Pregnancy Center and Hannah House Maternity Home. Twelve hours of live radio, in the middle of which my cat gets sick and has to be taken to the vet (praise be to God, she's healed up nicely). And of course I had been in super-woman mode planning for the day for two solid weeks.

Today was "Joey Day." Nothing to do with baby kangaroos. I have a new co-host named Joey and his on-air debut was today, so we've been training this week. I'm so exicted about this new chapter.

HOME:
My brother David and I now know where we will live this summer. I had been praying for the solid "This is the ONE" feeling. So... there's this cute duplex with hardwood floors, fabulous color scheme, a yard, and WASHER/DRYER in a quiet neighborhood. We called the landlord back half an hour after seeing it.

CHURCH:
Overnighter for the girls in our kids' program this Friday night - and they've each invited all the girls in their class. After running around screaming "AAAHHAHH! WHAT WERE WE THINKING!" we got really excited about reaching all these little girls. But in other words, don't expect to hear from me again till next week. I'll be sleeping.

VBS is on the horizon. Fiesta! Catcus, sombreros and pinatas as far as the eye can see. I'm singing in my sleep, "Yooooooooh tengo un amigo que me ama!" [Though this does partially explain a dream I had this weekend about ball room dancing flaminco style in a big gymnasium.]

So. It is painful to get back into this habit. But I just had to bear my teeth, reach inside and make myself... SHARE... Just had to do it quick before I changed my mind.

Just a test

2006-02-28T12:44:00.000-05:00

Seriously. I just wanted to see if I changed my time settings correctly. Not that I minded looking like I was hanging out in California.

A Day Over 26

2006-02-27T14:01:00.000-05:00

I had a great day yesterday, complete with surprize gifts, cards, wonderful food, and impromptu "Happy Birthday" songs from both my brother and my dear friend Hidi. (And, yes, David, you better believe I saved the phone message - I'll just celebrate my birthday to near-rhymes and laughter for the next 14 days). Thanks to everyone who made me feel appreciated!

It is a little funny to think just because that day a mark another year on earth, I should expect extra attention and free desert at the restaurant of my choice. In other words, those that forgot or didn't know, you are forgiven. (Besides, you likley didn't get a card from me on your Birthday did you? But now you're reading my blog, so you are subject to the dwellings of my minds, as selfish as that may be.) And I'm announcing that I am considering taking the focus of of myself. That is after Bible study, where I expect just a bit more hoop-la about my day.

Really, it's my mom's fault that I think that Feb. 26th is a special day. Part of me wishes I could have awoken in the house I grew up in and run down the stairs to a dinning room table featuring the Birthday Girl chair at the head and a modest stack of blue-and-yellow-wrapped packages.

But this year, the whole focus has shifted, and I am just greatful. For family. Memories. Love.

The Tall Stone

2006-02-24T14:22:00.000-05:00

I apologize for being so long in blogging. A lot of healing has taken place. I've been looking what I've written in my physical journal over the past couple days, and it did feel like I was building the Biblical altar. You know, when Abram received his promise from God, when Moses made it so far in the desert, when David stopped in his fleeing from Saul to praise, they made an altar. They made a pile of rocks so they could look back and remember that time when the Lord helped them. So here are some of the stones from the past few days...

2/17/06:
"Mom called to fill me in - tell me the family 'had been called in' - though David and I are not. Fifteen minutes later he was gone. I don't know if I've ever talked with my dad before when he was that emotional...
...Paradox: pain is real, hope is eternal. Hope can look like callousness. Pain can look like faithlessness."

2/18/06:
"The family decided to help out with David's airplane tickets, so he can come for the next few days. I pick him up in the mo[u]rning...
...[There was confusion that I was to take my brother's place as a pall bearer if he couldn't make it.] What a terrible thing to have family have to do. I know it is supposed to be a syumbol of respect - caryying a love one on your shoulders. Bearing them high... Something I thought I'd never have to do - a perk of being female? But right then I felt that convoluted mix of emotions of wanting to play the role for my family, but not wanting to go through the emotional journey...

...For the Night
Feather heavier,
bags packed. Clocks set. Flight arranged.
and joy commeth."

2/20/06
"Viewing today. Cousins I haven't seen in decades. Family I never met... It can be so hard to count on eterninty I cannot see - but the simple fact that I have not seen it is enough to tremble in awe of that which is greather than I can know."

2/21/06
"It is for ourselves we mourn - for the seemingly unbearable task of living while you are inaccessable. For the task of sharpening old memories in place of forming new ones. For the burn in muscles having to learn a new way of accepting your love. It is for oruselves we mourn - because we cannot be where you are...
...when the pastor said it ws time for us to pass by the casket 'for the last time'... How my brother did exactly what I wanted to do, and then I followed in turn, squeezing his arm in love liek we had so many times. (He felt so small.) And then hearing myself say 'See you again, soon, Grampa,' which forced my body into the mourning I had up to then tamed. and it was David's turn to hold and cry with and be strong...
...An Altar
I've saved you a stone,
dark and tall, to look back at.
Today you walked on."

2006-02-18T12:04:00.000-05:00

Elmer Jacob Yoder
April 24, 1918 - February 17, 2006

Deceptive Sunshine

2006-02-17T12:46:00.000-05:00

Cold today in South-Central Indiana. But the sun makes me want to run outside in barefeet.

Why is it I gravitate toward writing about the weather?

There's so much more going on in my life, really. Think I might just be a little shy, not being able to see you. Not being able to know who you are, reading my thoughts. Though I only sent the address out to friends and family, there's the chance of a passerby. And why do I care that a "stranger" would know as much about my as my college buddies or my mom?

So. Here's what's on my mind, minus my mis-placed, though nearly consuming, desire to make it all poetical and insightful...

I will soon be sharing my home with my brother. After living counties and then state away from each other for the past nearly 8 years, will we... well... do the door-slamming, hair-pulling shout-it-outs that we never did as teens?

This month is my birthday. And I want attention. My grandfather may not be breathing on this earth to see me turn 26, let alone be in my wedding, hold my first child, or tell me any more stories about his life. He may not even remember me now.

Today I am closer to my dreams than I have ever been. Today is the day I dreamed about when I was 12.

Poetry books are composed of more than three poems. I need to write more.

Love is a decision. Decisions are the result of emotions and logic. Decisions form habits, which produce character. Love should be such a natural decision that it is just what I do.

Thanks, Old St. V

2006-02-14T10:56:00.000-05:00

I just have to say that I'm decideding that today is a good day. I think that Valentine's Day should also be declared "National Contentment Day." A day to consider what love you have in your life. Yeah, a bit like Thanksgiving-Part 2. But an excuse, thanks to persecutions, love rituals and the coming of spring for me to take a look at what's good in my life.

So here's my self-reminder list that I am sharing with you today, just in case you end up in the 10-items-or less line with your single-serving microwave meals, scanning the store to see good-looking people buying roses and chocolate and stuffed bears for someone whose not you.

* I am loved by the Creator of the Universe. I am seen deeper than any human can see me by the one who has given everything to show me what value I have.

* My family rains down love on me everyday - their phone calls, letters, visits and emails, are sweet postings in my memory of what love without condition looks like.

* Dear friends, you make the mirror for how I see myself (be kind with your powers). So many of you have been the voice and hugs of Christ to me. Thank you.

* A church family that reminds me of my place in the body. The graciousness and encouragement there is nearly overwhelming to my soul. Thank you for loving me.

* And my cat loves me, even if that's mainly because I change her litter and give her tuna.

Wowing the Masses

2006-02-10T12:13:00.000-05:00

Comments from yesterday's blogging made me take off and find out if a haiku can really be 7+9+7. Dicitonary.com has three entries.

One, a Japanese lyric written in three unrhymed lines of five, seven and five syllables (stemming from Japanese/Middle Chinese words that mean "amusing" and "sentence"). Two, an epigrammatic Japanese verse form of three short lines. (Yes, I had to look up "epigram." It means a short, clever thought or expression. Talk about googling in circles.) Three, a city in Maui County, Haiwaii. And did you ever think about Haiwaii as the state with the longest coastline of the U.S.A.?

Shock and thrill your next dinner guests.

Inspired to do Math

2006-02-09T08:47:00.000-05:00

First of all, I have to say I am so impressed with those of you who keep up with blogs everyday. Today (errr, this week), a blog from the WordNerd has inspired me to number crunch. Citing 250 words a day for a year, the WN calculates an annual linguistic out-put of 90,000-plus words. And I pondered, what would happen if I took that syllabically?

My Haiku-A-Day project began last summer, meaning an 5+7+5 written syllables a day. Thirteen x 365 = 4,745. Barley as many syllables as the average woman uses during her lunch break.

If nothing else, this little exercise sent me to Roget's Thesaurus to find another word for the noun "word" to use in sentence #3. Funny to me that we don't have another way to express that thing that is a single written word.

Shine the Snow

2006-02-06T16:33:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning's window made me breathe deep - to breathe like a child in Narnia. Snow, like what we hadn't seen for weeks stood on porch, ground, roof, and bench. The secrets the trees had been hiding for weeks were displayed brazenly in heavy, reverse outlines. As if they remembered what standing on February ground felt like. Pine trees with new pride in their full skirts and maples reassured of the beauty of their nakedness, all accentuated by a world wiped clean of midwinter dirt.

And with the white-on-white speckled sky, the purity of Christmas expectation woke from the coma this past actual season seemed to induce. It felt right to be standing in wet snow, looking for stars and the nativity.

Then a sunshine today warms me back to Easter's promise.

Lest I forget the magic in Indiana weather.

Counting Chickens

2006-02-02T15:26:00.000-05:00

Words written about words. I was so captivated by this concept, I stood and perused the New Non-Fiction section at the library for half an hour. And now Christine Ammer's The Facts of File Dictionary of Cliches has enriched my knowledge of tired English phrases.

For instance, "Don't count your chickens before they hatch" is from an Aesop fable I never read about a milkmaid who, as she carries a full pail of milk on her head, starts dreaming of selling the milk for eggs that would hatch into chickens and make her rich, so that she tosses her head at imagined offers of marriage. And "Crying over spilled milk" says about what you'd imagine.

The expression "To aT," which always made me think of crumpets and little pink cups, is believed by some writers to date back to the late seventeenth century and allude to the T-square, used by draftsmen for accurate drawings. Other's think the idea comes from shortening the dot-your-i's-and-cross-your-t's expression.

And "More than one way to skin a cat" turned out much more animal-friendly in it's origin that I thought. Several writers claim the expression instead discribes a child's maneauver in getting into sitting position on a tree branch. But does it have something with being frustrated with the cat being up the tree again?

Mark my words, you'll be glad you got off your duff and picked it up. And you're sure to knock the socks off your friends in high places with your fresh-as-a-daisy knowledge of all things cliche and passe. Or simply by asking the question: Do chickens count skinny cats at tea time?

Addictions

2006-01-30T13:20:00.000-05:00

Chocolate and sudoku. I had decided to indulge in both just a few moments ago and... my brain is nearly so pleased now, it is quietly crawling to a back corner for a little nap. Not so good, as I still have some work to do after this little lunch respite.

So just consider this a warning. One you won't find from the Surgeon General on a chocolate cup cake left over from a great little baby shower you were at over the weekend or that harmless looking grid of numbers on usatoday.com.

CAUTION: Combining chocolate substances with computerized mind-puzzles may cause meltdown.

h2 name="conquering html angst"

2006-01-28T19:59:00.000-05:00

Yes, man created the webpage. And like so many things, molded it so that, in the end, the created would confound the creator.

Before I say any more, I first have to "publically" thank my dear, dear friend B.K. (contributer to Word Nerd) for her help and patience with this humbled typer. I may have given up long, long ago (at least weeks ago when I began), if it weren't for your encouragement. Thank you.

I really thought a blog would be easy. I thought I could be clever in my posts. I thought I would be forced to write everyday. I thought I could figure out how to modify the Template.

After several days of typing sentences in various areas to see where they'd appear, time traveling with blog entries and playing virtual scrabble with the template editor, I have an announcement to make:

I have added links of my choosing in my side bar! I have included links in the text of posts! I have added my very own recommendations section that does exactly what I want it to do! I have joined the ranks of the accomplished and ...

I guess that's more like three and a half announcements. Anyway. Check those things out. I guess all that's left now is to try to write tomorrow. (*smirk*)

What transcends

2006-01-26T13:18:00.000-05:00

Have you heard anyone say, "Time is all we really have," "Today is all we have"? Lest we get into a debate of what "have" means, suffice to say deep down we all have the feeling that every thing we see and experience will same day pass by to make way for future generations.

But what if we were truly made to transcend time?

Sense memory - a single whiff of a crayon box and I'm back rummaging through the desk at my grandparents' farm, reading the names of my cousins scrawled in purple and green. Story - the children from the Narnia Chronicles never do age, because I can always turn back the page and see them again donning fur coats (if fiction is too easy of an example, apply this to history - the Egyptians, Socrates, Lewis & Clark all live again when we encounter a piece of them). Birthdays - if it were true that I felt older this February than last, it seems I should be able to feel my age from month differ from today, or last week, or yesterday, or one hour ago. Instead I have been assigned a number as a means to count myself. Sleep - a moment drags as I stare at it, but let me sleep and I may be aware of only a few seconds and not hours passing.

Of course all these have individual disciplines to study why we experience them . But I prefer to by awed by our ability to live outside of the clock we have made for ourselves. Let me act sillier than my age and dwell for a day in a sunset. Let me believe I have seen my eternity in a water droplet and all mankind in a line of poetry.

We are meant for something beyond this time, this body and this world. This moment is the beginning of our understanding of the One who put it all in motion - who watches us even know to see if we realize the gift we have been given.

Scraping Thoughts

2006-01-24T07:44:00.000-05:00

While de-icing my windsheild this morning, my mind wandered to a family I love that is going through some pain of saying goodbye to a family member. I thought I couldn't love them anymore, but what is it about pain that draws us closer? A joyful child draws us near, but a child that has fallen makes us reach deeper and expend ourselves further to him.

The lines of an Over the Rhine song came to me (ones I have struggled in understanding what Linford and K. are saying to us): "Pain is our Mother; she helps us recognize each other." Complete strangers are more than just backdrop to our lives if they are in pain... At a gas station this morning, a man was on the phone, obviously giving directions for someone to pick him up. If he were crying hysterically, I may have forgotten my own schedule, the consequences of my own life to see to him first.

Dare I take this one step further? What if we didn't wait for Pain. On any degree. Like thirst is actually a late cue of our being dehydrated, pain is late indication that love is needed. And I have a one-word definition for love: selflessness. It is impossible to be selfish and love. Likewise, try to be unselfish and not feel love.

I will be at that funeral tomorrow. I've resisted the current of love that runs so deep for that family for a long time, and, in part, I fear what may be turned loose as I mourn with them and rejoice in life and salvation with them. But we were made relational creatures. Christ himself calls us to love, as it is the definition of all law.

January Shopping

2006-01-21T15:06:00.000-05:00

Iv'e decided the best part of Valentine's Day marketing is cheap chocolate in metalic pink wrappers. Say I'm wrong.

Here's the past two days in Haiku (though I said I wouldn't)...

01/19/06 Will my daughter read my journal over the phone to her daughter
Grama warote about
movies, nor her father's death.
"Cleaned," read: "Cried to sleep."

01/20/06
Spring visits today.
Breeze and sunshine kisses while
withholding the green.

Haiku-a-Day

2006-01-19T07:50:00.000-05:00

A foiled trip to the grocery store on June 6, 2005 inspired a poem "No Food for You" and a self-imposed challenge to write a Haiku every night before I go to sleep. And really, I have been more likely to write about a day more than the seventeen required syllables because of this exercise. Here are the January editions, with the intention to continue posting the assignment.

01/01/06
Hot tea. Christmas lights,
the dream of Could Tomorrow.
True words. Happiness.

01/02/06 I don't have tomorrow off
A day spent with books,
machines. Teach me not to hate
the coffee grinder.

01/03/06
What is (exactly)
that It I waste, asks the girl
asleep by seven.

01/04/06 (10:20pm)
"I love you" in crayon,
her construction paper world.
Pink stickers, black string.

01/05/06 For L. and M., Eph 3, Ps 127, Ps 47
Wedding words framed in
glass, frozen before the vows,
your before your birth.

01/06/06 Camp Mack
Familiar world shrunk,
fit into a child's shoe.
Set sail for far shores.

01/07/06 The excuse for no lines almost works itself
Leslie's Michigan
wedding, late night returning
to Milford and camp.

01/08/06 The wind is mute, its lovers sing
My wall stands against
southwest wind. A song of bricks,
window panes, and trees.

01/09/06
Dropping from the sky,
more truth like green glass beads, hard
beauty in my hand.

01/10/06
When you look at me
[find my tower, rescue me]
I'm. There. To be. Seen.

01/11/06 someday I'll marvel at my girlsih figure
Dinner: potato
chips, one McDonald's Coke, and
one Rice Krispy Treat.

01/12/06 Wing Shadows
Bring me words of
that which is hidden, not yet
sight, sound, but alive.

01/13/06 Krista's
Car-singing Abba
wet January weddings
toast and step and laugh.

01/14/03
Take a spin in my
Cincinnatti; crest and curve,
your heart livin' high.

01/15/06
Aren't I beautiful?
Did you see me? Wait. Here's my
better side. Call me.

01/16/06 Too late to send cards?
Christmas finds its way
back in closets, cancelled stamps,
snowmen hide in shelves.

01/17/06 Consuming January
Snow like crumbs nothing
new. Blanket, sugar, frosting.
I'll taste it again.

01/18/06 Swept off my feet by a 32" Superman
I'll run at you, full
(hugs are meant for absorbency)
speed, caped, shoes untied.

Beginnings

2006-01-18T13:10:00.000-05:00

This space is based on the theme of my life, Jeremiah 17:8.

... Like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit. (NIV)

Insights, laughter and the overflow of my heart yet to come.

In My Ears and Eyes

2006-01-01T12:10:00.000-05:00

Look at me doing the updating thing!!

I will try to keep this page update with what I am consuming/recommending:

BOOKS:
The Dreaming Tree, C.J. Cherryh.

MUSIC/CDs:
The Reminder, Feist - simply beautiful.

MOVIES/TV:
Ratatoullie (twice!!), Transformers, currently "Gazelling" to Veronica Mars season one.

pic

2002-01-01T18:03:00.000-05:00