Friends -
They are kind to each other's hopes.
They cherish each other's dreams.
-Thoreau
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Monday, May 05, 2008
Cancer and Cake
God's creativity inspires me. He made everything ex nihilo. Into the empty void of Nothing, he poured quarks and quails, turtles and tourmalines, shooting stars and sharks. On a dark empty canvas, God painted color, light, life, movement, beauty. He does the same with babies, creating them within the dark hiddenness of the womb; and with ideas that unexpectedly arrive as gifts in cranial secrecy.
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Many times I feel lifeless, dark, empty. I'm void of creative energy for mothering, living a faith-filled life, loving my husband and friends, writing. My energy is low, my life blood surges slow; I feel tired. I need inspiration -- new ideas -- to bring a creative light to my life.
The other day I was standing in line at the Jewel after a particularly wearying grocery shopping experience. As I walked down the aisles grabbing Cheerios, bread, milk and olive oil my heart was heavy for my friend, Margie, who has - for the last year - been bravely, beautifully walking with her two young children and husband as he battles metastasized brain Cancer.
By the time I got to the check out line, I was inexorably sad. I felt my throat catch and tears behind my eyes. Silently, I prayed, Lord, help Margie. And help me help her. I need an idea, a plan, an inspiring creative way to bring hope and help and healing to this dark difficult place.
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At that precise moment, a little cookbook nestled beside the candy bar display caught my eye. "Celebrate with our best ideas ever: CAKES!" lauded the front of the little book picturing a green and white grasshopper cake dressed in chocolate mint candies and celadon colored whipped cream. I grabbed the book, flipped through its pages: a roller coaster cake, mud slide ice cream cake, spice cake with raspberry filling & cream cheese frosting, pirate's hidden treasure cupcakes, a carrot cake covered with dozens of tiny icing carrots, chocolate zucchini snack cake.
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Blood seemed to course a little bit faster through my veins. Neurons began to fire in my brain. The Holy Spirit seemed to whisper. Bake a cake every Monday with Charlotte (Margie's four-year-old daughter). This is something small you can do to help . . .
For the last few Mondays my kitchen has been blessed by egg shells on its counter, flour on its floor and Charlotte's laughter. With my daughter Emily, Charlotte and I have made the spice cake, the grasshopper, and a few others. Yesterday we made pirate cupcakes.
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Every Monday evening as I send Charlotte home with the cake we've mixed, baked and decorated together, I can't help but think of the simple way God dropped that idea into my mind in the Jewel line. A simple idea in a dark, hopeless place creating love, frivolity . . . slices of sweet life.
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Thursday, May 01, 2008
May's Prayer
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I've always been perplexed, intrigued, even enchanted by the promise found in Matthew 18:19-20. It reads, plain as day, "Again, I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything you ask for, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them."
The promise, coupled with my feelings about prayer on a bad day, makes me wonder sometimes if the promise was made because Jesus didn't think two of us on earth would ever agree about anything, come together to ask, or ask in the God's name. Still, I believe that Jesus' words are faithful, true, non-manipulative. So, I'm counting on the presence of Christ when I get together with my girlfriends to pray; and I count on his promise to do what we ask in his name.
Perhaps Chrysostom had the same duality wrestling within his saintly heart when he wrote May's Prayer:
A Prayer of St. Chrysostom
Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplications to you; and you have promised through your well-beloved son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name you will be in the midst of them: Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us; granting us in this world knowledge of your truth, and in the age to come life everlasting. Amen.
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Thanks to the women from Appleton, Wisconsin's Evangelical Free Church for posing for the picture on this post; and for sharing in a glorious weekend of retreat with me! Grace and peace and more gatherings of hearts & minds to all of you!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
April's Prayers
This month my speaking calendar is plump and juicily awaits me like a big, round, red apple. It seems especially enticing after the last few months of being cloistered at my writing desk working on my latest project, God's Girls: 1o Women Who've Encountered Divine Love, How You Can, Too.
Research for the book has taken me on virtual tours second century Palestine, Medieval England, China, and Germany during WW II. As I've figuratively journeyed, I've met faith-filled women ranging from Harriet Tubman to Jullian of Norwich, Xiao Min to Gomer, The Woman of Bleeding to Joan of Arc and Pocahontas. As stimulating, sagacious, even miraculous as these women are; I can't wait too look into the eyes of some living women.
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With riant expectation, I anticipate sharing stories with these women, hearing their stories, praying, laughing, crying, connecting shoulder to shoulder, soul to soul! As I prepare messages, pack bags, kiss my kids goodbye for a couple rare and glorious weekends, I'm praying two prayers, April's Prayers, which I pray any time I'm called on to speak:
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THE SARUM PRIMER PRAYER
God be in my head,
love And in my understanding;
God be in my eyes,
love And in my looking;
God be in my mouth,
love And in my speaking;
God be in my heart,
love And in my thinking;
God be at my end,
love And at my departing
love
ANCIENT CELTIC PRAYER
(a paraphrase)
Set us free, O God, to cross barriers for you,
As You crossed barriers for us.
Spirit of God, make us open to others in listening,
Generous to others in giving,
And sensitive to others in praying.
We pray for our ministry; from today and always may we:
Look upon each person we meet with the eyes of Christ;
Speak to each person we meet with the words of Christ;
And go wherever we are led with the peace of Christ.
Amen
This month my speaking calendar is plump and juicily awaits me like a big, round, red apple. It seems especially enticing after the last few months of being cloistered at my writing desk working on my latest project, God's Girls: 1o Women Who've Encountered Divine Love, How You Can, Too.
Research for the book has taken me on virtual tours second century Palestine, Medieval England, China, and Germany during WW II. As I've figuratively journeyed, I've met faith-filled women ranging from Harriet Tubman to Jullian of Norwich, Xiao Min to Gomer, The Woman of Bleeding to Joan of Arc and Pocahontas. As stimulating, sagacious, even miraculous as these women are; I can't wait too look into the eyes of some living women.
love
With riant expectation, I anticipate sharing stories with these women, hearing their stories, praying, laughing, crying, connecting shoulder to shoulder, soul to soul! As I prepare messages, pack bags, kiss my kids goodbye for a couple rare and glorious weekends, I'm praying two prayers, April's Prayers, which I pray any time I'm called on to speak:
love
THE SARUM PRIMER PRAYER
God be in my head,
love And in my understanding;
God be in my eyes,
love And in my looking;
God be in my mouth,
love And in my speaking;
God be in my heart,
love And in my thinking;
God be at my end,
love And at my departing
love
ANCIENT CELTIC PRAYER
(a paraphrase)
Set us free, O God, to cross barriers for you,
As You crossed barriers for us.
Spirit of God, make us open to others in listening,
Generous to others in giving,
And sensitive to others in praying.
We pray for our ministry; from today and always may we:
Look upon each person we meet with the eyes of Christ;
Speak to each person we meet with the words of Christ;
And go wherever we are led with the peace of Christ.
Amen
Sunday, March 30, 2008
COMMUNING WITH JOHN AND MARGIE
On Easter's Eve, my friend Beth and I gathered prayer books, our bibles, hymnals and voluminous copies of worship songs and headed to Edward's Hospital to visit our friend Margie's husband, John, who has been valiantly - tenaciously - fighting metastasized brain cancer for the last several months. A musician at heart, I eagerly anticipated the melodies and lyrics whisking John to God's Throne of Grace. He - a musical prodigy and titanically gifted worship leader - if anyone, would be able to appreciate our impromptu Easter Service delivered at hospital bedside. love
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As Beth drove me to the hospital, we prayed about our offering. I sight-read dozens of new hymns (ones not sung at my church) that Beth knew would hold specific Eastertide and personal meaning to our ailing friend. As we roamed hospital halls in search of John's room, I was nervous about singing in front of this musical master and hopeful that our meager offering would be a beneficent and beautiful blessing. Beth prayed that angels would accompany us, filling in thin spots with heavenly colors, timbres and overtones.
Our circuitous sojourn and time of supplication ended at John's hospital room door. With grace and kindness, he (who had, two days prior been lacking his typical verbosity and lucidity) greeted us by name and invited us into the tiny, sterile space. We were elated to find John's friend, Randy, there. It seemed an answer to our prayer that this man, who had written one of the songs Beth had chosen to be part of our organic service, was keeping vigil with John during our visit.
"Randy! Please sing with us," we invited.
After getting John comfortable in his bed; Randy obliged with his James Tayloresque tenor.
Glory!
Beth and I hit most of the notes. Randy greatly helped! John even sang a bit, raising a hand in worship of God the Father. Margie's father, who was there to keep the night watch, wept worshipful tears and said, "This music is more beautiful than that at this morning's Easter service."
Beth and I figured angels must have been accompanying us: filling in the gaps of our shaky soprano/alto inadequacies. The music was a gift to us, to nurses who stopped in John's doorway to listen, to God in whose name we always sing; and, we hope, to John.
For me, though, the most holy and worshipful moment of the evening occurred when I noticed John (whose motor skills have slowed a bit due to his illness) wrestling to eat dinner. As I watched his shaky hand, unsure of what the fork should do; a maternal urging overtook me. I knelt beside John - this man who I've admired for his faith in Christ and voluminous intellect - and instinctively began cutting up his tuna sandwich. Then, I waited in eager anticipation for him to scoop up a bit of sustenance and slide it into his mouth. He didn't move.
From a place of instinct and motherly love a question gently burst from my mouth into the room. "John, would you mind if I just fed this to you?"
Graciously, he opened his mouth, receiving the offering. Three bites into the meal, John looked around the room at his father-in-law, his friend Randy, Beth and me and said, "You are all so generous."
I felt my throat catch with sadness and the feeling that I was in a privileged moment. Randy smiled. Beth turned to another worship song. I offered John another bite of the sandwich and said, "This is just what friends do. You did the same for me when I was in the height of my back pain and you came over and prayed for me."
I scooped up another forkful of tuna. And, I couldn't help but feel, in the moment, that feeding John a quarter of that tuna sandwich (all he could manage) was the closest I'd ever come to breaking the Body of Christ with a friend; sharing the Cup of The New Covenant.
I will never be able to thank John or Margie for the ways they've let me walk intimately with them into the Valley of the Shadow. It is a gift and honor and joy ineffable.
love
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Yesterday afternoon, as I was shaking in my bed under the nefarious grip of strain B Influenza, Margie called.
"How's John?" I asked.
"He's feeling a little overwhelmed today," she said. "But, I'm not calling about John. I wanted to let you know that I got a belated Easter dinner together for my family. And when I heard you were sick, I made one for you guys, too."
love
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Last night as I scooped up a forkful of Margie's French twist on Shepherd's Pie and brought it to my mouth, all I could think was, "Do this in remembrance of me."
On Easter's Eve, my friend Beth and I gathered prayer books, our bibles, hymnals and voluminous copies of worship songs and headed to Edward's Hospital to visit our friend Margie's husband, John, who has been valiantly - tenaciously - fighting metastasized brain cancer for the last several months. A musician at heart, I eagerly anticipated the melodies and lyrics whisking John to God's Throne of Grace. He - a musical prodigy and titanically gifted worship leader - if anyone, would be able to appreciate our impromptu Easter Service delivered at hospital bedside. love
love
As Beth drove me to the hospital, we prayed about our offering. I sight-read dozens of new hymns (ones not sung at my church) that Beth knew would hold specific Eastertide and personal meaning to our ailing friend. As we roamed hospital halls in search of John's room, I was nervous about singing in front of this musical master and hopeful that our meager offering would be a beneficent and beautiful blessing. Beth prayed that angels would accompany us, filling in thin spots with heavenly colors, timbres and overtones.
Our circuitous sojourn and time of supplication ended at John's hospital room door. With grace and kindness, he (who had, two days prior been lacking his typical verbosity and lucidity) greeted us by name and invited us into the tiny, sterile space. We were elated to find John's friend, Randy, there. It seemed an answer to our prayer that this man, who had written one of the songs Beth had chosen to be part of our organic service, was keeping vigil with John during our visit.
"Randy! Please sing with us," we invited.
After getting John comfortable in his bed; Randy obliged with his James Tayloresque tenor.
Glory!
Beth and I hit most of the notes. Randy greatly helped! John even sang a bit, raising a hand in worship of God the Father. Margie's father, who was there to keep the night watch, wept worshipful tears and said, "This music is more beautiful than that at this morning's Easter service."
Beth and I figured angels must have been accompanying us: filling in the gaps of our shaky soprano/alto inadequacies. The music was a gift to us, to nurses who stopped in John's doorway to listen, to God in whose name we always sing; and, we hope, to John.
For me, though, the most holy and worshipful moment of the evening occurred when I noticed John (whose motor skills have slowed a bit due to his illness) wrestling to eat dinner. As I watched his shaky hand, unsure of what the fork should do; a maternal urging overtook me. I knelt beside John - this man who I've admired for his faith in Christ and voluminous intellect - and instinctively began cutting up his tuna sandwich. Then, I waited in eager anticipation for him to scoop up a bit of sustenance and slide it into his mouth. He didn't move.
From a place of instinct and motherly love a question gently burst from my mouth into the room. "John, would you mind if I just fed this to you?"
Graciously, he opened his mouth, receiving the offering. Three bites into the meal, John looked around the room at his father-in-law, his friend Randy, Beth and me and said, "You are all so generous."
I felt my throat catch with sadness and the feeling that I was in a privileged moment. Randy smiled. Beth turned to another worship song. I offered John another bite of the sandwich and said, "This is just what friends do. You did the same for me when I was in the height of my back pain and you came over and prayed for me."
I scooped up another forkful of tuna. And, I couldn't help but feel, in the moment, that feeding John a quarter of that tuna sandwich (all he could manage) was the closest I'd ever come to breaking the Body of Christ with a friend; sharing the Cup of The New Covenant.
I will never be able to thank John or Margie for the ways they've let me walk intimately with them into the Valley of the Shadow. It is a gift and honor and joy ineffable.
love
love
love
Yesterday afternoon, as I was shaking in my bed under the nefarious grip of strain B Influenza, Margie called.
"How's John?" I asked.
"He's feeling a little overwhelmed today," she said. "But, I'm not calling about John. I wanted to let you know that I got a belated Easter dinner together for my family. And when I heard you were sick, I made one for you guys, too."
love
love
love
Last night as I scooped up a forkful of Margie's French twist on Shepherd's Pie and brought it to my mouth, all I could think was, "Do this in remembrance of me."
Thursday, March 27, 2008
THE DAILY DIVINE
The wonder of our Lord is that He is so accessible to us in the common things of our lives: the cup of water . . . breaking of the bread . . . welcoming children into our arms . . . fellowship over a meal . . . giving thanks. A simple attitude of caring, listening, and lovingly telling the truth.
-Nancie Carmichael, Contemporary American Writer
How is the divine present to you in your daily life? I invite you to share, Dear Reader.
The wonder of our Lord is that He is so accessible to us in the common things of our lives: the cup of water . . . breaking of the bread . . . welcoming children into our arms . . . fellowship over a meal . . . giving thanks. A simple attitude of caring, listening, and lovingly telling the truth.
-Nancie Carmichael, Contemporary American Writer
How is the divine present to you in your daily life? I invite you to share, Dear Reader.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
A FEW MORE FRIENDSHIP QUOTES, ETC.
My first post on this blog was a smattering of my favorite quotes about friendship. Here are a few more of my favs - shared today in honor of my friend Cheri's 40th birthday.
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BIRTHDAY BLESSINGS, DEAR FRIEND!
Thanks for years and years and years of walking in faith & friendship. Because of your wise, wondrous, often wacky spirit, I've tasted the rich, flavorful, satisfying feast of friendship! May we come to the table for many years to come!
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Dear Reader, if you have a treasured word about being a friend, feel free to join in the sharing! Grace and Peace and Joy to you as you journey through births and deaths with your friends!!! And, if you're in a season of loneliness or you need some rejuvenation in your friendships, check out FIVE WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF FRIENDSHIP, a piece Cheri wrote for a website dedicated to young friends in the thick of mothering. (The piece follows the quotes.)
I'll lean on you and you lean on me and we'll be okay."
-lyrics by The Dave Matthews Band
Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty.
-Sicilian Proverb
Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things.
-Author Unknown
What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.
-Aristotle
Nothing but heaven itself is better than
a friend who is really a friend.
-Platus
Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend.
-Albert Camus
And a friend will not say "never"
'cause the welcome will not end.
-Michael W. Smith & Amy Grant
One thing women do best is FRIENDSHIP! Gifted with a passion for relationship, 'us girls' gravitate toward kinships that honor our secrets, make us giggle, teach us to cry; and to girlfriends who'll admit (when invited) that our butt looks uncomfortably huge in those 'skinny' jeans.
Like the wings of a butterfly, there's something magical about friendship that can't be pinned down, dissected, or explained. A friend is one to whom you confess guilt that french fries are a staple on your family's grocery list; and she gladly 'one-ups' you with a reminder that her kids are on a first name basis with the drive-thru attend at Krispy Kreme. Some friends sit with you week after week while you endure another round of chemo, and listen tirelessly when your marriage comes undone. Others sign you up for the high-ropes courses or belly-dancing classes, inspiring laughter when it's needed most. They can be silly, soulful, compassionate, loyal, quirky, wild or wise. But whatever qualities they wear most comfortably, friends - each in their own way - offer glimpses of unconditional love.
So, why not celebrate friendship as a spiritual gift: one of the best gifts LOVE has to offer?!
FIVE WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF FRIENDSHIP
1. Knit a Scarf. As you do, relive some favorite memories with your friend and realize that both the knitting and the warm reflections you have as you weave are a prayer - a prayer she can wear!
2. Light a Candle. Whenever you have a friend over for coffee, dinner, or even a play date, let a candle's gentle glow remind you that through her smiling face you can experience God's warm presence.
3. Start a Tradition. Collect matching candlesticks, pieces of jewelry, or pairs of teacups. Take one and give the other to a friend. The missing piece will remind you both that you're never alone.
4. Hand Write a Note. E-mails and phone calls are quick and easy; but writing by hand can be a spiritual exercise. Find a comfy chair, play some quiet music, and express the qualities you love about your friend with a few care-fully chosen words. Don't forget to drop the note in the mail!
5. Share a Story. Dig up some of your favorite childhood photos, and share them with a friend. Ask your friend to do the same. By trusting each other with some of the key memories and experiences that have shaped who you are today, your hearts will be sealed in a special way.
My first post on this blog was a smattering of my favorite quotes about friendship. Here are a few more of my favs - shared today in honor of my friend Cheri's 40th birthday.
love
BIRTHDAY BLESSINGS, DEAR FRIEND!
Thanks for years and years and years of walking in faith & friendship. Because of your wise, wondrous, often wacky spirit, I've tasted the rich, flavorful, satisfying feast of friendship! May we come to the table for many years to come!
love
love
love
love
love
love
love
love
Dear Reader, if you have a treasured word about being a friend, feel free to join in the sharing! Grace and Peace and Joy to you as you journey through births and deaths with your friends!!! And, if you're in a season of loneliness or you need some rejuvenation in your friendships, check out FIVE WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF FRIENDSHIP, a piece Cheri wrote for a website dedicated to young friends in the thick of mothering. (The piece follows the quotes.)
A friend is one of the nicest things you can have,
and one of the best things you can be.
-Douglas Pagels
I'll lean on you and you lean on me and we'll be okay."
-lyrics by The Dave Matthews Band
One's friends are that part of the human race
with which one can be human.
-George Santayana
Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty.
-Sicilian Proverb
The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend.
-Henry David Thoreau
Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things.
-Author Unknown
If a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by
asking if there is anything you can do.
Think up something appropriate and do it.
-Edgar Watson Howe
What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.
-Aristotle
A friend loveth at all times.
-Proverbs 17:17
Nothing but heaven itself is better than
a friend who is really a friend.
-Platus
A good friend is cheaper than therapy.
-Author Unknown
Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend.
-Albert Camus
Hold a true friend with both your hands.
-Nigerian Proverb
The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that
they can grow separately without growing apart.
-Elisabeth Foley
And a friend will not say "never"
'cause the welcome will not end.
-Michael W. Smith & Amy Grant
One thing women do best is FRIENDSHIP! Gifted with a passion for relationship, 'us girls' gravitate toward kinships that honor our secrets, make us giggle, teach us to cry; and to girlfriends who'll admit (when invited) that our butt looks uncomfortably huge in those 'skinny' jeans.
Like the wings of a butterfly, there's something magical about friendship that can't be pinned down, dissected, or explained. A friend is one to whom you confess guilt that french fries are a staple on your family's grocery list; and she gladly 'one-ups' you with a reminder that her kids are on a first name basis with the drive-thru attend at Krispy Kreme. Some friends sit with you week after week while you endure another round of chemo, and listen tirelessly when your marriage comes undone. Others sign you up for the high-ropes courses or belly-dancing classes, inspiring laughter when it's needed most. They can be silly, soulful, compassionate, loyal, quirky, wild or wise. But whatever qualities they wear most comfortably, friends - each in their own way - offer glimpses of unconditional love.
So, why not celebrate friendship as a spiritual gift: one of the best gifts LOVE has to offer?!
FIVE WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF FRIENDSHIP
1. Knit a Scarf. As you do, relive some favorite memories with your friend and realize that both the knitting and the warm reflections you have as you weave are a prayer - a prayer she can wear!
2. Light a Candle. Whenever you have a friend over for coffee, dinner, or even a play date, let a candle's gentle glow remind you that through her smiling face you can experience God's warm presence.
3. Start a Tradition. Collect matching candlesticks, pieces of jewelry, or pairs of teacups. Take one and give the other to a friend. The missing piece will remind you both that you're never alone.
4. Hand Write a Note. E-mails and phone calls are quick and easy; but writing by hand can be a spiritual exercise. Find a comfy chair, play some quiet music, and express the qualities you love about your friend with a few care-fully chosen words. Don't forget to drop the note in the mail!
5. Share a Story. Dig up some of your favorite childhood photos, and share them with a friend. Ask your friend to do the same. By trusting each other with some of the key memories and experiences that have shaped who you are today, your hearts will be sealed in a special way.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Looking for Cardinals
A “BIRD BY BIRD” REPLY TO THE WOMAN OF WORDS
Three eggs I’ve laid in front door wreath nest
With feathers and twigs, I’ve done my best
To make a home, a residence
That in my bird-brain makes perfect sense
Misguided, I’m not, though you may think it’s absurd
That I haven’t read What to Expect, When You’re an Expectant Bird
An emu, flamingo, penguin, or grouse
Might be stupid enough to forsake a full house
But, I’ll ‘maternity leave’ when baby robins take flight
Roosting’ll not end ‘til the moment is right
I know that your words about Martha, crepes, and pets
Are simply deluded, vain empty threats
So, please leave me alone, or Sally might stop
Bringing me pickles, worms, and ice cream with cherries on top
Since this poetic battle, Cheri and I have written a few more odes to the feathered harbingers of spring. The first is one Cheri wrote for me after I saw two male cardinals on one of my walks. They seemed, to me, to promise that two of my long-rejected manuscripts would find their way toward publication. The second is my poem, written after Cheri told me the story of a Bluejay who seemed to minister to her mother during her dad's battle with Cancer.
Spring is peeking in green through thawing earth, sweetening air with birdsong and pollen perfume. So, I've begun searching for cardinals. It's an obsession that has been growing - dare I say nesting - in me ever since high school.
love
For some reason seeing the red winged beauties, hearing their 'purdy, purdy, purdy' metallic cheep or their clear, slurred whistle phrases, 'what-cheer, what-cheer ... wheet, wheet, wheet, wheet'; gives me a sense of God's providential presence in my life. When a bright red aviary angel wings his way across my path it feels as if all will be well in the world, God's promises will be kept, Grace will continue to light on the branches of our hearts.
For some reason seeing the red winged beauties, hearing their 'purdy, purdy, purdy' metallic cheep or their clear, slurred whistle phrases, 'what-cheer, what-cheer ... wheet, wheet, wheet, wheet'; gives me a sense of God's providential presence in my life. When a bright red aviary angel wings his way across my path it feels as if all will be well in the world, God's promises will be kept, Grace will continue to light on the branches of our hearts.
In our book, Walk with Me: Two Friends on a Spiritual Journey my friend Cheri and I share some hilarious bird poems and escapades that are worth checking out (pages 73-74).
I’ll share two of the poems here. The first is Cheri’s ode, written when a robin decided to make her nest in my front door wreath. Knowing that I’m inclined to have maternal feelings toward anything – including wildlife - she told me, “Sal, I would take that nest down now, before that bird lays her eggs in it. It’s either that or you’ll have to play midwife to a nestful of hatchlings. And just think how traumatized you’ll feel when those new birds start to fly and one of them splats, beak first, onto your porch. Then what will you do?”
I ignored my friend's wise advice and routed all household traffic through the garage for several weeks while my baby birds gestated. The ‘Bird by Bird’ reply following Cheri's threat is my responsorial poem, written in the voice of Mama Robin.
ODE TO A MISGUIDED BIRD
Oh misguided bird on Sal’s front door wreath,
With no leafy branches to rest beneath,
Your nest has been built without even an inkling,
About your dear neighbors and what they’ve been thinking.
Maybe they’ll see you as ‘Martha’ décor
Blue eggs to match with their lovely blue door.
Worse yet, they might have a peculiar taste,
For scrambled bird eggs in their ‘blue’-berry crepes!
You might get adopted – oh just wait and see,
I heard Ben wants a pet with a sweet melody.
Have my scare tactics worked?
Do you believe?
Pack up your bags and MATERNITY LEAVE!!
I’ll share two of the poems here. The first is Cheri’s ode, written when a robin decided to make her nest in my front door wreath. Knowing that I’m inclined to have maternal feelings toward anything – including wildlife - she told me, “Sal, I would take that nest down now, before that bird lays her eggs in it. It’s either that or you’ll have to play midwife to a nestful of hatchlings. And just think how traumatized you’ll feel when those new birds start to fly and one of them splats, beak first, onto your porch. Then what will you do?”
I ignored my friend's wise advice and routed all household traffic through the garage for several weeks while my baby birds gestated. The ‘Bird by Bird’ reply following Cheri's threat is my responsorial poem, written in the voice of Mama Robin.
ODE TO A MISGUIDED BIRD
Oh misguided bird on Sal’s front door wreath,
With no leafy branches to rest beneath,
Your nest has been built without even an inkling,
About your dear neighbors and what they’ve been thinking.
Maybe they’ll see you as ‘Martha’ décor
Blue eggs to match with their lovely blue door.
Worse yet, they might have a peculiar taste,
For scrambled bird eggs in their ‘blue’-berry crepes!
You might get adopted – oh just wait and see,
I heard Ben wants a pet with a sweet melody.
Have my scare tactics worked?
Do you believe?
Pack up your bags and MATERNITY LEAVE!!
A “BIRD BY BIRD” REPLY TO THE WOMAN OF WORDS
Three eggs I’ve laid in front door wreath nest
With feathers and twigs, I’ve done my best
To make a home, a residence
That in my bird-brain makes perfect sense
Misguided, I’m not, though you may think it’s absurd
That I haven’t read What to Expect, When You’re an Expectant Bird
An emu, flamingo, penguin, or grouse
Might be stupid enough to forsake a full house
But, I’ll ‘maternity leave’ when baby robins take flight
Roosting’ll not end ‘til the moment is right
I know that your words about Martha, crepes, and pets
Are simply deluded, vain empty threats
So, please leave me alone, or Sally might stop
Bringing me pickles, worms, and ice cream with cherries on top
Since this poetic battle, Cheri and I have written a few more odes to the feathered harbingers of spring. The first is one Cheri wrote for me after I saw two male cardinals on one of my walks. They seemed, to me, to promise that two of my long-rejected manuscripts would find their way toward publication. The second is my poem, written after Cheri told me the story of a Bluejay who seemed to minister to her mother during her dad's battle with Cancer.
Two birds, flushed red, side by side fly
a promise given that your words too
will be bound, together -
showing others how to soar in the beauty
of a Son-filled sky,
dipped in the gift of
crimson-covered friendship.
The Birds
A lighting promise on a branch
that brings hope to the soul,
When fear and doubt have muted faith
a song of God's control.
The dove came back to Noah's ark
two cardinals wing the words,
of hope and bluejays wing of health:
ministry of the birds.
Feel free to share any bird/wildlife stories of your own. And, blessings to you as you look for the crimson promise of cardinals in your life.
One of my favorite wedding gifts:
a male and female cardinal painted by my dear friend Heather's mom, Carol, on a Longaberger picnic basket.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
WELCOME TO THE WORLD, DURHAM TYLER!
love
love
WELCOME TO THE WORLD, BABY DURHAM!
love
love
At the beginning of March, I took our firstborn son, Ben, to California to meet my brother and his wife's, firstborn son, Durham Tyler. One of the ways we welcomed the little guy to the world was with a basket filled with our favorite children's books. Included were the likes of Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree, Sam McBratney's Guess How Much I Love You, All the Places to Love by Patricia MacLachlan and a handful of silly Sandra Boynton board books.
love
love
Along with my brother, Rob, and his wife, Kristin, we hope that little Durham will be a life-long learner. We long for him to find joy, adventure and truth in the books that are read to him and that - one day - he will read. We want him to get lost in Story and the Tangles of Love and Loss experienced by our favorite characters: Lucy and Edmund, Pooh and Tigger, Meg and Charles Wallace . . . Our prayer is that Durham will know and live the reality that truth is deeper, richer, and more life-changing that facts will ever be.
love
WELCOME TO THE WORLD, BABY DURHAM!
love
We wish you Giving Trees to climb, Wardrobes that lead to imaginary lands, Bridges, and Friends who love you enough to write about your radiance in their webs.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
HANDKNITS EQUAL LOVE
This may sound a little cliché. But, as God was knitting my nephew, Durham, together inside my sister-in-love’s womb; I was busy knitting an oat colored baby poncho to keep him warm during his debut into the world.
As I knit, I was reading a hilarious and heartwarming knitting memoir titled YARN HARLOT: The Secret Life of a Knitter by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. She writes:
Knitting is more than it seems. Knitting is a complex and joyful act of creation in my everyday life.
It really does seem so simple. Knitting is only two stitches, knit and purl, yet with those two ordinary acts we knitters can take a ball of yarn and a couple of pointy sticks and create something useful and beautiful. An average sweater takes God-only-knows-how-many stitches to make, each of them a simple act. Wrapping yarn around needles over and over and over again disconnects me from my cares. Knitting makes something from nothing, and it’s usually such an interesting something.
Even when it isn’t going well, knitting can be deeply spiritual. Knitting sets goals that you can meet. Sometimes when I work on something complicated or difficult – ripping out my work and starting over, poring over tomes of knitting expertise, screeching “I don’t get it!” while practically weeping with frustration – my husband looks at me and says, “I don’t know why you think you like knitting.” I just stare at him. I don’t like knitting. I love knitting. I don’t know what could possibly have led him to think that I’m not enjoying myself. The yelling? The crying? The fourteen sheets of shredded graph paper? Knitting is like a marriage (I tell him) and you don’t just trash the whole thing because there are bad moments.
I love knitting because it’s something that can be accomplished no matter how poorly it’s going at any given moment. It’s a triumph of dexterity over string. I can’t make my kids turn out the way I want; I have no control over my editor; world peace remains elusive despite my very best efforts; but– I can put a heel in a sock and it will go exactly the way I want it to go. Eventually, at least.
In general, I am a process, rather than a product knitter. I like the feel of the wool, the smell of the wool, the ritual of sorting through patterns, choosing the right needles, and casting on. I like the moment when the yarn tells you what it would like to be. I like getting past the first little bit of the knitting, to the point when I can see the pattern develop and start getting a sense of what I’m making. I like how much knitting is like a magic trick. You have string and sticks; you wave your hands about, and there you have it – a sweater, a sock, warm mittens, a blanket, a shawl. I admit that it can be slow magic. Sometimes you have to wave your hands around for a really, really long time.
Knitting is magic. Knitting is an act of creation and a simple transformation each and every time. Each knitted gift holds hours of my life. I know it looks just like a hat, but really, it’s four hours at the hospital, six hours on the bus, two hours alone at four in the morning when I couldn’t sleep because I tend to worry. It is all those hours when I chose to spend time warming another person. It’s giving them my time – time that I could have spent on anything, or anyone, else. Knitting is love, looped and warm.
My poncho for Durham is love, looped and warm. It's prayer and hope: a handcrafted welcome to the world! I can't wait for him to be wrapped in the wishes stitched into it.
It cracked me up, as I stitched the hood together, secured the pocket and wove in the loose ends when I came to a section at the end of YARN HARLOT titled PARENTS AND KNITTERS. I smiled as I read the pages, excited for all of the knitters and parents in the world . . . especially for my brother and his wife!
4. With either one, you can start with all the right materials, use all the best reference books available, really apply yourself, and still get completely unexpected results.
5. No matter whether you decided to become a parent or a knitter, you are still going to end up with something you have to hand wash.
6. Parents and knitters both have to learn new things all the time, mostly so that they can give someone else something.
7. Both activities are about tension. In knitting, the knitter has control of the amount of tension on the object in progress. In parenting, the opposite is true.
8. No matter how much time you spend at knitting or parenting, you are still going to wish you could spend all your time at it. Which is odd, since both activities are occasionally frustrating enough that you want to gnaw your own arm off.
9. Knitting and parenting are both about endurance. Most of the time it's just mundane repetitive labor, until one day, you realize you're actually making something sort of neat.
10. One day, you will wake up and realize that you are spending hours and hours working at something that is costing you a fortune, won't ever pay the bills, creates laundry and clutters up your house, and won't ever really be finished . . . and the only thing you will thing about is that you can't wait to get home and do more.
love
This is the finished poncho, made with love, for Durham. Here's the link to the free pattern.
http://www.lionbrand.com/patterns/70361AD.html?noImages=
This may sound a little cliché. But, as God was knitting my nephew, Durham, together inside my sister-in-love’s womb; I was busy knitting an oat colored baby poncho to keep him warm during his debut into the world.As I knit, I was reading a hilarious and heartwarming knitting memoir titled YARN HARLOT: The Secret Life of a Knitter by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. She writes:
Knitting is more than it seems. Knitting is a complex and joyful act of creation in my everyday life.
It really does seem so simple. Knitting is only two stitches, knit and purl, yet with those two ordinary acts we knitters can take a ball of yarn and a couple of pointy sticks and create something useful and beautiful. An average sweater takes God-only-knows-how-many stitches to make, each of them a simple act. Wrapping yarn around needles over and over and over again disconnects me from my cares. Knitting makes something from nothing, and it’s usually such an interesting something.
Even when it isn’t going well, knitting can be deeply spiritual. Knitting sets goals that you can meet. Sometimes when I work on something complicated or difficult – ripping out my work and starting over, poring over tomes of knitting expertise, screeching “I don’t get it!” while practically weeping with frustration – my husband looks at me and says, “I don’t know why you think you like knitting.” I just stare at him. I don’t like knitting. I love knitting. I don’t know what could possibly have led him to think that I’m not enjoying myself. The yelling? The crying? The fourteen sheets of shredded graph paper? Knitting is like a marriage (I tell him) and you don’t just trash the whole thing because there are bad moments.
I love knitting because it’s something that can be accomplished no matter how poorly it’s going at any given moment. It’s a triumph of dexterity over string. I can’t make my kids turn out the way I want; I have no control over my editor; world peace remains elusive despite my very best efforts; but– I can put a heel in a sock and it will go exactly the way I want it to go. Eventually, at least.
In general, I am a process, rather than a product knitter. I like the feel of the wool, the smell of the wool, the ritual of sorting through patterns, choosing the right needles, and casting on. I like the moment when the yarn tells you what it would like to be. I like getting past the first little bit of the knitting, to the point when I can see the pattern develop and start getting a sense of what I’m making. I like how much knitting is like a magic trick. You have string and sticks; you wave your hands about, and there you have it – a sweater, a sock, warm mittens, a blanket, a shawl. I admit that it can be slow magic. Sometimes you have to wave your hands around for a really, really long time.
Knitting is magic. Knitting is an act of creation and a simple transformation each and every time. Each knitted gift holds hours of my life. I know it looks just like a hat, but really, it’s four hours at the hospital, six hours on the bus, two hours alone at four in the morning when I couldn’t sleep because I tend to worry. It is all those hours when I chose to spend time warming another person. It’s giving them my time – time that I could have spent on anything, or anyone, else. Knitting is love, looped and warm.
My poncho for Durham is love, looped and warm. It's prayer and hope: a handcrafted welcome to the world! I can't wait for him to be wrapped in the wishes stitched into it.
It cracked me up, as I stitched the hood together, secured the pocket and wove in the loose ends when I came to a section at the end of YARN HARLOT titled PARENTS AND KNITTERS. I smiled as I read the pages, excited for all of the knitters and parents in the world . . . especially for my brother and his wife!PARENTS AND KNITTERS
The top ten ways why being a parent is like being a knitters
1. You have to work on something for a really long time before you know if it's going to be okay.
2. They both involve an act of creation involving common materials, easily found around the home.
3. Both knitting and parenting are more pleasant if you have the occasional glass of wine, but go right down the drain if you start up with a lot of tequila or shooters.4. With either one, you can start with all the right materials, use all the best reference books available, really apply yourself, and still get completely unexpected results.
5. No matter whether you decided to become a parent or a knitter, you are still going to end up with something you have to hand wash.
6. Parents and knitters both have to learn new things all the time, mostly so that they can give someone else something.
7. Both activities are about tension. In knitting, the knitter has control of the amount of tension on the object in progress. In parenting, the opposite is true.
8. No matter how much time you spend at knitting or parenting, you are still going to wish you could spend all your time at it. Which is odd, since both activities are occasionally frustrating enough that you want to gnaw your own arm off.
9. Knitting and parenting are both about endurance. Most of the time it's just mundane repetitive labor, until one day, you realize you're actually making something sort of neat.
10. One day, you will wake up and realize that you are spending hours and hours working at something that is costing you a fortune, won't ever pay the bills, creates laundry and clutters up your house, and won't ever really be finished . . . and the only thing you will thing about is that you can't wait to get home and do more.
love
This is the finished poncho, made with love, for Durham. Here's the link to the free pattern.
http://www.lionbrand.com/patterns/70361AD.html?noImages=
Saturday, March 01, 2008
March's PrayerThe other night I was reading a A Child's Book of Prayers, illustrated by Michael Hague, with Emily before she went to sleep. The art is beautiful, all pictures of children playing in gardens & sand, fishing, following butterflies, sleeping, dreaming. One of the pics is of a little boy in red shoes with a sailor's hat. He's dangling a long stick with a string attached to its end into a pond. The string is hooked to a tiny red boat with an eensy weensy sail that the boy is pulling around in the water.
March's Prayer is for times when we feel like our life is a tiny boat on a big wavy body of greasy green waters:
PRAYER OF THE BRETON FISHERMEN
Dear God, be good to me,
The sea is so wide and my boat is so small.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
DOES GOD END?
love
love
A few springs ago I was driving on a stretch of Gary Avenue – right by Cosley Zoo. Buds were beginning to burst out of the branches and daffodils were sprouting sunshiny heads. As I drove by the petting zoo, I imagined the fluffy yellow chicks ready to break out of their vernal shells.
My five year old son, Ben, was enjoying the burst of air that blew in from his cracked window and the Kindermusic tunes on our car radio. In the middle of our springy day, and out of the blue, Ben asked, “Mama, does God end?”
I was tickled, delighted by his question. Kids come up with the most profound, insightful thoughts sometimes. Don’t they?
Does God end? I turned the question around in my mind several times, savoring its beauty and simplicity . . . not wanting to crack it; destroying its contemplative shell.
“Does God end?” Ben asked again, getting a bit impatient.
Instead of blurting out an emphatic “No . . .He goes on forever!” I began to think about the times in my life when I’d felt as if God had come to an end.
-During a seemingly endless string of lonely single years – when I longed for a husband but instead ate most of my meals alone, slept alone, and worried about my proverbially ticking biological clock.
-During a season in my early thirties when a degenerative disc caused so much pain in my lower back that I couldn’t sit, or lie down or even stand . . . but, had to pace in circles around my home in order to slightly remit the pain.
-AND, during the season of sadness that, due to the back degeneration, prohibited me from getting pregnant and adding a deeply longed-for third child to our family.
“MOHHHHM!” Ben interrupted my reminiscing, asking yet another persistent time, “Does God end?”
Through the car’s rearview mirror, I looked into my son’s inquisitive chocolate brown eyes, “Sometimes, when we go through tough times in our lives it can feel as if God has ended, Honey. Remember when snow was covering the ground and we were sledding down our favorite hill?”
“Yah,” he said.
“During the dead of winter, we couldn’t imagine that buds were hiding inside all the bare snow covered branches. Could we?!”
“Nope,” he agreed, shaking his head.
“But now that spring is here, we realize that Life goes on – just like God – even when things seem dead and frozen to us.”
Ben seemed satisfied with my answer and stuck his hand out the window to glide on some cool, fresh air.
As we drove I couldn’t help thinking about ways God had brought Life to my personal winters. He broke my winter of singleness through the gift of marriage to my hunk of a hubby, Bryan. Through physical therapy and mercies new each day, a Living God helps me manage chronic back pain. And, through the life giving gift of adoption; He has given me a precious, precocious, perfect daughter.
2000 years ago, I imagine that 12 stinky fishermen – Jesus’ best friends – were asking Ben’s question: DOES GOD END? On Easter, after three days of waiting, they got their answer. God does not end. Though He submitted to death; He lives on.
After Ben and I got home, in celebration, I wrote the following poem:
CHRISTSPRING
Eternity’s harbinger roots and stems
In the turning tulips, sunny daffodils
Forsythia, hyacinth, and vernal egg
Budding, bursting, bounding forth
He rises – born new from earth’s tomb
Crowned with seed jacked, clothed in green and purple perfection:
Heavensprung Champion
Sometimes we can feel as if we’re living in a frozen, cold winter. . . even then, we can keep our eyes on spring and a God who doesn't end!
love
love
A few springs ago I was driving on a stretch of Gary Avenue – right by Cosley Zoo. Buds were beginning to burst out of the branches and daffodils were sprouting sunshiny heads. As I drove by the petting zoo, I imagined the fluffy yellow chicks ready to break out of their vernal shells.
My five year old son, Ben, was enjoying the burst of air that blew in from his cracked window and the Kindermusic tunes on our car radio. In the middle of our springy day, and out of the blue, Ben asked, “Mama, does God end?”
I was tickled, delighted by his question. Kids come up with the most profound, insightful thoughts sometimes. Don’t they?
Does God end? I turned the question around in my mind several times, savoring its beauty and simplicity . . . not wanting to crack it; destroying its contemplative shell.
“Does God end?” Ben asked again, getting a bit impatient.
Instead of blurting out an emphatic “No . . .He goes on forever!” I began to think about the times in my life when I’d felt as if God had come to an end.
-During a seemingly endless string of lonely single years – when I longed for a husband but instead ate most of my meals alone, slept alone, and worried about my proverbially ticking biological clock.
-During a season in my early thirties when a degenerative disc caused so much pain in my lower back that I couldn’t sit, or lie down or even stand . . . but, had to pace in circles around my home in order to slightly remit the pain.
-AND, during the season of sadness that, due to the back degeneration, prohibited me from getting pregnant and adding a deeply longed-for third child to our family.
“MOHHHHM!” Ben interrupted my reminiscing, asking yet another persistent time, “Does God end?”
Through the car’s rearview mirror, I looked into my son’s inquisitive chocolate brown eyes, “Sometimes, when we go through tough times in our lives it can feel as if God has ended, Honey. Remember when snow was covering the ground and we were sledding down our favorite hill?”
“Yah,” he said.
“During the dead of winter, we couldn’t imagine that buds were hiding inside all the bare snow covered branches. Could we?!”
“Nope,” he agreed, shaking his head.
“But now that spring is here, we realize that Life goes on – just like God – even when things seem dead and frozen to us.”
Ben seemed satisfied with my answer and stuck his hand out the window to glide on some cool, fresh air.
As we drove I couldn’t help thinking about ways God had brought Life to my personal winters. He broke my winter of singleness through the gift of marriage to my hunk of a hubby, Bryan. Through physical therapy and mercies new each day, a Living God helps me manage chronic back pain. And, through the life giving gift of adoption; He has given me a precious, precocious, perfect daughter.
2000 years ago, I imagine that 12 stinky fishermen – Jesus’ best friends – were asking Ben’s question: DOES GOD END? On Easter, after three days of waiting, they got their answer. God does not end. Though He submitted to death; He lives on.
After Ben and I got home, in celebration, I wrote the following poem:
CHRISTSPRING
Eternity’s harbinger roots and stems
In the turning tulips, sunny daffodils
Forsythia, hyacinth, and vernal egg
Budding, bursting, bounding forth
He rises – born new from earth’s tomb
Crowned with seed jacked, clothed in green and purple perfection:
Heavensprung Champion
Sometimes we can feel as if we’re living in a frozen, cold winter. . . even then, we can keep our eyes on spring and a God who doesn't end!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
A POEM FOR THE SEASON
l
ove
A few years ago, during Lent, I heard a sermon that wed Numbers 21 and John 3. I remember the ideas being that God redeems everything, even the most hateful, despicable, evil things. Perfect Love undoes death and disease, abuse and abandonment, poverty of body and soul.
In the Numbers passage, God commands Moses to create a bronze serpent and put it on a pole and display it in a public place. Thereafter if a real snake bit anyone, injecting its deadly venom; and the victim later looked at the bronze serpent, their life was spared.
God could've picked a daisy, a cross, or a dove to be bronzed and stuck on that pole. Instead, it was a snake: the very thing that wounded and killed. I don't particularly like snakes. But, in God's paradoxical parameters even slimy, slithering, striking snakes saves lives.
At the time I heard this sermon, I was also reading one of my favorite books, Madeleine L'Engle's GENESIS TRILOGY. Those of you who read Madeleine know that one of the through-lines in her writing is that God will not fail creation. God will redeem, restore, refresh by Love. And, all that He said was good will be . . . is . . . good.
During this season of waiting and self-examination, what is God redeeming/healing in your life by Love? And what's being bronzed and put on a salvific pole for you?
Lent
In the beginning, Word spoken
Begets moons, stars, planet earth, sun
Universe perfect, now broken
By evil snake, bringer of death
Bending truth in his native tongue
Fouling lovely and stealing breath
Moving among us on the earth
Twisting, revealing, destroying good
Healer provoked to redeem birth
A curse to women is proclaimed
Pain in labor to bring forth kin
Secretly a gift is sustained
Eden’s garden lush and fruitful
God’s breath giving new breath: a gift
Of all things green and beautiful
The curse is turned inside out and
It is good – It is ALL so good
Remains and God won’t fail this land
Even the snake high is lifted
Healing cast in bronze by Moses
Icon of the Love that’s gifted
Breath in circles and cross is lent
Twisting, turning, reeling, sealing
Grace reigns down healing deepest rent
love
l
oveA few years ago, during Lent, I heard a sermon that wed Numbers 21 and John 3. I remember the ideas being that God redeems everything, even the most hateful, despicable, evil things. Perfect Love undoes death and disease, abuse and abandonment, poverty of body and soul.
In the Numbers passage, God commands Moses to create a bronze serpent and put it on a pole and display it in a public place. Thereafter if a real snake bit anyone, injecting its deadly venom; and the victim later looked at the bronze serpent, their life was spared.
God could've picked a daisy, a cross, or a dove to be bronzed and stuck on that pole. Instead, it was a snake: the very thing that wounded and killed. I don't particularly like snakes. But, in God's paradoxical parameters even slimy, slithering, striking snakes saves lives.
At the time I heard this sermon, I was also reading one of my favorite books, Madeleine L'Engle's GENESIS TRILOGY. Those of you who read Madeleine know that one of the through-lines in her writing is that God will not fail creation. God will redeem, restore, refresh by Love. And, all that He said was good will be . . . is . . . good.
During this season of waiting and self-examination, what is God redeeming/healing in your life by Love? And what's being bronzed and put on a salvific pole for you?
Lent
In the beginning, Word spoken
Begets moons, stars, planet earth, sun
Universe perfect, now broken
By evil snake, bringer of death
Bending truth in his native tongue
Fouling lovely and stealing breath
Moving among us on the earth
Twisting, revealing, destroying good
Healer provoked to redeem birth
A curse to women is proclaimed
Pain in labor to bring forth kin
Secretly a gift is sustained
Eden’s garden lush and fruitful
God’s breath giving new breath: a gift
Of all things green and beautiful
The curse is turned inside out and
It is good – It is ALL so good
Remains and God won’t fail this land
Even the snake high is lifted
Healing cast in bronze by Moses
Icon of the Love that’s gifted
Breath in circles and cross is lent
Twisting, turning, reeling, sealing
Grace reigns down healing deepest rent
love
Thursday, February 21, 2008
ON WRITING FOR A DEADLINE
I was elbow deep in marinara at 6:30 in the morning when I realized how absurd it was that I'd decided to make several pans of lasagna before getting the kids off to school. The insanity of it all got me thinking, Why am I chopping garlic while even the sun is still sacked out? Then, a maniacal, malevolent little voice whispered, “You’re procrastinating again!”
That’s when I started making a list, a list of all the ways I procrastinate when I'm writing for a deadline. We all have surreptitious distractions. I’d love it if you’d share yours with me. Make a list (it’s actually another great way to procrastinate if you’re writing for a deadline, too).
Here’s mine:
YOU KNOW YOU’RE WRITING FOR A DEADLINE WHEN
1. You decide to make pans of lasagna for the entire neighborhood; and actually like the smell of garlic that has infused all of the curtains in your house.
2. You write the thirty best poems you’ve ever written in your life (and you’re not working on a poetry compilation).
3. You visit every possible writing website in existence, print out articles, read them and try to convince yourself that you're in the process of 'feeding yourself a sustaining inspirational meal-of-words.'
4. You get excited when you hear the buzzer go off on the drier, coffee maker, or the stove . . . when the doorbell rings, the mail arrives, or your most obnoxious neighbor stops over for coffee.
(If any of my neighbors are reading this . . . I'm not talking about YOU!)
5. You talk to your friend on the phone for four hours, analyzing a dream she had about Steven King, an auburn horse and the End Times.
6. You blog, you respond to all of your old e-mails, you check your e-mail (again). You read your friends' blogs. You check your e-mail (again). You respond to new e-mails. You check your e-mail (again and again and again and again).
7. You find Oprah particularly sagacious in an interview she’s conducting with Jim Carrey. As you watch, you’re rapt and convince yourself that this show is part of your research/incubating/character blah, blah, blah and that the exact nugget you need for your plot will probably come from this consequential hour of TV.
8. You actually look forward to exercising. Cher and Richard Simmons tapes from the 80’s are inspiring you to lose the 10 pounds you gained while eating chocolate donuts and writing the first half of your book.
9. You are awakened by wolves howling in the night. When you fall asleep you dream that your editor has grown excessive amounts of facial hair and is howling at the moon, chasing you, growling and asking where your manuscript is.
10. You take up knitting, take a trip, take your time when you walk the dog.
11. You decide to organize every closet in your house, make plans for a kitchen remodel and order seeds for the garden you’ve always dreamed of planting.
12. You make a list called YOU KNOW YOU’RE WRITING FOR A DEADLINE WHEN . . . and submit it to your favorite writing magazine.
13. You break into an anxiety induced sweat, finally put your butt in a chair, and start writing. Keys start clicking, kinks in your cerebellum unwind, words begin to flow like faucet water. You’re actually enjoying yourself when . . . your three-year-old enters your office and asks you to play!
After I posted this morning, I took my daughter Emily to breakfast at our favorite spot, The Red Apple in Wheaton. As we ate, I was thinking, Life is what happens when we're procrastinating! Isn't it?! And, Thanks be to God for procrastinating, 'cause without it our days wouldn't be bursting with fun projects, conversations, ideas and off-the-beaten-path adventures; and we might not discover our hearts' true passions. Besides, without procrastination there wouldn't be a lot to write about!
I was elbow deep in marinara at 6:30 in the morning when I realized how absurd it was that I'd decided to make several pans of lasagna before getting the kids off to school. The insanity of it all got me thinking, Why am I chopping garlic while even the sun is still sacked out? Then, a maniacal, malevolent little voice whispered, “You’re procrastinating again!”
That’s when I started making a list, a list of all the ways I procrastinate when I'm writing for a deadline. We all have surreptitious distractions. I’d love it if you’d share yours with me. Make a list (it’s actually another great way to procrastinate if you’re writing for a deadline, too).
Here’s mine:
YOU KNOW YOU’RE WRITING FOR A DEADLINE WHEN
1. You decide to make pans of lasagna for the entire neighborhood; and actually like the smell of garlic that has infused all of the curtains in your house.
2. You write the thirty best poems you’ve ever written in your life (and you’re not working on a poetry compilation).
3. You visit every possible writing website in existence, print out articles, read them and try to convince yourself that you're in the process of 'feeding yourself a sustaining inspirational meal-of-words.'
4. You get excited when you hear the buzzer go off on the drier, coffee maker, or the stove . . . when the doorbell rings, the mail arrives, or your most obnoxious neighbor stops over for coffee.
(If any of my neighbors are reading this . . . I'm not talking about YOU!)
5. You talk to your friend on the phone for four hours, analyzing a dream she had about Steven King, an auburn horse and the End Times.
6. You blog, you respond to all of your old e-mails, you check your e-mail (again). You read your friends' blogs. You check your e-mail (again). You respond to new e-mails. You check your e-mail (again and again and again and again).
7. You find Oprah particularly sagacious in an interview she’s conducting with Jim Carrey. As you watch, you’re rapt and convince yourself that this show is part of your research/incubating/character blah, blah, blah and that the exact nugget you need for your plot will probably come from this consequential hour of TV.
8. You actually look forward to exercising. Cher and Richard Simmons tapes from the 80’s are inspiring you to lose the 10 pounds you gained while eating chocolate donuts and writing the first half of your book.
9. You are awakened by wolves howling in the night. When you fall asleep you dream that your editor has grown excessive amounts of facial hair and is howling at the moon, chasing you, growling and asking where your manuscript is.
10. You take up knitting, take a trip, take your time when you walk the dog.
11. You decide to organize every closet in your house, make plans for a kitchen remodel and order seeds for the garden you’ve always dreamed of planting.
12. You make a list called YOU KNOW YOU’RE WRITING FOR A DEADLINE WHEN . . . and submit it to your favorite writing magazine.
13. You break into an anxiety induced sweat, finally put your butt in a chair, and start writing. Keys start clicking, kinks in your cerebellum unwind, words begin to flow like faucet water. You’re actually enjoying yourself when . . . your three-year-old enters your office and asks you to play!
After I posted this morning, I took my daughter Emily to breakfast at our favorite spot, The Red Apple in Wheaton. As we ate, I was thinking, Life is what happens when we're procrastinating! Isn't it?! And, Thanks be to God for procrastinating, 'cause without it our days wouldn't be bursting with fun projects, conversations, ideas and off-the-beaten-path adventures; and we might not discover our hearts' true passions. Besides, without procrastination there wouldn't be a lot to write about!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A WORD FROM JULIAN
I'm in the throes of researching and writing my latest book, a piece of creative nonfiction, titled GOD'S GIRLS: 11 Women Who Have Encountered Divine Love & How You Can, Too. As I near the end of this project and my 40th year of life, I feel as though the women in my book (the likes of Joan of Arc, The Woman of Bleeding, Harriet Tubman, Gomer, Xiao Min, Pocahontas, etc) are ushering me in to middle age, ushering me in to maturity and mystery, faith and the phantasmagoria of being a woman.
One of the chapters in GOD'S GIRLS tells the story of Julian of Norwich, Christian mystic and anchorite (a woman who lived in a cell attached to the church for her entire life, eee gads!). Today I need to hear, once again, some of Julian's words. Perhaps you need to hear them, too:
We are so preciously loved by God that we cannot even comprehend it. No created being can ever know how much and how sweetly and tenderly God loves them.
- Jullian of Norwich, 1342-1412, British Christian Mystic
Maybe, over the coming months, I'll try to share inspiring words from some of the other women featured in GOD'S GIRLS. What do you think?
I'm in the throes of researching and writing my latest book, a piece of creative nonfiction, titled GOD'S GIRLS: 11 Women Who Have Encountered Divine Love & How You Can, Too. As I near the end of this project and my 40th year of life, I feel as though the women in my book (the likes of Joan of Arc, The Woman of Bleeding, Harriet Tubman, Gomer, Xiao Min, Pocahontas, etc) are ushering me in to middle age, ushering me in to maturity and mystery, faith and the phantasmagoria of being a woman.
One of the chapters in GOD'S GIRLS tells the story of Julian of Norwich, Christian mystic and anchorite (a woman who lived in a cell attached to the church for her entire life, eee gads!). Today I need to hear, once again, some of Julian's words. Perhaps you need to hear them, too:
We are so preciously loved by God that we cannot even comprehend it. No created being can ever know how much and how sweetly and tenderly God loves them.
- Jullian of Norwich, 1342-1412, British Christian Mystic
Maybe, over the coming months, I'll try to share inspiring words from some of the other women featured in GOD'S GIRLS. What do you think?
Monday, February 18, 2008
MY BOOK SHELF
I just discovered a new website, thanks to my sister-in-law:
http://www.shelfari.com/.
It's a site picturing shelf after shelf of virtual books. By joining one can place her books on a cyber-shelf so friends can peruse favorite titles in a cyber-library of sorts.
My shelves on that site are bare right now. Perhaps, after my June writing deadline for GOD'S GIRLS, I'll add some book selections. For now, here's a list of a few of my favorite reads:
A LIST OF SOME OF MY FAVORITE READS:
(By the way, if you're a librarian type, forgive me. The list is in no particular order and it's definitely not exhaustive. Fiction and nonfiction are scrambled like eggs; memoirs, creative nonfiction, novels are all stirred into one big literary soufflé .)
Compassion, Henri Nouwen
Range of Motion, Elizabeth Berg
The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingslover
Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Lisa See
The Lost Daughters of China, Karin Evans
A Thousand Pieces of Gold, Adeline Yen Mah
A Circle of Quiet, Madeleine L'Engle
The Genesis Trilogy, Madeleine L'Engle
Friends for the Journey, Madeleine L'Engle & Luci Shaw
The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell
Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, Anne Lamott
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers
When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd
The Secret Life of the Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster
A Grace Disguised, Jerry Sittser
A New Kind of Christian, Brian McLaren
In Search of Grace, Kristin Hahn
The Bonesetter's Daughter, Amy Tan
Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott
If Grace Is True, Philip Gulley & James Mulholland
The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
Girl Meets God, Lauren F. Winner
Please feel free to share your list of favorite books, too! I'm always looking for a good read!
I just discovered a new website, thanks to my sister-in-law:http://www.shelfari.com/.
It's a site picturing shelf after shelf of virtual books. By joining one can place her books on a cyber-shelf so friends can peruse favorite titles in a cyber-library of sorts.
My shelves on that site are bare right now. Perhaps, after my June writing deadline for GOD'S GIRLS, I'll add some book selections. For now, here's a list of a few of my favorite reads:
A LIST OF SOME OF MY FAVORITE READS:
(By the way, if you're a librarian type, forgive me. The list is in no particular order and it's definitely not exhaustive. Fiction and nonfiction are scrambled like eggs; memoirs, creative nonfiction, novels are all stirred into one big literary soufflé .)
Compassion, Henri Nouwen
Range of Motion, Elizabeth Berg
The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingslover
Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Lisa See
The Lost Daughters of China, Karin Evans
A Thousand Pieces of Gold, Adeline Yen Mah
A Circle of Quiet, Madeleine L'Engle
The Genesis Trilogy, Madeleine L'Engle
Friends for the Journey, Madeleine L'Engle & Luci Shaw
The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell
Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, Anne Lamott
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers
When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd
The Secret Life of the Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster
A Grace Disguised, Jerry Sittser
A New Kind of Christian, Brian McLaren
In Search of Grace, Kristin Hahn
The Bonesetter's Daughter, Amy Tan
Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott
If Grace Is True, Philip Gulley & James Mulholland
The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
Girl Meets God, Lauren F. Winner
Please feel free to share your list of favorite books, too! I'm always looking for a good read!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
PONY TAILS!!!
Joy sneaks up on us and surprises us like pollen or summer seeds that stick to our socks or a pair of cut-off jeans. It grabs a hold of us, goes along for the journey until it sprouts a smile that's soul-deep and ineffably warming.
After waiting a life-time: through an inexorably long season of singleness, two pregnancies that resulted in the birth of two bouncing beautiful baby boys, chronic back-pain, and a rigorous paper-pregnancy . . . I finally have a longed-for little girl. It is fun, frustrating and fabulous having another girl in the house. It's also immeasurably joyful. The joys of having a daughter come at unexpected times, in surprising ways.
My soul smiles when she wants to help me 'make dinner' in the kitchen each night as the boys race 'round the house or sit transfixed by video games. Joy comes when she sees me crying and pats me on the back in a distinctly feminine gesture of healing care. It also bursts into being when she wants to help me wash my hair as we're bathing together. Or when we're at the Jewel and Emily says, "Mom, can I wear your purse? Then I can be the mommy and you can be the gorgeous girl."
On Valentine's Day, it was Em's pony tails that did it. Ribboned in red and pi
nk, bouncing sassily with her every step the pony tails got me. Intoxicated me. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. I photographed them 500 times, tried to memorize the way they caught the sun, accentuated Emily's perfectly round and distinctly animated face like two quotation marks. Joy! Pure joy!
How has joy stuck to you today? In a note from a friend? A new word on the lips of your two-year-old? A verse from the bible that spoke straight to your heart? A kiss from your man? An unexpected e-mail? Pony tails?
Joy sneaks up on us and surprises us like pollen or summer seeds that stick to our socks or a pair of cut-off jeans. It grabs a hold of us, goes along for the journey until it sprouts a smile that's soul-deep and ineffably warming.After waiting a life-time: through an inexorably long season of singleness, two pregnancies that resulted in the birth of two bouncing beautiful baby boys, chronic back-pain, and a rigorous paper-pregnancy . . . I finally have a longed-for little girl. It is fun, frustrating and fabulous having another girl in the house. It's also immeasurably joyful. The joys of having a daughter come at unexpected times, in surprising ways.
My soul smiles when she wants to help me 'make dinner' in the kitchen each night as the boys race 'round the house or sit transfixed by video games. Joy comes when she sees me crying and pats me on the back in a distinctly feminine gesture of healing care. It also bursts into being when she wants to help me wash my hair as we're bathing together. Or when we're at the Jewel and Emily says, "Mom, can I wear your purse? Then I can be the mommy and you can be the gorgeous girl."
On Valentine's Day, it was Em's pony tails that did it. Ribboned in red and pi
nk, bouncing sassily with her every step the pony tails got me. Intoxicated me. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. I photographed them 500 times, tried to memorize the way they caught the sun, accentuated Emily's perfectly round and distinctly animated face like two quotation marks. Joy! Pure joy!How has joy stuck to you today? In a note from a friend? A new word on the lips of your two-year-old? A verse from the bible that spoke straight to your heart? A kiss from your man? An unexpected e-mail? Pony tails?
If you feel lead, please share some of your joy and enlarge our circle of faith & friendship!
JOY UPON JOY TO YOU AND YOURS!
love
Thursday, February 14, 2008
A STORY WITH NO END
This morning, I took my three littlest Valentines to Starbucks for hot chocolate and scones - a rare & extravagant treat - in celebration of this day honoring Love. They ate their pastries and savored the sweet, warm drinks in green-labeled designer cups as we drove to school; and I serenaded the trinity of kids with a bevy of songs holding the word LOVE in their lyrics. We started with a favorite, written by one of my college music professors, Dr. Funk. Yes, that was his real name, Dr. Funk. I love it!
The jazzy tune zips along with a playful, rhyming lyric:
Hey there, Sweetie lookin' so fine.
Won't you be my Valentine?
If you say no, what'll I do?
Find another 'sead of you!
One of the last tunes in car pool recital's repertoire was a folk tune that I sing almost every night before tucking Ben, Ayden and Emily into their beds. It's called THE RIDDLE SONG. It appeals to the kids because of the riddle. It appeals to me because it's simple, beautiful and sings of a story that has no end.
THE RIDDLE SONG
I gave my love a cherry that had no stone.
I gave my love a chicken that had no bone.
I gave my love a baby with no cryin' .
I gave my love a story that has no end.
How can there be a cherry that has no stone?
How can there be a chicken that has no bone?
How can there be a baby with no cryin'?
How can there be a story that has no end?
A cherry when it's bloomin' . . . it has no stone.
A chicken when it's pippin' . . . it has no bone.
A baby when he's sleepin' has no cryin'.
A story that, "I love you" . . . it has no end.
May you live The Story of I Love You today and forever! Happy Valentine's Day!
I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
love love love love love love love love Ephesians 3:16-19
This morning, I took my three littlest Valentines to Starbucks for hot chocolate and scones - a rare & extravagant treat - in celebration of this day honoring Love. They ate their pastries and savored the sweet, warm drinks in green-labeled designer cups as we drove to school; and I serenaded the trinity of kids with a bevy of songs holding the word LOVE in their lyrics. We started with a favorite, written by one of my college music professors, Dr. Funk. Yes, that was his real name, Dr. Funk. I love it!The jazzy tune zips along with a playful, rhyming lyric:
Hey there, Sweetie lookin' so fine.
Won't you be my Valentine?
If you say no, what'll I do?
Find another 'sead of you!
One of the last tunes in car pool recital's repertoire was a folk tune that I sing almost every night before tucking Ben, Ayden and Emily into their beds. It's called THE RIDDLE SONG. It appeals to the kids because of the riddle. It appeals to me because it's simple, beautiful and sings of a story that has no end.
THE RIDDLE SONG
I gave my love a cherry that had no stone.
I gave my love a chicken that had no bone.
I gave my love a baby with no cryin' .
I gave my love a story that has no end.
How can there be a cherry that has no stone?
How can there be a chicken that has no bone?
How can there be a baby with no cryin'?
How can there be a story that has no end?
A cherry when it's bloomin' . . . it has no stone.
A chicken when it's pippin' . . . it has no bone.
A baby when he's sleepin' has no cryin'.
A story that, "I love you" . . . it has no end.
May you live The Story of I Love You today and forever! Happy Valentine's Day!
I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
love love love love love love love love Ephesians 3:16-19
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A MAGICAL PRAYER
The other day I was leafing through pages of The Book of Common Prayer looking for just the prayer to pray for one of my dear friends. During this brief spiritual sojourn I discovered A Prayer of Self-Dedication that caught my heart and eye the way my husband does when he comes through the door smelling of freshly cut wood at the end of a long day.
What I love about the prayer is that it magically takes the mundane moments of my life and makes them meaningful. It gives the daily drudgery a dose of the divine. When I say the prayer, I, in all of my humanness, feel like I'm getting a holy hug.
I plan on memorizing the benison, making it a kind of breath prayer. Perhaps some of you will join me in this. Or, maybe, you'll want to share a prayer that has been meaningful, even magical, to you.
A Prayer of Self-Dedication
Almighty and eternal God, so draw my heart to you, so guide my mind, so fill my imagination, so control my will, that I may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated to you. And then use me, I pray, as you will, and always to your glory and the good of your people. Amen
The other day I was leafing through pages of The Book of Common Prayer looking for just the prayer to pray for one of my dear friends. During this brief spiritual sojourn I discovered A Prayer of Self-Dedication that caught my heart and eye the way my husband does when he comes through the door smelling of freshly cut wood at the end of a long day.
What I love about the prayer is that it magically takes the mundane moments of my life and makes them meaningful. It gives the daily drudgery a dose of the divine. When I say the prayer, I, in all of my humanness, feel like I'm getting a holy hug.
I plan on memorizing the benison, making it a kind of breath prayer. Perhaps some of you will join me in this. Or, maybe, you'll want to share a prayer that has been meaningful, even magical, to you.
A Prayer of Self-Dedication
Almighty and eternal God, so draw my heart to you, so guide my mind, so fill my imagination, so control my will, that I may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated to you. And then use me, I pray, as you will, and always to your glory and the good of your people. Amen
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