tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32451311605341127632024-03-13T21:40:55.670-05:00A Lifetime of DaysIf you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. ~Annie Dillard, "Seeing," Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 1974Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.comBlogger361125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-32481681758089421422016-01-28T07:00:00.000-06:002016-01-28T07:00:08.376-06:00one hundred and one dots<div class="MsoNormal">
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I pull the book a tad bit closer, at first. Then,
instinctually, I extend my arm out to its full length and tilt the book towards
the light. I repeat this process with as much subtlety as possible but the
truth is evident. </div>
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My eyes are struggling. </div>
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I am no longer able to read, hour after hour. When I look up
from a focused task to gaze out the window, it takes a few moments for my eyes
to focus on the distant view. Sometimes, it never fully does. </div>
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Many times I think I can see more than I really do. As a
general rule, I drive the same streets and know each route by heart. Much of my
daily routine is so rote that it is a rare thing, indeed, when I must stop to read instructions. </div>
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The last time I stopped by a coffee shop, I squinted and
squirmed and strained in order to clearly make out the drink choices printed on
the wall and place my order with confidence. In the end, I went with an
Americano with an extra shot. It’s what I knew.</div>
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This is all so strange and new to me. I used to pride myself
on my ability to see clearly and without assistance, as if it was some great
wonder to still be able to see clearly and effectively with my own eyes, alone.
As if perfect vision was a reflection of something greater in me. </div>
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But here’s the thing. It’s not just the words in books or on
street signs or across back lit café menus that are shrinking and morphing and
eluding me. Many days, it feels like <i>everything</i>
is.</div>
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To read the rest, please follow this <a href="http://wp.me/p56g3A-Lq" target="_blank">link</a> over to </div>
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<a href="http://mudroomblog.com/" target="_blank">TheMudroom Blog</a> where I am guest posting today.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-29030586888784060332015-10-06T00:30:00.000-05:002015-10-06T00:30:00.806-05:00An Invitation Like You've Never Known<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IC2I4NA0IV4/VhMZ8uDn8GI/AAAAAAAACJs/ZjWaWiZ7I2k/s1600/DSC03286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IC2I4NA0IV4/VhMZ8uDn8GI/AAAAAAAACJs/ZjWaWiZ7I2k/s640/DSC03286.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I am so incredibly honored and excited to share space here today with Erika Morrison. Erika is one of the most vulnerable writers I know. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is evident that she keeps intimate company with the Holy Spirit and thus I implicitly trust what spills out on the page as a result of her deep and genuine soul searching. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her words have always--always--reached down into my hidden spaces to reveal the scared, yet shimmering truth of who I am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Today, her book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bandersnatch-Invitation-Explore-Your-Unconventional/dp/0718036220/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1444101212&sr=8-1&keywords=bandersnatch+by+erika+morrison" target="_blank">Bandersnatch: An Invitation to Explore Your Unconventional Soul</a> releases. Please hear me when I tell you this: <span style="color: #141823;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 12.88px;">you must read this book. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 12.88px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 12.88px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In Bandersnatch, it feels as if Erika has taken the intimacy of all her previously written whispered truths and plumbed even deeper.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And yet she does it all with a gentle yet persistent voice. She writes just like she talks in real life--drawing you in close, welcoming you in. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
Bandersnatch illumines the truth that we are weird and wonderful and beautiful and completely unique artist souls and that our fully living into and out of those creations is the very essence of our life's work here on Earth. The world needs us to be avant-garde, to practice alchemy and to be anthropologists who "gaze at humanity with a love that is an eternity long and wide and high."<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Erika declares for us (because most of us don't believe it) that we are artists. We are made to create and the Kingdom of God is depending on our doing just that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"So take your molecules and your moments and your unprecedented mess and the intoxicated music of your life and make a masterpiece that reflects the truth. Because on the other side of Jesus, art is a revelation of the kingdom, a kingdom revealing God through billions of different kaleidoscopic expressions. Art, your art, is absolutely vital because your art is how Jesus is made known to the world."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Erika and I want to know: Do you believe it? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Please join me in welcoming Erika here today and please get a copy of this book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The cardinals make it look
so easy. The honeybees make it look so easy. The catfish and the black crow,
the dairy cow and the cactus plant, all make being created appear effortless.
They arise from the earth, do their beautiful, exclusive thing and die having
fulfilled their fate. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">None of nature seems to
struggle to know who they are or what to do with themselves.</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">But humanity is the
exception to nature’s rule because we’re individualized within our breed. We’re
told by our mamas and mentors that--like snowflakes--no two of us are the same
and that we each have a special purpose and part to play within the great Body
of God. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">(If your mama never told
you this, consider yourself informed: YOU--your original cells and skin-print,
guts and ingenuity--will never ever incarnate again. Do you believe it?)</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">So we struggle and seek and
bald our knees asking variations of discovery-type questions (Who am I? Why am
I here?) and if we’re semi-smart and moderately equipped we pay attention just
enough to wake up piecemeal over years to the knowledge of our vital,
indigenous selves. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">And yet . . . even for all
our wrestling and wondering, there are certain, abundant factors stacked
against our waking up. We feel and fight the low ceiling of man made
definitions, systems and institutions; we fight status quo, culture conformity,
herd mentalities and more often than not, “The original shimmering self gets
buried so deep that most of us end up hardly living out of it at all. Instead
we live out of all our other selves, which we are constantly putting on and
taking off like coats and hats against the world’s weather.” ~Frederick
Buechner</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">So, let me ask you. Do you
know something--anything--of your true, original, shimmering self? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I don’t mean: Coffee
Drinker, Jesus Lover, Crossfitter, Writer, Wife, Mama. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Those are your interests
and investments. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I do mean: Who are you
undressed and naked of the things that tell you who you are? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Who are you before you
became a Jesus lover or mother or husband?</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Who are you without your
church, your hobbies, your performances and projects?</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I’m not talking about your
confidence in saying, “I am a child of God”, either. What I am asking a
quarter-dozen different ways is this: within the framework of being a child of
God, what part of God do you represent? Do you know where you begin and where
you end? Do you know the here-to-here of your uniqueness? Do you know, as John
Duns Scotus puts it, your unusual, individual “thisness”?</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I can’t resolve this
question for you, I can only ask you if you’re interested. (Are you
interested?)</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I can only tell you that it
is a good and right investment to spend the energy and time to learn who you
are with nothing barnacled to your body, to learn what it is you bleed. Because
you were enough on the day of your birth when you came to us stripped and
slippery and squeezing absolutely nothing but your God-given glow. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">And who you were on that
born-day is also who you are now, but since you’ve been living on this planet
long enough to learn how to read this article, then it follows that you’ve also
lived here long enough to collect a few layers of horsefeathers and hogwash. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">So, yet again, I’m
inquiring: What is it that you see before the full-length bathroom mirror after
you’ve divested of clothes and masks and hats and accessories and roles and
beliefs and missions and persuaders and pressures--until you’re down to just
your peeled nature, minus all the addons mixed in with your molecules? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Do you see somebody who was
made with passion, on purpose, in earnest; fearfully and wonderfully, by a
Maker with a brow bent in the center, two careful hands, a stitching kit and
divine kiss? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Can you catch between your
fingers even the tiniest fragment of self-knowledge, roll it around and put a
word to it? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Your identity is a living organism
and literally wishes to unfurl and spread from your center and who will care
and who will lecture if you wander around a little bit every day to look for
the unique shine of your own soul? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">One of the central
endeavors of the human experience is to consciously discover the intimacies of
who we already are. As in: life is not about building an alternate name for
ourselves; it’s about discovering the name we already have.</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Will you, _______, rise
from your own sacred ash? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Because the rest of us
cannot afford to lose the length of your limbs or the cadence of your light or
the rhythm of your ideas or the harmony of your creative force. The way you
sway and smile, the awkward this and that and the other thing you do. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">These are the days for
opening our two clumsy hands before the wideness of life and the allure of a
God who stops and starts our hearts. These are the days for rubbing our two
imperfect sticks together so we can kindle another feeble, holy light from the
deep within--each of us alone and also for each other. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There is no resolution to
this quest; the only destination is the process. But I hope there’s a small
spark here that will leave you wanting, that will leave you with a blue-fire
lined in your spine, that will inspire a cellular, metamorphic process in you;
an odyssey of the soul unique to you and your individual history, organisms,
and experiences. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There is maybe a fine line
between being lethargic about learning ourselves and not being self-obsessive
and with that tension in mind, how do we begin (or continue) the process of
unearthing and remembering the truth of our intrinsic selves? </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bandersnatch: An Invitation to Explore Your Unconventional Soul </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">was written because sometimes we all need a little hand-holding
and butt-nudging in our process; someone or something to come alongside us
while we pick up our threads of soul discovery and travel from one dot and
tittle to the next.</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">We are the Kingdom people
and learning your own fingerprint is something of what it means for the Kingdom
to come in response to an earth which groans forth it’s rolling desire for the
great interlocking circle of contribution to reveal the luminous and loving
Body of Christ and slowly, seriously--like it’s our destiny--set the world to
rights. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Kingdom come. Which is to
say: YOU, [<i>be]come </i>and carve your glorious, powerful, heaven-appointed
meaning into the sides of rocks and communities and cities and skies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">|||</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Without being formulaic and without offering
one-size-fits-all “how-to” steps, Bandersnatch is support material for your
soul odyssey; a kind of field guide designed to come alongside the moment of
your unfurling. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Come with me? And I will go with you and if you’re
interested, you can order <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> wherever books or ebooks are sold.</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Or, if you’d like to read
the first three chapters and just see if Bandersnatch is something for such a
time as the hour you’re in, click </span><a href="https://aerbook.com/books/Bandersnatch_An_Invitation_to_Explore_Your_Unconventional_Soul-13272.html"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">HERE</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">All my love,</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Erika Morrison</span><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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++++++</div>
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If Erika's words above struck something deep in you and you feel yourself longing for more, you must check out her book trailer, <a href="https://vimeo.com/140381606" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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It is hauntingly beautiful.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-13764754557573809122015-08-04T14:06:00.000-05:002015-08-07T20:07:51.459-05:00Thoughts on Wild in the Hollow AND a Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kuqc5k6C6B0/VcD5pElLHOI/AAAAAAAACIk/AEljRWElkAw/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kuqc5k6C6B0/VcD5pElLHOI/AAAAAAAACIk/AEljRWElkAw/s640/unnamed.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I haven't written much about my journey towards faith in this space. <br />
<br />
It infuses everything I write, yes, because I am stained by its touch and born again into its glory. But sharing the journey before and during and after? I've been pretty quiet.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it is because that part of my story is, at once, innocent and convoluted and fiery and fickle and it just feels too messy to wrap words around. There is definitely fear of judgement present. And not just from those who might read it.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it is because I struggle to see where I am on the spectrum and I don't know how to trust the spaces where colors bleed, one into the other.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I am just tired of trying to hold it all together and I don't trust that anyone else <i>really</i> wants to help me carry the burden.<br />
<br />
But maybe that will change now that I have read <a href="http://amberchaines.com/" target="_blank">Amber Haines'</a> book <a href="http://amberchaines.com/wildinthehollow/" target="_blank">Wild in the Hollow.</a><br />
<br />
This, here, is why:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"There will always be ways I'm learning to let God love me, but maybe I inherited more than desire for the knowledge of good and evil from our Eve. Maybe I inherited her memory, the echoes of the garden. There was the faint memory of the cadence of his walk in the cool of the evening. There was the settled stride I remembered. Oh yes, I remembered that he had seen my freshest skin. He had seen my naked heart. There was a memory in my spirit that he had called me beloved. His smiling on me what always his original intention...<br />I saw this potential for others also. I knew God was everywhere and knew there were glimpses of him in all people, because he showed me his kindness and his mercy in all creation. Even in the great sin and shame of other, I saw him, or at least I saw the groaning for him. In this, I learned to recognize the hollow, the search for God, and the deep longing for him (for fulfillment) in the needles, the skin, and the bottle. I recognized his wooings in every metaphor. I saw the desire for skin on skin as the soul looking for home, for intimacy. I saw the body, made for God, as an original intention, as a belonging.<br />Our lives are made of metaphor, and we can recognize Jesus throughout creation and in those who have never heard his name. The apostle Paul wrote in Romans 1 that no one has an excuse. God is everywhere. Yoga poses and Gregorian chant, buttermilk cornbread, the Grand Canyon, and the picture of a rainbow drawn by the hand of my two-year-old all speak of him if we're looking. Don't make a mistake and hear that I worship those things; no, instead I worship the God of the universe who is. 'For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen.' His scent wafts through tent cities, jail cells, granite kitchens, and marble palaces. He beckons us in all places. Where can I go from him? The echo of him in metaphor throughout the earth is undeniable when one wakes to him.<br />When I first believed, I walked around in a clumsy prayer, so awake, listening for God in the falling acorn, in everything. I was free to lapse into long spiritual metaphor simply by hearing my alarm clock. Some might accuse me of being led purely by emotion. Let it be so. It was the feeling of love, of very first love. Let it also be understood that I studied Scripture like a brain on steroids. I studied homiletics. It was a mind transformation, a decision as best as one knows how to make in the midst of being overcome. I was ridiculous really, and I didn't need cigarettes or anything else--not a cute tush, no nightlong blitzes, and certainly not a fella to keep me company.<br />I didn't have the language for it then, but I saw the Imago Dei everywhere and in everyone. I saw myself as a child of God, Abba letting me come to him, boldly and with ease, in the gentleness of relationship. I was confident, and I saw God as one who loved me completely as a good Father. And Jesus--he, my love, my brother--became my friend. He was becoming the only place that made any sense to me, the only way to see the world."</i></blockquote>
You see, Amber Haines' story feels like my story, in so many ways. The idyllic childhood wrapped in church culture, the rebellious adolescence, the rabid desire for significance and being known, the running to and falling away again and again and again.<br />
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But Amber's story never feels all cleaned up. And that, my friends, is the beauty of this book.<br />
<br />
This book isn't just for those who know and love Jesus and have made mistakes along the way--although it will touch those folks deeply.<br />
<br />
No. It's more than that.<br />
<br />
<b>I believe that this book can sing over those who are hell bent on living but are killing themselves in the striving. </b><br />
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It whispers in the ears of those who desire connection and have reached for flesh on bone but come back empty handed, every time.<br />
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It cradles those whose arms are riddled with tracks that lead to dark spaces and smooths the hair of folks sick on bitterroot.<br />
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It shakes out the quilts of those who have wrapped themselves up so tightly with the hope that nothing will ever touch them. There.<br />
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<b>This book invites.</b><br />
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<i>"Come, everyone who thirst,</i></div>
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<i>come to the waters;</i></div>
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<i>and he who has no money,</i></div>
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<i>come, buy and eat!</i></div>
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<i>Come, buy wine and milk</i></div>
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<i>without money and without price.</i></div>
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<i>Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,</i></div>
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<i>and your labor for that which does not satisfy?</i></div>
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<i>Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good,</i></div>
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<i>and delight yourselves in rich food.</i></div>
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<i>Incline your ear, and come to me;</i></div>
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<i>hear, that your soul may live."</i></div>
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<i>Isaiah 55: 1-3 ESV</i></div>
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Wild in the Hollow is a book for those who long to be known in the way that we were created to be known--beloved, gorgeous, quirky, ripe, alive. I think that is why I couldn't put it down. I drank these words like a woman parched. I sat with the all of it and let the truths of God's infinite and lavish grace and love pool around me.<br />
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At times, I went under.<br />
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But I was not afraid.<br />
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<br />
This book speaks to places deep and important and it opens the door to much needed conversation about brokenness and redemption.<br />
<br />
<b>I would love to talk about those things with you in the comments:</b><br />
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How have you found beauty in the brokenness?</div>
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How has your brokenness actually led to your healing?</div>
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What have been your experiences with the church and how has that contributed to your brokenness and/or your healing?</div>
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<i><b><strike>Everyone who leaves a comment by Friday, August 7 will be entered into a drawing to receive a copy of </strike></b></i></div>
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<i><b><strike>Wild in the Hollow.</strike> </b></i><br />
<b>Free copy of Wild in the Hollow has been gifted.</b><br />
<b>Thank you for your comments.</b></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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If you don't win a copy of the book, I hope that you will buy a copy for yourself anyway. <i>Wild in the Hollow</i> can be purchased <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0800724070/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0800724070&linkCode=as2&tag=circthestor-20&linkId=ETZSCVXP5GPDFSJC" target="_blank">here</a>. To read more of Amber's beautiful words, subscribe to her <a href="http://amberchaines.com/therunamuck/" target="_blank">blog</a>.</div>
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In closing, I'll let Amber tell you about her book in her own <a href="https://vimeo.com/134789653" target="_blank">words</a>.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-82271134674172826452015-07-14T12:32:00.000-05:002015-07-14T12:32:47.336-05:00Take Your Poet To Work Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, seeing as my home is the center for the majority of my work AND getting out to a coffee shop, much less a decent one, in my town is nearly impossible, I chose to just invite Rumi to my very own kitchen table. </div>
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It seemed more than fitting, actually. This is where my boys and I gather for our <a href="http://makesyoumom.com/poetry-and-tea-with-the-boys/" target="_blank">Poetry and Tea Time</a> ritual and this is where all the big, juicy conversations take place. </div>
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So, I poured Rumi some strong coffee and offered him some Piroutte wafers. Clearly, he enjoyed them. </div>
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And, just like that, Rumi is part of the family.</div>
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++++++++++++</div>
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Linking up with <a href="http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/" target="_blank">Tweetspeak Poetry</a> for </div>
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<a href="http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2015/07/10/win-100-with-your-poet-at-a-coffee-shop-gif/" target="_blank">Take Your Poet To Work Day</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-16970081901721711872015-01-13T12:24:00.000-06:002015-01-13T12:24:20.738-06:00Thorns, Joy & Holy Braids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-23Jyd83IJOw/VLU9sKFQoYI/AAAAAAAACGw/MWZCCr8jS9g/s1600/GREAT-JOY-300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-23Jyd83IJOw/VLU9sKFQoYI/AAAAAAAACGw/MWZCCr8jS9g/s1600/GREAT-JOY-300x300.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's so natural, intuitive even, to settle one's vision on the rough parts of anything. It's the way we protect ourselves.<br />
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Whenever we know exactly what we are dealing with, we feel we are better prepared to fight against it or rise above it or bring it under our control. When there is an enemy, it is always better to have the upper hand. And the way to gain that advantage is to know every side of the evil.<br />
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So, we study it. We caress it's edges. We keep it close at hand so, in the moments between other moments, we can pull it out and remember how it wants us.<br />
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And oh, how it wants us.<br />
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Its pursuant tendrils silently wrap and curl into our shadowed folds and feed on the darkness. And the rough and the dark? They become silent, parasitic partners.<br />
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We believe we are armed for battle when, really, we are wasting away in our deepest places.<br />
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+++++++++++++++++++</div>
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In nature, thorns are fortifications that protect a plant from being eaten by predators. A great many fruits and edible flowers are kept alive by the trails and rings of thorns surrounding them.<br />
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My life this past year? It has been rife with trails and rings of thorns. Walking alongside my mom through her illness and chemotherapy and eventual death was the most difficult thing I have ever done. And my default? More often than I care to admit, it has been to succumb to the vacuum of scarcity that Life's defense manufactures. Because when all I see and feel and experience is prickly and nettlesome, I can't help but feel shut out from the beauty.<br />
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But that's exactly the arc of the great ache--that our experiences that are often strewn with thorns are but stations on a path ringed with beauty and joy. If a thorn's design is to protect, then it follows that their presence is purposeful and necessary. They remind us that all the things that are <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians+4:8&version=MSG" target="_blank">true and noble and reputable and authentic and compelling and gracious</a> are prized and sought after. They remind us that joy and pain are profoundly intertwined. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, this is where my faith in a God of grace and mercy becomes manifest. For when I am willing to take the joy and the pain in both hands, God's immense love and care for me provide yet a third cord. Taken together, they become a holy braid that is <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes+4%3A12&version=ESV" target="_blank">not easily broken.</a> </span></span><br />
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++++++++++++++++</div>
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Where are you, today, friend? Are you knee-deep in the pain and struggle? Do you feel wrapped in thorns, as if Life wanted to "protect" you from the good you see and that others seem to have in spades? Perhaps, your go-to response is bitterness, anger or, worse, indifference. What if there was another way?</div>
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I wrote today's post as a way of partnering with <a href="http://margaretfeinberg.com/" target="_blank">Margaret Feinberg</a> and to help spread the word about her latest book <u><a href="http://www.margaretfeinbergstore.com/products/fight-back-with-joy-celebrate-more-regret-less-stare-down-your-greatest-fears" target="_blank">Fight Back With Joy</a></u>. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jK7kql2KgGg/VLVfveUQUDI/AAAAAAAACHA/ysbfRi6Q7AE/s1600/book2-300x272.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jK7kql2KgGg/VLVfveUQUDI/AAAAAAAACHA/ysbfRi6Q7AE/s1600/book2-300x272.png" /></a></div>
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This book began as an intense study of the over 400 references to <i>joy</i> in Scripture. Margaret was in the final stages of writing her book when she received a cancer diagnosis. Suddenly, all the sources of joy that she had discovered were turned on their head in the shadow of her illness. In an instant, her understanding of true joy was called into question. In writing <a href="http://www.margaretfeinbergstore.com/products/fight-back-with-joy-celebrate-more-regret-less-stare-down-your-greatest-fears" target="_blank">Fight Back With Joy </a> Margaret "<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">discovered facets of joy that no one ever taught me—more than whimsy, joy is a weapon we can use to fight life’s battles."</span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/114263834" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <a href="http://vimeo.com/114263834">Fight Back With Joy 6-Session DVD Bible Study Promo Video</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/mafeinberg">Margaret Feinberg</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</div>
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You can purchase the book at both <a href="http://mar.cta.gs/0bi" target="_blank">Amazon</a> and <a href="http://mar.cta.gs/0bh" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a>. Margaret has also created a <a href="http://www.margaretfeinbergstore.com/products/fight-back-with-joy-6-session-dvd-bible-study-kit" target="_blank">6-session DVD Bible Study kit</a> that is available for purchase. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T82ziPUA1Fs/VLViBN99S5I/AAAAAAAACHM/0yB_OclpudE/s1600/FBWJ_ImageD-300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T82ziPUA1Fs/VLViBN99S5I/AAAAAAAACHM/0yB_OclpudE/s1600/FBWJ_ImageD-300x300.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/share?text=Sometimes+you+have+to+poke+holes+in+the+darkness+until+it+bleeds+light.+%23fightbackwithjoy&via=mafeinberg&related=mafeinberg&url=http://fightbackwithjoy.com/for-bloggers/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.15s ease-in-out; background-color: white; border: 0px; letter-spacing: 0.05em; line-height: 33.5999984741211px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.15s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Sometimes you have to poke holes in the darkness until it bleeds light. </span></a></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/share?text=Sometimes+you+have+to+poke+holes+in+the+darkness+until+it+bleeds+light.+%23fightbackwithjoy&via=mafeinberg&related=mafeinberg&url=http://fightbackwithjoy.com/for-bloggers/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.15s ease-in-out; background-color: white; border: 0px; letter-spacing: 0.05em; line-height: 33.5999984741211px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.15s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">#fightbackwithjoy</span></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-63802804657457565602014-11-26T08:55:00.000-06:002014-11-26T08:55:38.393-06:00Of Things That Have Been<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I finger
them mindlessly most days,</div>
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These tokens
of thanksgiving.</div>
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In some
familiar corner of my brain I am </div>
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aware of
their weight and </div>
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the anorexic
string that</div>
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keeps them
connected to a well</div>
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untended.</div>
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But something
has shifted</div>
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inside of me
and </div>
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I can’t remember</div>
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how to see.... </div>
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<i>To keep reading this poem, please follow this <a href="http://wynnegraceappears.com/2014/11/26/of-things-that-have-been-guest-post-holly-grantham/" target="_blank">link</a></i></div>
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++++++++</div>
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I am writing today over at my beautiful friend <a href="https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.marshall.33046?fref=ts" target="_blank">Elizabeth Marshall</a>'s home, </div>
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<a href="http://wynnegraceappears.com/2014/11/26/of-things-that-have-been-guest-post-holly-grantham/" target="_blank">Poetry & Prose Through A Lens of Grace</a>.</div>
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She extended a gracious invitation to several of her friends that write poetry and I am honored to be included in that circle.</div>
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Elizabeth and I have a history of mingling words and images and stirrings of the heart.</div>
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Together, we created <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2012/11/adagio-poetry-project.html" target="_blank">Adagio</a>, a writing <i>"pas de deux"</i> of sorts where we wove our words together to pen poems. </div>
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Quite a bit of life has happened between that last project and now, as well it should have. But we are both very excited to join together again in the new year. It is our hope that you will journey with us.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-42648460927862087992014-11-17T09:04:00.000-06:002014-11-17T09:04:10.791-06:00How To Make a Life<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her absence rings most empty at the breakfast table.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every morning, my dad starts the coffee maker, drops his raisin bread in the toaster and slowly opens the blinds covering the window over the sink.</span> Squinting through the glass, he takes note of the temperature outside, the amount of bird seed left in each feeder, the slant of sun on the deck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">At various points along his morning choreography, when an observation worth sharing arises, he feels it—</span>the slight hesitation of breath, the parting of lips, the turn of his head to catch her eye. And then, in a suspended moment of remembrance, his heart and mind swirl confusedly, and then settle.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She’s not there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s difficult to abandon sixty years of morning <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+11:28&version=MSG" style="border: 0px; color: #f96e5b; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">rhythms that are redolent with unforced grace</a>.<br />When one half of a whole goes missing, every day becomes a step towards restoration. And when wrestling through such holy work, it’s difficult to emerge without a limp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm writing over at <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a> today and would love for you to follow <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2014/make-life/" target="_blank">this link</a> so that you can read the rest of this story.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 26px;"><a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/"><img alt="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" border="0" src="http://shelovesmagazine.com/button.jpg" title="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 26px;"><i>Photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nicole10f/2676423128/in/photolist-55vnmm-7G2Rvm-8ncAzn-4UJu1q-heA2Qe-7TJQX-823HyQ-ehtJ4B-7w6nYn-pcZk6t-h42Rx4-6TTeFC-2sb6mZ-nkKhBc-8PBh4n-6eaMrB-fhMGNL-czGGqf-99a7E9-9K2vGc-kzMMEc-ARTRh-9VSTP4-ds8MkC-FQ1ge-8YRLAQ-5kQev7-47XJb-6q1J6Y-hwFsyj-7Y8b5f-bnyrah-9wj2KY-eUvPhQ-93jFth-GHQfG-b7GHW-41wVW3-5F7iS7-9LUYi1-3c8zTb-4UTzwe-9pNmnE-6bCrmd-9EgqRK-bLM7hi-dZ3p6S-8F2WnT-4VdjGV-fW6Rp9" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on flickr</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-57771811710930712532014-09-15T09:04:00.000-05:002014-09-15T09:04:21.358-05:00The Murmuration of the Body<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uk_TCs-i-jQ/VBbwjbZkCQI/AAAAAAAACFw/8udsdjiE2II/s1600/murmuration2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uk_TCs-i-jQ/VBbwjbZkCQI/AAAAAAAACFw/8udsdjiE2II/s1600/murmuration2.jpg" height="640" width="424" /></a></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember the first time I witnessed the beautiful choreography of a flock of starlings in flight.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was a sharply cool autumn afternoon and I had just finished spinning in circles, arms spread, hair flying.</span> As I came out of my twirl I crumpled onto a clump of thick grass and felt the earth sway wildly beneath my splayed body. When I opened my eyes I gazed dreamily at the polished sky.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">They entered my field of vision from the left.</span> Like a swarm of gnats hanging angrily in the summer heat, they presented thick and dark. I saw them before I heard them. But as they drew closer, their cackling caught up to their riotous numbers and they soon overtook the entire sky.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Their form was, at once, epic and ephemeral.</span> They ballooned into one grandiose bell shape and then, like chimney smoke caught up in a gust, they turned direction and bellowed wide and constringed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Again and again, they swelled and contracted, bulged and narrowed.</span> I was awe struck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I behold this phenomenon twice a year now, when the birds arrive out of nowhere and alight on the branches and fields surrounding my house. Still, but tittering, they pulse with an energy and then, at the striking of some ethereal cue, arise as one. Most times, I drop whatever I am doing and race outside to catch their appearance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I am often struck silent as I stare, even when accompanied by my children.</span> Some experiences need no words. Sometimes, lessons are garnered in the quiet spaces broken open by the miracle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I'm writing over at SheLoves Magazine today and I would love for you to join me in the comments. Just click <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2014/murmuration-body/" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 26px;"><i><a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/"><img alt="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" border="0" src="http://shelovesmagazine.com/button.jpg?0a5258" title="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" /></a></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: x-small; line-height: 26px;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/richardsmith155/8522605486/in/photolist-aKbVgT-dZ7zFU-bckQbB-dYfJvV-bocwqp-aKbVC6-dVcZbx-dVdfFp-dVQpve-i9QTiq-dpYCbJ-dVHpF7-dcgLvE-bdUTHK-aFe5bh-dWqeAG-i9QDaM-aFaffD-dZ7phJ-dWEaSw-aMwPSP-aMwKx4-aMwVnR-aMwLv2-aMwGWe-aNHfpK-aKbUYV-dQJV5W-dQJWF7-5Pxfgn-dA36QK-aKbW8B-e5xHzd-kZQvCT-bs1tpy-aRHxSi-iMzoni-iMAYnt-iMCaqu-iMzKB2-iMAQdH-iMDPvC-e5s5zV-aCY1ZP-4g8vyq-cNLe5h-gzmo6k-afBBQz-j9b2u6-bewUpB" target="_blank">Richard Smith</a> </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-10649018352800837752014-08-29T14:33:00.000-05:002014-08-29T14:33:10.656-05:00A Curriculum of Compassion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hCJaNTiCcLI/VADSZr7LYzI/AAAAAAAACFU/1IzgVhDe0eo/s1600/prayer%2Bflags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hCJaNTiCcLI/VADSZr7LYzI/AAAAAAAACFU/1IzgVhDe0eo/s1600/prayer%2Bflags.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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As you may or may not know, we are a family that has chosen to "do" school here at home (and in the car and on the road and in the grass and under trees...). As you also may or may not know, this endeavor has been the source of both great joy and personal angst. </div>
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Throughout this journey (officially seven years but, in reality, twelve) I have struggled with maintaining autonomy in our learning practices, all the while not succumbing to the demon of comparison, approval from others, or a general yet, ginormous, fear of failure.<br />
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It is true--homeschooling is not for the faint-hearted. But neither is parenting so I'm not so different from any other person who has chosen to walk with young people.<br />
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Oh, how I need these hands to hold.<br />
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Additionally, I bring to this educational endeavor all of my mixed up, conflicted selves -- The good girl who likes to please those who are watching as well as the rebel who will do what she wants anyway. I want structured chaos. I want to disciple <i>and</i> detox. I want to set a course and then take the fork when it presents itself. I want to showcase <i>and</i> shelter. I want good behavior <i>and</i> wild abandon.<br />
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But most of all?<br />
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I pray that my scattered deposits into the lives of these gorgeous people will be my gift to the world. I hope that our journey in loving and learning will be a polestar for my children and that its light will always fall across their paths.<br />
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Generally, we are very relaxed and eclectic in the way that we do school. I've always shied away from curriculum in a box and, if pushed, have just let go and handed over the reins to my boys. My oldest son prefers that approach anyway. He has declared, on more than one occasion, that he would rather "just be in charge of [his] own learning", thank you very much. But then time will pass and I will look around me and I will wring my hands over the fact that we haven't mastered times tables or spelling and suddenly I become all business.<br />
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It is this hemming and hawing that feeds the angst. This has been the cycle.<br />
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And then last October I had a <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2013/beginning/" target="_blank">baby</a> and in April my <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2014/04/on-passing-of-my-mother.html" target="_blank">mom died</a> and suddenly I find myself staring down an entire year that has spun wildly off its axis. Navigating the last eleven months has been like stumbling around in the dark and all I want is someone to turn on the light and point the way. But here we are, almost to September, and I need to hunker down and lay down some semblance of a map for us to follow.<br />
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Even if all I have are some crumbs.<br />
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And then <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/08/14/michael-brown-ferguson-missouri-timeline/14051827/" target="_blank">#Ferguson happened</a> and, once again, there is that wild spinning...<br />
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And I am forced to lay it all before the One that knows it all. Because, if I know anything at all, it is this:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I cannot, and will not, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">separate our slow steps forward </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">from the truth that is #Ferguson.</span></div>
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This "learning" that we <i>do</i>?<br />
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If it is to be all that I desire it to be, if it is to leave marks that cannot be rubbed away from the hearts of my little men, if it is to offer anything to the globe upon which we dance--then it must open space for the suffering and lament of others. Because, in the end, all we have is each other, friends and so we must enter into the hard places. Together.<br />
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It came to me in the quiet of the morning, in that corner of space that gives birth to light and dew drops and revelation.<br />
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From now on, from this day forward, in this spot of a place that houses boys and weeds and love, we will study a curriculum of compassion. It will be the sound of our feet stepping into the suffering of others that will tune our hearts to what changes the world. It will be our willingness to hang everything of value onto the framework of brokenness that will cut open our shuttered hearts and make us open vessels for renewal.<br />
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This must be. I know this with a certainty that belies my usual conflicted self. This must be because this is the way to glory.<br />
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The <i>truth</i> of my heart doesn't want to walk that way. Not really. But the <i>desire</i> of my heart is to walk in this way and I want my boys to walk this path. I want to grab those hands of theirs, squeeze tight and confess that I have no idea what I am doing--what <i>we</i> are doing--but here we go anyway.<br />
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Because to continue on as if #Ferguson was just an anomaly and not indicative of a greater experience for an entire group of people is to purposely choose the garb of privilege. I'm ready to risk my position and call out the Emperor. I will no longer pretend that the clothes fit.<br />
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Instead, I want us to choose threads colored by sacrifice and suffering, humility and hospitality, love and loss and <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2013/12/weave.html" target="_blank">weave</a> them into <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+2%3A22&version=NRSV" target="_blank">new wineskins</a>.<br />
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I want my boys to learn that nothing in the Kingdom is earned. Not a single thing. Life together is about grace upon grace and mercy untold. The value of a person is not based on how forcefully they pull up their boot straps or under whose roof they are born. No, this Kingdom living? It is directed by how well we share our weaknesses, how willing we are to reveal that which we do not know, how empty we are willing to get. This is where we must begin. This is where love is born.<br />
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So this weaving we will do? It will begin small.<br />
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The weft and the warp threads will be set through the silent and often unseen actions. We will fill the bird feeders and water the zinnias. We will continue as a family to read aloud books like <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wonder-R-J-Palacio-ebook/dp/B0051ANPZQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409338166&sr=8-1&keywords=wonder" target="_blank">Wonder</a></i> and <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Long-Walk-Water-Based-Story-ebook/dp/B004GB1T8G/ref=pd_sim_kstore_11?ie=UTF8&refRID=1WJS8XH4RV5CMMTVSF6M" target="_blank">A Long Walk to Water</a> </i>and then sit with the difficult questions that stir up from their truths.<br />
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But my prayer is that we will keep walking forward, into the foggy valleys. I want us to hone our vision so that our eyes become keen to the needs of our community. I hope to move closer to an "us" mentality rather than one that hisses "them." May it come to be that we seek to grow smaller so that others can grow taller. We will study History by listening to <i>all </i>of the voices--<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Story-World-History-Classical-Earliest-ebook/dp/B00CHY03Z4/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1409338849&sr=1-2&keywords=story+of+the+world" target="_blank">Bauer</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Peoples-History-United-States-1492-Present/dp/0060926430/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1409338887&sr=8-3&keywords=a+people%27s+history+of+the+united+states" target="_blank">Zinn</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Bondage-And-Freedom/dp/1438285256/ref=tmm_pap_title_0" target="_blank">Douglass</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Herstory-Women-Who-Changed-World/dp/0670854344/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409339085&sr=1-5&keywords=gloria+steinem" target="_blank">Steinem</a>, AND <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Patriots-History-United-States-Columbuss/dp/1595230327/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409339226&sr=1-1&keywords=a+patriots+history+of+the+united+states" target="_blank">Schweickart</a>--no matter how uncomfortable they make us feel.<br />
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But most importantly--I need your help. I need your voice. Every last beautiful one of you. Because this course of study is a river and it is fed by many sources. You and your life? Please speak into ours. Let us ripple into each other.<br />
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<i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">"It is from the numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal or acts to improve the lot of others or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance." </span></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">-- </span>Robert F. Kennedy</i></div>
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For such is the way of peace.<br />
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<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22https://www.flickr.com/photos/bouldair/497845218/in/photolist-LBAUr-d6oWcY-84MQZc-aFcLw-5jcHfr-5ZD1R3-dufeqh-cUzK5L-5BmSRL-9T1fd9-mkJg5g-dKpyVw-3SZ6Ho-fha7tC-eRpDo7-eCmgk4-KZA3f-a8HDhG-g5mJpv-asH1f7-aD9AQ-e3RzVh-67YqD-aiBZPb-Ksud7-8nHubN-9CY4n1-naBofc-nznDe8-auT7Sy-7cH8sh-9RAHYm-doo9jB-etoHy7-7XxTh2-oNmGo5-7pn1GB-avaZRd-itJfjy-8Pst2g-b5UdgK-i7Cne5-4nfz8-fzytVk-kVwoHu-4rk43h-bH4gPV-aMDQdK-bki1Y3-aeAUCv/player/%22%20width=%2275%22%20height=%2275%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allowfullscreen%20webkitallowfullscreen%20mozallowfullscreen%20oallowfullscreen%20msallowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Andrew Hyde</a></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-76303077715803035512014-07-21T09:01:00.000-05:002014-07-21T09:01:27.062-05:00Dinner With The Magician<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0vPLbP04SpU/U80cTPHBkfI/AAAAAAAACEc/TBRwkAb8uM8/s1600/paintandcanvas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0vPLbP04SpU/U80cTPHBkfI/AAAAAAAACEc/TBRwkAb8uM8/s1600/paintandcanvas.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">She called just a day before she would be rolling through town, hope dripping round the corners of her question.</span> Was there a chance I might be available for a visit when she passed through? It would be a quick stay, just overnight, but wouldn’t it be lovely? Gratefully, our days are wide open as of late and I had just washed the sheets and whose heart doesn’t smile all Cheshire-like when old friends come calling?</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I hope she heard the joy in my response because, although I was excited about our reunion, it had been quite a number of years since last our eyes had met or our arms had encircled.</span> Childhood friendships can run deep as the ocean but years apart can also seem to magnify the wide expanse of those sacred waters and such a gulf has the potential to swallow you right whole.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">She arrived with a bottle of wine under one arm, a loaf of crusty bread under the other and a laugh so strong as to unshackle fear in any heart.</span> Oh, how I remembered that laugh! How it was both winsome and inviting, how its genuineness removed all self-effacement. Smiling, I took her offerings of bread and wine and placed them on the table and I felt something let loose within me.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We set to the task of preparing dinner, each of us stationed across from one another.</span> She sliced cantaloupe, I cut vegetables and, together, we began the slow dance of catching up on lives lived apart from each other for years. At first, we revisited what was familiar. We recalled favorite memories, we reenacted infamous moments. All that we held in common became burnished to glowing by our careful curating of memory.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">++++++++</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm writing over at <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a> today and you can find the rest of this story by following this link <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2014/dinner-magician/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-3107407559465534942014-07-15T16:22:00.000-05:002014-07-15T16:22:07.634-05:00A Litany of Next Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yZopCuEKEvU/U8WNBCeSFiI/AAAAAAAACEE/tz2SCD_9RJo/s1600/clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yZopCuEKEvU/U8WNBCeSFiI/AAAAAAAACEE/tz2SCD_9RJo/s1600/clouds.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8TskQsabHos/U8WNCNsPlII/AAAAAAAACEM/KaaBZeNaxIc/s1600/trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8TskQsabHos/U8WNCNsPlII/AAAAAAAACEM/KaaBZeNaxIc/s1600/trees.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
I am forcibly willing myself to sit in this hard wooden library chair.<br />
<br />
Right now, as I finger this keyboard, the sky above my roof has been cooled to a deep cerulean and is being occasionally scrubbed to gleaming by wave after wave of cloud stuff. Every tree is heavy with leaves and shadow but, hidden deep within each, is the glory of birdsong, trilling like so much music.<br />
<br />
This day is one I will not soon forget. It is just too beautiful to let slip into the ether, as if it was nothing remarkable that the sun broke free of the horizon and unleashed this beauty on all whose eyes fluttered open this morning.<br />
<br />
This day is the sort from which dreams are spun.<br />
<br />
So to purposely sit here, in this chair, on this day means I am trying, with all of my might, to finger the threads of thought that have been fraying frantically in my head for months. These last weeks and days have often felt unmanageable, heavy with grief and bewilderment and seeming idleness. I have done my best to muddle through, pulling on joy when I couldn't handle the dark anymore and praying that sleep walking was better than standing still.<br />
<br />
But the honest truth is that I have often felt as if I was screaming, mouth wide open, throat scraping raw, screaming. Silent and piercing, all at once. The core of me, the one that must write to figure out what she is thinking, has felt imprisoned by grief.<br />
<br />
If, a year ago, you had tossed out the question of how I might one day deal with the pain of losing my mother I would have, most assuredly, said: writing.<br />
<br />
So, when confronting the reality and heartbreak of my mother's <i>actual</i> death, I've hardly penned a word in response? Well, it has been disconcerting, at best.<br />
<br />
And the longer the break, the more days that pass and words fail to appear?<br />
The more I<br />
have felt<br />
as if I<br />
am<br />
disappearing.<br />
<br />
I have felt like a glass jar full of silt shaken and left alone, shaken and left alone, shaken and left alone<br />
again<br />
and<br />
again<br />
and<br />
again.<br />
<br />
That is why today's clarion beauty has felt like such a gift. The morning's lighter air and gentle rippling set a precedent and the waters upon which chaos floated have started to settle. A separation has begun and I am beginning to distinguish sand and rock and crystal. What used to be only a muddied swirling now contains flecks of gold dust.<br />
<br />
This might just be where the words have been hiding.<br />
<br />
All of today has been like one slow remembering. I realize that grief has kept me from noticing like I used to notice. When you are trying to simply put one foot in front of the other, you don't often bother to spend time studying vapor trails or listen to the way grass stretches as each drop of dew slowly evaporates. You just seem to focus on the next thing.<br />
<br />
But today gifted me with a litany of next things and I have discovered that the gnarl of frayed and woolly thoughts languishing in my head have begun to spin. Along their edges there seems to be a thread forming. The beautiful and terrible things of this world are working together to draw out the fibers in my mess and the twisting and whirling of the last few months don't feel quite so in vain.<br />
<br />
I think that, tomorrow, I will follow the beauty.<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-66437190858031339102014-05-26T06:00:00.000-05:002014-05-26T06:00:07.816-05:00When God's Face Is A Technicolor Zinnia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GjXiW9NE5pg/U4LWh5skT-I/AAAAAAAACDs/o91tg5PCKvw/s1600/Technicolor+Zinnia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GjXiW9NE5pg/U4LWh5skT-I/AAAAAAAACDs/o91tg5PCKvw/s1600/Technicolor+Zinnia.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>In ways familiar and comforting the Earth has tilted<em> just so</em> these last few weeks.</strong> </span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At times, I have stood quiet, feet planted still, eyes peering into the woods just across the way. The barren tree limbs—skeletal and brittle, worn from a winter long and brutal, bark stained ebony against the leaden skies—they began to pulse. And deep in the hidden places, there was a quickening, a return to life.</span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>I watched as naked branches swelled with promise, and like outstretched hands with fingers unfurling, the tips glistened as they caught the deeper shafts of sunlight.</strong> Their buds, like strings of pearls, gave way to festoons of leaves and in a twinkling, the woods were suddenly verdant and alive.</span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></strong></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">The seasons of the Earth, they are saving me these days.</span></strong></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></strong></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">+++++++</span></strong></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of my words can be found today over at <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a>. Join me there by clicking <a href="http://wp.me/p2Betl-a1u" target="_blank">this link?</a></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/"><img alt="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" border="0" src="http://shelovesmagazine.com/button.jpg" title="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" /></a></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-89425336934802720502014-04-24T17:05:00.000-05:002014-04-24T17:05:29.062-05:00After your leaving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVJJ43RdoQU/U1mJV05mWrI/AAAAAAAACDU/nlbOG2WLS8o/s1600/317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVJJ43RdoQU/U1mJV05mWrI/AAAAAAAACDU/nlbOG2WLS8o/s1600/317.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The days spin silently<div>
and I am vacuous</div>
<div>
in their wake</div>
<div>
mindful of the practice</div>
<div>
of living</div>
<div>
but bereft </div>
<div>
nonetheless</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I was not aware </div>
<div>
the depth of</div>
<div>
minor rituals</div>
<div>
and how our speaking them</div>
<div>
to each other</div>
<div>
pulled taut</div>
<div>
at my sacred spaces</div>
<div>
hemming me in</div>
<div>
behind and before</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The morning sun</div>
<div>
falls flat </div>
<div>
stretching just long enough</div>
<div>
to find the dirt smear</div>
<div>
on the tile</div>
<div>
I rub it halfheartedly with my toe</div>
<div>
but nothing changes</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today</div>
<div>
however</div>
<div>
I heard about the hummingbirds</div>
<div>
how they have returned</div>
<div>
seeking nectar </div>
<div>
how they eat just enough</div>
<div>
to fuel their flight</div>
<div>
each minute</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I retrieved the feeders</div>
<div>
their red bases </div>
<div>
faded from so many days</div>
<div>
in the sun</div>
<div>
and I filled them to the brim</div>
<div>
sweet and dripping</div>
<div>
A small but mighty</div>
<div>
offering</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The land of the living</div>
<div>
is full of such sacraments</div>
<div>
evidently</div>
<div>
Soon I will walk</div>
<div>
stronger </div>
<div>
Until then</div>
<div>
I will just gaze upon my</div>
<div>
Ebenezer</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-51584306048488724242014-04-14T10:27:00.002-05:002014-04-14T10:27:45.983-05:00On the passing of my mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f8_rS0CB3-Q/UYzxAiqHf_I/AAAAAAAAB5E/AU8XDX2Ja7g/s1600/018momportrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f8_rS0CB3-Q/UYzxAiqHf_I/AAAAAAAAB5E/AU8XDX2Ja7g/s1600/018momportrait.jpg" height="320" width="254" /></a></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2SlPE2iwPcM/UYzxD-KfPkI/AAAAAAAAB5M/1I4vv0HOkao/s1600/023momwithumbrell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2SlPE2iwPcM/UYzxD-KfPkI/AAAAAAAAB5M/1I4vv0HOkao/s1600/023momwithumbrell.jpg" height="305" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NozNcR6ODmQ/UYzxGtbZg9I/AAAAAAAAB5U/zbFNkE3oW5g/s1600/025mombrady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NozNcR6ODmQ/UYzxGtbZg9I/AAAAAAAAB5U/zbFNkE3oW5g/s1600/025mombrady.jpg" height="320" width="315" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NjKBp9abnA0/UYzydh94XmI/AAAAAAAAB54/VeYbfDgL_VQ/s1600/mom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NjKBp9abnA0/UYzydh94XmI/AAAAAAAAB54/VeYbfDgL_VQ/s1600/mom.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She is from
a white clapboard house with a wraparound porch, claw foot tub and Dove soap
smack in the middle of Macon, Georgia. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
From the
streets of Madison and Carling, up and down Coleman Hill, where she walked to
Whittle School and the Public Library, and boldly asked for a library card at
the age of 5.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from playing under fig and pear
trees, soft scented pines and shiny leaf magnolias, red clay staining her bare
feet and the smell of paper mills filling her nostrils.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from Berry and Sallie Belle, Wiley,
Sister, Doris, Roger and Jimmy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from strong as oxen Shero aunts who
farmed cotton and worked in pants plants in Wrightsville, Georgia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from the Depression and
Tuberculosis and a family that took in folks who were down on their luck. From
fish on Friday and First Street Methodist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from picnics on Stone Mountain,
Finchers BBQ, NuWay hotdogs and LaVista Catfish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from poise lessons and perfect
posture and words dripping honey sweet from her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from a hair-brained idea involving a
midnight double date rendezvous to Aiken, SC, a half drunk justice of the
peace, and a 4th of July celebration that included one very busy rotating fan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from moves to Indianapolis, Indiana
and then St. Louis, Missouri that took her from her beloved South.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from north of the Mason Dixon line where
she took it upon herself to soften the edges of every nasal accent in the
Midwest.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She is from<b><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">bacon grease on the back of the stove</span> <span style="background: white;">and dog bowls at the back
door</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">and champagne bottles that toasted births all
lined up in a row. She is from Boston Ferns and summer deck parties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">From coffee and cherry chip birthday cake
and hands that smelled like onions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from chuck roast in the electric
skillet, onion soup mix brisket, Jello salads, massive pots of spaghetti, liver
and onions, green enchiladas, asparagus disguised as green bean casserole,
sweet tea and Hallelujah banana bread.<br />
She is from “I love you a bushel and a peck” and “Gimme some sugar” and,
perhaps most famously, “Tim Smothers,
you will nevah, nevah, evah drive that Aspen Station Wagon again!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from Herb Albert and the Tijuana
Brass, the Johnny Mathis Christmas album, Dionne Warwick, George Carlin, Flip
Wilson, Bill Cosby, Cheech and Chong, Fiddler on the Roof, James Taylor and
that Classical Music in the background.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from You Are My Sunshine and
Everything Is Going to be Alright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from “To Thine Own Self Be True”
and “It’s Your Mama.” From “All Is Well” and “It Is What It Is Grandma” and “Live
Well, Laugh Often, Love Much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from dancing jitterbugs across
linoleum floors and slapping her knee at every guffaw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">She is from birthday cards and notes in
school lunches and throwing kisses and standing at the door until your car was
out of sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">From “psspsspsspss” and “chum on” and
“doodlebug” and “Honey Bob.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">And forever and ever and ever, she will
always be from shooting stars and fireworks and every smile shared by those
that loved her best. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><o:p> ++++++++++</o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">There you have it. The world as we have
known it, all the days of our lives. We were molded and shaped and created from
that celestial brew of whimsy and joy and strength.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">We have never known ourselves
or our world without our mother in it. I am here, my brothers and sisters
are here, because of her. We are who we are, because of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Our mother was a curator of
a welcome life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">To live in the orbit of our
mother was to always be invited, received, entertained, accepted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">But perhaps above all, to
have known my mother was to have been loved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Her life was a lesson in loving.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
What she taught us all was to always run hard
after love.<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">In
all circumstances, by every means necessary, even when we screw things up or we
do the exact right thing--we need love to be what is standing between us and
everyone else. When love is what we choose to<span class="apple-converted-space"> weave
i</span>n among the fibers and snags of our everyday life, when love gilds the
edges of tired joy or stretches across the chasms of unspoken fears then we
become Love lived on purpose and that breathes life and one can catch glimpses
of glory come down.</span><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
In the wake of my mom’s death, we are sad,
yes. We feel carved out and empty and the truth of what we are left with
actually aches in ways deep and long, yes. <br />
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">But this, too, is also true:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">There is still life, despite
the loss. There is still love in the world, despite the severing.
There is still light, despite the darkness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">And <b><i>that</i></b> gives me hope.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">Because, if it is true, that we are who we are
because of our mother...</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">then it means that this whole dance, all of
the goodness and light spun dizzy with all of the defiance and angst,
all of the ways that we continually fall down and help pick each other up, a</span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">ll of the beautiful and mundane, the
fascinating and the trivial, the whole and the half?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">It's part of us too, now, tucked away in the
obvious and secret places, planted in soil made rich with her love and care for
us</span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">It is through loving and singing with our own
children or grandchildren, by partnering with kindred souls or living alongside
people that challenge us...all of it ripples on and on and on.... people are
continually made and remade because we are in their lives...which means that
our mother lives on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">And I pray that one day,
when the pictures are pulled out and the chronology of our becoming is on
display, the one thing that will have leaked out all over, dripping from the
corners of <i>our</i> eyes and the edges of <i>our</i> smiles, is the amazing truth...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">that we were loved by her.</span><br />
<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-88818378666829764852014-03-26T11:33:00.000-05:002014-03-26T11:33:20.912-05:00Here<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m
cooking dinner and<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">only
because the days are getting longer<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">does
the light still filter in<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">through
the clouded window that<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">needs
replacing<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
pane is nearly opaque<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">but
not muddled enough<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to
keep my eye from catching<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the
fluttering of a bird at the feeder<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">repositioning
himself<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to
find more seed<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
I cut broccoli<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the
baby sits on the counter<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">flapping
his arms<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">like
the bird outside<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">screeching
with glee<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">drool
dripping like honey<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">from
his mouth<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the
bud of a tooth peeking<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">out
from swollen gums<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
set down the knife <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and
sip my wine in the pause <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">while
through the tilted glass I can see <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the
edges of the room stained<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">crimson
and swirling<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">catching
light<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">glowing</span><span style="font-family: Footlight MT Light, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of <a href="http://wynnegraceappears.com/2014/03/26/here-a-guest-post-a-poem-holly-a-grantham/" target="_blank">this poem</a> can be found over at <a href="http://wynnegraceappears.com/" target="_blank">Elizabeth Marshall's</a> beautiful blog</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://wynnegraceappears.com/" target="_blank">Poetry & Prose Through A Lens of Grace</a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">where Elizabeth weaves wonder and whimsy on a regular basis.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.400001525878906px;">Elizabeth and I collaborated on Adagio: A Poetry Project,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.400001525878906px;">an experiment in writing across the miles, twining words and heart thoughts together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.400001525878906px;">You can read those pieces <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2012/11/adagio-poetry-project.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2012/12/adagio-poetry-project-born-in-night.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://wynnegraceappears.com/2012/12/14/adagio-a-christmas-poetry-project-black-night-of-hope/" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2013/01/adagio-poetry-project-les-mains.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.400001525878906px;">I am so very thankful for the opportunity to share, once again, with Elizabeth.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-5364740961070330032014-03-24T05:00:00.000-05:002014-03-24T14:02:45.407-05:00The Folds of Grace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nINJ05jIfRA/Uy9OOg33i1I/AAAAAAAACC8/ei2ufXbEJ9A/s1600/sunset-Sars+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nINJ05jIfRA/Uy9OOg33i1I/AAAAAAAACC8/ei2ufXbEJ9A/s1600/sunset-Sars+pic.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><a href="http://sarscreative.com/" target="_blank">photo credit</a></em></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><br /></em></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Some days just ring hollow</em><br /><em>as if all the hopes I’ve thrown long and wide just</em><br /><em>swirl round and round</em><br /><em>slower and slower</em><br /><em>from the weight borne upon them</em></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">And then there are days<br />that the black bird returns<br />flash of red upon his wing<br />his call creaky like an old iron gate<br />causing me to squint upwards<br />into the still bare tree limb in silhouette<br />the strengthening sun finding new fire<br />behind it</span></em></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some days roll in atop the<br />pink foam of fitful nights<br />and the sandy grit bristles hard<br />against the murky glass<br />leaving an etched line that will take<br />hours to polish out</span></em></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: center;">
The rest of this poem can be found over at <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a> where I am writing today. Follow <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2014/folds-grace/" target="_blank">this link</a> and join me there? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments, either here or there.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 14.166666030883789px; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/"><img alt="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" border="0" src="http://shelovesmagazine.com/button.jpg" title="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" /></a></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-1584847302607786562014-03-09T17:50:00.000-05:002014-03-09T17:50:42.569-05:00Saving Daylight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oGmIk0dik74/TqYuVciIDwI/AAAAAAAAA1M/Rp9jaQ98npY/s1600/water+stars.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oGmIk0dik74/TqYuVciIDwI/AAAAAAAAA1M/Rp9jaQ98npY/s1600/water+stars.JPG" height="492" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I caught sight of it as I passed the window yesterday<br />
down the driveway thick with mud and gathered puddles<br />
Three birds in silhouette<br />
the afternoon sun flooding them from behind<br />
taking a bath<br />
<br />
My lips curled skyward<br />
and I stood motionless<br />
for five whole minutes<br />
Because<br />
the audacity<br />
<br />
The day before that<br />
you pretended to be Huck playing in the bulrushes<br />
and you brought me handfuls of cat tail fluff<br />
my palms opened to the offering<br />
and you glowed<br />
<br />
The dark earth, moist with thaw<br />
has begun its heaving heavenward<br />
pushed from below<br />
until, split open like the body<br />
it becomes broken<br />
<br />
Then, today<br />
I turned that last corner out of the woods<br />
and came up on the lake<br />
glimmering with a thousand<br />
salvos of light<br />
<br />
And I'm clutching all of it<br />
with an unbecoming fierceness<br />
hell bent on gathering glory<br />
as if it wasn't raining<br />
right round<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-65402825736626855942014-03-05T10:24:00.000-06:002014-03-05T10:24:39.420-06:00In the end, three things remain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5KikxaSf7Jk/UxdM3faF-6I/AAAAAAAACCc/astG_PoXq6Y/s1600/buddha+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5KikxaSf7Jk/UxdM3faF-6I/AAAAAAAACCc/astG_PoXq6Y/s1600/buddha+quote.jpg" height="582" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This quote appeared on my Pinterest feed a couple
of weeks ago and, like a chill breeze that steals in under the warped door
frame, it has descended down deep into my marrow. For you see, I have been
awash in brackish thoughts of late.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With a few exceptions, I have taken a step back
from my online presence the last six months. Five months ago, I gave birth to
my third son. Three months ago, my mother began another round of chemotherapy.
My withdrawal from the non-stop traffic of the internet was both a conscious
and inevitable choice. I do not regret my decision but I would be lying through
my teeth if I didn’t admit that, ever since, I have been at battle with doubt
and envy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My biggest frustration with the world of writing
and platform building and influence is that what it requires seems so far
removed from a life that bears the fruit worth reading about—a life of depth
and stillness and meaning. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Writing, for me, has always felt like an intimate
dinner party, hemmed in by golden light and the clink of dishes, measured in
the crumbs stolen away on fingertips and the slow warmth from poured wine.
There are the moments of sure knowing just as there are the heavy silences that
come from the unknowing. But always, there is the table-- worn and steady, wide
and open.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But my attempts to translate that way of being to
the online world feel antiquated and stilted, at best.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It feels like sidling up to a busy counter with a
bustling lunch crowd. Bread is broken and laughter distilled, yes, but the din
of conversation is confusing to this ambivert who simultaneously wants to try
new dishes and run out the door, hands pressed over her ears.</span><span style="font-family: Footlight MT Light, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I'm sharing my words over at <a href="http://sixinthehickorysticks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">sixinthesticks</a> with the brave Nacole Simmons for</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> {The Conundrums of Christian Writing and Blogging: A Series}.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Join me and the discussion in the comments by following this </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="http://sixinthehickorysticks.blogspot.com/2014/03/all-that-really-matters.html" target="_blank">link</a>.</i></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-14600942880900313552014-02-24T03:00:00.000-06:002014-02-24T03:00:01.528-06:00Small Acts, Great Love<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
<strong>The house is quiet now.</strong></div>
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<strong>All day there has been this swirling of vagrant leaves and fluttering of bare branches and it has been enough to make me wonder if all of heaven and earth might just be on the cusp of some arcing change.</strong> Perhaps winter’s icy fingers are beginning to crack and splinter in the hidden places. Perhaps there might just be a Spring after all.</div>
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<strong>It’s in the hushed evening that I remember what I read once about frost seeding.</strong> How a farmer can scatter a pasture with seeds while the ground is still frozen. Then, as the soil freezes and thaws, space is opened up and the seeds fall into the space that is created. All throughout the winter, with each new round of bitter cold, the process continues and the seeds become more and more a part of the soil. After each storm, each seed is better positioned to germinate once the temperatures rebound and stay consistent.</div>
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<strong>It is in this remembering that I think about <em>my</em> fall and winter.</strong> I think about how my life has been flipped on its head, how I am mothering an infant once again, how those dear to me are sick and in need of attention and how, right in the middle of it all, I am earnestly practicing the sacred art of balance.</div>
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++++++++++++++</div>
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Click <a href="http://wp.me/p2Betl-9Ay" target="_blank">here</a> to read the rest of my words over at <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a>.</div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Bitstream Charter, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/"><img alt="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" border="0" src="http://shelovesmagazine.com/button.jpg" title="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" /></a></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-75063550206053510062014-02-05T23:41:00.000-06:002014-02-05T23:59:57.735-06:00This Mortal Coil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O-gxHBn7DZ4/UvMNo4NqtUI/AAAAAAAACCM/9yBNXRoJcRE/s1600/179-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O-gxHBn7DZ4/UvMNo4NqtUI/AAAAAAAACCM/9yBNXRoJcRE/s1600/179-001.JPG" height="640" width="490" /></a></div>
<br />
The words pierce through the late morning light that hangs<br />
drowsy and dust filled and glistening<br />
and just like that<br />
there is no way to breathe<br />
<br />
Instinctively I fly to touch him<br />
memorize his lips and jowls and fingertips<br />
trace the shadow of his profile<br />
hear the cadence within his chest<br />
be sure of him<br />
<br />
Whenever Death runs past<br />
a vale of tears cuts a gorge<br />
right through the center of<br />
all that was known or promised<br />
and we become wild and frantic<br />
for life<br />
<br />
I eventually settle and draw in<br />
what is left of the day<br />
seizing moment after glorious moment<br />
like a greedy beggar<br />
my heart keen on wanting it all<br />
<br />
As the sunlight stretches long across the room<br />
I feel the pull of weathered thread<br />
that winds then meanders then weaves itself<br />
through the fingers of all my loves<br />
The one that holds us fast to earth<br />
and to each other<br />
has weak spots<br />
<br />
I know this<br />
yet I want to pull all the tighter<br />
draw in the goodness so I will have it<br />
always<br />
entwine the bright colored thread fast<br />
around the faded one<br />
to keep it from shuffling off<br />
this mortal coil<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-6815826650444661012014-01-31T14:51:00.000-06:002014-01-31T14:51:13.230-06:00Running hard after love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tJWW8oJwc0U/UucpJ2XFWhI/AAAAAAAACBw/FFkp2qE8JcY/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tJWW8oJwc0U/UucpJ2XFWhI/AAAAAAAACBw/FFkp2qE8JcY/s1600/hands.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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I've wanted to escape to this space for weeks now. To get lost in that suspended place of word and thought that swirls like so much wood smoke, evoking both memory and revery with each bend and jump. Here is where I come to figure out what really is ... to remind myself of the ground that holds me up and the sky that pulls at my chin. It is here that I remember how to breathe.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I have been living the last two weeks at my parents' house and despite the fact that I have all but completely withdrawn from my regular life, the days have been fuller, stuffier, heavier than most. My mom is in the thick of chemotherapy treatments attempting, with all that science and positive energy can offer, to fight a disease that alters the makeup of her blood. Rather than work for her, her cells have declared anarchy. And she is tired.<br />
<br />
We are all tired.<br />
<br />
And although we may be <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+Corinthians+4%3A8&version=VOICE" target="_blank">chipped and cracked</a> a bit, dizzy drunk from all that is working around and in and through us, we are not defeated. Nor have we lost hope. Never before have I been more in tune with the song of the Gospel that sings over me, every day. That although we walk a tenuous line <a href="http://youtu.be/_TXNSipWUiE" target="_blank">between faith and fear</a> and every step seeks to hand us over to death, life is rising in us, as well.<br />
<br />
I witnessed this truth laced through every.single.day I spent at my parents' house.<br />
<br />
I didn't always see it while I was a child in their house. I was too busy living wildly off of the fruits of their diligence and gracious caretaking then. It has only been since returning as an adult, in a strange juxtaposition of caregiver and care receiver, that my eyes have been opened. It is only now, when the days seemed numbered, that I see the ring of light that circles the dark.<br />
<br />
+++++++<br />
<br />
My parents do everything with care. My mom keeps a very tidy house and my dad keeps the whole machine running smoothly. Such has been their dance throughout 59 years of marriage and they still do it beautifully. The glorious thing about it all, however, is that it never was, nor ever is, at the expense of hospitality or graceful living. Neither of them has ever answered the door to surprise guests only to exclaim, "Forgive the messy house!" Instead, doors were thrown open, arms were outstretched and visitors were ushered in with squeals of delight.<br />
<br />
My parents are curators of a welcome life.<br />
<br />
You can imagine the difficulty, then, when illness enters the room and, despite a willing heart, the body can't always comply. The tenuous line is drawn and its diaphanous form etches itself across the floor, like a crack in plaster.<br />
<br />
But, over and over, I watched my parents, my mother, especially, tilt towards life.<br />
<br />
+++++++<br />
<br />
I always thought that if I was ever faced with a severe illness that I would, of course, take up arms and run into battle. I would not go down with the ship. I would rise above, stand defiant, go out kicking and screaming.<br />
<br />
After witnessing the horrors of chemotherapy, however, I'm not so sure. The idea of fighting death with destruction doesn't settle well in my deepest places. But neither does quietly walking away from a life that I love. I don't know how to keep company with those who sing songs for Jesus' speedy return in order to save us from this swirling orb of humanity.<br />
<br />
I want to live.<br />
<br />
I want to wake up every day and gaze upon those that I love. I want to plant zinnias every summer and smell wood smoke trailing from stone chimneys. I want to eat gooey butter cake and lift weights at the Y and take road trips to the Rocky Mountains and cook bacon on Saturdays. I want to laugh at silly jokes and hear, once again, the stories that make our family its own brand of crazy. I want to hold fast to the hands clinging hard to mine.<br />
<br />
I don't want any of this to ever stop.<br />
<br />
I'm learning that the way to embrace a death sentence while simultaneously allowing life to rise in me is to run hard after love. In all circumstances, by every means necessary, even when I screw things up or do the exact right thing--I need love to be what is standing between me and everyone else.<br />
<br />
When love is what I choose to <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2013/12/weave.html" target="_blank">weave</a> in among the fibers and snags of my every day life, when love gilds the edges of tired joy or stretches across the chasms of unspoken fears then that cloudy glass is rubbed a little cleaner. Love lived on purpose breathes life and one can catch glimpses of glory come down.<br />
<br />
I saw it most keenly the night I lay in bed alongside my mom. She was three days into chemo and every one of her body systems was in revolt. In that darkened room I quietly held hands with my mom and hung lavishly in that place of holding and being held. Our bodies formed a circle and I longed harder than ever that it remain unbroken. And then she whispered her thanksgiving, for me and my boys and my just being there. Her words, her <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/joy-dares/" target="_blank">naming the gifts</a>, breathed life into my weary soul. It was love that floated between our souls in that moment and it became clearer than ever.<br />
<br />
This speaking love into each others' lives? It is life.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-49387080602721045982014-01-10T00:00:00.000-06:002014-01-10T00:00:04.160-06:00In which there is Poetic Justice, for God is a Poet, but there is also Mercy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5lZXEEL_Eo/Us8mxLGiJWI/AAAAAAAACBg/JAOn8wzpvzM/s1600/golden+thread+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5lZXEEL_Eo/Us8mxLGiJWI/AAAAAAAACBg/JAOn8wzpvzM/s1600/golden+thread+pic.jpg" height="540" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.66666603088379px;">I am honored to open up space today for the words of <a href="http://anitamathias.com/" target="_blank">Anita Mathias</a>. Anita and I first connected in the comments section of a <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2012/my-broken-hallelujah/" target="_blank">piece</a> I wrote for <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves</a>. A few months later she asked me to write a <a href="http://anitamathias.com/2013/06/27/in-which-our-lives-are-like-mandalas-2/" target="_blank">guest post</a> over at her place. Clearly, we share an admiration for each other's words. Please join me in welcoming Anita to </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.66666603088379px;">A Lifetime of Days.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.66666603088379px;">+++++++++++++++</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Even
while Esau was out hunting his father’s favourite wild game, Jacob and Rebecca slaughtered
and cooked two choice young goats-- which Jacob served to Isaac, pretending to be
Esau, stealing his blessing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">A
cruel deception.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And,
uncannily, years later, in his own old age, Jacob’s sons sold <i>his </i>favourite son into slavery, dipping Joseph’s
precious robe in the blood of a slaughtered goat, claiming he had been killed
by a wild beast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Tricked
with a goat, just as he had tricked his own father with a goat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://biblehub.com/galatians/6-7.htm"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The seeds we sow, we reap,</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://biblehub.com/matthew/7-2.htm"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">measure for measure</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">. They lie
dormant in the earth, sometimes for years, then yield their harvest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The
good we have done yields blessing, and the evil we’ve done conjures shadowy
forces against us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And
that’s scary if we have sown bad seeds, have said and done less than luminous
things, things we are now ashamed of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">But
we do not live in a mechanical universe. We live in a just universe, shot
through by mercy like a golden cord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The
law of sowing and reaping is the deep magic from the dawn of time, in C. S.
Lewis’s phrase.<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">However
there is a more powerful force still: the force of mercy, unleashed by the
willing victim who bore in his body the punishment for all the bad seeds we
have ever sown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And
so mercy triumphs over justice. The deep magic from before the dawn of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Jacob
recovers Joseph; </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://anitamathias.com/2013/08/27/in-which-manipulation-does-not-work-in-the-long-run-but-gods-blessing-does/"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Esau was, in fact,
blessed</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">For
myself, I want to sow good seed for the rest of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">But
the bad seed I have sown? The things I am ashamed of? The things I did because
of my small, bewildered, wounded heart?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
confess them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
ask God’s forgiveness. I ask Christ’s blood to cover them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And
I step into the waterfall of mercy, the mercy that triumphs over justice
because the One who loves the world is good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
ask him to let all the bad seeds I’ve sown, which are still dormant, die. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And
I ask him for grace to overplant much good seed to crowd out the bad seed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And
I ask him, the ultimate genetic engineer, to somehow, </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/john/11-22-compare.html"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">even now,</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> change the
DNA of the bad seed I’ve planted, and bring good from them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And
I place my life and future in His hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jenny-pics/10417799716/" target="_blank">Jenny Downing</a>)</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">_____________________________</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cYfgo6P5Kbs/Us8kbQnKsaI/AAAAAAAACBU/ZRO5AoLTn2Y/s1600/Anita-2005-square_lgr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cYfgo6P5Kbs/Us8kbQnKsaI/AAAAAAAACBU/ZRO5AoLTn2Y/s1600/Anita-2005-square_lgr.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Anita
M<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>athias is the author of </span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wandering-Between-Two-Worlds-Essays/dp/0955373700/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1337025063&sr=8-1">Wandering Between Two
Worlds</a></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">(Benediction Classics, 2007). </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 16pt;">She has
won a writing fellowship from The National Endowment for the Arts, and her
writing has appeared in The <i>Washington
Post</i>, The <i>London Magazine</i>, <i>Commonweal</i>, <i>America</i>,
<i>The Christian Century</i>, and <i>The Best Spiritual Writing</i> anthologies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Anita
lives in Oxford, England with her husband and daughters. She blogs at </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://anitamathias.com/"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Dreaming Beneath the Spires</span></a></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">.
Y</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">ou
can find her on Twitter </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://twitter.com/AnitaMathias1"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">@anitamathias1</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> or on Facebook
at </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/dreamingbeneaththespires"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Dreaming Beneath the
Spires</span></a></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">.</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-83090088169402127702014-01-06T10:22:00.001-06:002014-01-06T10:22:55.252-06:00The Thing With Feathers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-orn2_fIr7kg/UsrXiMNy6SI/AAAAAAAACBE/dq-A73aqT3w/s1600/Jan_Holly2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-orn2_fIr7kg/UsrXiMNy6SI/AAAAAAAACBE/dq-A73aqT3w/s1600/Jan_Holly2.jpg" height="430" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 26px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I grew up in a family that loved birds.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">As far back as my mind can remember, I have opened my eyes each morning and quickly found a window through which I could spot the birds already bustling about the yard.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My childhood house had a tall window over the kitchen sink and just outside there stood a sweet little redbud tree with heart-shaped leaves</span>. It was just tall enough for its limbs to reach to where we stood inside and from one branch we hung a modest little feeder. Most of the time, however, we just threw bread crusts and stale crackers on the ground. I think the birds liked those the best.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My dad taught me the name of every single bird that visited.</span> His eyes always lit up at the flighty dance of the chickadees or the flashing red of a cardinal and with every new arrival he welcomed them by name, like old friends returning from a lengthy absence.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">That is how it always felt when the juncos appeared.</span> We called them “snow birds” because they always arrived on the cusp of cold weather and were nature’s gentle reminder that winter was on its way.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the years my dad’s vast ornithological knowledge gradually seeped into the corners of my little head and, to this day, I can still name every bird I see. It is one of the greatest gifts my father has ever given me.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">+ + + + + + + + + + + +</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You can read the rest of my words by following this <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2014/thing-feathers/" target="_blank">link</a> over to <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a>.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 25.989582061767578px;"><a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/"><img alt="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" border="0" src="http://shelovesmagazine.com/button.jpg" title="SheLoves Magazine: a global community of women who love" /></a></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 25.989582061767578px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 25.989582061767578px;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-69788182476001963902013-12-31T14:02:00.002-06:002013-12-31T14:10:12.093-06:00WeaveOh, 2013!<br />
You have been remarkable. Truly.<br />
<br />
It was on this day, last year, that I chose a <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2012/12/my-one-word.html" target="_blank">word</a> for you. I was perched on the edge of a whole new chunk of days and for the first time, I chose a word with which to walk out that gift of time.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>WITH</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
I wrote a sort of proclamation for myself, a manifesto declaring my intentions for moving forward into the new year.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">with</b><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">prep.</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;"><br /></i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-in the company of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-next to, alongside</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-in the charge or keeping of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-in support of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-among</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-in spite of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-in the same direction as</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">-so as to be touching or joined to</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://thefreedictionary.com/" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">TheFreeDictionary.com</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
It was the last line of intention that would end up cradling my entire year:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">This year, when given the opportunity, I will choose touch over tension, embracing rather than rejecting, joining in place of separation. I am not an emotional island, nor are the ones I love. I will choose to move towards them, even when it is hard.</span><br style="line-height: 24px; text-align: start;" /><span style="line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">I will choose to be with those that are in front of me.</span><span style="line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">Every.</span><span style="line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">Day.</span></b></blockquote>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
And so now, here I am, shaking my head at the methods of a loving God who, in His desire to be close to me, reached across the gossamer veil and <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2013/03/in-which-i-declare-my-life-as-crazy_8.html" target="_blank">planted Love outright, deep within me</a>. My One Word was more than just letters on a page. My One Word was <a href="http://jasonandkelliwoodford.blogspot.com/2013/04/brave-words-i-believe.html" target="_blank">born in me</a>.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
This past year has been a collection of giving over and giving in, of walking into and in front of. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
It has held fear, only to be bathed in faith. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
It has stretched, first, thin and then swelled gloriously ripe. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
It has challenged my hopes, changed my trajectory, and championed my spirit.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
That little preposition of a word continued to show up. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
Every.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
Single.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
Day.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
And so, here I am again, on the cusp of a whole new chunk of days and, once again, I am choosing <a href="http://oneword365.com/" target="_blank">One Word</a>.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9W-jWcDZ3oI/UsMN9mPbQHI/AAAAAAAACA0/jOYG76nxbuE/s1600/pic+monkey+weave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9W-jWcDZ3oI/UsMN9mPbQHI/AAAAAAAACA0/jOYG76nxbuE/s640/pic+monkey+weave.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<b>weave</b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">verb</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 23.997394561767578px;"><i>-</i>t</span><span style="line-height: normal;">o make (cloth) by interlacing the threads of the weft and the warp on a loom.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-to interlace (threads, for example) into cloth.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-to construct by interlacing or interweaving strips or strands of material</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-to interweave or combine (elements) into a complex whole</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-to contrive (something complex or elaborate) in this way</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-to introduce (another element) into a complex whole; work in</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-to spin</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/weave" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Free Dictionary</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
This word came to me in the hushed gray of morning this past week. My little <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2013/beginning/" target="_blank">Samuel</a>, the very <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2013/lessons-light-dark/" target="_blank">answer to a question</a> I didn't even know that I had asked, the single greatest surprise of my life, was stirring. I peeked, sleepily, at the boy miracle within arm's reach and it hit me: </div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I have a crazy beautiful life.</b></span> </div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
So much poignant beauty has wound its way into each moment.<span style="font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px;"> The gray and the blue woven in tight with the yellow and the orange, in and out, over and under.</span></div>
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;" />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">Each day is cut from holy cloth, <a href="http://www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com/2013/05/bolts-of-glory.html" target="_blank">bolts of glory by the yard</a>.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Sorts Mill Goudy;"><span style="line-height: 23.997394561767578px;">And I want to remember this, for always. Because this is no small thing. In fact, this is a very grand thing. The greatest thing, even. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Sorts Mill Goudy;"><span style="line-height: 23.997394561767578px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Sorts Mill Goudy;"><span style="line-height: 23.997394561767578px;">So, I am choosing WEAVE as my <a href="http://oneword365.com/" target="_blank">One Word</a> for 2014.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
I want to interlace myself with each member of my sweet little family, in and out, over and under, creating beautiful patterns of light and dark, soft and scruffy, bold and demure. I want to recognize each individual for the uniqueness they bring to our clan, all the while, remembering that they are also part of a complex whole creation that is continually emerging, growing, changing.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
I want to apply this to my other relationships, as well. I want to receive those that have been planted in my life and first see, really see, all the color and texture and gifts that they bring to the table. Then, after acknowledging that who I am is such a conglomeration of these people, we can go about the business of braiding ourselves together, in and out, over and under.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
And then there is the writing, whose very act is a gathering, a stringing together of thought and hope and belief. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 24px;">To write is to weave, all the while, hoping and praying that in all of this straw gathering there will be flickers of gold.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 24px;">So, I am extending a warm and open "Welcome" to this new year. I know that to do so is risky. There is no guarantee that 2014 will be kind to me. If this past year has taught me anything it is that the flip side of light is dark, the opposite of health is sickness, and the antithesis of security is uncertainty. But I am not going to let fear set the tone for what is to come. Instead, I am going to join hands with the Giver of gifts and, together, we are going to take warp and weft and weave beauty.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 9.714285850524902px; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“For last year's words belong to last year's language </span></b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 9.714285850524902px; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And next year's words await another voice.” </span></b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 9.714285850524902px; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">--TS Eliot</span></b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 9.714285850524902px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 9.714285850524902px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/philborg/11152294313/" target="_blank">Flickr</a></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219986489903886940noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3245131160534112763.post-74746789312415330582013-12-23T10:00:00.000-06:002013-12-23T10:00:01.166-06:00Spinning Straw Into Gold<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JuA5oZ8QH8k/UrhcQXmMwHI/AAAAAAAACAk/i8iUEgBKYRw/s1600/mom+and+samuel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JuA5oZ8QH8k/UrhcQXmMwHI/AAAAAAAACAk/i8iUEgBKYRw/s640/mom+and+samuel.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 1.625rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This last week before Christmas has taken on a life of its own this year.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Right when my sweet little family was gearing up for afternoons baking cookies and evenings driving around town gazing at twinkling lights we had to, instead, quickly shift gears, rearrange plans, throw clothes in suitcases, make haste. Suddenly, it was all about hustle—a verb that I fight with a vengeance during this holy season. But rather than it being about needing a little Christmas, right this very minute, it was a pressing need to get home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My mom is, once again, fighting a battle with her body.</span> Cancer thinks it deserves space in her bloodstream and it is acting like a big old bully. I hate cancer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">But, I figure, the best way to fight a bully is with love so my little family has slipped on our boxing gloves and we intend to go down punching.</span> For we want to be known as <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/manifesto/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out; border: 0px; color: #f96e5b; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">people who love</a>. We have shown up on my parent’s doorstep, even if there is but little room in the inn, and we are ready to do business.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 0px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It is Christmas time, though, and there are children here so I am trying to figure out how you patch together something that still sings of grace and glory while not ignoring the present reality.</span> How do we take the straw we’ve been handed and spin it into something golden and magical?</span></div>
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+++++++</div>
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I am writing over at <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/" style="background-color: transparent;" target="_blank">SheLoves Magazine</a> today. Follow <a href="http://shelovesmagazine.com/2013/spinning-straw-gold/" target="_blank">this link</a> to find the rest of my words.</div>
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