you'd think

You'd think the more I write, the less I'd have to say.
Nope.

writing and genres

Whenever random people ask me what I write, I usually tell them I'm working on a novel or two. Don't tell, but I haven't worked on any novel for several weeks. Novels are easier to understand, though, than say, Christian-books-for-women-about-how-to-be-a-good-wife. I mention blogging, too, but only about half the people know about blogs.

You see, there aren't any clear-cut answers for the "what do you write?" question. Even when I say, "I'm working on a novel," they want to know what kind of novel. Don't get me wrong: I'm glad they're interested in my life. But I don't know what kind of novels I write. They're just novels. Novel novels. Usually, though, I give people the genre answer, which is only cool because it has the word genre in it, and I used to not know about that word. Genre is cool because it is spelled nothing like it sounds, and even if it were spelled like it sounds, it sounds cool anyway. But I digress (that's only about the third time in my life I've used the word digress).

So back to my novels. I say, "Ummmm... I've written part of a novel that's kind of fantasy/sci-fi, but that's not what I usually write. I usually write... I don't know... it's hard to place it into any specific genre." And that would be one of my smoother answers.

So what do I write? Mostly, I write novels. Novel novels. Novels are stories. Stories about people and the things that happen to them in life. People make decisions -- good ones and bad ones -- and then there are consequences, reactions. Yeah. That's what I write.

the good side of gullibility

I'm searching for the good side of gullibility, but I'm not sure if there is one. Solomon tells me, "in the multitude of counsellors there is safety" (Proverbs. 11.14), but there can also be a lot of confusion. You've gotta pick good counselors, wise ones.

I used to think I had all the answers, or at least most of them. Grounded and solid, I was. My husband told me about this guy that was grounded in something different, and I thought he was nuts (the guy, not my husband). But if he's nuts, a lot of people are nuts. And if I was nuts, a lot of people are nuts. So, I thought, let's just face it: we're all nuts (but less nuts than all the people who are really nuts).

Trees rooted and uprooted a lot probably aren't very healthy. I'm not much of a horticulturalist, but it seems likely, don't you think? I don't want to be an unhealthy tree; I'd rather just soak in a bucket of water observing the soil till I know where I need to be planted. I can't sit there forever because I'll probably rot or something. But it's better than all that transplanting: at least I won't dry out.

I'm gonna try tell that guy (that nuts guy) he's probably not so nuts as I thought. He's got a lot of good roots and resources. And like I'm gonna tell him, too: "God has given us an awful lot of information about his plan and his character, and if absorbing and understanding that information gives him more honor and glory, I want to do that." Sounds pretty solid for being so nuts, don't you think?

In conclusion (because I don't know how else to end this thing), I want branches that reach up and out to Christ. I want boughs heavy with fruit. I want to soak up the sun and the rain and the wind until I'm firmly grounded: "just like a tree planted by the water, I shall not be moved" (V.O. Fossett, based on Psalm 1.3).

wonder

"Wonder is that feeling we get when we let go of our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow. I don't think there is any better worship than wonder." -Donald Miller in Blue Like Jazz

Okay, why is it that wonder ("to have curiosity, sometimes mingled with doubt") is so much different than wonder ("a person, thing, or event causing astonishment and admiration; marvel")? The first is almost degrading; it's filled with confusion and questions. When I wonder in the first sense, I want answers. I don't like to wonder.

I've been wondering (in the first sense) about theology lately. I was raised to believe Arminianism rather than Calvinism, but then I started listening to radio preachers who teach the latter. Lately people have been telling me I should believe a mix of the two. (They call it "moderate Calvinism.") To be painfully honest, none of them make sense to me. No one has answered all my questions yet. Is there something wrong with not putting God into our man-made forms and formulas and just admitting God is God even though we can't formulate a logical reason why election and eternal security do or do not occur? Just wondering.

When I read Donald Miller's sentence "I can no more understand the totality of God than the pancake I made for breakfast understands the complexity of me," I laughed out loud. But then I realized, "Huh. That's not really very funny," and then I felt very small. "The little we do understand, that grain of sand our minds are capable of grasping, those ideas such as God is good, God feels, God loves, God knows all, are enough to keep our hearts dwelling on His majesty and otherness forever." Amen, brother.

How can we shift to the second sense of wonder? How can the part that's "mingled with doubt" turn into something that, even though it has no answers, accepts the unknown with peace and awe? I wonder.

getting out of forms

I'm feeling compelled to get out of forms. I'm feeling like, if I don't starting loving people -- for real, I'm going to be missing out on God's purpose for me.

I stare too much. I think negative thoughts too much. I judge people and hold them up to standards I could never live out. Deep down, I'm a protester and a Republican. I hate that. I am a really, really good girl... at least that's the only part you'll ever see.

There is so little time to love on people, so I know I need to get started now -- today. The hard part is that I don't really know how most of the time. My judgment radars go swirling around my head like screaming bats. I wish I could just knock them out with a sledgehammer. You're like: "Knock whom out? The people or the radars?" Yeah, sometimes I don't even know.

So, anyway, I'm going to start praying for love and for malfunctioning judgment radars. I'd be thrilled if you'd pray with me.

waiting

Dishes are done and I'm undone... waiting.
The air conditioner kicks on; it's colder alone.
Me -- a flapping, purposeless piece
without you.
I'm not frustrated or discouraged
because I can't afford to misuse my time
on the phone with you.
I can't afford to misuse my moments
in your sight -- a smile --
in your arms.
They mean everything, and they connect
the two pieces that were never two --
only lonely
in the waiting...

nothing to say

I've been challenged to blog every day, but what do I say? I want something big to say, something monumental, something drenched in truth. But sometimes -- usually -- I don't feel any significance in my conglomeration of thoughts:

fragments of praise - faded dreams - frustration - loneliness - yearning for fellowship with real people - yearning for home - hope for words - searching for significance, purpose, love - self love - self hatred - fear - contentment - thankfulness - hunger - knowledge and conceit for it - regret for not admitting fault - regret for admitting it too often - pleasure - sorrow welling up hard in my throat- joy spilling out like a river from my soul - confusion - pride - music - love - friendships begun - friendships scattered, shattered - truth and ignorance - victory - everyday plodding - jealousy - culture - narrowness - broadness - new dreams and passion - I've only begun

bird in a cage, in two parts

Cold, blocking bars
and eyes
and words.
They tell you lies.
You believe them
because
t
he bars
a re
in
th
e
wa y
and then everything's
dis to rted.

Someone told me:
"Don't expect them -
or her -
to believe
or behave
like you do."
So I'm not surprised -
really -
but still sad.

This is probably
the only warning
you'll get
about the vigil.

Freedom -
warning or no -
is always glorious.

* * *

The people have been gathering around your cage, and you're a wounded bird. They're sick, those people. Sometimes I think it's sick as in demented, but I have to remind myself it's sick as in sick -- ill, infected, unhealthy. But they tell you lies, and you believe them because you're in a cage. A cage! -- and you have bars blocking truth.

I want to see you break free. I know it's hard because once you break through the bars of your own cage, there's all those people.

We're planning a vigil for freedom. For your freedom. It's been "help," "help," "help." And I guess it still is "help," but we're gonna shout it louder, shout it longer, shout it together.

For freedom!

isel

Isel, do you know how perfect I wanted to be for you today? I wanted to be this role model you could look at and say, "Wow. I want to be like her."
You're such a beautiful girl, such a normal girl. And I'm so glad I don't have to be perfect anymore.

the body

I cannot put Christ in the straightjacket called church, although he works through it. I cannot bottle him up, package him, paint a picture that depicts his love, his suffering, his scars, his glory, his work. I cannot explain a theology that represents his character. He's too big, too broad, too explicit, too perfect. He dwells in a body; he dwells in a temple. The temple has hands; the temple has feet. It breathes. It works. It loves. Oh, how it loves!
But, for all I'm worth, I cannot describe that body. I only know its humanity -- its hands -- because Christ, working through the body, reached out and touched... me.

future country

Some people couldn't imagine living anywhere but the city. I, on the other hand, would be heartbroken if someone spilled the news to me that I would never see open pastureland out my bedroom window again. It would hurt to know that I will never again see the light show of thousands, millions -- billions? -- of stars on a daily basis.

Fields green, then brown with harvest. Cicadas chirping at the night. Hay tucked into big round bales, in rows, just as useful for running on top of as for feeding cattle. Trees, barns, lanes -- places to dream. Wide open yards, smelling sweet with freshly mown grass. Grass that was cut by a girl singing her lungs out because the roar of the riding lawn mower invites her to. Insects biting, but the itch saying that summer's here again. Gravel painful beneath bare feet. Grass cold and soothing afterwards. Hills dipping down, out of sight from the house, where I'm finally... alone. Talking out loud, singing, praying, with no one to hear but God. In the still of the morning, five -- no, six -- deer stopping, listening, waiting, bounding in the back yard. Climbing trees, jumping out on the best tree swing in the world. Building fortresses of grain bins, propane tanks, cattle chutes, or... air. Empty roads -- just me. If a car comes, a flick of the wrist says, "Hello, stranger. Welcome home."

Yes, it would sting to know. So, if you happen to see only suburban streets and star-deprived skies in my future, keep it to yourself. Because I prefer to dream...

inspired by j.l.s. and home

sister

How is it that you should come to me with your tears, your sack of burdens? How could I begin to anoint the feet that have walked steadily as any woman I know?
You are my sister.

I thought I was the one longing for relationship. I thought I was the one with spiritual battles. I thought I was the one with self-righteousness and pride too ugly to bare.
You are my sister.

At a time when I couldn't be trusted, you trusted me. In a moment when I couldn't minister, you cried for help. I am the one who asks for help, don't you know?
You are my sister.

I am your sister.

castles

I had a vision of growth and promise. I didn't write it down, so my castles have already begun to crumble a bit under the weight of hours and conversations and someone else's scrutiny.
I never know if my castles -- hopes and imaginings -- are healthy. I think they are sometimes, until I realize that I've spent a half hour in them, maybe more, without even that much time of building real castles in the day. When that happens, I just pray that God'll take the moments I've created as a prayer. "Father, forget the specifics. Make the desires of my heart in tune with Your heart. Build better castles, bigger castles, more beautiful than I can ever imagine."

"Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." -1 Corinthians 2.9

I think that applies to my castles too.