automatic

make it automatic
quick
do-it-yourself
do it at home
drive-through
drop off
automatic transfer
one stop
lickety split
automatic
assembly line
do your job
quickly
quickly
smack
pop
hurry now
give it to the experts
the experts
your job's done
in just
two seconds
press the button
click ok
ok
ok
ok
tax write-off
convenient, eh?
make it automatic
automatic
automatic
so they'll never know
that
you're
a
Christian

mulling it over

It doesn't have to be me who answers the call. God will provide for His own without my help.

But if it is me who answers, there will be blessings -- packed down running over abundant and full too many to number flooding and filling my soul.

It doesn't have to be me. God can to choose someone else...
just
like
that.

when

And then he hangs up the phone--

and he's still
starving
and tired--
feeling old
for being so young.

He's still
poor
and hurting
and asking God

when

why us?

Lord, of all the 5.2 million, why us? If you had set it upon our doorstep, it couldn't have been more blunt.
Lord, of all the 5.2 million, how could he have found us? Mission hearts? Bah. You'll prove that true or false through this, no doubt.
Mission trips. Church. Food. Orphans. Paganism. Christianity. They swirl about like insanity.
I'm trying to ease into it. But how can I ease into something that could change my life forever?

some questions

And again, when does personal sacrifice come into play? When do I start to give up my comforts -- finances, pride, security, and knowledge -- to trust?
How could a persecuted pastor from Nepal make this all up? Does he find it amusing to quietly, timidly tell me he and his wife had no food for Thanksgiving dinner? Funny joke. Really funny. Is it comfortable to send the whole of his income to his brothers and sisters who still feel the iron fist of Hinduism pressing down on their faith? He says he needs money to survive so he can keep reaching out; who doesn't? Are his methods so despicable, are his motives so tainted that he doesn't deserve my help?
And when did I deserve God's help? Tell me, when did I become so just and righteous and proper to deserve the grace of God and fellow man?

quiet ride home

We had a quiet ride home from town. A few words floated by in the pick-up that smelled like farm pick-ups do, but they were emptier than the silence. I thought of the deep words that could have come, words for help and words for healing. But it turned out that their absence was deeper.

It was a cold ride home from town. But I'm warm now, so I don't remember the coldness. I can only hear the silence.

The ride home was an item on my schedule. It hadn't been there in a while, so I'd forgotten just how it worked. I forgot that if I ask questions, they should be questions like "what's that called?" and "how's that work?" and not... well, not like the questions I asked. Good thing I didn't think of too many questions.

We had a short ride home from town. Quiet and cold, but mostly just short.

gotta

I've gotta like the unlikeable. I've gotta like the ones that talk a little too loud and forget to smile when they're supposed to. I've gotta forget the words and admit I've lost them, instead of fumbling and fidgeting, smiling and tucking hair behind my ear where it was before I started tucking. When the confidence comes easier, I've gotta remember when it didn't. I've gotta remember when I was just me -- eighteen and influenced and thinking only every other day. I've gotta start listening and realizing that they've stepped the miles between here and there, and I'm only looking over the map of the journey. I've gotta thank them for the love. I've gotta stop proving and start loving. I've gotta keep praying for them, not because they don't understand... but because I don't, and they've gotta deal with me. I've gotta believe that.

veteran's day

There's a line-up of men on the newspaper. Eyes filled with flashes of war and dust, they stare at the camera: tortured heroes. They wear caps instead of helmets now. A few hardened lips break into hints of grins. They're honored on the pages, but not like they deserve. They see the lack of justice, but they don't know how to change it. They just take what they can get, and move on -- to memories and life and then, finally, death.

words?

Last time I was here, the novel was so clear. In the emotion, I knew what needed to be written, although I didn't know how. This time, I feel the emotions again, but they haven't compelled me to writing; they've compelled me to living -- to confrontation and prayer and other such uncomfortable tasks.
I don't know if or when the words will come back. I don't know if they ever existed. They glimmered like a mirage, and then they were gone.

library

Only the brave spend time at the library, traversing its systems, its shelves, its smiles and quietness. It is not an escape; it's a voyage. And cold are the fingers, the words, the books, waiting to be touched.

God fight

she thought she was fighting God.
"why don't you--?"
and "why won't you--?"
and "when will you--?"

she punched the air like
a boxer,
a fighter,
trying to claim the promise
without believing,
without remembering.

"he is faithful who promised"
came around
and made some sense.

but it took some reminders
from him
and some reminders
about what
"in every thing"
means-

and then she knew

she was only
fighting
herself.

truth quote

"Never let logic or practicality get in the way of TRUTH. Keep your relationship strong by journeying into the realm of what God has for you, which is far beyond that which is logical or practical." -c.l.beyer, Summer 2001

I don't remember now what "relationship" I was referring to here (probably one's relationship with God?), but I thought this little blurb was interesting nonetheless.

deeper

We're searching for something deeper -- we all are.

One I told, and she agreed. One wrote to show me. One tries and tries; it's just under the surface, but there. One doesn't show it, but needs it. One shows a little, shows others a lot. One has it, flashes it, just doesn't say it.

I've heard you all practice; you're good -- really good. But to get us all together to do something magnificent? Where does the goodness break down into amateurism? Are we just playing different arrangements of the same song? You know, if we got our act together, maybe others would be inspired to play too.

sadness: 3 portraits

Cry into the dishwater, baby.
Cry and cry,
and hope somebody hears you.
Cry until you're done
and then cry some more
because the dishes are done
and you're still crying.

Cry into the washing machine, baby.
Cry and let go.
But when the letting go stops,
just don't-
don't
block up the entrance
again.
Don't-

* * *

"Many scholars agree that Indian evangelism, as a whole, was not a story of success, the greatest reason being the intense conflict between the two cultures for supremacy over the land. But perhaps equally important was the deep-seated belief of white America that Indians were racially inferior and that their culture was not worth saving." -Ruth A. Tucker in From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya

* * *

Pages of faces flash before me.
Whose are you if not mine?
Whose are you if not anyone else's?
You are not your parents'
anymore
You are your own;
you are God's-
a small comfort
to you
right now.
Orphan children.

the morning after

Thank you to the one who broke through. Thank you to the one who touched when she could have said, "I'll wait till Friday." A wound oozes when it's hurting, gushes before healing. I gushed.
Silly selfishness and pride get in my way sometimes -- okay, a lot of times -- okay, almost all the time -- and it's a wretched thing to get rid of them. It's like pulling teeth, although, I'll admit, I haven't pulled a lot of teeth in my life. My experience with teeth has been to let them wobble and wiggle until they pretty much fall out of their own accord.
Sometimes I leave selfishness and pride in until they fall out, not of their own accord (for some reason, they're perfectly content to stay), but of God's urging. And I fall to pieces until they're gone. Then I realize I'm really the better for their absence.
So, anyway, thank you for leading me through the tough stuff. Thanks for holding my hand, and then checking up on me when I got to the other side.

pieces

Let her bring God back to you, Little Town. Let her step into your world without conforming to it. Let her be herself, fulfill her dreams in you.

The town drunk says, "This used to be a liquor store," and she says, "Did it now?" She knows it used to be a liquor store because she had her eye on it back then; she had already claimed it as a girl, but she didn't know what for. It's too beautiful to be a liquor store.

A lady playing a guitar in the corner brings people in, but it's God who brings the love. It's the love that keeps people coming in for another shot, another smooth escape.

People keep coming in like they want to see the speakers, hear the music, but they don't always pay attention -- most of the time they do, though. Monday or Tuesday is story day -- written, remembered, fiction, not fiction, whatever. She loves those days most because they're so true.

"It's 'cause of you, you know. This place brings people into town," they tell her. No, it's not. It's 'cause of God; all because of God: builder of dreams.

Students studying fill the tables and chairs with their sprawl of learning. She walks into the library and says, "You oughtta renovate the upstairs." But they ask, "How could we afford it? We can barely afford buying new books for our shelves." And she says, "You oughtta put a can on the corner of your counter that says: 'Donations for the Expansion of the Library.' Books are important. Here's your first check." Ha! That'd make 'em do it.

The hours are long, but people keep coming.

She doesn't dress like the rest; she dresses like herself.

She says, "I've got a surprise tomorrow at four. You should come by." She smiles a wry smile. "Why's that?" "It'll be worth it." Four o'clock comes along and she lifts the cloth from her book -- her published book. "In between getting drinks, I somehow found time to write a book. It's 'cause of y'all this place stays open. Drinks on the house and a copy of this for everybody." She winks. "You don't have to read it."

She loves books, and she wants others to love them. Books cover an entire wall, or they did until half of them got checked out around town. She only keeps track because someone else might need to read one of them, and she might need to track her copy down in a hurry.

She loves people, and she wants others to love them. Sometimes it's hard to know where to draw the line, so sometimes she just doesn't.

Clergymen come in and say she's not representing who she ought to represent, or she's taking away their crowd. Gas station says she's taking away their customers too. She gives them a drink on the house, and says she bets their business has actually improved.

She's got jars on the counter, stuffed with money to feed the hungry, rescue the orphans, clothe the poor, birth new Christians. She didn't tell people to fill the jars; they just did. She puts in her salary and wishes she didn't have to pay the bills. People forget the days when jars and shop were empty, but she doesn't. She remembers well.

Sunday is her day off, and she watches the sunset and takes a breath before Monday. She wishes she could do more. She wishes others would come by, others who won't let themselves be touched.

The walls, the pictures, used to be the definition of perfect decorum. Now, the place is kitschy, but it's the reflection of love, so it's all okay.

It's an anomaly; she acts like it's normal. People come from out of town, but just to gawk. The people touched are right next door, and they're addicted to receiving love and giving love. They can't stop.

Let Him be Himself, fulfill His dreams in you.

if you only read the words...

"If you only read the words, you'd understand my heart.... If you only read the words, you'd see that the story isn't so hard to comprehend. You'd wipe my tears, laugh with my rejoicing, and sit and chat when I just need to vent. If you only read the words..." -c.l.beyer, written on 05.august.2005

* * *

God, I'm so dry. Sometimes I don't even care, You know? I don't feel like talking to You, but I know I should... so I do. Here I am. Hit me or something because I'm too weak to reach out.

"The Lord hath called me from the womb; from the bowels fo my mother hath he made mention of my name" (Isaiah 49.1).
"Thou art my servant, O Israel, in whom I will be glorified (Isaiah 49.3).
"In an acceptable time have I heard thee, and in a day of salvation have I helped thee" (Isaiah 49.8).

Yeah, yeah, God. Those are wonderful words, powerful promises. I know in my head that they're true; they're just not hitting me in the heart, You know?

"And I will make all my mountains a way, and my highways shall be exalted" (Isaiah 49.11).

Nice words for someone else. Let me look at the words without reading them. They aren't helping anyway. Maybe You'll do something supernatural. Maybe You can break through this numb barrier. Yes, yes... that's better... words speeding by without meaning...

If you only read the words, you would understand My heart.

Hey, I wrote that.

Did you?

Sorry, God, my mind's wandering. Where did that come from? I was sitting here reading -- kind of -- and...

You didn't mean that for me, did You?

If you only read the words, you would understand My heart.

Okay. I'll read. I don't want to be superstitious or anything, but yeah... I guess it would help if I read the words.

"Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains: for the LORD hath comforted his people, and will have mercy upon his afflicted" (Isaiah 49.13).

Like I said, nice promises for someone else.

"But Zion said, The LORD hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me" (Isaiah 49.14).

Exactly. I know how they feel.

"Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb?" (Isaiah 49.15a)

Um... no.

"Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee" (Isaiah 49.15b).

[Silence]

"Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands" (Isaiah 49.16a).

Kind of drastic, don't You think? But... You feel that way about me?

If you only read the words, you would understand My heart.

Well then. I guess so.

[Silence]

Here I am...

emphasis!

I love emphasis. From italics to exclamation points to capitalization, one can make writing into an amusement park of wild rides.

This will not be an exhaustive look at the many forms of emphasis in the English language; I'll just discuss some of my favorite methods, as well as -- you can be sure -- some warnings against absolutely WRONG ways to emphasize.

1. Italicization
This is the best way to emphasize a word or phrase. Using italics makes me feel like an author because it was in a novel, I think, that I first discovered the joy of reading italicized words. Italicization makes reading aloud a breeze. It's subtle yet effective, classy but not condescending. (Underlining is the non-technological way of italicizing. It's the emphatic tool of typewriters and hand-written letters; it's useful but increasingly uncommon.)

2. Capitalization
When typing, this is a particularly easy way to emphasize a word or phrase, but it also comes across to the reader as being rather obnoxious. In the Bible, words like LORD and I AM and HOLINESS TO THE LORD are capitalized, which tells me they are very, very important. In casual, everyday writings, however, few words are as important as those listed above. Actually, none are. So, use capitalization very sparingly. (For an example of a correct though intentionally obnoxious use of capitalization, see paragraph #2 of this essay.)

3. Exclamation points
Some famous author once said that a person should be given a ration of one exclamation point to use in writing across the span of his or her entire life. He makes a good point, although I won't be quite so stingy. Exclamation points are fun to stick in odd places (like the title of this essay), but they're most commonly used at the end of sentences containing material which, to the author, is particularly exciting. My caution is this: if you read a draft of your e-mail or other exciting composition, and more than half of the sentences end in an exclamation point, you should either revise it or seriously consider consulting a doctor for hyperactivity.

4. Use of cool words
Probably what I really mean instead of "cool" is "appropriate." But appropriate is often cool, although cool is often not appropriate. You know what I mean. A word in time saves nine, or at least saves you from using other emphatic tools. Case in point: um... I don't have a case in point. Cool, appropriate words take some thought; they aren't the product of a brain on cruise control.

I have only one other warning that hasn't been addressed above. Quotation marks are never, never!, NEVER to be used to emphasize a word. Quotation marks are reserved for the titles of short works such as short poems, songs, short stories, and chapters; they also should surround the words people say and words taken out of something written to which one wants to refer. (That's why they're called quotation marks.) They are not to be used to draw attention to a word or to stress a word. As an example of how not to use quotation marks, consider this advertisement:

* * *

Puppies for Sale!

"Cute!" "Cuddly!"

Call 123.456.7890

"Please take one home today!"

* * *

The person who posted this sign clearly didn't understand how to use quotation marks. The only way this could be considered correct is if someone said "Please take one home today!" and that the dogs were "cute!" and "cuddly!" Even in that case, one should always cite her sources. And on top of all that, this sign reeks of exclamation point diarrhea.

So, you see, the key in using emphasis is simply to avoid quotation marks, and by all means, DON'T BE EXCESSIVE!!!

missionary prayer

Jesus, where and who are Your true missionaries? I read [in From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya] about men like Paul and Peter who carried Your name without political baggage. If they were a citizen of [any] country, they were a citizen of the true, Holy Spirit-filled Church of God. And then there were believers like Polycarp and Perpetua, who would rather have... endured slaughter [and did!] than defame Your name!
And then I read about Boniface and Columba, to whom spreading the Gospel [seemed] to be more about expanding a political power agenda than exalting the Name above all Names! I don't know, and I can't judge, but things certainly looked different in their day than it seems You intended.
Where are the true missionaries? And may I be one of them?
I fear that [in America,]... to be a Christian means nothing; it's rather like saying one is a good citizen. And I want to be more than a good citizen. I want to be Your ambassador. In fact, if being Your child and ambassador means I have to be a bad citizen, let me be a bad citizen!
Give me the courage to love people. Give me the courage to exalt Your Name above all other names. Give the courage to die if that's the plan You have for me -- only so that the Name of Jesus Christ may be exalted and proclaimed.
Dear Lord -- my Father -- and dear Jesus, my Redeemer, I know in my heart that Jesus is the reason I can be forgiven of my deep sin and Jesus is the reason I can live eternally. But help these things make more sense to me so I can tell others about this miraculous plan for the salvation of mankind!...
All glory and honor to You. Amen.

written 28.october.2005

leota

I never saw her
eyes wander-
or judge.
They were steady
with trust.
And I trusted her.

Faith.
Love.
Joy.
They became her.
They were her clothing,
and I was her friend.

I need to trust her now
that the dice have been rolled
and it feels like gambling-
but it's not.

She just loves
so many people,
different than me,
distant from me.

And when
the distance
widens
the love
widens
too?