Sometimes the beauty of words just amazes me. The way that words can touch the soul, breathe life into the barren mind... it's just indescribable. Take our local McDonald's, for instance. They capture the hearts of the world with their sign out front, which reads: "WE ARE CELEBRATE THE PEOPLE DAY."
We are celebrate the people day.
We are celebrate the people day!
Can you feel the passion? It's almost as if the heart of McDonald himself just emanates from the restaurant. So few words can say so much. A splash of life -- with just a slice of mystery -- is enough to bring tears to one's eyes. This is poetry, this is life. This is a picture of hearts beating together: we are celebrate the people day.
Treasure it. Let it inspire you. And never let it go.
9/30/06
the test strip and the coward
It's Tuesday, and I look over at Isel. She's riding in my passenger's seat, chewing on one of my used blood-testing strips that I've tossed into the door handle compartment. I hope my inward gulp isn't splattered all over my face.
"But I've got to tell her!" I think. "She has no clue!"
"Sweetie, can you stop chewing on that?" I hear myself say... in my head. In real life, I don't say anything. I think: At least I don't have any communicable diseases. And she doesn't know what she's doing. Telling her -- the girl who freaks out when I pick up a moth ("Gross! Ew! Ew! Ew!") -- would only alarm her unnecessarily.
So I don't tell her. I grip the steering wheel and keep glancing over, hoping something big and important will capture her attention before she looks over at me with her dark Latina eyes and asks, "What is this thing anyway?"
"But I've got to tell her!" I think. "She has no clue!"
"Sweetie, can you stop chewing on that?" I hear myself say... in my head. In real life, I don't say anything. I think: At least I don't have any communicable diseases. And she doesn't know what she's doing. Telling her -- the girl who freaks out when I pick up a moth ("Gross! Ew! Ew! Ew!") -- would only alarm her unnecessarily.
So I don't tell her. I grip the steering wheel and keep glancing over, hoping something big and important will capture her attention before she looks over at me with her dark Latina eyes and asks, "What is this thing anyway?"
9/29/06
booksbooksbooksbooks
Hm.
So, do you think I'm in the middle of too many books right now? (See right panel.) They're all interesting, which is why I can't give up on them altogether. You know. That would just be wrong.
Reader survey: What books are you reading right now?
So, do you think I'm in the middle of too many books right now? (See right panel.) They're all interesting, which is why I can't give up on them altogether. You know. That would just be wrong.
Reader survey: What books are you reading right now?
9/28/06
i, nebuchadnezzar
I feel this pressure to write, but I don't have anything. I'm blank. I know the pressure comes from everybody-else-doing-it, and if everybody else is -- Rachel's friend Jill, newly-married Michelle -- well, then, by all means, I ought to be too. After all, I'm the "writer."
Till now, my blog hadn't been updated in probably weeks. When I read, all I can see is everyone else's proficiency in words and sentences, and my total lack thereof. Everything I write sounds the same.
I wish I could break free from my intense desire to compete, and really just write for the sheer joy of it. Then, when I read, I wouldn't feel so inadequate (or is it that I feel challenged?); I'd just glean the authors' beautiful harvest of words without feeling like I'm stealing their food. I do find some sense of joy in the writing process, but too often I just bask in the glow of "I wrote something comprehensible. I am a writer."
But writing isn't the only thing I macerate in pride. I do it with about everything, I just realized.
I wash the windows and think: "I bet these are the cleanest windows on the street, even if they're not perfect." I even said to Kyle yesterday: "I bet hardly anyone washes their windows." What was I thinking? That I deserved an extra pat on the back for being so above average?
And then I look at my successful pregnancy. I walk through my house and say to my imaginary inquirer: "Actually, I'm feeling great for being eight months pregnant! I never expected to feel so good at this stage." What a wonderful body I must have to be so suited for carrying and bearing children! Never mind the fact that the notoriously hard part -- childbirth -- looms somewhere in the future.
"At the end of twelve months [Nebuchadnezzar] walked in the palace of the kingdom of Babylon.
The king spake, and said, Is not this great Babylon, that I have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of my power, and for the honour of my majesty?" -Daniel 4. 29-30
And, well, we all know what happened to him for the next seven years.
Here's Kathleen Norris, who brought me back to earth (or maybe up from it): "Christians often speak of having a call to a particular form of ministry. But from the earliest churches, it has been brought to our attention that this is mostly a matter of a pedestrian inheritance. When Paul, in his first letter to the members of the church of Corinth, asks them to 'consider your own call,' he emphasizes that 'not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.' Declaring that it is for this very reason that God chose them, so that 'no one might boast in the presence of God' (1 Cor. 1: 26,29), Paul makes it clear that if we take inordinate pride in the spiritual gifts we have been blessed with, the joke is on us" (from Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith).
Till now, my blog hadn't been updated in probably weeks. When I read, all I can see is everyone else's proficiency in words and sentences, and my total lack thereof. Everything I write sounds the same.
I wish I could break free from my intense desire to compete, and really just write for the sheer joy of it. Then, when I read, I wouldn't feel so inadequate (or is it that I feel challenged?); I'd just glean the authors' beautiful harvest of words without feeling like I'm stealing their food. I do find some sense of joy in the writing process, but too often I just bask in the glow of "I wrote something comprehensible. I am a writer."
But writing isn't the only thing I macerate in pride. I do it with about everything, I just realized.
I wash the windows and think: "I bet these are the cleanest windows on the street, even if they're not perfect." I even said to Kyle yesterday: "I bet hardly anyone washes their windows." What was I thinking? That I deserved an extra pat on the back for being so above average?
And then I look at my successful pregnancy. I walk through my house and say to my imaginary inquirer: "Actually, I'm feeling great for being eight months pregnant! I never expected to feel so good at this stage." What a wonderful body I must have to be so suited for carrying and bearing children! Never mind the fact that the notoriously hard part -- childbirth -- looms somewhere in the future.
"At the end of twelve months [Nebuchadnezzar] walked in the palace of the kingdom of Babylon.
The king spake, and said, Is not this great Babylon, that I have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of my power, and for the honour of my majesty?" -Daniel 4. 29-30
And, well, we all know what happened to him for the next seven years.
Here's Kathleen Norris, who brought me back to earth (or maybe up from it): "Christians often speak of having a call to a particular form of ministry. But from the earliest churches, it has been brought to our attention that this is mostly a matter of a pedestrian inheritance. When Paul, in his first letter to the members of the church of Corinth, asks them to 'consider your own call,' he emphasizes that 'not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.' Declaring that it is for this very reason that God chose them, so that 'no one might boast in the presence of God' (1 Cor. 1: 26,29), Paul makes it clear that if we take inordinate pride in the spiritual gifts we have been blessed with, the joke is on us" (from Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith).
displacement
And so in spite of city life
sucking,
it is my home.
I live here and
happen to believe
God put me here.
And in spite of it being
unhealthy--
or whatever--
perhaps it bolsters
my immunity.
Perhaps it teaches me
lessons that
your town never could.
sucking,
it is my home.
I live here and
happen to believe
God put me here.
And in spite of it being
unhealthy--
or whatever--
perhaps it bolsters
my immunity.
Perhaps it teaches me
lessons that
your town never could.
9/8/06
temple
Shoddy human, did you know you're enough? Did you know what you've been given is... enough to be the temple of the Holy Spirit? Did you know that? 'Cause I don't mean to insult your intelligence or anything, but... you really don't seem to know it. Or at least you don't seem to believe it. You keep sitting around, like you're waiting for God to make your muscles more capable of lifting, your heart more capable of caring. And I don't know, but I've been watching you for a long time, and nothing seems to be happening. At least nothing beyond what's already happened. You just keep sitting, waiting. And I just keep watching you.
There was this news bulletin awhile back, and I'm sure you saw it, 'cause... well... quite frankly, everybody else saw it. But in case you forgot what all the hype was about: the Holy Spirit's moved in, along with all His stuff, and that's, like... everything. You don't need anything else.
Just wanted to make sure you knew that.
There was this news bulletin awhile back, and I'm sure you saw it, 'cause... well... quite frankly, everybody else saw it. But in case you forgot what all the hype was about: the Holy Spirit's moved in, along with all His stuff, and that's, like... everything. You don't need anything else.
Just wanted to make sure you knew that.
9/5/06
summer's last hurrah
They called it "summer's last hurrah," but here it rained all day, which was okay with me. We listened to the rain and to each other. We bought hot drinks and could at long last enjoy them. I counted the weeks left -- one, two, three... seven-and-a-half -- and knew we wouldn't have much time left to just do nothing.
Summer's over; fall's coming. I love fall, so I think it'll all be okay. The dripping rain keeps my heart from pounding, so I close my eyes and listen. It teaches me to stop... and read... and praise... and wait. And the next day, the memory'll remind me to sit and listen to the fountain splashing on the water. It'll teach me to be calm about wondering what tomorrow brings. God knows so I don't have to.
Summer's over; fall's coming. I love fall, so I think it'll all be okay. The dripping rain keeps my heart from pounding, so I close my eyes and listen. It teaches me to stop... and read... and praise... and wait. And the next day, the memory'll remind me to sit and listen to the fountain splashing on the water. It'll teach me to be calm about wondering what tomorrow brings. God knows so I don't have to.
carnality
for not caring,
for not wanting
to try
or feel
or live,
for wanting to go back
to the mundane,
the earthly,
the everyday--
forgive me.
for not wanting
to try
or feel
or live,
for wanting to go back
to the mundane,
the earthly,
the everyday--
forgive me.
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