Part VIIII

Listening to Adele. Playing Gears. Drinking iced-tea. Unsweet. Wearing paintclothes for no particular reason but I'm ready dear friend, for the day.

Happy Anniversary.

It's been 9 years of words exchanged over this enchanted device. And in the midst of having friends that make me think why even bother having enemies, I have you, and I wanted to remind you Narnia is real in the midst of pain and elusive gmail archiving problems. Don't cease to believe. It is the one tragic thing I could not bear in this life, and

If encouraging you is one of my sole purposii in life I am happy to do it. Because you my dear one, are priceless.

It's been a few weeks since I heard from you, and though you can't feel it, there is magic humming at your fingertips- that table is a series of molecules moving at a rate we can't perceive- we run our fingers over the smooth and cool of the surface. It seems so ordinary and we look out- the way the wind whips right now through the sky into the tree, trouncing the leaves they twist shudder and unfurl. They bend but don't break. They fly off and out and the tree won't forget them. The way my cat's whiskers arch and twitch as he yawns. The way the light dances through the eye, the way our muscles move into smiles. The breath, deep in a sigh our whole body responds aching for peace. Rest be with us this day. God be faithful. Bring unity to our hearts and bodies. Bring us to wholeness.

Can I understand the miracle of my hands?
To be silent and let it pass without an exclamation?
To leave you there disbelieving in your extraordinary life?
When look how you are and how much God must love you.
My heart beats fast at the thought.

Let me run into the yard and disappear into space.
And I just went to try but the hose needed to be moved and Twist was mewing at me and I picked her up. That green of her eyes staring wide at me and the pincing of her claws as she wonders why the water is disturbing her rest. She mews. She mews. Her fur a midnight with streaking stars. And the morning glory blooming that ostentatious purple mocking me and the weeds taking over the orderly roses. And the warmth of my flipflops against the sun. And I heard no need to fall away up and out and into because I am right here. You haven't far to go. Sit beside me.

I will, always and forever Penelope,
m.


 

Currently,

It's down to 89 in the house and I'm stabbing at the 2nd frozen block of coffee willing it to melt faster. It's only a matter of time, given the temp, as I watch JeffGo/db/um become a doily salesmen on P0rtlandia. In the 2nd season didn't he play a knot salesmen? I'm not sure.

It reached 101 in shade today. I ate like 4 nectarines and frozen yogurt and one of those chocolate dips from mcds. I bought a giant bag of ice, too. And played gears of war and painted the closet and hallway all day. I thought I couldn't go on but I rallied to finish the 2nd coat on the closet. And feel I did a good days work with the looming jejusarah visit.

You raise an interesting question about narrative threads. A favorite topic of mine, as we are a month shy of our 9 year blog-iversary. (I just finished the coffee. It was amazing. My tongue is numb.) Ok so right threads- I want to hear more. Based on what you've said it occurs to me it all depends on how you read a book in the first place. I remember with horror contemplating your? and my moms, skip to the end to see how it works out before you invest. But then equally your refusal to tell me what happened in a certain book series. I tend to like to know as little as possible going on beforehand, but for certain things to know the arch of a movie or book I wont read doesn't bother me. Oh and what sort of book are we talking? Ulysses? Something by Thomas Pynchon? Or more lately and boringly by Ford Madox Ford, or Proust or I don't know- c.s. lewis? Sometimes I do rightly think i'm in Narnia. And those are the best days. The world isn't as concrete as we sometimes make it out to be. And on the worst days i'm trapped in a descriptive paragraph that wont end for the semi-colons, or worse I've stumbled into into The sound and fury and my head explodes in confusion because i'm not used to fragmented narrative yet. Remember when books actually caused your synapses to misfire do to the narrative construction?

But we're talking about real life... right right. A complicated interweb. I think each season does have distinct beginnings and ends and ok some take longer than others but I think they do and can be resolved. It builds, as frustrating as the waiting is, a sense of expectation... I suppose we have to look at what in our lives has been resolved. What's taken turns and twists. But then I'm talking to your sub-text. And that's not clear in what you expect and what you're staring at. Death is the finisher of all threads is It not? Ha knot. Anyway. Oh not that your sub-text is death. You did mention joy and patience. I think there's a lot of things we can cultivate through discipline, and routine but I think only so much can be done unless God increases our natural capacities. Otherwise it's just work right? Ugh. Who wants it. I asked God to be my work boss a few days ago and then was immediately sending complaints about the tasks and it came down to me asking Him to give me the strength to do it then, and he happily obliges most days when I remember to actually ask and not just sit mired. But then conversely so much is gained in laboring through things. It's hard in this heat.

Humm.

Based on a word from autumn when I first got back - I wrote on my mirror 1. worship 2. be responsible. And I find not much is done but berating myself for crimes against productivity if I start with 2. I see my list like violations mounting a case against me and setting me for failure at the outset. And I sit in judgment of myself and so accomplish nothing. But if I literally put on worship music, sing or hum some tunes over breakfast or just put it playing on in the room that needs to be conquered my mind is overcome and I am suddenly kinetic in a way that sheer will won't accomplish. I think it reorients the focus. In a way that literally makes all things possible. I want to remember this. It has made all the difference since I've been back. We can't hold onto this all the time, but perhaps it's like a morning offering to face the day/maybe not the day- but the maker of the day- and keep the rest for peripheral vision.

I think back to being radically healed from the church and I thought like you about this narrative thread that it would never be resolved. I was miserable in community. I showed up, not knowing what else to do, not realizing that was the thing itself- to just be there- and that God was working in a way I couldn't perceive, so that one day as someone prayed for me I felt it break over me and it was literally done. God has those sorts of things in store for all of us if we pursue him and his promises for us- I think? and for YOU. sometimes we so closely associate our identities with our wounds that we can't tell the difference. Or we think somehow the wound is us. And it isn't. The hurts, the deep places. Those can be renovated. They can be like this one spiritual one for me broken open and excised. So I suppose that's what I ultimately mean about expectation- some I suppose not ever resolved on this side of Armageddon but then, a lot will be and can be in the interim. Which to bring it back- how amazing freedom in Christ really is. And all those debates worthwhile over MM. It is a choice. It is never done without community, but it's something so worthwhile once you walk into it. Shame doesn't have to be a part of everyday life. Shouldn't be.

Well anyway list making for tomorrow and handing it over to God- a new thought pattern- here have this- this is what I need, this is what worries me, and then ok, i'm going to get to work. (obviously with lots of cold things breaks- this weather shows no signs of letting)

xoxoxo,
m

 

Penelope.

Hello, from across the continent. I'm listening to Bon Iver and Param is by my feet. And I'm up past my usual bed time of 10pm at least this last week. I can feel the rhythms evening out as each thing is accomplished, and hammering asphalt intermittently during the day as my upperbody building exercises is enough to make my eyes lightly mist up in encouragement that even that - this measurable output 1/3 done- Sure even as I sat and sighed deeply in satisfaction at 2/5 gardenias planted I noted that they're being attacked by something and that the 2/3 is long as the day is hot in August. But still. We do what we can. We do it where we're at and we don't wait to be anywhere else. To suddenly have money. For pigs to fly. For things to alter themselves when they have always been the way they are.

Mom said that painting the bathroom was not akin to climbing Everest and I quipped and she hurumphed. But each room I think is a mental and emotional battle against my own internal grudges. Deep-seated. Grooves that go really far down into my own heart of darkness. Grooves that have me loosing my shit over craptastic drywall work- lines everywhere, lines cracking through the primer, drywall not flush to the door jamb, weird fucking wonky not perfect shit. I look at the spider like smash I made in the enamel of the bathtub- 3+ years ago by now and I think I made that. I was tired. I swung and I missed and I knew I had to put the sledge hammer down. But this drywall business is just half-assery. I get it. I'm guilty of it, like the floor- there's lines aren't there. But this guy they hired and my dad know better. They aren't novice hacks. I don't know why it enrages me so. Maybe because I feel i'm doing this by myself against the stream of fuckall. I had worship music going for a good while just to push through the inevitably toxic mental churning.

Still it didn't stop me having to scream at someone (poor mom) of the shit job- surely someone has to know. Someone else besides me in my own head all by myself, as I spend each day fighting the gremlins from room to room. And then of course somehow got into a fight with Amber where she was prompted to hold against me all the things she's done for me that I thought were generous of her but apparently not, so of course I should do just this thing out of 'you owe me'. Don't you? And I was reminded of the MM part where he talks about how we economize relationships- and I thought ok i'm not going to do that. I won't tit-for-tat this. But then it led me to wonder what other resentments other people were stacking against me. It goes to what we can possibly repay. We can't. I'm in enough debt as it is- I simply can't keep account to balance out friends- but it's a new way. A new groove. To burn the ledger- and how to love through and in that space. I can't say I know what that looks like.

It's control too and the perfection you know time and money can execute for you. To just have it done. To not labor. As if nothing is learned, gathered or built in the doing of things. Are they really time stealers- or are they like washing the whiteboards or waxing the car- the discipline of carrying through and doing and being mundane creation and maintaining- and how we behave in those spaces and the decisions we make to keep going- hacking at the asphalt, letting the lines lie- weeping, gnashing and then rubbing the imbedded gravel out of our knees and we keep going- to find peace in an imperfect space. To find peace in ourselves.

And then in those meditative spaces I think- God, you must not care about me as I sit here in this imperfect mess and you don't deliver me from it with bags of money or a husband or a friend who won't inevitably hold it against me if I ask for help. And then I hear, it's not important. But I think that's me thinking what God would say, and then I argue back but it's important to me. But then I think what's the aim and the aim isn't perfection, and I think God would agree with me on that. And then what it is - relationship- in those spaces with God and myself in the concrete, and in those spaces in my heart that all of these things trigger. Pondering the verses below as things fly through my head, as I shrug my shoulders from the tension and crack my wrists from the overwork. It would be better if Jesus be my arbiter- against accusations of who I am in the world and to others. It will never be enough without him. So the power of such things must be to walk in faith through them- the small that would make us small- to define myself not by the cracked lines of an atom among many, but by him, who makes me heir and calls me daughter. I have to believe I'll be the better for it.

^2cor10:3 For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. ⁴ The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. ⁵ We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

lao-tong

i more than disagree- if disagree means "no". what i feel about equating what i've spent the last 5 years of my life doing with a demonic and/or occasionally hoax like farcical practice that is the ouiji board, can be more accurately described as slightly offended with a main course of that hurts my heart. granted you're not out right telling me to fuckoff, and i appreciate the honesty which is why how can i possibly rail- that's where you're at. it's what you're feeling. i mean yes, i would remind you that the words my mom got and prayed for you weren't demonic, or made up or entirely hers, and they seemed at the time to minister to you- but maybe i misunderstood. i mean leave me out of it entirely and I know God will continue to minister and care for you, but it is a way to cultivate a deeper relationship with God, and it's true i have to resist control, but let me just acknowledge the divide it creates, and the disappointment over something that can't be shared and infact in an instant is being rejected. It hurts. Also though it may not seem like it- since i am seen as a usually very forceful person- sharing something like that with you, and trying to open the door to a large part of my life and going so far as to practice it with you was me being vulnerable-- and excited and expectant.

And that's my own balloon, and the air escaping it and whining out. So I have to take responsibility for it. And that's not yours. But as you sit with your anxiety and worry over the unnamed things. I sit with mine as well for you, on your behalf, along with my ownbags on the curb. And that is not just entirely yours.  I see the trapped and fluttering distressed thing. I share it with you because I love and care for you. Our stories are never are own. They reach out beyond us. As they should. They are not for us. We cannot accurately see ourselves anyway. We are all entwined. And that speaks just as much to covenant and community too. A book apparently i am already a chapter behind on.

Currently, unrelated, i managed to make a necklace. I take this as major breakthrough, and I hope tricia likes it. Besides we are being assailed with hot weather. I'm drinking an unpleasant blackberry jasmine tea or some such and i'm going to go watch the end of miss marple's 'a murder announced', and just the other night a giant raccoon snuck in the backdoor to eat the cat food. The nerve. I wonder if he's what's killing our lawn. A giant spreading patch.

Otherwise the bedframe is 1/2 stained. The room is 1/2 done along with everything else everywhere. But it seems like it's getting on. With every hedge i trim, and angel trumpet i manage to plant. Seems like something is happening. The peaches are delicious. And the abandoned bags of grapefruit in my car make it smell really good. And i did almost cry when danica wondered where all my dresses had got to, but i can only assume God has ones that fit me in store for me. Or he doesn't- and i'll have to make do.

Good night dear friend. Goodnight.
m.



 

Penolin,

Hello, it is my turn to write you. I received your last letter. I love the rose and the keys. Enclosed you'll find updates to the house, badly captured but there they are, etc.

Let's talk God. Obviously I'm being baited on both sides and i finally feel mentally cogent enough to address it. (not baited in a badway, as i feel God is His own best defender) Nevermind that yesterday, unrelated, I had this idea to have breaded chicken strips for breakfast and 2 pieces of frenchbread as toast. I threw up the chicken like a cat that overate within 1minute of the exchange. Trauma. I was out due to weirdness for the rest of the day. So it's not that we can't argue inexplicable things happen to people. And on the otherside LL's movie tithes 10% of whatever donations they receive to random people. And everyone takes a turn. When i saw LL on Saturday she gave me a small bundle of $20 notes. And she went on to explain, as i recalled what they do with God's money. And she says its not often they have it, but that she felt she was to give it to me. I had an overdue student loan bill for $119.76. They gave me $120.00.

I'm reminded of this conversation I had with Matt, like myself was inundated with legalism and religion from VCS but likewise had an opening to the spiritual side of life- so it's not that your and bruckners Catholic baggage is vastly different then our conservative evangelical non-denom baggage. It is specific though. It does carry certain things. He, like I once did, shares the same reticence of overt-God talk. The context always being judgment, condemnation, an inablility to communicate what is profound and personal. Believe this or else. But I believe, you believe whatever you want. But his brother and sister went to an even hoightier non-religious school and have no experience of overt God talk- as i tried to explain to him. And that sharing who Jesus is, is not a slap in the face that we can sometimes think it is. Jesus is radical. There is no other religion on earth that has what He has. It is not LOVE in the air-fairy sense. It is forgiveness. The concept of forgiveness so familiar to us is only because of our Christian heritage. You won't find it anywhere else. We take it for granted.

It goes to the core of who we think Jesus is. It's in your relationship with Him- that's where the power lies. The trappings of religiousness aside. Since hypocrisy is a crimson and too easy excuse to keep people out of the church. It should be to everyones great relief that belief in Jesus is not a pass toward perfection. It is an acknowledgment of being his, and being his by grace and mercy and choice and that we aren't from acceptance onward on some golden ladder upward to goodness in spite and because of the false things we do cling to. Except that being His we seek to be good but only through and by him- but its not an error free pass. From a personal place, most people who've encountered Jesus, think of Him as having saved them. That they don't have to carry their burdens anymore. That they are free. They can go from a place of desperate and clinging (trying to be 'good'/better people) to joy and freedom (being who they are, honest, broken, and wholly accepted and claimed by Him).

The arguments of the beautiful lost soul of Bruckner are common. Not less valid- but here knowledge of the Bible would go far to help walk with him in his observations. The people and stories of the bible say the same thing. They shout the same grief and tension of living in this world. Psalms for instance. Parts of Romans etc. Book after book infact. Brilliant wisdom in the heros of the stories- but glaring faults. Because i'm not arguing in the strict sense my answer is that nature itself is out of alignment, just like we ourselves are fallen. And while evil is allowed, i dont think God causes it. Can i easily explain this no, so i humbly submit we aren't arguing from an intellectual or theological base but experientally- which is why we'll return to Jesus. And a conversation that always starts from a lack of experience, and a very serious need to have experience. We are all looking for Him.

I am hesitant to believe Bruckner has had no experience of God though. But if he hasn't then i would say to ask God to prove He's there. And ask specifically how He could show up. It's an opening. It's a start. And the church as an institution is prone to corruption because we are prone and start from a place of corruption. Which is why it starts with Jesus. And ends with him.

The girl in laung namtha asked if she really had to forgive people- a basic, one of the most profound tenants of Christianity. A struggle. A journey. All of those words. Of the hows and whys. But still not less powerful because of it. It's not a debasement. Grudges, anger, hate, fear, anxiety- all of those are words of bondage. But then this is a language and a story that is familiar to me. And can our need to forgive actually be placed toward God-- i think so. and toward ourselves, definitely.

And it's not that my relationship to Jesus isn't constantly undergoing change- there was something there in this scripture for me-- And when the men had come to him, they said, “John the Baptist has sent us to you, saying, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?’” ²¹ In that hour he healed many people of diseases and plagues and evil spirits, and on many who were blind he bestowed sight. ²² And he answered them, “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers^[e] are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them. ²³ And blessed is the one who is not offended by me.”

As i said, it had me weeping with relief. Some part of  me needed to know even now that Jesus is who he says he is. That like John the Baptist- in prison at the time, at the point of death- to know that all he proclaimed and heralded had come to pass and wasn't a lie. I think to reach out to God is an act of vulnerability. And to share the struggle or absence equally so. And to be in an honest place is the best one. I can say, more so now, that for me it's not proving a for or against- but that Jesus is who he says he is. And it is powerful and it is full of love.

And it's ok to not be at that point of speaking it out- but i do feel it's a worthy goal to walk toward- the concept of proclamation, and to ask God what that might look like- in a one day sort of way. Because it acknowledges who we are without him. I know we have natural capacities of 'good' just as we have capacities for certain 'evils'-- but to be assured in faith, in Christ- its not so much a phew i'm relieved, i dodged the hell bullet. And i got the heaven ticket- it is who he is for me right now, in the depth of my struggle. And who i am with him, and where i'd be without him. it's THEE STORY> your voice. A constant unending journey. I get what you say about showing vs. telling. And what you're cultivating in that, and it's true-- but it is also a protection against, if i fail, if i am this or that- then you won't blame it on me being christian kind of thing also. Or hold me to some impossible standard that we do and will fall short on-- but that's where being honest and humble come in, and where in our brokeness Jesus is allowed to enter in. The dark places-- to shed light in. To reveal. Allows people to breathe out their own darkness. Their own secrets. Their own chains they don't want to acknowledge or tell anyone about or ones they think by sheer will they can manage and fight their way through. Those places aren't of God you know, but it's where He needs to be. The power of being able to say THIS happened to me, and look where i am now. Look how God redeemed that wound. I was HERE and I met God and he slowly moved me to this place... That's no effort of will. It's a different kind of fight. It's his pleasure. It's his Glory- to free us.

He saves. I am forgiven. No struggle. No burden. He is with me. I am His. I try to pick them all up again. To examine the ugliness of myself and all around. He calls me back. He says set it down. He says I love you.

All this talk excites me. I am infact happy to be baited. Because I can once again and over and over revisit how great His love for me is. And in turn reflect, whether you feel it or not how great His love is for you and for Bruckner. And how excited i am when people discover it and know it for themselves. There is a freedom in declaring it. The waters are abundant. Unceasing. Neverending.

let's keep talking... but for now we may return for a small reprieve to the changes in my living room. the toxic furniture is gone-- note the tv is staying along with the xbox. to which i will refer to as  my dowry should i ever have a husband.... the picture is there just because i like it. joannas couch is covered in red-- but a lush dark leather underneath that's gone a bit wonky because of some sealant melting and whatnot. how do we fix that?! my table, the one the parents made for my grandma... etc etc. the chest is going though- and the wall color will be something else as well. we'll see.

my bedroom waiting for a queensized bed... sanding, restaining, repainting...  oh and my 19 yr old cat marley.

 home- is a meditation that home is where the heart is, and my heart is with God as he is in mine... i need to put sealant on the floor to help with the staining dirt traffic problem. to the left is the tea corner- totally new and exciting. as well as recycling. that's where dad is convinced a dishwasher should go. to which i shrug my shoulders. note the light blue on the wall is new too. and in the far bg the curtains hanging over the pantry-- until i get cabinets? one day? and the plaid floor... i'd like to remove the carpets but that's not until i seal the floor. etc etc. so glad to have a picture taking device again.

my love to you from over here, m.
 

Gratitude,

Pen challenged me to come up with a list, since we're reading 'the good and beautiful God', which so far reads like a reminder if not a full explanation of very true things. It's a taste, or more like a hint of flavor, a bit heavily watered down but palatable? I don't know. Truth. It's working, generating some conversation- since Pen and I struggle so much in trying to communicate... so here it is. My thoughts on Gratitude...

IT IS an antithesis to expectation. It acknowledges the knowing, and being known. It seems it's heart is suffering, with a soul of God is Trustworthy. But I don't like talking about it. It seems a tender almost too private thing. It's like a gift that shouldn't be given on command or just because. When spoken without the story, it lies idle and dies, pictureless. It's too easy.

I pretty much reject it the minute anyone says that I should just go ahead and list what I'm grateful for like a build up to thanksgiving or as a just think, you could be way worse off- which always seemed to me a warped set of reasoning. I sense that to be obedient and disciplined I'd make practice of looking toward the good like i should. In doing so it protects me from the dark and that navel gazing self-destruction of dissatisfaction. Which i admit, for me has crescendoed this year, in the I can bear it no longer category. But I want to come toward it with sincerity. With feeling. Authenticity? I don't want the pain to be rebuffed, or the questioning either- I've done it, and will to other people, because when there is no answer, what else can you do. Direct them toward the light. It is hard to mourn and grieve with others without going a step further into bitterness. When your heart turns and sets in a brittle way that it was never meant to be- so we sidestep. It's hard to ride the road of the psalmist- with their weary bones, and their beseiged by the enemy, and the cry of Lord, are you with us? Where are you? TO...the final end of the passage when they say, walk and wait in the Lord, because He hears me and He is Good.

Everyone's cup of suffering, I think, is unique to them, and what one can bear destroys another. I guess i don't want my gratefulness to destroy the struggle, the tension-- the journey? I'm going through it. I don't want to stop and list off the things that keep me from drowning, because i don't know- it won't ever be enough to sustain me. It keeps me buoyant and light, with a beveled edge, but like suffering it's only the part and not the whole. Poor gratitude. I want to keep it unacknowledged. And it can be breathtaking- the vista- all the things in life that draw you in and keep you there-  when you look toward them, when you nurture and foster the light and hope of things-- but to me freedom, and that is what i want, contentment in all or inspite of circumstance-- and that is a hard road of leaving behind and arriving, and waiting. It is not an easy trust for sometimes faithless creatures. And sometimes I just need to imbibe it and not express it. I need to keep the still tender and fragile thing there until I can step back from the distance and the long line of time and say, this is the record of God's goodness.

But so far, and for now,

1. the glow of the lights on the christmas tree, the reflection of light on the bulbs. because it's the universe. it's the whole intricate mess of creation.
2. my cats: the instinctual, trust to be built, looking at you and ascertaining, and building over time as the two natures of us and them collide and come together. those eyes. that twitch of the tail.
3. my mom, the sustainer and keeper and signal of God's provision for me. the burden seems heavy and i unworthy.
4. the mountains, sugared with snow, stark and hot against the blue, or dappled in all shades- it reminds me that God is outside of time, that they wait for Him as we wait for Him.
5. prime rib, He created us to taste, and i thank these cows for their sacrifice everytime.
6. my friends, not less important than primerib, but they are a reflection of God's knowing, of his creativity, of His delight. they are my most important relationships. even if i were to be married he would not surpass them in their importance.
7. my car- she's just beautiful. she goes.
8. the reflection of light as the sun comes west- reminds me of magic and of things unseen- of shadows and dancing movement.
9. my garden - God's infinite variety, intricacy, specificity, order and chaos.
10. hot water, demanding i drop what holds me up and knots me in the day
11. my computer, to communicate, i want, and explore
12. television, books, movies... there it is the world, we can't look away
13. praying for people, talking to God, has always been a favorite- there is always so much to say even without a word
14. salt, flavor bursts.
15. sugar, enhances
16. fruit- canNOT get enough. not ever. it's a gift. it's a sign of things to come.
17. the santa ana winds, mystical calling forth, ushering, whipping through, they come unseen
18. el nino- it rains, it does, it will come.
19. the LA river, bird life, reminds me we are literally NOT a desert
20. California, i am of the land, she is in me, and in the fiber of my being
21. my ancestory- the web, how time passes, how things move and seperate, what it creates, the history it leaves in it's wake
22. my hands to type
23. my mouth to speak
24. the phrase: ex abundatia enim cordis os loquitor (out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks)
25. the bible-- what a passage of love, what a saga, what an inspired word
26. Jesus, he was not just a teacher, or a good person, he was both human and divine and he died for us
27. the holyspirit, my communicator, my guide, my counselor, who knows when words and groans cannot express
28. God- there He is. I cannot explain him.
29. the trinity- there they are altogether. it is inexplicable.
30. trees, shade- life, roots and all sorts of analogies. hug worthy alway
31. art supplies- who knew you could render the world in such infinite ways
32. jet planes, because of that john denver song and because of wunderlust
33. glitter- call it dust, call it a sign of all things heavenly
34. just laundered bedsheets, stepping into that newness makes me feel wholly secure and a bit giddy. i'mnot sure why.
35. waterfalls- i imagine it must be what God's glory looks like
36. the beach because it reminds me i am small and a part of something bigger
37. the mountain where i belong and am among and close enough to touch
38. nails, because i love to pick and scratch
39. eyes, hazel, to gaze, to ponder, like ears
40. hymns, at christmas freely express
41. ecclesia's home, that old pagan temple to the gods of entertainment redefined
42. mirrors, but not too closely and not all the time
43. teeth, to play with, like toes, like chin hairs
44. 7 continents, something solid and sure about the map
45. dolphins for making me cry when i see them leaping in the wild, because they are
46. dragons and knowing they must exist like unicorns, for their fierce flyingness and the fire thing that's cool too
47. music in general expresses emotion, come herald the morning with a sweet song
48. the way birds call and sing and fly- how focused, and about their lives they are
49. the lilies of the field, because i know how He cares for them though they live and die in a matter days
50. gardening, helps me stay connected to every analogy of such thingsin the Bible, a deep rooted understanding of stewardship, of caring for the land and the need to care for what is good in life, and the absolute way in which the dark can infiltrate-
51. dreams, God has us sleeping 1/3 of ourlives. makes me think i must be doing something while i'm lying there that has nothing to do with this reality.
52. little bits of things like origami bunnies, metal miniature etruscan horses, walnunts, dried oranges, leather purses, pictures, small bottles, feathers- the fascinating minutia
53. recounting the ordinary, that is where the life is
54. feet and hands, the record of someone so vital it rarely is recorded
55. wax, for candles, for feeling and burning and smelling and tactile loveliness, for polishing and enhancing
56. the sun, how it rises and sets
57. the darkblue glow before dawn, which to me is too pale, and that dark blue of prelight is where i like to live best
58. antiques, because of history, of story, of things that have come and will yet be
59. the written word, what a transaction
60. car washes because they are silly
61. mariokart because who doesn't want to race the world?
62. xbox where in i defeat ultimate evil or a gang of thugs, because that is right and it is good
63. the cello because i cannot play it but love the sound, so one day i will try just to touch it and know what it would be if i could and did
64. french, for the music of language, and how things once foreign can become known
65. it is the same with shakespeare, i can be bounded in a nutshell and think myself a king of infinite... but denmark, is a prison...
66. to the lighthouse- it grabs me that ennui
67. like proust, who goes on and on, and never quite grasps
68. archaeology for people who love to examine layers
69. dinosaurs because they were- it's habitat enrichment for humans
70. snow, for the way it transforms
71. empty city streets, jay walking, rollerblading, idly strolling, pondering disaster
72. the taste of flourless chocolate cake, divine, consuming, rapture
73. hummingbirds because they are too small and they go too fast, but when they take notice of you the whole world stops
74. chapstick and lotion, tending to the lips and skin
75. and gum for when you want to be productive
76. and meditating when you finally decide to rest and give it up to Him who gave you life
77. lists, for all that they are in their tyranny and beauty of there it goes one after the other
78. organization, aesthetic heaven, it's all coming together, the knowing of things
79. the crunch of kettle chips deafen but can't stop making loud sounds because i have to
80. like wind chimes, and bucket drums
81. for the mineral composition of everything in the universe
82. for people who seek impossible things, in delight and not slavery
83. for people who make it better and not worse
84. for carbonation, the fresh bite, the quench ahh
85. like bandaids and aloe plants that heal and cover and protect
86. like the solid front door and the substantial mantle
87. for wood floors that gloss and glide and reassure me
88. anything bbq, and cravings for longisland iced teas and certain types of martinis
89. quotable movies and good comedies
90. finally angels, they must exist, they do, there they are,
91. for the unexplained feelings of things we know to be true but can't record
92. what Love must be
93. what joy signals
94. the shadow of things to come
95. the feeling of finished things, of pushing through and accomplishing
96. the journey because i must
97. my chair
98. my blog
99. the revelation of truth, the shattering of secrets
100. the voice...

funny you should say -

“let us both be comfortable wading in the tide for now. the sea is warm and calm and not too deep. maybe we'll float. and watch the clouds and see faces in them.”

Because in church this past Sunday – the non-boring class part, not the abnormally boring service part – we discussed a bit what motivates us every day, to get up and get going, which segued into a mention of our gifts. The two other people in class (summer and pre-summer Sundays do not apparently draw much of a crowd) were lucky enough to have not only recognized their gifts in their lives but channeled them into a practical occupation. And I, of course, have not. But said the idea of my gifts motivates me in life and in prayer; I just haven’t hit on that sure path, haven’t encountered the intersection of where gifts and practical purpose meet.

I thought of you too while I was saying and thinking all of this, because of course we’re sailing along in that boat together. Or paddling along in tandem on surfboards, as the case may be: the pastor brought up the metaphor of water and waiting for that perfect wave. How every now and then you might catch a wave, ride it for awhile, then it fizzles out. And repeat. And repeat. Until that perfect wave comes along and that’s the one you ride for a long while, sure and steady and soaring.

We’ve ridden some waves. They’ve fizzled. We’re waiting for the perfect one. And our faith says someday it’s going to come along.

In the meantime, friend – I’m with you; let’s wade.

Dear Bruckner,

Journeys also make for fine reading.
What sort of journey'ed tale did you have in mind? Mine is boring or if not quite boring mostly of the mind. For if truly we told the tale in concrete terms I've been sitting at this same desk for nigh on 2 years or more, with some jolts that may make it onto the scheme of life but otherwise my ass is sore as my bank account poor. The rest of the tale will not be so jaunty. It's like in that episode of 'Spaced' where daisy leaves this heartfelt note and the guys both go "skip to the ennnd". Just tonight when i was complaining and danica had to go make a frittata she said, skip to the end- i realize i struggle with encapsulating. Either I am completely cryptic or completely ridiculously longwinded. and even then i feel i'm missing something.

The journey to which you may be specifically alluding has to do with The Church. As somebody who has lately been studying the redemptive gifts i was identify'ed as RULER. It confirms every bossy impulse I've ever had. More on that later- But it also confirms how wrong this one particular person was in the worst interview I've ever had when she said I was waiting for life to happen to me (rulers totally don't do this. go manifest destiny! i am however waiting for something to rule.) and my essay told her nothing about me... my essay was about institutions and Rulers have serious issues with institutions as their principle is Freedom. We may or may not have a hard time respecting covenants and God-installed leadership. And so when my primary issues were with the Church, School and Family it really should've come as no surprise. It should've actually told her a lot. (It's near the anniversary of the Massacre.) I may or may not have to keep forgiving this woman in my mind who said i wasn't ready to help people and that I had to fight harder for freedom (as if its my initiative or strength that does the doing *snarf!)

But I digress. LIkE i said. S.T.T.E.

Anyway Bruckner, here is where the story starts (in vignettes) and it goes long.

1. the 20 something mom is bathing her daughter in the sink. she loves the light from the window. the daughter to this day loves the sink and likes to sit on the lip of it. the deep cool ceramic and the mint green tile. part of the mythology the mom is creating in the daughter is telling her this story: when you were a baby i was giving you a bath and i baptised you in the name of the father, in the name of the son, and in the name of the holy ghost. she motions with her hand the cupped water spilling over the infant head. and in that moment I felt the Lord heard me. i felt the Lord claim you as His. what the mom actually means is that, it was a special moment. but all she actually does-- she touches her heart to indicate the feeling. what the daughter believes, a divine anointing.

2. when the daughter was 3 she did not like DaddyLongLegs or worse yet, JuneBugs, that haunting buzzing thwacking sound. she remembers the fear of those particular bugs in her room. and her mom said, one night you screamed out really loud, I WANT GOD! the mom knows the Lord brought her to provide for the daughter and care for her. for she's the one removed the bug. the daughter sees it as a sign that God has long been instilled upon her heart. that she knew who was the utmost boss of her bossy self. from where does my help come from?!

3. when the daughter was 6 or so she was on the toilet talking to jesus. she was really worried she didn't have jesus' forgiveness. she really really wanted to make sure he loved her and accepted her. this worry was probably not unrelated to the fear she had of never passing each grade she was in. she felt irrespective of grades that something in the inbtw time of summer- something would go horribly wrong. am i saved jesus she'd ask? she'd hope yes yes yes. please FORGIVE me jesus. please love me.

4. along the way she became really upset at the devil. she remembers singing "if the devil doesn't like it he can sit on a tack!" she doesn't remember the rest of the song but here is part of it. i think it's appropriate the girl did not remember the joy part.

I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.
Where?  Down in my heart!
Where?  Down in my heart!
I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart,
down in my heart
down in my heart to stay.

And if the Devil doesn't like it he can sit on a tack.
OUCH
Sit on a tack.
OUCH
Sit on a tack.
And if the Devil doesn't like it he can sit on a tack
Sit on a tack today.

at the time the girl was stomping vigorously upon the wood floor. and she probably said a great many other things but she and the devil? they're not friends. later she became convinced that everything that happened to her in high school was his attempt to get her to abandon jesus. she was not incorrect.

5. she also sang this song a lot, and just like the other one there's more to the song but this is all she sang, over and over until the neighbor across the street yelled out the door SHUT UP and slammed it shut. later in life he got hauled away in cuffs as the cops confiscated bags of dope and shotguns. the girl was watching through a slit in the blinds.

I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice
To worship you, Oh my soul rejoice!
Take joy, my King, in what you hear
May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear...

6. the daughter also got used to telling the mother a great many dreams. she's sorry that blurry eyed from sleep in the bathroom and sitting on the toilet with her mom trapped in the shower she did not write a lot of the dreams down. many of them however included casting out demons. they included black amorphous spaces. they included a pressing and a threatening feeling. she remembers being jealous of a girl who heard angel wings once in highschool.

7. she sat through over 600 chapels (every wednesday or so for 13 years).

But i was going to tell you about Church. I read scripture when i was young and i wore robes and lit candles. But wait, the mother recently said,

8. the daughter liked to sit up front. she liked to talk too and her mother drew her pictures and encouraged her to write notes back and forth instead. she doesn't remember much about sunday school. this is before she sat in back with her arms crossed with her friend crystal. she had a car and they often went to get fro-yo or tacobell during the sermon. but the girl does remember the steps down where the robes were kept. it seemed mysterious, musty and holy.

9. and despite not understanding church must = coffee, her pastor cursed her in a couple ways: when she was around 12 or so she really just wanted to be a secretary. the desk, the organization- she really liked it. it hadn't occured to her to be anything more or less at the time. he said, you could be something better than that. and one time after a whipped creampie fight in the new youth room he whispered in her ear, i'm really disappointed in you, and then later after all the youth had gotten into trouble because of her, don't be surprised if they hate you. (the mother heard what the pastor said and was not happy). and then, you can't babysit our kids anymore. and then at a confirmation class the girl was making a cross with a pencil, knife and rubberband- the pastor threw the knife across the room and yelled, how old are you?! FIVE!?

10. the girl stopped going to church.

11. but the girl often sung

Father, I adore You
Lay my life before You
How I love You

Jesus, I adore You
Lay my life before You
How I love You

Spirit I adore You
Lay my life before You
How I love You

but the dad saw the song tucked into the vizer of her car once and the girl was sad it could not ever be for him. (she knew the signlanguage version too. ) he didn't mention it as he slid it back into place and neither did she.

12. meanwhile the girl found her way to a christian acting company on the base of a presybterian church. the route would be obvious but i don't have time to tell you about school too. anyway, she learned to pray in small groups better, and thought look at all these people practicing their faith and they're actors... they were not however good at being friends. (she knows they were family in the middle there but she doesn't have time to talk about the acting company either). but waiting for a sunday matinee show to start one day a woman named elaine saw her and said she should come to church sometime. she held out for the better part of 3 or 4 years but eventually she decided to give it a go. she was mostly bored there too, but she did like the occasional bibleclass and from there she hopped around churches- went kayaking, read the bible all the way through a couple times, found interest in the old stories, went on a mission trip to Alaska (near disasterous as it was profound) moved to chicago, kept going to church, found more profound moments of forgiveness, volunteered to paint fences, tried and failed to find biblestudies that didn't make her cringe, helped a girl to found campus crusade on her grad campus quite accidentally, and after she made the decision at 18 that if this was her faith she needed to speak about it and tell her friends, she found that her friends did not answer back. she entered a desert and by 2003 told God that in no uncertain terms she was done with church if she didn't have a community. waste of time. she should've known that after asking for peace and losing one friend after another, with the idea that God was her anchor and no one else... she found peace but thought she didn't quite know the cost, she should be careful what she prayed for.

13. so that in the midst of reaching out one particular day she met a girl named danica childs who was wearing white with queer black bangs and piercing blue eyes and in charge of a team going to turkey. it was a sort of nonspecific trip the girl needed. no orphans, just a tour. she didn't need to fit into some passionate demonstrance. just go. watch. pray. and there it began.

14. then she met a couple new to the church, and somehow found her way into the best biblestudy she's ever known. it lasted 2 years and ended abyssmially. but in the meantime it was family and it was beautiful. they dined together. played laser tag. the girl read of her own accord one of her first christian non-fic books. she prayed on the sides at the end of church services. she found comfort in the din of the really loud band and the non-traditional service. she didn't have to cringe everyttime she heard liturgy. there wasn't any. she decided in obedience to become a  member of the church after 12 years of on and off attendence.

15. they even had an 80's prom. that was near the beginning of the end. when the church itself began to crumble from the inside. it split. it hemorraged. it was a massacre. but the 80's prom was one of her favorite memories so far in life. she was ok with never going to church again but she was caught up in a conversation and she couldn't leave it midsentence. she renounced her membership however.

16. so that in 2005 she left with her rebel band and started something new. she grows ever tired of hearing the word founder. the word it was all of us, not you, not just the 7 no. and here's where despite the blur in the middle, gets hot and jungle like and a bit intense. but it's late and i've grown tired. but there amidst the survivors were fellow pages whom she liked and actors whom she tolerated, and somewhere in there the word 'calling' came. because the girl suddenly found herself in a position of obedience over mere desire. and that's where the pressure became crushing. and the word community became some sort of harbinger. a struggle. a crying out and a pain.

17. and i could tell you between here and there the word hate was uttered, the absolute horror of entering the building, the anguish of attending, of negotiating people who were once for me became against me, being innundated, working for, friending, and in the midst helping to run the prayer team and at the time not really understanding what it meant or what it could be but gradually catching on until my ego was crushed and my spirit so low i had to leave it and slog through thank god on the mercy of friendships and duty.

18. and then around 2009 as a man named mick prayed long i was healed FROM the church as he said BY the church, as my spiritual guide at the time said, FOR the church.i wish i had the time to describe it. if you've read this far my dear bruckner you tell me and i'll write more- but suffice to say i might have doubled over laughing. i might have stood weeping and gasping at the profound thing that broke over me- the legalism, the hypocrisy, the cynicism, the hurt, and all the lies, authority, feeling small and marginalized and gaping wound at my foot... healed.

19. and today i'm tired. i try to carry things when i should let the Lord. and the girl who saw demons still sees them though by this point she may have seen a giant angel munching on something dark and squirming. i smiled. the girl, she prayer walks. she breathes. the water is deep and clear as it is mysterious as it is sometimes unknowable. but anyway she's been walking this road a long time. and she grows weary. not of the call which is light, assuring and its pursuit is straight. its the people obviously and the long way in which to get the natives to understand the language she's speaking. she pursues it because she must. and does not quite understand how she found her self here. or where she'll go next. this middle part she thinks will work itself out in a few encapsulated moments 20 years from now. and obviously the problem is her. and the problem is the devil too. and things get muddy when you hear too much of everything but the Lord. and its not so much the work i put into Him but the work He puts into me. and the working out of a relationship in which it is essential to trust. He calls me to it this mess the church. of humanity.

20. but to be specific, more on the journey of me and the prayer council at my church later... the rest of this is merely prelude.

Penolin,

Hey you.

My heel pain is acting up (brief internet search, name, suggestions to abate issue, cursing the Fall due to constant maintenance of body/space/time, stagnating weightscale) but Danica and I walked our 2.19 miles and capped the morning off with tea. I went home and unbirthdaypacked my tea gear and put it in a lovely wood box to honor it and make it easily accessible. I then found the strength to get rid of/integrate an entire large box of stuff i moved home from chi with. . . 7 years later. Hey, i know letting go is a process. Like the pair of thick flannel pants my mom made me. I probably won't ever be regularly cold enough to wear them again. And that tambourine i wrote morbid poetry all over... and that pretty glistening gift box that i'll never use. All in give away. (And today I even practiced going through facebook without multi-tasking with music and or various programming going on in the background.) What else was in the box you ask? um, Towels. Totally important obviously. A bottle of vodka and various kitchen supplies. I sorted through 2 other boxes but decided to keep those intact due to the now legend 'rental move out date (circa non-specified). Mostly so that I'm left with stuff and don't cry if mom takes her rightfully owned bottle of cinnamon and I even have my own flatware. It's not like i'm suddenly going to be able to go nuts and buy new everything. And should i? I might need to buy more for parities? uh, but still. So you know- p.r.o.g.r.e.s.s. Also I have a bag of stuff I'm going to use for project 'mega shadow-box' if i ever get to it. And sure there's like those boxes in the attic. Which really have got to uh, go... one of these.days. Maybe.



And now that you ask, no, i don't understand the copious amounts of spice to necessitate a drawer. Since fresh is best. And mom will hopefully forgive my allocation of the drawer to our gum supply. We'll see. It might be a coup. And of course something has to go in the space where the big box was.


Besides all that, and in itself, this act, really important to not sitting listless and defeated, doing work, work that wants doing and makes me happy. And that even the great mendacious can improve on what she excels at. I even emailed the EDD and was like oh hey, missing claimform etc. Whatevs. And shaking my head that panicking for 2wks (latent) was the standard MO for me for.sommmme reason? Why? Some things i can't explain. But i've been developing a little hope that the working of me will find its way out. The paralyzed jobsearch. The artistic quandaries. Lack of husband. Missing tiles. And for now picking flowers. and doing the things I can do. Even if they seem ridiculous or shortsighted or not enough.

Also, love the ponderance of coincidence v. providence. I don't think its lack of faith. Maybe its best expressed as faith at work in you? The fact that you go from one to the other. That you see after a healthy dose of emotional reaction/skepticism/oblivious and render a more solid and hopeful view of all things working towards Gods glory, which in itself is unfathomable anyway. Because we can see perfect timing, the web, the correlation of events, working against us too, and yet, we come out ok anyway. The whatever it is, resolves itself, and we see the good and trust and all of it strengthing us against the dark and time... and i don't know. On all of that, on a very simple note, it allows God to work. If there were no chinks, you wouldn't have to be shown anything. You'd be looking and you wouldn't see. There is something to eyes that see, and ears that hear even if there is a delay. Something about blessed are the forgetful... for they are constantly surprised at the awesome? ;)



Whozizzle, so before I go back to watching x-files/s8/ep19 and the 3 remaining strawberries and pondering what else to do in the 'closet' and various drawers, here is a pick of ash and me. Hello us. I recognized her right away. And felt completely comfortable. I felt bad i made her talk so much and that i stuck her back in the car. But if her only experience of the beach was the LBC i'd die. Steve totally agreed with me (d's husband). But still. I mean i hope the margaritas and the beach were worth it, but you know. And ash was totally mellow and let me ask her everything with an air as if we'd had these sorts of conversations before, yes on our blogs, seperately, but never together. and that was lovely. And i bit my tongue about her needing to get her passport until she brought it up. And I can't wait to see her go.go.go. And look at that cool owl pendent she has there. Pretty fab. Anyway a definite success. I can't say that the blogging world for whatever anyone has said about it, has let me down, if all i ever did was meet ashley would be enough. And you and I and our letters. And my friends that you now know and the mysterious kurt, we talked about him too. These things are real even if they are just letters now worn away on my keyboard, they add up to something, a definitive impression, a care and concern beyond a blip and IPaddress, and that's beautiful.

to wayfarers,
m.