unearthing effigies

2006 Yellowstone National Park by micah holcombe

naive, i know. images take time to form. maturity takes time and experience. i am a novice painter/ artist and it takes me ages to complete a work. there is a small stack of unfinished drawings at a friend's house that i wonder when they will be complete. there are paintings left half finished and paintings i wish i would have never given away because of how youthful they are. there is also the voice of the perfectionist that screams, not good enough!

but, it can be something truly breathtaking to watch a painting form! sometimes there is already an image there that is beautiful just as it is; and every new brush stroke only enhances it.

sometimes the painting hides itself. but with trust, with kindness, with time-- the veil is lifted. what is revealed is sweeping vibrant hues of red; draping blues and purples; highlights of yellow and white; foundations indigo and black and gray; soft and lively greens; rich and earthy oranges and browns; and a tender mauve.

it's time to pick up the brush. and tear the veil.

passion

"I too can control the winds, Sir. I have a hurricane in me that will strip Spain bare if you dare to cross me!"

Cate Blanchett as Queen Bess

at least she had spain. i have no clue how to release this intensity. some days i hate my own morality.

a solemn scrooge

(edited three times; final draft 12/19)

twinkly lights, christmas songs, santa claus, wintery wonderylands, sleigh bells, mistletoe, shopping malls, holiday sales, bows and ribbons, presents, decorations, trees, wreaths, little elves--- bah humbug. this year i could do without them all. i've been asked many times about what i want for christmas, and i don't have an answer. i want to just forget it all this year.

this year i can only see the materialism, commercialism, self-absorbed consumerism, selfish ethnocentric arrogance, and a preoccupation with a gluttonous, ravenous, excessive desire for things. i decorate the house every year with garland and candles and a door wreath, i buy a real tree; but this year there is only an advent wreath my roommate made and a fake christmas tree that stands in the corner decorated solely with silly string and marshmallows (long story). i want to sell everything and get rid of all the waste that just takes up space.

this year i can only think of something we discussed at the church i attend now-- advent as a little lent, a time of repentance. i see the depth of fallenness within me and the world around me. i sting with disappointed hope. melancholy creeps in and i respond by wallowing in it. depression calls for fire and heaven to make its claim on this earth.

this year i feel deeply alone. i am about to lose the best roommate i have ever had (a dear friend) to politics and red tape. my singleness feels highlighted by glaring, flashing marquees as those nearest and dearest celebrate with a significant one. i celebrate for them and with them though my heart is cognizant of its longing to be loved.

so, this year, i buy less for others and require less from others. so this year, i repent and confess, forgive, offer grace. so this year, i try and hold my head up knowing i was made to love and appreciate those who have shown love to me.

the advent lament does end. i've been playing jeff buckley's 'hallelujah' all afternoon weeping over brokenness and my own broken-ness. ah, but... there is reason to hallelujah. it may be a weak one right now, but it's a hallelujah.

(i've changed this blog three times. i want to be true and honest to how i was feeling but remain hopeful. but i know there is reason to hope. i cannot deny it though circumstances cloud it. like, for example, there is anticipation. and there is redemption. there is a remembrance that glory fell, grace came, and the heavenlies descended to the dirtiest, grimiest places among the broken. two arms, two legs, two eyes, placenta, and a cry; and love, made perfect, takes his mother's breast in a bittersweet embrace. this is what frees the soul from being eternally locked in a monotonous, drab existence. radiohead- no surprises- shows a resignation to life as it is, an empty happiness. believe me, there are many things i can find joy in and over. but without some kind of saving grace, it is all truly meaningless.)

advent

winter's gray illuminates
all that is fallen;
snow's silence stills
the heart's striving;
the north wind's breath chills
all that is broken;
the lingering rain permeates
the soul's grieving.

laughter
gives way to mourning
praise
replaced by lament

white cries
save!
darkness groans
sanctify!
and this cobalt sphere wails
deliver!

lenten bread
hardened by age
and arrogance
swallowed
whole,
a life's rue;
taken
soberly,
consecrated,
unveils
luminary
hope.

vientos del cambio

the air was thick
the barometric pressure intensified
and something new blew in
a nameless season at hand

which way the current flows
only the conductor knows

la langue

too many words. too little reason. say less. speak less. in fewer words, more is found and more is revealed. 'when words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain' -- shakespeare

something was said directly to me yesterday when this particular individual was thinking out loud. the words were like nails in my chest; and though they were not meant to intentionally hurt, they held power just by being released. the words have fallen off and not implanted in me; forgiveness and forgetfulness are valuable tools in prying away at poisonous nails. but one learns because we all do it. i realized that i said something that night i wish had never come out of my mouth; it was on the brink of prejudice and could be construed that way. oh, be careful little tongue how you snap.

evidence and proof

I-35 the sunday after thanksgiving is a freeway not recommended to travel. after spending an hour and a half on a piece of highway that usually takes me forty-five minutes, it was already time to stretch the legs (mainly because sitting on a freeway is just a bit frustrating). i stopped at an unnamed business and headed straight to the bathroom. this particular bathroom was a very awkward one; instead of two stalls side by side there was one on the right and one on the left. i came in and stood in line at the back wall with one other lady. at the outside door of the restroom, there was a wheelchair. in walks another woman who stands to my left now that the other woman has entered a stall on my right. i know i am next; the lady on my left knows i am next in line. in walks a mother and child and they stand to my right. the stall on the left opens and it is the woman needing the wheel chair. the woman on my left knows her and helps her to her wheel chair; and i enter the stall. it is my turn.

ah, but then there is the mother with child. she is quite upset with me because she jumps to conclusions. she thinks i am a horrible person who pushes others aside in order to serve myself and get to the stall first. the evidence before her suggests it in full. postmodern thought leads her to conclude that the immediate form of evidence is in her personal observation-- that i am a thoughtless human and i stole a place in line in the bathroom. yet i know that her sensory perceptions are completely subjective. she doesn't know that and lays the burden of proof on what her eyes see. she wants to comment to the lady who she perceives was in line first but she doesn't want to say something while i am still there. she attempts to comment and gives me a nice tongue lashing with her eyes when i exit the stall. the clear and convincing evidence before her suggested i was in need of an eye-whacking. misanthropic sentiments lead us to believe humanity is going to hell in a hand basket. what the mother concludes based on her eye witness account is that i am proof of this theory. i chose not to defend myself. i chose to meditate on this experience without letting this woman know i am not such a bad apple in the hand basket of humanity. but what conclusions will she draw from this, from a perceived truth? and yet i know the truth. i have the whole truth before me, and i completely aware there is a whole truth.

it made me think how often i do this; believe one truth based on intuition and the evidence before me, before my senses. but what lies beyond, beyond the door before i entered, before my senses were aware of their environment? what lies in unknown thoughts and proofs?

there is evidence before me that suggests two (even three) completely different conclusions. but i don't see what is behind the door. i do not have the whole truth. there is a whole truth that will put every bit of perceived and unperceived evidence into a whole picture. i long for resolution, a verdict, and to know truth. but until that time, i wait with patient defiance and trust the Almighty, the maker of Heaven and Earth. for i know He is the way, the truth, and the life. in Him is justice not anarchy, peace not chaos, real truth not relative truth.

raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

okay, so i am allowed one cutsie wootsie post a year. this is it. won't happen again. had to do it though. brie and laurie, now you can see kara's gals....

aiden, zoe and nonna prepare to brace chilly dallas weather

zoe (full of life) visiting emily and bekah. zoe is walking at 10 months and i am pretty sure speaks fluent japanese. she is also an extreme extrovert, the life of the nursery.

aiden embraces her inner hippy. and yes, she is wearing short sleeves in fall. welcome to austin.

rosie cotton (we are a family of tolkien nerds), dad's one year old cavalier king charles spaniel, gave birth to seven absolutely adorable pups. seriously cute. seriously.

goooood momma who still loves a game of catch the frisbee. samwise is out hunting conies.

and something just purely goofy......

next post: how upton sinclair's the jungle changed the united states and why the fda needs a complete reformation (an attepmt to re-establish proof i am not a cutsie wootsie girly girl).

my song is love

thank you, joel, for the mixed cd. my brother knows me well. the music lured me in to a delicious mellow monday. the first song, a message-- lovely. i've been thinking lately about what it really means to love, and it frequently turns me to meditate on the most widely known scriptures on the subject. overused (which waters it down), but good stuff.

patient. kind. does not envy (ouch). it does not boast (?). it is not proud (hmm). it is not rude (okay). not self-seeking (woah). not easily angered. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. did i say, keeps no record of wrongs (personal reminder)? does not delight in evil. rejoices in truth.

always...

protects
trusts
hopes

perseveres (sigh)

never fails (whew. love wins, so i hear).

one important lesson i have learned through this-- it is completely a choice. a free will choice.

some days are diamonds, somedays are stone

it's a stony day. a seasonal one. a million and one songs play through my brain.

hard rock miners.... and i feel like i'm dyin' from mining for gold.

hello darkness my old friend. (you may be the sound of silence but your voice is abrasively soft.)

i went out walkin' through the streets paved with gold. lifted some stones....

it's time to write my own lyrics.

and maybe skip some stones.

God, please hear my broken hallelujah.

sin-tacks

me righter. knead ed.it or

to kill a mockingbird

okay mr. mockingbird,

it is time to fly. you are now beyond annoying. too bad you are protected by state law. i lived in the deep deep amazonian jungles of south america where i learned to bathe in a river and fish with a spear, where swimming with piranha was an every day occurrence and a sure way to lose a toe, where sloth and wild boar were minor threats compared to 10 foot boas, anacondas, and other poisonous slithering things. when we lived in a tribal setting for a month, my friend jonathan and i would go bird hunting with sling shots . i hated the idea of killing any creature, but the tribe ate birds like you for a snack. i hear it's good protein; maybe a little wild tasting but good with french fries... so I hear. mockingbird on a stick, anyone?

" Atticus said to Jem, "I'd rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you'll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever hear Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. "You're father's right," she said. "Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mocking bird."

Father, forgive me for I have sinned.

tonight's menu
-orange fowl wrapped in bacon on crussette toast
-mixed field greens nested with texas goat cheese and petite boiled wild eggs
-roasted urban mockingbird in a duck burgundy sauce with new potatoes and carmelized carrots
- latte gelato served on a bed of chocolate twigs

ruminations of a black evening gown

rumination 1

beg: someone stole the iphone

sg: "your phone?"

beg: no, the iphone.

sg: "your phone?"

beg: no. the I-PHONE.

sg: "your phone?"

beg, to self (losing patience): arg. explaining anything to an sg feels futile, sweet girl.


rumination 2

beg (to the upper crust): "you look lovely!"
uc (to beg): "and you look............................. (unenthusiastically and unsure how to respond) um, lovely."

yes, i only had 20 minutes to get ready; and yes, i did buy my $130 dress off the rack on sale for $84 dollars 5 days before; and yes, it was one size too big, and yes, i had been working all day without a break going on 3 hours of sleep; and yes, i only make one third of what it cost to put one of your children through one year of private pre-school. but cummon. even the upper crust know how to be polite.

rumination 3

guest 1: yeah, they said to talk to the lady in the black evening gown...

guest 2: that's hilarious. there are 100 ladies in black dresses.

beg (standing right beside them looking a bit official and the only black dress in the room): can i help you find something?

rumination 4

no, i am not cinderella racing to her pumpkin before the clock strikes midnight. i am a woman in a very long black evening gown running through a five star hotel on a mission (a bit sidney bristow-esk) seeking a group of lost sorority girls (okay, not so sidney and not at all cinderella). i did lose my glass slipper though. anybody seen it? anybody seen a group of hungry sorority girls? save a sorority girl, save the world (or at least find the raffle tickets and save the raffle).

rumination 5

silver fox-trot. need i say more? b.e.g. is very confused. why?... the eternal question.

rumination 6

note to self-- get more sleep the night before a big event. one needs one's brain when trying to explain anything to a drunk, loud, yelling crowd of wealthy, competitive, american consumers.

rumination finale

find other event to wear a black evening gown to when i am not so self conscious of being seen in said b.e.g. and when there is sweet company to share it with. also, watching animaniacs with dear friends is a perfect way for a b.e.g. to end an evening.

narf. okay, luv you. bah-bye.

stream of consciousness on a record player

what is it about a vinyl record that is so wholly comforting? the needle skips over the well worn grooves, grooves that can recount the past and the stories within. carole king's "tapestry" i can play over and over. i think we might be soul sisters though i prefer gilda's "national woman" to the original:) carole and i rode the train together a couple of times from jacksonville to miami as i sat in my lone seat pining for the man who had my heart and then broke it. at the time he was woven in to the words and the music. thirteen years later, carole and i still sing together though the man is no longer. the memories are still there of the clickity-clack clickity-clack hum the tracks made, who i was then, where my heart was, and all the lessons i needed to learn. at the time i was working on a ship stationed in jacksonville, fl. We were preparing to sail to the rebellion-torn, poverty stricken nation of haiti to take in relief supplies and hospital equipment. there were 100 crew members representing 19 different nations. the ship was a forty year old norwegian ferry; "fart" in norwegian means "stop", btw. some reason the tiny cabin i lived in was painted bright pink, and the roommate i shared it with was never there. i would go to johnny rockets at the jacksonville landing for special occasions , and sometimes i kept a stash of oreos in a zip lock for late night snackies. i drank powdered tea and my best friends were dutch and swiss. my theology was being tested through new ideas, new experiences, new people. and in the meantime, my boyfriend from home-- who lived in miami-- broke up with me (i still have a distaste for the florida keys, particularly key biscane). as my heart was breaking and learning to mend, i was being taught to trust and lean on the goodness of God in the heat of trial. praise him no matter what. no matter what. praise him in the bad times, praise him in the good. praise him. just praise. it stuck with me for a while; when i returned back from having my heart pummelled against the waves, i was told by a respected one that i was glowing. it was all in praising God, in trusting him. and then when i got home to texas i threw a tantrum and a pity party and gave up on the praising. bad idea.

carole and i also shared a journey with my sister kara. kara's cd player decided to give out at the beginning of a spring break trip to padre island and south padre island (we liked going to the beach together, going on road trips, etc). so we picked up the tapestry cd case and ended up singing every single song, remembering all the words (kara remembered "tapestry" much better than i did).

carole also reminds me of my mom because mom is the one who owned the 'tapestry' record in the first place. she liked folk music in the 70's and 80's and my tastes have been influenced by that. bread, john denver, carpenters, peter paul and mary, dan fogelberg, etc.... just to name a few.

thirteen years after the 'last train to jacksonville', i am still learning to lean on God, to trust him when circumstances look bleak, when i am ready to put down the armor and sword and crumble into someone's arms, to praise him- just praise him when the heart is weak, to not get caught up in my own mind and desires and wishes and emotions. just praise.

last week when trouble was raining down, i pulled out carole and danced. the sweet sounds of the crackling record reminded me that this is not the end. "way over yonder, is a place that i know, where i can find shelter from the hunger and cold.... i know when i get there the first thing i'll see is the sun shinin' golden, shinin' right down on me."

your kingdom come.

on earth as it is in heaven.

a mockingbird love story, protector of squirrels, and caterpillar jungle gym

so, i am being wooed by a two-winged, multi-tonal, sassing, plagiarizing feathered foul (i mean fowl). he has been completely unprovoked by any "home invasions", and for some reason for the past 6 weeks he has been coming to my door handle at work to mock me, taunt me, or is it just to woo? he'll come twice a day, peck at the glass, and then attempt to fly in. yesterday he did it six times. yes, six. mr. mockingbird, it is time to find something better to do (he didn't come back today; i guess i kinda miss him now).

yesterday after my morning exercise i was stretching silently on the porch and was disturbed suddenly by a ruckus coming from the bushes. squirrels usually do not make it on my list of cute fuzzy creatures to sympathize with, but this one was being ganged up on by 3 typically antagonistic felines. mercy kicked in. the squirrel hid right behind me as the hunters cornered their game. the cats circled around me but were too afraid to make a move. i armed myself with pecans (just to impede any attempts they might make), and another squirrel up in a tree sent down its threatening squirrely prayers in protection of its friend. the cats abandoned the hunt as my towering figure frightened them away, and the squirrel stayed scared stiff behind me for a while. when i offered him a pecan, he flew; i've never seen a squirrel jump like that. i hope one day he'll reconcile himself to me and we'll become the best of friends.

and lastly, i sat on my porch a couple of days ago talking on the phone (why can't we cellular companies get it right by allowing us to talk in our homes?) when i noticed a furry caterpillar climbing on my knee. i didn't feel him make it up my leg, but was none too happy to have this visitor on me. i gently flicked him off desiring not to harm him (but to give him a hope and a future), and i watched him land safely at the bottom of the stoop. two minutes later, guess who was staring me in the face? yes, he made it back up; so i flicked him gently once again. what a strange coincidence, i thought to myself. i continued to talk on the phone and chit chat when i looked down at my knee to a white blur. yes, once again. three times in a 10 minute span of time. this time i let him crawl to the other knee and make his way down.
well, yesterday i was sitting on the porch listening to a dear friend tell me a wonderful story of exciting news. sure enough, i looked down on my knee and guess who was there to greet me?

nature tales from my stoop in the burbs (correction; stoop in the city(?))

feminine observed

to be the fair maiden
and not the fair friend
to be the one pursued
and not the one pursuing
to be found lovely
and not found wanting
to be sought
and not to be the one seeking
to be first loved
and not to be the one pining
to be embraced
and not the one dreaming

this is what the woman within me cries

stayed

with patient defiance I wait
with quiet resistence I hold ground
with trust in the Creator of Heaven and Earth
I am unmoved

fate and hope are sealed in the hands of the Light of the World
His strong arm never leaves me
comforts me
supports me
holds me
and will not release me

uncertainty lies ahead
but i am certain of this;
that i will see evidence of the goodness of the Lord
while walking this terra firma

and so strength and tenacity
stay my feet
though my heart and spirit are tempted to crumble

and I wait for the Lord

language and laughter

Victor Borge-- a danish man speaking english creating his own version of a language that is not his mother tongue. and the video has dutch subtitles. gotta love it.

i love languages. i don't speak any fluently (english is still a bit of a struggle, i have to admit) though i wish i did, will strive to do so, and admire those who do. my spanish and french suffer at the hands of the other. even when i was in germany for a week and attempted to learn some of the language, i began to lose the little dutch i picked up (not that i picked up a little dutch person but the language). latin and italian are limited to music and opera and a handful of root words. o mio babbino caro anyone?

taking a second language a step further by inventing another language within that second language shows mastery and understanding and ultimately has a "way cool" factor (to use bad english).

i would have included these comments in the last post, but my html is very elementary.

so, here's to you, Victor Borge.

Victor Borge - Inflationary Language

a treasure (of inestimable worth)

"To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved."

George MacDonald

fallen

like the great knights, i too have fallen.
the traps set before me
and the snares meant for me
by the enemy's plotting hand
led me to madness
and his devious schemes.
self condemnation is its own demise
but what is on the other side
is not the expected harsh blow;
it is the face of mercy,
the voice of forgiveness
and kisses of grace.

the test

your tricks may have worked
in days of old;
this time
they could not stand.
what stayed purity
and held virtue?

ah, that mystery is hidden,
not to be unlocked
or awakened
until its time has come.

the old is past
and new things are nigh.
and what holds
the truest merit
is not in the corporeal
or sensation.

it is in the one who
holds the key and
guards the mystery.
and this altruistic
watchman
ardently waits
to release it
to one
and one alone.

in progress....

walking on water

Madeleine L'Engle 1918-2007

i just found out my favorite children's author, an inspirational artist and lover of the Word and the written word, passed away on thursday. this woman was tenacious and brave and persevering, bold and brash, willing to say things and do things and write things most christians flinch at. She had to persevere through resubmission and resubmission and rejection after rejection before her most noted work was published. Wrinkle was banned by many conservative Christians when it first came out. and she wrote books for children she knew would be too complicated for adults-- someone who understood 'childlike faith'.

i read all of her books as an adult and they truly challenged me. they asked me to step out of the concrete, the rational, the evident, and see a world beyond. she mixed science and fantasy, the literal and the figurative worlds. every challenge met in the other realms brought wisdom and application to reality of everyday. meg and vicky and polly all asked me to look at God with new eyes, to see him and know him beyond the temporal, beyond my cultural goggles, beyond my narrow world view. they also, though young teenagers, taught me to love, to appreciate men in a pure light.

when i first arrived back in austin, texas, i raided every half price bookstore seeking my Madeleine collection. my top shelf is a shrine now! one book really challenged me, one she wrote on art and faith called, Walking on Water. it touched me deeply. for years i had squashed my "artist" because i didn't know how it fit in with my heart's call to serve the King of Kings; and she challenged me to do what intuitively i knew. i had to create. and it is worship to the Almighty to do so!

somewhere buried in my files in a letter to Madeleine i never sent. i wish i would have and i wish i could have met her. she wasn't perfect; she was human. but she was honest. i am so glad for that. i hope i can merit just an ounce of her forthrightness. thank you, God, for Madeleine. the world will miss her, but she must be walking on water seeing your face. and i leave you with a little something from her wit and wisdom...

Children are often better believers than we are. A young friend of mine who works in a day-care center one day overheard a little boy say, "I want to die," and he meant it. She swept him into her lap to try and find out what was wrong that he should feel and say such a thing ... Everything was wrong. His parents were drinking, fighting, screaming, throwing furniture. His anguish at the violence at home had focused into a terror that someone was going to come take him away in the night. My young friend said to him, "I'm going to fix that for you. I'm going to send four guardian angels, one to stand at each corner of your bed. They will spread their wings around you, and you will be enclosed in their love, and no one will be able to take you away."
The next morning when he came to the day-care center she hurried to him, asking, "How did it go last night?"
He responded very seriously, "I think we can cut down on the angel guard. One will be enough. The flapping of their wings kept me awake."

refuge

the wearied warrior lay his heavy armor down for a moment of relief;he had fought with stalwart tenacity and had the bruises to prove it. there was a blanket of brush hiding him for this one fleeting breath of calm. the relentless enemy sought him night after night in the places where he had hoped to find sanctuary and peace. he knew the battle was not over yet. for this sacred momentary sigh in the lapse of fire gave room to reflection of strategies and schemes, mistakes and corrections, and a great awareness of thirst and pain. he foresaw the battles to come and started up preparing to grasp the hilt of his sword. exhaustion held him back though he was determined to stand and fight. just as he regained strength and prepared to defy this foolish foe, he was struck in his right shoulder by a toxic blade. darkness cloaked the hero.

the assailants congratulated themselves for their cunning mastery of such a man as this; and they left him for his own madness. the wound throbbed and his heart felt despair tinged with sadness; the warrior fell into a foggy stupor.

he wasn't aware of the length of time that had elapsed but as he regained consciousness, he heard the sweet fluent sound of an unadulterated voice. the cantor sang ballads of healing melodies, and he responded to the lyrical hymns awakening new harmony. autumn leaves fell about his head caressing his brow. everything was quiet though a light breeze moved the air with joy and clarity. the warrior sat up to find his wounds mended and his armor beside him. he walked forward, his feet cushioned with every step on the thick grass; further on he found a stream and bathed his face in its crisp water. as he journeyed into this sacred space, the light grew brighter and the songs grew louder. this was the safety, the shelter, the strong tower he had sought day after day. the warrior respired a great sigh; his heart's heaviness could be left here though he still clung to the grief of battle lost. the cantor's voice could be heard again with greater force and poignant energy. the song captured doubt and ensnared sorrow as it penetrated the hero's senses. the battle was not lost. the battle is not over. and victory is guaranteed.

...till I entered the sanctuary of God;
then I understood their final destiny.

intuitive

intuition speaks volumes these days
but the concrete voices caution

where do i ground my feet
where do i place trust

concrete is the sole of the civilized
though blinded eyes cannot see
what is beyond the outer walls of the microcosm
past the manipulated boundary
created to bring pseudo order
to an otherwise perplexing mystery

it exists whether it is acknowledged or not, with or without rational thought (especially without).

cognition without interference

it cannot be denied. but how far can it be trusted? am i intuitive or just plain crazy? verdict?

one word (times 7)

safe. peaceful. grateful.

contending still.

waiting patiently.

of philosophers and poets

Eliot, I am trying to wrap my mind around you and we are not in unity quite yet. I have great respect and admiration for you but I also desire understanding. I want to be reconciled to you. Will there be time? Will there be time before the taking of a toast and tea? Do I dare disturb the universe? It is impossible to say just what I mean! I formed a loose acquaintance, or rather an awareness of you five years ago through one who was well acquainted with you. Give me Shakespeare any day; but, you, sir... you are the philosopher. And I think it wise we know each other.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow.

I will attempt to know you and hope for a friendship with you. But until your human voice wakes me, I shall drown... myself in Dostoevsky. Please, no more shadows.

defining beauty

I uncovered beauty this morning, but I thought I would first research beauty to see what the www has uncovered. I googled beauty and clicked on images. What first appeared was pages and pages of women intermixed with pics of beauty treatments and flowers and food and animals. I then wiki'd beauty and found that our online encyclopedia source of all things known and unknown defines it: "Beauty is commonly defined as a characteristic present in a person, place, object or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure, meaning or satisfaction to the mind or to the eyes, arising from sensory manifestations such as a shape, color, personality, sound, design or rhythm". Physical beauty is a predominate theme throughout the definitions I found. Paris sought it in Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world. Beauty pageants run rampant throughout the earth, as our eye looks to quantify "beauty".

Plenty words have been written on the subject and the planet's problematic issues with beauty, so I will not go into any diatribes or soap boxes. Been there. Done that. Schumann, the composer, distinguishes beauty as either natural or poetic. Natural beauty is simply sensual delight. Poetic beauty begins where natural beauty leaves off. Ah, how this poet's soul feasted on those words. In the Old Testament, instances of beauty are first mentioned to describe Sarah and Rebekah and Leah. The first mention of of the word beauty is in Esther and then in Psalms where it is in reference to God. Proverbs addresses it as fleeting. And Peter states that unfading beauty is a gentle and quiet spirit, the closing word on beauty in the Bible.

So, after a very minimal search on a much sought after topic, I will attempt to describe what I saw. Poem to follow.

insomnia

tea at 9pm, drive to austin from dallas, smell starbucks at 11pm but decide to resist, responsibility, broken airconditioner, call brother at midnight, flip switches to attempt and repair air (hahaha), prepare mailing for respected one at one (am), write email to dear friend at one fifteen, change blog color as well as soul color at two am, play theme song, play theme song again, dance like a madperson, play theme song 7 times, dance crazy three am, and yes, i think i'll play theme song yet again. een kopje koffie? mmm. lekker lekker. and 345 ahhhh ehmeh; dance again? oh can't you see-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeeee? go. to. bed. okay, play it one last time. 4am. caffeine............ is.......... wearinggggg...................offffffffzzzzzzzzzzzz. and to love i rhapsodize. good night bono. good night moon. good night edge with your guitar maroon.

(regrets for posting this to follow soon)

to cheese or not to cheese

"The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." GK Chesterton

Mr. Chesterton, in response to your comment and in honor and admiration for your wit, I respectfully take up your challenge and vow to write an ode to a cheese, be it quark or brie or Gouda or blue. Quark won me over in the Netherlands though I do have a great appreciation for Brie (mainly my friend and some for the gooey, soft, ripened curd as well). Wallace, be my inspiration, sir; teach me your love for the smelly, coagulated substance you so obsess over. Mmmm, mascarpone, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.....

from temporal to transcendent

(in progress...)

I do not understand what his plans may be
but I do know what his plans are not;
the bruised he does not break,
the downcast man he will not abandon.

And what of the snares and traps
planned against those who live upright?
He allows them though we cry out as Job,
"Remember oh, God, that my life is but a breath!"

And faith is tried
and trust is tested
and hope seems loosed
to the doubt of a material and terrestrial sanctuary.

And the interior inquisitor takes his grip
as the questions flood in
like a raging river undammed,
"My God, Why!"

The blackness of dark
hides all form of tangible truth,
and light is swallowed
by an unwholesome void.

And what of the bruises and gashes,
the heart aches and hunger?
Pain appears to drain the soul of
life giving nectar and stores.

In those all-consuming moments
the agony whispers eminent demise
and the hurt screams,
"You are undone!"

The bandaid is ripped away
too fast and too soon.
Stunned by the shock though reeling in torment
the words of the poet king resound,
"What is the use in my going down?"

You will be crushed

You will suffer

You will know torment

You will experience misery and woe.

But you shall not be defeated
You will not be bested
You will not be conquered
You shall not be overcome.

There is a strength to be found,
and in that strength is righteous authority
that will cut down the fiercest foe,
power to destroy the wildest enemy.

There is a sword to wield,
and in that sword is unmanageable light,
light that voraciously seeks
to overcome shadowed distortions .

There is a refuge to hide in,
and in that refuge is a treasury of virtuous provision,
fountains and streams that heal
the wounded and wearied soul.

And yet we see with human eyes;
there is much left unknown.
Will the value and worth of these temporal oppressions
carry weight and meaning to the world transcendent?

Fire leaves the impurities behind
and polishes the precious metal.
Does faith remain and
trust stand firm?

Loose thy hope in realms
where decay and rot exist not,
where mercy lines the streets
and love reigns supreme.

© copyright micah holcombe 2007

proverbial reflection

wisdom
bind it around your neck
pursue it like a precious treasure
its worth is greater than jewels
for it is the greatest thing man can desire

love and faithfulness
bind them like a tablet on your heart
walk with them all your days
for they bring favor and sweet incense

knowledge and understanding
seek them with your whole being
go to the ends of the earth for them
for they are foundational and invaluable

sound judgement and discernment
preserve them
move in them with faith
do not let them stray
for they will be a graceful ornament around your neck

wisdom
her ways are pleasant
her paths are peace
her inheritance is honor
for she is a tree of life to all those who embrace her


reflecting proverbs 3

what say you?

i resolve to fly.

esperar

hope--
what a strange concept!
to put faith in something
that may or may not come to pass,
to trust that all will be well
whether or not what you hope in
will materialize

it is a grand risk-
sticking your neck out
unaware whether it will be chopped off
or embraced,
censured or favored.

logic suggests to safeguard
the heart and its aspirations,
to seek scientific confirmation
before placing confidence in
an obscure supposition and
absolute uncertainty

and yet how the heart
longs to soar to the heights
on the wings of that hope
and taste the sweet air
and rise out of the dark dens
of common knowledge and dusty reasoning.

Ah, the quandary! The dilemma!
What say you?
To Hope?
Or not to Hope?

to journey out in blind faith
and suffer precarious vulnerability
or to buttress in
and conserve a meek core?

don't you see the risks in both vices?
to stay within the fortress
will mean most certain protection
but no hope at all,
only life long imprisonment
and deplorable stagnancy.

but to give credence to
and to ascend forward in
an ambiguous prospect
with expectancy and postulation
will mean most probable pain
but also hope and flight and
unblemished liberation.

And again I ask,
will you hope or will you not?
Will you stay safe in the hidden crevices
of the mountainside
or will you venture forth
risking all for a dream
that holds inestimable worth?


© copyright micah holcombe 2007

the peasant and the queen

I woke up early to start the beauty ritual, applied "straightening serum" and attempted to straighten my curly locks, put on make-up, ironed my newest shirt, and hoped my ten (no, twelve) year old pants could hold up their end of the bargain. I was late for work preparing for this day. I was meeting the First Lady. Wow. Could anything be so surreal?

The day completely flew by. I lost track of time as my mind was occupied elsewhere. I looked at the clock at 5pm and rushed to reapply make-up, brush my teeth, and to take a deep breath. The "soiree" was a private reception in an intimate setting with the wealthy and powerful, the benefactor, the publisher, the editor, an author or two, the artist, the President's wife, and me- the peasant.

It was held in a quaint house just a thousand or so square feet larger than mine though in a neighborhood where prices are five times that of the one I live in (location, location, location). Secret Service cased the premises. I stepped in the front door greeted by a woman I hold in high regard, the Executive Director of the Texas Book Festival, and then was escorted to the dining room.

Standing at the end of the table was a beautiful face I had seen many times before, but never this close. It was as if it was the most natural thing to see her and at the same time the most un-natural. She entertains queens and heads-of-state, makes decisions that affect the wealthiest nation on the planet, sleeps next to the man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders (granted, the least popular man in the world as well), and this tiny, powerful woman is standing 4 feet in front of me. My boss asks the professional camera man to take a picture of me with the First Lady. There is a "receiving" line for her, and we are next. She knows my boss and asks how he is. He introduces me. I flatten my hand against my pants to make sure my palms aren't sweaty; yes, lets avoid a really embarrassing ordeal. I shake her hand and she repeats my name. I say, "It's very nice to meet you", though I wanted to say "it's an honor". So I throw that in there as well. Cameras flash in the background. My boss does all the talking, and the meeting lasts maybe 2 minutes. There is a line behind us and we are not the only people who desire an "audience with the queen". "It was nice to meet you." And we move on. I could have stared at her all night! Such a lovely lady in many ways.

Being greeted by Mary when we walked in did put me at greater ease, but it still was a very intimidating environment. I was aware that I was the poorest person in the room, but I was also aware that I was one of the tallest (literally heads above most). Several dead fish hand shakes met my naive, full one; there were a few strong ones as well. The Book Festival staff were friendly and helpful, and my boss is a very outgoing person-- so I was more relaxed than expected. I came out of hiding just a bit (like a timid turtle poking its head out), did utter one witty statement, and found good conversation with the computer tech and his girlfriend. We talked of literature and travel, two of my favorite subjects. By the end of the evening, my boss was dragging me away.

After my boss and I returned to the office, I met Deborah and Carla for tea. Yes, meeting the "queen" is exciting, an experience I won't soon forget. What a day, or rather evening, it was. I have to say though that ending the evening with friends and loved ones was truly the icing on the cake for me.

Follow this Statesman link on the event:

http://www.statesman.com/news/mplayer/news/26806

symptoms of an unknown malady

#1. i can't find the golden raisins!

where are the golden raisins!

i have been going in circles around this bulk section pushing this grocery cart everywhere and there are NO GOLDEN RAISINS ANYWHERE!

"Uh, ma'am?" (because I look 45 years old? No, it's just a good ole Texas boy though its hard to tell under his hip-hop exterior) "That's not your basket. It's my basket. I think that is your basket."

#2. why are my swimming goggles in my office with the paper clips and highlighters?

#3. 2am, attempting to dump out the pile of leftovers and extra juices from the evening meal, what looks to be the epitome of "pig slop", micah dumps the disgusting concoction all over the dryer, floor and her feet. laughter follows as well as a sour stomach.

#4. i've tried 3 times to get the internet back on! why won't the phone and the internet work? and it hits her. oh yeah, you have to remember to pay the bill in order for them to stay on...

#5. in a crucial moment where the boss in under pressure from a solicitor, he asks micah a question that she knows to answer in the affirmative but all sense is lost and she answers in the negative. next time, the boss says, we'll use cue cards.

#6. a day of great importance is upon her, the day when she gets to spend an hour and a half in the same room with the woman married to the most powerful man in the world, her thoughts are completely otherwise occupied and she completely loses track of the day. 5:00 rolls around and she has done nothing productive (okay, she made a couple of website updates at 9am).

Diagnosis?

possibilities:
-lost marbles (most likely)
-caffeine deficiency (probable)
-other (to gain a complete diagnosis I suggest full lobotomy)

Treatment?

Hopeless case. Must do the best we can to protect patient from destructive patterns of willy-nilly behaviors.

haiti december 1994

my Dove,

in the clefts of the rocks

in the hiding places on the mountainside

Show me your face
Let me hear your voice


For your voice is sweet
and your face is lovely

sos 2:14

independence day

she waited on the plinth for the guns to sound
and her feet were ready for the plunge.
the one thing that held her back was
an awareness of the barnacles that clung to her every side
and would slow her down.
fear gripped her that they would pull her under
and she would be lost to their weight.
these chattels had a power over her
and yet she retained mastery.
the word "Mark!" was shouted
and she regained her footing
placing one leg in front
with readiness for complete immersion.
as the pistol shot echoed
the heaviness of the barnacles seized her back
though only for a moment,
and she pushed forward in hopes of autonomy.
time and space ceased to exist just an instant
before the water had been broken.
the sharp, bold, frigid water took her breath away
as its long, fluid, wiry fingers
stung her "barnaclized" body.
she pressed onward
not with the grace and elegance of a dolphin
or a mermaid
but with the determination of a sinking ship.
hopeful though weak of heart
her clumsy glide did not deter her from
maintaining a firm resolve to swim
and finish well.
the barnacles began squeezing tighter
and attempting to muster command of this doubtful vessel.
one by one they stepped up and marshaled together
to form a cowardly mutiny.
several ensnared her leg.
others commandeered her shoulders.
another arrested her breast.
still yet another captured her throat
and choked her breath.
the tenacious swimmer
wanted to give way to this aggressive coup
but chose to fight and struggle and defend her authority.
all seemed lost as she sunk down in complete submersion
and she groped for a buoy of hope or a cord of sanctity.
somewhere in the soul's storehouses a remembrance
of truths and mercies, graces and absolution
aroused strength and faithful resolution.
light pierced the dark depths of her fateful battle and
courage rallied as she reached for the unseen salvation.
and just then a barnacle fell off.
and another.
and another.
slowly they began all falling off.
the swimmer ascended and encouraged by the lighter load,
she sailed on with greater speed than she had ever known.
one by one the barnacles relinquished their hold
and freedom set the captive free.
she regained fortification and set off for the course ahead
this time with renewed bearings.

this water maiden can still be found breaking waves
or descending to underwater depths with
a fresh sense of emancipation.
occasionally she forgets the barnacles have been removed,
and her stroke becomes awkward and uneasy.
but for the most part
she swims now with powerful fluidity
and graceful tranquility.

© copyright micah holcombe 2007


(rough draft)

dedicated to carla and deborah for their steadfast friendship and for keeping me in the water.

holometabolism

have you ever waited for a monarch to emerge from its chrysalis? i cannot tell you how much patience it takes to wait for it to happen. my next door neighbor had two monarchs as a gift from a dia de los muertos potluck, and i was so excited to be invited to wait and watch with them. the pupation (hate that word) can take only 2 weeks for the monarch; but there can be a dormancy stage as the pupa waits for the appropriate season. metabolic activity slows down until the environmental conditions are just right. its all about timing. it is a complete and whole metamorphosis, but everything has to happen in its time.

we waited and waited for the lepidoptera to find their escape. i thought it would never happen, waiting around with the patience of a 2 year old. one day i found ruth on the ground on her front lawn, and she called me over. it was happening! the monarch was emerging! even then, there was more waiting. the butterfly needs the struggle of emerging to strengthen its wings. the process cannot be forced or helped; it needs the time to develop. when it emerges, even then there is more waiting. the wings need to dry out before it can fly.

i sat with ruth for about 45 minutes. it was truly an amazing process; a patient process. i could have laid there on their lawn all day long. i was in awe of nature's process. ruth waited for quite a while; i had places to go though i was quite envious of the fact that she was privy to this monarch's maiden flight. when the second monarch emerged, i was there for take off. metamorphosis happens everyday but it held me in astonishment. as my 2 year old niece would say, it is "amaaaazing".

waiting is incredibly difficult but the end result of patience is far greater than forcing and manipulating metamorphosis. anticipation only intensifies the experience. and again i say, waiting is incredibly difficult. but the end result is something whole and complete, strong and flight worthy, awe inspiring and beautiful.

oh, and did i say waiting is difficult? (yes, i am feeling a bit childlike today)


photo by ruth airhart

the sieve and the fire

"Come on, let's go back to God. He hurt us, but he'll heal us. He hit us hard, but he'll put us right again." Hosea 6:1-3 the Message

A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice; Isaiah 42:3 NIV

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. 4Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. James 1:2-4 (I reaaaally struggle with this one. It is truth though)

And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. 3Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Romans 5:2-5 (Struggling with this one too at the moment. And again, it is true)

(and this one i like)

these things i have spoken to you that in me you might find peace. in this world you WILL have tribulation. BUT be of good cheer for I HAVE OVERCOME THE WORLD. Jesus

contemplating bizarre amalgamations

the preposterous union

"well uncle rat laughed and hit his fat side
to think miss mousie a froggy's bride, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh"

"what will the wedding supper be
a french fried mosquito and a black eyed pea, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh"

...reminiscing froggy going a courtin' today.

A tall tale of a horse who married a hedgehog to follow soon.

an icy wedding

I was looking for funny anecdotes and witty sayings today and found a very strange tale of an icy marriage. Empress Anna Ivanovna was quite displeased when Prince Mikhail Alekseyevich Galitzine decided to marry a Catholic Italian woman rather than an Eastern Orthodox one. His bride died within two years of the marriage. Anna still held the grudge and decided on retribution. First she forced the prince to become a jester and then she retaliated again by forcing him to marry an ugly woman, another court jester. After the wedding ceremony, the couple were paraded on the back of an elephant with a crowd of "freaks" as their processional. They were then taken to the ice palace Anna had especially built where the happy couple were forced to spend their first night of wedded bliss. The ice house was complete with ice dishes and ice sculptures and ice pillows and a four post ice bed. The bride and groom were locked in their frigid nuptial room, and miraculously survived the night. Nine months later the jesters gave birth to twins. The ice house melted by summertime.
And what is the moral of this wacky story, children? If one sleeps on an ice pillow, take extra caution not to drool.

source: Wikipedia and a few other far fetched info sites

look well

to the remembrance of grace
for follies of youthful fancies
and foolish blunders of blithe impulses
can either crush a remorseful soul
or admonish a contrite heart

forget not

He said not 'Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased'; but he said, 'Thou shalt not be overcome.'

Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love(1342 - 1416)

a "half" birthday

when my siblings and i were young whipper snappers we had a family tradition of the half birthday. since my parents had mother's day and father's day as well as birthdays, we asked for another excuse to celebrate, and my parents came up with the half birthday. we would have 1/2 of a cake and we could choose the meal and we were allowed to have one friend over. we would usually go somewhere, most likely hiking or camping.

today is my half birthday and i am thinking over the things I am truly thankful for through this trying, bizzare but fruitful summer. 1. i have a working car. i had thought and dreamt about my ideal vehicle-- a silver honda hybrid or hoping for subaru to introduce their own hybrid. silly me. i have a vehicle to drive, and i try to endear its crumpled hood as an ironic reminder that that God takes care of me. 2. i have a compassionate, good doctor who has helped me heal (dr. garrett bary if you are in the market for a chiropractor/acupunturist). 3. i have renewed friendships, friends who know me well, have supported me over the years, and hopefully who i have supported and loved as well. 4. through these lovely ladies i have found a love and appreciation for swimming again. swimming has helped not only my body heal and get stronger and healthy again but through it the Lord has revealed to me several things as i talk to him in the water and as we (deborah and carla) talk and pray together. 4. literature and art i cannot live without. they teach and reveal unknown beauty. 5. that my father is healthy and healing. 6. hope for what lies ahead.

maybe i'll go eat at gueros and find a half a piece of half-birthday cake. and no, revealing my age is no longer acceptable even though it is just a half birthday.

injustice, confusion, sympathy

The only way for me to receive justice is by denying any inkling of compassion this heart carries. I think my romantic meanderings were right on. The accident I had 2 months ago was most likely with an illegal allien. She is uninsured though her husband is, and she was excluded from his policy. Should I have called the cops? I would think she would have been deported and I know there are kids involved in the mix. And I know they must be suffering financially. I have experienced poverty but i know it cannot compare to that of the poverty of underdeveloped countries.
Where is my injustice? Their lack of financial responsibility, lack of responsibility period. Doctor bills piled up, my car functioning but in bad shape and I am left with two choices. I have to live with these things or sue an even poorer family (no thank you). A compassionate doctor, swimming, and friends make the injuries easier to bear. And now I learn and trust that my father in heaven will give me bread and not stones for the rest.

random quote

I have learned a deeper appreciation for Charles Dickens over this summer. David Copperfield has become a favorite novel of mine, and I was quite entertained by Nicolas Nickleby. My favorite quote from Nicolas Nickleby, a very random one, made me laugh a hearty laugh though I tried to hide it. I am endeared to Dickens' "buffoons"-- maybe both annoyed and endeared. They provide such a comic relief to the paragraphs that are otherwise filled with relentless hardship.


"You know, there is no language of vegetables which converts a cucumber into a formal declaration of attachment."

(Mrs. Nickelby reasoning why her neighbor throws garden vegetables at her)

8th hope arts festival week 2

well, it is the second week of the arts festival and so far it has been a feast for the senses. pamela nelson's awe inspiring stain glass windows, amanda legget's soulful voice, and myriads of visual and musical pieces all make this such a rich and full experience. friday is the spoken word event with essays and poems, words from hearts and minds of a diverse group of people. new moms, professors, musicians, theologians, linguists, word smiths, accountants, poets... all bringing new life to words that exist because of their authors' lives and thoughts. i am one of those and will post my poem, my exploration of grace, on friday before the event. i love being a part of this festival. it is always inspiring, a reminder to create and enjoy creation. this year has been quite a blessing working with jodi h. co-managing the event-- which makes the load much much lighter. and now we pray that the 20% chance of rain will reduce to 0% and the crowds will show and hearts will be blessed.

condition of the heart

My father had a heart attack Tuesday morning. at 5:45 in the morning he woke my mom up to call 911. he eats well; the idea of eating white bread or even white rice is repulsive to him. he takes his medicine. he is quite active in the outdoors taking care of the yard, doing home projects. doesn't smoke or drink. he had a heart attack 20 years ago around this time, a triple bypass 19 years ago around this time, and one stent put in 2 years ago around this time. the stent, a modern medical miracle that is supposed to last 15 years, collapsed for no reason. the cardiologist was so baffled by the stent collapsing (and the heart attack) that my dad's case will be reported to the american college of cardiology. the stent is replaced. dad is recovering well; he is cracking jokes, making friends, and talking back to the tv. when i told him that Sophie (one of their 3 breeding dogs) was a mess, he said, "oh, I need to bathe her when I get home." we told him not to worry about it. dad is ready to come home now, but they are playing it safe and releasing him tomorrow.
it gave mom, kara and i quite a scare. it was the call i had been dreading for years. i begged and pleaded with the Lord for mercy. i hadn't cried like that in a while. he is still young. i wasn't ready for him to leave this crumbling earth. are we ever ready?
so how is the condition of my heart? how is my anger with the Lord? i am grateful that dad is with us. i am relieved. but... no, no what if's. i wish i could say, 'it is well with my soul'; i can't right now, even though dad is out of danger. that is said not with pride and arrogance scoffing at God because He didn't make my life or my loved ones' lives easier and now i am going to stop trusting him (or maybe it is... hmmm). it is said with reproof. i want to say 'it is well'. i don't know how. i am still learning. yes, there is pride and arrogance in me (that kind that goes back to the fall) of wanting to be God-like, trying to grasp a full understanding of Him. not that knowing him more and desiring more of him is a sin, but trying to be God and deciding on my own what is best for me, my loved ones, this earth, pretending to completely know his heart, his way; there is the folly. walking on my own without trust... aye, there's the rub. oh, but to trust him and to walk into a storm and say '...when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever the cost thou hast taught me to say it is well, it is well with my soul.' that is what i want! that is something i strive toward. when accidents happen and loved ones suffer, i want the peace of Christ which transcends all understanding to guard my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus.

elm creek lane

After two weeks (actually, more like a month) of quite the relentless schedule, of working and then running to the next thing, i took a weekend off to go home to my parents and relax. my boss closed the office on friday and i only had to stay and wait for the mail. it came and i left! kara asked me to lunch and then hit the road. i stopped to get a "toothbrush" (ie. all the things i forgot to pack) and made it to my folks for dinner. friday night tradition in my parent's house has been the same for 17 years-- burgers on the grill. homemade burgers, good conversation, followed by a movie from the holcombe collection (this friday night feature was "My Fair Lady"). we all crawled in our respective sleeping receptacles, me with Bessie, a nine year old female dachshund, my ever faithful bed-warmer.

Saturday morning has a food tradition as well-- whole grain waffles (and mom makes pancakes for me as waffles are too heavy). i usually add fruit and nuts to mine; bananas and almonds graced the face of my delicious pancake this time around. We sat around together at the table, catching up, joel and i making jokes, and as usual, there was some literary discussion, though it did not spring out of great thought and contemplation. none of us could remember the authors of don quixote or pygmalion, both brought up in relation to friday night's feature. does spain have plains for the rain to remain in?
After breakfast we all headed in various directions; dad to the lawn, joel to corrie's and mom and i to waxahachie for some "antiquated therapy". Waxahachie has always had a quaintness and charm that draws both my mom and me. Grand Victorian-style homes, small town feel, and a sweet downtown square with our favorite-- antique shops. We always hit the same one's searching for that incredible deal. Mom found 7 pieces of 19th century china for 5 dollars, and I found a jade plate for 2 dollars. We had lunch of chicken salad and spinach salad in one of the charming tea rooms on the square, and we discussed how we would like to decorate our houses. Mom bought us fresh linen scented candles with delightful votive holders from the Dove's Nest, a more modern, trendy (and expensive) nick-knack store. Following this well spent morning, we went to pick up a movie for the evening, deciding to purchase 3. To ensure that there were no defects, we had to watch one, Pride and Prejudice. [ Though there are a few scenes that make me whence with disgust at the writing/acting/directing, there are several others that feed my 'artist' and quench the thirst for good art. (overall, i cannot stand the writing of the film in comparison to other austen adaptations, but the cinematography and music delight me to no end.)]
to complete our relaxing and fun-filled Saturday, mom, dad and i feasted on mexican food and retreated to the couches for root beer floats and "Charlotte's Web". A wholesome, well-written movie, it evoked a series of hearty belly-laughs from all sides of the room, and I think we all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly!

I have to interject quickly to explain the importance of these simple facts and my reason for recording such mundane events. The reason is simply that they are simple. they are good. they are comforting. they are true. they are pure. they are home. finding a place where there is tradition, where there are things, events, people, you can count on, rely on-- that is home. I only lived in the house first for the last two years of high school, a few months after one college, and then a couple of years after another. Our other house I lived in from 2 years to 16. But in that yellow house on elm creek lane, some things remain the same and traditions do not change. My parents have shared 37 years of marriage. The creek in the back still rarely fills with water. Sparky, the next door neighbor's yellow lab, still barks all night. Friday and Saturday burgers and waffles still appear. Bessie still greets us with a sweet show of affection-- a wagging tail, humble eyes, licking tongue, and occasionally "happy-pee". Mom still takes me on a tour of the changes and growth of her plants. Dad still readily mentions updates from the missionaries he gladly 'shepherds' through his role of church missions coordinator. The new things, the additions, only add more to this feeling of home and tradition. The 3 adorable puppies dad is raising to be breeding dogs-- they add affection and joy and entertainment. The wisteria mom planted a couple of years ago adds new shade to dad's well built 17 year old deck. The green walls of the reading room that house my grandmother's bed, my favorite room to sleep in during my stay, only add to the warmth and comfort and simplicity of this home.

My favorite new tradition is the Sunday morning traditional tea and scones and conversation. This is where most of our literary discussions occur. Mom is an avid reader, especially of Tolkein and various children's novels. Dad has written some poetry and started a children's book based on stories he told us throughout our childhood. Joel writes and when he takes the time, he also is a great reader. Two years ago on mom's birthday Joel and I took this time to create a birthday gift for mom, Tea with Mr. Tumnus. Paper snowflakes, toast and sardines, and tea with scones, it was a memorable time for us all.

And back to the weekend, this Sunday I did enjoy sitting around the table with everyone with our tea and scones; but sadly there was no literary discussion. We had a guest/ soon to be a family member (Joel's fiance), and so it was not the same Sunday morning discussions. Everyone left and went to church but I stayed on hoping to find time to journal and read 'Artists Way' and write. There were several noisy distractions so I ended up playing with the dogs and grocery shopping for lunch (other wholesome past-times).

I am grateful for this home and my weekend getaway. it was a full and rest-full weekend filled with tradition, simple joys and pleasures, and the company of my parents. I came back with loads of chigger bites and a huge gas bill, but I also came back rested and restored (with my own copy of pride and prejudice as well as a antique $2 jade plate).

front row to minor tragedy

Jay Janner Austin American Statesman

So this morning I couldn't go straight to my office because of an accident. When I arrived at my office I found that the major part of the accident was caddy-corner to our building. There were multiple fire trucks, multiple police cars, multiple ambulances, and a non stop media frenzy. From everything I gather an SUV was at fault; my boss saw the driver walking around dripping wet with airbag liquid. His front end was folded in accordion style. And then there was a bus in the front lawn of the building across the way! I arrived after the crash when the first emergency vehicles had come. The bus pictured above swerved to miss the SUV crashing into a brick wall, crossing through 2 parking lots and then ending up slammed into the side of the building. The bus driver was pinned in because her leg was caught; reports say she broke the leg and her injury is one of two serious ones. A passenger on the bus suffers the other serious injury. It looked as if another bus was involved somehow as well. It was on the scene when I arrived and was here before the police arrived. The most accurate story I have read on the accident is in the Statesman.

There were no fatalities, no life-threatening injuries. They just cleared up the accident and the bus has been towed from the building, three hours later. How amazing that it wasn't more tragic; it could have been much worse. And talk about near misses. I could have been driving earlier down that road and been involved, the bus could have crashed into our building instead.

I can't imagine how fearful the passengers from that bus are now. They must be frightened to ride a bus again, and they must have a lot to process. As I pulled in my lot, I heard one of the passengers, a homeless man, shout "I'll never ride the bus again!" I wonder at how CapMetro is handling them; are they providing free rides and bus passes to compensate and ensure they still have these people as customers. It was minor compared to other accidents, but it still has a tragic air. It is amazing how fleeting and futile this life is. On a 2 lane road on a quiet and simplistic block in the laid-back city of Austin, a bus loaded with morning passengers smashes into a building. Though it is a mere trifle in comparison to recent events in sleepy towns far from this one, it leaves an impression.

amazing nature

i don't if it is just convenient for otters to hold hands or if they are truly affectionate. a wonderful lady sent me this link. i am not a 'you-tuber' but wow, 'otterly' amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybs0eJ3i3FU&mode=related&search=

17 days until the british invasion

I have been living in the same sweet house for almost 3 years now. this breaks a major cycle in my life of moving every two years. believe me, i have had some difficulties hanging around. there is this deep seeded wanderlust in my bones that cries out for the next adventure. i was "this close" to going back to denton to complete my degree there. i mentioned it to my mom and we had a nice long chat about it. she helped me weigh all the vices and not-so-vices. and we came to the conclusion that it takes much effort to build a good community base. i have invested 5 years at the same church, and have been a part of the church in some way or another for 7. attempting to re-create intimacy that comes with experience and longevity is something that from appearances would take much effort. (i will add that the intimacy is not at the levels I hope for but I will continue to hope) And my reason for desiring to go is that 1. wanted to finish what I started and 2. trying to imagine wrangling up the EIGHT transcripts I would have to in order to graduate from somewheres down here. I also have an excellent job here in austin, another major bonus considering what I have been through with jobs. All to say, I am staying put..... for now. (There is one lady from my church that has asked me if I will still be around in August!)

So, in breaking a 17 year tradition, little old cullen avenue remains "home". And in 17 days, the "world" comes my way in the form of a very kind British woman who will room with me for a short while.

And, if nothing major happens in the next 2 years (ie. marriage or ministry opportunity here or school) then I plan to head south for the border and fulfill a life-long desire of serving Christ in a Spanish speaking community. casa, dolce casa?

forsaken

"My God my God, why hast thou forsaken me" by F. Holland Day 1898

the arts and teaching pastor at my church asked me to be one of the seven that reflects on the last words of Christ for our church's Good Friday service. On meditating on the scriptures, this one brought me to my knees. Even Jesus uttered the words, "My God My God why hast thou forsaken me?" I am going to include my reflections; they have been cut down considerably (I think I could have written a 40 minute sermon!) I found so many wonderful words by theologians and wish I could include them all. George MacDonald, a favorite author of mine, experienced more suffering than I think I can ever fathom. He writes a beautiful meditation on these last words (I found it on the NavPress site). and here are mine. thank you, brie, my editor in chief. names have been changed to protect some identities and a sentence or two have been left off for various reasons (at the writer's discretion).





About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? Which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me”.
These are incredibly perplexing words. Martin Luther stated, “God turning his back on God? Who can understand it”? Christ had already suffered greatly through beatings and his wounds, thirst, starvation, sweating blood, taking this “cup”. And now He was partaking in the will of God. He was taking on the sins of the world. And he echoes the words of David in psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest.”


One of the most significant verses in my life has been, “I will never leave you NOR FORSAKE YOU”. When I was barely old enough to speak my mom taught me to memorize bible verses, and after memorizing so many, I won a prize, a plaque with this verse on it. It hung above my light switch throughout my childhood and whenever I was afraid or had a nightmare, I would turn to that plaque to remember His promise. It still hangs in my room today.

There was a time in my life when Christ’s love was so richly poured out over me. His voice was so sweet. Our fellowship was intimate. His intense outpouring of grace touched me and moved me to share His goodness with others. So I decided to serve the Lord in Amsterdam. My first day there was 9/11. My third week brought two minor sexual assaults. And it was almost immediately that I realized God was silent. I didn’t hear his voice anymore. I would cry out and no response was given.

MY GOD MY GOD WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME!

And I was surrounded by real, in your face human depravity. There was my sweet friend from Burundi who was taken by rebels and then was brought to shoot her own parents. Gladys from England whose inner arms were tributes to her multiple suicide attempts. A friend from Nigeria whose family was burned alive in their home by rebels. There was another friend from Thailand who was raped by a woman and spent the next several years sleeping with as many men as possible to attempt to “cure” her homosexual longings. There was the Christian missionary, a man of God who for a brief moment grabbed me in a dark staircase to feed his selfish lusts. In this place, it seemed I was surrounded by death!
And my response was “my God my God why have you forsaken these!”

Even after returning from Amsterdam, God was silent and I seem to find still more suffering, more hardship, more ramifications of this fallen nature.
Four years God was silent. Four years his presence felt distant.. They were 4 years of poverty, of not knowing how I could pay bills and eat, of desperately seeking work. There was relational poverty and intense loneliness. Mostly there was spiritual poverty. I felt abandoned by God. What I did know is that I had previously experienced God’s goodness. I had tasted and seen that the Lord is good. Charles Spurgeon writes, “There are seasons when the brightness of our Father's smile is eclipsed by clouds and darkness; but let us remember that God never does really forsake us.."

The little plaque from my childhood with the verse “Nor forsake you” was still true though through these years it had baffled me. I knew that had to move past feeling and past intellect. I had to embrace trust. Psalm 22 continues with, “ Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the praise of Israel. In you our fathers put their trust; they trusted and you delivered them. They cried to you and were saved; in you they trusted and were not disappointed.”



In a meditation of these last words of Christ, George MacDonald writes “The divine horror of that moment is unfathomable to the human soul. It was the blackness of darkness. And yet He believed. Yet He held fast. God was still His God.”


Christ entered our sufferings. God entered our sufferings. The raw honesty of the cross is that the punishment for sin is death, utter and complete separation from God, the creator, the author and perfector of life, the Father. He who knew no sin became sin for us. Christ drank the cup, tasted death. God knew separation from God.

Christ called out not about his pain or his suffering; it was great. But he called out for the Father.

He who knew no sin and knew the glory of heaven, knew the deepest sweetness of communion with God, took your death and my death, took on sin and separation from the I Am, so we, the sinners, can fellowship with the Almighty.

uninhibited

aiden scout gamble

this is joy.

this is uninhibited, untouched, unspoiled childlike true joy.

yesterday I watched aiden eat a cup of chocolate chocolate chip gelato and she did it with such excitement as the liquidy goodness covered Aiden from head to toe. some of it actually did make it in her mouth! the "ice cream" was a reward for going in the poddy; kara and I made sure she made the connection. And we all laughed heartily. aiden would say something that would cause her to laugh (though it was something of gibberish) and we would laugh with her. we sat at a table at Central Market by the "wee" and laughed and laughed. aiden did get to play some too. but we mainly laughed. for no reason other than the fun and joy of laughter.

being an aunt makes me quite happy and does give me joy. on the birth of his nephew, vincent van gogh created one of the most beautiful paintings (in my estimation), inspired by new life. (Vincent, as christened after his uncle, was the son of van gogh's brother theo and was born on my birthday though over a hundred years earlier). it is the blooming almond branch on a peaceful sky-blue back ground. i saw the original in amsterdam and was awe struck by it's beauty. there is such richness in the blue; somehow it captures the essence of peace. the almond branch seems as if it is literally coming to life and will reach out of the painting towards you. i see things so holistically that it is so difficult for me to pull out the small details of the painting to give it justice. this painting i felt. at a time when nothing could touch me, nothing beautiful nothing ugly, this painting did.

the colors of this copy do not give it justice. seeing it in its originality is the only way to really experience the painting.