"Trust is the key to adventure."
-Alex Rover, Nim's Island
This afternoon, Dad, Ethan, and I went to the dollar show and saw Nim's Island, and I loved it! Definitely worth seeing. Flying lizards, monsoons, near volcanic eruptions, and random emails from an author on the other side of the world...great fun.
Nim lives on a secret pacific island with her father, is homeschooled :), and loves adventure stories. So when she gets in trouble while her father is stranded in a monsoon, her favorite adventure story author, Alex Rover, comes to helps her. (They've been communicating over email.)
The problem is that Alexandra Rover is terrified of the universe in general, orders hand sanitizer in bulk, and can't even muster the courage to go out to get the mail! But her alter-ego, Alex (her book character whom she alone can see) pushes her to risk the adventure...it's awesome. She has to travel across the world by big plane, little plane, bus, motor boat, heliocopter, and row boat in a monsoon and even ends up eating grub worms. Yeah, baby!
Everywhere she goes she's hanging back, but Alex, (an Indiana Jones/cowboy type) is always right there with her, urging her to overcome the fear side and do what is really in her to do. The results are hilarious and rather fascinating.
This past week I've been listing. Listing, as in making lists...or listing towards insanity. However you want to put it. In my mind, I think of how I could pack in this really organized way for Ukraine, and I start making lists in my mind, but because they aren't perfect, I don't write them down on paper. Believe it or not, I'm looking for the right kind of pen to make my list with. And at this point you may be saying, "honey, get a grip..." and I would agree with you.
So, no special pen. I made one list of toiletries and then went through some drawers and papers. I don't know what good that does except leave me with a tub of stuff I kind of want to take but definitely don't have room for. And it helps me rest at ease that there are a few less drawers and stacks I have to think about before I go. Or ever. After that, I sat on my bed with a tiny blank book I've hoarded since Christmas and a nice pen (I did find one after all!) and made lists of future lists I'm going to make :)
I'm just writing this to convince myself (and everyone else) once and for all how silly it is to worry over these things. Lists and more lists! All this Stuff. I just really want to forget about nail files and adaptors and AA batteries and deoderant and thermal underwear and find some pixie dust and POOF!!! Magically Be On The Plane. That will be a happy moment! I feel like Martha sometimes, but I know in my heart I'm Mary. Only one thing out of all these things is necessary...Jesu, joy of man's desiring.
It's kind of cool, actually, how my stress over preparations has been turned to good. I've woken up restless and unable to sleep a few nights, head full of tumultuous thoughts and little details. But then, when I started listening to music and focusing on the Lord, He started using my the dark, silent sleeplessness as an opportunity to share His thoughts about Ukraine! (Which, by the way, were a whole lot more exciting than mine!)
It's so great that in our weakest, most anxious and childish moments, God pours the power of His prayer and thoughts into us! It really is like Paul says: we are jars of clay. The "surpassingly great power" is from Him.
More and more, it's becoming evident to me that prayer is not something I can just decide to schedule or do. It's a gift from Him that requires only a willingness and readiness to recieve. We have to be willing to get in situations that are still and quiet (and often boring for a while!) but intercessory prayer itself is just the unmerited gift He gives His people as we get to know Him. He spontaneously infuses us with His thoughts, His spirit, His heart cries. And then we just say them back to Him!
I didn't ask to pass the infant morning hours in sweaty, hollow sleeplessness, and I sure wouldn't have stayed awake if it had been up to me, but in the midst my helplessness, God picked that time especially to share His thoughts with me! Cool!
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
In Which I Switch Gears at 20% and Tag Along With Dad
I arose from repose at the ripe hour of 9 o'clock this morning and got dressed, hearing voices downstairs and feeling anxious lest I miss that important hour of the day when the Walters family has a moot and plans for the day start piecing together. (It's nothing intentional or planned, understand...information just happens to get exchanged sometimes.) If I miss that crucial time, I feel kind of disoriented for the day.
While I was still fussing with my jeans, I heard Dad calling me, and bleary eyed, I went out to the landing. "Do you want to go to Tyler with me?" he asked. "I'm leaving in 15 minutes." My dear brain was still only running on 20%, but I managed to grasp what he said, and mumbled an affirmative.
It was pretty impressive, ya'll! I totally switched gears in a matter of seconds (while my brain was only functioning at 20%) and kicked into "go" mode. I showered neglectfully, dressed in something else, applied a little goop here and there as needed, and hurried downstairs. Dad had poured some grapenuts into the cruddy old blue mug with whales on it that I secretly like (oh well, now it's not a secret!), so I added milk and a teaspoon of sugar and headed out the door with a kiss from Mom.
We went to Tyler for Dad's doctor apointment, a checkup on his back required for Social Security purposes. I read World Magazine in the waiting room. The doctor congratulated him on getting Social Security and said "nothing new."
Then, we went to Barnes & Nobles. Why I keep letting this happen to me, I can't say, but once again I went into a book store with money, and...
I sat reading a book called Reaching Out, by Henri Nouwen, and when I had read maybe a third of it and had that sensation of someone-telling-me-what-I've-been-thinking-all-my-life-but-didn't-know-how-to-say, I thought "maybe I should just buy it." So I did. I have so many questions about life right now and I'm searching out so many things, I almost feel like these books I keep coming across are part of my "education." This living by faith thing is so crazy. I'm just trying to learn to listen to God's promptings and "buy" when He says "buy". So far He's blessing it!
It was past lunch time, but we hadn't eaten, so we stopped on the way home in Gladewater at a tiny restaurant called "Don Omar's" It's a little family business (I'm a bit partial to those!) and they have great Mexican food for a great price.
Our (at least my) favorite part about the restaurant is the waitress, though. She's eight years old, and a very charming hostess! She helps her mom translate orders. When she got us settled in with our food, she came over to our table and stood there in her yellow shirt and flouncy denim skirt. She regarded us with big brown eyes, serious but perfectly self-assured. She addressed my dad.
"So, is this your granddaughter?" Looks of mild amusement.
"No, she's my daughter."
"Does he look old?" I broke in, laughing. She nodded her head emphatically while poor dad protested. I mean, he's got a little gray up there, but he does not look old to me. But I guess when you're eight...
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Daisy," she said pertly.
"That's a pretty name," I replied, (what an original remark; don't you love small talk?) I was actually thinking how cute it was that she was named that because it fit her. Her shirt was sunshiny looking, and I wondered how such dark eyes could look so bright.
She did her job thoroughly. Every few minutes she'd return, flouncing.
"Need anything else?" she'd ask.
"Just a bigger stomach," Dad said. Mmm. Good food.
While I was still fussing with my jeans, I heard Dad calling me, and bleary eyed, I went out to the landing. "Do you want to go to Tyler with me?" he asked. "I'm leaving in 15 minutes." My dear brain was still only running on 20%, but I managed to grasp what he said, and mumbled an affirmative.
It was pretty impressive, ya'll! I totally switched gears in a matter of seconds (while my brain was only functioning at 20%) and kicked into "go" mode. I showered neglectfully, dressed in something else, applied a little goop here and there as needed, and hurried downstairs. Dad had poured some grapenuts into the cruddy old blue mug with whales on it that I secretly like (oh well, now it's not a secret!), so I added milk and a teaspoon of sugar and headed out the door with a kiss from Mom.
We went to Tyler for Dad's doctor apointment, a checkup on his back required for Social Security purposes. I read World Magazine in the waiting room. The doctor congratulated him on getting Social Security and said "nothing new."
Then, we went to Barnes & Nobles. Why I keep letting this happen to me, I can't say, but once again I went into a book store with money, and...
I sat reading a book called Reaching Out, by Henri Nouwen, and when I had read maybe a third of it and had that sensation of someone-telling-me-what-I've-been-thinking-all-my-life-but-didn't-know-how-to-say, I thought "maybe I should just buy it." So I did. I have so many questions about life right now and I'm searching out so many things, I almost feel like these books I keep coming across are part of my "education." This living by faith thing is so crazy. I'm just trying to learn to listen to God's promptings and "buy" when He says "buy". So far He's blessing it!
It was past lunch time, but we hadn't eaten, so we stopped on the way home in Gladewater at a tiny restaurant called "Don Omar's" It's a little family business (I'm a bit partial to those!) and they have great Mexican food for a great price.
Our (at least my) favorite part about the restaurant is the waitress, though. She's eight years old, and a very charming hostess! She helps her mom translate orders. When she got us settled in with our food, she came over to our table and stood there in her yellow shirt and flouncy denim skirt. She regarded us with big brown eyes, serious but perfectly self-assured. She addressed my dad.
"So, is this your granddaughter?" Looks of mild amusement.
"No, she's my daughter."
"Does he look old?" I broke in, laughing. She nodded her head emphatically while poor dad protested. I mean, he's got a little gray up there, but he does not look old to me. But I guess when you're eight...
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Daisy," she said pertly.
"That's a pretty name," I replied, (what an original remark; don't you love small talk?) I was actually thinking how cute it was that she was named that because it fit her. Her shirt was sunshiny looking, and I wondered how such dark eyes could look so bright.
She did her job thoroughly. Every few minutes she'd return, flouncing.
"Need anything else?" she'd ask.
"Just a bigger stomach," Dad said. Mmm. Good food.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A Surprising Surprise
Last night someone gave me a beautiful gift. It was a big surprise, and came in a surprising way.
As you know if you read the last post, I wasn't feeling up to snuff yesterday, and that carried on through supper time. So when Mattie mentioned going to a party at the Johnson's house, I decided to stay home instead of zoning out in public. So Dad took Mattie, I stayed here "zoning out" with the rest of my family.
Connor and I watched a Monk show, and when it was over at about nine I was feeling much better and thought I'd just go on to bed while I was ahead, you know...and then the phone rang. It was Dad, saying I should come to the Johnson's anyway, because Mrs. Johnson's mom had a gift for me!
Obviously I was pretty curious...I'd never met this lady before, but Rebekah had told me all about her and she sounded like an amazing grandmother for doing stuff with her grandkids.
So Connor drove me over there (another great excuse to use his new car!) and I just thought how funny God is to spontaneously rearrange our lives all the time, to change my plans, to tip my world upside down when I get too fuddy duddy. I like it.
At the Johnson's the warm tidal wave of crazy love, hospitality, and welcomeness hit me at the door in the form of hugs, greetings, and something like war whoops! I love the love in their house. After getting lots of hugs, and greeting people and meeting Rebekah's Mimi and cousin Lexie, they gathered around to give me the present.
Mrs. ----- (I don't even know her last name yet) talked to me a moment, and then said, "Sit down, and we'll have a party." She then sat indian style on the carpet, and I sat opposite her, and the girls gathered 'round. Jojo even overcame his shyness enough to sit in my lap. I felt totally surrounded by love! Then I pulled out the red tissue paper and unwrapped this beautiful teacup:
As you know if you read the last post, I wasn't feeling up to snuff yesterday, and that carried on through supper time. So when Mattie mentioned going to a party at the Johnson's house, I decided to stay home instead of zoning out in public. So Dad took Mattie, I stayed here "zoning out" with the rest of my family.
Connor and I watched a Monk show, and when it was over at about nine I was feeling much better and thought I'd just go on to bed while I was ahead, you know...and then the phone rang. It was Dad, saying I should come to the Johnson's anyway, because Mrs. Johnson's mom had a gift for me!
Obviously I was pretty curious...I'd never met this lady before, but Rebekah had told me all about her and she sounded like an amazing grandmother for doing stuff with her grandkids.
So Connor drove me over there (another great excuse to use his new car!) and I just thought how funny God is to spontaneously rearrange our lives all the time, to change my plans, to tip my world upside down when I get too fuddy duddy. I like it.
At the Johnson's the warm tidal wave of crazy love, hospitality, and welcomeness hit me at the door in the form of hugs, greetings, and something like war whoops! I love the love in their house. After getting lots of hugs, and greeting people and meeting Rebekah's Mimi and cousin Lexie, they gathered around to give me the present.
Mrs. ----- (I don't even know her last name yet) talked to me a moment, and then said, "Sit down, and we'll have a party." She then sat indian style on the carpet, and I sat opposite her, and the girls gathered 'round. Jojo even overcame his shyness enough to sit in my lap. I felt totally surrounded by love! Then I pulled out the red tissue paper and unwrapped this beautiful teacup:
The thing is, this isn't just a random teacup. Mrs. Johnson's mom painted it herself! She has been reading my blog, and she read the post I wrote back in February about a teacup I got in Jefferson, and decided to paint one for me! The picture isn't the best quality, so it's hard to see the detailed blue forget-me-nots that look like they are in a real field, and the silver trim. It's so delightful!
I was so blessed that someone I had never even met before would take that kind of time to make a beautiful present for me!
We spent a while afterwards visiting, and I was thankful I got to come after all. I had time to rest and also some time to be with my dear friends and meet some new ones.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Channels of Water
So, I have a feeling that life is going to begin accelerating in the next week or two. Different things have come up that I need to start doing or maybe doing before I leave for Ukraine. Today when I realized that, a wave of weakness came over me suddenly and I felt completely drained, physically. Like something had zapped my energy source. You could say it's all in my head...I guess it was! But I felt completely limp.
I had lunch with Grammie and was polishing cabinets for her (one of the awesome little jobs God has given me!), and I mustered myself to finish that, and it was fine. I went swimming for a short time afterward, thinking that might be energizing, but then went home and ate some cereal. Then I went upstairs and did what I really, at the bottom of my heart, was hungry to do. I shut Laila out of my room and got on my bed, then opened up to Proverbs and read for a while. The only verse I remember now was the first one I read, from chapter 21:
"The kings heart is like channels of water in the hand of the Lord; He turns it whereever He wishes."
It reminded me that whoever is in authority over me at any time whether people I work for, customs workers, government officials, pastors and teachers, my Mom and Dad, are all under God's authority. Usually my authorities are working for my good and I appreciate them very much, but sometimes I just feel helpless that decisions being made are out of my control. But this verse says that even the king's heart is subject to God. We are not at man's mercy, but God's, and He promises to work out all things for our good.
I'm not sure if that concept was even part of my struggle today, but somehow it comforted me, so I laid down and went to sleep, knowing I was right there with the Lord. When I woke up, I still felt bad physically, but I had so much worship in my heart for Him! I know I can go through whatever is ahead with a faithful heart.
While we swam at our cousin's above-ground pool earlier today, I got to see Ethan in action for the first time. Real pool action. He got right in without a floatation device of any kind and start playing around. He's finally tall enough to stand in the pool without being completely immersed. It's such a shock to see him in there like that after the past summers (even the beginning of this one!) when he spent the whole swim time basically trying to avoid getting wet. We played Marco Polo and then made a whirlpool. Mary and Ethan amused themselves by hanging on my neck like monkeys. It wore me out after a while, but it's kind of nice to spend some time being clung to by small beings under four feet tall. I rarely go up to swim with them.
Got to go now...I've overshot my time limit...
I had lunch with Grammie and was polishing cabinets for her (one of the awesome little jobs God has given me!), and I mustered myself to finish that, and it was fine. I went swimming for a short time afterward, thinking that might be energizing, but then went home and ate some cereal. Then I went upstairs and did what I really, at the bottom of my heart, was hungry to do. I shut Laila out of my room and got on my bed, then opened up to Proverbs and read for a while. The only verse I remember now was the first one I read, from chapter 21:
"The kings heart is like channels of water in the hand of the Lord; He turns it whereever He wishes."
It reminded me that whoever is in authority over me at any time whether people I work for, customs workers, government officials, pastors and teachers, my Mom and Dad, are all under God's authority. Usually my authorities are working for my good and I appreciate them very much, but sometimes I just feel helpless that decisions being made are out of my control. But this verse says that even the king's heart is subject to God. We are not at man's mercy, but God's, and He promises to work out all things for our good.
I'm not sure if that concept was even part of my struggle today, but somehow it comforted me, so I laid down and went to sleep, knowing I was right there with the Lord. When I woke up, I still felt bad physically, but I had so much worship in my heart for Him! I know I can go through whatever is ahead with a faithful heart.
While we swam at our cousin's above-ground pool earlier today, I got to see Ethan in action for the first time. Real pool action. He got right in without a floatation device of any kind and start playing around. He's finally tall enough to stand in the pool without being completely immersed. It's such a shock to see him in there like that after the past summers (even the beginning of this one!) when he spent the whole swim time basically trying to avoid getting wet. We played Marco Polo and then made a whirlpool. Mary and Ethan amused themselves by hanging on my neck like monkeys. It wore me out after a while, but it's kind of nice to spend some time being clung to by small beings under four feet tall. I rarely go up to swim with them.
Got to go now...I've overshot my time limit...
Monday, June 23, 2008
Learning to Impose
It's just over five weeks until I leave for Ukraine. I was excited for Mary yesterday when I talked to her at church about her trip- she left for El Paso yesterday and is headed to Hong Kong in a few days. She's going to have a great time. I love how God just sprinkles us over the globe...I mean, He doesn't have to, but He seems to like to do it.
I'm excited about going myself. Apparently, my visa has come in! In one week!!! They told us two weeks at the least, but I was thinking four or so. I was dumbfounded. Now I just need to go pick it up from the office. So, that's all the paperwork.
Now, though, I'm getting into the touchy business of raising support, and I'll be totally honest. I'm scared silly. I'm scared of people, I'm scared of asking for money...I'm scared of money! No, not quite. But this is not easy to think about, let alone do. I've been able to earn money so far for my plane ticket and for getting ready to go through small jobs, but I'm going to need support while I'm there and for another plane ticket. My church body is aware I'm going, but when it comes down to details about how to give, it seems fuzzy and I'm really nervous about talking to people about it.
What I really want to do is just "wait on God" for the money. I've heard of missionaries who do that. The Lord leads them not to ask for money, and then He just sends it to them from random sources. It's a big faith building thing. I almost dare to say I have enough faith for that.
But, unfortunately/fortunately, I don't think I'm allowed to try that method this time. I have to actually communicate with human beings! :) Imagine that. What I'm having trouble having faith for is Asking-People-For-Money. That good ol' pride and fear of man stuff. Ok, Lord.
I just want to say, "God, I can't. I just can't." But I can't say can't. Not to God. Not now. Not ever. It seemed so easy when I sent support letters for Hong Kong and India missions trips. It was all layed out- they told me what to do. I did it. Didn't really think twice. Letters went out, money came in.
But now seems so different...it's a different situation, sort of. I think I expected to outgrow the support letter thing. I thought I would pass the test and maybe move on to a different level :)
So, baby steps. One step at a time. All I have to do is trust and do the next thing He says to do. When the waters rise to overwhelm me, He will rescue me. No fear, no pride of mine is too big for Him to deal with. So may He deal away!
I really want to learn to surrender and trust, not just God, but the people around me. Even around the ones I'm closest to, I try to hide my real needs or desires because I'm afraid that I'll inconvenience them, impose on them, or make them feel uncomfortable. But, it's like Mom told me one day about some other matter..."You need impose on people! We all impose on each other."
I try not to breath your air, give you germs, or cause even the hint of an unpleasant thought. Far be it from me to ask you for something! I think of it as being nice, but it's not very Biblical, is it? And in the end, it's really not very nice!
I usually like it when people "impose" on me...ask me for things, ask questions, ask for my time, hugs, care, help, love, and yes, money. It makes me feel loved and needed. Without it, I get extremely lonely. So probably, people would want me to do the same for them. How in the world can we be a community without imposing on each other?
Whether it's emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, or whatever, it's so hard for me to shed my idea of what's "proper" and trust that people will actually love me, needs and all.
Please pray for me in this, that I'd have courage to obey the Lord and that this would be healthy and good for my relationships with people, and just for our church body.
I'm excited about going myself. Apparently, my visa has come in! In one week!!! They told us two weeks at the least, but I was thinking four or so. I was dumbfounded. Now I just need to go pick it up from the office. So, that's all the paperwork.
Now, though, I'm getting into the touchy business of raising support, and I'll be totally honest. I'm scared silly. I'm scared of people, I'm scared of asking for money...I'm scared of money! No, not quite. But this is not easy to think about, let alone do. I've been able to earn money so far for my plane ticket and for getting ready to go through small jobs, but I'm going to need support while I'm there and for another plane ticket. My church body is aware I'm going, but when it comes down to details about how to give, it seems fuzzy and I'm really nervous about talking to people about it.
What I really want to do is just "wait on God" for the money. I've heard of missionaries who do that. The Lord leads them not to ask for money, and then He just sends it to them from random sources. It's a big faith building thing. I almost dare to say I have enough faith for that.
But, unfortunately/fortunately, I don't think I'm allowed to try that method this time. I have to actually communicate with human beings! :) Imagine that. What I'm having trouble having faith for is Asking-People-For-Money. That good ol' pride and fear of man stuff. Ok, Lord.
I just want to say, "God, I can't. I just can't." But I can't say can't. Not to God. Not now. Not ever. It seemed so easy when I sent support letters for Hong Kong and India missions trips. It was all layed out- they told me what to do. I did it. Didn't really think twice. Letters went out, money came in.
But now seems so different...it's a different situation, sort of. I think I expected to outgrow the support letter thing. I thought I would pass the test and maybe move on to a different level :)
So, baby steps. One step at a time. All I have to do is trust and do the next thing He says to do. When the waters rise to overwhelm me, He will rescue me. No fear, no pride of mine is too big for Him to deal with. So may He deal away!
I really want to learn to surrender and trust, not just God, but the people around me. Even around the ones I'm closest to, I try to hide my real needs or desires because I'm afraid that I'll inconvenience them, impose on them, or make them feel uncomfortable. But, it's like Mom told me one day about some other matter..."You need impose on people! We all impose on each other."
I try not to breath your air, give you germs, or cause even the hint of an unpleasant thought. Far be it from me to ask you for something! I think of it as being nice, but it's not very Biblical, is it? And in the end, it's really not very nice!
I usually like it when people "impose" on me...ask me for things, ask questions, ask for my time, hugs, care, help, love, and yes, money. It makes me feel loved and needed. Without it, I get extremely lonely. So probably, people would want me to do the same for them. How in the world can we be a community without imposing on each other?
Whether it's emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, or whatever, it's so hard for me to shed my idea of what's "proper" and trust that people will actually love me, needs and all.
Please pray for me in this, that I'd have courage to obey the Lord and that this would be healthy and good for my relationships with people, and just for our church body.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
No Formula for That
"Love has taken away my practices
and filled me with poetry.
I tried to keep quietly repeating,
No strength but yours,
but I couldn't.
I had to clap and sing.
I used to be respectable and chaste and stable,
but who can stand in this strong wind
and remember those things?"
-Rumi, from "Buoyancy"
That's how it is. It seems like it should be grand enough to have the promise of God's strength, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength," but there's something so much bigger than just getting by. It's called Love.
After all, what's the greatest commandment?
"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'"
Mark 12:29-30
So I'm running around, half mad, thumbing open Rumi and Hafiz every little while to be baffled and delighted once again. And I have lots of questions. Like, did these guys believe Jesus was the Son of God, or did they think he was just a nice prophet? How could anybody possibly write about God's love like that and not believe? What exactly were the Sufis like? What can I learn from them? Can I trust what these heretic Muslims are saying? They weren't good Muslims. They weren't good Christians. But neither am I.
The morning after I read Rumi till 3 a.m. I woke and jumped out of bed, scandalized, and quickly started singing safe, contemporary Christian choruses, just to reel myself back in. I felt that I had sneaked into heresy's bedroom, not intending to be bad, but just to see if it really was heresy in there or not. What scared me is that I hadn't found a satisfactory answer to that question, and I fully intended to return every night until I did.
It's so scary to step out on a limb and even read a book that might be part truth but not all-the-way-truth. Careful worldview training has taught me to reject any vestiges of "tolerance," which I have always wholeheartedly done. I'm the queen of throwing the baby out with the bath water. Maybe I share my throne with Lauren :P
But the time has come to step out and risk it. The box I've let my "religion" become has nearly succeeded in suffocating me while my back was turned! It's so nice to know that God won't let me be snatched out of His hand. His love is the biggest thing in the world (think about sending your only Beloved to die on a cross and see if it's not), so I'm not fall off somewhere.
Rooted and grounded in the absolute of Jesus Christ and His loving boundaries, I am free to run, to explore, to love, to dream, to read crazy poetry and smile and say "that's how it is," and "that's how it isn't" if need be.
Here in America, we're so young, so green at being human, really. We have no ancient ruins. Not much history. We have a beautiful, godly heritage and an amazing story of freedom and Gods' hand. But we are young. There is not much mystery here, not much hidden under our sod. Generally speaking, we're more concerned with practical things rather than spiritual things. We have a lot to share with struggling nations in the East. But the East has a lot to give to us.
In India, for example, people are completely wrapped up in their spiritual nature. This usually looks bad and creepy, (worshipping cobras, setting up altars to stones, becoming one with the rainbow), but the truth is, God made them like that. They are seeking Him, ultimately, whether they discover Him or not in all their mess. So, while we are busy trying to fit life into a box, they are constantly peering into the box and taking life out, piece by piece exploring it. We want to make sense; they want something bigger than sense.
This is such a relief to me. I don't have to try to fit life into a box for the rest of my days, 9 to 5, fall semester, spring semester, summer. I just wasn't made to do that! I can live with the curious mind of a child, always discovering more of God at every turn and reveling in it! Every day there will be something new. What you see is not what you get. His love is higher than the mountains and deeper than the ocean. So, no formula for figuring that!!!
I will never know who the Lord is while I am on this earth. I know Him and love Him now in part, but it won't be till "The Divine Wedding Day" that I cease staring into that dingy mirror of Paul's and finally get to see the real thing. Yahoo!
and filled me with poetry.
I tried to keep quietly repeating,
No strength but yours,
but I couldn't.
I had to clap and sing.
I used to be respectable and chaste and stable,
but who can stand in this strong wind
and remember those things?"
-Rumi, from "Buoyancy"
That's how it is. It seems like it should be grand enough to have the promise of God's strength, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength," but there's something so much bigger than just getting by. It's called Love.
After all, what's the greatest commandment?
"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'"
Mark 12:29-30
So I'm running around, half mad, thumbing open Rumi and Hafiz every little while to be baffled and delighted once again. And I have lots of questions. Like, did these guys believe Jesus was the Son of God, or did they think he was just a nice prophet? How could anybody possibly write about God's love like that and not believe? What exactly were the Sufis like? What can I learn from them? Can I trust what these heretic Muslims are saying? They weren't good Muslims. They weren't good Christians. But neither am I.
The morning after I read Rumi till 3 a.m. I woke and jumped out of bed, scandalized, and quickly started singing safe, contemporary Christian choruses, just to reel myself back in. I felt that I had sneaked into heresy's bedroom, not intending to be bad, but just to see if it really was heresy in there or not. What scared me is that I hadn't found a satisfactory answer to that question, and I fully intended to return every night until I did.
It's so scary to step out on a limb and even read a book that might be part truth but not all-the-way-truth. Careful worldview training has taught me to reject any vestiges of "tolerance," which I have always wholeheartedly done. I'm the queen of throwing the baby out with the bath water. Maybe I share my throne with Lauren :P
But the time has come to step out and risk it. The box I've let my "religion" become has nearly succeeded in suffocating me while my back was turned! It's so nice to know that God won't let me be snatched out of His hand. His love is the biggest thing in the world (think about sending your only Beloved to die on a cross and see if it's not), so I'm not fall off somewhere.
Rooted and grounded in the absolute of Jesus Christ and His loving boundaries, I am free to run, to explore, to love, to dream, to read crazy poetry and smile and say "that's how it is," and "that's how it isn't" if need be.
Here in America, we're so young, so green at being human, really. We have no ancient ruins. Not much history. We have a beautiful, godly heritage and an amazing story of freedom and Gods' hand. But we are young. There is not much mystery here, not much hidden under our sod. Generally speaking, we're more concerned with practical things rather than spiritual things. We have a lot to share with struggling nations in the East. But the East has a lot to give to us.
In India, for example, people are completely wrapped up in their spiritual nature. This usually looks bad and creepy, (worshipping cobras, setting up altars to stones, becoming one with the rainbow), but the truth is, God made them like that. They are seeking Him, ultimately, whether they discover Him or not in all their mess. So, while we are busy trying to fit life into a box, they are constantly peering into the box and taking life out, piece by piece exploring it. We want to make sense; they want something bigger than sense.
This is such a relief to me. I don't have to try to fit life into a box for the rest of my days, 9 to 5, fall semester, spring semester, summer. I just wasn't made to do that! I can live with the curious mind of a child, always discovering more of God at every turn and reveling in it! Every day there will be something new. What you see is not what you get. His love is higher than the mountains and deeper than the ocean. So, no formula for figuring that!!!
I will never know who the Lord is while I am on this earth. I know Him and love Him now in part, but it won't be till "The Divine Wedding Day" that I cease staring into that dingy mirror of Paul's and finally get to see the real thing. Yahoo!
What Pollyanna has to say to all of us...
This is an article called "Sincerely, Pollyanna", by somebody named Elisabeth Adams. When I read it, I thought, "exactly!" Possibly, I'm not a pessimist like I thought I was. Maybe I've grown up a Pollyanna and just now become acquainted with pain...
http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0001770.cfm
http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0001770.cfm
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Beloved has gone completely Wild
I'm so tired that it's probably not wise for me to be thinking. But yeah, I am.
I'm so happy. God is so silly with me- I say that in the most reverent way! Yesterday I walked into a bookstore and started crying in the poetry section as I fingered book after book and opened them up and actually found truth. I forgot God could be so wonderful.
"Last night,
So many tears took flight because of Joy
That the sky got crowded and complained
When I discovered God hiding again in my heart
And I could not cease to celebrate..."
-Hafiz
I bought two books of it and went home; devoured them...was happy to tears and went around figuratively socking God in the arm as I once heard of a woman doing to the man she loved when he proposed to her. The title of one book (The beautiful blue and gold one) was:
I Heard God Laughing-
Poems of Hope and Joy
God laughs?
Did I need a mystic whirling dervish dude to tell me that?
The poems are English translations of Persian poems written in the 14th century by a rather exotic individual who called himself Hafiz. The other book is poetry by another Persian poet, Rumi.
These poets are crazy men. But if someone were to run by me on the street waving his arms and leaping through the air in sheer joy and yelling, "God is love! God is love!" I would be bound to yell "Yes! Yes!" and run after him. That's kind of how it is reading this poetry.
And what a beautiful, cheerful Friend I have, who would speak to me in poetry :)
"The Beloved has gone completely Wild-
He has poured Himself into me!
-Hafiz
I'm so happy. God is so silly with me- I say that in the most reverent way! Yesterday I walked into a bookstore and started crying in the poetry section as I fingered book after book and opened them up and actually found truth. I forgot God could be so wonderful.
"Last night,
So many tears took flight because of Joy
That the sky got crowded and complained
When I discovered God hiding again in my heart
And I could not cease to celebrate..."
-Hafiz
I bought two books of it and went home; devoured them...was happy to tears and went around figuratively socking God in the arm as I once heard of a woman doing to the man she loved when he proposed to her. The title of one book (The beautiful blue and gold one) was:
I Heard God Laughing-
Poems of Hope and Joy
God laughs?
Did I need a mystic whirling dervish dude to tell me that?
The poems are English translations of Persian poems written in the 14th century by a rather exotic individual who called himself Hafiz. The other book is poetry by another Persian poet, Rumi.
These poets are crazy men. But if someone were to run by me on the street waving his arms and leaping through the air in sheer joy and yelling, "God is love! God is love!" I would be bound to yell "Yes! Yes!" and run after him. That's kind of how it is reading this poetry.
And what a beautiful, cheerful Friend I have, who would speak to me in poetry :)
"The Beloved has gone completely Wild-
He has poured Himself into me!
-Hafiz
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Yay, I'm not Obsessive Compulsive!!
It's nice to be back in my own habitat. I planned to sleep in this morning (Dad's suggestion), but I woke up at 7:22 needing to go to the bathroom. So I did, kind of hoping I'd be able to go back to bed and ignore the universe for another hour or so.
But I come back, and there is Ethan, camped out on the floor on Mattie's side with his pillow and what I assume to be a not-wet blanket. As in, dry. And clean. Unlike the bed he has left. He has a sheepish look on his face, which I've missed quite a lot the past few weeks of goneness...
So I tell him he can crawl in bed with me. You know, just this once. He happily does so. "There were three in the bed, and the little one said..." Actually there are four, because Laila is there too, twitching her tail and ready, as usual, to make trouble.
I give Ethan a ration of the blankets and then settle in to possibly go to sleep again (haha, nice idea) :) Two minutes pass. Then Ethan's voice: "Uh, Cass, your head is touching my shoulder" Yes, Ethan, my head is touching your shoulder.
"Is that ok?" I ask.
"Yeah. I thought it might hurt you."
"Nope. It doesn't hurt. Does it hurt your shoulder?"
"No."
I close my eyes and keep them closed. We carry on a pleasant conversation while my eyes are closed and my head is still touching his shoulder. It all goes in one ear and out the other, so to speak. Then, out of the blue:
"Goldilocks looks like you."
"She does? What makes you think that?"
I can't get a satisfactory answer, but Mattie agrees that I could look like Goldilocks...if I grew out my hair, curled it, dyed it, and got some colored contacts. I'm not sure why the colored contacts, because to my knowledge, Goldilocks's eye color is a fact lost to legend. But it stands to reason that all fantastic characters must have piercingly blue, warm chocolaty brown, sharp black, or sea grey eyes. Inbetweens are generally deemed unrecordable, unless they change by mood. Ooo! Scores for that.
Anyhow, after the discussion about Goldilocks eye color, we talk about other things. And then, the outcry from the small warm lump on my right side, whose arm is raised aloft in triumph:
"I have a booger!!!"
(Female reactions of surprise and mild terror)
Grabbing of kleenex-like object from nearby nightstand.
"Here, Ethan, put it here, put it here!" He's waving his the booger around on the end of his finger, enjoying his reign of terror.
"Put it here, Ethan!"
"It's gone," he chirps.
"Ethan!! Where?"
"To Booger Land." He's examining the brown bedskirt on my side of the bed.
"WHERE is Booger Land?" I demand. But the cause is lost. I think I know at least the general vicinity of Booger Land and the knowledge is too high for me- I cannot attain to it.
What would Mr. Monk say???
Epilogue:
The offending Booger was never located. We did wash sheets afterward, but I have resigned myself to dwelling in Booger Land. At least I know I'm not OCD.
But I come back, and there is Ethan, camped out on the floor on Mattie's side with his pillow and what I assume to be a not-wet blanket. As in, dry. And clean. Unlike the bed he has left. He has a sheepish look on his face, which I've missed quite a lot the past few weeks of goneness...
So I tell him he can crawl in bed with me. You know, just this once. He happily does so. "There were three in the bed, and the little one said..." Actually there are four, because Laila is there too, twitching her tail and ready, as usual, to make trouble.
I give Ethan a ration of the blankets and then settle in to possibly go to sleep again (haha, nice idea) :) Two minutes pass. Then Ethan's voice: "Uh, Cass, your head is touching my shoulder" Yes, Ethan, my head is touching your shoulder.
"Is that ok?" I ask.
"Yeah. I thought it might hurt you."
"Nope. It doesn't hurt. Does it hurt your shoulder?"
"No."
I close my eyes and keep them closed. We carry on a pleasant conversation while my eyes are closed and my head is still touching his shoulder. It all goes in one ear and out the other, so to speak. Then, out of the blue:
"Goldilocks looks like you."
"She does? What makes you think that?"
I can't get a satisfactory answer, but Mattie agrees that I could look like Goldilocks...if I grew out my hair, curled it, dyed it, and got some colored contacts. I'm not sure why the colored contacts, because to my knowledge, Goldilocks's eye color is a fact lost to legend. But it stands to reason that all fantastic characters must have piercingly blue, warm chocolaty brown, sharp black, or sea grey eyes. Inbetweens are generally deemed unrecordable, unless they change by mood. Ooo! Scores for that.
Anyhow, after the discussion about Goldilocks eye color, we talk about other things. And then, the outcry from the small warm lump on my right side, whose arm is raised aloft in triumph:
"I have a booger!!!"
(Female reactions of surprise and mild terror)
Grabbing of kleenex-like object from nearby nightstand.
"Here, Ethan, put it here, put it here!" He's waving his the booger around on the end of his finger, enjoying his reign of terror.
"Put it here, Ethan!"
"It's gone," he chirps.
"Ethan!! Where?"
"To Booger Land." He's examining the brown bedskirt on my side of the bed.
"WHERE is Booger Land?" I demand. But the cause is lost. I think I know at least the general vicinity of Booger Land and the knowledge is too high for me- I cannot attain to it.
What would Mr. Monk say???
Epilogue:
The offending Booger was never located. We did wash sheets afterward, but I have resigned myself to dwelling in Booger Land. At least I know I'm not OCD.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Mrs. Flo and Monk
I’m still here with Mrs. Flo and Nick today. I just picked Nick up from VBS, where he was helping out.
My primary job appears to be to coax Mrs. Flo awake in the morning and to keep her that way thereafter. That’s not as easy as it sounds, mind you. I never thought about how hard it is to wake someone up who flat refuses to get up. It’s like that P.D Eastman book for kids called, I’m Not Going to Get Up Today. “Up, up! Great day for up!” No way, Jose.
Once she’s up, Mrs. Flo is very friendly and cooperative. I’m not the worlds greatest small talker or entertainer, so it’s hard to think of things to say. I finally resorted to reading Cheaper By the Dozen to her because I love reading aloud, and she seemed to enjoy the funny anecdotes. We also tried penny hockey (no rules, no score) and worked a couple of puzzles. And, on my request, Nick put in some Monk DVDs in the evening.
I was tickled to see the Monk shows sitting on the coffee table when I came in, because we’ve been watching those at home and I absolutely LOVE them! I can't even think of any other TV shows I like, but Monk cracks me up. His obsessive-compulsive germophobicness is hilariously endearing. Potentially bad effects of the show: Watching it makes me start wanting to irrationally straighten things and sort of freak out about the dishes getting clean.
My primary job appears to be to coax Mrs. Flo awake in the morning and to keep her that way thereafter. That’s not as easy as it sounds, mind you. I never thought about how hard it is to wake someone up who flat refuses to get up. It’s like that P.D Eastman book for kids called, I’m Not Going to Get Up Today. “Up, up! Great day for up!” No way, Jose.
Once she’s up, Mrs. Flo is very friendly and cooperative. I’m not the worlds greatest small talker or entertainer, so it’s hard to think of things to say. I finally resorted to reading Cheaper By the Dozen to her because I love reading aloud, and she seemed to enjoy the funny anecdotes. We also tried penny hockey (no rules, no score) and worked a couple of puzzles. And, on my request, Nick put in some Monk DVDs in the evening.
I was tickled to see the Monk shows sitting on the coffee table when I came in, because we’ve been watching those at home and I absolutely LOVE them! I can't even think of any other TV shows I like, but Monk cracks me up. His obsessive-compulsive germophobicness is hilariously endearing. Potentially bad effects of the show: Watching it makes me start wanting to irrationally straighten things and sort of freak out about the dishes getting clean.
A Cheerful Heart...
(Written yesterday)
So, I’m home now. On Monday I felt like I was being ejected into the week by something large and maybe rocket propelled. Yikes.
But actually, I have a praise report. My visa application is now in the mail!! The Letter of Invitation we were waiting for arrived on Monday, just the day I hoped to send the application out. God knows His timing!
It seems like there isn’t much to write about back here in “normal” life. But I guess that will change in six weeks or so.
Today I’m at the Shelley’s staying with Nick and caring for Mrs. Flo while Mr. Shelley and Kristin are gone. Mrs. Flo is at her daycare at the moment and I’ll need to pick her up in a little while.
Been thinking about cheerfulness and joy… The verse from Proverbs keeps running over in my mind as it has ever since it popped in last week:
“A cheerful heart doeth good like a medicine.”
This verse is so true, but sometimes I feel so uncheerful and unable to fix my uncheerfulness. But God’s heart is a cheerful heart. And He lives inside me…so I don’t have to worry about it.
He told the Israelites, “You thought I was altogether like you.” But He’s not. Whether I have the blahs, the blues, or the worries, Jesus still has a cheerful heart. He is still my medicine. He is still laughing and singing and dancing—all the things that cheer me up. So I can just lift my eyes up to Him, or nestle close to Him and dwell there in His happiness.
So, I’m home now. On Monday I felt like I was being ejected into the week by something large and maybe rocket propelled. Yikes.
But actually, I have a praise report. My visa application is now in the mail!! The Letter of Invitation we were waiting for arrived on Monday, just the day I hoped to send the application out. God knows His timing!
It seems like there isn’t much to write about back here in “normal” life. But I guess that will change in six weeks or so.
Today I’m at the Shelley’s staying with Nick and caring for Mrs. Flo while Mr. Shelley and Kristin are gone. Mrs. Flo is at her daycare at the moment and I’ll need to pick her up in a little while.
Been thinking about cheerfulness and joy… The verse from Proverbs keeps running over in my mind as it has ever since it popped in last week:
“A cheerful heart doeth good like a medicine.”
This verse is so true, but sometimes I feel so uncheerful and unable to fix my uncheerfulness. But God’s heart is a cheerful heart. And He lives inside me…so I don’t have to worry about it.
He told the Israelites, “You thought I was altogether like you.” But He’s not. Whether I have the blahs, the blues, or the worries, Jesus still has a cheerful heart. He is still my medicine. He is still laughing and singing and dancing—all the things that cheer me up. So I can just lift my eyes up to Him, or nestle close to Him and dwell there in His happiness.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Connor and His Car
Well then. Laila (the kitten) has invaded my lap, that is to say...I'm home from happy wanderings. Dad and I got in around 7:30 last night. Ah, the smell of home. There's nothing that makes you appreciate home so much as being away for a while. I think that trip was just what I needed to help me cope with the next six weeks or so before Ukraine. I've wanted to enjoy the time I have at home, but I needed a fresh perspective. Now I have it!
While I was gone, Mattie had a million friends over, Ethan's eyes got a couple shades bluer, and Laila grew several inches on ice cream they've been feeding her at night. Oh, and, big news! Connor got a car! I rode in it for the first time today on the way home from church. I like it. It's a '94 Toyota Corolla. Needs a little paint, but it gets great milage and it seems to have a good "personality." Connor refuses to name it though.
Watching a guy drive his first car is intriguing. There's a certain consciousness of himself, his surroundings, his power, that gives firmness to his arm on the wheel and straightness to his back. He is aware of it all while trying not to act like it, proud in a perfectly excusable and right way. It's quite a phenomenon to witness!
I'm so happy for Connor to have his own car. It's a stick shift, so I can't drive it, unless I venture to learn. He generously offered to let me learn in it, but we'll see.
While I was gone, Mattie had a million friends over, Ethan's eyes got a couple shades bluer, and Laila grew several inches on ice cream they've been feeding her at night. Oh, and, big news! Connor got a car! I rode in it for the first time today on the way home from church. I like it. It's a '94 Toyota Corolla. Needs a little paint, but it gets great milage and it seems to have a good "personality." Connor refuses to name it though.
Watching a guy drive his first car is intriguing. There's a certain consciousness of himself, his surroundings, his power, that gives firmness to his arm on the wheel and straightness to his back. He is aware of it all while trying not to act like it, proud in a perfectly excusable and right way. It's quite a phenomenon to witness!
I'm so happy for Connor to have his own car. It's a stick shift, so I can't drive it, unless I venture to learn. He generously offered to let me learn in it, but we'll see.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Dad and I Have a Mammoth Adventure
Here are Dad and I, two happy wanderers. If we look sort of wet in this picture it's because we are wet. Rather, we are dripping cats and dogs. Inside a cave. But I'm getting ahead of myself.This morning, we left Grandma's house, and I thought we were going straight home. But Dad surprised me with a detour and we went to Kentucky instead, to tour Mammoth Cave, proudly called the longest cave in the world- at 367 miles long.
Here's what it looked like inside:
Yep yep yep. It was cool. Really cool. 54 degrees, to be exact, which feels more like 40 when you're soaked to the bone. We took one tour at 1:30, got back at 3:30, and sat waiting until 4:00 for the Historic Tour we had tickets for. As we sat at the visitor's center, we could hear thunder rolling closer and closer and see ominous clouds closing in. Finally the guide got everyone together and started his talk about how people with health problems shouldn't go 200+ feet underground, etc., etc.
We could tell everything was about to fall out, and we had a 5-10 minute walk down to the cave entrance. We dearly hoped the guide would save the gab for a nice dry spot inside the cave, but he didn't. As soon as we stepped out from under the shelter, the sky broke into a million pieces and kawoosh!!! More rain than I knew could fall in five minutes concentrated all its powers on our little group.
We hurried, but the rain wasn't hindered at all. My jeans were soaked, and I tried to keep the camera dry under my shirts, which were soaked too. Beside us, Mennonite parents held their little girl by the hands while she screamed and wailed in terror and the rain streamed down her braids and long dress.
Wow, was it cold inside! The cold damp seized us, and crept up our fingers and arms until we could hardly bend them. But we had a great tour. The guide told some interesting stories about a slave named Stephen Bishop who explored parts of the cave where no one had been before and then made accurate maps from memory afterwards.
And about how a doctor set up a Tuberculosis hospital in the cavern thinking the constant temperature and quiet atmosphere would help his patients. I think it helped hurry them on, actually. It only lasted ten months, and later they found out that TB patients needed warm, dry climates, not cold, humid ones.
Anyhow. That was our adventure. Hilariously cold, wet, and fun. We were ravenous and frozen when we got done, so we had a hearty supper and made it to this hotel in Clarksville, TN. The internet here is faster than my brain, which is very cool and a little bit scary. I guess I'll just enjoy it while it lasts :)
It was time for bed yesterday...I think I need to go to sleep now.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Sydney Learns About Poison Ivy and Dave Eats Cold Pancakes
It's our last day in Tennessee, and Lizzie and I are at Harmony House coffee shop with Liz's "Little Pal," Sydney. Liz goes to Bryan college, and they have a program where the students "adopt" a pal to mentor and hang out with. Sydney is seven, and she looks like a miniature Kiera Knightley-- only healthier and happier. Full head of brown curls, big hazel eyes. Liz picked her up earlier this afternoon and we went to the library, where Syd got a few books and I got a book of poetry by a man who is from Iceland and apparently likes classical music A LOT.
We went back to Grandma's and sat reading on the bed for a long time, and then I did Sydney's hair so that she looked like a beautiful little princess (well, she already did.) Just so you know, the thing shining behind my head is an ocelating fan, not a halo or anything interesting like that...
Then we went for a walk outside, Elizabeth donning her "gathering basket." She studies herbs and their medicinal value, and likes to pick whatever she can find around the yard. I found her teaching Sydney what poison ivy looks like, making her point to it with a stick whenever she found any. She would make a great botany teacher!
Kimmy and Aunt Ann are in Nashville doing some college stuff for Kim, because she's going to Belmont College there in the fall. So we said bye to them last night.
Earlier today, Elizabeths' fiance, Dave, came by. I had met him before, but not since they were engaged. So it was fun to see how they interact together. Liz had made some pancakes which were then cold, but she offered Dave some anyway. He ate two, and congratulated her on being the first person to have made a "cold pancake," while still lamenting their coldness. Later, Liz and I ate some more of them, and she said "It's like journey bread."
"Lembas bread!" I said.
"Nasty!" said Sydney.
So here's a picture of Dave and Liz:
That was after Dave had choked down the rest of his pancake. There was a better picture before that...
I Stand on What I Know
We’re back at Grandma’s house now, after leaving Grandpa’s around 9 this morning. Poor guy. He’s just so frail.
We took a scenic route back to Dayton along highway 58, I think, which proved to be entertaining. I spent some time trying to catch pictures out the window with my camera of extensive Christmas tree farms, pastures of hay bales, a river, and rolling blue hills in the distance. They didn’t come out very well, but the scenery was nice.
I also listened to music and ate my special cereal. The cereal successfully prevented carsickness on the windy roads, besides the fact that Grandma was driving, and that her car is obviously more compact than the van and doesn’t swish around.
Although the cereal really does look like dog food and nobody else in my family is crazy about it, I like it because it’s mild and comforting, and it has hearts in it. They’re not cutesy hearts, either, they’re nice, sort of serious looking hearts. There are hearts in the cereal because it’s presumably “heart healthy,” but I like to think of them differently. I ate them one by one and thought sentimentally that maybe each one could signify each person I love. But then, that sounds kind of bad, since I was eating them :P
I listened to two Desperation Band Cds for a long time, hugging my pillow and eating my cereal and thinking while the Virginia countryside went by. It’s been so nice to have a change of scenery, and I realized I’ve gone a whole week without the blues. But last night they hit me full force and it really caught me off guard, like a specter of fear, isolation, and bleakness suddenly appearing. Once again, I just feared “It.”
It’s a fear of waking up to the caving in, sinking feeling, over and over, morning after morning, feeling better, then sinking again. I fear the trap of its ugly embrace; I fear clawing out of a dark well towards foggy hope. It all came back, and I felt that all I’ve said and done and written was just a mask over the black hole inside me.
I’d love to be cheerful, happy, and contagiously joyful. I’d love to be a morning person, to wake up smiling and hopeful. But that’s not how it is, most of the time.
The line from the hymn ran through my mind…”Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow…” Bright hope? I thought. What bright hope? Of course there’s bright hope, I know there’s bright hope…I don’t have any reason to think there isn’t…but my sky was overcast, and bright hope didn’t make sense at all. It always comes, and then goes again, betraying me, abandoning me, leaving me alone to face this creeping darkness.
Desperately, I opened the Bible to the Psalms, where I started reading the 140’s. Psalm after Psalm of David’s cries seemed to match mine.
“The enemy pursues me
He crushes me to the ground
He makes me dwell in darkness
Like those long dead
So my spirit grows faint within me
My heart is dismayed within me
I remember the days of long ago
I meditate on all your works
And consider what Your hands have done
I spread out my hands to You
My soul thirsts for You like a parched land
Answer me quickly, O Lord;
My spirit fails
Do not hide Your face from me
Or I will be like those who go down to the pit
Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love…”
Psalm 143:3-8a
“When I am awake, I am still with Thee…” Psalm 139:18b
I was comforted enough to go to sleep, but today I thought about it all again while I listened to Desperation. The upbeat worship music was just what I needed. I needed to hear the words of truth from young, cheerful lips. Truth, truth, truth, truth, truth. My golden thread, my way out, my ticket to freedom.
It seems to be coming down to this: What do I believe? Truth, or a lie? God, or the bleakness? I was just on the phone with Lauren yesterday, and we’d been encouraging each other about God’s Spirit living in us. I’d been upbeat and encouraged. Then suddenly… this. All this time I’ve been saying I have His Spirit in my heart, that I love Him, that I know Him, that I trust Him. Now it’s time to stand up for it. I see a black hole. But if He said He’s in me, then He is. That’s all. And there’s no room for any kind of hole!
Desperation Band sings about joy all over the place. They sing about joy, and their music is full of happy energy. This song grabbed me--
“Whatever the day, I know
You carried the cross, for my soul
You bled for my sin beginning
Life for all, hope for all, joy for all unspeakable
Whatever the day, we know
You conquered the grave, saved the world
Now that we’re free believing
What we know who we know is the truth
So here we go
I know I know I know I know
You turned the world around
Now I have found the way that can’t be shaken
I know I know I know I know
You turned it upside down
Now I have found the life that can’t be shaken
And I stand on what I know.
It’s true so I believe it
It’s true so I believe in You
It’s true so I believe it
It’s true so I believe in You”
“I know,” Desperation Band
If He said it, it’s true. He said “abide in me, and I will abide in you.” (John 15) so…I guess it’s true! He’s like, “Don’t run away from home.” When I sleep, He will not leave me. When I wake, I am still with Him. I just stand, and keep standing. Believe, and keep believing. Cling, and keep clinging. The music heals my soul. His words strengthen me.
I had a silly thought of myself stuck in a tree, and Jesus climbing up to rescue me. And I thought, “What if there were poison ivy vines on it?” And He said, “I would still climb up.” :) It’s a funny childish comfort for basic childish fears.
“Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.” “Though you pass through the waters, they will not overcome you, though you pass through the fire, you will not be burned.” (From Isaiah). “God is good, all the time, and all the time, God is good.” :)
We took a scenic route back to Dayton along highway 58, I think, which proved to be entertaining. I spent some time trying to catch pictures out the window with my camera of extensive Christmas tree farms, pastures of hay bales, a river, and rolling blue hills in the distance. They didn’t come out very well, but the scenery was nice.
I also listened to music and ate my special cereal. The cereal successfully prevented carsickness on the windy roads, besides the fact that Grandma was driving, and that her car is obviously more compact than the van and doesn’t swish around.
Although the cereal really does look like dog food and nobody else in my family is crazy about it, I like it because it’s mild and comforting, and it has hearts in it. They’re not cutesy hearts, either, they’re nice, sort of serious looking hearts. There are hearts in the cereal because it’s presumably “heart healthy,” but I like to think of them differently. I ate them one by one and thought sentimentally that maybe each one could signify each person I love. But then, that sounds kind of bad, since I was eating them :P
I listened to two Desperation Band Cds for a long time, hugging my pillow and eating my cereal and thinking while the Virginia countryside went by. It’s been so nice to have a change of scenery, and I realized I’ve gone a whole week without the blues. But last night they hit me full force and it really caught me off guard, like a specter of fear, isolation, and bleakness suddenly appearing. Once again, I just feared “It.”
It’s a fear of waking up to the caving in, sinking feeling, over and over, morning after morning, feeling better, then sinking again. I fear the trap of its ugly embrace; I fear clawing out of a dark well towards foggy hope. It all came back, and I felt that all I’ve said and done and written was just a mask over the black hole inside me.
I’d love to be cheerful, happy, and contagiously joyful. I’d love to be a morning person, to wake up smiling and hopeful. But that’s not how it is, most of the time.
The line from the hymn ran through my mind…”Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow…” Bright hope? I thought. What bright hope? Of course there’s bright hope, I know there’s bright hope…I don’t have any reason to think there isn’t…but my sky was overcast, and bright hope didn’t make sense at all. It always comes, and then goes again, betraying me, abandoning me, leaving me alone to face this creeping darkness.
Desperately, I opened the Bible to the Psalms, where I started reading the 140’s. Psalm after Psalm of David’s cries seemed to match mine.
“The enemy pursues me
He crushes me to the ground
He makes me dwell in darkness
Like those long dead
So my spirit grows faint within me
My heart is dismayed within me
I remember the days of long ago
I meditate on all your works
And consider what Your hands have done
I spread out my hands to You
My soul thirsts for You like a parched land
Answer me quickly, O Lord;
My spirit fails
Do not hide Your face from me
Or I will be like those who go down to the pit
Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love…”
Psalm 143:3-8a
“When I am awake, I am still with Thee…” Psalm 139:18b
I was comforted enough to go to sleep, but today I thought about it all again while I listened to Desperation. The upbeat worship music was just what I needed. I needed to hear the words of truth from young, cheerful lips. Truth, truth, truth, truth, truth. My golden thread, my way out, my ticket to freedom.
It seems to be coming down to this: What do I believe? Truth, or a lie? God, or the bleakness? I was just on the phone with Lauren yesterday, and we’d been encouraging each other about God’s Spirit living in us. I’d been upbeat and encouraged. Then suddenly… this. All this time I’ve been saying I have His Spirit in my heart, that I love Him, that I know Him, that I trust Him. Now it’s time to stand up for it. I see a black hole. But if He said He’s in me, then He is. That’s all. And there’s no room for any kind of hole!
Desperation Band sings about joy all over the place. They sing about joy, and their music is full of happy energy. This song grabbed me--
“Whatever the day, I know
You carried the cross, for my soul
You bled for my sin beginning
Life for all, hope for all, joy for all unspeakable
Whatever the day, we know
You conquered the grave, saved the world
Now that we’re free believing
What we know who we know is the truth
So here we go
I know I know I know I know
You turned the world around
Now I have found the way that can’t be shaken
I know I know I know I know
You turned it upside down
Now I have found the life that can’t be shaken
And I stand on what I know.
It’s true so I believe it
It’s true so I believe in You
It’s true so I believe it
It’s true so I believe in You”
“I know,” Desperation Band
If He said it, it’s true. He said “abide in me, and I will abide in you.” (John 15) so…I guess it’s true! He’s like, “Don’t run away from home.” When I sleep, He will not leave me. When I wake, I am still with Him. I just stand, and keep standing. Believe, and keep believing. Cling, and keep clinging. The music heals my soul. His words strengthen me.
I had a silly thought of myself stuck in a tree, and Jesus climbing up to rescue me. And I thought, “What if there were poison ivy vines on it?” And He said, “I would still climb up.” :) It’s a funny childish comfort for basic childish fears.
“Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.” “Though you pass through the waters, they will not overcome you, though you pass through the fire, you will not be burned.” (From Isaiah). “God is good, all the time, and all the time, God is good.” :)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Liz and Me
I'm finally, after a year and a half of having a blog, going to try to post a picture. This is my cousin Liz leaning on my shoulder at CC's pizza last week before we went to Carolina.
The Holly and the Ivy
This morning, Dad and I went out to Grandpa’s front yard and Dad trimmed the shrubs while I cleaned up the clippings. The holly bush didn’t want to be trimmed. Or at least, the clippings didn’t want to go to the rubbish pile. Every armful protested with diabolical prickers. It felt like transporting a litter of baby porcupines, one by one, to the back yard :)
Once the holly bush was done, it was easier, though there was a good bit of poison ivy lurking around in the bushes. But we didn’t pick up much of that.
There’s something about my relationship with Dad that never ceases to surprise me. It’s when he encourages me to be what I consider “impractical.” While we walked last night I casually voiced (for probably the third or fourth time in the past week) the mind boggling dilemma of “to cut or not to cut” the shaggy mop of insulation I call my hair. Grow it out? Spend money cutting it? What about when I go to Ukraine? Different style? I thought out loud to Dad because I just needed someone to tell me to do what I wanted to do . His response almost made me laugh. “Go cut it.” And then he kind of told me just to do what I wanted to do.
But really, all I wanted to do is follow a worthy opinion. I’m not really sure where I got it, but I guess I always think Dad’s practical streak would discourage something that seems kind of unnecessary. But he sees it differently, and all my feminine mind needed for the decision making was a teaspoon of approval from the right source…
So it was off to the hair salon with me. It was a great adventure walking there myself, because at home, it’s never been an option to just walk anywhere, besides to visit cousins or grandparents next door. The last thing out of Dad’s mouth as I left was “Surprise me.”
The sun was doing its job with relish, and I arrived at the hair place flushed and starting to singe in spots. After about ten minutes, the lady came and started cutting my hair. I really wanted to take Dad up on it and surprise him, and surprise myself, but there was nothing to do really but get the same treatment I always do. I picked out the only haircut I liked from the book and she said, “Well, that’s what you already have.” It was true. Sometime I’ll try highlights or something.
So, she did a good job, and we had the usual innocuous conversation I seem to have with the lady at the hair place at home. For some reason, I am terribly nervous when I go to get my hair cut. It doesn’t actually have as much to with my hair as with the dread of being called “sweet-hawert” and feeling belittled by their honeyed niceness.
I always go in thinking I’m going to stay on top of myself, and then, somewhere between the first snip of the scissors and my bashful goodbye, I capsize and barely escape the salon with the shreds of my dignity. I’m not a Southern Belle, that’s all.
I love femininity, I love being a girl, and I agonize over the issue of beauty as much as every other girl God made. But I guess, for me, it’s an issue to be dealt with in quietness, discretion, and even a touch of reverence. The glitter and glamor and flippant pinkness is just too much for me!
I was pleased with my haircut, and laughed at myself on the way home for the fact that what pleased me the most about the whole matter (besides the lovely lightheadedness) was that I had saved $7 in gas.
Once the holly bush was done, it was easier, though there was a good bit of poison ivy lurking around in the bushes. But we didn’t pick up much of that.
There’s something about my relationship with Dad that never ceases to surprise me. It’s when he encourages me to be what I consider “impractical.” While we walked last night I casually voiced (for probably the third or fourth time in the past week) the mind boggling dilemma of “to cut or not to cut” the shaggy mop of insulation I call my hair. Grow it out? Spend money cutting it? What about when I go to Ukraine? Different style? I thought out loud to Dad because I just needed someone to tell me to do what I wanted to do . His response almost made me laugh. “Go cut it.” And then he kind of told me just to do what I wanted to do.
But really, all I wanted to do is follow a worthy opinion. I’m not really sure where I got it, but I guess I always think Dad’s practical streak would discourage something that seems kind of unnecessary. But he sees it differently, and all my feminine mind needed for the decision making was a teaspoon of approval from the right source…
So it was off to the hair salon with me. It was a great adventure walking there myself, because at home, it’s never been an option to just walk anywhere, besides to visit cousins or grandparents next door. The last thing out of Dad’s mouth as I left was “Surprise me.”
The sun was doing its job with relish, and I arrived at the hair place flushed and starting to singe in spots. After about ten minutes, the lady came and started cutting my hair. I really wanted to take Dad up on it and surprise him, and surprise myself, but there was nothing to do really but get the same treatment I always do. I picked out the only haircut I liked from the book and she said, “Well, that’s what you already have.” It was true. Sometime I’ll try highlights or something.
So, she did a good job, and we had the usual innocuous conversation I seem to have with the lady at the hair place at home. For some reason, I am terribly nervous when I go to get my hair cut. It doesn’t actually have as much to with my hair as with the dread of being called “sweet-hawert” and feeling belittled by their honeyed niceness.
I always go in thinking I’m going to stay on top of myself, and then, somewhere between the first snip of the scissors and my bashful goodbye, I capsize and barely escape the salon with the shreds of my dignity. I’m not a Southern Belle, that’s all.
I love femininity, I love being a girl, and I agonize over the issue of beauty as much as every other girl God made. But I guess, for me, it’s an issue to be dealt with in quietness, discretion, and even a touch of reverence. The glitter and glamor and flippant pinkness is just too much for me!
I was pleased with my haircut, and laughed at myself on the way home for the fact that what pleased me the most about the whole matter (besides the lovely lightheadedness) was that I had saved $7 in gas.
More From Jonesville
(Written Monday)
Dad and I are probably the mystery of Jonesville by now, after our daily and sometimes bi-daily walks through the neighborhood in this heat wave. I joked that we might just end up in the newspaper. For one thing, we’re the only people we’ve seen walking the blocks, and we’re probably the only ones crazy enough to be out in 98 degree weather, which is 15 degrees above average for this time of year.
Tonight as we walked by one house, we waved a greeting to a guy clad in a white sleeveless shirt and tattoo, sitting slouched on his front steps.
“Hot enough for ya?” he asked.
This morning we got “attacked” by “Rascal,” a cute little fluff ball who was, thankfully, all bark and no bite. Once I managed to pet him, we pretty much made friends. We met a shiny black snake, too, which made a quick series of S’s out of the road when Dad through sticks at it. We’ve also seen two deer, a hawk, and a whole lot of Flopsies, Mopsies, and Cottontails.
Tonight there weren’t really leftovers for all of us, so Dad and I visited a Chinese restaurant intriguingly called “Hong Kong Buffet.” There was nothing much Hong Kong about it, and neither of us thought the food was spectacular, but it was clean…so I didn’t mind.
The girl in charge sat calmly sorting silverware at a table in the back, giving us prompt attention when needed since we were the only customers for most of the meal.
My fortune cookie amused me. It said, “You are a lover of words. Someday you will write a book.” :) I don’t take much stock in fortune cookies, but it’s nice to hear encouragement, even if it’s from a random source!
After my long nap and more MickeyD’s coffee, I have no idea when I’ll go to bed.
God is so good to me. The knowledge of His life inside me and peaceful assurance of His perfect capability to provide for me and lead me through each day is what fills me with love for Him right now. I just appreciate it so much.
I don’t really understand life. I don’t understand why so many people’s lives are wrapped up in what seems the tragic isolation and littleness of illness, or old age, wasting away with no apparent purpose. And then there are the people who faithfully care for them…I know it is right and good and pleasing to God to care for the sick, the old, the helpless. But in a world where I’ve always been taught to find purpose and meaning and accomplishment in life, this looks like a waste. I have no idea what God’s purpose could be in all this, what it even has to do with His kingdom.
When I think of “God’s Kingdom” I think of young, passionate, able bodied people going and doing and being. But what about Ima Jean, giving these later years of her life to care for my great grandpa and others like him? I know everyone has a different calling before God. There are a lot of things about life I just don’t understand, but I feel confident leaving it in His hands right now.
It’s nice to know that His Spirit is in me, even when I’m sitting in a deserted Chinese restaurant over a plate of sticky food. It’s not really up to me to “save people” it’s up to Him to do what He wants with me. I’m like, “Have at it Lord.” I have this special sense of being “Sent” wherever I go, even if there’s no obvious reason in my mind for it, or when I’m not doing anything I really see as “important.” It’s kinda cool.
Dad and I are probably the mystery of Jonesville by now, after our daily and sometimes bi-daily walks through the neighborhood in this heat wave. I joked that we might just end up in the newspaper. For one thing, we’re the only people we’ve seen walking the blocks, and we’re probably the only ones crazy enough to be out in 98 degree weather, which is 15 degrees above average for this time of year.
Tonight as we walked by one house, we waved a greeting to a guy clad in a white sleeveless shirt and tattoo, sitting slouched on his front steps.
“Hot enough for ya?” he asked.
This morning we got “attacked” by “Rascal,” a cute little fluff ball who was, thankfully, all bark and no bite. Once I managed to pet him, we pretty much made friends. We met a shiny black snake, too, which made a quick series of S’s out of the road when Dad through sticks at it. We’ve also seen two deer, a hawk, and a whole lot of Flopsies, Mopsies, and Cottontails.
Tonight there weren’t really leftovers for all of us, so Dad and I visited a Chinese restaurant intriguingly called “Hong Kong Buffet.” There was nothing much Hong Kong about it, and neither of us thought the food was spectacular, but it was clean…so I didn’t mind.
The girl in charge sat calmly sorting silverware at a table in the back, giving us prompt attention when needed since we were the only customers for most of the meal.
My fortune cookie amused me. It said, “You are a lover of words. Someday you will write a book.” :) I don’t take much stock in fortune cookies, but it’s nice to hear encouragement, even if it’s from a random source!
After my long nap and more MickeyD’s coffee, I have no idea when I’ll go to bed.
God is so good to me. The knowledge of His life inside me and peaceful assurance of His perfect capability to provide for me and lead me through each day is what fills me with love for Him right now. I just appreciate it so much.
I don’t really understand life. I don’t understand why so many people’s lives are wrapped up in what seems the tragic isolation and littleness of illness, or old age, wasting away with no apparent purpose. And then there are the people who faithfully care for them…I know it is right and good and pleasing to God to care for the sick, the old, the helpless. But in a world where I’ve always been taught to find purpose and meaning and accomplishment in life, this looks like a waste. I have no idea what God’s purpose could be in all this, what it even has to do with His kingdom.
When I think of “God’s Kingdom” I think of young, passionate, able bodied people going and doing and being. But what about Ima Jean, giving these later years of her life to care for my great grandpa and others like him? I know everyone has a different calling before God. There are a lot of things about life I just don’t understand, but I feel confident leaving it in His hands right now.
It’s nice to know that His Spirit is in me, even when I’m sitting in a deserted Chinese restaurant over a plate of sticky food. It’s not really up to me to “save people” it’s up to Him to do what He wants with me. I’m like, “Have at it Lord.” I have this special sense of being “Sent” wherever I go, even if there’s no obvious reason in my mind for it, or when I’m not doing anything I really see as “important.” It’s kinda cool.
Monday, June 9, 2008
I Know I've Overblogged...
Well, I finally got to to internet, after three desert days :) Dad's having withdrawals concerning coffee, newspaper, and peanut butter, but for me, it's mainly just the internet.
I guess I've overblogged all at once...I wrote the last three posts Saturday and yesterday but of course couldn't post them till today.
I'm still trying to wake up from a nearly three hour nap (I finally decided napping was a worthwhile way to spend the afternoon at this point, and caught up on all the sleep I've been behind on for the past several weeks.) At least, I like to think that.
I guess I've overblogged all at once...I wrote the last three posts Saturday and yesterday but of course couldn't post them till today.
I'm still trying to wake up from a nearly three hour nap (I finally decided napping was a worthwhile way to spend the afternoon at this point, and caught up on all the sleep I've been behind on for the past several weeks.) At least, I like to think that.
SIdewalk Thoughts
One thing I’ve been thinking about while I’m driving and walking with Dad is how God made these set institutions and domains in our universe that are similar the world over. I love how there are families and tribes and nations and peoples.
They’re so broken and messed up, but at the same time, they’re created and arranged by God for a purpose. And little glimpses of that purpose still fight through. God’s plans are ingenious. Who, anyway, would have thought of having people in families in houses in communities in people groups in nations on continents on a planet in a universe? With schools and churches and parks and hospitals and libraries and stores and movie theaters? Where did the idea of economies come from, with carpet factories and pizzerias and shopping malls? What about governments, good and bad, with their tyrannical monarchs, law keeping judges, governors, policemen, presidents, parliaments, congresses, councils, chiefs, and consuls? How did neighborhoods happen, road signs evolve, libraries grow up? And cultures! How do I even begin?
At World Mandate a lady whose name escapes me now…Carol Davis?...talked about how there are many “domains” in society, like science, art, politics, religion, communication, engineering, education, transportation, and so forth. I can’t really explain it like she did, but she encouraged believers to use their particular gifts, callings, or desires in a certain domain to benefit the kingdom of God. You don’t have to call yourself a missionary to be part of sharing the gospel in God’s kingdom. You can simply serve in the domain you are in. Although I don’t have a drive for a certain career necessarily, I love the very idea of God’s amazing planning and organization, the way He divided everything up to make life work the way it does. I love the institutions of marriage and family, despite all the quirks and pain and brokenness there is in the world within them. I love how every town is different, with its road names and local stores and area accents. I love even the diversity of architecture even between regions here in the U.S.
I love the habiting of a place, dwelling in it, soaking up what it is and what it smells like, feels like, looks like, sounds like. Nothing is ever perfect, nothing ever completely serene. Lamp lit windows coexist with low-toned, bitter arguments; garbage litters roads where sweet pea vines trail. I can feel more in place in a room far from home, with a bed and a lamp and a little window and my little suitcase of things, than at home in my own room with everything I own and know close by.
Sometimes I love a place because someone I love is there, or was there once. But sometimes I love it for the fact that it snatched back a nearly lost memory, that it taught me what life is, or that it gave me a quiet place to hear God.
Just walking this little neighborhood with Dad has opened up questions and horizons and given me tickets to trains of thought I haven’t ever been on before. The sun goes down and slips over time zones, and wakes people up somewhere in a valley in Tajikistan. Vacant lots stand full of weeds, and kudzoo continues to grow at a foot a day to take over eastern Tennessee. A dead rabbit decomposes on a cracked sidewalk in Jonesville. All kinds of crazy things are happening that we completely take for granted, and what’s even crazier is that it all comes from God and goes back to God…
Hm. You probably think by now that I really have made it to the funny farm and my story about going with Dad to see Grandma was just a cover up. That’s ok. I’m enjoying myself in a mild, pleasant way, like taking a long hot bath in the winter. And I’ve discovered that it’s really easy to keep my things picked up when I have all this unpressured, unhurried time.
Grandpa is snoring in his chair with his head cocked back and his feet propped up. (It’s more like the breath is hurled up from his chest as if it has a long way to travel.) We haven’t done much but pass each other in the kitchen when he’s on his way to get his oatmeal, but I like him.
Grandma is on a word search in Webster’s for a word I asked her about, and she found a poem printed in an old, yellowed bit of newspaper.
Dad is in his “special chair” by the other lamp, looking at Adirondack chair patterns in an edition of “Handyman” magazine. I can see his wheels turning behind his glasses :)
Time for a bowl of My-Current-Favorite Organic Cereal-That-Looks-Like-Dog-Food with the milk we keep giving the sniff test. It says June 4 but it keeps passing the test. Until tomorrow…
They’re so broken and messed up, but at the same time, they’re created and arranged by God for a purpose. And little glimpses of that purpose still fight through. God’s plans are ingenious. Who, anyway, would have thought of having people in families in houses in communities in people groups in nations on continents on a planet in a universe? With schools and churches and parks and hospitals and libraries and stores and movie theaters? Where did the idea of economies come from, with carpet factories and pizzerias and shopping malls? What about governments, good and bad, with their tyrannical monarchs, law keeping judges, governors, policemen, presidents, parliaments, congresses, councils, chiefs, and consuls? How did neighborhoods happen, road signs evolve, libraries grow up? And cultures! How do I even begin?
At World Mandate a lady whose name escapes me now…Carol Davis?...talked about how there are many “domains” in society, like science, art, politics, religion, communication, engineering, education, transportation, and so forth. I can’t really explain it like she did, but she encouraged believers to use their particular gifts, callings, or desires in a certain domain to benefit the kingdom of God. You don’t have to call yourself a missionary to be part of sharing the gospel in God’s kingdom. You can simply serve in the domain you are in. Although I don’t have a drive for a certain career necessarily, I love the very idea of God’s amazing planning and organization, the way He divided everything up to make life work the way it does. I love the institutions of marriage and family, despite all the quirks and pain and brokenness there is in the world within them. I love how every town is different, with its road names and local stores and area accents. I love even the diversity of architecture even between regions here in the U.S.
I love the habiting of a place, dwelling in it, soaking up what it is and what it smells like, feels like, looks like, sounds like. Nothing is ever perfect, nothing ever completely serene. Lamp lit windows coexist with low-toned, bitter arguments; garbage litters roads where sweet pea vines trail. I can feel more in place in a room far from home, with a bed and a lamp and a little window and my little suitcase of things, than at home in my own room with everything I own and know close by.
Sometimes I love a place because someone I love is there, or was there once. But sometimes I love it for the fact that it snatched back a nearly lost memory, that it taught me what life is, or that it gave me a quiet place to hear God.
Just walking this little neighborhood with Dad has opened up questions and horizons and given me tickets to trains of thought I haven’t ever been on before. The sun goes down and slips over time zones, and wakes people up somewhere in a valley in Tajikistan. Vacant lots stand full of weeds, and kudzoo continues to grow at a foot a day to take over eastern Tennessee. A dead rabbit decomposes on a cracked sidewalk in Jonesville. All kinds of crazy things are happening that we completely take for granted, and what’s even crazier is that it all comes from God and goes back to God…
Hm. You probably think by now that I really have made it to the funny farm and my story about going with Dad to see Grandma was just a cover up. That’s ok. I’m enjoying myself in a mild, pleasant way, like taking a long hot bath in the winter. And I’ve discovered that it’s really easy to keep my things picked up when I have all this unpressured, unhurried time.
Grandpa is snoring in his chair with his head cocked back and his feet propped up. (It’s more like the breath is hurled up from his chest as if it has a long way to travel.) We haven’t done much but pass each other in the kitchen when he’s on his way to get his oatmeal, but I like him.
Grandma is on a word search in Webster’s for a word I asked her about, and she found a poem printed in an old, yellowed bit of newspaper.
Dad is in his “special chair” by the other lamp, looking at Adirondack chair patterns in an edition of “Handyman” magazine. I can see his wheels turning behind his glasses :)
Time for a bowl of My-Current-Favorite Organic Cereal-That-Looks-Like-Dog-Food with the milk we keep giving the sniff test. It says June 4 but it keeps passing the test. Until tomorrow…
In Which We Go To Church and Escape To Cracker Barrel
This morning Great Grandpa, Grandma, Dad, and I went to Grandpa’s church. We came in just a tad late for Sunday school, during a teaching on Jeremiah. About fifteen pairs of eyes turned on us, and several greetings of “Hey, Ernie, good to see you” came out.
They all seemed happy to see him, and happy to see grandma and meet me (he introduced me as his granddaughter, so they thought I was grandma’s daughter, because Dad was out in the hallway.) There was some Virtual Cheek Pinching, and some of those Comments Grandmothers Make (with the exception of mine), “Isn’t she a cute little thing.” Later, one older gentleman told Dad he didn’t think I was more than twelve. So much for feeling grown up and mature :)
It did help, however, to realize that I was probably the first person under the age of sixty to have stepped foot in that room for a number of years…
The service was not lively by any stretch, but there was quite a bit of scripture reading, and the speaker (who wasn’t the regular pastor) read right through the book of Jonah, merely commenting on the way. It’s nice to have it like that, undiluted.
Grandpa’s having a rough time of it, so we drove home and dropped him and Grandma off, and Dad took his newly-twelve-year-old daughter to Cracker Barrel. We had a very nourishing meal. At least it tasted and seemed that way. Neither Grandma nor Grandpa eat very much at meals, and I guess we were both self conscious (at least I was) about pigging out around them, but we were both famished. The appetite that was languishing so at home seems to have leapt to life with the changes of scene and circumstance.
I gobbled up chicken and fried okra and scarfed down turnip greens and butter-bedecked cornbread. I’m a perfect southern granny when it comes to cornbread and turnip greens. When I looked at the mushy, pond scummy looking mass, I couldn’t figure out why in the world I want to eat them, but the first bite assured me my craving was true.
Dad and I took a self-guided (Dad-guided) tour of Jonesville and Elkin after lunch, which really didn’t take long. Elkin has some beautiful homes, featuring basements and those old-fashioned windows I adore. The streets are windy and hilly. We finally located a Wi-Fi hotspot at a friendly looking coffee shop on Main Street, which I plan to visit soon.
Just down the street from the coffee shop is a stately looking post office which I might visit as well, and just down from that, the Elkin Public library, which I would probably want to visit if I were going to stay longer :) From there, the street turned down a row of houses and trees that had belonged there a long time.
It surprised me when, after driving down that street, I found myself thinking, “I wish I had a reason to live here.” I’d like to hang around that library, reading poetry and writing letters to mail at the post office, and hide out in the coffee shop, blogging my heart away and maybe really Writing Something. Maybe living in one of those Houses with Personality and Scope for the Imagination. Spending some time in the woods on the mountains.
I don’t know. It’s just one of a thousand little dreams in my head, and it sounds kind of lonely with just me in it. It’s not something I’d want to spend my life doing, but maybe a summer with some other girls who like to read poetry. Hmm.
They all seemed happy to see him, and happy to see grandma and meet me (he introduced me as his granddaughter, so they thought I was grandma’s daughter, because Dad was out in the hallway.) There was some Virtual Cheek Pinching, and some of those Comments Grandmothers Make (with the exception of mine), “Isn’t she a cute little thing.” Later, one older gentleman told Dad he didn’t think I was more than twelve. So much for feeling grown up and mature :)
It did help, however, to realize that I was probably the first person under the age of sixty to have stepped foot in that room for a number of years…
The service was not lively by any stretch, but there was quite a bit of scripture reading, and the speaker (who wasn’t the regular pastor) read right through the book of Jonah, merely commenting on the way. It’s nice to have it like that, undiluted.
Grandpa’s having a rough time of it, so we drove home and dropped him and Grandma off, and Dad took his newly-twelve-year-old daughter to Cracker Barrel. We had a very nourishing meal. At least it tasted and seemed that way. Neither Grandma nor Grandpa eat very much at meals, and I guess we were both self conscious (at least I was) about pigging out around them, but we were both famished. The appetite that was languishing so at home seems to have leapt to life with the changes of scene and circumstance.
I gobbled up chicken and fried okra and scarfed down turnip greens and butter-bedecked cornbread. I’m a perfect southern granny when it comes to cornbread and turnip greens. When I looked at the mushy, pond scummy looking mass, I couldn’t figure out why in the world I want to eat them, but the first bite assured me my craving was true.
Dad and I took a self-guided (Dad-guided) tour of Jonesville and Elkin after lunch, which really didn’t take long. Elkin has some beautiful homes, featuring basements and those old-fashioned windows I adore. The streets are windy and hilly. We finally located a Wi-Fi hotspot at a friendly looking coffee shop on Main Street, which I plan to visit soon.
Just down the street from the coffee shop is a stately looking post office which I might visit as well, and just down from that, the Elkin Public library, which I would probably want to visit if I were going to stay longer :) From there, the street turned down a row of houses and trees that had belonged there a long time.
It surprised me when, after driving down that street, I found myself thinking, “I wish I had a reason to live here.” I’d like to hang around that library, reading poetry and writing letters to mail at the post office, and hide out in the coffee shop, blogging my heart away and maybe really Writing Something. Maybe living in one of those Houses with Personality and Scope for the Imagination. Spending some time in the woods on the mountains.
I don’t know. It’s just one of a thousand little dreams in my head, and it sounds kind of lonely with just me in it. It’s not something I’d want to spend my life doing, but maybe a summer with some other girls who like to read poetry. Hmm.
On the Way To Grandpa's
(Written on Saturday)
Dad and I just finished a twilight walk around several blocks of Grandpa Pitz’s neighborhood. It’s a quiet neighborhood at this time of evening; the houses are close and small and look cozy with lamplight behind their opaque curtains. We’re just doing a lot of nothing, but it gives me lots of time to think and observe, and it’s not boring because everything is just a little different from home.
We arrived here in Jonesville, NC at my great-grandpa’s house at about 3:30 or so, after about six hours of driving. I spent most of the time splitting my head with yawns, but it wasn’t till we’d neared our destination that I actually went to sleep. I hate to sleep when I’m traveling because I’m afraid I’ll miss something, if nothing but perfectly good car time staring out the window :) Before I finally napped, I stared out the window, read passing signs, read Maya Angelou, lost an earring in the backseat, and listened to a Russian language tape.
We saw some interesting signs, including one for “Scratch Gravel Road” and “Hungry Mother State Park.” But the one that arrested my attention was a traffic warning that read,
“Speed limits enforced by aircraft”
Instantly I pictured B52 bombers screaming over the interstate, decimating unruly speeders! Actually, we saw a less-threatening-looking helicopter hovering over the highway while we stood in the Wendy’s parking lot after lunch, so I expect they have a more humane way of handling things.
The best part of the drive was when we glimpsed the hazy edges of the Smokies and the valley swathed in mist as it started to rain. Only about a bucketful of drops fell splattered the windshield, but it was great!! The smell of it was so clear and clean-- I had to just lay on my pillow and drink it like a cup of water.
We didn't have a lot of view of the mountains, so soon after that I fell asleep, and the next thing I remember was Dad’s hand nudging me awake as we drove into Elkin. There was the new Walmart and a twisty road passing houses with wonderful windows that inspired my imagination, and then Jonesville, with streets and houses vaguely familiar. And then Grandpa’s.
Grandpa was pretty tired, and none of us had much to say. We sat on the orange couch for a while (which is not a very loving couch, I have to say) next to window I fondly remember sleeping under on a warm night when I think there were fireflies. But I can’t remember for sure. The fireflies might have been somewhere else. The house seemed so lonely that I didn’t really mind the company of a slim brown spider that wandered out to say hello :)
Dad and I just finished a twilight walk around several blocks of Grandpa Pitz’s neighborhood. It’s a quiet neighborhood at this time of evening; the houses are close and small and look cozy with lamplight behind their opaque curtains. We’re just doing a lot of nothing, but it gives me lots of time to think and observe, and it’s not boring because everything is just a little different from home.
We arrived here in Jonesville, NC at my great-grandpa’s house at about 3:30 or so, after about six hours of driving. I spent most of the time splitting my head with yawns, but it wasn’t till we’d neared our destination that I actually went to sleep. I hate to sleep when I’m traveling because I’m afraid I’ll miss something, if nothing but perfectly good car time staring out the window :) Before I finally napped, I stared out the window, read passing signs, read Maya Angelou, lost an earring in the backseat, and listened to a Russian language tape.
We saw some interesting signs, including one for “Scratch Gravel Road” and “Hungry Mother State Park.” But the one that arrested my attention was a traffic warning that read,
“Speed limits enforced by aircraft”
Instantly I pictured B52 bombers screaming over the interstate, decimating unruly speeders! Actually, we saw a less-threatening-looking helicopter hovering over the highway while we stood in the Wendy’s parking lot after lunch, so I expect they have a more humane way of handling things.
The best part of the drive was when we glimpsed the hazy edges of the Smokies and the valley swathed in mist as it started to rain. Only about a bucketful of drops fell splattered the windshield, but it was great!! The smell of it was so clear and clean-- I had to just lay on my pillow and drink it like a cup of water.
We didn't have a lot of view of the mountains, so soon after that I fell asleep, and the next thing I remember was Dad’s hand nudging me awake as we drove into Elkin. There was the new Walmart and a twisty road passing houses with wonderful windows that inspired my imagination, and then Jonesville, with streets and houses vaguely familiar. And then Grandpa’s.
Grandpa was pretty tired, and none of us had much to say. We sat on the orange couch for a while (which is not a very loving couch, I have to say) next to window I fondly remember sleeping under on a warm night when I think there were fireflies. But I can’t remember for sure. The fireflies might have been somewhere else. The house seemed so lonely that I didn’t really mind the company of a slim brown spider that wandered out to say hello :)
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The Best of Two Worlds
So, I’m at Grandma’s now, and thoroughly enjoying it. Right now Dad is in the living room looking at old yearbooks. I had to laugh, because in all the pictures his mouth looks like Ethan’s :)
We made decent time yesterday on I-20, and I actually got to drive about half the time! I was surprised and delighted at how quickly I adjusted to it. Dad actually got to sleep a bit, and at least rest in the passenger’s seat. And I got a lot of practice passing eighteen wheelers. Things were going so well that I even braved Birmingham and triumphed, and then tried Chattanooga at rush hour and conquered again! (There really wasn’t much traffic though, considering it was rush hour). So now I feel confident that I can really and truly drive on the interstate and even through cities, and could even do it alone, if need be. That would be an adventure! But I think acquiring the confidence to attempt it is the biggest hurtle for me…and it’s jumped!!
Last night Aunt Ann, Kimmy, and Elizabeth came over and we had supper together. Then the girls and I sprawled out in the bedroom and talked while I played with Kim’s beautiful hair. It’s nice to be with them again.
After they left, I tried to go to bed because I had been up since 3:15 a.m. and never even tried to kid myself into thinking I could sleep in the van…but alas. Elizabeth had left some books on the shelf in the bedroom, and I was only going to take a peek, but…You guessed it-- I fell to temptation and was up till 1:00 a.m. reading an extraordinary story.
The book wasn’t very long, so I sort of speed read it and finished it. It was Total Abandon, by Gary Witherall. He and his wife went to Lebanon several years ago as missionaries and she was killed by a gunman after about two years there. In a way it’s a sad story, but their realness and devoted, joyful love for the Lord really captured me. You think you dread “tragedies” like that…but at the same time there’s an element of longing to fully abandon everything to God in that way.
Needless to say, I didn’t want to get up very early this morning, and when I first woke up at 7:30, realizing that it was actually only 6:30 by my body’s Texas clock, I was sort of disgusted. It was already light! So I kind of went back to sleep, and then sort of got up, but not really, and then at 9:45 I finally went out to the living room where Grandma was working a crossword and watching a game show. Soft sunlight was coming in through the lacy curtains, and it felt like a good morning.
Dad had gone for a walk at the track here in Dayton, and part way through my breakfast he came in with a McDonald's iced coffee for me :) I felt loved.
Liz told me that the Dayton library has wireless internet, so I’m writing this at Grandma’s table and plan to go to the library later. Fun, fun. This wireless stuff is new and exciting to me :) I’ve always loved coming to Grandma’s, but I always felt a little stuck and isolated. This way, I seem to have the best of two worlds.
We’ll probably be leaving for North Carolina on Saturday. For now, we’ll just hang out and enjoy each other :)
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Providence Interferes With My Boring Life
Well, two days ago I had no idea I would be leaving at 4:00 a.m. tomorrow for Tennessee...but that's exactly what I'm doing!
After talking to Grandma on Monday, Dad decided to drive up to her place so he could make the trip to North Carolina with her to see my Great-Grandpa Pitz. Grandpa Pitz is in his nineties and needs some extra attention, and it's a lot for Grandma to do and think about. So Dad wanted to give her some support. And after tweaking some plans, we decided I could go too!
I feel like a lark released...like a dandelion tuft blown free...like a water droplet leaping over Angel Falls...I had no idea how much I was longing to "go" until Dad said the word "trip"! I had no idea how close to the brink of insanity I was teetering here in my dear little house stewing over all my little issues until there was this thought of driving...driving...driving...far away, down interstates, over bridges, through the mountains. Aaaaaa!!!! Maybe I'll go ahead and go crazy anyway, just for kicks. I'm so excited.
By refering to my life as boring, I didn't mean that at all against my loving God who has seen fit to give me blessings and opportunities like I could never deserve or dream up in a thousand lifetimes. It's actually embarressing to admit how bored and "stir crazy" I've been, no matter how much work I do or how much I try to get over it. I'm just grateful God doesn't play fair with me :)
I absolutely love it when I go about planning my existence, resigning myself to waking up every morning to the same fried eggs, the same lukewarm shower, the same set of temptations and struggles, and then, BAM!!! some providential meteorite comes hurtling into my atmosphere and wrecks the whole sick scheme.
Flexibility! Yes! It's easy when you don't have any plans to begin with. When you don't have any plans, it's hard to be distressed about them being interrupted. I feel like Cinderella, zapped by the fairy godmother.
I love this feeling of being along for the ride. Of being surprised again. Oh, the Wildness of Things!
So here is the "Wildness" for now (But it is just a plan)... We'll drive the 12 hours to Grandma's, stay a few days and see my aunt and two cousins, and then drive to Grandpa's, stay for a few days, come back to G-ma's, and come home a few days later. We'll be gone 9 or 10 days in all. I'll practice interstate driving (which we hope will give Dad a chance to rest, but, ah, I'm not counting on it!), visit with relatives, and enjoy the car time with Dad. I'm going to bring my laptop and try very hard to find places (preferably besides Starbucks) to stop and check email and blog. We'll see what happens. I've never taken a trip with my laptop before.
It's time to pack things up and try not to spaz out about how to fold my shirts :)
Bye for now.
After talking to Grandma on Monday, Dad decided to drive up to her place so he could make the trip to North Carolina with her to see my Great-Grandpa Pitz. Grandpa Pitz is in his nineties and needs some extra attention, and it's a lot for Grandma to do and think about. So Dad wanted to give her some support. And after tweaking some plans, we decided I could go too!
I feel like a lark released...like a dandelion tuft blown free...like a water droplet leaping over Angel Falls...I had no idea how much I was longing to "go" until Dad said the word "trip"! I had no idea how close to the brink of insanity I was teetering here in my dear little house stewing over all my little issues until there was this thought of driving...driving...driving...far away, down interstates, over bridges, through the mountains. Aaaaaa!!!! Maybe I'll go ahead and go crazy anyway, just for kicks. I'm so excited.
By refering to my life as boring, I didn't mean that at all against my loving God who has seen fit to give me blessings and opportunities like I could never deserve or dream up in a thousand lifetimes. It's actually embarressing to admit how bored and "stir crazy" I've been, no matter how much work I do or how much I try to get over it. I'm just grateful God doesn't play fair with me :)
I absolutely love it when I go about planning my existence, resigning myself to waking up every morning to the same fried eggs, the same lukewarm shower, the same set of temptations and struggles, and then, BAM!!! some providential meteorite comes hurtling into my atmosphere and wrecks the whole sick scheme.
Flexibility! Yes! It's easy when you don't have any plans to begin with. When you don't have any plans, it's hard to be distressed about them being interrupted. I feel like Cinderella, zapped by the fairy godmother.
I love this feeling of being along for the ride. Of being surprised again. Oh, the Wildness of Things!
So here is the "Wildness" for now (But it is just a plan)... We'll drive the 12 hours to Grandma's, stay a few days and see my aunt and two cousins, and then drive to Grandpa's, stay for a few days, come back to G-ma's, and come home a few days later. We'll be gone 9 or 10 days in all. I'll practice interstate driving (which we hope will give Dad a chance to rest, but, ah, I'm not counting on it!), visit with relatives, and enjoy the car time with Dad. I'm going to bring my laptop and try very hard to find places (preferably besides Starbucks) to stop and check email and blog. We'll see what happens. I've never taken a trip with my laptop before.
It's time to pack things up and try not to spaz out about how to fold my shirts :)
Bye for now.
Monday, June 2, 2008
In Which We Split Wood After All
So, we did get in on the wood chopping after all. Not chopping, but splitting. There was still a pile of un-split logs left from Saturday, and the splitter Dad rented didn’t have to go back until 9:00 this morning. So Mom came and cheerfully roused all her little lumberjacks at 6:30. I say lumberjacks, but at that point we were more like zombies. Rising with the sun is all good and well if you go to bed with the sun, but some of us don’t, and it is our fault entirely, I admit.
Mom had made us some hearty scrambled eggs and toast, and as we all sat down at the table to eat she said, “See, kids, we could be an Amish family! Only it’s not dark out.” We tried not to actually slay her with our glares; moderate maiming seemed more acceptable. After all, she is our mother.
We ate our eggs and headed for the little barn we used to keep chickens in. (I know it sounds like we’re farmers, but that would be a complete misunderstanding. It was a devastating experience for the chickens.) Strains of “Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho!” were floating through my head, accompanied by a splitting headache (no pun intended).
Dad was already there with the splitter, so I got down beside him to help with that. Soon, Dad was manning the splitter and I was getting the logs into position to be split, while Connor, Mom, and Mattie set up logs for me and stacked the split pieces. It was quite an operation. I wrestled with the logs and Dad guided where they needed to be split.
In the jittery roar of the splitter’s motor, we had to yell in order to hear each other, even though we were only a few feet apart. I’d half-hear Dad’s calls of, “Let’s go three pieces with this one!” Or “Shave off that side and do quarters!” Since I couldn’t hear him that well, he motioned with his fingers whether to split the log into 2,3, or 4 pieces.
I didn’t always see how many fingers, being a little mesmerized with the hypnotic travels of the maul up and down its the greased post. When I started noticing his hand motions, I had to laugh at his gimpy fingers. He has nearly removed three different finger tips in three different accidents, and now one of his fingers points around corners. But I had to remember how one of the fingers (the one affectionately dubbed “Frankenfinger”) got mangled in a table saw while he was making a desk for a little eleven-year-old girl aspiring to be a writer…
Mom offered to take my spot at the splitter, since it looked uncomfortable to be kneeling or leaning back on my heels for so long. But that wasn’t bothering me, and I wanted to stay where I was. I kind of liked working right there with Dad. I felt close to him that way; we were working the same pieces of wood, watching the splitter tear through the grain of each log, each of us tugging a side of it to finish the separation. I was there kneeling next to him, his worn leathery boot near my knee; I could see the grit and bruises on his hands. He was there, guiding the splitter’s lever with one hand and guiding my log and me with the other.
Dad and I often have a hard time communicating with each other, but I think we love each other a lot more than either of us can express. This work was a connecting point. “Half, Cass, I said half,” I heard him yell over the roar, after I had missed the spot where the he wanted the splitter to go through. “Half looks different from over here!” I yelled back.
The work went so well that I was surprised to look back and see how much the pile had dwindled. We finished in an hour and a half, and Dad hitched the splitter to his truck and took it back to the rental, while the rest of us went home to clean the grease and grime and wood bits off our hands and shoes and, well, every where. My hair has gone crazy, I’m a little queasy on gasoline fumes, and I still have that splitting headache, but hey, the day is still young...
Mom had made us some hearty scrambled eggs and toast, and as we all sat down at the table to eat she said, “See, kids, we could be an Amish family! Only it’s not dark out.” We tried not to actually slay her with our glares; moderate maiming seemed more acceptable. After all, she is our mother.
We ate our eggs and headed for the little barn we used to keep chickens in. (I know it sounds like we’re farmers, but that would be a complete misunderstanding. It was a devastating experience for the chickens.) Strains of “Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho!” were floating through my head, accompanied by a splitting headache (no pun intended).
Dad was already there with the splitter, so I got down beside him to help with that. Soon, Dad was manning the splitter and I was getting the logs into position to be split, while Connor, Mom, and Mattie set up logs for me and stacked the split pieces. It was quite an operation. I wrestled with the logs and Dad guided where they needed to be split.
In the jittery roar of the splitter’s motor, we had to yell in order to hear each other, even though we were only a few feet apart. I’d half-hear Dad’s calls of, “Let’s go three pieces with this one!” Or “Shave off that side and do quarters!” Since I couldn’t hear him that well, he motioned with his fingers whether to split the log into 2,3, or 4 pieces.
I didn’t always see how many fingers, being a little mesmerized with the hypnotic travels of the maul up and down its the greased post. When I started noticing his hand motions, I had to laugh at his gimpy fingers. He has nearly removed three different finger tips in three different accidents, and now one of his fingers points around corners. But I had to remember how one of the fingers (the one affectionately dubbed “Frankenfinger”) got mangled in a table saw while he was making a desk for a little eleven-year-old girl aspiring to be a writer…
Mom offered to take my spot at the splitter, since it looked uncomfortable to be kneeling or leaning back on my heels for so long. But that wasn’t bothering me, and I wanted to stay where I was. I kind of liked working right there with Dad. I felt close to him that way; we were working the same pieces of wood, watching the splitter tear through the grain of each log, each of us tugging a side of it to finish the separation. I was there kneeling next to him, his worn leathery boot near my knee; I could see the grit and bruises on his hands. He was there, guiding the splitter’s lever with one hand and guiding my log and me with the other.
Dad and I often have a hard time communicating with each other, but I think we love each other a lot more than either of us can express. This work was a connecting point. “Half, Cass, I said half,” I heard him yell over the roar, after I had missed the spot where the he wanted the splitter to go through. “Half looks different from over here!” I yelled back.
The work went so well that I was surprised to look back and see how much the pile had dwindled. We finished in an hour and a half, and Dad hitched the splitter to his truck and took it back to the rental, while the rest of us went home to clean the grease and grime and wood bits off our hands and shoes and, well, every where. My hair has gone crazy, I’m a little queasy on gasoline fumes, and I still have that splitting headache, but hey, the day is still young...
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