I've been tagged by mom huebert of Chocolate After Supper to produce a list of six quirky things about me. Of course, my first reaction was--ONLY six?!
I took my cue on where to start from mom huebert's list (see #1, #4, and #6). Some of those things certainly sounded familiar to me.
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1. I love school, too. I not only loved it as a child, but have loved it as an adult. It looks to me like a big gateway to hope and endless possibilities. I'm presently working with some folks to see if we can put together some funding that will allow me to return for yet more school for a career that will better suit the present circumstances.
2. I do have an Associates Degree, but usually have to explain what it is when I mention that my major was Nondestructive Testing. For those who've never seen friends or family setting up a radiation perimeter around their isotope camera, it involves using non-invasive test methods to determine the integrity of production parts. The methods include ultrasound, X-ray or gamma source film exposure, and some cool electromagnetic things that don't have hospital equivalents, since not many people are made of steel.
3. My left eye doesn't dilate much because of scarring from some inflammations. If I walk too quickly though a change in lighting, I'll not have enough time to adjust and will run into things ahead and to my left. I've never seen it, obviously, but I'd bet it's pretty funny to watch!
4. I also am heartbroken by mismatches between words and actions,particularly when the failure to reconcile them is mine. I just got an e-mail from a friend who's currently involved in prison ministry that commented on her can't-take-it-anymore frustration with churches that form action committees for poverty and isolation issues, but never actually do much of anything for people. A board meeting in three weeks that may or may not yield assistance won't help someone who'll have their utilities shut off the day after tomorrow. God, grow us all up beyond the stage of being clouds without water.
5. My Myers-Briggs personality type is the INTJ (Introverted-Intuitive-Thinking-Judging). A counselor that I spoke with yesterday agreed that it's a rare type in itself, and probably particularly so for women. The women cited as being INTJs were people like nuclear physicist Dr. Lise Meitner and philosopher Ayn Rand, who made a career out of blowing off social convention. Reading some of the descriptions of the type have helped me understand some of the painful communication breakdowns that have taken place in my life. I still can't figure out why girls travel to bathrooms in herds, for example. It's a little easier for me to appeal to the State Director of Health and Human Services to get my mother health benefits that had been denied than it is to hug her, partly because I can better understand the functional imperative of the former to her well-being. I love people and spend a lot of my time working in their behalf, but in behind-the-scene ways like prayer and networking, and with the one-on-one listening and reflecting sessions. I seem to have resources that match needs show up in ways that make me feel like I was steered toward them. I feel like a divine bureaucrat sometimes. I probably wouldn't qualify for social director.
6. Like mom huebert, I spend quite a bit of time composing stories or poems in my head when I'm doing things that don't require a lot of concentration. Most don't make it into print because I don't write them down soon enough, but the flight of fancy in itself is an entertaining way to keep the dust off of the unused brain cells.
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Next, I post the rules, to be repeated by the next wonderfully quirky person on their blog:
~Link to the person that tagged you
~Post the rules on your blog
~Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
~Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
~Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website
Then, I name some people whose uniqueness I would like to celebrate (although I might not make it to six):
Maria at Jubilee on Earth
Cindy at Notes in the Key of Life
MiKael at MiKael's Mania - Arabian Horses
and My Clouds, My Storms....
Pastor Parato at Minister's Musings
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Thursday Thirteen #2: We are Siamese, if You Please
I used to own two cats that lived up to the reputation that Siamese have for being unusual personalities. Between Ilse and Hannelore (or Hani, as she was known to her fan club) and their people, I came up with thirteen unique quirks.
1. Ilse loved cantaloupe. I didn't know that cats ate fruit.
2. Ilse DID NOT love yogurt. She tried it once, and sat there licking her top lip for at least ten minutes to try to get rid of it.
3. Hani was traumatized by the sound of silverware being put away. She would scream and run for cover when the clanking started.
4. The first endearing thing that Hani did the week that she came home as a six-week-old kitten, besides making Ilse hiss and circle her, was to run up the drapes and watch us from the top of the rod.
5. When she finally got too heavy to climb the drapes, she took to sitting in that big picture window and chewing out the blue jays that would swoop by to irritate her with an un-catlike MAT-MAT-MAT-MAT ratcheting sound.
6. Ilse got irritated by people behavior at times. When she did, she'd run at the offender, pivot on her front legs, mule-kick them in the shin with surprising force, and then regather herself and run for said cover.
7. They had a set bedtime routine. Ilse would lay between my (or Mom's) knees, and Hani curled up right under whomever's chin. She'd roll over onto your face, if you'd let her.
8. Hani had herself well-positioned to do the 5 a. m. wake up call, which usually consisted of licking an eyelid and MROWWWWRing cat breath directly into our noses.
9. Ilse, who detested Hani for the first two weeks or so after she came, one day changed her mind and decided to adopt her. One day, we found Ilse tucking Hani into her side, and maybe letting her fake-nurse a little since she was Mom-cat size and probably reminded her of Mom-cat. They spent the next 13 years napping that way, minus the pseudo-nursing.
10. We thought that qualified Ilse to be a Mom-cat. We took her to her appointment to become a mother, and she decided to practice abstinence instead. Actually, she practiced abstinence, slicing, and dicing. We were very grateful that the tom still had both eyes when we got her out of there, and had them both spayed after that.
11. Ilse was the bright one. I think she had a slide rule in her head. She didn't chase mice--she calculated their trajectory and triangulated onto their projected path.
12. Hani was a bit more....cerebrally challenged. She would sometimes get this wide-eyed look when you tossed her the string, as though she needed to have the game explained first, again. She would also walk through the house letting the world know that something wasn't quite right with her distinctive, somewhat nasal MWAAAOOOOWWWWRRRRRRR. It was generally tough to get to the bottom of the problem, leading us to believe that she wasn't sure what it was either.
13. This is actually behavior on the part of Ilse and Hani's people, and is somewhat poignant as well as a little amusing now that we've gotten some distance from it.
My Mom became their caretaker when I moved to a place that wouldn't allow me to keep them. They were her companions as I slogged through my weird marriage, and she had such guilt when the time came to put them down because of the ravages of old age that it aggravated some preexisting health conditions and she spent a few days in the hospital. My aunt, trying to be careful not to put her through any more heartache, picked them up from the vet and put them in her freezer until Mom could tell her where to bury them. In the meantime, Thanksgiving rolled around, and one of her daughters that had come home for the holiday went to the freezer for some pre-Thanksgiving supper, and....
Don't worry--they're lying safely under her willow tree.
1. Ilse loved cantaloupe. I didn't know that cats ate fruit.
2. Ilse DID NOT love yogurt. She tried it once, and sat there licking her top lip for at least ten minutes to try to get rid of it.
3. Hani was traumatized by the sound of silverware being put away. She would scream and run for cover when the clanking started.
4. The first endearing thing that Hani did the week that she came home as a six-week-old kitten, besides making Ilse hiss and circle her, was to run up the drapes and watch us from the top of the rod.
5. When she finally got too heavy to climb the drapes, she took to sitting in that big picture window and chewing out the blue jays that would swoop by to irritate her with an un-catlike MAT-MAT-MAT-MAT ratcheting sound.
6. Ilse got irritated by people behavior at times. When she did, she'd run at the offender, pivot on her front legs, mule-kick them in the shin with surprising force, and then regather herself and run for said cover.
7. They had a set bedtime routine. Ilse would lay between my (or Mom's) knees, and Hani curled up right under whomever's chin. She'd roll over onto your face, if you'd let her.
8. Hani had herself well-positioned to do the 5 a. m. wake up call, which usually consisted of licking an eyelid and MROWWWWRing cat breath directly into our noses.
9. Ilse, who detested Hani for the first two weeks or so after she came, one day changed her mind and decided to adopt her. One day, we found Ilse tucking Hani into her side, and maybe letting her fake-nurse a little since she was Mom-cat size and probably reminded her of Mom-cat. They spent the next 13 years napping that way, minus the pseudo-nursing.
10. We thought that qualified Ilse to be a Mom-cat. We took her to her appointment to become a mother, and she decided to practice abstinence instead. Actually, she practiced abstinence, slicing, and dicing. We were very grateful that the tom still had both eyes when we got her out of there, and had them both spayed after that.
11. Ilse was the bright one. I think she had a slide rule in her head. She didn't chase mice--she calculated their trajectory and triangulated onto their projected path.
12. Hani was a bit more....cerebrally challenged. She would sometimes get this wide-eyed look when you tossed her the string, as though she needed to have the game explained first, again. She would also walk through the house letting the world know that something wasn't quite right with her distinctive, somewhat nasal MWAAAOOOOWWWWRRRRRRR. It was generally tough to get to the bottom of the problem, leading us to believe that she wasn't sure what it was either.
13. This is actually behavior on the part of Ilse and Hani's people, and is somewhat poignant as well as a little amusing now that we've gotten some distance from it.
My Mom became their caretaker when I moved to a place that wouldn't allow me to keep them. They were her companions as I slogged through my weird marriage, and she had such guilt when the time came to put them down because of the ravages of old age that it aggravated some preexisting health conditions and she spent a few days in the hospital. My aunt, trying to be careful not to put her through any more heartache, picked them up from the vet and put them in her freezer until Mom could tell her where to bury them. In the meantime, Thanksgiving rolled around, and one of her daughters that had come home for the holiday went to the freezer for some pre-Thanksgiving supper, and....
Don't worry--they're lying safely under her willow tree.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
A Little Child Shall Lead Them
Isaiah 11:6
"The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them."
I have had a sort of a prayer and exhortation relationship, mostly via the Internet, with a number of people over the years. Taking a cue from Jesus, I like to use images and stories that can communicate a point in a way that's easy to grasp. Two stories that I like to reference to illustrate a point are the fable "Stone Soup" and the fairy tale "The Emperor's New Clothes". Before putting together this blog entry, I went to look up both stories to make sure that I was quoting them correctly, and found to my amazement that the description of the first story cited the other as an opposite theme! It reminded me of the following description of the seemingly upside-down kingdom of God found in Matt. 19:30: "But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first."
"The Emperor's New Clothes" is perhaps better-known. It tells about an emperor who hired two itinerant taylors to make him a new set of clothes. Due to his insecurity and dependence on the approval of others, he believed their claim that the cloth was so fine that it couldn't be detected by anyone who was stupid or unfit for their position, and pretended to be able to see the cloth lest he be exposed as a fraud. He went so far as to carry his bluff that he could see the clothes to the extent of participating in a parade down the village's main street in his birthday suit. Everyone else also played the game, except for a little child who declared the obvious--the emperor wasn't wearing any clothes!
"Stone Soup" is also about travellers who also tell creative stories. They drag into a village hungry and looking for help. Unfortunately, they've happened onto a place that's fallen on hard times, and no one wants to share what little they have horded away with each other, much less with strangers. The travellers start a pot in the center of the square, and toss a "magic" stone into it that somehow promises a fantastic pot of soup. It could, however, use a little something to dress it up a bit. First one, and then another, of the villagers extract their hidden soup ingredients until the whole village has a pot of soup greater than the sum of its parts.
There is a third story that also comes to mind that's supposed to illustrate the difference between heaven and hell. For all practical purposes, it sounds more like the intended difference between the kingdom of God and the world:
A man dreamed that he was taken by an angel to view both heaven and hell. His eyes were opened to them both, and he was astounded to find that they looked identical at first glance! He was very troubled and asked the angel to explain. In both places, a large number of people were seated at a huge banquet table filled with food--but their hands were bound behind them so that no one could eat.
The angel urged him to look more closely, where he saw the difference: the people in hell stared sadly at their food without eating, while those in heaven clumsily but effectively were able to feed the people next to them and be fed in turns by lifting their forks with their mouths to feed the one next to them.
All of us are limited by circumstance, challenge, or some other hindrance. We can either close in our ourselves in desperation to hold onto what little we have until our lives are perfect and we feel completely secure, or choose to be taught to participate in the compassion of God by allowing Him to show us someone to whom we can offer help or comfort, however imperfectly. They may offer some back then, or later, or not be able to do so, but our reward from God will be seen in some other way. Participating in His nature is reward in itself, but scripture shows us how compassion was intended to be expressed between us in practical ways. As the earth groans more as His day approaches, we may need to find greater depths of sharing His character and sharing what's in our spiritually and naturally in our hand. I can attest to the fact that even clumsy attempts by His body to reach toward each other bring a strong sense of His presence. "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." (Matthew 18:20). He can't be looking for something so complicated that it's beyond us, because He said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (Mk. 10:14b)
Luke 10:21
"At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure."
"The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them."
I have had a sort of a prayer and exhortation relationship, mostly via the Internet, with a number of people over the years. Taking a cue from Jesus, I like to use images and stories that can communicate a point in a way that's easy to grasp. Two stories that I like to reference to illustrate a point are the fable "Stone Soup" and the fairy tale "The Emperor's New Clothes". Before putting together this blog entry, I went to look up both stories to make sure that I was quoting them correctly, and found to my amazement that the description of the first story cited the other as an opposite theme! It reminded me of the following description of the seemingly upside-down kingdom of God found in Matt. 19:30: "But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first."
"The Emperor's New Clothes" is perhaps better-known. It tells about an emperor who hired two itinerant taylors to make him a new set of clothes. Due to his insecurity and dependence on the approval of others, he believed their claim that the cloth was so fine that it couldn't be detected by anyone who was stupid or unfit for their position, and pretended to be able to see the cloth lest he be exposed as a fraud. He went so far as to carry his bluff that he could see the clothes to the extent of participating in a parade down the village's main street in his birthday suit. Everyone else also played the game, except for a little child who declared the obvious--the emperor wasn't wearing any clothes!
"Stone Soup" is also about travellers who also tell creative stories. They drag into a village hungry and looking for help. Unfortunately, they've happened onto a place that's fallen on hard times, and no one wants to share what little they have horded away with each other, much less with strangers. The travellers start a pot in the center of the square, and toss a "magic" stone into it that somehow promises a fantastic pot of soup. It could, however, use a little something to dress it up a bit. First one, and then another, of the villagers extract their hidden soup ingredients until the whole village has a pot of soup greater than the sum of its parts.
There is a third story that also comes to mind that's supposed to illustrate the difference between heaven and hell. For all practical purposes, it sounds more like the intended difference between the kingdom of God and the world:
A man dreamed that he was taken by an angel to view both heaven and hell. His eyes were opened to them both, and he was astounded to find that they looked identical at first glance! He was very troubled and asked the angel to explain. In both places, a large number of people were seated at a huge banquet table filled with food--but their hands were bound behind them so that no one could eat.
The angel urged him to look more closely, where he saw the difference: the people in hell stared sadly at their food without eating, while those in heaven clumsily but effectively were able to feed the people next to them and be fed in turns by lifting their forks with their mouths to feed the one next to them.
All of us are limited by circumstance, challenge, or some other hindrance. We can either close in our ourselves in desperation to hold onto what little we have until our lives are perfect and we feel completely secure, or choose to be taught to participate in the compassion of God by allowing Him to show us someone to whom we can offer help or comfort, however imperfectly. They may offer some back then, or later, or not be able to do so, but our reward from God will be seen in some other way. Participating in His nature is reward in itself, but scripture shows us how compassion was intended to be expressed between us in practical ways. As the earth groans more as His day approaches, we may need to find greater depths of sharing His character and sharing what's in our spiritually and naturally in our hand. I can attest to the fact that even clumsy attempts by His body to reach toward each other bring a strong sense of His presence. "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." (Matthew 18:20). He can't be looking for something so complicated that it's beyond us, because He said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (Mk. 10:14b)
Luke 10:21
"At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure."
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Bloom Where You're Planted
This phrase went through my mind some time back, and I've been trying to sort out what I think it means.
Some of the options that I've investigated involve leaving the area and starting over somewhere that seemed more hospitable, for the change of scenery if nothing else. So far, I haven't seen any place that had enough security to make a blind one-way leap with little to fund it and no way back feasible. Solomon made a comment that I think applies: "A discerning man keeps wisdom in view, but a fool's eyes wander to the ends of the earth." (Prov. 17:24).
I think that there's something to be said for caution. I also think that there's the issue of not only where we find ourself planted, but of what's been planted in us, to be considered.
We've recently celebrated Martin Luther King Day in this country, which is a noteworthy event in our household. More that 100 years before Dr. King told the world about his dream that his four little children would have room to flourish in a safe and productive culture, William Wilberforce was laying some of the legal bedrock for it in the British Parliament. After experiencing a genuine conversion to Christianity as an adult, he sought the counsel of clergy on whether to leave his seat in Parliament for a more directly spiritual vocation. He was advised to remain at his post, eventually contributing to both The Slave Trade Act of 1807 and The Bill for the Abolition of Slavery that was finally ratified in 1833. News of the latter was rushed to the ailing Wilberforce of its passage three days before his death, as though he had finished his course with that victory.
Another periodic topic of conversation at our house is the saga of Standing Bear, a 19th-century Ponca chief. The United States government decided that this nomadic hunting tribe should settle down and farm. Then, they mistakenly allocated some of their farmland to the Sioux, causing a deadly conflict. They were moved to another place that wasn't home and had the misfortune of going through a hard winter for which they were by that point ill-prepared. The chief's son was among those who died. He could no longer reinvent himself, and had to return to the land around the Niobrara to properly lay him to rest. At great personal risk, he reentered Nebraska with his late son's body, and was arrested while seeking help from relatives on the Omaha reservation. With some volunteer help from an attorney that had read an article on their plight written by journalist Thomas Tribbles, the detainment levied by Gen. George Crook was found to be invalid because "an Indian is a person" within the meaning of the habeas corpus act filed by Standing Bear. Not only he but his tribe was allowed to go home to the Niobrara, and he continued from that point to speak as an advocate for Native rights with the help of translators and other supporters.
Another scion of the Ponca and their neighbors, my friend Karen, started her life not knowing about her origins. She had frequent dreams about Native Americans as a child, but knew of no connection that she had to them until she had her adoption records opened later in life. This information, and the fact that there had been a trail left for her in the dreams, gave her some grounding that helped her recover from what had been a troubled era in her life. She was able to meet her grandmother while she was still alive. She expressed her joy mostly in her native Omaha language, but did comment in English that "Jesus brought the baby back!" The story came to be told as part of her advice to school children and other groups about how to respect the person that we are and the society in which we live enough to make good choices. I just learned that she has been asked to serve as a Native representative on a board of National Service commissioners for Native affairs. My response to her misgivings was another bit of wisdom from Solomon in Prov 18:16: "A gift opens the way for the giver and ushers him into the presence of the great.". What was planted in her and watered by Grandma's prayers is bearing fruit as a demonstrated ability to speak for those who need a voice, or guidance from the voice of experience.
I wonder sometimes how well I can take my own advice. I've recently been encouraged again to explore returning to college in pursuit of a degree in literature. This does seem to reignite some inner spark that's been much too frequently absent lately. I was reading simple books out loud by the age of four, and wrote and illustrated my first poem at five; the love of arranging words is a long-standing one, to say the least. With a first manifestation coming that early, I would say that the urge is quite seminal, and an inescapable part of this individual design. To bloom best, perhaps its sound husbandry to regraft into the deepest roots without the shock of a long transport.
Some of the options that I've investigated involve leaving the area and starting over somewhere that seemed more hospitable, for the change of scenery if nothing else. So far, I haven't seen any place that had enough security to make a blind one-way leap with little to fund it and no way back feasible. Solomon made a comment that I think applies: "A discerning man keeps wisdom in view, but a fool's eyes wander to the ends of the earth." (Prov. 17:24).
I think that there's something to be said for caution. I also think that there's the issue of not only where we find ourself planted, but of what's been planted in us, to be considered.
We've recently celebrated Martin Luther King Day in this country, which is a noteworthy event in our household. More that 100 years before Dr. King told the world about his dream that his four little children would have room to flourish in a safe and productive culture, William Wilberforce was laying some of the legal bedrock for it in the British Parliament. After experiencing a genuine conversion to Christianity as an adult, he sought the counsel of clergy on whether to leave his seat in Parliament for a more directly spiritual vocation. He was advised to remain at his post, eventually contributing to both The Slave Trade Act of 1807 and The Bill for the Abolition of Slavery that was finally ratified in 1833. News of the latter was rushed to the ailing Wilberforce of its passage three days before his death, as though he had finished his course with that victory.
Another periodic topic of conversation at our house is the saga of Standing Bear, a 19th-century Ponca chief. The United States government decided that this nomadic hunting tribe should settle down and farm. Then, they mistakenly allocated some of their farmland to the Sioux, causing a deadly conflict. They were moved to another place that wasn't home and had the misfortune of going through a hard winter for which they were by that point ill-prepared. The chief's son was among those who died. He could no longer reinvent himself, and had to return to the land around the Niobrara to properly lay him to rest. At great personal risk, he reentered Nebraska with his late son's body, and was arrested while seeking help from relatives on the Omaha reservation. With some volunteer help from an attorney that had read an article on their plight written by journalist Thomas Tribbles, the detainment levied by Gen. George Crook was found to be invalid because "an Indian is a person" within the meaning of the habeas corpus act filed by Standing Bear. Not only he but his tribe was allowed to go home to the Niobrara, and he continued from that point to speak as an advocate for Native rights with the help of translators and other supporters.
Another scion of the Ponca and their neighbors, my friend Karen, started her life not knowing about her origins. She had frequent dreams about Native Americans as a child, but knew of no connection that she had to them until she had her adoption records opened later in life. This information, and the fact that there had been a trail left for her in the dreams, gave her some grounding that helped her recover from what had been a troubled era in her life. She was able to meet her grandmother while she was still alive. She expressed her joy mostly in her native Omaha language, but did comment in English that "Jesus brought the baby back!" The story came to be told as part of her advice to school children and other groups about how to respect the person that we are and the society in which we live enough to make good choices. I just learned that she has been asked to serve as a Native representative on a board of National Service commissioners for Native affairs. My response to her misgivings was another bit of wisdom from Solomon in Prov 18:16: "A gift opens the way for the giver and ushers him into the presence of the great.". What was planted in her and watered by Grandma's prayers is bearing fruit as a demonstrated ability to speak for those who need a voice, or guidance from the voice of experience.
I wonder sometimes how well I can take my own advice. I've recently been encouraged again to explore returning to college in pursuit of a degree in literature. This does seem to reignite some inner spark that's been much too frequently absent lately. I was reading simple books out loud by the age of four, and wrote and illustrated my first poem at five; the love of arranging words is a long-standing one, to say the least. With a first manifestation coming that early, I would say that the urge is quite seminal, and an inescapable part of this individual design. To bloom best, perhaps its sound husbandry to regraft into the deepest roots without the shock of a long transport.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Hut One, Hut Two....Haiku!
I posted this half-jokingly on a strange message board thread, and it didn't quite go over. I thought I'd try to pass it off as serious art here instead.
Unrequited
I, the empty room,
You, the absent resident.
The light burns unseen.
Unrequited
I, the empty room,
You, the absent resident.
The light burns unseen.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thursday Thirteen #1: Influential Writers
It looks as though Thursday is time for a list. Since I'm in writing mode, I listed thirteen writers that have greatly influenced my own writing, or my life in general.
1. God
I don't know of any other author who can write and illustrate at the same time.
2. C. S. Lewis
There could be so much said here. He added what I would consider to be spiritual perception to sensory images in his works, as described in the book Surprised by Joy. He created apologetics, science fiction, children's stories that could also intrigue adults, and scholarly works that all demonstrated repeated moments of reaching epiphany and translating it into tangible truth.
3. Marguerite Henry
She wrote my favorite childhood story, King of the Wind, about a triumphal outcast. One of my most prized possessions to this day is my copy of the Breyer model of Sham. She was intrigued at how something so large could be so easily guided by modest bits of string, and how important horses had been to human development. Like me, she developed her love of reading and writing during a long childhood illness.
4. Father Henri Nouwen
Father Nouwen is distintive among my best-loved Christian contemplative authors for the childlikeness with which he expressed his wonder at the beauty, and at times the chaos, that he observed the world with heightened awareness made possible by the time that he spent in the presence of the Life that was the Light of men. Profound brokenness led him to profound dependence.
5. James Herriot
Sometimes you just want to read something pleasant. James Herriot was the penname of Dr. James Alfred Wight, a British veterinarian who could both gently laugh at and appreciate both his clientele and their owners as he told stories drawn from his rural practice.
6. Ste. Teresa of Avila
Another contemplative author, she moved through stages of surrender, including one characterized by a depth of depression that nearly drove her to despair and madness, to a union with God that was perhaps as perfect as a mortal can experience. The act of choosing to abandon ourself to the One who already knows all and forgives all that we bring to Him causes joy rather than dread: perfect love casts out fear.
7. Walter Farley
Again, I return to a previous theme with the author of The Black Stallion and its twenty sequels. I started somewhere toward the end of the writing process, so I had enough books to allow me to spend as much time with Alec and the Black and his progeny as I wanted. I'm sure Arabian breeders everywhere wish that they could so easily come up with a lightning fast 17-hand stallion.
8. Charles Dickens
The reversal of his family's fortunes as a child gave him firsthand knowledge of the exploitation and neglect of the poor. He described the futility and desperation, but also the character that can be revealed and refined in suffering. In the end, he generally rewarded the reader with a happy ending, often through someone with critical information finally choosing to do the right thing.
9. Michael Roe
Librettists are writers, too. During my long and traumatic divorce, I had his honest lyrics to assure me that I was not alone in a battle with depression and reversals in life, and the questions about the involvement of God in our lives that come from those dark nights of the soul. The catharsis probably saved my sanity, and appreciation has been expressed accordingly.
10. Dr. Hugh Ross
Dr. Ross is both a PhD astrophysicist and a Christian apologeticist who served as a staff member at his church before starting the ministry, Reasons to Believe. His "old Earth" model of creation that can be both reconciled to scripture and substantiated mathematically has drawn the attention of scientists and engineers that were not open to any other form of evangelism, as well as displaying the glory of creation.
11. Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Referred to as "the Portuguese" by her husband, Robert Browning because of her dark features, she's perhaps most famous for "Sonnets from the Portuguese #43", commonly referred to as "How Do I Love Thee". She was another writer who used her time at home due to physical limitations from a lung ailment to capture wonder and transcendence in words. Her work often refires my own desire to write.
12. Ted Kooser
Dr. Kooser effectively utilizes the other end of the poetic spectrum --the minutiae of his environment--to illustrate that small, common things can intrigue, inspire, and bring fond memories to the fore. As a former U. S. Poet Laureate, he's an encouragement to anyone who feels that their life experience hasn't qualified them to write anything big enough to hold anyone else's interest.
13. The Unsung Heroes
I'm always encouraged when someone who didn't think they could and finally finds the courage, or who hasn't in a long time but finally finds the space to relaunch, amazes those around them with their previously undiscovered talent. Not every moving piece of literature that I've ever read came from a published author! The possibilities are endless.
1. God
I don't know of any other author who can write and illustrate at the same time.
2. C. S. Lewis
There could be so much said here. He added what I would consider to be spiritual perception to sensory images in his works, as described in the book Surprised by Joy. He created apologetics, science fiction, children's stories that could also intrigue adults, and scholarly works that all demonstrated repeated moments of reaching epiphany and translating it into tangible truth.
3. Marguerite Henry
She wrote my favorite childhood story, King of the Wind, about a triumphal outcast. One of my most prized possessions to this day is my copy of the Breyer model of Sham. She was intrigued at how something so large could be so easily guided by modest bits of string, and how important horses had been to human development. Like me, she developed her love of reading and writing during a long childhood illness.
4. Father Henri Nouwen
Father Nouwen is distintive among my best-loved Christian contemplative authors for the childlikeness with which he expressed his wonder at the beauty, and at times the chaos, that he observed the world with heightened awareness made possible by the time that he spent in the presence of the Life that was the Light of men. Profound brokenness led him to profound dependence.
5. James Herriot
Sometimes you just want to read something pleasant. James Herriot was the penname of Dr. James Alfred Wight, a British veterinarian who could both gently laugh at and appreciate both his clientele and their owners as he told stories drawn from his rural practice.
6. Ste. Teresa of Avila
Another contemplative author, she moved through stages of surrender, including one characterized by a depth of depression that nearly drove her to despair and madness, to a union with God that was perhaps as perfect as a mortal can experience. The act of choosing to abandon ourself to the One who already knows all and forgives all that we bring to Him causes joy rather than dread: perfect love casts out fear.
7. Walter Farley
Again, I return to a previous theme with the author of The Black Stallion and its twenty sequels. I started somewhere toward the end of the writing process, so I had enough books to allow me to spend as much time with Alec and the Black and his progeny as I wanted. I'm sure Arabian breeders everywhere wish that they could so easily come up with a lightning fast 17-hand stallion.
8. Charles Dickens
The reversal of his family's fortunes as a child gave him firsthand knowledge of the exploitation and neglect of the poor. He described the futility and desperation, but also the character that can be revealed and refined in suffering. In the end, he generally rewarded the reader with a happy ending, often through someone with critical information finally choosing to do the right thing.
9. Michael Roe
Librettists are writers, too. During my long and traumatic divorce, I had his honest lyrics to assure me that I was not alone in a battle with depression and reversals in life, and the questions about the involvement of God in our lives that come from those dark nights of the soul. The catharsis probably saved my sanity, and appreciation has been expressed accordingly.
10. Dr. Hugh Ross
Dr. Ross is both a PhD astrophysicist and a Christian apologeticist who served as a staff member at his church before starting the ministry, Reasons to Believe. His "old Earth" model of creation that can be both reconciled to scripture and substantiated mathematically has drawn the attention of scientists and engineers that were not open to any other form of evangelism, as well as displaying the glory of creation.
11. Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Referred to as "the Portuguese" by her husband, Robert Browning because of her dark features, she's perhaps most famous for "Sonnets from the Portuguese #43", commonly referred to as "How Do I Love Thee". She was another writer who used her time at home due to physical limitations from a lung ailment to capture wonder and transcendence in words. Her work often refires my own desire to write.
12. Ted Kooser
Dr. Kooser effectively utilizes the other end of the poetic spectrum --the minutiae of his environment--to illustrate that small, common things can intrigue, inspire, and bring fond memories to the fore. As a former U. S. Poet Laureate, he's an encouragement to anyone who feels that their life experience hasn't qualified them to write anything big enough to hold anyone else's interest.
13. The Unsung Heroes
I'm always encouraged when someone who didn't think they could and finally finds the courage, or who hasn't in a long time but finally finds the space to relaunch, amazes those around them with their previously undiscovered talent. Not every moving piece of literature that I've ever read came from a published author! The possibilities are endless.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Don't Worry That It's Not Good Enough
Sing
Written by Joe Raposo
Sing
Sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad
Sing
Sing a song
Make it simple
To last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Sing
Sing a song
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
Sing
Sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad
Sing
Sing a song
Make it simple
To last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Sing
Sing a song
That bit of wisdom from Sesame Street has been going through my mind since I decided to start this project. I included some of the more recent poetry just to keep pushing outward.
When I was young, I wrote and drew fairly regularly. Sadly enough, as time went on I developed enough self-doubt to be stopped with the concern that it was all so bad that I'd just be ridiculed. It's been interesting to watch the process of art and writing classes show up unexpectedly and without cost over the last year or so to rekindle the flame. I think God's trying to tell me to take the plunge again.
If we do what we do to please people, we'll never succeed. I survived my divorce due largely to the catharsis that my albums by my favorite group afforded me. I thought it was some of the most well-organized, evocative work ever, and it helped me to drain off the pain of an abusive marriage that ended with stalking and harassment. I can find bad reviews even on this lofty art. There's no such thing as artistic works so perfect that no one will ever criticize them. Human beings are wired too differently for everyone to like the same things.
I don't advocate everyone trying to live on their art, but it doesn't hurt to go ahead and start the process, even if it isn't initially so impressive. Improvement doesn't come without practice, and trial and error. We are not as flawless as God in our creativity; it's enough that we possess the desire and ability as part of the image after which we are patterned. We may be surprised to find ourselves brightening someone's world for a little while.
Written by Joe Raposo
Sing
Sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad
Sing
Sing a song
Make it simple
To last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Sing
Sing a song
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
Sing
Sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad
Sing
Sing a song
Make it simple
To last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Sing
Sing a song
That bit of wisdom from Sesame Street has been going through my mind since I decided to start this project. I included some of the more recent poetry just to keep pushing outward.
When I was young, I wrote and drew fairly regularly. Sadly enough, as time went on I developed enough self-doubt to be stopped with the concern that it was all so bad that I'd just be ridiculed. It's been interesting to watch the process of art and writing classes show up unexpectedly and without cost over the last year or so to rekindle the flame. I think God's trying to tell me to take the plunge again.
If we do what we do to please people, we'll never succeed. I survived my divorce due largely to the catharsis that my albums by my favorite group afforded me. I thought it was some of the most well-organized, evocative work ever, and it helped me to drain off the pain of an abusive marriage that ended with stalking and harassment. I can find bad reviews even on this lofty art. There's no such thing as artistic works so perfect that no one will ever criticize them. Human beings are wired too differently for everyone to like the same things.
I don't advocate everyone trying to live on their art, but it doesn't hurt to go ahead and start the process, even if it isn't initially so impressive. Improvement doesn't come without practice, and trial and error. We are not as flawless as God in our creativity; it's enough that we possess the desire and ability as part of the image after which we are patterned. We may be surprised to find ourselves brightening someone's world for a little while.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Nebraska in Winter
Nebraska in Winter
January fills the waning afternoon.
The sun has closed a gray curtain
Against the cold, the flat water is already
Lying still in its bed.
The windows are wrapped in freshly tatted lace.
It glistens as the porch light reports to stand sentry.
In the morning, the sun grins broadly
He must be thinking a little of summer!
I'm late, and dash outside, coat open
And the prank is sprung.
Cold hands shake as I close the coat snugly.
Sunlight watches from the snow, laughing as I run.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Football playoffs are a necessity to keep tourism from dwindling to nothing in January.
January fills the waning afternoon.
The sun has closed a gray curtain
Against the cold, the flat water is already
Lying still in its bed.
The windows are wrapped in freshly tatted lace.
It glistens as the porch light reports to stand sentry.
In the morning, the sun grins broadly
He must be thinking a little of summer!
I'm late, and dash outside, coat open
And the prank is sprung.
Cold hands shake as I close the coat snugly.
Sunlight watches from the snow, laughing as I run.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Football playoffs are a necessity to keep tourism from dwindling to nothing in January.
Collected....
Collected...A Poem for a Black Vase
I greet you brightly
Though as a curiosity and a dark enigma.
I am open enough
To display a good handul--a respectable collection!
I extend to you
Too much miscellania to list!
I bring them fully:
The whims, fancies, edicts and truths, with their far-reaching origins.
I hear laughter
Telling me that my dirge is not mournful.
I hear sighing
Telling me without words that my comedy is an exasperation.
I recoil the offering,
Tucking in like a show horse conditioned for the ring.
I become still,
Tending the secret garden silently behind closed doors.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The vase was actually a simple glazed black vase that had been used as a pencil holder. It had a hand around it that seemed to be offering you the vase when the fingers were toward you, and withdrawing it when the fingers were turned away. That contrast, along with the fact that it was black on the outside and white on the inside, led to the contrast between the first two and last two stanzas, and the alternating use of "I" and "T", which is a symbol of the revelation of "I" being banned or fenced off. A discussion of the internal censor that plagues writers actually inspired the train of thought; the vase helped to shape it.
The reference to the show horse being tucked would probably only make sense to another horse nut. That show ring posture is called "going collected", and the use of that image was inspired by the title.
I greet you brightly
Though as a curiosity and a dark enigma.
I am open enough
To display a good handul--a respectable collection!
I extend to you
Too much miscellania to list!
I bring them fully:
The whims, fancies, edicts and truths, with their far-reaching origins.
I hear laughter
Telling me that my dirge is not mournful.
I hear sighing
Telling me without words that my comedy is an exasperation.
I recoil the offering,
Tucking in like a show horse conditioned for the ring.
I become still,
Tending the secret garden silently behind closed doors.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The vase was actually a simple glazed black vase that had been used as a pencil holder. It had a hand around it that seemed to be offering you the vase when the fingers were toward you, and withdrawing it when the fingers were turned away. That contrast, along with the fact that it was black on the outside and white on the inside, led to the contrast between the first two and last two stanzas, and the alternating use of "I" and "T", which is a symbol of the revelation of "I" being banned or fenced off. A discussion of the internal censor that plagues writers actually inspired the train of thought; the vase helped to shape it.
The reference to the show horse being tucked would probably only make sense to another horse nut. That show ring posture is called "going collected", and the use of that image was inspired by the title.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
We Have Liftoff!
I thought that I already had a blog. Now, I have another one.
I'm in a period of my life where I'm going to have to rise from the ashes due to a number of setbacks. I've been through several plans that haven't worked, and have come up with others that never got farther than their conception as thoughts. It helps in forming a plan if you know who you are and what you want. I've spent some time absorbing the depths of a statement that Jesus made to the Pharisees after they'd been particularly harsh to Him: "Jesus answered, 'Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is valid, for I know where I came from and where I am going. But you have no idea where I come from or where I am going.' " (John 8:14 NIV) We can find in this life many people who don't quite understand who we are and where were going; it's sad to be one of them yourself.
I had to see a doctor today in the process of said rising. We talked about how I view myself. He read from a report that he'd received and asked me if I agreed with one of the characteristics used to describe me. My answer was "Perhaps". Later, I wondered if I was uncertain if it was true, or if I doubted that I fit other people's definition of that characteristic. In plain English, I wondered if I was truly not at peace with or clear about who I was, or was just in the habit of giving people's opinions too much power. To have the same impenetrable inner island of security that Jesus had, we should both know who we are, and know that the One Who made us and saved us has the capability to get us where we're going no matter who doesn't like us. After all, they're ultimately not calling us into question as much as they are our Creator. They're outmatched. We, and they, will make mistakes that should be corrected, but our basic identity is an irreplaceable exhale of the breath of God.
I'm in a period of my life where I'm going to have to rise from the ashes due to a number of setbacks. I've been through several plans that haven't worked, and have come up with others that never got farther than their conception as thoughts. It helps in forming a plan if you know who you are and what you want. I've spent some time absorbing the depths of a statement that Jesus made to the Pharisees after they'd been particularly harsh to Him: "Jesus answered, 'Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is valid, for I know where I came from and where I am going. But you have no idea where I come from or where I am going.' " (John 8:14 NIV) We can find in this life many people who don't quite understand who we are and where were going; it's sad to be one of them yourself.
I had to see a doctor today in the process of said rising. We talked about how I view myself. He read from a report that he'd received and asked me if I agreed with one of the characteristics used to describe me. My answer was "Perhaps". Later, I wondered if I was uncertain if it was true, or if I doubted that I fit other people's definition of that characteristic. In plain English, I wondered if I was truly not at peace with or clear about who I was, or was just in the habit of giving people's opinions too much power. To have the same impenetrable inner island of security that Jesus had, we should both know who we are, and know that the One Who made us and saved us has the capability to get us where we're going no matter who doesn't like us. After all, they're ultimately not calling us into question as much as they are our Creator. They're outmatched. We, and they, will make mistakes that should be corrected, but our basic identity is an irreplaceable exhale of the breath of God.
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