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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.