and then I see the storm coming
slowly swallowing the sky
a wall of darkness, yawning
across the softly starlit night
it comes with lightning
flashing, pulsing,
burning, searing in my eyes
it comes with thunder
growling
in the recess of my mind
it comes in forms I'd not suspected
lying on the shallow pavement--
bare feet twitching in the soft grass
shoes rejected,
bearers of blisters,
heels relaxing in their freedom--
and next to me
our elbows touching
(purposely or accident?)
the man I thought had left no traces
suddenly materialized
and as the wind picks up its speed
wrapping the chill in the evening breeze
I wonder if it's just the air
that's causing my pulse to race
that's feeding the color into my face
that's pricking the skin of my shoulders,
my arms,
causing the goosebumps to rise
in heightened awareness of how close it lies:
the storm
and his heartbeat
and maybe my life
all wrapped up together
with love intertwined--
up from the sidewalk
through cracks of cement
the lonely hope rises
the lovers' lament
of trust born and broken
and brought back to life
emerging triumphant
yet brittle and tired
and waiting...for something...
(it doesn't know what)
but the flash and the crash
and the fat drops of rain
interrupt
the beginning
the electric flame
and after it all
when the moment has passed
we wait for the storm to break.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
raccoons?
Apparently we have some friendly neighborhood raccoons living on our roof.
They made a guest appearance after our small group dinner last night. Shelley and I went out to cover the grill and there they were, peeking in between the overhang of the roof of the house and the family room. I know raccoons are a nuisance, and not the kind of animal you really want hanging around, but they were little ones, and pretty cute....I made a few half-hearted attempts to try to scare them away, mainly by yelling (which, in case you were wondering, is pretty ineffective), but they were not threatened by me. They weren't even scared when we poked a long metal stick (the kind that you use to cook hot dogs over a bonfire) right at them....in fact, I think they wanted to play with it.
Seeing the raccoons that close took me back to fifth grade. When I was in fifth grade, my family lived in an apartment complex in Grand Rapids. I probably couldn't find it for you now, but it was sweet. At least to a fifth grader. Our apartment was on the ground floor, and we were at the edge of the complex, so not only did we have a pool for the whole summer, we had a large forest out back. An actual forest....with lots of trees. It was a haven for my sister and I. Growing up with a botany-teacher/naturalist father, we had a vast knowledge of all things having to do with forests. At least considering we were 9 and 11 years old. We would wander through the woods (what were my parents thinking?). I remember finding a sandy creek that had clear, clear water.....and sometimes little minnows. There was one spot where vines grew between the trees and made a swing. It probably wasn't the most sturdy thing to play on, but we did it anyway.
But the best part of that whole year was the spring.....when we saw the raccoons. They had been hanging around all year, but in the spring there were babies. For Becky and I, that was a highlight. They would come right up to our door and beg for food. They would even climb up the post to the deck above us. They were pretty daring little buggers. I remember not being able to leave the sliding door open in case they figured out how to get through the screen. It was always an adventure, waiting for the raccoons to show up.
Which might explain why they don't freak me out. I mean sure, they get into your garbage cans and climb on the roof and can make scary noises (Shelley will gladly tell you all about that), but their saving grace is that they're pretty cute.
Which can not be said of possums. I hate possums. (While we're on the subject of animals that live in the city that shouldn't...)
Sometimes I think I might be a country girl at heart.
And sometimes I walk out of the house and can't remember if I put on deodorant. Do you ever have those days? And then you feel self-conscious for the rest of the day, because by the time you've realized you don't know if you put on deodorant it's too late to go back and do it because you're already at work.
Today was one of those days.
They made a guest appearance after our small group dinner last night. Shelley and I went out to cover the grill and there they were, peeking in between the overhang of the roof of the house and the family room. I know raccoons are a nuisance, and not the kind of animal you really want hanging around, but they were little ones, and pretty cute....I made a few half-hearted attempts to try to scare them away, mainly by yelling (which, in case you were wondering, is pretty ineffective), but they were not threatened by me. They weren't even scared when we poked a long metal stick (the kind that you use to cook hot dogs over a bonfire) right at them....in fact, I think they wanted to play with it.
Seeing the raccoons that close took me back to fifth grade. When I was in fifth grade, my family lived in an apartment complex in Grand Rapids. I probably couldn't find it for you now, but it was sweet. At least to a fifth grader. Our apartment was on the ground floor, and we were at the edge of the complex, so not only did we have a pool for the whole summer, we had a large forest out back. An actual forest....with lots of trees. It was a haven for my sister and I. Growing up with a botany-teacher/naturalist father, we had a vast knowledge of all things having to do with forests. At least considering we were 9 and 11 years old. We would wander through the woods (what were my parents thinking?). I remember finding a sandy creek that had clear, clear water.....and sometimes little minnows. There was one spot where vines grew between the trees and made a swing. It probably wasn't the most sturdy thing to play on, but we did it anyway.
But the best part of that whole year was the spring.....when we saw the raccoons. They had been hanging around all year, but in the spring there were babies. For Becky and I, that was a highlight. They would come right up to our door and beg for food. They would even climb up the post to the deck above us. They were pretty daring little buggers. I remember not being able to leave the sliding door open in case they figured out how to get through the screen. It was always an adventure, waiting for the raccoons to show up.
Which might explain why they don't freak me out. I mean sure, they get into your garbage cans and climb on the roof and can make scary noises (Shelley will gladly tell you all about that), but their saving grace is that they're pretty cute.
Which can not be said of possums. I hate possums. (While we're on the subject of animals that live in the city that shouldn't...)
Sometimes I think I might be a country girl at heart.
And sometimes I walk out of the house and can't remember if I put on deodorant. Do you ever have those days? And then you feel self-conscious for the rest of the day, because by the time you've realized you don't know if you put on deodorant it's too late to go back and do it because you're already at work.
Today was one of those days.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
on words
Words are such interesting things.
So much of my life has revolved around their usage--being an English major with a lifelong appreciation for books will do that to you.
My friend Bob and I were discussing this last weekend. We use so few of the words that we actually know in our everyday conversations. We have a few standards that we refer back to over and over again....and they are kind of lame, if I can be honest. And I have noticed that particularly in "Christian" circles, we use 2 adjectives for almost everything--most everything is either awesome or amazing.
I find nothing wrong with either of these words. I just find them overused and unoriginal. Especially when you can look through the dictionary and find so many more interesting words that are so much more descriptive.
It seems that when trying to describe the God that we follow or express our very small understanding of how He works in our lives, we should use the best words possible. And God truly is AWE-some; not in the same way that my favorite movie is awesome or that restaurant is awesome, but in a way that inspires awe in its truest form. And sometimes so many things can be amazing that I forget what it truly means to be amazed....to have that overwhelming sense of wonder, surprise, excitement.... It gets lost behind so many other mundane and mediocre words. I guess the truth is that we have no words to truly express our reaction to a God like ours. So we stumble over words that will never be enough.
I often feel this same sense of inadequacy in conversation with people. I have known for a long time that I am much more eloquent in print than in person. That has kept me from participating in a great many conversations over the course of my life, for fear of saying something unintelligent. It has also kept me from expressing a lot of emotion, for fear of saying something I don't really mean.
During the conversation with Bob on vocabulary, I tried to come up with a list of my top ten favorite words. It was much harder than I thought it would be. My number one favorite word right now is ethereal. It is a beautiful word that I can unfortunately never manage to get into conversation....
This blog post does not do justice to the concepts running through my head. My vocabulary, at this moment, is sadly lacking to express what I truly mean. For words are such interesting things...
So much of my life has revolved around their usage--being an English major with a lifelong appreciation for books will do that to you.
My friend Bob and I were discussing this last weekend. We use so few of the words that we actually know in our everyday conversations. We have a few standards that we refer back to over and over again....and they are kind of lame, if I can be honest. And I have noticed that particularly in "Christian" circles, we use 2 adjectives for almost everything--most everything is either awesome or amazing.
I find nothing wrong with either of these words. I just find them overused and unoriginal. Especially when you can look through the dictionary and find so many more interesting words that are so much more descriptive.
It seems that when trying to describe the God that we follow or express our very small understanding of how He works in our lives, we should use the best words possible. And God truly is AWE-some; not in the same way that my favorite movie is awesome or that restaurant is awesome, but in a way that inspires awe in its truest form. And sometimes so many things can be amazing that I forget what it truly means to be amazed....to have that overwhelming sense of wonder, surprise, excitement.... It gets lost behind so many other mundane and mediocre words. I guess the truth is that we have no words to truly express our reaction to a God like ours. So we stumble over words that will never be enough.
I often feel this same sense of inadequacy in conversation with people. I have known for a long time that I am much more eloquent in print than in person. That has kept me from participating in a great many conversations over the course of my life, for fear of saying something unintelligent. It has also kept me from expressing a lot of emotion, for fear of saying something I don't really mean.
During the conversation with Bob on vocabulary, I tried to come up with a list of my top ten favorite words. It was much harder than I thought it would be. My number one favorite word right now is ethereal. It is a beautiful word that I can unfortunately never manage to get into conversation....
This blog post does not do justice to the concepts running through my head. My vocabulary, at this moment, is sadly lacking to express what I truly mean. For words are such interesting things...
Monday, August 13, 2007
on music (part un)
Music is a desperate being--
living, breathing, calling, freeing...
beckoning to something greater,
something far beyond ourselves.
I've been to three concerts in the past week, and each one has been different. The beautiful thing is that each concert, each style of music, had the power to evoke a different set of emotions for each experience. Take the Chicago Symphony Orchestra as example number one. Listening to a classical pianist play a Beethoven piano concerto, followed by Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, was a little glimpse into the world of dynamics--the power and precision of loudness and softness, in near perfection. How does a crescendo swell not only from each musician, but also stir in the souls of those listening? Why do I feel the need to close my eyes in order to better absorb the beauty of each note?
This past weekend I was in Springfield visiting my parents. One of the things I miss most about central Illinois is the clearness of the night sky. Saturday night was one of the most spectacular I have ever seen, with perhaps the exception of being in Africa. Over the weekend there was an annual meteor shower, the Perseids, and watching a few streak across the sky Monday night was really incredible. Looking at the sable sprinkled with sugared stars....and hearing the calming effect of the crickets and cicadas and far-away frogs....I couldn't help but feel that all of nature was playing its own symphony.
I don't think everyone hears the music of the universe. But I think it's there. Sometimes it goes unheard beneath the cluttered lives we live. There is something so satisfying about just listening....
And breathing.
For life sings its own song. And sometimes the dynamics surprise you.
living, breathing, calling, freeing...
beckoning to something greater,
something far beyond ourselves.
I've been to three concerts in the past week, and each one has been different. The beautiful thing is that each concert, each style of music, had the power to evoke a different set of emotions for each experience. Take the Chicago Symphony Orchestra as example number one. Listening to a classical pianist play a Beethoven piano concerto, followed by Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, was a little glimpse into the world of dynamics--the power and precision of loudness and softness, in near perfection. How does a crescendo swell not only from each musician, but also stir in the souls of those listening? Why do I feel the need to close my eyes in order to better absorb the beauty of each note?
This past weekend I was in Springfield visiting my parents. One of the things I miss most about central Illinois is the clearness of the night sky. Saturday night was one of the most spectacular I have ever seen, with perhaps the exception of being in Africa. Over the weekend there was an annual meteor shower, the Perseids, and watching a few streak across the sky Monday night was really incredible. Looking at the sable sprinkled with sugared stars....and hearing the calming effect of the crickets and cicadas and far-away frogs....I couldn't help but feel that all of nature was playing its own symphony.
I don't think everyone hears the music of the universe. But I think it's there. Sometimes it goes unheard beneath the cluttered lives we live. There is something so satisfying about just listening....
And breathing.
For life sings its own song. And sometimes the dynamics surprise you.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
on aging
So...I have a relatively significant birthday approaching in a week, which I am NOT excited about. But in my family, landmark birthdays happen in threes--my mom, my dad and I are usually at "important" birthdays in the same year.
My mom's was the big one this year, though, far eclipsing my own. She turned sixty on Sunday. Is it just me, or does sixty sound significantly older than fifty-nine? I mean, other people's moms turn sixty....grandmas turn sixty....not my mom, right? No, apparently she is sixty.
And really, my mom is so cute. But I notice more and more the wearing of age....around her face, on her hands, which have started to get age spots, and in the increasing softness of her skin.
It's funny how the older I get, the more I appreciate my mom and the life she has lived. I was having a discussion about destiny and fulfilling destiny and finding destiny this morning, and the more I think about it, the more I feel like my mom really has found and fulfilled her destiny. She went to nursing school in Newfoundland, joined a mission organization that worked out of Kenya, did her midwifery training in Edinburgh, Scotland, and worked in rural Kenya for about five years before meeting my dad, getting married, and settling into family life.
And I admire that.
Not just because she has a million great stories about living in Kenya....involving delivering babies in huts, being atop her Land Rover on safari and having lions circling on the ground below, or having a herd of elephants cross the road in front of her....but because she has lived. She has lived a bold and reckless and dangerous life, not just abroad, but in the context of her family as well.
I think more than anyone else in my life, my mother has taught me what unconditional love means. And commitment. And unrelenting patience. And I hope that I can age as gracefully as she has....and love life the way she does....and look hardship in the eye and steel myself against it, knowing that it is but a pothole in my road of destiny.
Do you ever think about what you are destined for?
I believe we are all destined for something....very rarely is it the greatness that the world values so much, it is found more often in the little things that make up a life--
feeding the ducks,
looking at spiderwebs,
swimming in the Great Lakes,
having a picnic,
sharing a memory,
a smile,
a laugh,
a tear,
and saying I love you.
This is my mom.
My mom's was the big one this year, though, far eclipsing my own. She turned sixty on Sunday. Is it just me, or does sixty sound significantly older than fifty-nine? I mean, other people's moms turn sixty....grandmas turn sixty....not my mom, right? No, apparently she is sixty.
And really, my mom is so cute. But I notice more and more the wearing of age....around her face, on her hands, which have started to get age spots, and in the increasing softness of her skin.
It's funny how the older I get, the more I appreciate my mom and the life she has lived. I was having a discussion about destiny and fulfilling destiny and finding destiny this morning, and the more I think about it, the more I feel like my mom really has found and fulfilled her destiny. She went to nursing school in Newfoundland, joined a mission organization that worked out of Kenya, did her midwifery training in Edinburgh, Scotland, and worked in rural Kenya for about five years before meeting my dad, getting married, and settling into family life.
And I admire that.
Not just because she has a million great stories about living in Kenya....involving delivering babies in huts, being atop her Land Rover on safari and having lions circling on the ground below, or having a herd of elephants cross the road in front of her....but because she has lived. She has lived a bold and reckless and dangerous life, not just abroad, but in the context of her family as well.
I think more than anyone else in my life, my mother has taught me what unconditional love means. And commitment. And unrelenting patience. And I hope that I can age as gracefully as she has....and love life the way she does....and look hardship in the eye and steel myself against it, knowing that it is but a pothole in my road of destiny.
Do you ever think about what you are destined for?
I believe we are all destined for something....very rarely is it the greatness that the world values so much, it is found more often in the little things that make up a life--
feeding the ducks,
looking at spiderwebs,
swimming in the Great Lakes,
having a picnic,
sharing a memory,
a smile,
a laugh,
a tear,
and saying I love you.
This is my mom.
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