while watching the sun set

i see you sun
i see you descending
i climb higher and higher following the moon,
ancient and stark in its fullness against the night sky
higher and higher
and you unfold before me like a secret
you are falling
descending
your great light
spreads across the tops of the mountains
a last burning exhale,
thrown into the air with boldness,
making them glow as if they are ablaze
and yet this burning is so peaceful
i find myself wanting to be consumed by it
but also feel taken over by gentleness, becoming gentle
like these delicate, soft colors.
how softly the trees stand against the gathering darkness.
they are serene,
un-wanting, accepting exactly where they are.
they softly sway.
they ask for nothing
and how could they?
they sit here at the top of this mountain,
they watch you descend
they watch you burn the mountains and the hills on your way down
why would they ask for anything more?
what more could they get?
i wish i were a tree and
content with my view.


you are breathtaking.
you steal my breath
and my words.
and i am grateful to finally be wordless

grateful
to be wordless while i watch you descend.


it is never final.
it is reoccurring, and your ascent
is just as breathtaking
and your consistency is comforting.

knowing isnt helping

i know i know
im not the only one
suffering
and in the line-up
my suffering hasnt even
qualified on the forms
for emergency
i know i know i wish
i knew
i know im not acting like
i know
i know im acting alone like
no one knows the trouble ive seen like
no one could ever understand
like woe woe
oh woe is me!
i know my suffering doesnt compare
to yours
and i should suck it up and
move the hell on
but im hurting so deeply and telling myself
its not as bad as so-and-so
hasnt been as healing as i thought it would
so please help me gain some perspective
and please love me when i dont have any.

reader's warning: just skip this one altogether

i exit my facebook account to the log-in screen and catch a glimpse of the image of a smartphone with a caption that reads "leaving facebook? try facebook mobile!" even when i try to get away, it tells me that i don't have to! there's a better way to fuel addiction! all these ways to be "connected." i am so "connected"...only to find that i'm really not that connected at all.

i was doing very well these past weeks. on top of lesson plans and grading, being focused. getting stuff done. motivated. after a long weekend i find myself back to square one: distracted and filling my time with social sites and blogging. i dont drown my sorrows or channel my uncertainties into work. i find that i just dont want to do it at all.

"your religion is what you do in your solitude."

i guess facebook is my religion. yuck.

previously, i was working on answering some questions about Elie Wiesel's memoir Night. i'm going to be making my kids write about their experience with the book, and i want to have thought through my own questions first (well, i got them from somewhere else, actually). so i ended up thinking about how we humans end up hurting each other no matter how hard we try not to. i also starting thinking about how we all seem to have this disease of wanting to be better than someone else. the two are, obviously, connected. one of the questions asks:

Could something like the Holocaust happen today? Discuss more recent genocides, such as the situation in Rwanda in the 1990s and the ongoing conflict in Sudan. Does Night teach us anything about how we can react to these atrocities?

i wish i could say, "no!" but these days, i feel so attuned to the innate brokenness under our "put-together" selves that i just cant. as long as there is greed, self-protection, insecurity, selfishness (the list goes on and on), id have to say "sure. something like that could happen again." to some degree, it happened in cambodia, in rwanda, in darfur.

and in some respects, we're doing that kind of thing now: deciding that there's a hierarchy, that we're better than someone else and we have a right to oppress them. that the rules of humanity don't apply to those who are less than us. gays and lesbians come to mind, by the way.

here i am sounding so self-righteous and enlightened. see what i'm talking about? i say that i am "attuned to the innate brokenness under our 'put together' selves" but what i mean is that i am "attuned to the innate brokenness under your 'put together' self."

i actually dont see my own stuff at all. maybe that's what im trying to do this lenten season? repent. realize brokenness in myself as well as the world around me. its been difficult so far. i find myself unwilling to listen or be quiet and reflective. i find myself unwilling to believe that there's anything wrong with me at all even while clutching at my gaping wounds. i am very willing to believe that if i give up this "thing" for 40 days, if i fast regularly (not even cheating on sundays!), the slate will be washed clean and i can go back to functioning as normal. independent and alone.

tea and taxes

i am switching to tea for a while. i love its lightness, and the nuances of flavor that spread over my tongue with each taste: with every sip, i feel as though i am entering a mansion with countless doors to open, endless rooms to explore.

one of those small pleasures in life. i just hope im not trading one addiction for another (probably a hopeless hope; aren't we spending our lives doing just that?).

this morning i am sorting our life into piles. insurance, water bills, verizon, mechanic receipts. i am surrounded by little islands of paper that i have populated with numbers myself. it's hard sometimes not to let my spirits be dragged into a seemingly redundant cycle with little redemption. working, spending, paying, working again. i feel it most after a long day when i get home just in time to eat a quick dinner (if you can call it that) and grunt a few words to my spouse before trying to get some sleep in before it starts all over.

today was the first day of real sunshine in a while. i sat reading under its golden rays for a while, soaking it in like a flower or a blade of grass, trying to get my color back. it helped infuse me with a little hope, i think. this is the first winter i can remember that really seeped under my skin to my bones, freezing me up within. i am ready to be unfrozen.

usually, i dont like being a hermit, but today mikey and i stayed at home just doing things with each other and it was really nice. we didnt get into our cars once. didnt get out our wallets, or out of our PJ's until well past noon. we've just been here experiencing each other for a change and despite having to weather moody moments, i feel connected again (like when two magnets get within range of each other--ZIIP!).

and now we're going to eat some home-made dinner and play video games. that's right. VIDEO GAMES.

man's greatest challenge

i am musing over my salad and melba about valentine's day and what i see it doing to these girls here at school. it is undeniably in their faces: they all want a boyfriend RIGHT NOW, and are eying each others' significant other with envy and desire. they don't want to keep him forever--they just want him for Sunday.

i can sense their gathering anticipation, growing louder and louder in their body language as the day approaches. already in their mind, they have painted a picture of what it will be like, and assume with the naivety of their 15 years that they are telepathically transmitting this to their boyfriend and that he is most certainly receiving the message without a shred of mis-interpretation. each time they walk by him, an orchestra plays and they see roses and presents and....well, the pimply-faced adolescent is on a conveyor belt heading swiftly to his demise under the crushing weight of his chosen female's expectations.

that poor kid cant accomplish what older, greater men than he have tried to since the beginning of recorded history (and before, i'm sure): satisfy the deep longing of a woman's heart.

over my twenty-some years of life, i have celebrated valentines day in a plethora of ways. for most of my childhood, it meant learning about St. Valentine, making a super-cool valentine's box out of cardboard, construction paper and the odd art supply and fashioning personalized valentines to drop into each of my sibling's respective boxes. then there were the years of angst-filled teenager, sighing over images of people in love and wishing i had someone to take me on a romantic date. following was the single college woman phase, adamantly opposing the entire concept of valentines day and proving it by going out on the town with my other single ladies. as a woman newly in love with the man who would become her husband, i was giddy with excitement imagining what may or may not happen--thrilled with being doted upon and surrendering to being starry-eyed. now, having been married almost 5 years, i find myself trying desperately to stave off the conscious and semi-conscious expectations assaulting my brain.

"it's a trap!" the logic side of my mind screams, only to be suffocated to silence by my irrationality. indeed, our saturday morning fight was stemmed by the "holiday," as i sat holding the fragments of my broken and impossible desires (some of them incapable of being articulated--try to fulfill those, fabio!). after weighing all the good times and the bad, i come to this conclusion today at this stage of me: i wish i could ignore that this day existed.

likely to happen?
*sigh*
probably not.

classical music and...snow?

one of those secret pleasures (that is about to not be secret anymore) of mine is on monday nights, after small group, getting into my car to drive home, blasting the heat or putting down the windows (depending on my temperature needs) and turning the volume dial up until i hear the sweet swelling of classical music through the speakers: "performance today" on NPR. i listen to it all the way home, sometimes waiting in the driveway to hear the end of a piece that i am especially enjoying.

i was so thankful for it last night. my head was so full of the most unpleasant and anxiety-infused thoughts that i needed to be distracted. not all music does that for me, but something about classical music whisks me away. i allow myself to concentrate on all the different parts, how they cooperate together to create a gorgeous fullness, and there's just not room in my head for much else. last night, i got home and put my seat back down so i could relax while i listened. i stayed out there for a while, clearing my head.

i wish it had lasted for longer, but when i went inside the house, my thoughts came back in a rush. it was like trying to keep rain off a windshield in a thunderstorm.

we have a two-hour delay today. i havent found the balance between relief and frustration yet. as long as they don't cancel, i think ill be okay. i keep looking outside to see snow flakes drifting into my driveway but nothing has happened yet, although the skies look so heavy this morning.

mikey says they're pregnant....pregnant with precipitation.

biological hocus pocus

cream, dense with flavor
poured into the heart of black
and spreading slowly out to each corner--
a web of white curling around the dark color of coffee
every day magic
connecting and fusing into a rich, new thing.
the way your body responds to mine
when i am close
with an arm as automatically programmed as machinery
yet organic and alive
every day magic
it comforts me, this
instinctive awakening to my skin alone.

pancakes 101

let me explain something about pancakes: they are incredibly versatile. once you make them in the morning, you don't have too much cooking left to do for the rest of the day.

at the beginning of the day, they are pleasantly warm and sweet under melting butter and sticky syrup.

satisfying afternoon rumblings, their soft bready-ness is savory under crunchy peanut butter and bananas.

in the evenings after dinner, they are a delectable dessert smothered with whipped cream and fruit compote.

(in other news, i have problems with the words "fruit compote"--too close to "compost" for my liking.)

dawn hasn't left my hands as soft as it promised

it's not that i mind washing dishes by hand so terribly. actually, washing dishes by hand brings back memories--mostly really good ones!--of being in the kitchen with my siblings, cleaning up after dinner. or standing in the assembly line at my grandmother's waiting for each dish to dry thoroughly and put up on the shelf--wringing out the towel when it got too wet (just like in Africa...............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................)

anyway.
so obviously, it's not that. AND i even went back to an old 10,000 Homes creative prayer action and prayed for the care center being built in kabokweni while i washed and dried. so it also wasn't a waste of time.

but what DO i mind? thank you for asking (even if your request did sound a little like "get on with it, already!"). i mind very much that after spending the time to load up the dishwasher, when i open it again, all the time and water spent did nothing but throw flecks of food up into the cups on the top rack and then go the extra mile to bake them in during the dry cycle. then, i handle the dirty dishes for a second time, scrubbing harder than ever to get the crusted mess off of each piece. (or, there's always the ever-popular method of denial in which you just run them again and again until you can't lie to yourself anymore).

what good is technology anyway? what's the point of owning a dishwasher when you have to rinse each dish thoroughly (basically "washing" without the whole soap element) before putting it into the machine to get...washed?

makes me feel not-so-bad about skipping the extra step, and the frustration, by just going straight to handwashing.

washing dishes can be a real communal thing. who started this whole rushing-through-life thing, anyway? didn't meals used to be a whole community process, from start to finish? my family did it that way when i was a kid, and we sat around one long table ("halllllooooooo down there.....can you pass the butttttteeeeeerrrrr?????"--there were 12 of us, okay?) and talked and laughed. even after-dinner chores must not have been so bad, since all i can remember about it was flicking each other with wickedly wet hand-towels, and soaking up to our elbows in soapy water while we chatted away (i always liked the role of putting the food away...i just liked condensing things into small, neat containers and storing it away to be opened again later like a little present).

in Africa, mikey and i went back to these...roots(?) when we would gather in the cold kitchen with hayley and manga, inventory our food and then throw something together. the point was not really the dish itself. it was the cleaning, chopping, cooking, setting-the-table, eating, washing up and especially--perhaps entirely--what happened among us during all of that which was the entire purpose of the act.

i just heard from an Africa-friend today and i find myself overwhelmingly eager to reply immediately, though i don't even know what to say. its a conversation i am thirsty for. talking with her reminds me of being there. talking with her taps into this secret part of me--the Africa part that only a few people know about. when she writes to me, it is with such affection in her beautiful, unveiled voice of pure self, inviting me into her life, that i am compelled to accept and walk forward.

sometimes i ache for Africa with such a physical ache. it throbs and reminds me with each pulse how empty that part of me is...the Africa part...the part that can only be filled with Africa's crisp winter air and open skies and rich colors. the part that can only be filled with the faces of Africa. Manga and Hayley and Amanda and Carla and Ryan and John and Rae and Elizabeth. sometimes i don't think it will ever stop hurting.

we are too eager

It is such a marvel to me how seldom it is truly appropriate that we humans speak into each others spiritual lives. My marveling enters in because, while the appropriateness is seldom, the act itself continues, leaving behind a gory wake. This seems to be especially true of Christians--probably because our sense of morality and truth compels us to communicate this to others, especially those we see are not living as they ought to.

I am not trying to enter into the controversial haze around the issues of there being one God, one Truth, and a Christ-follower's commission to extend that Truth to those who do not have it.

I am simply reflecting today on elements of human nature that I have observed and this thought: it seems that one's journey and consequent experiences cannot be rushed.

For a virtual smorgasbord of reasons, we are often stepping into the boundaries of each others lives to offer warning, concern, sometimes demands. With the best intentions, we find ourselves trying to save one another from the fires over which our hands are poised, but sometimes the truths we know from our own mistakes and disappointments are not clearly truth to the other, and they must feel the smoldering flame before that becomes absolute truth for them, too.

In truth, humans are all bumbling through their stories towards the end, no matter how careful we try to be, because to face reality, this course is full of obstacles, many of them invisible, and a stubbed toe can simply not be avoided. Sometimes, they are just a part of the direction in which we chose to travel and are used to turn us slightly to the right or left.

Now, it is unequivocally true that someone should not stick their finger into the whirring blades of a garbage disposal, and someone who knows the pain of that does have a responsibility to cry out "Stop!" I am, however, addressing the fact that some people will lose their finger anyway and that this experience will be only one of many painful moments that have the potential to lead to real growth.

Also, as hinted by the opening sentences, my real focus is situations that, while they may be reflected in the physical, have a very real spiritual root. It is very hard for many of us to ignore things in others lives that are morally, philosophically, spiritually incorrect in light of Christian Truth and not say something about it. Even with intentions of the greatest purity, when we find ourselves insisting that another believe and live out of a truth which they cannot understand or believe at this point in their journey, we do not accomplish even our own puny goals, much less the eternal goals for that person's life.

And so the question remains: what do we do when, out of genuine love, we feel compelled to reach across those boundaries into someone else's world?

I am asking myself this question. Today, I reflect on these three thoughts:

Remember Jesus, who shared meals with tax collectors and lifted the Adulteresses' head.

Speak for the good of those who cannot speak for themselves.

You are only the true authority of one thing: your own story.