its raining outside.
a much needed rain.
i got home this morning from keeping ms holden at about 715 and daddy was practicing his guitar a little bit before getting ready for work. i laid down on the bed and listened to him for a moment and i was struck with the thought that some things never get old.
in this world where all is fleeting, and time moves much too quickly, there are some things that we never tire of.
for me, hearing him play and sing is one of them. i have mentioned this before i know, but this morning as he played some beatles and some jt, and i listened i let my mind wander to the people and places and things that never grow tired for me.
i could listen to this rain for a very long time i think. its pitter patter that lulls to sleep and at the same time brings life and renewal to the earth.
i could spend countless days at the beach. listening to the waves crash, feeling the sand beneath me.
christmas always seems too short. the time with family and loved ones always seems not quite long enough when the last of the decorations is put away and all must return to the busy routine of life.
and then i thought of dandy. how daddy's soft voice is starting to remind me of his.
how trips in the golf cart, and explorations in the woods come back to me like they happened yesterday. i recalled his hair and mimi brushing it in the car just before church. in my minds eye i saw him as he prayed and passed the plate. i can see his wink, his smile, hear him as he laughs.
the other day some one at a drive thru asked me a question and without even thinking i said, "don't believe, thank you."
a true dandy-ism.
its funny how even the things that are so fleeting somehow stick with us.
my mind wandered next to sweet ev. i remembered her hoola hooping in the back yard one endless summer just before she got out the bad mitten set and we all played. i can hear her too. its a sad and beautiful thing how we can not hear any longer and yet always hear the voices of loved ones.
what i would give to hear again aloud a "now girl" or a "babe".
i have thought for a long while about the things in this life that are eternal.
namely love.
the Bible says that God is Love.
and we know that God is eternal.
i think, therefore that when we love here on earth we catch a glimpse of heaven. of the divine. of the everlasting.
i think thats why real love never stops, or goes away.
even if the person does.
i think thats why certain moments in our memories stick out when they spark within us that old home movie in the mind that plays over and over of loved ones and days gone by.
can you see them?
the days you could live over and over? the moments you wish you could spend again?
i think in some ways thats what heaven is. its this place where all those precious forevers are.
and we catch these glimpses of them here on earth when we love. when we reach outside of ourselves and cling to the eternal, hold on to the Divine and for a moment in time become like Him. transcending time and space. touching on the realm of the infinite.
maybe thats how it is that we can be with Him too. maybe His grace that covers us also unveils this whole new world of possibility.
maybe all is not fleeting, but rather moving toward Him.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
i wanna write you a love story...
Mrs. Earlora Holden is 101.
I have been staying with her at night to keep her company and give her a sense of safety. She is amazing, even at 101 she has a better mind than i do. She reminds me to set the alarm before we go to bed, to plug in her cell phone for her (yes, she uses a cell phone) and she remembers everything clear back to the early part of the last century.
She told me that she was fourteen when she first saw Mr. Dobie, her husband of fifty plus years who passed away some thirty years ago. she remembered that she had a bow in her hair that was bigger than she had ever worn before and though she was a little self conscious, it caught his eye and he spoke to her.
"Hello."
that's all he said. maybe a quick nod. but it was the first time that a boy had ever spoken to her and she told me that it frightened her. so she ran home to tell her mother. her father had passed away at a young age and so Ms. Holden's mother was raising three kids on her own. Commonplace today, but a quite a feat one hundred years ago. Ms. Holden smiled as she told me what her mother told her.
"Well, next time speak back to him!" and Ms. Holden said she did.
years later they found the two teenage love bird's school report cards that someone had tucked away and from ninth grade on Mr. Dobie took every class that she did. even the typing classes that were primarily made up of girls. how cute is that? i love that he put himself where she was every second of everyday in order to get her to notice him, like he noticed her.
after he graduated from lsu the two were married and he began his coaching career at a high school in south mississippi, before ending up at pearl river community college. and she never left his side.
it was his lungs that gave out on him in the end she told me. back then they didn't know what the young people know today about smoking she said. but she loved him til the end. loves him still.
i love stories like that.
simple.
but what makes them beautiful is that no matter how many times throughout history the love story has been repeated, each one is unique and universal at the time.
its this common personal joy that we all share.
i was reminded recently by a dear old friend about the letters that we wrote to each other as girls. we were pen pals of sorts, after she moved away to texas. i have a box full of letters that she sent me back in the late eighties and early nineties. im sure if i were to look at what i was writing to her back then i would get quite a laugh. the love life of a fifth grader written down on pink paper in purple gel pen, bragging to her best friend miles away.
maybe its because i grew up in this generation of girls who were spoon fed love stories and fairy tales. maybe its because i had such precious love stories lived out in front of me through my parents and grand parents. but it seems i have been trying to create this great love story my whole life.
in my novel, that AT is still waiting on me to type up so he can tear it apart, the protagonist struggles with this too. (i guess because secretly he is me.) how to write your own love story?
what used to flow so freely from the purple gel pen of a wide eyed, freckled faced girl, is now hard for the woman who found her first age spot above her eye the other day to get out. i guess years of heartache make the story teller more cautious of the tales she spins.
but truth be told, the Lord is creating one for me whether i am ready or not.
i guess the same was true for Ms. Holden. at fourteen she never would have said she was ready for the Lord to bring the man she would spend the rest of her life with into the picture. she didn't even know how to talk to him! but the Lord's timing is perfect.
and at almost thirty-one, and trust me when i tell you that i am just about the last thirty-one year old in the south who is not married with three kids, the Lord's timing is perfect still.
and still i hesitate to pen the words i feel.
i guess all i can say is
story developing...
I have been staying with her at night to keep her company and give her a sense of safety. She is amazing, even at 101 she has a better mind than i do. She reminds me to set the alarm before we go to bed, to plug in her cell phone for her (yes, she uses a cell phone) and she remembers everything clear back to the early part of the last century.
She told me that she was fourteen when she first saw Mr. Dobie, her husband of fifty plus years who passed away some thirty years ago. she remembered that she had a bow in her hair that was bigger than she had ever worn before and though she was a little self conscious, it caught his eye and he spoke to her.
"Hello."
that's all he said. maybe a quick nod. but it was the first time that a boy had ever spoken to her and she told me that it frightened her. so she ran home to tell her mother. her father had passed away at a young age and so Ms. Holden's mother was raising three kids on her own. Commonplace today, but a quite a feat one hundred years ago. Ms. Holden smiled as she told me what her mother told her.
"Well, next time speak back to him!" and Ms. Holden said she did.
years later they found the two teenage love bird's school report cards that someone had tucked away and from ninth grade on Mr. Dobie took every class that she did. even the typing classes that were primarily made up of girls. how cute is that? i love that he put himself where she was every second of everyday in order to get her to notice him, like he noticed her.
after he graduated from lsu the two were married and he began his coaching career at a high school in south mississippi, before ending up at pearl river community college. and she never left his side.
it was his lungs that gave out on him in the end she told me. back then they didn't know what the young people know today about smoking she said. but she loved him til the end. loves him still.
i love stories like that.
simple.
but what makes them beautiful is that no matter how many times throughout history the love story has been repeated, each one is unique and universal at the time.
its this common personal joy that we all share.
i was reminded recently by a dear old friend about the letters that we wrote to each other as girls. we were pen pals of sorts, after she moved away to texas. i have a box full of letters that she sent me back in the late eighties and early nineties. im sure if i were to look at what i was writing to her back then i would get quite a laugh. the love life of a fifth grader written down on pink paper in purple gel pen, bragging to her best friend miles away.
maybe its because i grew up in this generation of girls who were spoon fed love stories and fairy tales. maybe its because i had such precious love stories lived out in front of me through my parents and grand parents. but it seems i have been trying to create this great love story my whole life.
in my novel, that AT is still waiting on me to type up so he can tear it apart, the protagonist struggles with this too. (i guess because secretly he is me.) how to write your own love story?
what used to flow so freely from the purple gel pen of a wide eyed, freckled faced girl, is now hard for the woman who found her first age spot above her eye the other day to get out. i guess years of heartache make the story teller more cautious of the tales she spins.
but truth be told, the Lord is creating one for me whether i am ready or not.
i guess the same was true for Ms. Holden. at fourteen she never would have said she was ready for the Lord to bring the man she would spend the rest of her life with into the picture. she didn't even know how to talk to him! but the Lord's timing is perfect.
and at almost thirty-one, and trust me when i tell you that i am just about the last thirty-one year old in the south who is not married with three kids, the Lord's timing is perfect still.
and still i hesitate to pen the words i feel.
i guess all i can say is
story developing...
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
a hard drive...
so my hard drive fell out.
literally.
one night in late May it fell out of my lap top and crashed to the floor.
it spent most of the summer getting fixed, and i have somehow found it difficult to blog again since it has returned home in one piece.
its hard to be honest. with my thoughts. with what has happened to me.
and if this blog is anything, its honest.
i think that my computer hard drive was lost, but i think that this was intentional. i think that the Lord was trying to teach me something.
in many ways this summer my internal hard drive was lost as well.
as Madilynn embarked upon her kindergarten journey, the family i worked for decided to put Ben and Nathan in preschool too. a decision that was, for varying reasons, an answer to my prayers, despite how much i loved the children.
and while this loss of my beloved job was major, it is still minute in comparison to this whirlwind summer.
what happened?
well, when my hard drive crashed i lost things. pictures, writings, plans for the future.
and while this was hard to stomach, it was no surprise to the Lord who had already begun to set into motion new tomorrows.
but with each new day comes the daunting task of letting go of what has come before.
i have learned much of letting go and moving on this summer.
i have been thinking a lot about how we say that God has the ability to forgive, but also to forget and i have come to a conclusion. i am no biblical scholar and maybe there is scriptural evidence that would prove me wrong, but in my opinion, He doesn't forget. He is the Creator of the Universe, the Master and Designer of thoughts and emotions. He knows our actions before they are even begun and He knows the actions that will turn us against Him. No, i don't think He forgets, i think, rather, that He chooses not to remember.
our memories can be beautiful things. a gift from the Father. but they can also be an immobilizing force that keeps us from moving on.
it seems a strange thing to be afraid of, but i was scared to drive across the Pontchartrain. i was reminded of that old country song by george i think, "for your love id swim the Pontchartrain." well just driving over it was proof of love for me!
the bridge over it is long and low. the water seems too close to the winding lanes that cause that "christopher columbus syndrome" where you feel like you are about to fall off the edge of the earth. a feeling not favorable when the croc infested waters of one of the South's largest lakes is below you. just being a passenger in the car when i was not driving scared me, and i hate to admit it, but i cried the first several times that i had to drive it solo. but the reward on the other side was always on my mind, and i found that if i just focused on that, focused on the road ahead, i could make it.
one night in particular it was raining pretty hard as i left picayune, about twenty minutes from the bridge, and i was terrified. crossing the Pontchartrain on a clear night was bad enough, but as sheets of rain came pouring down across the windshield my tears began to pour down as well and i began to pray. not just to pray, but to bargain with God. if He would just cause the rain to stop long enough for me to cross that bridge, i would try really hard not to be afraid to cross it ever again. just so long as it was dry. i was just laying these great big old worries and fears at His feet so fervently, when all of the sudden i had this thought. at that same moment in time there were women in the world dealing with much greater things that required courage. famine. wars. oppression. heartache greater than i have ever or will ever know. and here i was crying because it was raining and i had to cross a bridge.
but wouldn't you know it, just as my tires hit the bridge, the clouds moved back and revealed a crystal clear blue sky over head. maybe it was coincidence but i like to think that God wanted me to know that my problems, big or small, are not insignificant to Him. i think He wanted me to put it all into perspective, but He also wanted to remind me that He will always be with me as i press on. through my fears, over obstacles, into new tomorrows.
and so with a new hard drive in place, and with perspective in place after facing a hard drive, my summer has brought many changes. good changes.
but it has also brought the choice to let go and embrace what's ahead. clear skies or rainy days, pressing on.
oh, yeah, and i still won't hesitate...
literally.
one night in late May it fell out of my lap top and crashed to the floor.
it spent most of the summer getting fixed, and i have somehow found it difficult to blog again since it has returned home in one piece.
its hard to be honest. with my thoughts. with what has happened to me.
and if this blog is anything, its honest.
i think that my computer hard drive was lost, but i think that this was intentional. i think that the Lord was trying to teach me something.
in many ways this summer my internal hard drive was lost as well.
as Madilynn embarked upon her kindergarten journey, the family i worked for decided to put Ben and Nathan in preschool too. a decision that was, for varying reasons, an answer to my prayers, despite how much i loved the children.
and while this loss of my beloved job was major, it is still minute in comparison to this whirlwind summer.
what happened?
well, when my hard drive crashed i lost things. pictures, writings, plans for the future.
and while this was hard to stomach, it was no surprise to the Lord who had already begun to set into motion new tomorrows.
but with each new day comes the daunting task of letting go of what has come before.
i have learned much of letting go and moving on this summer.
i have been thinking a lot about how we say that God has the ability to forgive, but also to forget and i have come to a conclusion. i am no biblical scholar and maybe there is scriptural evidence that would prove me wrong, but in my opinion, He doesn't forget. He is the Creator of the Universe, the Master and Designer of thoughts and emotions. He knows our actions before they are even begun and He knows the actions that will turn us against Him. No, i don't think He forgets, i think, rather, that He chooses not to remember.
our memories can be beautiful things. a gift from the Father. but they can also be an immobilizing force that keeps us from moving on.
it seems a strange thing to be afraid of, but i was scared to drive across the Pontchartrain. i was reminded of that old country song by george i think, "for your love id swim the Pontchartrain." well just driving over it was proof of love for me!
the bridge over it is long and low. the water seems too close to the winding lanes that cause that "christopher columbus syndrome" where you feel like you are about to fall off the edge of the earth. a feeling not favorable when the croc infested waters of one of the South's largest lakes is below you. just being a passenger in the car when i was not driving scared me, and i hate to admit it, but i cried the first several times that i had to drive it solo. but the reward on the other side was always on my mind, and i found that if i just focused on that, focused on the road ahead, i could make it.
one night in particular it was raining pretty hard as i left picayune, about twenty minutes from the bridge, and i was terrified. crossing the Pontchartrain on a clear night was bad enough, but as sheets of rain came pouring down across the windshield my tears began to pour down as well and i began to pray. not just to pray, but to bargain with God. if He would just cause the rain to stop long enough for me to cross that bridge, i would try really hard not to be afraid to cross it ever again. just so long as it was dry. i was just laying these great big old worries and fears at His feet so fervently, when all of the sudden i had this thought. at that same moment in time there were women in the world dealing with much greater things that required courage. famine. wars. oppression. heartache greater than i have ever or will ever know. and here i was crying because it was raining and i had to cross a bridge.
but wouldn't you know it, just as my tires hit the bridge, the clouds moved back and revealed a crystal clear blue sky over head. maybe it was coincidence but i like to think that God wanted me to know that my problems, big or small, are not insignificant to Him. i think He wanted me to put it all into perspective, but He also wanted to remind me that He will always be with me as i press on. through my fears, over obstacles, into new tomorrows.
and so with a new hard drive in place, and with perspective in place after facing a hard drive, my summer has brought many changes. good changes.
but it has also brought the choice to let go and embrace what's ahead. clear skies or rainy days, pressing on.
oh, yeah, and i still won't hesitate...
Thursday, May 20, 2010
got my new shoes on...
i don't know what it is exactly, but lately, i have been trying to accomplish something like crazy.
what?
I'm not quite sure. just something, anything really.
i turned thirty last December and all of the sudden a few weeks ago i realized its almost June.
it was such a big deal to turn thirty to me, and its almost half way over. I'm almost half way to thirty one.
i know that age is just a number, and getting older doesn't bother me so much now that i have hit big three-oh~
its just that, i guess as human beings we are constantly looking at our lives and going, what am i doing?
so, what am i really doing?
i go to work everyday, but you have to understand that even this is hard to qualify for me now. used to at the bookstore i could measure the success of my day by how many invoices i reconciled, how many book orders i filled, and how quickly i balanced out and got everybody home. i had chatted about my prayer requests and dreams with ms Debbie and ms Linda, gotten all the good MC gossip from the girls down front, lunched with manner or Laura or Suzette, and Karen and i had more days than not had a chat about the future of the store.
these days i measure the success of days in time outs, and temper tantrums, and poopy diapers. and most days, if I'm lucky, i have maybe interacted socially with some one over the age of five for about ten minutes all total by five pm.
don't get me wrong, i love my job. its just that my life has changed so drastically in the last few months and i feel like in many ways, by the world's standards, i have dropped off the radar.
and today, when i took the kids to the library for story time, the librarians (the only adults i have spoken to all day since the kid's mother left at 7:30) where so rude to me! and over a thirty cent library fine. i felt like screaming at them. i felt like telling them that they should be congratulating me for successfully getting three kids under the age of five dressed, out of the house and into their car seats, (a chore which usually takes almost an hour) and not only did i get them to the library all in one piece, but they did not run around, but rather sat quietly and actually listened to the story! when Ben had to potty, he got up from the story and quietly told me. he went in the library bathroom and i felt like telling ms rude pants this, too. i had forgotten to put a diaper on him before we left just in case he had an accident, but he had not! i was so proud of him and how good they had been and here she was giving me that look over the rim of her glasses because of thirty cents. i just paid the fine so i could check out the kids books and left. it wasn't worth it. maybe I'm just having one of those days. maybe she was too. but i quietly wished that someone had realized exactly what it was that i had accomplished today.
at the bookstore, as i said, i could measure my success. but what did those successes matter really? we used to joke that we worked hard to make some fat cats in home office richer, but that's exactly what we did. its no joke. nothing that i did, (with the exception of my relationships with the women that i worked with) had a lasting effect on anything. except the bottom line.
these last six months, Nathan has learned to walk.
madilynn has begun to read.
Ben is potty trained.
we have been to the library, the park, the grocery store.
we have made recycled jewelry, paper penguins, Easter eggs, wild flower collages, mothers day frames...
i taught them the Christmas story, the Easter story and to say the blessing before meals.
my goal for the summer: teaching them to swim.
maybe to some people, to those who do not understand how precious these things are, this does not sound like a lot. but to me i have accomplished more in the last six months in the home of this family than i did in four years at the bookstore. more that matters anyway.
so, why do i still feel this overwhelming need to accomplish something?
maybe its because they are not mine.
maybe its because i still have not accomplished what i thought i would by the time i was thirty and half years old.
maybe that's ok, and I'm ok...
but maybe, if I'm brutally honest, and for some reason today i am brave enough to be, I'm not totally ok. at least not all the time.
but maybe that is ok, too.
today i read the blog of Rachel Coleman, creator of signing time videos.
she has a child that was born deaf, and another child that was born with cerebral palsy. the world of sign language has opened up doors for her and her girls that doctors told her would never be possible.
she had seen the story of "team Hoyt" the father son iron man team whose you tube video linked up with Nicole c. miller's version of "my redeemer lives" had touched millions. but for her it had personal significance.
she decided to enter her town's half marathon. and to enter her entire family even though the registration form said no wheel chairs, no strollers, no exceptions.
she had been fighting for her girls their entire lives, this was no exception for her.
after months of phone calls, and getting the run around she finally got the news she had been waiting for. she would be allowed to run with her family, her entire family, in the race. and last month her youngest, who she pushed in the running stroller because of her cerebral palsy, received a medal.
Rachel's blog reads: Run with your life!--No exceptions!!
i guess that i am feeling this need to accomplish something so greatly because, like Rachel, i did not ask for this hand that i have been dealt.
this is not what i dreamed thirty and half would look like.and though i do not profess to have been dealt a hand nearly as challenging as Rachel and her family, this is my life and these are my own personal challenges that i must face daily. big or small. they are mine.
Rachel said when they found out that their oldest child was deaf at one year they mourned and grieved and cried until they looked at their daughter. they realized that nothing had changed for her. she was still the happy baby looking to them to be loved that they had known since birth. that, she said, was when they began to stop grieving and start moving toward whatever came next.
i have to look at my life too and realize that the Lord is looking at it and saying, still here. still what i always dreamed and planned for you. so stop feeling sorry about things not working out how you planned. start looking to me for what comes next!
I'm trying...
and despite the world's measuring systems, and stupid thirty cent fines...
watch out...
i feel like running.
what?
I'm not quite sure. just something, anything really.
i turned thirty last December and all of the sudden a few weeks ago i realized its almost June.
it was such a big deal to turn thirty to me, and its almost half way over. I'm almost half way to thirty one.
i know that age is just a number, and getting older doesn't bother me so much now that i have hit big three-oh~
its just that, i guess as human beings we are constantly looking at our lives and going, what am i doing?
so, what am i really doing?
i go to work everyday, but you have to understand that even this is hard to qualify for me now. used to at the bookstore i could measure the success of my day by how many invoices i reconciled, how many book orders i filled, and how quickly i balanced out and got everybody home. i had chatted about my prayer requests and dreams with ms Debbie and ms Linda, gotten all the good MC gossip from the girls down front, lunched with manner or Laura or Suzette, and Karen and i had more days than not had a chat about the future of the store.
these days i measure the success of days in time outs, and temper tantrums, and poopy diapers. and most days, if I'm lucky, i have maybe interacted socially with some one over the age of five for about ten minutes all total by five pm.
don't get me wrong, i love my job. its just that my life has changed so drastically in the last few months and i feel like in many ways, by the world's standards, i have dropped off the radar.
and today, when i took the kids to the library for story time, the librarians (the only adults i have spoken to all day since the kid's mother left at 7:30) where so rude to me! and over a thirty cent library fine. i felt like screaming at them. i felt like telling them that they should be congratulating me for successfully getting three kids under the age of five dressed, out of the house and into their car seats, (a chore which usually takes almost an hour) and not only did i get them to the library all in one piece, but they did not run around, but rather sat quietly and actually listened to the story! when Ben had to potty, he got up from the story and quietly told me. he went in the library bathroom and i felt like telling ms rude pants this, too. i had forgotten to put a diaper on him before we left just in case he had an accident, but he had not! i was so proud of him and how good they had been and here she was giving me that look over the rim of her glasses because of thirty cents. i just paid the fine so i could check out the kids books and left. it wasn't worth it. maybe I'm just having one of those days. maybe she was too. but i quietly wished that someone had realized exactly what it was that i had accomplished today.
at the bookstore, as i said, i could measure my success. but what did those successes matter really? we used to joke that we worked hard to make some fat cats in home office richer, but that's exactly what we did. its no joke. nothing that i did, (with the exception of my relationships with the women that i worked with) had a lasting effect on anything. except the bottom line.
these last six months, Nathan has learned to walk.
madilynn has begun to read.
Ben is potty trained.
we have been to the library, the park, the grocery store.
we have made recycled jewelry, paper penguins, Easter eggs, wild flower collages, mothers day frames...
i taught them the Christmas story, the Easter story and to say the blessing before meals.
my goal for the summer: teaching them to swim.
maybe to some people, to those who do not understand how precious these things are, this does not sound like a lot. but to me i have accomplished more in the last six months in the home of this family than i did in four years at the bookstore. more that matters anyway.
so, why do i still feel this overwhelming need to accomplish something?
maybe its because they are not mine.
maybe its because i still have not accomplished what i thought i would by the time i was thirty and half years old.
maybe that's ok, and I'm ok...
but maybe, if I'm brutally honest, and for some reason today i am brave enough to be, I'm not totally ok. at least not all the time.
but maybe that is ok, too.
today i read the blog of Rachel Coleman, creator of signing time videos.
she has a child that was born deaf, and another child that was born with cerebral palsy. the world of sign language has opened up doors for her and her girls that doctors told her would never be possible.
she had seen the story of "team Hoyt" the father son iron man team whose you tube video linked up with Nicole c. miller's version of "my redeemer lives" had touched millions. but for her it had personal significance.
she decided to enter her town's half marathon. and to enter her entire family even though the registration form said no wheel chairs, no strollers, no exceptions.
she had been fighting for her girls their entire lives, this was no exception for her.
after months of phone calls, and getting the run around she finally got the news she had been waiting for. she would be allowed to run with her family, her entire family, in the race. and last month her youngest, who she pushed in the running stroller because of her cerebral palsy, received a medal.
Rachel's blog reads: Run with your life!--No exceptions!!
i guess that i am feeling this need to accomplish something so greatly because, like Rachel, i did not ask for this hand that i have been dealt.
this is not what i dreamed thirty and half would look like.and though i do not profess to have been dealt a hand nearly as challenging as Rachel and her family, this is my life and these are my own personal challenges that i must face daily. big or small. they are mine.
Rachel said when they found out that their oldest child was deaf at one year they mourned and grieved and cried until they looked at their daughter. they realized that nothing had changed for her. she was still the happy baby looking to them to be loved that they had known since birth. that, she said, was when they began to stop grieving and start moving toward whatever came next.
i have to look at my life too and realize that the Lord is looking at it and saying, still here. still what i always dreamed and planned for you. so stop feeling sorry about things not working out how you planned. start looking to me for what comes next!
I'm trying...
and despite the world's measuring systems, and stupid thirty cent fines...
watch out...
i feel like running.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Think About It, Think About It...
When i was in high school i had a Sunday school teacher named Mike Smith who i think about from time to time. He influenced me, and probably many more of my compadres back in the day, more than he ever knew. He was Texas, through and through. still is i imagine. he was a deacon at our church and we always loved it when he prayed. he said the word, "fire" like "fur" and the word, "lord" like "lard". when he would pray "Lard, fill our hearts with your "fur" we would almost lose it, and love it at the same time. he meant it so genuinely.
and he studied the scriptures so intently each week before our lesson. he would read a scripture or lecture us on some point and then he would say, "think about it, think about it." he wanted us to really ponder what he was trying to tell us. and i did. and i still do. but it was these words that stuck with me. i do not read a scripture now, or read a particularly deep paragraph in a book, or story, that i do not hear Mike's words reminding me to stop and really take it all in.
its funny the things that we remember.
i had a friend this week comment on a status post i made on facebook about the sunburn i have gotten as of late. she said that she remembered once i fell asleep on the trampoline in her back yard with my legs crossed and got a very unusual striped sun burn. Ha! so funny.
truth be told she is the younger sister of one my younger sister's friends and i don't remember much time spent with her at all. i would have at least been in ninth grade when this happened and so she would have been in elementary or middle school. im sure i never gave much thought to her remembering me at all.
i joked with her that in the memoirs i write when i am ninety i will probably spin this tale in order to leave the reader pondering the glow that she remembered i always had from the Lord. sounds much better than the truth of a red headed, freckle faced, dreamer who probably never said anything worthwhile or lasting to her.
her father was my driver's ed instructor. i drove endless hours it seems with him and Lara up and down those old Texas high ways. and i have a funny memory of him too. once when we were pulling out of the school parking lot and i was not paying attention to looking back at what was behind me, he said,in true coach's fashion, "always look where you are going, not where you have been." i can't tell you how many times i have remembered that. backing out of parking spaces, driveways, and in my life at certain times. its funny. all the fca lectures, biology lessons, Sunday school classes and sermons on creation i sat through that he taught, and that is the one thing that plays over and over in my mind. it got me through drivers ed and its getting me through life, now, as well.
lately, i have been trying to live life with a little more purpose. i have been trying to "think about it, think about it" a little more.
it has amazed me, (though i know that it shouldn't ) how awesome the Lord is when i stop to see it. really see it. and when i think about how lasting a thing our actions and words are, even the small things...well, its scary really.
wonderful and scary.
i have to tell myself that even Jesus had a hard time being influential on some of the people from His home town. he was remembered as Joseph, the carpenter's son, and so people found it difficult to remember him as much else.
i dont know what else i may have done in high school that was stupid that people remember me for. there is no telling.
i am thankful for katie's good memory though. it made me laugh, made me "think about it, think about it."
but i hope that with a little more intentioned living, i might be remembered for better things in the days to come...
and he studied the scriptures so intently each week before our lesson. he would read a scripture or lecture us on some point and then he would say, "think about it, think about it." he wanted us to really ponder what he was trying to tell us. and i did. and i still do. but it was these words that stuck with me. i do not read a scripture now, or read a particularly deep paragraph in a book, or story, that i do not hear Mike's words reminding me to stop and really take it all in.
its funny the things that we remember.
i had a friend this week comment on a status post i made on facebook about the sunburn i have gotten as of late. she said that she remembered once i fell asleep on the trampoline in her back yard with my legs crossed and got a very unusual striped sun burn. Ha! so funny.
truth be told she is the younger sister of one my younger sister's friends and i don't remember much time spent with her at all. i would have at least been in ninth grade when this happened and so she would have been in elementary or middle school. im sure i never gave much thought to her remembering me at all.
i joked with her that in the memoirs i write when i am ninety i will probably spin this tale in order to leave the reader pondering the glow that she remembered i always had from the Lord. sounds much better than the truth of a red headed, freckle faced, dreamer who probably never said anything worthwhile or lasting to her.
her father was my driver's ed instructor. i drove endless hours it seems with him and Lara up and down those old Texas high ways. and i have a funny memory of him too. once when we were pulling out of the school parking lot and i was not paying attention to looking back at what was behind me, he said,in true coach's fashion, "always look where you are going, not where you have been." i can't tell you how many times i have remembered that. backing out of parking spaces, driveways, and in my life at certain times. its funny. all the fca lectures, biology lessons, Sunday school classes and sermons on creation i sat through that he taught, and that is the one thing that plays over and over in my mind. it got me through drivers ed and its getting me through life, now, as well.
lately, i have been trying to live life with a little more purpose. i have been trying to "think about it, think about it" a little more.
it has amazed me, (though i know that it shouldn't ) how awesome the Lord is when i stop to see it. really see it. and when i think about how lasting a thing our actions and words are, even the small things...well, its scary really.
wonderful and scary.
i have to tell myself that even Jesus had a hard time being influential on some of the people from His home town. he was remembered as Joseph, the carpenter's son, and so people found it difficult to remember him as much else.
i dont know what else i may have done in high school that was stupid that people remember me for. there is no telling.
i am thankful for katie's good memory though. it made me laugh, made me "think about it, think about it."
but i hope that with a little more intentioned living, i might be remembered for better things in the days to come...
Thursday, May 6, 2010
persevere...
i've been thinking lately about what it means to persevere.
i started trying to walk/run again. not an easy task for one so out of shape. i have started out slowly. very slowly. we will see.
i heard recently about this tribe of indigenous peoples in northern Mexico known as the tarahumara who are world famous for their long distance running abilities. and i mean long distance. a few men who have traveled to the US from this tribe have frustrated the rest of the world as they have run along side other athletes in marathons; not only do they win by a long shot but they stop for long breaks along the way, sometimes even to smoke, and still win.
for these people running is a way of life. they cover long distances of up to 50 miles to deliver mail, messages etc..often times in bare feet and in unbelievable time. they still practice persistence hunting. a method used by early humans where over the course of several hours an animal such as a gazelle will die from exhaustion while being tracked by a persistent human runner. their games mostly consist of running. the men's games make use of a ball much in the same way soccer is played, and the women roll hoops. but what makes these games so incredible is that they will cover up to forty miles over the course of a several hours. when running is your only means of transportation, sport and part of of your very survival, you get good at it.
some researchers believe that this is a specific and isolated incident where this one group of people are just genetically destined to be great runners. others, however, have determined that this is more than likely closer to the way that all humans existed at some point or another. they believe that our modern lifestyles with varying modes of transport and other comforts have slowly over time caused us to lose these "super human" abilities still possessed by the tarahumara.
i tend to agree with the latter. after all the human body can be trained to do amazing things. even me. the training method i am using as of late is called couch to 5k! heh. and it works. over several weeks i hope to be able to run at a more persistent speed, but for now i am starting out slowly. running only for minutes at a time to start, before resting with a slower walking pace. interval training.
its all very interesting to me.
its gotten me thinking about my spiritual life as well.
lately my thoughts and prayers have gone something like this, "God, im just so tired... i feel so drained."
and i do.
i feel like in the last several weeks my spiritual life has kicked off with amazing speed. all of the sudden i found myself at this steady stride alongside the Lord, jumping over obstacles in my path, (some not quite so easily, but making it over them all the same in the end) and for a while there the pace seemed almost easy. every scripture i read was meant just for me. i was surrounded by "god sightings" where i could see the lord at work in my life. i was full of insights and happy thoughts. so why am i now feeling like i have run out of gas?
i think i understand what hebrews 12:1 means more and more.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
our spiritual lives are like a long distance marathon, and i am no tarahumara.
i have thought lately about all the things that can trip me up. the lies of the enemy, my own emotions and my habit of perpetual planning. not to mention your other more commonly known and thought about sins. but i had not considered that even if i was "throwing off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles" that i still had more to consider. the perseverance part may prove to be even more difficult.
but i press on. whether i like it or not, time moves on and the lord continues to work on my life. if i choose to keep stride with him, well, that is up to me.
i think the lord designed it this way on purpose. where the road to following him is not easy. the narrow way and all of that. that way we must learn to trust and follow him over time. making him a part of our very lives the way the tarahumara have done with running. when he is our only means for living, its more natural to act as he would and turn to him for everything.
i guess for now i will pray for endurance, continued peace and a persistent heart...
i started trying to walk/run again. not an easy task for one so out of shape. i have started out slowly. very slowly. we will see.
i heard recently about this tribe of indigenous peoples in northern Mexico known as the tarahumara who are world famous for their long distance running abilities. and i mean long distance. a few men who have traveled to the US from this tribe have frustrated the rest of the world as they have run along side other athletes in marathons; not only do they win by a long shot but they stop for long breaks along the way, sometimes even to smoke, and still win.
for these people running is a way of life. they cover long distances of up to 50 miles to deliver mail, messages etc..often times in bare feet and in unbelievable time. they still practice persistence hunting. a method used by early humans where over the course of several hours an animal such as a gazelle will die from exhaustion while being tracked by a persistent human runner. their games mostly consist of running. the men's games make use of a ball much in the same way soccer is played, and the women roll hoops. but what makes these games so incredible is that they will cover up to forty miles over the course of a several hours. when running is your only means of transportation, sport and part of of your very survival, you get good at it.
some researchers believe that this is a specific and isolated incident where this one group of people are just genetically destined to be great runners. others, however, have determined that this is more than likely closer to the way that all humans existed at some point or another. they believe that our modern lifestyles with varying modes of transport and other comforts have slowly over time caused us to lose these "super human" abilities still possessed by the tarahumara.
i tend to agree with the latter. after all the human body can be trained to do amazing things. even me. the training method i am using as of late is called couch to 5k! heh. and it works. over several weeks i hope to be able to run at a more persistent speed, but for now i am starting out slowly. running only for minutes at a time to start, before resting with a slower walking pace. interval training.
its all very interesting to me.
its gotten me thinking about my spiritual life as well.
lately my thoughts and prayers have gone something like this, "God, im just so tired... i feel so drained."
and i do.
i feel like in the last several weeks my spiritual life has kicked off with amazing speed. all of the sudden i found myself at this steady stride alongside the Lord, jumping over obstacles in my path, (some not quite so easily, but making it over them all the same in the end) and for a while there the pace seemed almost easy. every scripture i read was meant just for me. i was surrounded by "god sightings" where i could see the lord at work in my life. i was full of insights and happy thoughts. so why am i now feeling like i have run out of gas?
i think i understand what hebrews 12:1 means more and more.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
our spiritual lives are like a long distance marathon, and i am no tarahumara.
i have thought lately about all the things that can trip me up. the lies of the enemy, my own emotions and my habit of perpetual planning. not to mention your other more commonly known and thought about sins. but i had not considered that even if i was "throwing off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles" that i still had more to consider. the perseverance part may prove to be even more difficult.
but i press on. whether i like it or not, time moves on and the lord continues to work on my life. if i choose to keep stride with him, well, that is up to me.
i think the lord designed it this way on purpose. where the road to following him is not easy. the narrow way and all of that. that way we must learn to trust and follow him over time. making him a part of our very lives the way the tarahumara have done with running. when he is our only means for living, its more natural to act as he would and turn to him for everything.
i guess for now i will pray for endurance, continued peace and a persistent heart...
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
lullaby...
a few weeks ago i posted a brandon heath song that i had been listening to. the words had really hit home with me. such a beautiful song and brandon heath sings it so sweetly.
unbeknownst to me my father, after reading that blog, looked up the chords and lyrics and began to prepare to sing it at a music festival our church had. when he sang those words they touched me even more than they had before. maybe it was his deep, quiet vocal. maybe it was the preparation that i knew he had put into it, or the humble way that he sang, but i just sat there and wept as he played and poured out his heart.
i think that those words and the sentiment of the song had already been so what i needed to hear, and then to hear my father sing it, well that just did it.
i remember when we were small and the world was somehow smaller too, we used to go down to grandmother nannie and granddaddy frank's house out in the country in prentiss. we loved their old farm. the barn. the chicken coop. the cows. the old farm house. and the woods. it seemed that time slowed down when we arrived but still somehow managed to be gone all too quickly. we could spend endless hours on that front porch, rocking in those old chairs, swinging on that tree swing, playing in those fields. but as wonderful as it was, heavenly even, i was always a little scared when night fall rolled around. maybe it was the way the old gas lit heaters in the bathroom crackled, the eerie glow that followed as i walked by. maybe it was the country noises that i was not accustomed to hearing in the city, the owls screeching, the cows off in the distance calling their young in for the night, the crickets like a symphony outside the open window. whatever it was that frightened me i am not sure, but what i do remember with certainty is what always hushed me to sleep.
one cool summer night stands out most vividly in my mind. i was laying in the back bedroom under the sheets beside Minda, baby coday in the crib, and Daddy had his guitar. he sang silly songs like john denver's "grandma's feather bed," and randall o'brien's ballad about satan and jesus in a battle over a basketball game entitled "Go with God." then when it was time for our little minds to quiet down and allow dreams to hush us, he sang a simple song that im still not sure if he just made up on the spot, or if it was an actual song, but which ever the case may be, i remember every word. in fact, i have talked to minda and coday about it in years past and they remember it too. like a title track that plays over and over in our minds on the soundtrack of our lives.
"you can rest easy, you can rest easy.
children, jesus is watching over you.
jesus is watching over you.
so you can rest easy, tonight."
so simple. so pure. so consuming.
and we all slept. that night, and every night since.
i remember years later as a college student when i worked at camp garaywa in clinton. i was in charge of a cabin full of elementary aged girls and many of them were frightened at night as they were away from home for the first time. we hushed them to sleep as best we could with stories and songs, but truth be told i was frightened as well. far from my home in texas, a restless heart and a weary mind, sleep did not come easy for me even after all the other girls in my care were sound asleep. scott had given me a copy of pedro the lion's, whole ep and i would listen to the song, "lullaby" over and over.
"rest in me. little david.
dry all your tears.
you can lay down your armor,
and have no fears.
cause im always here when your tired of running,
im all the strength that you need."
so simple. so honest. so true.
i guess as i heard daddy sing brandon heath's song the other night, it rang out for me loud and clear as these other moments have.
Zephaniah 3:17 says,
"The LORD your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, He will rejoice over you with singing."
like a sweet daddy's love in a scary, unknown world, like a melodic message of truth in a far away new place the Lord has been singing over me all of my life.
a friend offered this advice that she had read to me the other day. when you pray and ask god for something like peace, pray for it once, and then accept it. so often times i pray over and over and over again for peace, and all the while the Lord is offering it to me. singing it over me. and i just need to be quiet and listen to His song.
if we are quiet He will hush us. He will whisper moment by moment to us. If we are obedient to His whispers, He will bless us and we will be more able to hear His song more clearly.
im full of thoughts about songs today but another one comes to mind by a band that we listened to back in college called "the normals" entitled "the survivor"
"I stand on the bloodfield
Shell-shocked and guilty
The sole survivor escaped what we all had coming
And feelings are fiction
As we watch our loved ones diving
And for some strange reason we just keep on marching
The ice that drips from isolation has melted me to this
In all of my power this is all I can offer
And its broken its broken its broken
But somewhere the good King has been claiming His victory
And its offered its offered its offered
To the survivor
My greatest confession is that what I claim dearly
Is the very thing that leaves me so scared
I know peace lies in silence and prayer is its heartbeat
But I dont feel it beating in me
What if I find in the quiet that all I am is the sum of my habits
In all of my power this is all I can offer
And its broken its broken its broken,
But somewhere the good king has been claiming His victory
And its offered to me to me
And your answer to my questions is be still and know that I Am
And I Am Love
I Am and I Am Love
And right here the good king has been claiming His victory
And its offered its offered its offered
Its given its given its given to the survivor."
minda actually got to hear former band member andrew osenga play at the journey the other night, and when she told him how much his music had touched her, he was blown away. he had not realized that anyone at the show had even listened to the normals nor that the music that they had made as a band had touched so many lives. as i think about it, i realize that scott probably has no idea that the album he offered to me that night had such calming effects on me that summer, nor does daddy probably remember with such clarity that night in prentiss. and what strikes me about all of these events is that it was not the person so much as what was sung that has haunted me like a sweet fragrance in my heart. rather it is who it was that these precious men were sharing that has had such a lasting effect, that offers the truth of the passage in zephaniah.
yes, there is a battle going on all around us every day. a battle that is much bloodier and much scarier than we even sometimes realize in the modern day comforts of our western world.
and yes, the battle in our own hearts with our own emotions sometimes feels overwhelming even to the point of breaking.
but the truth of scripture is that right here, no matter where right here is, the good King is claiming his victory and offering it to us!! He is singing over us His victory and His Love!
in these past months i have been blessed to be able to be a part of the lives of these children that i care for and one of my greatest joys each day is putting the boys down for their naps. holding their sweet little bodies, rocking them softly to sleep. i love it when ben asks for a song. i am not so naive as to think that years from now when they are grown they will remember much about these days when i loved them, but it is my prayer that what i sing over them, who i sing over them and who i allow to sing through me will resonate in their hearts like an eternal lullaby of the Lord's grace, victory, and love.
unbeknownst to me my father, after reading that blog, looked up the chords and lyrics and began to prepare to sing it at a music festival our church had. when he sang those words they touched me even more than they had before. maybe it was his deep, quiet vocal. maybe it was the preparation that i knew he had put into it, or the humble way that he sang, but i just sat there and wept as he played and poured out his heart.
i think that those words and the sentiment of the song had already been so what i needed to hear, and then to hear my father sing it, well that just did it.
i remember when we were small and the world was somehow smaller too, we used to go down to grandmother nannie and granddaddy frank's house out in the country in prentiss. we loved their old farm. the barn. the chicken coop. the cows. the old farm house. and the woods. it seemed that time slowed down when we arrived but still somehow managed to be gone all too quickly. we could spend endless hours on that front porch, rocking in those old chairs, swinging on that tree swing, playing in those fields. but as wonderful as it was, heavenly even, i was always a little scared when night fall rolled around. maybe it was the way the old gas lit heaters in the bathroom crackled, the eerie glow that followed as i walked by. maybe it was the country noises that i was not accustomed to hearing in the city, the owls screeching, the cows off in the distance calling their young in for the night, the crickets like a symphony outside the open window. whatever it was that frightened me i am not sure, but what i do remember with certainty is what always hushed me to sleep.
one cool summer night stands out most vividly in my mind. i was laying in the back bedroom under the sheets beside Minda, baby coday in the crib, and Daddy had his guitar. he sang silly songs like john denver's "grandma's feather bed," and randall o'brien's ballad about satan and jesus in a battle over a basketball game entitled "Go with God." then when it was time for our little minds to quiet down and allow dreams to hush us, he sang a simple song that im still not sure if he just made up on the spot, or if it was an actual song, but which ever the case may be, i remember every word. in fact, i have talked to minda and coday about it in years past and they remember it too. like a title track that plays over and over in our minds on the soundtrack of our lives.
"you can rest easy, you can rest easy.
children, jesus is watching over you.
jesus is watching over you.
so you can rest easy, tonight."
so simple. so pure. so consuming.
and we all slept. that night, and every night since.
i remember years later as a college student when i worked at camp garaywa in clinton. i was in charge of a cabin full of elementary aged girls and many of them were frightened at night as they were away from home for the first time. we hushed them to sleep as best we could with stories and songs, but truth be told i was frightened as well. far from my home in texas, a restless heart and a weary mind, sleep did not come easy for me even after all the other girls in my care were sound asleep. scott had given me a copy of pedro the lion's, whole ep and i would listen to the song, "lullaby" over and over.
"rest in me. little david.
dry all your tears.
you can lay down your armor,
and have no fears.
cause im always here when your tired of running,
im all the strength that you need."
so simple. so honest. so true.
i guess as i heard daddy sing brandon heath's song the other night, it rang out for me loud and clear as these other moments have.
Zephaniah 3:17 says,
"The LORD your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, He will rejoice over you with singing."
like a sweet daddy's love in a scary, unknown world, like a melodic message of truth in a far away new place the Lord has been singing over me all of my life.
a friend offered this advice that she had read to me the other day. when you pray and ask god for something like peace, pray for it once, and then accept it. so often times i pray over and over and over again for peace, and all the while the Lord is offering it to me. singing it over me. and i just need to be quiet and listen to His song.
if we are quiet He will hush us. He will whisper moment by moment to us. If we are obedient to His whispers, He will bless us and we will be more able to hear His song more clearly.
im full of thoughts about songs today but another one comes to mind by a band that we listened to back in college called "the normals" entitled "the survivor"
"I stand on the bloodfield
Shell-shocked and guilty
The sole survivor escaped what we all had coming
And feelings are fiction
As we watch our loved ones diving
And for some strange reason we just keep on marching
The ice that drips from isolation has melted me to this
In all of my power this is all I can offer
And its broken its broken its broken
But somewhere the good King has been claiming His victory
And its offered its offered its offered
To the survivor
My greatest confession is that what I claim dearly
Is the very thing that leaves me so scared
I know peace lies in silence and prayer is its heartbeat
But I dont feel it beating in me
What if I find in the quiet that all I am is the sum of my habits
In all of my power this is all I can offer
And its broken its broken its broken,
But somewhere the good king has been claiming His victory
And its offered to me to me
And your answer to my questions is be still and know that I Am
And I Am Love
I Am and I Am Love
And right here the good king has been claiming His victory
And its offered its offered its offered
Its given its given its given to the survivor."
minda actually got to hear former band member andrew osenga play at the journey the other night, and when she told him how much his music had touched her, he was blown away. he had not realized that anyone at the show had even listened to the normals nor that the music that they had made as a band had touched so many lives. as i think about it, i realize that scott probably has no idea that the album he offered to me that night had such calming effects on me that summer, nor does daddy probably remember with such clarity that night in prentiss. and what strikes me about all of these events is that it was not the person so much as what was sung that has haunted me like a sweet fragrance in my heart. rather it is who it was that these precious men were sharing that has had such a lasting effect, that offers the truth of the passage in zephaniah.
yes, there is a battle going on all around us every day. a battle that is much bloodier and much scarier than we even sometimes realize in the modern day comforts of our western world.
and yes, the battle in our own hearts with our own emotions sometimes feels overwhelming even to the point of breaking.
but the truth of scripture is that right here, no matter where right here is, the good King is claiming his victory and offering it to us!! He is singing over us His victory and His Love!
in these past months i have been blessed to be able to be a part of the lives of these children that i care for and one of my greatest joys each day is putting the boys down for their naps. holding their sweet little bodies, rocking them softly to sleep. i love it when ben asks for a song. i am not so naive as to think that years from now when they are grown they will remember much about these days when i loved them, but it is my prayer that what i sing over them, who i sing over them and who i allow to sing through me will resonate in their hearts like an eternal lullaby of the Lord's grace, victory, and love.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
time...
i once watched a documentary on the inner workings of Buckingham palace. i guess i was thinking about it here lately because we had the time change, but there is a man who works for the royal palace who's official job is taking care of the palace's some 350 clocks.
every week he is in charge of making sure that the clocks are all in working order, and that each clock is wound and is keeping the correct time. pretty tedious and time consuming work on a daily basis caring for so many antique machines, but twice a year his job becomes even more consuming. during daylight savings time it is his sole job to change by hand all of these clocks.
he starts in the early morning and begins the routine that has been passed down through the centuries of tradition at the palace. everything the royal family does and everything that takes place inside the castle is steeped in tradition. everything must be done just right, and so even the changing of the clocks has an order and a certain procession about it.
it takes him all day to work in all of the rooms and all of the buildings that are a part of the palace. he cares for these instruments and resets them one by one.
one of the last clocks on his list is an old timed bell that hangs in one of the old towers. he commented on the documentary that every time the task must done, he tries to hurry and be almost finished, down to this one last clock to reset, before the sun goes down. the old mechanism hangs inside the tower way up high on the wall and there is no good light in the tower. he must stand on a chair and reach up high to change the timer and if it is already nightfall, it can be a scary job, he remarked to the film maker, to be all alone, standing on a chair, in the dark, in an old tower. it kind of makes me chuckle to think that as i set my clocks forward the other night, somewhere in London a man was setting a clock praying for just a little more moon light in a tower.
and then i got to thinking. what passion this guy has for clocks! i looked it up and found out that he is what you call a horologist. it comes from the Greek word for hour and is defined as one who studies time. and while it is associated with those who have studied the actual passing of time, it also is commonly used to refer to watchmakers and time keepers and those who devote their lives to the management of these time keeping machines.
time.
this thought about this man in his tower in London got me thinking in several directions.
first i was thinking about how devoted this guy is to what he does. what passion for clocks! for time keeping. i was consumed for days by the thought that i am not that passionate about anything. to work so steadfastly and so commit ed to a task, even just two days a year, is a lot when you really think about it. you figure he spends just two minutes with each clock. that's 700 minutes. almost 12 full hours to get the job done. when was the last time i worked a twelve hour day with no breaks doing the same tedious job over and over. for most of us the answer is not very often.
and to me, it kind of seems like, is it that important, really? i mean so what if the some of the antique clocks are just for show and don't keep working time, or cant the job be stretched out over a week or at least a couple of days? but i guess that is where passion comes in to play. i don't have a passion for these old clocks, but this guy does, and for him, its worth it.
i have a hard time even doing anything for twelve minutes without getting distracted. as Christians we are supposed to be sold out passionate for Christ, and yet when was the last time i prayed even for a full twelve minutes without being distracted by myself? thoughts about grocery lists, about the work that i have to do tomorrow, about my own selfish desires so quickly creep in. when was the last time i devoted twelve minutes, much less, twelve hours, completely to God?
then i got to thinking what would the world look like, what would Mississippi or even my little county look like if we were passionate, truly passionate, even for two days out of every year, even for just twelve hours,about the sole purpose of living for God? how many good things could be accomplished, how many souls could be won, if even for one day we all stopped talking about how passionate we are and devoted our actions to actually doing something about it?
time.
the more i thought about time and this old man and his clocks the more i thought about the passage of time in my own life. about time in general. you might say i have been a bit of a horologist lately as i have studied in my own mind my time; my time here on earth thus far, the seasons that have passed, the people and things that have passed along with it.
its such a precious thing, and yet i waste it so often.
what am i doing most of the time?
so few things are eternal and i waste so much energy on the fleeting.
i guess this is the modern day plight of western civilization. we talk so much about waste. wasted energy, wasted space, where to put all of our waste! but i don't think often enough about the time i let slip by me with no work put into it that will have a lasting effect.
its easy to come up with excuses, its hard sometimes to just do whatever it is that we are being called by the lord to do.
lately i have had this phrase stuck in my mind: if it was easy, it wouldn't require a sacrifice.
i think as we draw near to the hour of the passing of our Lord and to the three days which must have seemed to pass the most slowly in history, it is fitting to remember the sacrifice that was made. not just of the blood that was shed on Calvary, but the sacrifice that Gods Son made to leave His throne in heaven where there is no time, where a day is like a thousand years, and to come to this lowly planet a babe in a manger to work among us a carpenter's son in the passing seasons of time.
He lived among us as a creature of time and yet He transcended time.(John 1:1,14 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.)
in the passing seasons He watched the leaves turn green again, delighted as the birds nests filled with spring eggs, smiled as the flowers bloomed and still He knew, year after year, with the passage of time, as He grew to be a man, what springtime would ultimately bring Him. would bring all of us.
time.
a friend was talking the other day about Ecclesiastes and reminded me about what it says about time. how there is a time for everything under the sun. i think tonight as i write, that there is a also a time for everything under the Son. because of His sacrifice to be like us, to show us how our lives should be lived, there is really no excuse. when we come to the end of our lives, all the wasted time, will be just that. only the things that we were passionate about will live on.
someone will be groomed to care for the old man's clocks when he is gone. its a tradition that has been passed down for generations and that will continue i am sure. its frivolous, yes, but it will live on as long as some one is passionate about it.
what will be carried on because of me?
what will i have done under the Son, that will truly matter?
every week he is in charge of making sure that the clocks are all in working order, and that each clock is wound and is keeping the correct time. pretty tedious and time consuming work on a daily basis caring for so many antique machines, but twice a year his job becomes even more consuming. during daylight savings time it is his sole job to change by hand all of these clocks.
he starts in the early morning and begins the routine that has been passed down through the centuries of tradition at the palace. everything the royal family does and everything that takes place inside the castle is steeped in tradition. everything must be done just right, and so even the changing of the clocks has an order and a certain procession about it.
it takes him all day to work in all of the rooms and all of the buildings that are a part of the palace. he cares for these instruments and resets them one by one.
one of the last clocks on his list is an old timed bell that hangs in one of the old towers. he commented on the documentary that every time the task must done, he tries to hurry and be almost finished, down to this one last clock to reset, before the sun goes down. the old mechanism hangs inside the tower way up high on the wall and there is no good light in the tower. he must stand on a chair and reach up high to change the timer and if it is already nightfall, it can be a scary job, he remarked to the film maker, to be all alone, standing on a chair, in the dark, in an old tower. it kind of makes me chuckle to think that as i set my clocks forward the other night, somewhere in London a man was setting a clock praying for just a little more moon light in a tower.
and then i got to thinking. what passion this guy has for clocks! i looked it up and found out that he is what you call a horologist. it comes from the Greek word for hour and is defined as one who studies time. and while it is associated with those who have studied the actual passing of time, it also is commonly used to refer to watchmakers and time keepers and those who devote their lives to the management of these time keeping machines.
time.
this thought about this man in his tower in London got me thinking in several directions.
first i was thinking about how devoted this guy is to what he does. what passion for clocks! for time keeping. i was consumed for days by the thought that i am not that passionate about anything. to work so steadfastly and so commit ed to a task, even just two days a year, is a lot when you really think about it. you figure he spends just two minutes with each clock. that's 700 minutes. almost 12 full hours to get the job done. when was the last time i worked a twelve hour day with no breaks doing the same tedious job over and over. for most of us the answer is not very often.
and to me, it kind of seems like, is it that important, really? i mean so what if the some of the antique clocks are just for show and don't keep working time, or cant the job be stretched out over a week or at least a couple of days? but i guess that is where passion comes in to play. i don't have a passion for these old clocks, but this guy does, and for him, its worth it.
i have a hard time even doing anything for twelve minutes without getting distracted. as Christians we are supposed to be sold out passionate for Christ, and yet when was the last time i prayed even for a full twelve minutes without being distracted by myself? thoughts about grocery lists, about the work that i have to do tomorrow, about my own selfish desires so quickly creep in. when was the last time i devoted twelve minutes, much less, twelve hours, completely to God?
then i got to thinking what would the world look like, what would Mississippi or even my little county look like if we were passionate, truly passionate, even for two days out of every year, even for just twelve hours,about the sole purpose of living for God? how many good things could be accomplished, how many souls could be won, if even for one day we all stopped talking about how passionate we are and devoted our actions to actually doing something about it?
time.
the more i thought about time and this old man and his clocks the more i thought about the passage of time in my own life. about time in general. you might say i have been a bit of a horologist lately as i have studied in my own mind my time; my time here on earth thus far, the seasons that have passed, the people and things that have passed along with it.
its such a precious thing, and yet i waste it so often.
what am i doing most of the time?
so few things are eternal and i waste so much energy on the fleeting.
i guess this is the modern day plight of western civilization. we talk so much about waste. wasted energy, wasted space, where to put all of our waste! but i don't think often enough about the time i let slip by me with no work put into it that will have a lasting effect.
its easy to come up with excuses, its hard sometimes to just do whatever it is that we are being called by the lord to do.
lately i have had this phrase stuck in my mind: if it was easy, it wouldn't require a sacrifice.
i think as we draw near to the hour of the passing of our Lord and to the three days which must have seemed to pass the most slowly in history, it is fitting to remember the sacrifice that was made. not just of the blood that was shed on Calvary, but the sacrifice that Gods Son made to leave His throne in heaven where there is no time, where a day is like a thousand years, and to come to this lowly planet a babe in a manger to work among us a carpenter's son in the passing seasons of time.
He lived among us as a creature of time and yet He transcended time.(John 1:1,14 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.)
in the passing seasons He watched the leaves turn green again, delighted as the birds nests filled with spring eggs, smiled as the flowers bloomed and still He knew, year after year, with the passage of time, as He grew to be a man, what springtime would ultimately bring Him. would bring all of us.
time.
a friend was talking the other day about Ecclesiastes and reminded me about what it says about time. how there is a time for everything under the sun. i think tonight as i write, that there is a also a time for everything under the Son. because of His sacrifice to be like us, to show us how our lives should be lived, there is really no excuse. when we come to the end of our lives, all the wasted time, will be just that. only the things that we were passionate about will live on.
someone will be groomed to care for the old man's clocks when he is gone. its a tradition that has been passed down for generations and that will continue i am sure. its frivolous, yes, but it will live on as long as some one is passionate about it.
what will be carried on because of me?
what will i have done under the Son, that will truly matter?
Monday, March 8, 2010
and the greatest of these...
I'm trying to teach madilynn about love.
we talked a few weeks ago about feelings and emotions and so i thought that it was appropriate to share with her that despite what the world might say, love does not fall into this same category with our sadness, happiness, anger etc..
this is hard to explain to a five year old.
in her mind she can not understand how it is possible to be angry at her brother and still love him at the same time.
its a hard concept even for most adults.
when i taught high school bible at hillcrest i taught my kids that the definition of love meant making yourself vulnerable to pain. they thought that i was a super emo crazy person who did not understand love. how could something that they associated so closely with all the butterflies and happy feelings they felt fit in anyway with my definition?
in preparation for talking to madilynn i was watching the brandon heath video for his love never fails song. i have heard it on the radio but for some reason watching the images and seeing the lyrics as he sang, it really hit home. 1 cor 13 is probably simultaneously one of the single most important and hardest chapters in all of the Bible.
i have laughed lately at my little one year old's joys in his discovery of being upside down. he can not get up on my lap now that he does not immediately take a dive backwards of of my lap letting his long blond curls touch the floor as he squeals with delight. madilynn and ben usually get in on the act too. they flip over off the side of the couch and as the blood rushes to their heads they all laugh and laugh at the sight of each other turned in this peculiar way.
i have thought what is it about being upside down that is so appealing? the rush of blood, the fear of falling, the strangeness of seeing others completely opposite of how you normally see them.
it has struck me that the same is true for love. real love.
carrie bradshaw in the final episode of sex and the city tells the russian "i am someone who is looking for love. real love. ridiculous. inconvenient. consuming. cant live without each other love." i have clung to that statement these last few years but as i think on it now, i think that even that proclamation falls short.
sometimes you do live without, and yet you still love.
i remember my sweet mimi telling me as she watched our dandy, her tony, slip away that you would think after fifty seven years with him that would be enough, but still she felt she needed more time. she tells me every time i see her now that even after all these years that he has been gone, she dreams of him. sometimes you do live without, and yet you still love.
i remember the tears in my sweet daddy dukes eyes as he gave me my mamal's ring and said that when the nurse told him she would go and remove the jewelry from her body, he politely told her that he was the one who put those rings on her sweet fingers and he would be the one to take them off. i have only worn that ring once. to a wedding a few summers ago. sometimes you live without, and yet you still love.
daddy talked in his sermon on sunday about a friend he knows who recently ran into the man who his wife had had an affair with. the man who had been like his brother. the man who he had laughed with. who he had cried with. who he had hated. daddy said when he heard the news that the two had run into each other for the first time since the affair happened and since his wife had left him he braced himself for what he was about to hear. what words had been exchanged? had punches even been thrown?
what he heard instead turned his world upside down. his friend had walked up to the man whom the world would have called his enemy, put his arms around him and said, "brother, i just want you to know that i still love you."
how can you explain love to a five year old? i guess the best way is to show it.to try to live it out everyday. otherwise, even if you memorize 1 cor 13, they are still just words. and isn't that what the passage is trying to say, afterall?
i think the only reason that daddy's friend was able to do what he did is because love has been lived out so clearly in his own life. by his parents. by his grandparents. by his Lord.
isn't that after all what we always say Christ did? turn the world upside down with his love. love for the prostitutes, the beggars, the outcasts, the sinners.
i can only imagine that as peter took a timid dive off the side of that boat toward Jesus the blood must have rushed to his head. the fear of falling must have been unbelievable. strange and surreal and thrilling and terrifying, all at the same time. but as long as he kept his eyes on his Lord, he walked on the water. i know that the experience that day and the rest of his days with (and without) the Lord changed him. Turned his whole world upside down. i am struck by the thought that he died, by choice, in this same manner.
what is love?
am i qualified to teach anyone about it?
maybe not, but Lord help me, I'm trying to live it out daily.
Brandon Heath--
Love Never Fails :
Love is not proud
Love does not boast
Love after all
Matters the most
Love does not run
Love does not hide
Love does not keep
Locked inside
Love is the river that flows through
Love never fails you
Love will sustain
Love will provide
Love will not cease
At the end of time
Love will protect
Love always hopes
Love still believes
When you don’t
Love is the arms that are holding you
Love never fails you
When my heart won’t make a sound
When I can’t turn back around
When the sky is falling down
Nothing is greater than this
Greater than this
Love is right here
Love is alive
Love is the way
The truth the life
Love is the river than flows through
Love is the arms that are holding you
Love is the place you will fly to
Love never fails you
we talked a few weeks ago about feelings and emotions and so i thought that it was appropriate to share with her that despite what the world might say, love does not fall into this same category with our sadness, happiness, anger etc..
this is hard to explain to a five year old.
in her mind she can not understand how it is possible to be angry at her brother and still love him at the same time.
its a hard concept even for most adults.
when i taught high school bible at hillcrest i taught my kids that the definition of love meant making yourself vulnerable to pain. they thought that i was a super emo crazy person who did not understand love. how could something that they associated so closely with all the butterflies and happy feelings they felt fit in anyway with my definition?
in preparation for talking to madilynn i was watching the brandon heath video for his love never fails song. i have heard it on the radio but for some reason watching the images and seeing the lyrics as he sang, it really hit home. 1 cor 13 is probably simultaneously one of the single most important and hardest chapters in all of the Bible.
i have laughed lately at my little one year old's joys in his discovery of being upside down. he can not get up on my lap now that he does not immediately take a dive backwards of of my lap letting his long blond curls touch the floor as he squeals with delight. madilynn and ben usually get in on the act too. they flip over off the side of the couch and as the blood rushes to their heads they all laugh and laugh at the sight of each other turned in this peculiar way.
i have thought what is it about being upside down that is so appealing? the rush of blood, the fear of falling, the strangeness of seeing others completely opposite of how you normally see them.
it has struck me that the same is true for love. real love.
carrie bradshaw in the final episode of sex and the city tells the russian "i am someone who is looking for love. real love. ridiculous. inconvenient. consuming. cant live without each other love." i have clung to that statement these last few years but as i think on it now, i think that even that proclamation falls short.
sometimes you do live without, and yet you still love.
i remember my sweet mimi telling me as she watched our dandy, her tony, slip away that you would think after fifty seven years with him that would be enough, but still she felt she needed more time. she tells me every time i see her now that even after all these years that he has been gone, she dreams of him. sometimes you do live without, and yet you still love.
i remember the tears in my sweet daddy dukes eyes as he gave me my mamal's ring and said that when the nurse told him she would go and remove the jewelry from her body, he politely told her that he was the one who put those rings on her sweet fingers and he would be the one to take them off. i have only worn that ring once. to a wedding a few summers ago. sometimes you live without, and yet you still love.
daddy talked in his sermon on sunday about a friend he knows who recently ran into the man who his wife had had an affair with. the man who had been like his brother. the man who he had laughed with. who he had cried with. who he had hated. daddy said when he heard the news that the two had run into each other for the first time since the affair happened and since his wife had left him he braced himself for what he was about to hear. what words had been exchanged? had punches even been thrown?
what he heard instead turned his world upside down. his friend had walked up to the man whom the world would have called his enemy, put his arms around him and said, "brother, i just want you to know that i still love you."
how can you explain love to a five year old? i guess the best way is to show it.to try to live it out everyday. otherwise, even if you memorize 1 cor 13, they are still just words. and isn't that what the passage is trying to say, afterall?
i think the only reason that daddy's friend was able to do what he did is because love has been lived out so clearly in his own life. by his parents. by his grandparents. by his Lord.
isn't that after all what we always say Christ did? turn the world upside down with his love. love for the prostitutes, the beggars, the outcasts, the sinners.
i can only imagine that as peter took a timid dive off the side of that boat toward Jesus the blood must have rushed to his head. the fear of falling must have been unbelievable. strange and surreal and thrilling and terrifying, all at the same time. but as long as he kept his eyes on his Lord, he walked on the water. i know that the experience that day and the rest of his days with (and without) the Lord changed him. Turned his whole world upside down. i am struck by the thought that he died, by choice, in this same manner.
what is love?
am i qualified to teach anyone about it?
maybe not, but Lord help me, I'm trying to live it out daily.
Brandon Heath--
Love Never Fails :
Love is not proud
Love does not boast
Love after all
Matters the most
Love does not run
Love does not hide
Love does not keep
Locked inside
Love is the river that flows through
Love never fails you
Love will sustain
Love will provide
Love will not cease
At the end of time
Love will protect
Love always hopes
Love still believes
When you don’t
Love is the arms that are holding you
Love never fails you
When my heart won’t make a sound
When I can’t turn back around
When the sky is falling down
Nothing is greater than this
Greater than this
Love is right here
Love is alive
Love is the way
The truth the life
Love is the river than flows through
Love is the arms that are holding you
Love is the place you will fly to
Love never fails you
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
from a southern mississippi gal to a southern california guy...
Dear Jason Schwartzman,
I have this novel in my head. I started out writing it five years ago when I was thinking a lot about Salinger and the family dynamic. I created these characters and this plot just sort of emerged but I can’t seem to get it out onto the page. I’ve got these really great moments. These places where if I say so myself its pure brilliance. But as someone I once knew said, I’m tired of living life in these same old short stories.
Its nothing really. I mean its just life. And more and more as I write it I realize that its my life.
I recently decided to change it all to first person. Is the Catcher in the Rye first person or was Salinger just so good at third person that it seemed that way? I can’t recall, anyway the point is I’m no Salinger and apparently I live life so much better in my head than I do in the real world or on the written page.
The working title is Welcome to Fiction. A play on the fact that the main protagonist is using the English degree he earned from his state university to work in the fiction section of the local library. Like, virtually nothing happens. I think that’s the problem, except, that is not entirely true because this whole year goes by in his life and lots of things happen. I just mean that there are no big explosions or fireworks or car chases. There is not even a good love scene or this great romance, and the thing is, I think that, strangely, this is all as it should be.
I don’t want it to be about just anything. I want it to be about the nothings of everyday life and about everything. About how our generation doesn’t have this driving force like the depression WW2 era did, or like the hippie Veitnam era did. I mean we have the war on terror and the recession but somehow still most of us as 20 and 30 somethings are so far removed from all of that. Not that we mean to be, not that we don’t care, just, what does that really look like to care? I mean we recycle, we voted for Obama, but on a day to day basis what has our fancy private school education and our degree done for us that drives us to a more fulfilling existance?
Generation X or whatever you wanna call it. Its this big joke and yet no one that I know is really laughing. Most people I know, if you asked them, and they were really honest, would say that they are kind of depressed. That they have become insomniacs because they can’t seem to turn the tv off, put down the controller, or stop checking face book on their I phone. Scared that the silence might cause them to start to really think and that thinking might open up a whole world that they have so neatly tucked away. They have become loners because becoming the socialite has become what Paris Hilton and Lauren Conrad are and if we learned anything from our days as twothirtyeight, jimmy eat world junkies its that life is better lived in the mind. We have become dreamers but only to the extent that it gets us through the day to day because life long goals seem too far off and everything we dreamed as fifteen year olds somehow failed along the way. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe everything has slowed down. Or sped up. Which ever way we can’t seem to get on or off the train, or whatever, cause where is anybody really going?
Anyway, thats the way my protagonist feels.
I’m really not cynical. I’m actually a fairly pleasant person, most days. I think that its just hard for me to think about what the great american novel looks like for our generation because I don’t know how our generation is going to achieve the great american dream. I think that we will achieve it, one day. It just may take us a little longer.It just might not look like the same dream our parents and grandparents achieved. It might not even look like the same dream we once thought we would achieve. But, for better or for worse, maybe we will reach it. eventually.
And maybe that’s why its taking so long for me to get my book finished. Maybe that’s why I keep putting it down, picking it back up and starting it over again.
Maybe I need to stop listening to death cab radio on Pandora as I write. Maybe the melodic tunes that I claim as inspiration are lulling me to be stagnant.
Maybe if I could get it out of my head that what I was writing was a Wes Anderson screenplay, if I could stop thinking of the protagonist as Luke Wilson then I could just really concentrate on seeing him as himself. As me.
Maybe if my own chapters would close a little more triumphantly.
Maybe.
Anyway, I write to you, because I think you might understand. Because I think you might know how it feels to have this river inside of you the size of the Mississippi, but unlike me, you seem to have somehow learned how to release it…
--jayna lea
I have this novel in my head. I started out writing it five years ago when I was thinking a lot about Salinger and the family dynamic. I created these characters and this plot just sort of emerged but I can’t seem to get it out onto the page. I’ve got these really great moments. These places where if I say so myself its pure brilliance. But as someone I once knew said, I’m tired of living life in these same old short stories.
Its nothing really. I mean its just life. And more and more as I write it I realize that its my life.
I recently decided to change it all to first person. Is the Catcher in the Rye first person or was Salinger just so good at third person that it seemed that way? I can’t recall, anyway the point is I’m no Salinger and apparently I live life so much better in my head than I do in the real world or on the written page.
The working title is Welcome to Fiction. A play on the fact that the main protagonist is using the English degree he earned from his state university to work in the fiction section of the local library. Like, virtually nothing happens. I think that’s the problem, except, that is not entirely true because this whole year goes by in his life and lots of things happen. I just mean that there are no big explosions or fireworks or car chases. There is not even a good love scene or this great romance, and the thing is, I think that, strangely, this is all as it should be.
I don’t want it to be about just anything. I want it to be about the nothings of everyday life and about everything. About how our generation doesn’t have this driving force like the depression WW2 era did, or like the hippie Veitnam era did. I mean we have the war on terror and the recession but somehow still most of us as 20 and 30 somethings are so far removed from all of that. Not that we mean to be, not that we don’t care, just, what does that really look like to care? I mean we recycle, we voted for Obama, but on a day to day basis what has our fancy private school education and our degree done for us that drives us to a more fulfilling existance?
Generation X or whatever you wanna call it. Its this big joke and yet no one that I know is really laughing. Most people I know, if you asked them, and they were really honest, would say that they are kind of depressed. That they have become insomniacs because they can’t seem to turn the tv off, put down the controller, or stop checking face book on their I phone. Scared that the silence might cause them to start to really think and that thinking might open up a whole world that they have so neatly tucked away. They have become loners because becoming the socialite has become what Paris Hilton and Lauren Conrad are and if we learned anything from our days as twothirtyeight, jimmy eat world junkies its that life is better lived in the mind. We have become dreamers but only to the extent that it gets us through the day to day because life long goals seem too far off and everything we dreamed as fifteen year olds somehow failed along the way. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe everything has slowed down. Or sped up. Which ever way we can’t seem to get on or off the train, or whatever, cause where is anybody really going?
Anyway, thats the way my protagonist feels.
I’m really not cynical. I’m actually a fairly pleasant person, most days. I think that its just hard for me to think about what the great american novel looks like for our generation because I don’t know how our generation is going to achieve the great american dream. I think that we will achieve it, one day. It just may take us a little longer.It just might not look like the same dream our parents and grandparents achieved. It might not even look like the same dream we once thought we would achieve. But, for better or for worse, maybe we will reach it. eventually.
And maybe that’s why its taking so long for me to get my book finished. Maybe that’s why I keep putting it down, picking it back up and starting it over again.
Maybe I need to stop listening to death cab radio on Pandora as I write. Maybe the melodic tunes that I claim as inspiration are lulling me to be stagnant.
Maybe if I could get it out of my head that what I was writing was a Wes Anderson screenplay, if I could stop thinking of the protagonist as Luke Wilson then I could just really concentrate on seeing him as himself. As me.
Maybe if my own chapters would close a little more triumphantly.
Maybe.
Anyway, I write to you, because I think you might understand. Because I think you might know how it feels to have this river inside of you the size of the Mississippi, but unlike me, you seem to have somehow learned how to release it…
--jayna lea
Sunday, February 7, 2010
in the morning...
a while back on PBS i saw this special about the Patagonia mountains.
i hate to admit it but as i started watching i was surprised to learn i knew so little about them.
they are in south America along the border of Chile and Argentina and very few people have actually photographed their western and southern sides because they are so inaccessible.
a photographer by the name of art wolfe set out in this episode that i watched with the goal in mind of capturing shots of these breathtaking but elusive cliffs.
the northern, more photographed side of the mountain is beautiful in its own right. it reminds me more of the mountains in New Mexico than the steep Rockies that one might imagine. platoes and rock formations that glow red when struck by the sun jut out in all directions.
as the photographer and his team travel along to the back side of these beauties they begin to traverse the very glaciers that formed these ranges. he said in the film that scientists say that a single snow flake that falls here will remain three hundred years before it will be released from the glacier.
he is able to actually go inside one of the crevasses inside the glacier itself and what he captures with his lens is amazing. you think that you have seen the color blue in its natural state. you have not. underneath this glacier below some two hundred feet of ice as the sun pierces through the layers, you truly see the hue in purest form. it glows with this intoxicating light that i can only imagine what it must be like to see first hand.
next the crew travels by foot hiking around to the south western tip of these mountains on the southern most edge of the Americas. as they photograph the last remaining mountain faces of the western side a storm moves in and very quickly the clouds and the snow make sight almost impossible. the vast range that they photographed hours earlier is literally vanished before their very eyes and before mine as the viewer too. all that you can see for what seems like miles and miles is this blanket of white.
the photographer says that he is reminded of when he worked in Antarctica; that no where else that he has ever been on the planet has seemed so vast, stark white and barren.
it comforts him, he says, that in this seemingly endless emptiness, the only faces that he can see are of those that he recognizes and that he knows.
the team is doubtful as to whether or not it will clear up enough to shoot the range that they have traveled so far to see.
as i watched it with my completely non scientific eye i am amazed. there is no way that they can be anywhere near the mountains. the guide has told them that if they set up camp at the destination where he has led them through the white wasteland, that if the weather clears, they will get the shot that they have so long sought after. i do not believe him. surely in the blizzard like climate he has led them astray; inadvertently they have gone the wrong way. this mountain range is no where to be seen!
they set up camp in tents amidst the snow and clouds. the wind is really moving. it blows uninhibited for some 2000 miles across the ocean before slapping into the mountains and the crew can really feel it. they build a wall out of ice and snow to protect their little make shift camp and bed down for the night, hopeful.
i do not see any way possible that they are anywhere near the range, much less close enough to shoot it in the morning. even if the weather changes.
but sure enough, just as it always does, the sun comes up.
and lo and behold, the Southern Patagonia Mountains. not 100 yards from where they made their camp. if they had kept walking just a little more they would have practically run into them!
they are able to shoot a side of these mountains that very few people have ever even seen in pictures, much less in person.
i am in total shock! they were right there in front of them the whole time! for three days they walked around seeing nothing but white, and all of the sudden, they are there, right where they have been headed all along, only now the veil has been lifted and they can see.
walking by faith and not by sight.
i think that this program hit me so hard, becuase i feel like in many ways i have been walking around looking for the mountains i have been promised for quite some time.
just keep walking.
just keep walking.
i have been telling myself that for awhile now.
i have seen things along the way in a new light.
i am thankful for the faces that i recognize who walk with me, even on the most difficult of journeys.
i am trusting that my guide knows where He is leading.
i am hopeful that i will get my long sought after shot.
i have built my little hedge of protection and set up camp where i believe that i have been told to rest for the night.
i pray that maybe it all will clear in the morning and before my eyes...
the peaks!
--MOUNTAIN sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.
The seasons prayed around his knees,
Like children round a sire:
Grandfather of the days is he,
Of dawn the ancestor.
--emily dickinson
i hate to admit it but as i started watching i was surprised to learn i knew so little about them.
they are in south America along the border of Chile and Argentina and very few people have actually photographed their western and southern sides because they are so inaccessible.
a photographer by the name of art wolfe set out in this episode that i watched with the goal in mind of capturing shots of these breathtaking but elusive cliffs.
the northern, more photographed side of the mountain is beautiful in its own right. it reminds me more of the mountains in New Mexico than the steep Rockies that one might imagine. platoes and rock formations that glow red when struck by the sun jut out in all directions.
as the photographer and his team travel along to the back side of these beauties they begin to traverse the very glaciers that formed these ranges. he said in the film that scientists say that a single snow flake that falls here will remain three hundred years before it will be released from the glacier.
he is able to actually go inside one of the crevasses inside the glacier itself and what he captures with his lens is amazing. you think that you have seen the color blue in its natural state. you have not. underneath this glacier below some two hundred feet of ice as the sun pierces through the layers, you truly see the hue in purest form. it glows with this intoxicating light that i can only imagine what it must be like to see first hand.
next the crew travels by foot hiking around to the south western tip of these mountains on the southern most edge of the Americas. as they photograph the last remaining mountain faces of the western side a storm moves in and very quickly the clouds and the snow make sight almost impossible. the vast range that they photographed hours earlier is literally vanished before their very eyes and before mine as the viewer too. all that you can see for what seems like miles and miles is this blanket of white.
the photographer says that he is reminded of when he worked in Antarctica; that no where else that he has ever been on the planet has seemed so vast, stark white and barren.
it comforts him, he says, that in this seemingly endless emptiness, the only faces that he can see are of those that he recognizes and that he knows.
the team is doubtful as to whether or not it will clear up enough to shoot the range that they have traveled so far to see.
as i watched it with my completely non scientific eye i am amazed. there is no way that they can be anywhere near the mountains. the guide has told them that if they set up camp at the destination where he has led them through the white wasteland, that if the weather clears, they will get the shot that they have so long sought after. i do not believe him. surely in the blizzard like climate he has led them astray; inadvertently they have gone the wrong way. this mountain range is no where to be seen!
they set up camp in tents amidst the snow and clouds. the wind is really moving. it blows uninhibited for some 2000 miles across the ocean before slapping into the mountains and the crew can really feel it. they build a wall out of ice and snow to protect their little make shift camp and bed down for the night, hopeful.
i do not see any way possible that they are anywhere near the range, much less close enough to shoot it in the morning. even if the weather changes.
but sure enough, just as it always does, the sun comes up.
and lo and behold, the Southern Patagonia Mountains. not 100 yards from where they made their camp. if they had kept walking just a little more they would have practically run into them!
they are able to shoot a side of these mountains that very few people have ever even seen in pictures, much less in person.
i am in total shock! they were right there in front of them the whole time! for three days they walked around seeing nothing but white, and all of the sudden, they are there, right where they have been headed all along, only now the veil has been lifted and they can see.
walking by faith and not by sight.
i think that this program hit me so hard, becuase i feel like in many ways i have been walking around looking for the mountains i have been promised for quite some time.
just keep walking.
just keep walking.
i have been telling myself that for awhile now.
i have seen things along the way in a new light.
i am thankful for the faces that i recognize who walk with me, even on the most difficult of journeys.
i am trusting that my guide knows where He is leading.
i am hopeful that i will get my long sought after shot.
i have built my little hedge of protection and set up camp where i believe that i have been told to rest for the night.
i pray that maybe it all will clear in the morning and before my eyes...
the peaks!
--MOUNTAIN sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.
The seasons prayed around his knees,
Like children round a sire:
Grandfather of the days is he,
Of dawn the ancestor.
--emily dickinson
Monday, January 25, 2010
its just good...
these last few weeks as i have started preschool with madilynn i have also started introducing her to some music as well.
i decided, of course, to sing some of the fun kids stuff like old mcdonald,one-two-three-four-five i caught a fish alive, and all those songs we sang as kids but i decided too i would expose them to some really great music.
i think that one of the greatest things that our parents did for us as kids was to give us the opportunity to learn about all kinds of music.
i think that my mother had one of the greatest records collections of anyone i know. i say had because i think that we (mainly coday) have laid claim to almost all of them over the years. but back when we were kids one of our favorite past times was to go through her albums. what fun it was to laugh at the covers and listen to the music on our fisher price record player. as we grew older we learned to appreciate the fact that the music we were listening to was greats like pink floyd, the beatles, andrae crouch, simon and garfunkle and judy collins.
i know that i was only six when it came out but i still remember paul simon's graceland. daddy had the cassette tape and we would listen to it over and over as we drove with him in the truck. i absolutely loved it when the music video for 'call me al' came on. chevy chase was so funny. that music really spoke to me as a kid, even if i didn't understand what it was that it was saying.
so far i have let my little ones listen to some of my favorites as well. i am proud to say that madilynn can identify by sight and sound both paul simon and james taylor.
one of my greatest joys in the last few weeks was the day that she and i were watching jt's jelly man kelly performance on sesame street circa 1980. he still had the long hair and that great mustache that i fell in love with on the cover of his one man dog album. as i sat there and watched him sing to the children on the steps of sesame street my little madilynn turned to me and said, "he is so pretty, isn't he?" that's my girl! she loves him almost as much as i do. my work here is done.
the next week i worried (i don't know why) that she might not be as excited about paul simon. i let her listen to 'call me al' and she loved it but the shortest version of homeless i could find was like eight minutes long. i wanted her to hear it because of the sounds that the ladysmith black mambazo and joseph shabalala make that i loved as a child, but i feared that she and ben would get bored with this long live version. we had made drums from tea cans and i reluctantly put the song on, and much to my amazement not only did they sing and dance and play their drums throughout the entire song, when it was over they begged to hear it again.
the next week we talked about singing high and low notes and watched a clip of the sound of music where maria teaches the children to sing do re mi. this, too, is a long clip, but when it was over madilynn actually clapped and shouted 'yay! can i watch it again!'
these experiences have taught me what i should have already known from my own childhood, it doesn't matter how old you are or how old the song is, when something or someone is good, its just good!
that's the power of music.
this week i continue my journey with the kids through the beautiful world of truly great music.
"these are four guys from a place called liverpool who changed the world forever, madilynn. their names are john,paul, george and ringo. yes, ringo is a funny name. he plays the drums. heh. yes. they have funny hair too. but you know, i bet your grand daddy combed his hair that way once upon a time. do you like the way that they sound, madilynn? me too, sweet girl, me too."
i decided, of course, to sing some of the fun kids stuff like old mcdonald,one-two-three-four-five i caught a fish alive, and all those songs we sang as kids but i decided too i would expose them to some really great music.
i think that one of the greatest things that our parents did for us as kids was to give us the opportunity to learn about all kinds of music.
i think that my mother had one of the greatest records collections of anyone i know. i say had because i think that we (mainly coday) have laid claim to almost all of them over the years. but back when we were kids one of our favorite past times was to go through her albums. what fun it was to laugh at the covers and listen to the music on our fisher price record player. as we grew older we learned to appreciate the fact that the music we were listening to was greats like pink floyd, the beatles, andrae crouch, simon and garfunkle and judy collins.
i know that i was only six when it came out but i still remember paul simon's graceland. daddy had the cassette tape and we would listen to it over and over as we drove with him in the truck. i absolutely loved it when the music video for 'call me al' came on. chevy chase was so funny. that music really spoke to me as a kid, even if i didn't understand what it was that it was saying.
so far i have let my little ones listen to some of my favorites as well. i am proud to say that madilynn can identify by sight and sound both paul simon and james taylor.
one of my greatest joys in the last few weeks was the day that she and i were watching jt's jelly man kelly performance on sesame street circa 1980. he still had the long hair and that great mustache that i fell in love with on the cover of his one man dog album. as i sat there and watched him sing to the children on the steps of sesame street my little madilynn turned to me and said, "he is so pretty, isn't he?" that's my girl! she loves him almost as much as i do. my work here is done.
the next week i worried (i don't know why) that she might not be as excited about paul simon. i let her listen to 'call me al' and she loved it but the shortest version of homeless i could find was like eight minutes long. i wanted her to hear it because of the sounds that the ladysmith black mambazo and joseph shabalala make that i loved as a child, but i feared that she and ben would get bored with this long live version. we had made drums from tea cans and i reluctantly put the song on, and much to my amazement not only did they sing and dance and play their drums throughout the entire song, when it was over they begged to hear it again.
the next week we talked about singing high and low notes and watched a clip of the sound of music where maria teaches the children to sing do re mi. this, too, is a long clip, but when it was over madilynn actually clapped and shouted 'yay! can i watch it again!'
these experiences have taught me what i should have already known from my own childhood, it doesn't matter how old you are or how old the song is, when something or someone is good, its just good!
that's the power of music.
this week i continue my journey with the kids through the beautiful world of truly great music.
"these are four guys from a place called liverpool who changed the world forever, madilynn. their names are john,paul, george and ringo. yes, ringo is a funny name. he plays the drums. heh. yes. they have funny hair too. but you know, i bet your grand daddy combed his hair that way once upon a time. do you like the way that they sound, madilynn? me too, sweet girl, me too."
Sunday, January 24, 2010
great expectations...
"whats become of us, how we do manage, to do so much damage, to the ones we love, when we care so much, when we fail love its hard to take, the expectations are so great, we raise our hopes, we dream our dreams, and then we do some foolish thing, but love that comes easy, will easily give up, when we fail love we've got to trust the love, that won't fail us."
--grover levy
its hard to expect certain things.
a movie is always better i think when you have really low expectations going into it. for me at least its never a good idea to build something up like that in your head. and yet, with my life, i do it all the time.
i guess this song hit me so much as a teenager growing up in texas because even back then i had dreams as big as the sky above me.
and no matter how hard i tried, it seemed...well, that they failed.
last weekend i spent with minda and coday in clinton cleaning out the house and cleaning out my own "house" as well. coday and i talked and talked. he really has become very wise over these last months with this journey he has been on.
it was good.
it was hard.
in one closet that i was going through on the bottom shelf i found pages upon pages of mary kay notes i had taken to help me with my business, i found letters i had written to daniel but never sent him, and i found memories from coday and mallory's wedding. all things that i reluctantly had to make myself throw away and let go of, because they had failed.
i understand why people on that show hoarders have such a hard time sometimes. its hard to let go of things. its hard to let go of things associated with good times, but its also even harder sometimes to let go of the bad. to let go of our failures, forgive, forget, move on, heal.
a lot of things that coday and i talked about were really good, but a lot of them were really hard to hear at the same time. some of them i can't get out of my head.
i don't mean to be a different person. i don't mean to be sad or mean or a loner. i want nothing more than for my family to know that i love them and that i want the very best for them.i want to love another and share a life time of love working together, serving the lord and eachother. i don't mean to be so in my head and contemplative all the time. i guess when there is stuff to sort out, it just happens.
what do i expect?
i don't know anymore.
maybe i have been going at life with these lord of the rings high expectations and i should be going into life with, like keanu reeves standards.
i am blessed and last weekend was so good. again, though, i guess i just expected this week that followed to be amazing because of all that i did and instead, it just sort of went by.
madilynn knows how to write her name now. she also can spot james taylor and paul simon's voices when she hears them. she has learned the sign language alphabet and how to sign i love you.
ben can almost write a b for ben. he knows all the words to the peas in the pod poem. and he is working on counting out all ten fingers. he is trying so hard to be a big boy.
nathan knows how to high five, blow kisses, clap and wave bye bye. he is so close to walking! he smiles when i come over.
i can look at these precious things and say, i did that. and i know that this is significant.
even more significant is when they know that i love them and that they can trust me.
a year ago i never would have expected to be teaching these things to these little ones that are so quickly so close to my heart.
i know that the lord says in ephesians 3:20 that he is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine according to his power that is at work within us.
i can defiantly see this as true in my life.
so what do i expect.
i guess i expect to get up in the morning and drive to the berg.
i expect to love on my babies.
to make that long drive home again.
and to get up the next day and do it all over again.
beyond that, i am not sure.
i thought i knew. maybe its better if i let the lord dream my dreams for me.
maybe i just need to not be so afraid of failure.
--grover levy
its hard to expect certain things.
a movie is always better i think when you have really low expectations going into it. for me at least its never a good idea to build something up like that in your head. and yet, with my life, i do it all the time.
i guess this song hit me so much as a teenager growing up in texas because even back then i had dreams as big as the sky above me.
and no matter how hard i tried, it seemed...well, that they failed.
last weekend i spent with minda and coday in clinton cleaning out the house and cleaning out my own "house" as well. coday and i talked and talked. he really has become very wise over these last months with this journey he has been on.
it was good.
it was hard.
in one closet that i was going through on the bottom shelf i found pages upon pages of mary kay notes i had taken to help me with my business, i found letters i had written to daniel but never sent him, and i found memories from coday and mallory's wedding. all things that i reluctantly had to make myself throw away and let go of, because they had failed.
i understand why people on that show hoarders have such a hard time sometimes. its hard to let go of things. its hard to let go of things associated with good times, but its also even harder sometimes to let go of the bad. to let go of our failures, forgive, forget, move on, heal.
a lot of things that coday and i talked about were really good, but a lot of them were really hard to hear at the same time. some of them i can't get out of my head.
i don't mean to be a different person. i don't mean to be sad or mean or a loner. i want nothing more than for my family to know that i love them and that i want the very best for them.i want to love another and share a life time of love working together, serving the lord and eachother. i don't mean to be so in my head and contemplative all the time. i guess when there is stuff to sort out, it just happens.
what do i expect?
i don't know anymore.
maybe i have been going at life with these lord of the rings high expectations and i should be going into life with, like keanu reeves standards.
i am blessed and last weekend was so good. again, though, i guess i just expected this week that followed to be amazing because of all that i did and instead, it just sort of went by.
madilynn knows how to write her name now. she also can spot james taylor and paul simon's voices when she hears them. she has learned the sign language alphabet and how to sign i love you.
ben can almost write a b for ben. he knows all the words to the peas in the pod poem. and he is working on counting out all ten fingers. he is trying so hard to be a big boy.
nathan knows how to high five, blow kisses, clap and wave bye bye. he is so close to walking! he smiles when i come over.
i can look at these precious things and say, i did that. and i know that this is significant.
even more significant is when they know that i love them and that they can trust me.
a year ago i never would have expected to be teaching these things to these little ones that are so quickly so close to my heart.
i know that the lord says in ephesians 3:20 that he is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine according to his power that is at work within us.
i can defiantly see this as true in my life.
so what do i expect.
i guess i expect to get up in the morning and drive to the berg.
i expect to love on my babies.
to make that long drive home again.
and to get up the next day and do it all over again.
beyond that, i am not sure.
i thought i knew. maybe its better if i let the lord dream my dreams for me.
maybe i just need to not be so afraid of failure.
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