I think most serious readers appreciate poetry only in vague and distant ways, the way musicians appreciate talent even in genres they despise. Most readers skim a poem, smile blandly, and move on.
That's okay. I can't make you like it. But if you're going to check this site (and most of you are sitting in offices, waiting for 5:00, checking this site just to pass the time), then you're going to be subjected to poems that I love. I won't pick this poem apart, but there's so much in it, so much I could say. If you are so inclined, I would love to hear what stands out to you when you read it.
Musee Des Beaux Arts
WH Auden, 1940
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
(taken from Literature and the Writing Process, copyright 1996)
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
September 26, 2005
I had a phone call today from a dead girl.
I was expecting the call - we were making plans for the next day - but I didn't expect the lump in my throat when I heard her voice. She, accustomed now to her death, made small talk to cover up my silence. She's used to doing that, I'm sure. She's been gone nearly a year.
When she died, there was no funeral, no note, only the absence of life where she used to be. Our friends have ruled her death a suicide, but I think it was manslaughter, a murder of passion. Everyone just wants to be a part of a whole, but she couldn't fit in the slot she'd been given. She had too many thoughts, loved all the wrong things. She couldn't live here, couldn't be Southern and cute anymore. Couldn't answer one more question about having babies, couldn't sleep one more night beside a polite Southern boy. She suffocated one morning in December. We all watched and did not stop her.
She's coming to my house tomorrow. She will eat roast beef and brownies, listen and talk and hug me when she leaves. Though I might not see her again, I won't make this harder than it already is. I didn't stop her death. The best I can do now is let her live.
I was expecting the call - we were making plans for the next day - but I didn't expect the lump in my throat when I heard her voice. She, accustomed now to her death, made small talk to cover up my silence. She's used to doing that, I'm sure. She's been gone nearly a year.
When she died, there was no funeral, no note, only the absence of life where she used to be. Our friends have ruled her death a suicide, but I think it was manslaughter, a murder of passion. Everyone just wants to be a part of a whole, but she couldn't fit in the slot she'd been given. She had too many thoughts, loved all the wrong things. She couldn't live here, couldn't be Southern and cute anymore. Couldn't answer one more question about having babies, couldn't sleep one more night beside a polite Southern boy. She suffocated one morning in December. We all watched and did not stop her.
She's coming to my house tomorrow. She will eat roast beef and brownies, listen and talk and hug me when she leaves. Though I might not see her again, I won't make this harder than it already is. I didn't stop her death. The best I can do now is let her live.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Inspired
I just want to say that I have really smart and articulate friends.
If you haven't already done so, you must read Ciona's poem "Try" at http://rouserantings.blogspot.com. It has the flow of Randall Jerrell's "Next Day" ... it's really really good.
I am tempted now to brag, and tell you how well my friends write and/or speak. I would love for you all to hear Stephanie preach, or read Janet's "Monday Good-byes." And Laurie has an idea right now that is so good it's hard not to steal it and write something just like it. I could go on and on ... but I won't. Instead, inspired by Ciona, I'm going to post a poem. Don't worry; I didn't write it. Anytime I try to write a poem, it sounds like a really bad greeting card. This one is written by my mom. It is about leaving public school when integration began in Alabama. I like the irony, how much the birth of something sounds like a funeral, and how the natural images reflect the characters and the moment in history ... the hardness of the ground, the sunset, the heat, and a child being stuck in a moment she doesn't understand. It's one of my favorites.
Groundbreaking, June 1967
We drove to the clearing by the edge of the woods.
In the heat sweat ran down the back of Daddy's neck,
and my bare legs stuck to the seat of the car.
Daddy chewed his cigar, spat out the window.
Each time he leaned I moved closer to my sister.
The ground was hard by the cornfield, no rain since May.
Pegs were posted like flags, a yellow ribbon tying them.
Daddy said there' be only four rooms at first,
Might be a year 'fore other folks saw things our way.
Two men in suits stood with shovels.
A young boy carried the state flag as we sang "America."
I thought about sixth grade at the big school,
how I would've played piano for assembly.
But Daddy says no child'a his can yes yessir to no nigger.
The tall man prayed and blessed the grounds.
We ate cake on a covered table by the cornfield
and gathered sting nettles and bitterweed.
We played exploring in the woods until time to go.
By then the tall woods by the field
formed a dark sun set of their own,
near the clearing by the edge of the woods.
(PS. My mom asked me to mention that the poem is copyrighted. Fair enough. Susan Shehane, Coosa River Books, 2005)
If you haven't already done so, you must read Ciona's poem "Try" at http://rouserantings.blogspot.com. It has the flow of Randall Jerrell's "Next Day" ... it's really really good.
I am tempted now to brag, and tell you how well my friends write and/or speak. I would love for you all to hear Stephanie preach, or read Janet's "Monday Good-byes." And Laurie has an idea right now that is so good it's hard not to steal it and write something just like it. I could go on and on ... but I won't. Instead, inspired by Ciona, I'm going to post a poem. Don't worry; I didn't write it. Anytime I try to write a poem, it sounds like a really bad greeting card. This one is written by my mom. It is about leaving public school when integration began in Alabama. I like the irony, how much the birth of something sounds like a funeral, and how the natural images reflect the characters and the moment in history ... the hardness of the ground, the sunset, the heat, and a child being stuck in a moment she doesn't understand. It's one of my favorites.
Groundbreaking, June 1967
We drove to the clearing by the edge of the woods.
In the heat sweat ran down the back of Daddy's neck,
and my bare legs stuck to the seat of the car.
Daddy chewed his cigar, spat out the window.
Each time he leaned I moved closer to my sister.
The ground was hard by the cornfield, no rain since May.
Pegs were posted like flags, a yellow ribbon tying them.
Daddy said there' be only four rooms at first,
Might be a year 'fore other folks saw things our way.
Two men in suits stood with shovels.
A young boy carried the state flag as we sang "America."
I thought about sixth grade at the big school,
how I would've played piano for assembly.
But Daddy says no child'a his can yes yessir to no nigger.
The tall man prayed and blessed the grounds.
We ate cake on a covered table by the cornfield
and gathered sting nettles and bitterweed.
We played exploring in the woods until time to go.
By then the tall woods by the field
formed a dark sun set of their own,
near the clearing by the edge of the woods.
(PS. My mom asked me to mention that the poem is copyrighted. Fair enough. Susan Shehane, Coosa River Books, 2005)
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
I have most of the band family sleeping in my living room right now. Last night Lane asked an interesting question: Why aren't people our age satisfied with their work? Why are most of our friends going back to school, or still trying to figure out what to do with their lives? Most of you who read this know more about culture and philosophy than I do. Why DO we have this change in the way our generation views work? Our parents always seemed to be satisfied; even if they weren't, they did the same thing (usually at the same place) for all of their working lives. What does it say about us that we can't/won't?
Brian said that having access to the world (and, I'll add, to information) has changed the standard. For us, we want to be around people who think differently, who care about life outside of the aforementioned 3500-square-foot suburban homes and College Football. Maybe it's the influence of higher education, although I don't really believe that. I have friends who have not gone to college who have the same desire to think about new things, to DO something, and friends with college degrees who don't. I also think birth control and women's rights have dramatically affected the way people view work. Adolescence can stretch out as long as we'd like now that we have control over when we will accept responsibility. But none of those factors really encompass the issue. The bigger question is, why is College Football and a comfortable home enough for most people? Why can't it be enough for us? Why are some people stirred up by life, while others are content with status quo?
And into which category would you rather fall? There is beauty in searching for deeper meaning, but it's a frustrating and usually lonely way to approach life. There is comfort in status quo, but a sense that, like lemmings, we aren't seeing our circumstances for what they really are. Lane said last night the struggle is always between comfort and freedom. But some people don't even feel the tension; some people never realize they aren't free.
I don't think you get to decide your inclinations; either you're stirred up or you aren't. You can wrestle with pursuing comfort, buy a house and life insurance, but it will feel like a prison if what you want is freedom. Your gut (heart/spirit/soul ... whatever. I like "gut") won't let you sleep at night if you're ignoring the desire for deeper meaning. Likewise, you could travel around the world, be submersed into academia or genuine Christian community or the coolest urban life imagineable, and feel as though your life is careening out of control if you really just wanted to settle down with a nice house and beautiful children. I don't think you get to choose your gut reactions to life.
For me, what I do know is this: I am leery of comfort. I am motivated when Jesus says, "Wide is the path to destruction, and many will follow it," or the Psalmist says,"There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to destruction and death." I'll probably have the same squishy brown couch and standard plaid bedspread for the rest of my married life. I've moved so many times that the process itself is its own comfort, its own stability. My future children (poor kids) will have to learn the art of making new friends, and my mother may never admit that she understands why I do it ... But I can't help but be stirred up. I may never be comfortable. I'd rather be free.
Brian said that having access to the world (and, I'll add, to information) has changed the standard. For us, we want to be around people who think differently, who care about life outside of the aforementioned 3500-square-foot suburban homes and College Football. Maybe it's the influence of higher education, although I don't really believe that. I have friends who have not gone to college who have the same desire to think about new things, to DO something, and friends with college degrees who don't. I also think birth control and women's rights have dramatically affected the way people view work. Adolescence can stretch out as long as we'd like now that we have control over when we will accept responsibility. But none of those factors really encompass the issue. The bigger question is, why is College Football and a comfortable home enough for most people? Why can't it be enough for us? Why are some people stirred up by life, while others are content with status quo?
And into which category would you rather fall? There is beauty in searching for deeper meaning, but it's a frustrating and usually lonely way to approach life. There is comfort in status quo, but a sense that, like lemmings, we aren't seeing our circumstances for what they really are. Lane said last night the struggle is always between comfort and freedom. But some people don't even feel the tension; some people never realize they aren't free.
I don't think you get to decide your inclinations; either you're stirred up or you aren't. You can wrestle with pursuing comfort, buy a house and life insurance, but it will feel like a prison if what you want is freedom. Your gut (heart/spirit/soul ... whatever. I like "gut") won't let you sleep at night if you're ignoring the desire for deeper meaning. Likewise, you could travel around the world, be submersed into academia or genuine Christian community or the coolest urban life imagineable, and feel as though your life is careening out of control if you really just wanted to settle down with a nice house and beautiful children. I don't think you get to choose your gut reactions to life.
For me, what I do know is this: I am leery of comfort. I am motivated when Jesus says, "Wide is the path to destruction, and many will follow it," or the Psalmist says,"There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to destruction and death." I'll probably have the same squishy brown couch and standard plaid bedspread for the rest of my married life. I've moved so many times that the process itself is its own comfort, its own stability. My future children (poor kids) will have to learn the art of making new friends, and my mother may never admit that she understands why I do it ... But I can't help but be stirred up. I may never be comfortable. I'd rather be free.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
disjointed thoughts on motherhood
When I was a kid I did not think about growing up to be a mother. That will surprise anyone who knows me very well at all, but I really didn't. I didn't realize "wife" and "mother" were occupational choices, like "lawyer" or "nurse." I was always a part of my mother's work: sometimes I was the topic, in columns and poems; sometimes I was the editor, sitting at the kitchen table and rereading (again) whatever article or paper was due that afternoon; and sometimes I was the observer, doodling on bulletins in empty pews while listening to rehearsal. She was (is) a writer, musician, student, (now, a teacher), wife, and mother, but mostly she was busy, and we were all along for the ride. So I thought being a mom was sort of like having curly hair - either you had it, or you didn't. But it wasn't who you were.
Which is part of why I am not comfortable with how much I want it now. This isn't about wanting what I can't have. And it isn't about finding purpose or fulfillment in life. It isn't baby fever, and it isn't (definitely isn't) a desire to settle down. It isn't any of those things.
Most of the people I know (most, but not all) have stumbled into motherhood. Some were scared, some were thrilled. My favorite pregnancy story is from my college roommate, who said she saw the little plus line and screamed. Regardless of what they wanted, it just happened, like a car accident or someone unexpectedly paying for your dinner. Not like a college degree. More like a really good parking space and finding what you need on clearance, or like waking up in the middle of the night with a stomach virus ... you see what I mean. And even though the randomness with which God gives children to women pisses me off, I can respect it, too. Children aren't earned. They are given.
And this is another reason why I am not comfortable with how much I want this. I don't believe that children are a goal to attain. I believe they are a gift from God, on loan, really. Scripture says that the rains fall on the righteous and the unrighteous alike ... some people get to be parents no matter how horrible they are at it, and others will never be parents, no matter how good they could have been. It drives me nuts, but that is reality.
Neither my sister nor I will stumble into this, the way that our mother did, the way yours probably did, too. That ship has sailed. So ... what then? If children can't be earned, and they aren't a goal to attain, what is there to be done except wait for the gift?
Which is part of why I am not comfortable with how much I want it now. This isn't about wanting what I can't have. And it isn't about finding purpose or fulfillment in life. It isn't baby fever, and it isn't (definitely isn't) a desire to settle down. It isn't any of those things.
Most of the people I know (most, but not all) have stumbled into motherhood. Some were scared, some were thrilled. My favorite pregnancy story is from my college roommate, who said she saw the little plus line and screamed. Regardless of what they wanted, it just happened, like a car accident or someone unexpectedly paying for your dinner. Not like a college degree. More like a really good parking space and finding what you need on clearance, or like waking up in the middle of the night with a stomach virus ... you see what I mean. And even though the randomness with which God gives children to women pisses me off, I can respect it, too. Children aren't earned. They are given.
And this is another reason why I am not comfortable with how much I want this. I don't believe that children are a goal to attain. I believe they are a gift from God, on loan, really. Scripture says that the rains fall on the righteous and the unrighteous alike ... some people get to be parents no matter how horrible they are at it, and others will never be parents, no matter how good they could have been. It drives me nuts, but that is reality.
Neither my sister nor I will stumble into this, the way that our mother did, the way yours probably did, too. That ship has sailed. So ... what then? If children can't be earned, and they aren't a goal to attain, what is there to be done except wait for the gift?
Monday, September 19, 2005
Mercy
Mercy Now
Written by Mary Gauthier
My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor
Fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over
It won't be long and he won't be around
I love my father, and he could use some mercy now
My brother could use a little mercy now
He's a stranger to freedom
He's shackled to his fears and doubts
The pain that he lives in is
Almost more than living will allow
I love my brother, and he could use some mercy now
My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit
That's going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful
Who follow them down
I love my church and country, and they could use some mercy now
Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race
Towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, well
They'll do anything to keep their crown
I love life, and life itself could use some mercy now
Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don't deserve it
But we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance
Dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
http://www.marygauthier.com/
Written by Mary Gauthier
My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor
Fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over
It won't be long and he won't be around
I love my father, and he could use some mercy now
My brother could use a little mercy now
He's a stranger to freedom
He's shackled to his fears and doubts
The pain that he lives in is
Almost more than living will allow
I love my brother, and he could use some mercy now
My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit
That's going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful
Who follow them down
I love my church and country, and they could use some mercy now
Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race
Towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, well
They'll do anything to keep their crown
I love life, and life itself could use some mercy now
Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don't deserve it
But we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance
Dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
http://www.marygauthier.com/
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Standing in the Doorway
Hi.
I have a blog recommendation for you: http://www.credis.blogspot.com/
The most recent post on this blog is about modern monasticism, about moving out of the suburbs and back into urban areas, eating with homeless people and sinners and raising your children to do the same. It's about giving up cable and a two-car garage in order to do this, about abandoning the pursuit of wealth and committing to serving others. It's a pretty radical idea.
But when I read his blog I got really angry. I'm so tired of empty talk. The Christian subculture talks about "community" as though it were some noble ideal, rather than an achievable reality; they talk about "living beyond themselves" and "having a purpose" and a myriad of other catch phrases that are supposed to inspire us to ... what? What do they really do except evoke guilt? Are we really seeing more people living with a purpose or living beyond themselves? And if we are, why are they still buying up all the new 3500 square-foot homes in suburban Alabama? (As an aside - why does anyone need 3500 square feet? Wouldn't you enjoy a little more backyard and a little smaller garage? And why are master bathrooms so big in new homes? How much space do you really need in a bathroom? But I digress.) We have great ideas, but they aren't actually changing how we spend our money, or what we're working towards, or who we love. They just make us feel better about ourselves.
I believe in training, and empowerment, and all of those important concepts for running an organization. But the body of Christ is not an American organization. I'm TIRED of treating it like one. I also know there is a season for everything. Maybe it's not your season. Or maybe God hasn't asked you to do it. Radical discipleship is a specific calling: there were crowds who loved Jesus, and only a few who were asked to abandon their lives. But I know too many rich young rulers, who have been given every comfort and have been asked to sacrifice their blessings in order to obey God. I'm watching them stand in the doorway, wanting both worlds. They want to devote their lives to loving God and serving others, as long as they are provided health insurance and a good retirement plan. They are beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes who know exactly what to say in order to inspire others, but show no fruit of inspiration in their own lives. They know what God has asked them to do. They just haven't done it yet.
A friend asked in frustration the other night, "Is this the God we serve? A God who always asks us to do the hard thing?" I wanted to say, of course not, God wants us to be happy. But I couldn't. The reality is that sacrifice is a part of following Christ. Some times - most times - God does ask us to do the hard thing.
But I'm weary of talking about boldness and radical living with other believers in well-furnished living rooms, drinking sweet tea and smiling at one another. Do this thing or don't. Either way, make up your mind and shut the door. My friend Karissa uses a phrase that comes to mind: It's time to either piss or get off the potty.
I have a blog recommendation for you: http://www.credis.blogspot.com/
The most recent post on this blog is about modern monasticism, about moving out of the suburbs and back into urban areas, eating with homeless people and sinners and raising your children to do the same. It's about giving up cable and a two-car garage in order to do this, about abandoning the pursuit of wealth and committing to serving others. It's a pretty radical idea.
But when I read his blog I got really angry. I'm so tired of empty talk. The Christian subculture talks about "community" as though it were some noble ideal, rather than an achievable reality; they talk about "living beyond themselves" and "having a purpose" and a myriad of other catch phrases that are supposed to inspire us to ... what? What do they really do except evoke guilt? Are we really seeing more people living with a purpose or living beyond themselves? And if we are, why are they still buying up all the new 3500 square-foot homes in suburban Alabama? (As an aside - why does anyone need 3500 square feet? Wouldn't you enjoy a little more backyard and a little smaller garage? And why are master bathrooms so big in new homes? How much space do you really need in a bathroom? But I digress.) We have great ideas, but they aren't actually changing how we spend our money, or what we're working towards, or who we love. They just make us feel better about ourselves.
I believe in training, and empowerment, and all of those important concepts for running an organization. But the body of Christ is not an American organization. I'm TIRED of treating it like one. I also know there is a season for everything. Maybe it's not your season. Or maybe God hasn't asked you to do it. Radical discipleship is a specific calling: there were crowds who loved Jesus, and only a few who were asked to abandon their lives. But I know too many rich young rulers, who have been given every comfort and have been asked to sacrifice their blessings in order to obey God. I'm watching them stand in the doorway, wanting both worlds. They want to devote their lives to loving God and serving others, as long as they are provided health insurance and a good retirement plan. They are beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes who know exactly what to say in order to inspire others, but show no fruit of inspiration in their own lives. They know what God has asked them to do. They just haven't done it yet.
A friend asked in frustration the other night, "Is this the God we serve? A God who always asks us to do the hard thing?" I wanted to say, of course not, God wants us to be happy. But I couldn't. The reality is that sacrifice is a part of following Christ. Some times - most times - God does ask us to do the hard thing.
But I'm weary of talking about boldness and radical living with other believers in well-furnished living rooms, drinking sweet tea and smiling at one another. Do this thing or don't. Either way, make up your mind and shut the door. My friend Karissa uses a phrase that comes to mind: It's time to either piss or get off the potty.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
September 14, 2005
Brian and I were talking tonight about how you really can't recognize the important moments of your life as they are happening. Births and deaths announce themselves, obviously, but the others - the ones that decide who we are going to be - slip right past us. Brian didn't know, when he and Nick joked about singing in the Huntingdon talent show eight years ago, that he was joining a band, much less choosing a career path. I didn't know, when I took a job as a youth minister for a summer rather than working as a camp counselor, that the two years I would spent with that youth group would be my favorite time of my life so far. I met people that I still know and love, I met and fell in love with Brian, and I grew tremendously spiritually. The life-altering moments are so quiet, so anonymous at the time. Their significance is only seen in hindsight.
Another significant moment, one worth documenting for all of the little band family to read: standing in Mary and Lane's (and Jon and Mechelle's) living room on a Sunday afternoon in Nashville, having a crisis of conscience. I felt like I was in an impossible situation - if I did what seemed to be morally right, I was going to alienate - and ultimatley lose - one of my closest friends. And Mary, whom I love dearly, though we have been known to have, um, intense conversations, changed my life. She said, "God judges your heart. I'd rather stand before God and have him say, you loved people and did stupid things, than have Him say, you did the right thing, but at what cost?" This statement has become a measuring stick for me. Am I motivated by love, or am I trying to be right?
So this is what is on my mind tonight. Tonight, by the way, is the anniversary of my grandmother's death. It is a blessing to remember all of her life now (at least, the parts that included me), and not just the end of it. I have a great picture of her framed on the bookshelf beside me. She - I am not making this up - has on glasses with huge swirling eyes, she's doing this silly silly thing with her hands, and she's laughing - really laughing, not just smiling for the camera. She looks completely ridiculous. I love it. She could not have possibly known that twenty years later, this picture would be what her grandchildren framed and remembered about her life.
The really important moments slide right past us. Sometimes we never recognize them for what they are.
Another significant moment, one worth documenting for all of the little band family to read: standing in Mary and Lane's (and Jon and Mechelle's) living room on a Sunday afternoon in Nashville, having a crisis of conscience. I felt like I was in an impossible situation - if I did what seemed to be morally right, I was going to alienate - and ultimatley lose - one of my closest friends. And Mary, whom I love dearly, though we have been known to have, um, intense conversations, changed my life. She said, "God judges your heart. I'd rather stand before God and have him say, you loved people and did stupid things, than have Him say, you did the right thing, but at what cost?" This statement has become a measuring stick for me. Am I motivated by love, or am I trying to be right?
So this is what is on my mind tonight. Tonight, by the way, is the anniversary of my grandmother's death. It is a blessing to remember all of her life now (at least, the parts that included me), and not just the end of it. I have a great picture of her framed on the bookshelf beside me. She - I am not making this up - has on glasses with huge swirling eyes, she's doing this silly silly thing with her hands, and she's laughing - really laughing, not just smiling for the camera. She looks completely ridiculous. I love it. She could not have possibly known that twenty years later, this picture would be what her grandchildren framed and remembered about her life.
The really important moments slide right past us. Sometimes we never recognize them for what they are.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Puttering Along
Lately I've been thinking about how God works through us, and how absurd, really, it is that He trusts us to take care of one another at all. I feel like Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter. I'm mostly wrong, mostly silly, mostly laughable in my attempts to follow the Holy Spirit or participate in the kingdom of God in any way. But occasionally I am overcome, and love comes sputtering out in spite of my personal hysteria. And when it happens I almost never recognize it for what it is. I usually shake my head and go back to shuffling down the hallway, muttering to myself and trying to remember what I was looking for.
But don't worry; I haven't taken to drinking the cooking sherry yet ...
But don't worry; I haven't taken to drinking the cooking sherry yet ...
Friday, September 09, 2005
We'll See ...
I'm wary of keeping a blog. I've even written a few posts and deleted them ... I am a person who processes life by thinking out loud, and I have a feeling that if I get too free and loose in the blog world, I'm going to wind up either hurting someone's feelings or just continually saying, "I didn't mean it like THAT." I've started thinking of blogs the same way I approached Tuesday Night Girl's Dinner back in Montgomery. We were motivated to go every week by one part morbid curiosity, three parts genuine regard. And sometimes it was really interesting, and sometimes it was just unnerving, but we kept going back ... Maybe this will be a trainwreck, or maybe it will be really good. There's only one way to find out.
So I'm holding loosely to the blog idea. Don't check this site every day or anything, but when I land on a thought that might be worth saying to a group of people, maybe I'll write it down here. We'll see what tumbles out.
So I'm holding loosely to the blog idea. Don't check this site every day or anything, but when I land on a thought that might be worth saying to a group of people, maybe I'll write it down here. We'll see what tumbles out.
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