I haven't read Joshilyn Jackson's gods in Alabama, but I LOVE her blog. I enjoy reading something that generates new ideas. Plus, she is REALLY funny.

So, a recommendation for you: http://www.joshilynjackson.com/mt/

Today's post is about the love/hate relationship writers of Southern Lit have with the South, and the anger that many Southerners have towards their home. She says the ratio of love to anger determines whether or not you can stay here. So true.

So. Go read it. You're not doing anything important anyway, right?

two things

1. I saw The Chronicles of Narnia tonight. It's the first time I can ever say I liked a movie better than the book. It was excellent.

2. While waiting for the movie to start, I overheard a conversation in which one guy referred to another as a "dog." I thought about how loyal and loving my pup is, and decided this really isn't a great insult. Seriously - you should feel honored if I ever compare you to my dog. I would mean it as a compliment.

And to all a good night.

a year in review

Sorry for the recent incoherence on my little blog. I can't seem to find the silence or concentration necessary for writing and praying, so I'm not really sure how this will go. Already I've shooed my niece out of the room and stopped twice to talk to Brian ... in addition, talking about this year feels reckless. I can remember saying as a kid, "It hurts when I do such-and-such," to which my mom would reply, "Well, don't do that then." I may regret ignoring her advice here. But not all of this year has been bad, and I want to remember all of it, not just the endings. I hope that in writing this, I will hold on to the good, and not give too much weight to the rest. Having said that, what did I do in 2005?

I saw a baby born! and it was my first experience with a Creative God. I learned how to pray, and saw a Faithful God at work over and over in the lives around me. I found a hill to hike, met an old friend again, bought a canoe, played and painted and ate with my niece, watched a baby grow, watched Brian grow, got to know my family, painted two houses (well, helped, anyway), ate my body weight in baked goods and coffee, wrote letters, parented a dog, made friends that lived on a hill and taught me to share, had friends who loved us and prompted us to go for it, went to a two-year-old's birthday party (complete with strawberries and an Elmo cake), watched a dead girl come back to life, talked and talked and TALKED to friends far away, read the Psalms, read Matthew, and taught Shadrack, Meeshak, and ABabyGoat to children who loved me back.

And I went! to Chicago; to the Lake; to Atlanta for an evening with Patty and Valerie; to Charlottesville, Virginia, the birthplace of Brian's dream of moving; to Washington, DC, when gas was 3.20 per gallon; to Nashville and back and there again; to Slap-Out and Autaugaville and Springville and Dothan; to the beach in the summer with a youth group (one of my very favorite things to do); down the Cahaba River 8 times in a month, and then never again; to a wedding and a baptism and a birth and a death. And then - and then! - I had the Who-Ever-Really-Gets-To-Do-This opportunity to spend a few months with everything I need in the Civic, living in basements and guestrooms in Mississippi and Kansas and Tennessee and Alabama, praying and reading and laughing and eating with friends and children who loved us back.

There is a Proverb that says, "Though it cost all you have, get understanding." That is a synopsis of my year. It cost me everything I had, but I am a different and better person because of this year. I want different things from life now. I am also angry about new things, and I love new people, and I love people for new reasons - all because of this year. This isn't all that happened, but these are the best parts, the pieces I choose to take with me. The rest of it will tag along without my choosing.

What about you? How was your year?

the rest of Ciona's thought

It's not really Ciona's thought, I guess - it's the rest of Emily's thought.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

- Emily Dickinson (No Snickidy Lime)

A little hope is a dangerous thing.

Peace at Christmas

So here's the story: we set a deadline, self-imposed, of course, but sincere nonetheless. When we set out on our little journey, we thought our lives would be back to normal by Christmas. By Christmas, hopefully we'll be pregnant again. By Christmas, surely we'll have another opportunity to serve in a church. By Christmas, we'll know where we're going to live. We set our deadline in September, when we were still wearing t-shirts and walking at night to avoid the heat, before we'd found our sweaters or even our closed-toed shoes from the previous Christmas. Christmas was hard to envision at that point, so it seemed a sufficient time frame for getting our lives in order. Now Christmas is almost here, and we have a week to get our act together.

I think we're going to miss our deadline.

But this isn't the story worth telling. The part I want you to hear is this: it's okay. I really am okay. THAT is worth writing about.

Kansas City was not what I expected it to be. I really thought we would find answers about our future once we got there. Instead, we found the presence of God, both in the prayer room and in the Searcy home. I thought we needed the voice of the Lord (preferably audible) to make the next decision for us. What we really needed was time to pray and be still before God. We got exactly what we needed, which was different from what we thought we wanted.

And because of this, all of the other unknowns are much easier to handle right now. I don't have control over when and how we have a family, but I do believe that God is taking care of us. I know how nutty this sounds, and I know that my family and most of my friends want me to take a different approach, but it just doesn't sit well with me to do that. I look forward to normalcy again, but it is not all there is. I have peace about our lives, regardless of our circumstances, that I did not have six months ago. While there are days I think I'd rather be happy and ignorant, in the end, I am grateful for the lesson.

So I'm writing to tell you all that I know I shouldn't be, but I really am okay. I can honestly say peace to you all this Christmas.

That's all. Good night.

Communion Poem

This was the poem/hymn my pastor always quoted during Communion in the church where I grew up. It has been on my mind this Christmas, so I thought I would share it with you.

Not all the blood of beasts
On Jewish altars slain
Could give the guilty conscience peace
Or wash away the stain.

But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name
And richer blood than they.

My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head, of Thine
While like a penitent I stand
And there confess my sin.

My soul looks back to see
The burden Thou didst bear
When hanging on the cursed tree
And knows her guilt was there.

Believing, we rejoice
To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice
And sing His bleeding love.


"Not all the Blood of Beasts"
by Isaac Watts

My favorite little girls

My niece is in town, and I saw Stephanie's baby. NOW Christmas can start.

Ode to Janet

I have this friend Janet. She lives far away now, but she didn't used to, and her whole life used to be different than it is now, and while we wish she was here, she's happy there, so that's that. And, she's brilliant. Seriously. She has a blog that is excellent but also password-protected, so, rather than publicly announcing her password, I am creating a small shrine here. You should know, Janet's life (and, therefore, writing) is probably not going to be endorsed by James Dobson and Focus on the Family, so if you are either a).easily offended, or b). a committed conservative, you might want to skip this post.

Ode to Janet and Her Incredible Talent Which She Hid From Everyone for so Long and Which is Not Hidden Anymore.(It sounds like the title of one of the original Winnie the Pooh stories: "In Which Janet's Talent is No Longer Hidden")

A poem first:

Monday Goodbyes

gasoline lip gloss
whole body hugging the steering wheel; fingers up near my face
smelled it on my hands and I smeared it 'cross my lips on the way to my nose
hazardous high, o reverie irreverant.
-----
Bryan Adams raspily bearing my very thoughts out of the open windows, flying with my hair
Oh when the feelin's right I'm gonna run all night -I'm gonna run to you
-----
Questions questions plans answers more questions
and the Eagles are singing honey, you can't hide your lyin' eyes
and how are things and let's do this around Christmas, too and 'but whose last name will the BABIES have, Janet, if you didn't take Nelson?' and -pierce your nose? what would Daniel say?- and you've lost weight, marriage is good to you and ohhhh, Janet, stopstopstop you're making me choke...you've always been the funniest

and goodbye
see you soon..
really. Let's do this again
Bear hugs and cheek kisses and the funniest goodbyes
and they couldn't even tell
and Carrie
carriewithherhandsinmyhair
and Paul Young is crying everytime you go away...you take a piece of me with you and oh, how we've always hated that song
and this gasoline lip gloss bites and burns and I shove my bangs off my hot forehead and cry the whole way home

(She wrote this about the last time she saw her friends, before she left for good. No one knew she was leaving. I probably love this poem because I KNOW those girls, and I know so well the dynamic she is describing ... so good).

And now, a question from one of those silly questionnaires:

Where did you grow up? Well, from August 1979 through, like, March 1980 - I drooled and pooped in Hanau, West Germany. I spent a couple of years learning to walk and talk and fall off of buildings in Muskogee, Oklahoma, and then moved on to Ft. Leonardwood, Missouri, where I attended pre-school, broke an arm, and did some major growing up. At the age of five, I moved to Mililani, Oahu, Hawaii and attended kindergarden - my best friend was Jennifer Beningo and she was Filipino and had a pet bunny. My cousin Melanie came to live with us at Christmas that year. Before I started first grade, we moved to Schoffield Barracks, Oahu, Hawaii - and I lived there until March, 1989. I fell in love, had a few best friends - but Stacy and Wayne were the best of both. Melanie moved back to Georgia after living with us for two or so years. Nasty custody battle plunked her in our home until it was over. March, 1989 landed me in Ft. Rucker, Alabama (way down south), and I lived there until the summer I turned 12. Casey and Veronica and Jamie and Amy and Laura and Amber and Angie were my best friends and Stephen (pronounced Steffan) was the love of my life. I got Shadow when I was ten, from the pound in Enterprise. He died when I was twenty-five. The summer I turned twelve, we moved from Ft. Rucker to the center of Alabama. My mother wanted to work in Montgomery and my father wanted to go to college at Auburn (he was in the Army for 21 years - didn't have a college degree yet). We ended up buying a house in between, in Eclectic. My mother ended up working in Wetumpka instead, and my father ended up graduating from Faulkner University in Montgomery. I attended all my high school years there and got grounded and went to prom and got in arguments with teachers and had falling outs with friends and relations, went to Disney World and Six Flags, found my bestfriend soulmate Carrie, served a detention or four, fell in love over and over and over again, read millions of books and attended Chrysalis, made lovely friends who still care about me, wrote many a sad poem and decided to be a journalist. I graduated from the high school there and went on to grow up a little bit more at Asbury College in Kentucky. Tiffany was my roommate, Rebecca was my suite mate and I still love them dearly. We worshipped Waffle House and IGA, drank honeylemon water and watched Schindler's List. I kept Tiffany's secrets and she kept mine, Rebecca threw trash in my bed but always let me be Radio Captain in her car. Carrie lived downstairs with Breasty Hall and I practically did, too. I had a weird affair, I got stalked, and Carrie was my Ranch Dressing Goddess that year. I camped in the spring of that year, 1998, and still (really) have blister scars on my heels. I only went for a year, but it grew me up a lot. I moved back to Alabama and Daniel and I grew up together for 7 years after that. I lived with Sharron and I lived with Wendy and I lived with Daniel and Chad and thank God for each and every one of them and the ways they helped me make it along. Now I'm here.


Didn't I tell you? Brilliant.

Secrets

I was hesitant to start a blog because I did not want to fill up more space with randomness ... if I was going to do this, I was going to be honest, but I've gotten away from that. Part of it is that I'm sifting through several different spiritual ideas right now, and it just seems cumbersome and boring to hash them out with everyone. The other part is that the other things that are happening in my life involve well, people, who may not want me to publicly sift through my opinions and thoughts, which is fair enough.

Alas. I feel a little stuck.

So, a compromise ... I wrote this in May.

Secrets

I read her secrets, scribbled on napkins in a bar, slippery thoughts and half-memories leaking onto the little white square. Next day, she finds them in her pocket and wonders why she ever wrote them down. No place to rest, no more energy to run. She just needs someone to fill in the gaps. She crumples the lines and throws them in the floorboard a thousand miles away. I read her secrets, the pain a warm, sour, pulsing thing. She's so far from home.

I hear her secrets, sitting in vinyl chairs in the county hospital, running her hands through dirty hair as she tries and fails to remember the birthdays of her children. She doesn't look at his tiny wrinkly fingers, she doesn't count his toes. There are no blue ribbons on the door. For one more day, she sleeps in a bed, eating slowly, hiding the last bites under her clothes. She knows she won't see this baby again. I hear her secrets, and I taste the acrid regret. It burns the back of my throat.

I know her secrets, driving a hundred miles to eat pizza and play with her hair. I hear the "yes ma'am" tattooed on her tongue. She looks taller today. Do I see her, or do I see only what I want to? I call the gnawing in my gut hunger, and talk about dance recitals, birthday parties instead. I smile when she laughs. I've never seen her cry. I know her secrets, they were carved into my skin, the words still sharp enough to draw blood. I am helpless against them.

I see her secrets, in black and white, written where only strangers will find them. She was never going to stay, she was never the type. Loud, sexy, crass – the words are everything she wasn't. How could he not have known? She was always faithful, dependable, miserable. I'm reading the story of a ghost, a friend of a friend, a shadow in the clouds. I see her secrets, and I wish I had known this girl. I'm the stranger now.

my thoughts on the reunion

First of all, Heather gives me entirely too much credit.

Second, it wasn't nearly complete. It was fun, but you - you know who you are - I missed you both all weekend. There were a few moments that you two would have enjoyed greatly, such as
a. when Mary spent half an hour telling Mechele and I about how her dad talks too much (love to Mary anyway, of course).
b. when Mechele said, "It was a situation in which both of our husbands lost their balls. Jonathon wouldn't let me say anything, because I'm too bitchy, but ... "

We saw Pat and SUzanne and drove through Cloverdale and went to the scary Winn Dixie and I missed you both.

Having said that, it was fun to be (mostly) together again. I have been thinking about Heather's comments about being different, and I think that applies to all of us. I'm so glad the years of drama are behind us. IT WAS SO NICE TO ATTEND A NORMAL WEDDING, wouldn't you agree? Saturday morning, Brian says to me, "Last night was surprisingly low key. I guess we're growing up." Nobody cried or boycotted or anything ... a good time was had by all. The grown-up reunions are more fun than the Huntingdon years were, in my opinion.

In the years since I met Brian and Nick and Lane in Houston (of all places), the Huntingdon group has shared six weddings, four funerals, two miscarriages, three hospitalizations, one elopement, one birth, one major move, two vehicles, and about a bajillion dollars worth of music and equipment and transmissions and Cracker Barrell. It's been good. And infuriating, and irritating, and predictable, and exciting, and occasionally irrational ... but mostly good.

Love to you all, both present and absent this time around.

Us

12/11/05

Well, the rest of my little blogging circle is talking about our weekend wedding/ semi-reunion. It was really a great weekend. However, I have had very little sleep over the past several days - culminating in last night, when I actually slept on the floor most of the night - and today I am in an abnormally foul mood. The most I can hope for the rest of my day is that I don't a). cry or b). cuss in front of all of my extended family for absolutely NO reason.

Is everyone out there praying for me? You really should be.

If you want to hear about our little semi-reunion, check out Mary or Heather's blogs. www.marydavis1213.blogspot.com or www.madamerubies.com/blog.

I'm going to hole up in my corner now. I'll be nicer tomorrow, I promise.

ssg

PS. I had the cutest little conversation today in Starbucks with these twin (grown) women from Dothan, Alabama. They were SO exCITed to be drinking coffee and CHRISTmas shopping in MontGOMery for the day. They finished each other's sentences, were deLIGHTfully friendly, and were identically beautiful. I felt like I was in a scene from Forrest Gump.

Statement, Confession, Quote

1. My home's in Alabama, no matter where I lay my head (egg, whatever) ... Alabama really is a beautiful state. My dad was right - the winters here are really nice. I am excited about spending a few weeks in Alabama and seeing my Southeastern family and friends. But I have also missed the Searcys, IHOP, even K.C. every day since we left. It is great to be home, and it will be great to go back.

2. We had the most interesting conversation with our friends Wes and Kimberly about homesteading, or "possum living" ( http://www.f4.ca/text/possumliving.htm) a few days ago. While there are a few ways in which that idea appeals to me, I don't think I could do it. Honestly, I like driving a car and drinking Starbucks coffee too much; I need to at least keep my foot in the door of the money economy. I've heard Halle say something similar when people ask if she makes her own clothes and food (I guess this is the stereotype - if you have a lot of kids, and you homeschool them, you must also make your own flour and t-shirts). Halle always responds, "I don't have time to do all of that. I have too many kids! I'm going to Old Navy."

3. "Is it too much to believe that one can feel God's tender touch in the sermon and learn more of his ways and means during worship? Is it too much to expect that one might return home on Sunday afternoon having both learned and loved, having been stretched both mentally and emotionally, having been both edified by a biblical text and healed of a physical affliction? Dare we hope to strive and settle for anything less than both the thrill of theological insight and deliverance from demonic oppression?" taken from Convergence: Spiritual Journeys of a Charismatic Calvinist, by Sam Storms.

12/7/05

www.asteadystream.blogspot.com

and

www.flickr.com/photos/thegreenlife

Look for more later tonight ...

Over the river, and through the woods ...

We drove through the heart of America this week. In two days: Kansas, to Missouri, to Illinois, to Kentucky, to Tennessee, to Alabama.

And what's in the heart of America? Barns.