petty crimes of forgetfulness:
failing to avoid failure, as I
drag and defer.
who drags the sea of days for my wasted time?
does my life leak out
through the crack of my unwillingness?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
a little flannery (or a long philosophical post)
"Oh, Matt. There are spaces of sorrow only God can touch. You did a terrible thing, Matt, a terrible thing. But you have a dignity now. Nobody can take that from you. You are a son of God, Matthew Poncelet."
I'm like a broken record, but I'm unrelenting and unapologetic about that. Hopefully there are enough individual nuances to each post, so that even though they all say the same thing, they're still worth reading.
Last night Kevin and I watched the movie Dead Man Walking (see quote). It had been sitting in its Netflix sleeve for over a week, because we knew it would be tough to watch--not exactly your typical Valentine's Day flick. But we both felt up to it last night, because we'd had a pretty restful day, and I can now confidently say that this movie drove my ability to worship Jesus this morning. As with The Kite Runner, I can't openly recommend it, because it is utterly painful and horrifying at times (I would absolutely not recommend it to anyone who has ever been abused in any way). But if you're open to it and up for it, I would say, give it a shot, but read some Flannery O'Connor first.
If it seems like this woman is the one dead person with whom I'd like to spend a day, then I've represented myself correctly. Yesterday morning, without knowing how much it would help me understand the movie, I read an article by her called "The Church and the Fiction Writer" and then promptly stumbled (without even looking) upon an article written about her called "Who's Afraid of Flannery O'Connor?" by Douglas Jones, which I would recommend if you want a sweeping overview of her work. Both wrestle with the question of whether or not Christians must be willing to face abundant horror in order to understand abundant grace.
Flannery O'Connor's characters are total creeps, just exactly the kind of people you would hope never to meet on the street. I've been saying for two years that The Violent Bear It Away is my favorite book in all the world, but I think I am just now beginning to understand why. A spare summary here (don't read if you want to experience the shock of it all on your own): 1) kid is hellfire-brimstone despicable, 2) kid drowns his disabled cousin, 3) kid gets horribly and randomly abused, 4) kid experiences the extension of God's merciful hand into a frightening and horrible landscape of suffering. (All the credit for the fact that I understand this book at all goes to my favorite professor of all time, Cindy Sowers, the one living person with whom I'd like to spend a day, to see if I can find out what she's really thinking).
"The violent bear it away" is the King James Version of "forceful men take hold of it," which I quoted from Matthew 11 in December. God is weaving this verse into my very essence. (Too dramatic?) It's true! In O'Connor's book, the violent boy takes hold of the kingdom of heaven and bears it away. I don't think that's what those KJV dudes meant when they translated it that way, but I know it's what good ol' Flannery meant!
This is where Dead Man Walking comes in. This movie was the bare, ugly bones of the Gospel: that Jesus accepts even the murderers and rapists (though we don't want to know it), and in the end, they probably understand what's really happening better than anybody. And it's beautifully and violently clear--you don't have to derive your own Christian meaning. People are talking about Jesus and thanking Jesus and crying to Jesus the whole time, even while the vicious sin of the crime is available for all to see, reminding us, the viewers, that there's a reason we all need our Deliverer.
The film was broken up from beginning to end by short shots of the crime, so that I could never forget what had really happened. It helped me remember that murder is real, rape is real. This is important, because it's easy to say that God will accept even a rapist, when you don't have to think about the brutal reality of it. But Jesus looks upon the crime without a filter, weeps and holds the wounded ones, and then extends forgiveness to the criminal. I've never known Jesus' love to be that big, never tried to get it till now. Dead Man Walking made it real for me.
∴
There are other people who have a little Flannery in them:
--Brennan Manning (he writes in The Ragamuffin Gospel: "At Sunday worship, as in every dimension of our existence, many of us pretend to believe we are sinners. Consequently, all we can do is pretend to believe we have been forgiven. As a result, our whole spiritual life is pseudo-repentance and pseudo-bliss.")
--Sufjan Stevens (John Wayne Gacy, Jr. is a song about a serial killer that makes me sick to listen to, but there's the line: "On my best behavior, I am really just like him. Look beneath the floor boards for the secrets I have hid." And then there's Seven Swans: "He will take you. If you run, He will chase you." That's a rather foreboding sort of grace, but I like it.)
--Over the Rhine (Everyman's Daughter: "I carry the inward aching. Like you, I too am naked. I don’t look that good, but this is flesh and blood. I’m everyman’s daughter.")
--Rainer Maria Rilke ("We must not portray you in king's robes, you drifting mist that brought forth the morning...")
I'm always looking for more.
I'm like a broken record, but I'm unrelenting and unapologetic about that. Hopefully there are enough individual nuances to each post, so that even though they all say the same thing, they're still worth reading.
Last night Kevin and I watched the movie Dead Man Walking (see quote). It had been sitting in its Netflix sleeve for over a week, because we knew it would be tough to watch--not exactly your typical Valentine's Day flick. But we both felt up to it last night, because we'd had a pretty restful day, and I can now confidently say that this movie drove my ability to worship Jesus this morning. As with The Kite Runner, I can't openly recommend it, because it is utterly painful and horrifying at times (I would absolutely not recommend it to anyone who has ever been abused in any way). But if you're open to it and up for it, I would say, give it a shot, but read some Flannery O'Connor first.
If it seems like this woman is the one dead person with whom I'd like to spend a day, then I've represented myself correctly. Yesterday morning, without knowing how much it would help me understand the movie, I read an article by her called "The Church and the Fiction Writer" and then promptly stumbled (without even looking) upon an article written about her called "Who's Afraid of Flannery O'Connor?" by Douglas Jones, which I would recommend if you want a sweeping overview of her work. Both wrestle with the question of whether or not Christians must be willing to face abundant horror in order to understand abundant grace.
Flannery O'Connor's characters are total creeps, just exactly the kind of people you would hope never to meet on the street. I've been saying for two years that The Violent Bear It Away is my favorite book in all the world, but I think I am just now beginning to understand why. A spare summary here (don't read if you want to experience the shock of it all on your own): 1) kid is hellfire-brimstone despicable, 2) kid drowns his disabled cousin, 3) kid gets horribly and randomly abused, 4) kid experiences the extension of God's merciful hand into a frightening and horrible landscape of suffering. (All the credit for the fact that I understand this book at all goes to my favorite professor of all time, Cindy Sowers, the one living person with whom I'd like to spend a day, to see if I can find out what she's really thinking).
"The violent bear it away" is the King James Version of "forceful men take hold of it," which I quoted from Matthew 11 in December. God is weaving this verse into my very essence. (Too dramatic?) It's true! In O'Connor's book, the violent boy takes hold of the kingdom of heaven and bears it away. I don't think that's what those KJV dudes meant when they translated it that way, but I know it's what good ol' Flannery meant!
This is where Dead Man Walking comes in. This movie was the bare, ugly bones of the Gospel: that Jesus accepts even the murderers and rapists (though we don't want to know it), and in the end, they probably understand what's really happening better than anybody. And it's beautifully and violently clear--you don't have to derive your own Christian meaning. People are talking about Jesus and thanking Jesus and crying to Jesus the whole time, even while the vicious sin of the crime is available for all to see, reminding us, the viewers, that there's a reason we all need our Deliverer.
The film was broken up from beginning to end by short shots of the crime, so that I could never forget what had really happened. It helped me remember that murder is real, rape is real. This is important, because it's easy to say that God will accept even a rapist, when you don't have to think about the brutal reality of it. But Jesus looks upon the crime without a filter, weeps and holds the wounded ones, and then extends forgiveness to the criminal. I've never known Jesus' love to be that big, never tried to get it till now. Dead Man Walking made it real for me.
∴
There are other people who have a little Flannery in them:
--Brennan Manning (he writes in The Ragamuffin Gospel: "At Sunday worship, as in every dimension of our existence, many of us pretend to believe we are sinners. Consequently, all we can do is pretend to believe we have been forgiven. As a result, our whole spiritual life is pseudo-repentance and pseudo-bliss.")
--Sufjan Stevens (John Wayne Gacy, Jr. is a song about a serial killer that makes me sick to listen to, but there's the line: "On my best behavior, I am really just like him. Look beneath the floor boards for the secrets I have hid." And then there's Seven Swans: "He will take you. If you run, He will chase you." That's a rather foreboding sort of grace, but I like it.)
--Over the Rhine (Everyman's Daughter: "I carry the inward aching. Like you, I too am naked. I don’t look that good, but this is flesh and blood. I’m everyman’s daughter.")
--Rainer Maria Rilke ("We must not portray you in king's robes, you drifting mist that brought forth the morning...")
I'm always looking for more.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
right here, right now
At New Life, we've been talking about "the Kingdom" and what it means to pray for God's kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth, as it is in heaven. This means thinking about things, both big and small, in terms of how God's kingdom might come right here, right now. The bulk of the work is small.
Last Sunday was a big day for me though. A representative from Compassion International brought 100 pictures of children who need sponsors. He also brought along George, a Kenyan man, perhaps my age, who was the first child to be sponsored in his specific project in Nairobi, back in the 80s. Right now, he is getting his MBA and wants to go into public health in Kenya, specializing in infectious diseases.
I got to go out to lunch with George and some others. I also got to man one of the Compassion tables and watch as people searched the faces to find their child. After hearing George's stories about life in Kenya, the impact $35 a month makes, the kind of changes that can happen in a country at the hands of its children--I knew that these flat-broke college students were going to see God's kingdom come in their midst in big and small ways. I'm not sure I've ever been this sure that I am right in the thick of it. Right here, right now.
∴
My second book of 2008 was The Kite Runner. If you feel willing to open the floodgates of your inner sanctum, go ahead and read it. I wasn't totally prepared--that's why I'm warning you. I'm unsure about how to talk about it. The general plotline is a major stretch, particularly towards the end. The prose is often beautiful, but then sometimes I felt insulted by the author, like, "Thanks, but I was catching on to that on my own."
I guess it doesn't really matter, though, because the characters were so real. Since the vast majority of the book takes place in modern Afghanistan, the characters were also in a whole lot of pain, and the things that happened to them were unimaginable; also unimaginably commonplace, as if they weren't that big of a deal.
There is a character named Ali, who had polio as a child and thus walks with a limp, swinging one leg out to the side with each stride. There were little boys. It's hard to even think about them.
The question that rolled through my mind right after I finished the book was: How would I react if I could truly confront the fact that these things happen to real people, not just to characters in books? It was 4AM, during that sick time when I wasn't sleeping much, and I asked God to send me rejected children to adopt someday.
I remember wondering if I'd care as much about this when I woke up the next day.
∴
I think I still care, I really do. Kevin and I chose a Compassion boy named Johnston, who's 14, and just not that cute anymore. My guess is he's been waiting for several years to get a sponsor. The older ones rarely, if ever, get picked, because those little three-year-olds are absolutely irresistible. Still, Johnston, I have to say, it's good to know you. I hope to meet you.
I have to ask myself if I am writing this to proclaim my good deeds before men. If you like me more, whomever it is that reads this, then I guess that's my reward.
But truly, this what I'm thinking about these days. This is what is on my mind. I am overwhelmed and moved by the lonely and rejected, the ones that nobody wants. I want those people to know the love of Jesus through me. I really really do.
Last Sunday was a big day for me though. A representative from Compassion International brought 100 pictures of children who need sponsors. He also brought along George, a Kenyan man, perhaps my age, who was the first child to be sponsored in his specific project in Nairobi, back in the 80s. Right now, he is getting his MBA and wants to go into public health in Kenya, specializing in infectious diseases.
I got to go out to lunch with George and some others. I also got to man one of the Compassion tables and watch as people searched the faces to find their child. After hearing George's stories about life in Kenya, the impact $35 a month makes, the kind of changes that can happen in a country at the hands of its children--I knew that these flat-broke college students were going to see God's kingdom come in their midst in big and small ways. I'm not sure I've ever been this sure that I am right in the thick of it. Right here, right now.
∴
My second book of 2008 was The Kite Runner. If you feel willing to open the floodgates of your inner sanctum, go ahead and read it. I wasn't totally prepared--that's why I'm warning you. I'm unsure about how to talk about it. The general plotline is a major stretch, particularly towards the end. The prose is often beautiful, but then sometimes I felt insulted by the author, like, "Thanks, but I was catching on to that on my own."
I guess it doesn't really matter, though, because the characters were so real. Since the vast majority of the book takes place in modern Afghanistan, the characters were also in a whole lot of pain, and the things that happened to them were unimaginable; also unimaginably commonplace, as if they weren't that big of a deal.
There is a character named Ali, who had polio as a child and thus walks with a limp, swinging one leg out to the side with each stride. There were little boys. It's hard to even think about them.
The question that rolled through my mind right after I finished the book was: How would I react if I could truly confront the fact that these things happen to real people, not just to characters in books? It was 4AM, during that sick time when I wasn't sleeping much, and I asked God to send me rejected children to adopt someday.
I remember wondering if I'd care as much about this when I woke up the next day.
∴
I think I still care, I really do. Kevin and I chose a Compassion boy named Johnston, who's 14, and just not that cute anymore. My guess is he's been waiting for several years to get a sponsor. The older ones rarely, if ever, get picked, because those little three-year-olds are absolutely irresistible. Still, Johnston, I have to say, it's good to know you. I hope to meet you.
I have to ask myself if I am writing this to proclaim my good deeds before men. If you like me more, whomever it is that reads this, then I guess that's my reward.
But truly, this what I'm thinking about these days. This is what is on my mind. I am overwhelmed and moved by the lonely and rejected, the ones that nobody wants. I want those people to know the love of Jesus through me. I really really do.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
what i'll be doing at 4am
As a small window into my life, I thought I'd let you know that I'll be staying up all night tonight. This was not my idea. At Michigan, there is an event called the 40 Days of Prayer that has been happening annually. There is a prayer room on campus open 24 hours a day for 40 days, and anyone from any organization or church can use it to pray. I hear it's pretty cool in there, though I haven't visited. In general, this sort of thing makes me wonder: "Where am I? Cause I'm pretty sure I'm at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor...but maybe not."
There was an opening ceremonies of sorts, during which one of the organizers challenged us to spend one whole night in prayer. I kind of chuckled to myself. You know how these college kids can be--so passionate and energetic. Hope they have a good time.
So then Katie, this girl in my small group whom I pretty much adore and who has a lovely unique way of influencing people just by being herself--she comes up with this idea that maybe our whole small group could do an all-nighter. I guess I should have seen this coming.
So tonight, I think of myself in solidarity with people like Linn and Glenn and all you missionaries out there who have to go to wakes and all-night evangelistic events. You're brave souls. I'm really hoping I'll survive this, in honor of you.
Last time I stayed up all night to "pray," I was in high school, and I made a pretty impulsive decision around 4AM. It was a weird experience. This is a step of faith for me, that it'll be different.
Now I'm off to take a nap.
There was an opening ceremonies of sorts, during which one of the organizers challenged us to spend one whole night in prayer. I kind of chuckled to myself. You know how these college kids can be--so passionate and energetic. Hope they have a good time.
So then Katie, this girl in my small group whom I pretty much adore and who has a lovely unique way of influencing people just by being herself--she comes up with this idea that maybe our whole small group could do an all-nighter. I guess I should have seen this coming.
So tonight, I think of myself in solidarity with people like Linn and Glenn and all you missionaries out there who have to go to wakes and all-night evangelistic events. You're brave souls. I'm really hoping I'll survive this, in honor of you.
Last time I stayed up all night to "pray," I was in high school, and I made a pretty impulsive decision around 4AM. It was a weird experience. This is a step of faith for me, that it'll be different.
Now I'm off to take a nap.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
maybe in 2008 i'll write about these things
I know I've said this before, but I would like to post more often and get in the habit of writing about what is going on with my work. There are a few things that I'm feeling pretty excited about, so I'm hoping to tell you about them in the next few months.
As a preview:
--I actually started counseling on Wednesday. I have had this sense that God is using this time in my life to give me emotional health and stability. Lately it is very clear that my emotional volatility holds me back from a lot of things, particularly in ministry. The woman I met with asked me questions about my family tree and the timeline of my life, and we unexpectedly focused a little bit on high school, a period of time I haven't thought much about lately. It was kind of strange to go back and think about how some of those events still effect me now.
--I've been mulling over the concept of "women's leadership development" and how we as women are typically motivated to serve in the church. I don't think I'm coming up with any original ideas when I throw out that we're ridiculously different from men. At the risk of generalizing things too much, I'm developing some theories in my own mind about a woman's need for security in ministry versus a man's need for significance. A man might ask, "Do I have what it takes to succeed in this role?" A woman might ask, "Who will go with me?" Bottom line: women need something very different, and I'd like to that difference to become more acknowledged in the fabric of our church. Not sure what that means, but I sure do sound like Elisabeth Elliott right now. Heh.
--We're leading a trip to downtown Detroit for spring break, and I am feeling like Detroit might just be the only place I'd want to spend a week right about now. I have no idea why, but I'm drawn in and excited.
In the meantime, I'm sick as a dog. I seriously haven't been this sick since I was a kid. It started a week ago with a sore throat that lasted for five days, and yesterday, the sore throat seemed to creep up the right side of my neck and then settle in my ear. Unfortunately, I was the CORE retreat by then, so I took some Nyquil last night and hoped for sleep. Before I could settle in, though, I started in with this dry cough that I still have today. No more aching ear, but everything seems to be clogged up, and still, the perpetual sore throat. I've been in and out of work for the last week, without a real sick day that goes from waking up to going to bed. Maybe I should do that tomorrow.
As a preview:
--I actually started counseling on Wednesday. I have had this sense that God is using this time in my life to give me emotional health and stability. Lately it is very clear that my emotional volatility holds me back from a lot of things, particularly in ministry. The woman I met with asked me questions about my family tree and the timeline of my life, and we unexpectedly focused a little bit on high school, a period of time I haven't thought much about lately. It was kind of strange to go back and think about how some of those events still effect me now.
--I've been mulling over the concept of "women's leadership development" and how we as women are typically motivated to serve in the church. I don't think I'm coming up with any original ideas when I throw out that we're ridiculously different from men. At the risk of generalizing things too much, I'm developing some theories in my own mind about a woman's need for security in ministry versus a man's need for significance. A man might ask, "Do I have what it takes to succeed in this role?" A woman might ask, "Who will go with me?" Bottom line: women need something very different, and I'd like to that difference to become more acknowledged in the fabric of our church. Not sure what that means, but I sure do sound like Elisabeth Elliott right now. Heh.
--We're leading a trip to downtown Detroit for spring break, and I am feeling like Detroit might just be the only place I'd want to spend a week right about now. I have no idea why, but I'm drawn in and excited.
In the meantime, I'm sick as a dog. I seriously haven't been this sick since I was a kid. It started a week ago with a sore throat that lasted for five days, and yesterday, the sore throat seemed to creep up the right side of my neck and then settle in my ear. Unfortunately, I was the CORE retreat by then, so I took some Nyquil last night and hoped for sleep. Before I could settle in, though, I started in with this dry cough that I still have today. No more aching ear, but everything seems to be clogged up, and still, the perpetual sore throat. I've been in and out of work for the last week, without a real sick day that goes from waking up to going to bed. Maybe I should do that tomorrow.
Monday, January 14, 2008
cursed are the ones who can't abide
I'm still swimming in revelations.
This song got me through several very nasty nights in November, and I kept wanting to post it. Strangely, I've never considered Shane & Shane a favorite band, but the last song that moved me this much was by them. (This version was the best I could find on YouTube, despite a bit from John Piper during the long postlude.)
Embracing Accusation
The father of lies
coming to steal, kill and destroy
all my hopes of being good enough.
I hear him say, "Cursed are the ones who can't abide."
He's right. Hallelujah. He's right.
The devil is preaching
the song of redeemed,
that I am cursed and gone astray.
I cannot gain salvation.
Embracing accusation.
Could the father of lies
be telling the truth
of God to me tonight?
If the penalty of sin is death
then death is mine.
I hear him say, "Cursed are the ones who can't abide."
He's right. Hallelujah. He's right.
The devil is preaching
the song of the redeemed,
that I am cursed and gone astray.
I cannot gain salvation.
Oh the devil's singing over me
an age-old song
that I am cursed and gone astray.
Singing the first verse so conveniently over me.
He's forgotten the refrain:
Jesus saves.
I've been meaning to say thank you to the anonymous commenter from my last post. Your note was an encouragement and a surprise to Kevin and me. I've been wondering if I ever met you, because I came to Ann Arbor in 2001.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
forceful men
Due to the fact that nobody seems to care to post anymore and I am therefore not sufficiently entertained, I thought maybe I'd post for once. I shouldn't have to do this, though. Don't give me your excuses: that it's Christmas, or that you're writing a book inspired by your blog, or that you need to spend more time with your family, or that you're in the hospital having a baby. I've heard enough. Get back to work!
I'm snowed in, however, and have lately been thinking of things I'd like to post about, so I'll cut you some slack for now.
I've been describing my semester (yes, I still think in semesters) in terms of the difference between a chisel and a sledgehammer. These are two metaphorical tools that God uses on my hellbound devotion to spiritual greatness.
Over the years, He's been kind and gentle: "tink tink" goes the chisel, oh so softly. Lately, it's been otherwise. He's coming at me with the ferocity of a rescuer, crushing that little beast within with a sledgehammer or a jackhammer or a hammerhead shark. What have you. At the risk of seeming melodramatic--oh forget it, the whole point is not worrying how I "seem"--this has been ridiculously painful. I'm really attached to my little beast. I feel comfortable with it, though it does trap me and keep me perpetually depressed.
I believe God is teaching me to be happy. I've never felt I deserve to be happy unless I prove I have the discipline and maturity to handle it well. BUT "the splendor of a soul in grace is so seductive it surpasses the beauty of all created things" (The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning).
Find the overarching theme here:
"Her world has collapsed. The God she had fashioned in her own image, so pleased with her piety, has vanished." (TRG)
"Many of us do not want the truth about ourselves; we prefer to be reassured of our virtue."
"A vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven. [They came] marching behind the others with great dignity, accountable as they had always been for good order and common sense and respectable behavior. They alone were on key. Yet she could see by their shocked and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away." (Revelation, Flannery O'Connor).
"I tell you the truth: Among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist; yet he who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it" (Matthew 11:11-12).
Could it be that "spiritual greatness" is of very little consequence? After all this time?
The forceful men and women taking hold of the kingdom are the tax collectors and prostitutes, the dim-witted disciples and the little kids; these are the people who truly know Jesus.
Oh.
I'm snowed in, however, and have lately been thinking of things I'd like to post about, so I'll cut you some slack for now.
I've been describing my semester (yes, I still think in semesters) in terms of the difference between a chisel and a sledgehammer. These are two metaphorical tools that God uses on my hellbound devotion to spiritual greatness.
Over the years, He's been kind and gentle: "tink tink" goes the chisel, oh so softly. Lately, it's been otherwise. He's coming at me with the ferocity of a rescuer, crushing that little beast within with a sledgehammer or a jackhammer or a hammerhead shark. What have you. At the risk of seeming melodramatic--oh forget it, the whole point is not worrying how I "seem"--this has been ridiculously painful. I'm really attached to my little beast. I feel comfortable with it, though it does trap me and keep me perpetually depressed.
I believe God is teaching me to be happy. I've never felt I deserve to be happy unless I prove I have the discipline and maturity to handle it well. BUT "the splendor of a soul in grace is so seductive it surpasses the beauty of all created things" (The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning).
Find the overarching theme here:
"Her world has collapsed. The God she had fashioned in her own image, so pleased with her piety, has vanished." (TRG)
"Many of us do not want the truth about ourselves; we prefer to be reassured of our virtue."
"A vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven. [They came] marching behind the others with great dignity, accountable as they had always been for good order and common sense and respectable behavior. They alone were on key. Yet she could see by their shocked and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away." (Revelation, Flannery O'Connor).
"I tell you the truth: Among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist; yet he who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it" (Matthew 11:11-12).
Could it be that "spiritual greatness" is of very little consequence? After all this time?
The forceful men and women taking hold of the kingdom are the tax collectors and prostitutes, the dim-witted disciples and the little kids; these are the people who truly know Jesus.
Oh.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Little Girl
I’m walking on the sidewalk under golden shade as school lets out. Half a block behind me walks a little girl. I first notice she’s there, because her shoes scuff the sidewalk with every step. She shuffles along, heading for home.
I approach the crossing guard, brilliant and orange. She smiles at me first, then looks back and calls the little girl by name. We part ways here, as the little girl steps into the street and the crossing guard plants herself firmly in the intersection, poised with her STOP sign. The streets are empty in every direction.
The guard is silent and smiling, her only job to protect. This little girl’s life is extravagant beauty, infinite worth. The drawings and pencils in her backpack, the color of her shoes, her thoughts of home--defend and shelter them. This is one little girl in the universe, and she is crossing the street.
I’m walking on the sidewalk under golden shade as school lets out. Half a block behind me walks a little girl. I first notice she’s there, because her shoes scuff the sidewalk with every step. She shuffles along, heading for home.
I approach the crossing guard, brilliant and orange. She smiles at me first, then looks back and calls the little girl by name. We part ways here, as the little girl steps into the street and the crossing guard plants herself firmly in the intersection, poised with her STOP sign. The streets are empty in every direction.
The guard is silent and smiling, her only job to protect. This little girl’s life is extravagant beauty, infinite worth. The drawings and pencils in her backpack, the color of her shoes, her thoughts of home--defend and shelter them. This is one little girl in the universe, and she is crossing the street.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sunday, October 07, 2007
on it being worth it
I do indeed have the nerve to carry on posting without more than a nod to the fact that, yes, I did just get married and begin a new life with a man, who is now my husband. The picture will have to suffice. Or if you’d like to watch our slideshow, you are very welcome.
Life is moving forward. Right now I’m trying to deal with the fact that we’ve just painted our living room a color that can only be called peach. We were going for a nice neutral tan.
Also, September was the craziest. I’ve been fighting fatigue and a cold, and as I sit here, I’m wondering if it might even be strep throat, because I heard it’s going around. I find it hard to feel like I’m thriving.
This morning I woke up feeling very dreadful--as in, dreading the day ahead. Sunday mornings are sometimes difficult for me, because they involve a lot of people, particularly a lot of people whom I don’t know. And I knew I’d be picking my friend Ying up, to bring her to church. She’s from China, and I’ve known her for a year; she’s a sweet one. But today I dreaded the language barrier and the pressure to keep the conversation rolling. And how do I debrief with her about church? She has told me that she believes almost everything the Bible says about Jesus, but how do I help her move forward in faith? Frankly, not only have I been fighting a cold, I’ve been fighting an attitude problem. Today I thought to myself that I’m sick of this whole others-centeredness thing. Overrated.
A cool thing happened though. While I was sitting on the couch in the parlor, waiting for the first service to end, I watched two little boys. They’re brothers, Max and I-wish-I-knew-the-other-one’s-name. Look alikes and the spitting image of their dad. The older one was talking to the younger, and the little guy just put his hand on his brother’s chest, with so much trust and affection. And the older brother really seemed to want the company and attention of the younger one, and it was like setting a bone. I remembered why we’re all so gung-ho about love. It’s what we need and want. It’s what Ying needs from me, it’s what I want to give her. It makes the work I do more worth it than I’m aware. Ying is worth every spare moment that I give her, every awkward interaction. I want her to know that she is infinitely valuable.
Life is moving forward. Right now I’m trying to deal with the fact that we’ve just painted our living room a color that can only be called peach. We were going for a nice neutral tan.
Also, September was the craziest. I’ve been fighting fatigue and a cold, and as I sit here, I’m wondering if it might even be strep throat, because I heard it’s going around. I find it hard to feel like I’m thriving.
This morning I woke up feeling very dreadful--as in, dreading the day ahead. Sunday mornings are sometimes difficult for me, because they involve a lot of people, particularly a lot of people whom I don’t know. And I knew I’d be picking my friend Ying up, to bring her to church. She’s from China, and I’ve known her for a year; she’s a sweet one. But today I dreaded the language barrier and the pressure to keep the conversation rolling. And how do I debrief with her about church? She has told me that she believes almost everything the Bible says about Jesus, but how do I help her move forward in faith? Frankly, not only have I been fighting a cold, I’ve been fighting an attitude problem. Today I thought to myself that I’m sick of this whole others-centeredness thing. Overrated.
A cool thing happened though. While I was sitting on the couch in the parlor, waiting for the first service to end, I watched two little boys. They’re brothers, Max and I-wish-I-knew-the-other-one’s-name. Look alikes and the spitting image of their dad. The older one was talking to the younger, and the little guy just put his hand on his brother’s chest, with so much trust and affection. And the older brother really seemed to want the company and attention of the younger one, and it was like setting a bone. I remembered why we’re all so gung-ho about love. It’s what we need and want. It’s what Ying needs from me, it’s what I want to give her. It makes the work I do more worth it than I’m aware. Ying is worth every spare moment that I give her, every awkward interaction. I want her to know that she is infinitely valuable.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
i'm a settler
Oops. I just read through my New Year's resolutions, which I posted earlier, and I'm very sorry to say that not one of them has been kept by me. I'm blaming it on the about-face my life took on February 2nd, when I decided to get married, and on the rather intense unsettledness that has characterized my days ever since.
I should define "unsettled"--in my mind, it's that feeling of never being quite where you know you will perhaps be at some unknown point in the future. Errrrr.
All that to say: exactly three weeks until I will be Meghan Armstrong. Whoa nelly!
I should define "unsettled"--in my mind, it's that feeling of never being quite where you know you will perhaps be at some unknown point in the future. Errrrr.
All that to say: exactly three weeks until I will be Meghan Armstrong. Whoa nelly!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
living with women
As I’ve contemplated getting married, and even as I have looked forward so much to getting to live with Kevin, I’ve also been feeling a little grief as I say goodbye to this era of my life that has been “living with women.” Sometimes when Jen and I are going to bed around the same time and debriefing about life, I feel like crying.
So this is an ode to my six years of living with women in the form of a list of all my roommates:
Jenny Kreinbrink : 315 Hayden House, East Quad, freshman year
Ariane Boese : Africa, 2002
Lindsay Horan : 424 Tyler House, East Quad, sophomore year (this had to have been the biggest room on campus)
Karen Ostafinski (bedmate) : LT Orlando, 2003
Heather Lieder : East Madison Street and Sagebrush Circle; junior and senior years, as well as my first year as a working person
Meredith and Carey : Florence, Italy, 2004
Jess Hibma (bedmate), Jen King, and Kristin Roelofson : LT Virginia Beach 2006
Jen King : Medford Street, 2006 – 2007
Each of these lovely women put up with me as I walked in my sleep, talked in my sleep, and generally made a mess.
And I can’t leave out all the people with whom at one time I shared a front door and refrigerator space: Jenni, Michelle, Carlee, Vanessa, April, Katie, Sara, Nicola, Judi, Anna, Julia, Kendra, Jineane, Kristen, Natalie, Dana, Kendra G., Kaitlyn, Julie, Shawn, Hayley, and Charis.
Many of them (more specifically, my most recent roommates) put up with my obsession with the Food Network, my awkward yoga poses, my guilt-induced, anal-retentive recycling habit, and/or my falling in love with a guy who lived across the street.
So this is an ode to my six years of living with women in the form of a list of all my roommates:
Jenny Kreinbrink : 315 Hayden House, East Quad, freshman year
Ariane Boese : Africa, 2002
Lindsay Horan : 424 Tyler House, East Quad, sophomore year (this had to have been the biggest room on campus)
Karen Ostafinski (bedmate) : LT Orlando, 2003
Heather Lieder : East Madison Street and Sagebrush Circle; junior and senior years, as well as my first year as a working person
Meredith and Carey : Florence, Italy, 2004
Jess Hibma (bedmate), Jen King, and Kristin Roelofson : LT Virginia Beach 2006
Jen King : Medford Street, 2006 – 2007
Each of these lovely women put up with me as I walked in my sleep, talked in my sleep, and generally made a mess.
And I can’t leave out all the people with whom at one time I shared a front door and refrigerator space: Jenni, Michelle, Carlee, Vanessa, April, Katie, Sara, Nicola, Judi, Anna, Julia, Kendra, Jineane, Kristen, Natalie, Dana, Kendra G., Kaitlyn, Julie, Shawn, Hayley, and Charis.
Many of them (more specifically, my most recent roommates) put up with my obsession with the Food Network, my awkward yoga poses, my guilt-induced, anal-retentive recycling habit, and/or my falling in love with a guy who lived across the street.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
the gray kitchen
Kevin and I closed on our condo on Friday and boy, am I excited. We immediately began on some simple improvements like paint and hardware, and in three days, the kitchen looks like new. We painted it a lovely gray and added new brushed silver cabinet handles, and that was all it took. Fortunately, the thing is 7x7' so we painted it in no time flat.
Today I got to unpack my wedding gifts and put them on shelves and in drawers. It truly feels like this is OUR place, and I have never had that feeling before.
Our next project is painting one wall in the dining room, and I couldn't figure out what color to use until the gray kitchen was finished. Now it's begging for a subtle blue-green with some black shelves to make up for the wretchedly lacking cabinet space in the kitchen.
I think the reason this is exciting for me, along with the wedding, is the fact that I'm getting a chance to create a space; create anything, really, for the first time in awhile. Even though I pretty much hated photography during school, I miss all my art classes and the accountability that they provided. The deadlines were what I hated and what I felt stunted me, but I should have appreciated them more. Now we have this deadline of putting our home in order by the time we get back from our honeymoon, and the deadline is making things happen.
Today I got to unpack my wedding gifts and put them on shelves and in drawers. It truly feels like this is OUR place, and I have never had that feeling before.
Our next project is painting one wall in the dining room, and I couldn't figure out what color to use until the gray kitchen was finished. Now it's begging for a subtle blue-green with some black shelves to make up for the wretchedly lacking cabinet space in the kitchen.
I think the reason this is exciting for me, along with the wedding, is the fact that I'm getting a chance to create a space; create anything, really, for the first time in awhile. Even though I pretty much hated photography during school, I miss all my art classes and the accountability that they provided. The deadlines were what I hated and what I felt stunted me, but I should have appreciated them more. Now we have this deadline of putting our home in order by the time we get back from our honeymoon, and the deadline is making things happen.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
great great great
I'm very excited about the wedding. Despite the fact that I'm a horrible planner, I can see ways in which my personal style is coming through without too much effort. There will be bright and geometric table runners, modern flower arrangements, photographs involving sweeping vistas, live music, my great great great grandmother's gold cross and my parents' backyard.
And then, of course, there will be Kevin.
And then, of course, there will be Kevin.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
my apologies
I had such good intentions of updating every week, and now that I've proved to be so wretched at it, I bet no one even reads this. I do dream of a time when life is not quite so busy, but will that time come? Maybe I'm more of a blog-reader than a blog-writer. Just the same, here's some stuff:
--the little condo on Kellogg is soon to be ours, if we can work out a plan to get a radon mitigation system installed.
--whoever's out there reading this, you must read Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. I think I'll post some quotes next chance I get, because it's just so lovely. And won the Pulitzer Prize.
--the little condo on Kellogg is soon to be ours, if we can work out a plan to get a radon mitigation system installed.
--whoever's out there reading this, you must read Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. I think I'll post some quotes next chance I get, because it's just so lovely. And won the Pulitzer Prize.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
kellogg street
As a quick update to the ever-shifting home-buying saga, Kevin and I put an offer on an itty bitty condo on Kellogg Street yesterday. It's a block from the river, a block from the train tracks (big PLUS in my book), within easy biking distance of campus and within walking distance of Kerrytown and the farmers' market. Not to mention the Malones and Karl would be practically next door. I'm thinking of asking Mike and Natalie if I can have a little garden plot in their yard, and maybe, just maybe, a corner for compost. They have a huge yard. Luckies.
Who knows though. We totally low-balled the homeowner and she barely budged in her counter offer. We're increasing our offer by a little and if she doesn't accept, it's on to other six condos in this complex that are for sale. This one was particularly lovely on the inside, though. I'd like to live on Kellogg Street I think.
Who knows though. We totally low-balled the homeowner and she barely budged in her counter offer. We're increasing our offer by a little and if she doesn't accept, it's on to other six condos in this complex that are for sale. This one was particularly lovely on the inside, though. I'd like to live on Kellogg Street I think.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
focus
I hate leaving really short posts with not much information, but just wanted to say that at this point, there seem to be two extremely essential character traits that one needs in life: gratefulness and generosity.
In my very mild autistic-ness, I like how that helps me focus.
In my very mild autistic-ness, I like how that helps me focus.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
ghost in the graveyard
(this is a post from my old blog, but i thought i'd post it again. kevin and i drove by my old house yesterday, and i showed him the backyard. there are powerful memories there. i'm wondering where we'll raise our children...)
"richland lane was untrafficked, hushed, planted in great shade trees, and peopled by wonderfully collected children. they were sober, sane, quiet kids, whose older brothers and sisters were away at boarding school or college. every warm night we played organized games--games that were the sweetest part of those sweet years, that long suspended interval between terror and anger.
on the quiet dead-end side street, among the still brick houses under their old ash trees and oaks, we paced out the ritual evenings. i saw us as if from above, even then, even as i stood in place living out my childhood and knowing it, aware of myself as if from above and behind, skinny and exultant on the street. we are silent, waiting or running, spread out on the pale street like chessmen, stilled as priests, relaxed and knowing."
--annie dillard, an american childhood
night games. there was perhaps only one summer when there were enough of us who were the right age, living in the three houses. we lived on a dead-end and our elderly neighbors tolerated us, as we shrieked and counted and occasionally fought till the swooping bats came out for food. it was so good of the sun to stay above the horizon until almost nine o'clock.
these were moments of simple magic--curled up in hiding spots just on the edge of deep woods, caught, running for your life and shaking the moist dirt from your palms; hearing your dad call (reluctantly) that it was time to come in, coming in sweaty and filthy, rapturous; taking a cool shower to cool down, exhausted, falling asleep with cool, wet hair, comfortable and ready. tomorrow you'd ride your bike around your little world, either to stroh's for ice cream or to the tennis club to shake off your shoes and practice flips off the high dive.
"glory be, i thought, during all those weeks, hallelujah, and never told a soul."
"richland lane was untrafficked, hushed, planted in great shade trees, and peopled by wonderfully collected children. they were sober, sane, quiet kids, whose older brothers and sisters were away at boarding school or college. every warm night we played organized games--games that were the sweetest part of those sweet years, that long suspended interval between terror and anger.
on the quiet dead-end side street, among the still brick houses under their old ash trees and oaks, we paced out the ritual evenings. i saw us as if from above, even then, even as i stood in place living out my childhood and knowing it, aware of myself as if from above and behind, skinny and exultant on the street. we are silent, waiting or running, spread out on the pale street like chessmen, stilled as priests, relaxed and knowing."
--annie dillard, an american childhood
night games. there was perhaps only one summer when there were enough of us who were the right age, living in the three houses. we lived on a dead-end and our elderly neighbors tolerated us, as we shrieked and counted and occasionally fought till the swooping bats came out for food. it was so good of the sun to stay above the horizon until almost nine o'clock.
these were moments of simple magic--curled up in hiding spots just on the edge of deep woods, caught, running for your life and shaking the moist dirt from your palms; hearing your dad call (reluctantly) that it was time to come in, coming in sweaty and filthy, rapturous; taking a cool shower to cool down, exhausted, falling asleep with cool, wet hair, comfortable and ready. tomorrow you'd ride your bike around your little world, either to stroh's for ice cream or to the tennis club to shake off your shoes and practice flips off the high dive.
"glory be, i thought, during all those weeks, hallelujah, and never told a soul."
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
i am holding half an acre torn from the map of Michigan...
It's been almost two months since I've posted. In that time:
Kevin proposed to me. At the Detroit Institute of Arts. On Groundhog Day. I said yes and have since gotten quite used to having such a stunning ring on my hand. I'm head over heels in love with him.
We picked a date. August 12 in Colorado. It'll be in my parents' backyard.
I spent spring break in New York City.
We fell in love with a house in Ann Arbor and put an offer on it. It was accepted.
Today I found out that the foundation is probably in really horrible shape (~$60,000-worth of work) and unless a miracle happens, the homeowners probably won't fix it for us.
I cried at first when I found out, because after our offer got accepted, I started to picture us in that house. I had an idea of where I would put plants in the kitchen, of how our bedroom would look, of who would come visit us and be our guests. I wanted the yard, the wood-burning fireplace, the old-house character.
I'm wondering if I have the courage to pray for a miracle. I'm wondering if this is something God wants for us at all. It's hard to imagine what it would be like in five years to decide to move to Kenya or anywhere else God might call us, with this house on our hands and in our hearts. It was always a step of faith to move forward with this, but now I'm finding that I just want to be passive. I want to sit back and let whatever happens happen, saying "Thy will be done" instead of engaging with God in real prayer from my heart. Asking. But I don't even know what I want anymore. Honestly, I feel afraid. There seemed to be a path opening up for us on which to walk. Now that it's no longer so visible, I'm forgetting what I'm about. It's amazing how a simple thing like a house could confuse me so much.
I am finding, though, after trying to hash this out, that the only thing for me to do at this point is keep moving, keep remaining active. Tonight I'm going to the dorms to spend time with Anna, who really wants to understand why so much bad stuff has happened to her, despite her faith in God. Later I'm going to watch Lost with Kevin, and it'll be one of the first times in awhile when we can do something truly carefree together. Somewhere in there I'll find out about whether or not this house will be ours, and either way, I'll be ok, which is really really really good to know.
Kevin proposed to me. At the Detroit Institute of Arts. On Groundhog Day. I said yes and have since gotten quite used to having such a stunning ring on my hand. I'm head over heels in love with him.
We picked a date. August 12 in Colorado. It'll be in my parents' backyard.
I spent spring break in New York City.
We fell in love with a house in Ann Arbor and put an offer on it. It was accepted.
Today I found out that the foundation is probably in really horrible shape (~$60,000-worth of work) and unless a miracle happens, the homeowners probably won't fix it for us.
I cried at first when I found out, because after our offer got accepted, I started to picture us in that house. I had an idea of where I would put plants in the kitchen, of how our bedroom would look, of who would come visit us and be our guests. I wanted the yard, the wood-burning fireplace, the old-house character.
I'm wondering if I have the courage to pray for a miracle. I'm wondering if this is something God wants for us at all. It's hard to imagine what it would be like in five years to decide to move to Kenya or anywhere else God might call us, with this house on our hands and in our hearts. It was always a step of faith to move forward with this, but now I'm finding that I just want to be passive. I want to sit back and let whatever happens happen, saying "Thy will be done" instead of engaging with God in real prayer from my heart. Asking. But I don't even know what I want anymore. Honestly, I feel afraid. There seemed to be a path opening up for us on which to walk. Now that it's no longer so visible, I'm forgetting what I'm about. It's amazing how a simple thing like a house could confuse me so much.
I am finding, though, after trying to hash this out, that the only thing for me to do at this point is keep moving, keep remaining active. Tonight I'm going to the dorms to spend time with Anna, who really wants to understand why so much bad stuff has happened to her, despite her faith in God. Later I'm going to watch Lost with Kevin, and it'll be one of the first times in awhile when we can do something truly carefree together. Somewhere in there I'll find out about whether or not this house will be ours, and either way, I'll be ok, which is really really really good to know.
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