What the Dickens?

“The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else.”

Take a look at the moon as it rises.

Though hell should bar the way

I once memorized Alfred Noyes' The Highwayman for a talent show. My favorite line was:

"Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight,
though hell should bar the way."

Something feels so claimed, fierce and devoted about someone saying that they will come for you though hell should bar the way. The whole "claiming" concept and being "chosen" twangs so deeply on the strings of my inner being that it was a multi-month topic when I saw my therapist several years ago.

Both growing up and in my adult life, the people important to me chose service to the church over what might have been best for me. A good part of me understands that this perception is skewed and not necessarily the truth, but the other parts of me feel abandoned and betrayed over and over again when I remember...

...the Bible study schedule that racked up the Michigan miles on the baby blue 1979 Chevrolet wagon. The knock on the door at dinner time. The holidays interrupted by another's breaking heart. The ministers who made parental decisions. The new year welcomed on our knees in prayer rather than watching the ball drop in Times Square.

The vacations that never happen. The cell phone that doesn't stop ringing. The weekends that end before they begin.

Life in a parsonage is like the Fishbowl California where you may checkout any time you like, but you can never leave.

We are, indeed, prisoners of our own device repeating the patterns modeled for us. I have put service to others over the needs of my own children. As the director of an organization that provides access to nutrition with a variety of different programs, it is ironic that it is easier for me to think about dinner for 70 than it is for me to consider a simple meal for the four of us. We eat in parts and pieces just like we live our lives.

Doing good is not always right.

It makes me sad to realize that I have created another child who will listen for the voice of the highwayman calling: I will come for you by midnight though hell should bar the way...

The Ways We Touch

"Have compassion for everyone you meet, even if they don't want it. What appears bad manners, an ill temper or cynicism is always a sign of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen. You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone."

Miller Williams

Find a good thing

"English doesn't borrow from other languages. English follows other languages down dark alleys, knocks them over the head, and goes through their pockets for loose grammar."

(I wish I could attribute this quote, but I can't seem to find a reliable source.)

So, I was thinking about words...

Mark Twain once said, "When angry, count to four; when very angry, swear."

With all the words available in the English language, it is a sad lack of imagination that relies on common four-letter words to spank the offending party. There is nothing like the overused F word to reveal a withered IQ.

The other day my children, who are angels, were in a heated dispute. The best they could come up with was "you are such a bitch." It pained me, but not in the usual way. How could my offspring, conceived on a bed of lexicons, have become so atrophied that they couldn't rain all the demons of the English language upon each others heads?

I remember when Jayna could take someone off at the knees with "subbarena" and "sandbagger." These were her word daggers. The only swear word she knew was "shut up." Jared was slow in language acquisition, but I knew he caught up when he likened someone to "a worm without any eyes." He was four. (I personally haven't seen a worm WITH eyes, but that is beside the point.)

When we were growing up, Charlie and I would tell our younger sister that we found her in a frog swamp. I think we heard a shtick like that and applied it to Janelle with glee. We would chant, "adopted, adopted" whenever we felt she needed to be put in her place. That one word, selected with intent...

The power of life and death are in the tongue (or pen.) The words we choose choke the spirit or set it free. He who finds a word, finds a good thing.

Have it Canned

On my new résumé I included my blog name. I am certain that future employers will be so struck by my insights that they will immediately create a new position within the company structure that allows me to blog all the day long. They will congratulate themselves on recognizing my talent and ask themselves why they didn't think of screening applicants through the blog system sooner.

"The creamed corn of the crop," they will exclaim. "And, she is all ours."

Listen, blogland is tough. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.

Dear Future Employer:

You don't know me, but I would like to direct you to my "blawg" to learn a little bit more about me. Things like: my daily elimination, creeps who have wronged me, how I really feel about authority, and how inflated my opinion of myself really is.

That is C-A-N-N-E-D-C-O-R-N-A-G-A-I-N because if you can't have it fresh---you oughta have it canned.

constellations

They slide down my throat like goldfish.
To swim in a pond of bright green bile
Until they swell up fat and toxic.

They mutate and divide like cancer cells.
And grow without a sound up through
My nose like branches of a sycamore tree.

Strange birds land on their twisted boughs
And pluck them one by one by one
Like eyebrows to line their silly nests.

Until the wind snatches them back and runs
On strong legs far as the east
Is from the west and beyond the blue moon.

While they scatter like the mustard seed
Bruising my faith and resting place
Until I am tempted to swallow again.

Rough Road

"Ad astra per aspera" means "rough road leads to the stars." A literal
translation is "to the stars through severe hardship."

I petitioned the angels
and pled for my soul,
while I waited at the altar
in the church of childhood.
Their faces mocked me.
Suffering children are
safe in nobody's arms.

I climbed the constellations,
but did not reach God's ear.
I fell short. I landed hard.
Now I leave absolution
in the midnight sky.
And place my feet
on solid ground.

Redemption draweth nigh.
Raise the windows.
Lift the sash.
Be ready. Be ready.
Keep oil in your lamps.
And wait inside the wind
on a bed of softest rain.