pink hammers and slime covered snails

my sister said to me she saw a snail who was saying,

i want to go faster! i want to go faster!

it summed up my life. i want what i am incapable of having. i long for what cannot fill my aching need. i simply want. but it's not that simple, is it?

upon spying a friend's pink tool kit one night, i mentioned how i had always wanted a pink tool kit since i was young. more musing on the fact that i like anything pink. she produced said tool kit and handed it over. i was humbled and grateful.

i broke the head off that same pink hammer yesterday in my garden.

i've never decapitated a hammer before. i was quite surprised actually. i've been too genteel for that i guess. until now. i've learned a few things about pink hammers.

they don't get the hard work done. they are lighter and nice to look at but that is about it. i have friends like that and i don't waste too much time on them either.

i need something sturdy. something equal to the hard labor of these days of preparing the garden.

soon, twelve budding gardeners will be upon my lot looking to till, sweat and sow anything their little hands can find to sow. for them there are no tears with the sowing, right now it is all about the fun. getting out in the sunshine and digging. getting dirty and for good reason, digging and digging.

no, pink hammers will not do.

so i heave my husband's heavy, unattractive, manly hammer through the air. my muscles ache from the strain. but i press on.

lifting boards, many boards and denailing them, my once junkyard, is becoming presentable. the falcon which sat on my neighbor's fence, then my fence looked pleased. the crow kawing in the creek beyond resounds with delight.

the birds are pleased, i muse and press on.

i keep struggling against nails bent on nailing something. then my beloved hands me a pry bar. a heavier, uglier tool. i've learned to respect leverage. the heavy pry bar lifts four inch nails as if it were plucking mushrooms.

if only i were stronger and better able to handle the weight of the tools of my labor. again, the story of my life.

beneath the boards i am liberating from their resting place are many slugs and snails. i keep hearing,

i want to go faster! i want to go faster!

and it occured to me, if i were a snail i would leave a slime covered trail no matter how much i detested it. so as i creep slowly, miserably through my inexplicable life, i think of that snail and try to recapture the pace of my design.

i do want to go faster, but God is in the slowness of this season. He is in the difficult dark nights, the sowing with tears, the silence of it all. i have learned only this, i will go at today's pace and try to see some beauty in the iridescent trail of slime behind me.

young toughs

comments from the peanut gallery are always welcome, i love the peanut gallery, they are my people!

an occurrence of yesterday.

girl scout cookies are being delivered en masse, and as i was half bent sorting our orders in my trunk, i heard

we'll go by this nice lady. we'll go by this nice lady.

trying to ignore it, like some pesky fly (i'm from LA, what do you expect?), i finally realized it would not go away and i turned and said,

what's up guys?

the three, not unlike my own nephews, had long hair, innocent faces, and trusting eyes. the kind of thing you can see in an instant. they each carried a skate board, one wore an askew hat (like hello kitty), and the others just stood there silently.

one responded,

those guys are harassing us

i turned and saw two vehicles slowly pulling out of a U drive in front of an elementary school. they turned away from us (and i noticed, the boys did not) the toughs pulled right back in the U drive. i knew as soon as those three "skaters" as the toughs called them, left me, they'd be in trouble.

sure enough. three skaters cross the road away from me, and two cars full of six toughs follow them.

here is where the skaters got in trouble. they crossed off the main road and were cutting through the drive of a business into the adjacent subdivision (i still hear RUSH whenever i use that word). the toughs followed.

i hopped into my car and swung around into the drive behind the toughs, jotting down their license plates as i drove. they began to pull away and i said to one carload full of them,

stop harassing those boys or i will turn you into the police

the toughs replied,

they threw a rock at our car

the toughs drove away and i swung back through to get my girl and darted into the subdivision (RUSH again!). i found the skaters and gave them my name, phone number, the license plates of the two cars and told them to call me if they got harassed again.

i was driving impaired yesterday and it took me a while to get off the road i was on. when i finally did, my girl said,

mom, there they go

sure enough, i checked the plates and the toughs were going after the skaters in the subdivision (off the main road where no one could see them).

i followed the toughs until they split up then pulled alongside one group and said,

i'm telling the police, you were harassing those boys again!

we were about five miles away from the subdivision at that point and the toughs said,

we're going home.

i said,

if you're going home, then you had no business in that subdivision

and drove away.

we delivered our many cookies and stopped by the police department on our way home.

the officer said he would run the plates that night and call the boys out of class and put the fear of God in them. the toughs could be charged with injury to a minor if the kids were under thirteen (which they didn't look to be any older than that) because they could be tried as adults if any of them are seventeen. i hope it works.

those toughs were looking to harm someone yesterday and i just happened to get involved. it felt like my good samaritan moment. all i could think about was the innocence on those skaters' faces and the evil intent on the toughs' faces. i couldn't let those skaters get beat up.

could you?

i've been told it was not a good thing to do, i "should" have just turned the license plates in. that would have been the "safe" thing to do. but i can't live in a world where the God of Heaven can't protect me and mine. i can't live in a world where i have to turn away from one clearly in need to save my own skin. what if my skin was supposed to be marred for those boys? it is a tough call, and i would rather it did not involve my child, but if my child were in danger, i would HOPE TO GOD someone would put themselves in jeopardy to help her.

poems

john 11:43

how many times
have i walked
the length
and breadth
marking the
place
each sentinel
fell
as the years
pass
your untimely grave
grows over
i am no
Messiah
cannot liberate
with a
Word
only by
gloved hands
pulling
struggling
against the
saint which
would keep
you bound
until you
fly forth
excalibur
sings in
exultation


untitled.


the symphony
with children
is a mixture
of delight
and irritation
they squirm
and giggle
clapping
at inappropriate
times
making
all manner
of bodily sounds
distracted by
the ballerinas
pirouetting across
the stage
stealing my
gaze from the
musicians
whom i
devour
rising too early
the crowd exits
mid-bow
and i am left
standing
starving
hoping
my girl
develops
an appetite
for symphony
and theatre
i am grooming
a companion
after all
in these
ill-mannered
excursions
where the
brie is gobbled up
like a chunk of cheddar
in a greasy
grilled cheese

dreamlife

i had a dream last night that i was sitting in the kitchen, at the kitchen table (where all the real things of my life happened), of my Grams' house. and we were sorting spoons.

i asked her, "are you afraid to die?"
she replied, "you are not allowed to ask me that."

then she gave me an almond roca, saying she didn't like them anymore.

my mom, uncle, and auntie panda were in the kitchen with us as we sorted spoons. i took the fancy teddy bear shaped ones to return to a cousin. my husband was in the room at times as well.

my grams died nearly five years ago, and i still miss her. i dream of her. i am writing an allegory and i had shelved it for a couple years because i just didn't know what happened to my character, and that is the way i write. but this morning, i think i might have an idea. i think it might be time to pick up my allegory again, and write a few more chapters.

i was telling a friend, my poetry has infected my prose. i have all kinds of issues with my prose because i have made choices in my poetry, to leave off caps, to drop question marks. those things. but with the help of a great many friends and editors, not all of whom like my work (praise God), i am beginning to see my writing flaws, and they are legion.

praise be to God for the eyes of my friends and their willingness to edit me.

us.

worthy

isaiah 42:3

examining
cracks
the dish
shatters
falling
from my
bloody
hands


Worthy

I have struggled with worthiness issues the whole of my life. Thirty-four years have I questioned if I was indeed worthy. Listening to a musician sing, “You are my worthiness.” I began to wonder.

If Christ died for me while I was a reprobate heathen, if He died for me before I even acknowledged Him, if He loved me from the foundations of the earth, have I ever been unworthy?

I think of Peter:
“Do not call unclean what I have called clean, arise Peter, kill and eat.”
“Not so Lord.” (This is me after all).

My entire Christian life, I’ve heard labor to enter into His rest.

My mind catches the labor part, but oddly enough misses the rest. I’ve been sold a get rich quick faith. I’ve been told that God will reward my suffering and it makes me wonder. Nowhere in the Book does it say will reward “in this lifetime.” Not that we serve a God of loopholes, never. But where does it say we are monetarily blessed for anything? The widow got her oil, Peter got a net full of fishes to be sure but I keep reading passages that tell me to take up my cross daily. Lay down my life. Serve my neighbor. Give my extra cloak. It seems we are to monetarily bless others more than the other way around.

In the case of Job, his family was restored but he was not given seeds to plant and over night new children sprung up, was he? No. He waited a lifetime for those children to be restored unto him. Sure, the flocks and finances may have been a faster matter, but I have never heard anyone from any pulpit say, look at the breadth of time covered in these verses. A lifetime. For one afflicted, any wait is too long. With each subsequent birth, the memories of the lost children would have poured forth afresh. Job grieved a lifetime, just as He was restored over a lifetime.

This begins to make sense to me. If Job was restored (not overnight, mind you) over the breadth of a lifetime, then perhaps my restoration will come slowly over the rest of my lifetime. Perhaps. Perhaps it will come with tears and joy, laughter and pain interwoven.

Provided my treasure is not stored up in heaven.

I’ve long believed God to be this manic personality. Kind one moment, vicious the next. But I am beginning to understand it from a different perspective. I hear all the time how God will stop giving me stuff if I don’t shape up. (all this time in the darkness, I have been saying, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it—the body of Christ has plenty of things to do if you are looking for something to do, but very little of it is of real value to a sufferer.) I try to shape up, and remain woefully unworthy feeling, aw, He’ll never give me nothin’.

I can’t shape up. Do you get that? You can’t either. We can’t be perfect. We are not meant to attain perfection in this life. We are meant to be perfect IN CHRIST. He is our righteousness. He is our perfection. He makes all the deposits, we make all the withdrawals. Lowsy deal on His end, but for the Love. He did it all and continues to do it all, for the Love.

The way I see God’s ability to give is using the clogged artery analogy. There are lots of things to eat on this planet. If I eat that In-and-Out Double-Double with grilled onions three times a day, it will not only affect my waistline, but my arteries. Does this affect God’s ability to give to me? No, the consequences are all mine. If God had in His heart to give me long life, I shortchanged myself and clogged my own arteries. I diminished my own capacity to receive. I never affected God’s ability to give.

Am I worthy then, of this free gift? Well, the church would say, yes, but…

Whenever I’ve received a “free” gift, I never, ever, not once, looked for someone to pay.

But this is not the message I’ve gotten from the church (whether by my poor interpretation or misinformation I am not sure). I’ve believed I had to earn this “free” gift. That the “free”gift of God isn’t really “free.”

But it is. There is no bill coming. No fine print or penalties for late payment. It is truly free.

What I am beginning to see is God is the benevolent Giver. Lover of our souls. Father of mercy. We are all worthy of His love. Even the most reprobate heathen, like me, is worthy. C.S. Lewis was right. The person beside you is your experience of the Divine. We are the houses of God.

Unbelievers, too?

Yes, I believe so. Hear me out. When do we become unworthy? Who is it that gets to say we are unworthy? Who?

God.

So, if God died for us while we were yet sinners, if He loves us even in our sinful state, and knocks at the door (of the worthy), it is up to us to open it.

No man on this planet, save Christ alone, has ever been able to tell with 100% certainty who opens that door and who doesn’t. Sure, we’d like to say Hitler, Manson, and the like didn’t but I would like to believe (until it is no longer an issue), that these men fell on their knees before the Living God and opened that door. (After all, I want that kind of mercy until I die. I don’t want anyone condemning me to hell, so I don’t need to be condemning anyone either.)

So, this worthiness issue is a lie then. It is a grand delusion. I have been fighting shadows and phantoms my whole life. Because I have always been worthy. And so have you.

dreadlock Jesus

wading through david gill's excellent book doing right, and finding john piper is to theology what david gill is to ethics. john piper's works are so heady that they are, to me, like brussel sprouts: good for me, i know i must get them down but it is a struggle. david gill's work is like brussel sprouts with cheese, in that he is so funny in his footnotes, it keeps me snickering through a very serious subject.

i found this in one of david gill's footnotes (makes me think i'm not so crazy after all):

I find most artistic representations of "Jesus" appalling. A Palestinian Jew could not possibly have looked anything like the Euro-Jesuses often depicted. They are deeply alienating and offensive, especially to many people of non-European origin (to say nothing of what the real Jesus must think, looking at this stuff). Jesus could have posed for a sculptor way back when if he thought it was important for us to see him represented this way. He chose not to. Do you want to disagree with his choice? Do you want people to have to accept your preferred image of Jesus, however historically impossible and culturally alienating it may be to others?

now of course if i had said it that way, i might have offended no one, and there is something to not being offensive. but my works and thoughts don't seem to come out that pretty. this book is the fodder of some twenty-years thought on gill's part. mine, the fruit of five minutes labor. ah, well. i guess i could let stuff ferment a while, but maybe it's the wineskins?

i flicked on the t.v. to get the brussel sprouts with cheese off my brain (i am doddling, i confess!). what do i see, prince. purple rain. ah, i watched the very end and loved it. flick the channel to vh1 classics, and there is lenny kravitz, are you gonna go my way? flayling those long medusaesque dreadlocks around to the rhythms of those drums, while grinding out a riff on his guitar. it is all so beautiful to me. i can't help but say, if that were Jesus, i'd sure as heck be saying, YEAH! so it makes me think. Jesus must at least be half as talented as lenny kravitz. or prince. hmm, let's see. He did create the sun and moon and stars.

He created lenny kravitz and prince. that makes me think again about what kind of music God would enjoy. what kind of message would He have for His church today. I can't help but sing along with lenny, are you gonna go My way?