quiet ride home 22.November.2005

We had a quiet ride home from town. A few words floated by in the pick-up that smelled like farm pick-ups do, but they were emptier than the silence. I thought of the deep words that could have come, words for help and words for healing. But it turned out that their absence was deeper.

It was a cold ride home from town. But I’m warm now, so I don’t remember the coldness. I can only hear the silence.

The ride home was an item on my schedule. It hadn’t been there in a while, so I’d forgotten just how it worked. I forgot that if I ask questions, they should be questions like “what’s that called?” and “how’s that work?” and not… well, not like the questions I asked. Good thing I didn’t think of too many questions.

We had a short ride home from town. Quiet and cold, but mostly just short.

gotta 22.November.2005

I’ve gotta like the unlikeable. I’ve gotta like the ones that talk a little too loud and forget to smile when they’re supposed to. I’ve gotta forget the words and admit I’ve lost them, instead of fumbling and fidgeting, smiling and tucking hair behind my ear where it was before I started tucking. When the confidence comes easier, I’ve gotta remember when it didn’t. I’ve gotta remember when I was just me — eighteen and influenced and thinking only every other day. I’ve gotta start listening and realizing that they’ve stepped the miles between here and there, and I’m only looking over the map of the journey. I’ve gotta thank them for the love. I’ve gotta stop proving and start loving. I’ve gotta keep praying for them, not because they don’t understand… but because I don’t, and they’ve gotta deal with me. I’ve gotta believe that.

veteran’s day 22.November.2005

There’s a line-up of men on the newspaper. Eyes filled with flashes of war and dust, they stare at the camera: tortured heroes. They wear caps instead of helmets now. A few hardened lips break into hints of grins. They’re honored on the pages, but not like they deserve. They see the lack of justice, but they don’t know how to change it. They just take what they can get, and move on — to memories and life and then, finally, death.

words? 22.November.2005

Last time I was here, the novel was so clear. In the emotion, I knew what needed to be written, although I didn’t know how. This time, I feel the emotions again, but they haven’t compelled me to writing; they’ve compelled me to living — to confrontation and prayer and other such uncomfortable tasks.
I don’t know if or when the words will come back. I don’t know if they ever existed. They glimmered like a mirage, and then they were gone.

library 22.November.2005

Only the brave spend time at the library, traversing its systems, its shelves, its smiles and quietness. It is not an escape; it’s a voyage. And cold are the fingers, the words, the books, waiting to be touched.

God fight 16.November.2005

she thought she was fighting God.
“why don’t you–?”
and “why won’t you–?”
and “when will you–?”

she punched the air like
a boxer,
a fighter,
trying to claim the promise
without believing,
without remembering.

“he is faithful who promised”
came around
and made some sense.

but it took some reminders
from him
and some reminders
about what
“in every thing”
means-

and then she knew

she was only
fighting
herself.

truth quote 15.November.2005

“Never let logic or practicality get in the way of TRUTH. Keep your relationship strong by journeying into the realm of what God has for you, which is far beyond that which is logical or practical.” -c.l.beyer, Summer 2001

I don’t remember now what “relationship” I was referring to here (probably one’s relationship with God?), but I thought this little blurb was interesting nonetheless.

deeper 15.November.2005

We’re searching for something deeper — we all are.

One I told, and she agreed. One wrote to show me. One tries and tries; it’s just under the surface, but there. One doesn’t show it, but needs it. One shows a little, shows others a lot. One has it, flashes it, just doesn’t say it.

I’ve heard you all practice; you’re good — really good. But to get us all together to do something magnificent? Where does the goodness break down into amateurism? Are we just playing different arrangements of the same song? You know, if we got our act together, maybe others would be inspired to play too.

sadness: 3 portraits 11.November.2005

Cry into the dishwater, baby.
Cry and cry,
and hope somebody hears you.
Cry until you’re done
and then cry some more
because the dishes are done
and you’re still crying.

Cry into the washing machine, baby.
Cry and let go.
But when the letting go stops,
just don’t-
don’t
block up the entrance
again.
Don’t-

* * *

“Many scholars agree that Indian evangelism, as a whole, was not a story of success, the greatest reason being the intense conflict between the two cultures for supremacy over the land. But perhaps equally important was the deep-seated belief of white America that Indians were racially inferior and that their culture was not worth saving.” -Ruth A. Tucker in From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya

* * *

Pages of faces flash before me.
Whose are you if not mine?
Whose are you if not anyone else’s?
You are not your parents’
anymore
You are your own;
you are God’s-
a small comfort
to you
right now.
Orphan children.

the morning after 10.November.2005

Thank you to the one who broke through. Thank you to the one who touched when she could have said, “I’ll wait till Friday.” A wound oozes when it’s hurting, gushes before healing. I gushed.
Silly selfishness and pride get in my way sometimes — okay, a lot of times — okay, almost all the time — and it’s a wretched thing to get rid of them. It’s like pulling teeth, although, I’ll admit, I haven’t pulled a lot of teeth in my life. My experience with teeth has been to let them wobble and wiggle until they pretty much fall out of their own accord.
Sometimes I leave selfishness and pride in until they fall out, not of their own accord (for some reason, they’re perfectly content to stay), but of God’s urging. And I fall to pieces until they’re gone. Then I realize I’m really the better for their absence.
So, anyway, thank you for leading me through the tough stuff. Thanks for holding my hand, and then checking up on me when I got to the other side.