Take a Peek

I've been kind of quiet in the blogosphere lately. So many things going on here.

In the past week, I wrote (and delivered) a talk called A Recorder, A Drawer and Kalashnikovs: Revisiting Grace. I thank Lynet for inspiring me. The passage I had to speak on was assigned, but it ended up converging quite nicely with some things we were discussing over on Elliptica (way back in December... glad you are patient, Lynet!).

Almost the entire week, while I was trying to get the talk done, I was still struggling with sadness. I find it very difficult to write when I'm down.

Then the weekend brought a strange mix of sorrows... the death of a friend's newborn grandbaby, a friend who was in a near-fatal accident, and the discovery that yet another of our congregants has cancer. Somehow in the midst of all this, I had been blessed with a trip to Graymoor Retreat Center... a trip I had been fussing over, kind of the way an infant sometimes fusses when it needs to nursed but instead flails around, hitting and screaming (not understanding there's milk just within reach).

I went to Graymoor and came away feeling a deep sense of gratitude. There, I wrote three pieces that I ended up sharing with the retreat group, at their request...

Against the Cedar
Holy Spirit Chapel
Centerpiece

Now I'm tired. So please don't mind if I curl up in the sun and take a little nap.


Old Shutter photo, by J Barkat. Used with permission.

Filtered

This photo by Gail Nadeau is filtered. And colored. (Not with crayons I imagine.)

When I think of my life, I realize that it too is filtered. Through a lens of grace.

Now there have been times when it was all too different. When my life was filtered through the identity of "victim". Or when everything was interpreted through issues of power, loss or gender. And I suppose these still creep in to veil my days. Memories have a way of shaping and driving us.

And yet. Grace.

The other day Scot McKnight mentioned that he'd done a talk on the restorative aspects of grace. I commented, "Yes, grace is often seen as a one-time offering to the sinner who takes it up and is saved. But grace is wider, longer, deeper, isn't it?"

Indeed. Grace is my filter. It colors my days.


May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy... Psalm 126:5


Photo by Gail Nadeau. Used with permission.

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Inihtar's Grace

Halfmom's Strange Word Post

A Well and The Word

Ever since I've been going to my Secret Place each day, I've been freewriting about it afterwards. Freewriting is one of those tasks that every good writing book emphasizes.

V.H. Wright's The Soul Tells a Story considers freewriting to be a well-dredging activity— the "well" being that secret place inside us that contains all manner of thoughts and passions, memories and dreams, that we are rarely aware of in conscious life.

I like how Wright comforts the soul who gets out a bucket and sends it down with a splash...

"If you are mastering your craft, then you won't need to panic when all manner of strange stuff comes up out of your well. You know that as time goes by your skill will take hold of all that stuff and make something out of it." (p.129)

Here's what came out of my well the other day, after I sat in my "woods" and read Psalm 15, which says, Keep your word, even when it costs you. It is just unpolished freewriting, but I wanted to share it. I'm also going to take Wright's advice and put a hold on the panic.


The air is cool. I'm in shadow. Though the sun is up, it is not yet shining into these "woods." Daffodils poke through frost-bitten ivy and a lattice-work of pine needles. One green spike has the suggestion of a yellow promise behind a skin-like veil. The forsythia bend, dangling tear-drop earrings, flashing tinkling green-swelled jewels.

Wood-winged bushes are green-tipped candelabras, the promise of spring's light in this shadowy corridor. The stalks of the bush are torches, bleeding green from the core. If I hold them, will I be stained green? Will I leave this place with green stripes on my hands?

Somewhere, the muted gunshot of a woodpecker sounds and echoes. Or, it is a snare drum from the trunk of some tree? Wood-winged bud tips are fleur de lis or the bud-tip of a king's scepter. Through the fence, a patch of snowdrops bows delicate faces— for the coming of a king? Above me, a rustle and a leaf falling down. A furry Zaccheus perhaps, up in the tree, come to hear a king's words. The sun is now pouring lightly into the wood-winged bushes which are casting shadows on the pine.

I read Psalm 15, "Keep your word, even when it costs you," and it strikes me that the explosion of these buds, this drumroll of life, is yet again the keeping of God's first words, "Let there be light." I remember, suddenly, that we are in the Lenten season, and this too is the harbinger of a Light bleeding green, bleeding the cost of a promise, of a word spoken so long ago... "Let there be light."

A raucous band of five white birds with grey tails has come to watch The King walk his road towards his word. In the haven of the maple, they settle into a low "chr-chr-chr-chr." It is the "oh, my" of the crowd above the procession... and the ladies with their green teardrop earrings sit motionless... and wait.

Through the Chainlink Fence photo, by L.L. Barkat

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Sit with Me

Got a minute? Or three? Come sit with me over ice cream or tea, and see what I've been up to in the last week...

I had to write a talk on Psalm 139. Somehow, this came together with a week of sand and palms, a grove of orangequat trees, and a delayed flight out of Miami, to produce a rather personal reflection on disillusionment, vision, calling, and hope, in A Walk in the Park

Also, I missed going out to my secret place one day, so I went out at night. I put my sled under the pine and lay down in the dark. I could see the stars and the fringes of the fir tree. This is what drifted into my mind... Matriarch

And, as if I didn't have enough to write, I got the thought to interview Scot McKnight, author of The Real Mary. We had an enjoyable chat, out of which came Writing the Natural Way

How nice to sit with you now, over orangequats, a pine tree, and a few thoughts on writing. (Btw, did you order vanilla or chocolate chip? I got the green tea.)

Eatery Photo by Gail Nadeau. Used with permission.

NOTE TO E: Recently, you contacted me about writing advice. I responded, though your email address was incomplete (I tried putting in "yahoo.com" as an ending, but I don't know if that worked). Anyhow, if you did not get my response, please contact me again with your full email address. Thanks! I'm glad you thought to write.