Perhaps you've heard this story before.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily, gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper.
The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said “you have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.”
This weekend, a young girl from our community committed suicide because she was bullied. She was only 12 years old. I heard the news on Monday while I was at work. I went home that night and hugged my daughter tightly. Every day I tell her I love her, but I told her again.
"Mom, I know," she assured me.
And she knows that she can talk to us about anything but I told her again.
"Mom, I know," she told me gently again.
Some of the students decided to hold a candle lit vigil in the parking lot at the school last night. I wasn't sure about going. We didn't know the girl. She went to a different school. I wasn't sure how my daughter would react to a candle lit vigil for a stranger. But when I picked her up from school yesterday, before I had the chance to ask her, she said, "Mom, there's a candle light vigil tonight for the girl who committed suicide, and we NEED to go."
I asked why.
"Because this is sad. And we need to stand together."
Later that evening as we joined my parents to walk to the vigil, my mother asked her the same question, "Why did you want to go tonight?"
She told us that this was sad, and shouldn't have happened, and we needed to stand together. She said there would be other kids at the vigil and they needed to know that they are beautiful, and they are loved, and they matter to God, and that they were created in God's image and how cool is that, and maybe if they knew that, they wouldn't think of hurting themselves when they were bullied.
From the mouths of babes...
Be careful with your words. They're more powerful than you think.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Comfort Food
I love a warm bowl of mac and cheese, baked with leeks and covered in bread crumbs. It's one of those perfect comfort foods, like a grilled cheese sandwich with at least two kinds of cheese, thin slices of tomatoes, and a hint of Dijon mustard. Especially when shared with friends, good comfort food warms the heart and puts a smile on my face. But what about books? For me, some books are like soul soothing comfort food. Here's my short list.
[1] The Psalms: When I'm feeling moody, I reach for my Bible and open up the Psalms. Hearing King David pour his heart out to God regardless of whether he was mad, sad, or joyful, feels liberating to me. Angry isn't a pretty emotion, but it's ok to let it out when your talking to God. Besides, He knows what you're feeling anyway, so you may as well be honest with yourself and with your Father. It's really a comforting thought once you let it sink in.
[2] I Come Quietly to Meet You by Amy Carmichael: Missionary to India and founder of the Dohnavur Fellowship (a society devoted to saving neglected and ill-treated children) Amy served in India for fifty-six years, writing many books about missionary work. In 1931, she was badly injured in a fall, which left her bedridden much of the time until her death at the age of 83. She asked that no stone be put over her grave; instead, the children she had cared for put a bird bath over it with the single inscription "Amma", which means mother in the Tamil. Here's my favorite quote from the book:
"This evening the clouds hung low on the mountains, so that sometimes we could hardly see the familiar peaks. Sometimes the stars, too, were nearly all covered. But always, just when it seemed as though the mountains were going to be quite lost in the mist, the higher peaks pushed out and, whereas the dimmer stars were veiled, the brighter ones shone through. Even supposing the clouds had wholly covered the face of the mountains, and not a star shone through the piled-up masses, the mountains would still have stood steadfast and the stars would not have ceased to shine. I thought of this and found it very comforting, simple as it was. Our feelings do not affect God's facts. They may blow up like clouds, and cover the eternal things...We may not see the shinning of the promises -- but they still shine! And the strength of the hills that is His also is not for one moment less because of our weakness....Feelings come and go, like clouds. But the 'hills' and the 'stars' abide."
[3] Rich Mullins: An Arrow Pointing to Heaven by James Bryan Smith: Published after his death, this devotional biography tells the story of an amazing man who spent his life sharing the love of Christ with others, and not just through his music. Brennan Manning reviewed the book (along with writing the forward) by saying this, "...it is the purest echo of the gospel I have read in a long, long time." I tend to agree with him.
I could keep going and list "The Ragamuffin Gospel" by Brennan Manning and "The Way of the Heart" by Henri Nouwen and most anything by C.S. Lewis. But I did say this would be a short list.
What about you? Which books would you choose when your soul needs a little comfort food?
[1] The Psalms: When I'm feeling moody, I reach for my Bible and open up the Psalms. Hearing King David pour his heart out to God regardless of whether he was mad, sad, or joyful, feels liberating to me. Angry isn't a pretty emotion, but it's ok to let it out when your talking to God. Besides, He knows what you're feeling anyway, so you may as well be honest with yourself and with your Father. It's really a comforting thought once you let it sink in.
[2] I Come Quietly to Meet You by Amy Carmichael: Missionary to India and founder of the Dohnavur Fellowship (a society devoted to saving neglected and ill-treated children) Amy served in India for fifty-six years, writing many books about missionary work. In 1931, she was badly injured in a fall, which left her bedridden much of the time until her death at the age of 83. She asked that no stone be put over her grave; instead, the children she had cared for put a bird bath over it with the single inscription "Amma", which means mother in the Tamil. Here's my favorite quote from the book:
"This evening the clouds hung low on the mountains, so that sometimes we could hardly see the familiar peaks. Sometimes the stars, too, were nearly all covered. But always, just when it seemed as though the mountains were going to be quite lost in the mist, the higher peaks pushed out and, whereas the dimmer stars were veiled, the brighter ones shone through. Even supposing the clouds had wholly covered the face of the mountains, and not a star shone through the piled-up masses, the mountains would still have stood steadfast and the stars would not have ceased to shine. I thought of this and found it very comforting, simple as it was. Our feelings do not affect God's facts. They may blow up like clouds, and cover the eternal things...We may not see the shinning of the promises -- but they still shine! And the strength of the hills that is His also is not for one moment less because of our weakness....Feelings come and go, like clouds. But the 'hills' and the 'stars' abide."
[3] Rich Mullins: An Arrow Pointing to Heaven by James Bryan Smith: Published after his death, this devotional biography tells the story of an amazing man who spent his life sharing the love of Christ with others, and not just through his music. Brennan Manning reviewed the book (along with writing the forward) by saying this, "...it is the purest echo of the gospel I have read in a long, long time." I tend to agree with him.
I could keep going and list "The Ragamuffin Gospel" by Brennan Manning and "The Way of the Heart" by Henri Nouwen and most anything by C.S. Lewis. But I did say this would be a short list.
What about you? Which books would you choose when your soul needs a little comfort food?
Friday, March 23, 2012
Poetry for Pi
Wednesday mornings I meet with a fantastically wonderful group of people who love to read (and eat breakfast), led by the beautiful and charming Nate Loucks. At the moment we're reading Brian Mclaren's A Generous Orthodoxy. Last week we discussed Chapter 9, "Why I Am Mystical/Poetic". A week later, those ideas were still running loose inside. So I put pen to paper and set them free.
"Poetry for Pi"
~ by April Milam
The mystic and the mathematician sat down for pi
To talk about logic and reason and why.
“The soul needs poetry”, the mystic insisted
“It’s math that’s madness, not me.
Mystery and wonder keep us sane.
Solving every puzzle would make me crazed.”
“You don’t appreciate logic and order”,
The mathematician insisted.
“Without it you have only chaos.
Tell me,
What good would your poetry do,
If 2 plus 2 equaled 2?”
Round and round in circles they went
Til the pi was all eaten and their arguments spent.
Then they paused for a moment,
Taking note of their place,
Both in the same room, same table, same space.
“Perhaps we can agree to disagree,”
The mathematician suggested.
“Perhaps we could even learn from each other,”
The mystic carefully ventured.
The head needs the heart,
The heart needs the head,
Two very different ideas,
Mystery and Order,
Logic and Faith,
There’s value in formula and flower.
"Poetry for Pi"
~ by April Milam
The mystic and the mathematician sat down for pi
To talk about logic and reason and why.
“The soul needs poetry”, the mystic insisted
“It’s math that’s madness, not me.
Mystery and wonder keep us sane.
Solving every puzzle would make me crazed.”
“You don’t appreciate logic and order”,
The mathematician insisted.
“Without it you have only chaos.
Tell me,
What good would your poetry do,
If 2 plus 2 equaled 2?”
Round and round in circles they went
Til the pi was all eaten and their arguments spent.
Then they paused for a moment,
Taking note of their place,
Both in the same room, same table, same space.
“Perhaps we can agree to disagree,”
The mathematician suggested.
“Perhaps we could even learn from each other,”
The mystic carefully ventured.
The head needs the heart,
The heart needs the head,
Two very different ideas,
Mystery and Order,
Logic and Faith,
There’s value in formula and flower.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Why I Write
I'm a slow processor. I always have been. Ask me what I'm feeling and I'll probably have a hard time verbalizing. For some the subconscious whispers to the conscious through music, others through paint & canvas, for me it's writing.
I used to hate the smell of diesel fuel and the flashbacks it triggered: a dead man lying in the road covered with a few slim palm branches, the sound of Voodoo drums in the night, the look of emptiness in so many eyes. I was in the country of Haiti for only ten days in 1995. We traveled around the island by diesel truck; a large rusting beast. When started, the engine would snarl, gears grinding in protest, and I wondered if the machine could get us from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ without breaking down in the middle of nowhere. And always, the smell of diesel saturated the air where ever we went.
Then in the summer of 2005 I started writing. I wrote about the whole experience; the good, the bad, the ugly, and the laughable. I wrote until nothing else was left, and when I’d finished, I felt at peace with my memories. I haven’t had a flashback since and the smell of diesel doesn’t bother me so much anymore.
For me, writing God stories is a means of taking those next step towards Jesus Christ and developing community as we learn to share the unique voice that God has given each of us. But it’s also about healing and a method of discovering more about myself and about the loving Father who walks with me on this journey we call life.
I used to hate the smell of diesel fuel and the flashbacks it triggered: a dead man lying in the road covered with a few slim palm branches, the sound of Voodoo drums in the night, the look of emptiness in so many eyes. I was in the country of Haiti for only ten days in 1995. We traveled around the island by diesel truck; a large rusting beast. When started, the engine would snarl, gears grinding in protest, and I wondered if the machine could get us from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ without breaking down in the middle of nowhere. And always, the smell of diesel saturated the air where ever we went.
Then in the summer of 2005 I started writing. I wrote about the whole experience; the good, the bad, the ugly, and the laughable. I wrote until nothing else was left, and when I’d finished, I felt at peace with my memories. I haven’t had a flashback since and the smell of diesel doesn’t bother me so much anymore.
For me, writing God stories is a means of taking those next step towards Jesus Christ and developing community as we learn to share the unique voice that God has given each of us. But it’s also about healing and a method of discovering more about myself and about the loving Father who walks with me on this journey we call life.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Writing Fiction
Writing fiction feels like confession to me. The more honest I'm willing to be, the better the story. But then, if it wasn't honest and authentic, it wouldn't be worth writing in the first place. No spoilers this time. But thank you for the encouragement.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
When the writing is hard...
I'm working at finding the right words. Come out, come out, where ever you are.
“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a tellar but for want of an understanding ear.” ~ Stephen King, Different Seasons
“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a tellar but for want of an understanding ear.” ~ Stephen King, Different Seasons
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