The Assignment: Write a poem using the tree of life as inspiration.
Don't read too much into this. Given that it only took me about 15 minutes to write, it's not exactly my most thought provoking piece. But it was a fun experiment, and the results were quirky to say the least. Enjoy.
"Cerebral Quercus"
I sit at the base of an ancient oak that whispers at twilight,
half-light, day and night converge, a quiet breeze, crisp fall air, here my questions merge.
How did curiosity kill the cat?
And why did satisfaction bring him back like an addict that can’t get enough?
Questions haunt. Answers nag, craving resolution. The answer is somewhere in the tree.
So deep run the roots. Let me be grounded. So tall are the branches. Let me reach for the sky.
Such a commanding presence has the trunk of the tree, fully present as it weathers any weather.
Let me be here and now, ever present, ever aware.
A single leaf falls to the ground clothed in hues of gold and red defiance.
Tumbling downward it calls out to the others, “We are Autumn. Resistance is futile.”
I am what I am why I am.
© April Milam 2012
(Quercus is Latin for oak tree.)
Monday, April 30, 2012
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
A Rewrite
Some of you may recognize the first part. Revisiting old things, this felt in need of a rewrite.
A Human Becoming
I am not a human being.
(That would imply something stagnant.)
I am a human becoming.
(I grow with the passing of time and
circumstance.)
To be or to become, that is question.
For if I be, then I stay in my comfort zone that’s safe.
And we were made for so much more than that.
But if I become, then I grow, face my fears, my life, and know.
I am not a human being.
I am a human becoming.
Authentically, courageously, honestly, vulnerable and compassionate.
Strength and struggle, connected by community, experience, and
spirit.
I am who I am, not a collection of suppositions.
I am not a human being.
I am a human becoming.
I live and love when it’s hard, when it hurts, when I doubt,
when it’s good, when it’s great,
when it’s so much more than I
could have imagined.
A soul that searches and struggles honestly
Inviting grace, joy, truth, and freedom in the process of human
becoming.
* * *
* * *
~ by April Milam © 2006 - 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
My Heart is Heavy
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.
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.
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
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Solitude
I'm enjoying a bit of solitude this morning. Sometimes it's nice just to breath in the silence.
“Solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self.” - Henri Nouwen from "The Way of The Heart"
“Solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self.” - Henri Nouwen from "The Way of The Heart"
Monday, February 20, 2012
Fresh Fiction in Progress
I'm tinkering with a new story idea. One of the main characters figures out that the "music" she's been hearing since her early childhood is simply Creation's Song. While questioning why this revelation took so long, she writes a poem in her notebook. I don't think she'd mind if I share it. *wink*
Creation’s Song
Can you hear it?
The ancient hum of the old forest,
the sway of the harvest in the fields,
the gentle babble of the stream over smooth stones,
the choreography of fireflies on a summer night.
Can you hear it?
The rumble of the storm in the distance,
the quiet dance of falling snow,
the rhythm of ocean waves crescendo on the shore,
the symphony of the stars.
Creation sings!
Glory to God,
a vibrant expression of praise.
Creation sings!
Praise to the Lord,
a melody of joy rising within.
Creation sings!
A gracious glimpse of His glory,
for those who would stop and listen.
Shhhhh.
Can you hear it?
Psalm 96:11-13 "Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy. Let all creation rejoice before the LORD..."
Creation’s Song
Can you hear it?
The ancient hum of the old forest,
the sway of the harvest in the fields,
the gentle babble of the stream over smooth stones,
the choreography of fireflies on a summer night.
Can you hear it?
The rumble of the storm in the distance,
the quiet dance of falling snow,
the rhythm of ocean waves crescendo on the shore,
the symphony of the stars.
Creation sings!
Glory to God,
a vibrant expression of praise.
Creation sings!
Praise to the Lord,
a melody of joy rising within.
Creation sings!
A gracious glimpse of His glory,
for those who would stop and listen.
Shhhhh.
Can you hear it?
Psalm 96:11-13 "Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy. Let all creation rejoice before the LORD..."
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Author Unknown
Disturb us, Lord, when"The Prayer of Sir Francis Drake" - 1577?? I have yet to find a reliable source to confirm this. Can you?
We are too pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.
Disturb us, Lord, when
with the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wilder seas
Where storms will show Your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask you to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push back the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.
This we ask in the name of our Captain,
Who is Jesus Christ.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I Love Books
(Because a typical book list just won’t cut it, here’s a
random book you can find on my bookshelf.)
Dune by Frank Herbert
I love this piece of classic science-fiction. The desert planet Arrakis, aka Dune, is the
only planet where Spice can be found. More valuable than gold, Spice is a mind-altering
substance that facilitates interplanetary travel, among other things. Think peyote, only way cooler. As
such, whoever controls Dune controls the universe. (Insert music for dramatic
effect here.)
There are two royal families constantly fighting for control
of the planet: House Atreides and House Harkonnen. Paul Atreides plays the
young heir usurped by the Harkonnen who forcefully take over Arrakis causing
Paul and his mother, the Lady Jessica, to run hiding in the desert. Unknown to
him, Paul is destined to become the planet's Messiah, a long-prophesied savior
who will help the native people of Arrakis reclaim their planet.
Also woven into the story are a “religious” group called The
Bene Gesserit, a sisterhood whose members train their bodies and minds through
years of physical and mental conditioning in order to achieve superhuman
abilities which they use for political posturing, among other things. The empath in me (more on that another time) loved
these characters and the idea that your mind is capable of much when properly
focused. My favorite quote from the book
is “the litany against fear” used by the Bene Gesserit to focus their minds and
calm themselves in the mist of chaos and/or impending danger.
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total
obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through
me. And when it has gone past I will
turn the inner eye to see its path. Where
the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.”
It reminds me of 2 Timothy 1:7. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear
and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.”
What can I say? The
control freak in me is attracted to the idea of power. Keeping in mind, however, that with great
power, comes great responsibility.
Quoting Spiderman? Really, April? Nope.
Voltaire said it first, circa 1832, proving once again that there is
nothing new under the sun.
Monday, February 06, 2012
Old Poetry
I was digging through my computer archives when I ran across this old poem. It's funny how our lives go through seasons. Healing is a work in progress.
"Two Halves"
~ by April Milam
Two halves resided
In the heart of one.
One half was free
The other was numb.
I once had a heart
that had two halves.
One half I gave to God,
saying, "Take me as I am.
Well, not really all,
just this part of me,
the half I'm willing
to let you see."
Either selfishness
or lack of trust
had me hiding the other half
in a box.
I locked it up tight
wrapped it in chains
determined that no one would see
the ugliness I hid in my heart
and I threw away the key.
But the numbness, you see
would not be contained
by the box and all of its chains.
Slowly it spread
to both halves of my heart
until all I had left was my pain.
That terrible ache
would wake me at night
with nightmares of heavy stones
that pinned me down
as I lost my breath
fearful at hearing
my own cracking bones.
With tears in my eyes
I prayed, "Dear Lord,
I come to you, just as I am.
Take the good. Take the ugly.
Take all of my heart.
Lord, please make me whole again."
And He threw off the chains
and He unlocked the box
exposing darkness to light.
And the weight that was crushing me
disappeared
as the Son chased away night.
He took both pieces
of my broken heart.
He made it whole and complete.
And with mended heart
I stood by His side
and I knew
I was finally free.
"Two Halves"
~ by April Milam
Two halves resided
In the heart of one.
One half was free
The other was numb.
I once had a heart
that had two halves.
One half I gave to God,
saying, "Take me as I am.
Well, not really all,
just this part of me,
the half I'm willing
to let you see."
Either selfishness
or lack of trust
had me hiding the other half
in a box.
I locked it up tight
wrapped it in chains
determined that no one would see
the ugliness I hid in my heart
and I threw away the key.
But the numbness, you see
would not be contained
by the box and all of its chains.
Slowly it spread
to both halves of my heart
until all I had left was my pain.
That terrible ache
would wake me at night
with nightmares of heavy stones
that pinned me down
as I lost my breath
fearful at hearing
my own cracking bones.
With tears in my eyes
I prayed, "Dear Lord,
I come to you, just as I am.
Take the good. Take the ugly.
Take all of my heart.
Lord, please make me whole again."
And He threw off the chains
and He unlocked the box
exposing darkness to light.
And the weight that was crushing me
disappeared
as the Son chased away night.
He took both pieces
of my broken heart.
He made it whole and complete.
And with mended heart
I stood by His side
and I knew
I was finally free.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Winter Blues
I know, it's been ages, years even. Time to break the silence. Maybe we should start over again.
Hi, my name is April and I suffer from winter depression. I hate the way it feels, the way it twists my emotions into a cold numbing mess. You see, I'm a bit of a control freak. (More on that another time.) If I can't control my surroundings, I still feel the need to control my emotions. Call it Spock's Dilema, if you will. A Human mother, a Vulcan father, Spock often wrestled with the puzzle of logic versus emotion. It's not that I want to be logical all the time. Emotions are a perfectly good and healthy thing. It's finding a balance. Nope, if I'm honest, that's not it. It's being in control of both that I wrestle with. After all, having it all together is what being humans all about, right? Haha. Can you hear the sarcasm dripping?
But, back to the winter depression. Some of you have heard this story before. A few winters back, I was sitting at my computer sorting through my digital photos when I stumbled across the flower macros I'd taken the previous summer. The colors, the textures, the light, they all put a smile on my face. Next I picked up my Bible for a little QT with the Creator of all those beautiful blooms. The two activities combined, put me in such a good mood, I opened my photo editing program, pasted a verse I'd just read onto one of the flower pics and saved the image to my desktop. Staring at the image, I thought,"Mom would like this." So I emailed her a copy. She called me shortly afterward and said, "April, you've got to share this." And just like that, Desktop Blooms was born.
Now each Monday during the winter months, I send out a new image with a scripture or a prayer. The image above was sent out this morning. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the mailing list.
So, is that the end of my winter blues? No. It's a work in progress. But by sharing my story and not being afraid to show my scars, I'm learning to enjoy the journey.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Memories from the Lake
Skin still damp from swimming in the lake most of the day, we donned sweat shirts and blue jeans as evening faded to dusk. My brother, and sister, and I huddled as close to the fire pit as we dared attempting to roast marshmallows without getting our fingers too burnt or too sticky. Sweet tooth satisfied we sat in silence as the fire crackled, embers glowing white. The flames cast their hypnotic spell, and the scent of wood-smoke crept into our clothes like a sacred lullaby.
Crickets chirped their evening song. Gentle waves lapped against the lake's shore. The small rustic cottage where we stayed as guests of a dear friend sat at the top of the hill. And the view of the lake bathed in moonlight was nothing short of childishly romantic. Some nights we would sit for what seemed like hours, mesmerized by the peaceful view, wishing on the stars above that this little spot on the hill would never change.
Inevitably change would come, but we would always hold dear the memories of that place where time stood still and perfect peace surrounded us so completely.
Crickets chirped their evening song. Gentle waves lapped against the lake's shore. The small rustic cottage where we stayed as guests of a dear friend sat at the top of the hill. And the view of the lake bathed in moonlight was nothing short of childishly romantic. Some nights we would sit for what seemed like hours, mesmerized by the peaceful view, wishing on the stars above that this little spot on the hill would never change.
Inevitably change would come, but we would always hold dear the memories of that place where time stood still and perfect peace surrounded us so completely.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Lengthy but Worthwhile
On Palm Sunday, I went to visit my mother at her church. They had a guest speaker that morning. His name is Moses. He's 53 years young and a pastor at a church in East Chicago
This young man, who had been raised in the church, made a decision to hate God, and to hate the church. He turned his back on God and went his own way. By 15 he was doing drugs. By 16 he was a dealer, making a lot of money. Time passed and he became further entrenched in the business. By 17 he was robbing banks, and holding up people by gunpoint at random, with no feeling in his heart. By 19, he was on the FBI’s most wanted list for crimes that included first degree murder.
On the run from the feds, he went back to the family that still lived in Texas
“Oh, her? She’s one of the youths who attend our church.”
“Is she going to the revival?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. Then I’ll go, too.”
So Moses went to the revival. When he got there, he didn’t see the girl, but he sat down somewhere close to the front, sticking out like a sore thumb wearing his Chicago street
The preacher began to speak, talking about sin and sinners. He preached about how drug dealers and murderers need to turn from their evil ways and come to God. Moses started looking around thinking, drug dealers and murders in this one horse town? Who does this guy think he’s preaching to?
Moses sat there, thinking of a way to leave. That’s when he spotted the port-o-johns. That’s it, he thought, I’ll make it look like I’m getting up to use the bathroom and I’ll just keep on walking.
So he got up to walk to the back, but he did something stupid. Before he knew it, he was at the front, standing at the foot of the altar. How did I get up here? What do I do now? And the preacher continued to preach. He talked about the need to come to know God, because God loves us so much. And as the preacher preached, a tear fell down this young man’s cheek. Moses quickly wiped it away. What’s this? Men don’t cry. A tough guy like me doesn’t cry. What’s going on here?
So he bent to one knee to look like he was praying, thinking, If I pray, then I can get up and leave. But more tears began to fall. Moses didn’t understand what was going on, but he prayed, for the first time is ages he prayed, Lord, I don’t know what you’d want with a piece of scum like me. But, here I am. If you’re gonna do something with me, do it now.
And the tears flooded down his cheeks, and he was overwhelmed by the Spirit. And he laid his body down on the ground and just cried and cried. He thought that only minutes had passed, but when he raised his head everyone had gone. The revival tent was empty expect for Moses and the preacher.
“Are you alright?”
“I don’t know,” Moses said, “I think something has happened to me. I think I’m saved.”
“That’s great!” The preacher exclaimed, and he went to call everybody back in to come and see and hear what had happened.
Moses took off his gold chain with the bullet, and he took the drugs out of his pockets saying, “I don’t need these things anymore.”
Moses didn’t fully comprehend what had happened to him that day, but he grew in his understanding of the Lord, that God loved him and wanted a relationship with him. He wanted Moses. Moses, nothing but scum. Moses, nothing but a little speck of humanity. God wanted him. God loved him.
Then Moses repeated the sermon he’d given us earlier. “I’m here to tell you that God loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. No matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done. God loves you.” End of sermon.
I know I've posted this list before, but still, it bears repeating. The next time you feel like GOD can't use you, just remember...
Noah was a drunk
Abraham was too old
Isaac was a daydreamer
Jacob was a liar
Leah was ugly
Joseph was abused
Moses had a stuttering problem and was a murderer
Gideon was afraid
Samson had long hair and was a womanizer
Rahab was a prostitute
Jeremiah and Timothy were too young
David had an affair and was a murderer
Elijah was suicidal
Isaiah preached naked
Jonah ran from God
Naomi was a widow
Job went bankrupt
Peter denied Christ
The Disciples fell asleep while praying
Martha worried about everything
Mary Magdalene was, well you know
The Samaritan woman was divorced, more than once
Zaccheus was too small
Paul was too religious
Timothy had an ulcer
Lazarus was dead!
Abraham was too old
Isaac was a daydreamer
Jacob was a liar
Leah was ugly
Joseph was abused
Moses had a stuttering problem and was a murderer
Gideon was afraid
Samson had long hair and was a womanizer
Rahab was a prostitute
Jeremiah and Timothy were too young
David had an affair and was a murderer
Elijah was suicidal
Isaiah preached naked
Jonah ran from God
Naomi was a widow
Job went bankrupt
Peter denied Christ
The Disciples fell asleep while praying
Martha worried about everything
Mary Magdalene was, well you know
The Samaritan woman was divorced, more than once
Zaccheus was too small
Paul was too religious
Timothy had an ulcer
Lazarus was dead!
God loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.
End of sermon.
End of sermon.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Joy Is
I was going over my small group lesson on grace and joy, and I was reminded of how easily my five year old daughter seems able to find joy in the little everyday things in life. So I wrote out a list of her joyful occurances in the past few weeks. It really helped me recenter my focus. I hope you enjoy it.
Joy is twirling a pink umbrella
without reason
without rain
Joy is dancing with a yellow ducky
‘round the bathroom in delight
wearing the only suit you were ever born in
Joy is laughing at purple violets
that sprung up
overnight
Joy is starring up at blue skies
in wonder
of the many shapes of clouds that pass by
Joy is a pair of fancy white sandals
worn every day, plus Sunday
just because
Joy is sneaking chocolate chip cookie dough
straight from the mixing bowl
before it has a chance to get baked
Joy is praising God for green leaves
that are too high on the tree to reach
for now
Joy is a red sand pail
all shinny and new
that waits for the promise of warmer weather
Joy is all these little things
seen through the eyes of a child
Joy is where you find it
Joy is...
Joy is twirling a pink umbrella
without reason
without rain
Joy is dancing with a yellow ducky
‘round the bathroom in delight
wearing the only suit you were ever born in
Joy is laughing at purple violets
that sprung up
overnight
Joy is starring up at blue skies
in wonder
of the many shapes of clouds that pass by
Joy is a pair of fancy white sandals
worn every day, plus Sunday
just because
Joy is sneaking chocolate chip cookie dough
straight from the mixing bowl
before it has a chance to get baked
Joy is praising God for green leaves
that are too high on the tree to reach
for now
Joy is a red sand pail
all shinny and new
that waits for the promise of warmer weather
Joy is all these little things
seen through the eyes of a child
Joy is where you find it
Joy is...
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Wrestling With Wolves
"Search me, O God, and know my heart;test me and know my anxious thoughts.See if there is any offensive way in me,and lead me in the way everlasting."-- Psalm 139:23-24
The Wolves Within
a Cherokee legend
A boy sat thoughtfully by his grandfather’s side, waiting for the old man to speak.
"A fight goes on inside me,” the grandfather began, “a terrible fight between two wolves, each as different as day and night. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside each of us."
The grandson pondered these things and then asked, "Grandfather, which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
The Wolves Within
a Cherokee legend
A boy sat thoughtfully by his grandfather’s side, waiting for the old man to speak.
"A fight goes on inside me,” the grandfather began, “a terrible fight between two wolves, each as different as day and night. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside each of us."
The grandson pondered these things and then asked, "Grandfather, which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Simple Feelings
Your love is a healing kiss to my soul
Your truth is what sets me free
Your grace is like hope to this failing heart
Your joy is a blessing to me
Your truth is what sets me free
Your grace is like hope to this failing heart
Your joy is a blessing to me
Tuesday Observations
1. The sunshine came out to play this morning. I rejoiced greatly at its brilliance, and did a little happy dance.
2. Gracious truth telling is possible and can produce some marvelous
effects.
3. A long time ago I took a trip to a far away place. It was a ten day missions trip that changed my life. During those memorable days, I experienced a closeness to God I thought I would never reach again. I told myself it was because of the extreme circumstances of being in a third world country, doing to work Of God that caused this deep feeling of contentment, peace, and safety in the arms of my Jesus. I didn't think I'd ever reach that place again. God felt like something in the distance I had a hard time reaching. I saw my daily normal life as drudgery. I was wrong. My daily quiet time these last two weeks has shown me just how wrong I was. I can be as close to God on the mountaintop as I can while I'm making the bed.
"Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast."
-- Psalm 139:7-10
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)