...I didn’t write my Thursday note.
It was an honest oversight.
Really.
I completed my final 24-hour on-call Wednesday. I was awake at 6:30am that morning and began steady work at 9am. I didn’t stop until 4:15am yesterday. The time in between those hours was beautifully wonderfully terribly tragically amazing.
Needless to say, I left the hospital a little tired. I took a short nap yesterday morning, but I still sort of felt like a zombie the rest of the day.
I also went to the skilled nursing facility at which I volunteer on a day that I normally do not go. I had the privilege of introducing a new volunteer to “my people” and got to celebrate a dear woman’s 94th birthday. But it felt like Tuesday.
And so.
In my zombie-like state, I forgot it was Thursday.
And I didn’t write my Thursday note.
Naturally, I was surprised when my mom looked at me this morning and said, “You didn’t ever post your Thursday note?”
Blankly, I said, “Oh. No. I never wrote it.”
So I’m writing it now.
And I’m not saying much in the process.
Because I’m still sort of zombie-ized.
And I’m itching because my leftover beach sunburn is peeling and I’m sitting beside Bullet to whom I’m allergic.
But I’m writing.
And discipline is important in writing.
And in keeping the kitchen clean.
And the rugs that get covered with dog hair.
And the refrigerator that fills with leftovers.
And the car that fills with travel mugs.
And the belly button that fills with lint.
The end.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
Theology At The Beach
After my sister’s family went inside today, I stayed on the beach for awhile. I sat in my sister’s chair. I listened to the waves crash. I watched families pack their belongings and head home for the night. And I realized that over the past few days, each of my nephews and niece has provided me with at least one moment of theological reflection. Some of those moments moved me to tears.
Charlie’s joy is contagious. He and his dad spent at least an hour looking for seashells yesterday. Amongst other things, they found numerous sand dollar pieces. Charlie was thrilled. Until yesterday, according to Charlie, he didn’t know what a sand dollar was nor had he ever found one. After yesterday, though, he knew that sand dollars were really flat sea urchins and he’d seen one burrow into the sand. Charlie absolutely loves animals. His family went to the aquarium before arriving at the beach house and he took lots of pictures with his iPod. With true excitement, he showed his pictures to everyone who asked. Charlie knows God created this world and that we should honor, celebrate, and take care of it. Charlie would love to be a zoologist or marine biologist when he grows up. I wholeheartedly support that career aspiration.
Griffin adores his cousins. He and his sister get along well and enjoy each other’s company. But Griffin becomes a different person around his cousins because he loves them so much. Griffin does not like the beach. He doesn’t like being wet and he doesn’t like being dirty, yet he enthusiastically went down to the beach each day so that he could spend time with his cousins. Griffin helped dig huge sand forts, waited patiently until the tide came in to fill the fort, and ventured into the ocean because Jack asked him to. For better or for worse, Griffin is a follower. Even if he’s hesitant or afraid, he will follow his cousins if they ask. As soon as the boys left today, Griffin gave up on the beach. He said, “I don’t like the beach without Jack, Henry, and Charlie.” His statement confirmed what I’ve known all along.
Henry is a hug in human form. He is loving, warm, attentive, and comforting (through his sense of humor), and he makes you feel better just being around him. On Sunday morning, as I was waking up, I heard the kids talking and laughing. Then, in the middle of their pure silliness, I heard Henry say, “Guys! It’s Sunday! We need to sing some hymns!” At that point he started singing the Hallelujah Chorus, led the kids outside, and evidently helped conduct a worship service led by Jack. Jack’s sermon was something like this: “God created everything. And God is everywhere. Amen.” Henry remembered it was the Sabbath and desired to have a moment of worship. How serious the worship was, I don’t know. But I have to believe that God was smiling as five young children sat on a bench at the beach, pretending to be at church, and sang the Hallelujah Chorus as their hymn of choice. Hallelujah indeed.
Amelia sparkles. Her smile radiates happiness and her singing and whistling reflect the same. Amelia likes for everyone to get along and she likes to speak aloud that everything is okay. It’s okay that the flip-flops she’s wearing are black and gray even though her favorite colors are pink and purple, and it’s okay that her swim shirt is a little too small because it still covers her burned shoulders. It’s also okay when a wave hits her in the face and gets water in her hair and eyes. As long as she’s able to stand back up, breathe, and face another wave, that’s what matters. What isn’t okay, though, is for people to be dirty. Amelia demonstrated this beautifully on Saturday afternoon. As my brother played in the sand with the boys, Amelia made it her job to gather water in her bucket. As she was trying to figure out what to do with the water, she said, “I know. I’ll wash Uncle Daniel’s feet.” And she did. She poured a bucket of water on Daniel’s left foot and he cleaned it right off. Then she got another bucket of water and cleaned his right foot. And then she kept going until she’d washed all of the boys, and my, feet. Amelia doesn’t know the significance of washing people’s feet. Yet she humbly and willing set about the futile task of washing feet at the beach. I will never again think of foot washing in the same way.
Jack has no idea how much he means to me, nor does he have a clue that his posture on Saturday spoke to my heart. After battling the ocean with Hen and me and digging in the sand with his dad and the other kids, Jack sat down beside me in order to catch his breath. As we talked, I noticed that he was sitting with his hands on his knees, palms up, in a receiving position. When he asked me a question and looked to me for the answer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that I’ve had the opportunity to love this boy for eleven years. For better or worse, my boys and girl receive from me, and I can only pray that what they receive is the beauty of God’s love.
Charlie’s joy is contagious. He and his dad spent at least an hour looking for seashells yesterday. Amongst other things, they found numerous sand dollar pieces. Charlie was thrilled. Until yesterday, according to Charlie, he didn’t know what a sand dollar was nor had he ever found one. After yesterday, though, he knew that sand dollars were really flat sea urchins and he’d seen one burrow into the sand. Charlie absolutely loves animals. His family went to the aquarium before arriving at the beach house and he took lots of pictures with his iPod. With true excitement, he showed his pictures to everyone who asked. Charlie knows God created this world and that we should honor, celebrate, and take care of it. Charlie would love to be a zoologist or marine biologist when he grows up. I wholeheartedly support that career aspiration.
Griffin adores his cousins. He and his sister get along well and enjoy each other’s company. But Griffin becomes a different person around his cousins because he loves them so much. Griffin does not like the beach. He doesn’t like being wet and he doesn’t like being dirty, yet he enthusiastically went down to the beach each day so that he could spend time with his cousins. Griffin helped dig huge sand forts, waited patiently until the tide came in to fill the fort, and ventured into the ocean because Jack asked him to. For better or for worse, Griffin is a follower. Even if he’s hesitant or afraid, he will follow his cousins if they ask. As soon as the boys left today, Griffin gave up on the beach. He said, “I don’t like the beach without Jack, Henry, and Charlie.” His statement confirmed what I’ve known all along.
Henry is a hug in human form. He is loving, warm, attentive, and comforting (through his sense of humor), and he makes you feel better just being around him. On Sunday morning, as I was waking up, I heard the kids talking and laughing. Then, in the middle of their pure silliness, I heard Henry say, “Guys! It’s Sunday! We need to sing some hymns!” At that point he started singing the Hallelujah Chorus, led the kids outside, and evidently helped conduct a worship service led by Jack. Jack’s sermon was something like this: “God created everything. And God is everywhere. Amen.” Henry remembered it was the Sabbath and desired to have a moment of worship. How serious the worship was, I don’t know. But I have to believe that God was smiling as five young children sat on a bench at the beach, pretending to be at church, and sang the Hallelujah Chorus as their hymn of choice. Hallelujah indeed.
Amelia sparkles. Her smile radiates happiness and her singing and whistling reflect the same. Amelia likes for everyone to get along and she likes to speak aloud that everything is okay. It’s okay that the flip-flops she’s wearing are black and gray even though her favorite colors are pink and purple, and it’s okay that her swim shirt is a little too small because it still covers her burned shoulders. It’s also okay when a wave hits her in the face and gets water in her hair and eyes. As long as she’s able to stand back up, breathe, and face another wave, that’s what matters. What isn’t okay, though, is for people to be dirty. Amelia demonstrated this beautifully on Saturday afternoon. As my brother played in the sand with the boys, Amelia made it her job to gather water in her bucket. As she was trying to figure out what to do with the water, she said, “I know. I’ll wash Uncle Daniel’s feet.” And she did. She poured a bucket of water on Daniel’s left foot and he cleaned it right off. Then she got another bucket of water and cleaned his right foot. And then she kept going until she’d washed all of the boys, and my, feet. Amelia doesn’t know the significance of washing people’s feet. Yet she humbly and willing set about the futile task of washing feet at the beach. I will never again think of foot washing in the same way.
Jack has no idea how much he means to me, nor does he have a clue that his posture on Saturday spoke to my heart. After battling the ocean with Hen and me and digging in the sand with his dad and the other kids, Jack sat down beside me in order to catch his breath. As we talked, I noticed that he was sitting with his hands on his knees, palms up, in a receiving position. When he asked me a question and looked to me for the answer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that I’ve had the opportunity to love this boy for eleven years. For better or worse, my boys and girl receive from me, and I can only pray that what they receive is the beauty of God’s love.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Fireflies
Summer 1997. Recreation field at camp. Full moon. Cloudy night. “If I wait long enough, then the clouds will eventually part and I’ll see the moon and it’ll be a wonderful life-parallel to how all murkiness in life will dissipate and God will be clearly seen.” Wait. Wait longer. Wait even longer. Clouds never break. Fireflies appear everywhere. Light pops up everywhere. Reminders of God surround me, in places I cannot predict.
May 20, 2013. Yard-scrap pile in my backyard. Sun setting. Cool evening. “If I keep pulling up this creeper then the plants and trees will be able to breathe again—just like we can breathe again when we work to get rid of the sin that separates us from the fullness of God.” Pull. Pull more. Pull even more. Get to a particularly stubborn root. Watch decaying debris and dirt ride into the air on said root that refuses to come out of the ground. Two fireflies glow. Hatching from larva buried in composting earth. Light shows up. A reminder of God surrounding me, in places I cannot predict.
“Fireflies, fireflies
Rays of hope, short feelings of peace
At the right time they come
To carry us through until the day we see the sun”
Wait and pray.
Wait and pray.
God is in our midst.
Wait and pray.
Show up.
Be present.
Hold to all that is.
Wait and pray.
Wait and pray.
God is in our midst.
Wait and pray.
God makes God’s presence known to us in big ways, yes. In moons and weed removal and miracles and more.
But God is with us in the ordinary, too—in all times and all places…in dirt and in fireflies.
May we each be willing to see that, sometimes, God reveals God’s presence in ways we least expect.
May we each see the literal and physical fireflies surrounding us today and in all the days to come.
Amen.
------
Writer's Note: Also, due to light pollution and the rapid decline of naturally damp and wooded habitats, fireflies are disappearing. Please join me in making environmentally wise decisions and caring for God’s beautiful creation.
May 20, 2013. Yard-scrap pile in my backyard. Sun setting. Cool evening. “If I keep pulling up this creeper then the plants and trees will be able to breathe again—just like we can breathe again when we work to get rid of the sin that separates us from the fullness of God.” Pull. Pull more. Pull even more. Get to a particularly stubborn root. Watch decaying debris and dirt ride into the air on said root that refuses to come out of the ground. Two fireflies glow. Hatching from larva buried in composting earth. Light shows up. A reminder of God surrounding me, in places I cannot predict.
“Fireflies, fireflies
Rays of hope, short feelings of peace
At the right time they come
To carry us through until the day we see the sun”
Wait and pray.
Wait and pray.
God is in our midst.
Wait and pray.
Show up.
Be present.
Hold to all that is.
Wait and pray.
Wait and pray.
God is in our midst.
Wait and pray.
God makes God’s presence known to us in big ways, yes. In moons and weed removal and miracles and more.
But God is with us in the ordinary, too—in all times and all places…in dirt and in fireflies.
May we each be willing to see that, sometimes, God reveals God’s presence in ways we least expect.
May we each see the literal and physical fireflies surrounding us today and in all the days to come.
Amen.
------
Writer's Note: Also, due to light pollution and the rapid decline of naturally damp and wooded habitats, fireflies are disappearing. Please join me in making environmentally wise decisions and caring for God’s beautiful creation.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Some Monday Thoughts
When dad said it was time for Bullet to go home tonight, Bullet leapt off the couch, stretched, and turned toward home. Dad walked Bullet home, put him on the porch, and walked back to the house. Before he could get back into the house through the back door, however, Bullet had returned through the garage. Evidently, Bullet didn’t want to stay home tonight. He just wanted to go for a walk.
…
Last Thursday was my brother’s birthday. I was going to write my Thursday note in honor of him and some of the most important things he’s taught me, but I was so tired after last week’s on call that I could barely think. So here are the basics that you need to know:
• Plays in backyard football and basketball are easily made and explained through x’s, o’s, and arrows in the palms of sweaty hands.
• If you have a choice between doing something memorable and life-enriching and studying or working all night, then do the something memorable and life-enriching. Ten years from now, you likely won’t remember the night of studying or working, but you will remember the event. Disclaimer: This doesn’t mean not to study or work at all. Study some. Do whatever work you need to do. But set a limit and live.
• Going to see musicals and plays can be somewhat expensive, yes. But if it’s something you value, then do what you can to make it happen. We all spend money on what we value, and there are much worse things than plays and musicals.
• Most songs can be played with three chords on the guitar. G, C, D. Em is a good one to know, too.
…
I have very little patience with or grace for persons who intentionally and unapologetically take advantage of senior citizens and children--but specifically on my mind today is senior citizens. Companies and businesses that send confusing mail to persons with dementia or make persistent phone calls to persons who are lonely are bad enough, but friends and family members who overstep their bounds do nothing less than disgust me. Good intentions gone wrong are one thing. Investments fail and monetary mistakes happen. Inappropriate behavior apologized for and steps taken toward redemption can be forgiven somewhat easily. Humility goes a long way. But unabashed credit card use in a parent’s name. Repetitive requests for loans. Valuables disappearing after family visits. Gifts taken but rarely given. I cannot fathom the thoughts that motivate these actions. I guess it’s the brokenness of the human condition—the deep-rooted, life-sucking weed of sin that separates us from the mark of honest, selfless love.
…
I got to see a few out of town friends this weekend. In the process, I met three newborn babies, fed one of them, heard one amazing valedictorian speech, learned to pop popcorn, saw Despicable Me, visited brother bears and baby koala at the zoo, had lovely conversations, and walked away with these words of encouragement:
“I admire how you’ve handled life over the past few months and grown from all that’s happened. It seems like your heart could be so heavy—and I know it is heavy sometimes—but you’ve kept going. And you’ve been become a stronger person. And I really admire that. You’re one of my favorite people, [Deanna]. I hope you know that.”
I am so grateful.
…
Last Thursday was my brother’s birthday. I was going to write my Thursday note in honor of him and some of the most important things he’s taught me, but I was so tired after last week’s on call that I could barely think. So here are the basics that you need to know:
• Plays in backyard football and basketball are easily made and explained through x’s, o’s, and arrows in the palms of sweaty hands.
• If you have a choice between doing something memorable and life-enriching and studying or working all night, then do the something memorable and life-enriching. Ten years from now, you likely won’t remember the night of studying or working, but you will remember the event. Disclaimer: This doesn’t mean not to study or work at all. Study some. Do whatever work you need to do. But set a limit and live.
• Going to see musicals and plays can be somewhat expensive, yes. But if it’s something you value, then do what you can to make it happen. We all spend money on what we value, and there are much worse things than plays and musicals.
• Most songs can be played with three chords on the guitar. G, C, D. Em is a good one to know, too.
…
I have very little patience with or grace for persons who intentionally and unapologetically take advantage of senior citizens and children--but specifically on my mind today is senior citizens. Companies and businesses that send confusing mail to persons with dementia or make persistent phone calls to persons who are lonely are bad enough, but friends and family members who overstep their bounds do nothing less than disgust me. Good intentions gone wrong are one thing. Investments fail and monetary mistakes happen. Inappropriate behavior apologized for and steps taken toward redemption can be forgiven somewhat easily. Humility goes a long way. But unabashed credit card use in a parent’s name. Repetitive requests for loans. Valuables disappearing after family visits. Gifts taken but rarely given. I cannot fathom the thoughts that motivate these actions. I guess it’s the brokenness of the human condition—the deep-rooted, life-sucking weed of sin that separates us from the mark of honest, selfless love.
…
I got to see a few out of town friends this weekend. In the process, I met three newborn babies, fed one of them, heard one amazing valedictorian speech, learned to pop popcorn, saw Despicable Me, visited brother bears and baby koala at the zoo, had lovely conversations, and walked away with these words of encouragement:
“I admire how you’ve handled life over the past few months and grown from all that’s happened. It seems like your heart could be so heavy—and I know it is heavy sometimes—but you’ve kept going. And you’ve been become a stronger person. And I really admire that. You’re one of my favorite people, [Deanna]. I hope you know that.”
I am so grateful.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Virginia Creeper
I had a note planned for today. But today is actually now tomorrow because the hours ran out of the day.
It’s the Virginia Creeper’s fault.
No. Actually it’s some rose bushes in my brother’s neighborhood’s fault.
The roses were pretty so my parents and I had a discussion about our rose bush that led me to check on our rose bush and in the process notice a vine that was creeping up trees and all along the ground.
Virginia Creeper.
Convinced it wasn’t poisonous, I attacked the Virginia Creeper after supper tonight.
I pulled vines off of trees.
I pulled vines out of bushes.
I pulled vines out of the ground.
I found the mother vine that had tentacles half way across the yard.
I formed and popped a blister on my hand and I emerged from the three hour attack with at least three scratches on my skin.
And now I’m sore.
I was already sore from scrubbing a kitchen.
But now I’m sorer.
And I wish the Virginia Creeper would creep itself by to Virginia and stay.
Here’s what I learned today, though: It’s best to clean grease and dirt when they first appear rather than letting them build up for years, and it’s best to pull weeds and vines when they first grow rather than letting them grow out of control and suck life out of flowers, plants, bushes, and trees.
I know that neither of these things is profound. But I know that they are true.
Just ask the Virginia Creeper blister on my hand.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
What I've Determined
I got to have lunch with my long-time friend Angela today. She was able to leave school for a few minutes of her teacher workday and eat more chicken with me at Chick-Fil-A.
As we were leaving, I said, “I need to go home and write my note for the day. I guess I’ll write something to honor teachers since it’s Teacher Appreciation Week. I don’t know what I’m going to write, but I’ll figure out something.” Angela said, “I’ll make sure to read.”
Well, Angela, and each of my other friends who teach, this is what I’ve determined:
Your job is extremely important even though policy makers, budget writers, and many people in the general public don’t recognize it as such. Education is the foundation needed for healthy society, and teachers essential to proper education.
Your work is extremely important. How you do your job matters. How you treat your students and the way in which you impart knowledge is both life-forming and purpose-giving. Your work has the power both to build and destroy.
You are extremely important. Independent of your job and work. Independent of your role of teacher, wife/husband, mother/father, daughter/son, friend. Independent of your accomplishments and titles. YOU are important. All of you. Hopes and dreams. Fears and failures. Certainties and uncertainties. Rest and play. You are important. And…
I’m glad you exist.
My guess is that you’ve heard these things before—that you’ve possibly even heard them this week as your schools have sought to appreciate you. But I hope you can hear them now anew and know that they come from a heart full of love and respect for your job, your work, and you.
When you start to doubt your purpose. When the oftentimes ridiculous demands of the job make you want to quit. When you are so tired that you could sleep for days. Remember that student whose life you know you changed for the better. Remember that passion that made you want to teach. Take a day off and rest. Nurture your spirit and soul so that you can be most fully yourself.
And…know that I believe in you and that your job, your work, and your life make a difference.
Thank you.
Always.
As we were leaving, I said, “I need to go home and write my note for the day. I guess I’ll write something to honor teachers since it’s Teacher Appreciation Week. I don’t know what I’m going to write, but I’ll figure out something.” Angela said, “I’ll make sure to read.”
Well, Angela, and each of my other friends who teach, this is what I’ve determined:
Your job is extremely important even though policy makers, budget writers, and many people in the general public don’t recognize it as such. Education is the foundation needed for healthy society, and teachers essential to proper education.
Your work is extremely important. How you do your job matters. How you treat your students and the way in which you impart knowledge is both life-forming and purpose-giving. Your work has the power both to build and destroy.
You are extremely important. Independent of your job and work. Independent of your role of teacher, wife/husband, mother/father, daughter/son, friend. Independent of your accomplishments and titles. YOU are important. All of you. Hopes and dreams. Fears and failures. Certainties and uncertainties. Rest and play. You are important. And…
I’m glad you exist.
My guess is that you’ve heard these things before—that you’ve possibly even heard them this week as your schools have sought to appreciate you. But I hope you can hear them now anew and know that they come from a heart full of love and respect for your job, your work, and you.
When you start to doubt your purpose. When the oftentimes ridiculous demands of the job make you want to quit. When you are so tired that you could sleep for days. Remember that student whose life you know you changed for the better. Remember that passion that made you want to teach. Take a day off and rest. Nurture your spirit and soul so that you can be most fully yourself.
And…know that I believe in you and that your job, your work, and your life make a difference.
Thank you.
Always.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Messed Up Clay
I graduated today.
My first unit of CPE is officially over, and I have emerged with 300 hours of visitation credit, a lot of learning, one new mug, one new bowl, and one new book (amongst other things). It was actually kind of funny as my group met for the final time today. All of the ladies in the group pulled out gifts for everyone. The guy in the group said that he just had smiles and hugs to give…which was perfectly fine, too.
As I was trying to figure out what to write tonight, I thought about my new bowl and pottery and a plate that I once made in the pottery studio. The bowl that I received today is a beautifully thrown bowl. The plate about which I’m speaking was an ugly-ly handmade plate. I didn’t make it ugly on purpose. It just turned out that way.
Yet. What I thought was ugly was seen as beautiful by one of my friends. She was able to see through the cracks and imperfection to see something beautiful…which…of course…is how God sees us and how I hope to see others and how I hope others will see me.
Earlier today, I posted a simple status…Three of my all-time favorite statements to both hear and speak: "I'm glad you exist." "You are important." "I believe in you."
These are the statements that we say when we find beauty in messed up clay.
These are the statements that I heard in CPE as my group found beauty in me.
----------
Messed Up Clay
Messed up clay,
Wedged into a cube,
Forced into the extruder,
Formed into coils.
Messed up clay,
Laid upon a mold,
Smoothed by gentle strokes,
Blended into one creation of many parts.
Messed up clay,
Placed upon the drying rack,
Dried to leather hard,
Baked to set forever.
Messed up clay,
Cracked from the heat,
Worked too little by careless hands,
Hoping to be sealed by a glaze.
Messed up clay,
Dipped into blue,
Swirled over with black,
Left to settle before revisiting the heat.
Messed up clay,
Returned to the fire,
Emerged with deeper cracks,
Destined for permanent imperfection.
Messed up clay,
Wearing ugly colors,
Allowing water to leak through,
Sitting idly on a shelf.
Messed up clay,
Considered worthless by most,
Thought priceless by one,
Embraced out of possibility rather than perfection.
Messed up clay,
Held as treasure,
Believed in by grace,
Containing love much more valuable than bread and water.
Messed up clay,
Messed up life,
Messed up you,
Messed up me.
Messed up clay--
Yet there is beauty!
Beautiful clay.
My first unit of CPE is officially over, and I have emerged with 300 hours of visitation credit, a lot of learning, one new mug, one new bowl, and one new book (amongst other things). It was actually kind of funny as my group met for the final time today. All of the ladies in the group pulled out gifts for everyone. The guy in the group said that he just had smiles and hugs to give…which was perfectly fine, too.
As I was trying to figure out what to write tonight, I thought about my new bowl and pottery and a plate that I once made in the pottery studio. The bowl that I received today is a beautifully thrown bowl. The plate about which I’m speaking was an ugly-ly handmade plate. I didn’t make it ugly on purpose. It just turned out that way.
Yet. What I thought was ugly was seen as beautiful by one of my friends. She was able to see through the cracks and imperfection to see something beautiful…which…of course…is how God sees us and how I hope to see others and how I hope others will see me.
Earlier today, I posted a simple status…Three of my all-time favorite statements to both hear and speak: "I'm glad you exist." "You are important." "I believe in you."
These are the statements that we say when we find beauty in messed up clay.
These are the statements that I heard in CPE as my group found beauty in me.
----------
Messed Up Clay
Messed up clay,
Wedged into a cube,
Forced into the extruder,
Formed into coils.
Messed up clay,
Laid upon a mold,
Smoothed by gentle strokes,
Blended into one creation of many parts.
Messed up clay,
Placed upon the drying rack,
Dried to leather hard,
Baked to set forever.
Messed up clay,
Cracked from the heat,
Worked too little by careless hands,
Hoping to be sealed by a glaze.
Messed up clay,
Dipped into blue,
Swirled over with black,
Left to settle before revisiting the heat.
Messed up clay,
Returned to the fire,
Emerged with deeper cracks,
Destined for permanent imperfection.
Messed up clay,
Wearing ugly colors,
Allowing water to leak through,
Sitting idly on a shelf.
Messed up clay,
Considered worthless by most,
Thought priceless by one,
Embraced out of possibility rather than perfection.
Messed up clay,
Held as treasure,
Believed in by grace,
Containing love much more valuable than bread and water.
Messed up clay,
Messed up life,
Messed up you,
Messed up me.
Messed up clay--
Yet there is beauty!
Beautiful clay.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Waiting
Bullet Williams-Deaton was escorted home last night sometime after 9pm. About an hour later, he had released himself from his porch and returned to scratch on our back door. Knowing that he needed to sleep at his own house, dad told him to go back to the porch, pulled down the blinds, and went to bed. About an hour later, I decided to peek outside to see if Bullet had actually listened. He hadn’t. He was still at the door. Standing.Feeling bad for him, I let him in and told him that I would sleep with him until my dad woke up and took my spot on the couch.
Living into his namesake, Bullet bulleted into the house, picked up his happy toy, and ran straight to the closed bedroom door. He put down his toy and stood at the door wagging his tail, tilting his head side to side, crying, because my dad was in the bedroom without him.
Feeling bad for him, I let him into the bedroom and told him to lie on the floor beside dad’s bed--on his confiscated NC State pillow.
Being the singled-minded dog that he is, though, he began squeaking his toy in his “I am in Daddy Deaton’s presence and therefore ecstatic" manner. Realizing that this wasn’t good for a trying-to-sleep dad, I stole Bullet’s toy and threw it into the den. After playing with him for a few minutes, I convinced him to hop onto the couch with me, but his little fat body remained very tense and his head remained aimed at the bedroom door.
Feeling bad for him, I stopped trying to convince him that he could remain on the couch and receive all the love he desired and instead released him to leap down.
He picked up his toy, ran straight to the closed bedroom door, put down his toy, wagged his tail, stood at the door tilting his head side to side, cried, and waited. He stood there for well over 15 minutes, sniffing and bending his head to listen to my now-woken-up dad talk. He waited. And waited. And waited.
Feeling bad for him, I let him into the bedroom again. This time my dad got out of bed and moved to the couch to sit with Bullet. By the time I went upstairs, Bullet was happily licking my dad’s hand, warmly snuggled up next to the love of his little doggy life.
Bullet’s waiting paid off.
Today, as I watched the noon news, I heard two different reports of the same breaking news story. One station reported one thing. Another station reported another. Neither station waited longer than a few minutes, if even that long, before reporting their information. Both stations were wrong.
Both stations should have waited.
Almost always, except in cases of emergency, waiting pays off.
What are you waiting for today?
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