keep the dream alive

thinking of moving here.

dear friends, if you feel that i have fallen off the face of the earth...

...it is because i have. the dark world of LIT 3125 and the others, complete with their various four-credit work loads, have pulled me away from life and writing as i used to know it. i had to pull out the stops for awhile, but it makes me feel like i'm shriveling up inside. i don't like feeling like a dead plant. so in the name of renewal, here is a list of things i am thinking about this winter and looking forward to in the next several months:

boundary water camping
garrison keillor's writer's almanac on mpr
time to read and therefore write
(since reading often leads to writing)
elsie's home in wentworth 
understanding what the feast of the booths was all about in nehemiah
seattle and the northern beaches
amy's cabin
annual sledding at battle creek with jo and liz
zumba and cycling
channel 2 with the fam
finishing my quilt
walker art museum with celinda
i always get to a point in the summer where i wish it was
christmas and a point in the winter where i wish it was summer.
december 26th and i already want hot indian summer.
- by the way, don't get too lazy to get in your car and run errands
in the winter.
sometimes i am like this.
sometimes i just hate getting out of the car and walking into a store
and then walking back outside and getting back in the car.
don't be like this. even though it's cold.
back to the list -
reading all of bleak house by charles dickens
gaining more wisdom about what peace in Christ looks like
returning my weighted exercise ball for one that doesn't have sand in the bottom
finding the ring and pin that i lost
(i know they're in the car, it's just a matter of squeezing my hand farther into the cracks than a hand should really go)
and coming up with a good new years resolution.

finally, here is a song to cheer you up in case the winter is long and hard. its full of clay men with beards and flannel:

mud slush.

everything is flying away away away away away.

lauren

...misses writing.

breathing space.

One thing I love about my friend Elsie is that every time we pray together, before we begin, she pauses for a long while. I always picture her dialing the Lord's telephone and waiting...waiting... until He answers. During those small seconds, I breathe. And I feel Him filling the room.

I know I don't need a dial tone to hear Him or tell him things; I can just think and He knows. But I like the coming, the consciousness. Willful. Studied.

Fools.

The locale of forests changes with each window,
one eyelid shut signifies a deadness of character.

I wonder what it feels like to be curled up in that eggshell, anywhere
but here. We always sleep and then suffer splinters from wooden sills.

Collecting debris-filled nights to throw out with the garbage has become
a full-grown habit; or rather, we've always piled them in heaps outside the window.

This laying in the dirt never really helped you see the lighthouse
in the shrubbery. The curtain creases are still sewn shut.

The space between the sheets could not grow wider if you yelled at me.
(You saw what I did through the shutters).

We can never rest in this train of a bed that sinks through the floor;
superimposed on the temporal lobe are the trees I stamp out in brain shapes.

The roar of the iron mine can still be heard from the bottom
of the mattress. Apertures in the wall show strings we untied from branches.

Victims of unraveling quilts and alliances rarely make it these days.
The frozen glass panes are cracking from the inside.

when geese attack.

Been learning that margin is very important in life. Like if you get done with class at 3:00pm, and you have a meeting at 3:15pm, but there's a ten minute walk in between...I mean, what if something happens in those five spare minutes? Like what if you get stopped at the corner crossing Snelling for about three rounds of stoplight changes? And what if some geese start crossing the road and everything stops for even longer? And then what if one of those geese starts glaring, weaving, and bobbing it's head in your direction while you stand by yourself on a crosswalk square, and all the drivers in their stopped cars just stare as you walk in a wide arc way off the crosswalk into the middle of the intersection to deliberately avoid the bird pooping on the fifth rectangle?

Anyways, in the words of my RD: "Margin is like toilet paper. You don't just use one piece, because what if you make a mistake?"

No, You Must Still Sit in Gardens

It's always a daunting thing to be glued
to the roads that we walked.
You can make your hands mark the street lines
for four hundred paces, explaining.
Rehearse that road with me, I say from behind this lovely, rusted patina. 
Mesh your hands with the yellow paint.
Explicate, recollect.
We children often bury cars and trains in this
                             deep earth
but are never found in mounds ourselves.
                                          Except for these days.
In this interval, the pines still turn.
In this interval, the cracked wheat of your fingers
is sifting through the picture box,
each armoire and empty dollhouse,
the swing bellies and tire treads.
In this interval, the houseboats, low in the bloated green water,
are still leaving port.
These portraits of where we stood are delicate.

This is not how your tired arms wanted to rest,
cleaning your own spilled milk in the street
and eating with only one lamp on.
My tiny name, still written in the
dust on the coffee table, neighbor to the house fern,
will remain in your mind as the houseboats, stationary and moving - -
silt and tokens in your morning/mourning robe pocket,
preserving and preserving my return
to the root of it all.

I place my hand on this drift.

This scene is what it is: acquainted. 
I rest like old rusty coins at the bottom of that lake,
burrowed into the bottom of a mechanic's jacket,
but that's not who gave it to me.
It's novel and fitting like our professor's leather suitcase
but with the latch unbuckled and flapping as he walks.
I could lay on the back of the couch this afternoon,
feel the back vertebral column synchronize my spine
and be still.
Yesterday, when i sat stroking the skeleton of a fan,
I remembered the pearl cufflink I found on the windowsill,
rare like an owl feather.
O keep us from the flash of the world.
Unbend, unbend, and hinge;
this pleads raw and organic and unconcealed.
A lone bulb wrung from a power line,
shattered under the weight.
But the shards have a pulse.
They're beating on the ground.


Sometimes old things get meshed in

keeping the clock wound.

lewis carroll (alice in wonderland) was a storyteller, an artist, as well as a mathematician, and artists often have a more profound sense of what time is all about than do the scientists. there's a story of a small village (about the size of the village near Crosswicks) where lived an old clockmaker and repairer. when anything was wrong with any of the clocks or watches in the village, he was able to fix them, to get them working properly again. when he died, leaving no children and no apprentice, there was no one left in the village who could fix clocks. soon various clocks and watches began to break down. those which continued to run often lost or gained time, so they were of little use. a clock might strike midnight at three in the afternoon. so many of the villagers abandoned their timepieces.
one day a renowned clockmaker and repairer came through the village, and the people crowded around him and begged him to fix their broken clocks and watches. he spent many hours looking at all the faulty timepieces, and at last he announced that he could repair only those whose owners had kept them wound, because they were the only ones which would be able to remember how to keep time.
so we must daily keep things wound: that is, we must pray when prayer seems dry as dust; we must write when we are physically tired, when our hearts are heavy, when our bodies are in pain.

we may not always be able to make our "clock" run correctly, but at least we can keep it wound so that it will not forget.

- madeleine l'engle

repose.

My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest. Exodus 33:14

the lift away.

so i enrolled in this poetry class for fall semester. first day of class i knew id come home: the professor had little pictures of aesthetically pleasing birds and plants and lanterns all over the syllabus for no reason at all. and she attempted a one-word-per-slide powerpoint, but then explained to the class that she wasn't very technologically advanced and didn't care much for powerpoints anyways (we had only gotten through one slide when this came up). perfect, right?
it's so wonderful, but i'm quickly seeing that this class is bringing me places i did not plan on going and unlocking little safe parts that i didn't plan on unlocking. i thought it would be fairly simple - go to class, read some poems, go to my dorm, write some poems. i would insert some clever and witty diction every so often, and that would be that. but really, things have been coming out that i didn't even know existed down there in the bottom of my mind. i'm loving it and hating it as it's surfacing things that i need to deal with and be honest with myself about, but it's completely engrossing at the same time. i'm discovering a really hardened and compact place that needs to be broken, and that hurts. instead of picking away at the pebble chips on the surface, this class (or more directly, the Lord) has handed me a sledgehammer. i know there will be all sorts of grace and redemption and loving from His side so I can only assume this unsettling and ruffling of my spirit is natural. why would i need grace-love if that perfectly sinful part of me wasn't blasting to the surface, per usual? i think my spiritual poverty is turning from black/white to color very quickly. needless to say, i'm still a bit insecure about what these poems look like, but if anything, it's started the blog-flow again. have missed this a little.

they're here, they're here. toot toot!

i haven't really had much time to blog lately, so hopefully you will be satisfied with my short little blurbs. i just wanted to say that my freshman arrived yesterday, and i could not love them more. 

ps. blog post #100 - does this make me an official blogger?

i love my apartment.

it's still part of the dorms BUT, we now have a dishwasher. and pretty, white slatted closet doors. God is so good to me. also, i am thankful for roommates who love Jesus passionately.

and: they both love tea.

these are the beginnings.

esther.

Isaiah 61:1-2, 8-9

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor,
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;

For I the LORD love justice;
I hate robbery and wrong;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
and I will make an everlasting covenant with them

Their offspring shall be known among the nations,
and their descendants in teh midst of the peoples;
all who see them shall acknowledge them,
that they are an offspring the Lord has blessed.

zombies.

so you may or may not be interested to know that i had a dream closely resembling I Am Legend last night. i've decided that i have the weirdest dreams, and they have gotten so ornate when it comes to plot and content that i need to start writing them down. and this seems like a good place to do it.

this one was only slightly spooky.

so basically, it was winter out...one of those nights when the snow was blowing in sheets across the street, and somehow, in the back of my mind, i knew that everyone in the city was turning into a zombie (this has gotta be from I Am Legend). i was with paul, and we were hurriedly driving to my house to get some of my belongings before even my family turned. it was pretty black out...only the snow and streetlights where white. very monochromatic. anyway, we arrived and i remember dumping the contents of my bathroom drawer into my bag and haphazardly grabbing clothes out of my room - i didn't have much time. i saw my mom on the way out and knew just by looking at her that it was almost too late.

we then drove as fast as we could out of town far out into the country (as that would be the safest, clearly.) we stopped at a wooden, shanty-like bed and breakfast? to sleep, and something seemed fishy there too. there were green cornfields all around and it was dusky outside, quite pretty - but inside, the building had exposed pipes, boring walls, and beige carpet. i had my own room and was about to get ready for bed when a couple random people wandered in all friendly-like. they seemed normal, but i knew they weren't (insert dramatic music here). i ran into the bathroom and dialed paul's phone to call for help. he answered right away and said he was coming.

and then i woke up. because there were tornado sirens outside, on a thursday, at 10am, in perfectly sunny & blue sky weather.

huh.

washington. oregon. northern cali.

can i just express some of my excitement over the west coast road trip that is occurring next summer? this means camping, northern beaches, the woods, mountains, and seattle all at once. i am beside myself.

summer reading list.

i love having time to read. and this summer i have done just that. here's my list:

1. When People Are Big and God is Small - finished
2. Alice I Have Been - currently reading
3. The Sacred Romance - currently reading 
4. Practical Theology for Women 
5. These Strange Ashes
6. Half Broke Horses

would love further recommendations if you have some...

make war.

I hear so many Christians murmuring, murmuring about their imperfections, and their failures, and their addiction, and their shortcomings. And I see so little war! Murmur, murmur, murmur...Why am I this way? Make war! 

Until you believe that life is war - that the stakes are your soul - you will probably just play at Christianity with no bloodearnestness and no vigilance and no passion and no wartime mindset. If that is where you are this morning, your position is very precarious. The enemy has lulled you into sleep or into a peacetime mentality, as if nothing serious is at stake. And God, in his mercy, has you here this morning, and had this sermon appointed to wake you up, and put you on a wartime footing.
- John Piper

The only possible attitude toward out-of-control desire is a declaration of all-out war. There is something about war that sharpens the senses. You hear a twig snap or the rustling of leaves and you are in attack mode. Someone coughs and you are ready to pull the trigger. Even after days of little or no sleep, war keeps us vigilant. - Ed Welch

Stop making peace with ears and eyes and tongues and hands and feet that betray you like Judas.

on the topic of bugs.

Anyone who has ever had a worst fear can relate to this post. I had a little issue last night, but this actually goes back a bit farther than sixteen hours ago. I need to preface the point with an explanation. This is probably the grossest story you'll ever hear. Ready?

When I was fifteen, there was one evening I was in bed, lights off, talking on the phone with a friend. I really don't know how it happened, but the worst possible thing occurred: a live spider crawled into my mouth while I was awake and talking. I kid you not, I threw the phone across the room, starting spewing and spitting and yelling (somehow all together), and practically fell out of bed. I couldn't find it on me or the floor, so I glanced around hurridly, ignoring my friend's questions and exclamations from the dropped phone, and searched for the bug. Nothing materialized. Needless to say, I didn't get back into bed for a good hour and practically tore my room apart until I found the thing. And then Dad killed it.

More of this drama took place a few months ago. I was getting ready to take a shower and a big, black one crawled out of the drain before I even had a chance to get in. No one else was home, so there I stood, with a hairbrush in hand and wrapped in a towel, eyeing the spider and taunting it with my weapon. But I couldn't even bring myself to kill it. I didn't want to leave the room for fear it would crawl out of the tub unseen and haunt me in some other portion of the house. So there I stood, trapped in the bathroom and owned by a spider the size of a quarter. This is tragic, I know.

Last night, while in bed, I felt the sensation of a bug on my leg. I flew out of bed, whipped the covers back, and searched my sheets. Nothing. A corner of my mind became a bit seized with the thought of crawling back into bed with a spider, and I was tempted to camp out with a fly swatter in the middle of the floor instead. But then a little thought intervened.

I've been reading the book When People Are Big and God is Small by Edward Welch. The section that popped into my head was from Chapter 3:

"What is the result of this people-idolatry? As in all idolatry, the idol we choose to worship soon owns us. The object we fear overcomes us. Although insignificant in itself, the idol becomes huge and rules us. It tells us how to think, what to feel, and how to act."

I realized right then that while I wasn't idolizing spiders, I was allowing the fear of them to control me. The realization actually made me a little angry at myself for being so stupid, so I yanked off the light and climbed back into bed in a huff.

"How silly you are Lauren, letting a spider own you," I thought.

I felt quite empowered and liberated actually. And I think that I am the better now for it - both people-wise and spider-wise. It occurred to me that there's a whole new realm of things you can do if you're fearing only God instead of man and the dark. I hope that if nothing else, my transparency will help you feel like you're not the only one.

take it easy.

I've been feeling a little under the weather lately, and I can't even tell you how wonderful it has been to just sleep and sleep and sleep. Really, I've been in bed about 50% of my normal awake time. Then I saw this post that that pretty Shasta girl put up and I had to share this nook picture with you too. I could just stay here forever I think.

false coloring.

Ah Streams in the Desert never disappoints. Do read it:  

"This is the rest wherewith ye may cause the weary to rest; and this is the refreshing." (Isa. 28:12)

Why dost thou worry thyself? What use can thy fretting serve? Thou art on board a vessel which thou couldst not steer even if the great Captain put thee at the helm, of which thou couldst not so much as reef a sail, yet thou worriest as if thou wert captain and helmsman. Oh, be quiet; God is Master!

Dost thou think that all this din and hurly-burly that is abroad betokens that God has left His throne?

No, man, His coursers rush furiously on, and His chariot is the storm; but there is a bit between their jaws, and He holds the reins, and guides them as He wills! Jehovah is Master yet; believe it; peace be unto thee! be not afraid - C.H. Spurgeon

"Tonight, my soul, be still and sleep;
The storms are raging on God's deep -
God's deep, not thine; be still and sleep.

Tonight, my soul, be still and sleep;
God's hands shall still the temter's sweep -
God's hands, not thine; be still and sleep.

Tonight, my soul, be still and sleep;
God's love is strong while night hours creep -
God's love, not thine; be still and sleep.

Tonight, my soul, be still and sleep;
God's heaven will comfort those who weep -
God's heaven, not thine; be still and sleep." 

I entreat you, give no place to despondency. This is a dangerous temptation - a refined, not a gross temptation of the adversary. Melancholy contracts and withers the heart, and renders it unfit to receive the impressions of grace. It magnifies and gives a false coloring to objects, and thus renders your burdens too heavy to bear. God's designs regarding you, and His methods of bringing about these designs, are infinitely wise. - Madame Guyon

miscalculated.

But I see the door
and knew the wall, and wanted the wood
and would get there if I could
with my feet and hands and mind.
Robert Creeley

prime.

there was a thunderstorm on tuesday night. the first of the summer. my family always gathers in the living room to watch the lightning out the big picture window and the big trees in the field outside rush back and forth...always an event in this household.

but right now its clear out and i can hear the sprinkler outside my open window, slowly and comfortingly ticking around. mom's cooking dinner in the kitchen: wild rice soup with fresh baked bread to be exact. it's sort of twilight out...still a blue sky, but creeping with pink and a darker color stretching toward the far corner of my window. i can see a few stars. i'm perfectly comfortable, under my duvet and propped up with two white pillows. i have a jar of tea next to me and the fan is whirring loudly. its warm. i think i could fall asleep in four seconds if i let myself.

the last five days have been solely filled with:

reading
(i think i've been to the library about four times now, i just can't get enough).
running around colby lake with jojo and amy.
working on the quilt that grandma and i started last summer.
exploring linden hills and the little bread shop with my mom.
naps on the couch in the addition with the sun in patches on the carpet.
hikes in afton state park (one of mom's belated mother's day presents). 
work at gap and the alpha center (those hours are indispensable).
the grand ole creamery and walks down summit ave. with the fam.
lolling around in the sun
(accompanied by the current/classical MPR and spf 15 of course).
 lots and lots of unpacking. but it's been good...i like sorting myself out in that way, both metaphorically and physically.

yesterday, ames and i went to trader joes and picked up some dried apricots, chevre with honey fresh goat cheese, and iced mint green tea: we could not have been happier. also, i found a little sock monkey key chain for my keys at a little shop down by lake of the isles, and he is named clive (this is monumental because i've been searching for one of these for quite a while now).

it's been the best of summer days, really.

1.

the shingles are flying off the roof
in one line like a road you have to walk.
please don’t scratch your hair
until that section of your mind underneath disappears.
stop pouring your tea into air vents
and the potholes in the street.
you have a jar of cold water
and a bag full of cranberries, exactly twenty-one.
i’ve tied names like Astrid and Ingrid
with twine to my steering wheel;
and really, there’s only a year and a thousand miles
between all our wooden chairs and yours.
i wouldn’t worry.

finally rest.

As soon as we set up camp on Friday night, it rained. It was so peaceful, lying amidst fifteen blankets and pillows while listening to the rain. It only lasted about an hour, and then we all took off for the riverbank. We may or may not have ran through the mud and rapelled the cliff faces while the after-rain fog rolled in. You'll have to decide. But if we didn't, that would be a pretty glorious thing to do. 

corner of lincoln.

Before my grandpa died, he used to always tell my mom, in great detail, about his mall walks. It's actually quite a spectacle if you go on a Saturday morning. Elderly men and women of all speeds and sizes cruise around the outer perimeter of the mall as a source of exercise and often do so simply to escape the feelings of loneliness that can commonly plague them.  My grandpa would explain to my mother how, as he walked, people would hardly look at him. Especially the younger people. He explained how he felt invisible. Like he had passed through time, and now no one cared. Only the mannequins in the store windows really saw him. He was just a shadow moving along the inner walls.

On the corner of Lincoln and Lydia, adjacent to our dorm building, is a retirement home for the elderly. Every now and then, I see one particular older man haltingly push his walker toward that corner and take a seat on the small shelf hooked to the front of his apparatus. I've seen him sitting there for hours at a time before. I'll drive to class and then drive back after, and he'll still be there. He sits kind of crouched down, elbows resting on the arms of his walker and his wrinkled hands clasped in front. His beige golf cap is always a bit tipped down over an incredibly creased face, and his neck seems to be sinking into the rest of his body.

I wonder what he thinks about - watching the traffic zoom by and observing a barrage of college students tromp across the crosswalk everyday. I wonder if it makes him remember when he was young. I wonder if he's lonely. Or if he has a family who visits him. Or if he went to war when he was twenty-three or fell in love at a gas station. I wonder if he is forgotten. Maybe he counts his cheerios out everyday, exactly nineteen. Maybe he lives for TV dinners and the six o'clock news and his walks to the corner. I wonder if he feels like a shadow.

As I pulled up to the stop sign, before I even knew what I was doing, I found myself waving and smiling at him. Almost immediately, a smile spread to his furrowed face, and he haltingly pulled a shaking hand out of his teal windbreaker and raised it to wave back. I saw him in my rearview mirror as I drove away, still grinning and holding his quivering hand in the air.

It's curious that Roseville would place a retirement home on one side of the street and a college dorm on the other. Like two bookends. We prologue and they epilogue. The rest in between is still missing.

Well, I hope he knows that he was recognized today, that he wasn't overlooked or disregarded. I can't stop thinking about him.

northward.

All my life, I have grown up camping. I think it's actually in my genetics. For my parent's honeymoon, they went camping in Grand Teton and Yellowstone national park - for like a week. That's how much they love it. The next two years in a row they backpacked in the Rockies at up to 14,000 feet. They've been all over the States and Canada, in every condition, and have just three years ago graduated from tenting to a camper (it was a difficult, but necessary decision). They have such a love for the wild and the north and adventure - I can't help but feel it's in my blood.

My first encounter camping was at the tender age of four, and I still can remember bunching my shorts up, stepping out onto the rocks at the north shore of Lake Superior in northern MN and trying not to slip off into the water. I remember sitting in the middle of the canoe with my dog when I was ten as my parents paddled on either side and watching Addie jump out into the river after a squirrel she saw on shore (Don't worry, my dad caught her leash before she permanently floated away). We would canoe through passages of water chock full of waterlilies and surrounded on all sides by tall pine trees. I remember feeling like it was a complete other world, so different from my suburban existence back home.  

Mornings were always coffee and maple cinnamon oatmeal, and I always took great satisfaction in the fact that I could just throw my bowl and spoon into the fire after I finished eating and watch the paper shrivel to nothingness in the heat. No garbage takeout necessary. Showering was usually very low key and occasionally consisted of washing in mildly chilly lakes with biodegradable soap and shampoo. If you've never experienced getting clean in the middle of the wilderness, please put it on your bucket list. I remember riding our bikes everywhere. During the day, we would often go biking on the dirt roads by the fields or to go get ice cream in town where we would usually end up perusing the little shops on the main street for hours. In the evening, we would go up to the main lodge and buy ice and firewood for dinner-making...after a full day outdoors, fire-roasted food always tasted twice as delicious to my tuckered out, sun-baked self. I remember being entirely encased from head to toe in my sleeping bag on chilly nights, covered in plaid blankets and completely relaxed as crickets chirped next to our teal, nylon tent.

I really have countless memories of sitting at picnic tables in the woods, falling asleep to loons, and simply being in the middle of no where. My heart is scattered across each of these places, each mountain, dock, forest, and secret place we children explored. These are places where my family experienced every kind of emotion, every type of conversation. It is so much a part of how I grew up that I really can't separate it from who I am. They've constituted my summers for as long as I can remember.

Anyways, all of this preface is to help express how excited I am for this weekend and how much I look forward to experiencing the north in this way with eight of the dearest of friends.

$30 wiser.

After watching a poignant recording of a conference detailing how to properly and shrewdly handle money, I have decided that I have not been wise in how I've been handling my money, and I want to make a great effort to change these habits. This will done by:
1) Keeping a check register. Everything I buy with my Visa will be written down.
2) Only one coffee a week. Not only is a constant consumption of
    caffeine unhealthy, but $2 every other day adds up quickly.
    That's like $15-$30 a month...just on coffee.

If you see me around, feel free to hold me accountable to this challenge. I am determined.

inkstone came out today.

i haven't been writing much of my own stuff as of late, but i keep coming across all of these beautiful pieces from others. my brain has just been so empty lately; maybe i'm stocking up, and one day all the pent up deliberations will unstack themselves and pour out into blogpost after blogpost. please be patient with my uncreative absence.

yet another feature from one of my favorite poets: my dear friend brianna tongen.

two mornings

morning #1
i wake and it is before dawn or deep winter.
the coffee-timer blinks at 6:12am.
card table, calendar, woolly gray sweater.
if i am alone in this apartment, then i am
alone on this earth.
i want to ask you if we dreamed of each other last night. lightly
gliding the night bridge of continents.
leaving the stairwell, it is still minnesota.
christ, no one wants this to work more than me.


this day in german is called geschichte. 
in hebrew, tanakh.
                          or at least the part with the tower of babel.
the land splits apart as their voices.


morning #2
i wake and it is still winter.
i was dreaming of a toddler. her older siblings stuck a porcupine's
quill into her ear, daring her to keep it there for one minute.
they forgot about it, even though she cried.
in my dream,
she died on the bench of a diner. forty minutes later.
                             do you ever shake your head to knock things out?
                             like a loose bolt in the body of a music box?
i have poured the promise land into my coffee
this morning, i say a prayer of no toddlers dying
ever.
                           every day, the winter gets married.
                           and she slopes her bridal gown over my retaining wall.
it is happening as i am writing it down.


the freezing telephone poles will be the first to tell you
how it feels to die and stand upright forever.


do you ever shake your head to knock things out and realize
you have only knocked them deeper?

the camera.

by Anis Mojgani

The camera could erase all memories the people in front of it shared of one another. The young man in the dark uniform smiled at the young girl beside him.

“Now I won’t have to remember the time we were in the car and I told you I still loved you and you sighed in exasperation. And you wont have to think of the ones before you or of the pictures you found. And we can just ride bicycles to the park. Wipe the crumbs off each others cheeks and lean upon each other without worry of sleep or love or leaving.”

She smiled and nodded, touched his arm.
 The photographer started reading a magazine. The girl suddenly looked perplexed.

“But remember when you taught me to whistle? And the time you came home to your new house and I had already decorated it for you? The basket of stones, the hanging metal airplane? The wooden cowboy painting? Remember when you came to Christmas at my mother’s and while she and my aunt slept down the hall you kissed me for the first time in front of the TV? How we started talking out in the car in that empty bus station parking lot?”

The photographer looked up from his article, "I remember. But remember when you left my place only to sit on the curb around the corner bawling? Remember the ache, the empty?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
He pulled his ear. “Remember the birthday party you threw me? And how you were the one girl that finally got me on a roller coaster?” She laughed. Then stopped.

“Remember when you came over only to end up fighting with one another and afterward we lay next to one another all night like yardsticks and decided to stop seeing each other?”

“Yes but remember how we both felt like such crap the next day over how unhappy we suddenly were that we decided that was silly and got back together?” She paused. “Remember Hawaii?” He smiled. And looked up. She brushed something from his brow. The sun crept through the window. The photographer decided to put some coffee on.

“The winter we first met was so cold. I had no heat, hardly any furniture. You sat next to me on that old, fold-out couch, under blankets you gave to me.” He paused. And continued.
“We would sit there, you would touch my arm, carefully. You thought I was sleeping. I never was. I was always waiting for it to happen. I dont want to forget that.”

He didn't want to cry in front of her, so he put his chin down. She put her arm around him and said, “Rub my hands. Pretend we are sitting on that curb right now, and I can’t get warm. You remember how to do that right?”

He nodded and pulled her close in the photo studio. She sighed. While the two of them sat there, the photographer went to get some milk. The man moved his fingers over the back of the girl's hand, moving them across it like drunken dragonflies, slow dancing with the stillness. The girl curled against him, head to neck, like a dream and a child, and fell asleep like that.

The photographer returned, took a sip from his cup, and turned the page. This always happened.

[edited]

raison d'être.

"you know what's a really pretty expression?" he said, "'raison d'être. it means reason for being. isn't that great? God es mi raison d'être."

"that is beautiful. who told you that?"

"i read it in a book. a little boy says it about the things that he loves." 

"how wonderful," she answered.

"yeah. that's all. i just wanted to share that with you."

there were streetlights in the pond last night.

and the conclusion of the trio.

after an entire week consumed with physiological psychology, i must just say that i am now....free. it was a dramatic and sluggish and somewhat unsatisfying last few days

so was this.

i got the smoked ham for lunch today
          which i would never normally do,
                    and bent my fork trying to cut it. but it was good.
i had to make a really big decision today
          so i went into a little room where they store tables and chairs,
and prayed. then i received peace.
i set two alarms this morning for 6,
          slept straight through both of them,
                    and woke up on my own at about 7. wasn't even late.
sometimes i think im a little crazy with things.
          look at me, making a pattern here as i write my doings.
oh well, its satisfying my want for order.
apparently, dark chocolate has moved up,
          the food pyramid fully supports it
                    and claims it has as many antioxidants as dark vegetables.
i can't lie, i'm extremely pleased with this news
          dark chocolate is probably close to my favorite food.
just thought id take more lines to gush about that.

this was written in january.

didn't make the original cut and has been cleverly hiding in my drafts for a while. 

today was a beautiful and horrible day.
moods really can change you're whole outlook on life. so can people. i must say, earthly bodies are so frustrating sometimes. well yeah so it's been one of those days...lovely in many ways but filled with time constraints, difficult conversations, overheated coffeeshops (we were sweating...my jeans were literally sticking to my legs), previous engagements, persistent dispositions, and a general discontentment.

but as i was walking down to maranatha to set the stage for Working, the Lord had some words for me. the woods were empty and beautiful to my left, and the sky was coherent and simple. 

"See my creation?" the Lord was saying, "Don't let the things of this world affect how you conduct yourself or how you love life."

and that's all He said. 
it felt like the pent-up, tension sort that i had been all day was melting into the sidewalk as i walked.

fire pages.

i will read ashes for you, if you ask me.
i will look on the fire and tell you from the gray lashes
and out of the red and black tongues and stripes,
i will tell how fire comes
and how fire runs far as the sea.

[carl sandburg]

all i can see is the green and the streetlights.

you smell like last year.

lustvanity.

This is legit. 

In my worldviews class today, my professor revealed the most profound facet of immorality to me. At the beginning of the hour, he passed out blue sheets for the men and pink sheets for the women which stated:

The greatest sin that men struggle with is: _____________________
The greatest sin that women struggle with is: _____________________

We handed them all back in anonymously and he read each paper off out loud to the class. We all decided on a generalized, median word for each group. The tally stood:

Men  => (according to) Men: lust
Men => Women: lust
Women => Women: vanity 
Women => Men: ? 

Without a doubt, most everyone wrote down some sort of sexual sin or lust for men. Women for women wrote down all different forms of vanity: gossip, comparison, slander (which is really to put someone down in order to bring yourself up), and skewed visions of body image. Men for women stated an entire range of sins...everything from honesty to lust to contempt to being catty. The class decided to state that it was pretty clear that men have a hard time pinpointing a specific sin on the female gender.

We discussed the logistics of the results...the professor kept the discussion open-ended about why it is commonly assumed that men struggle with lust and it is a bit harder to understand what women struggle with. He wasn't by any means saying that men are more sinful than women, simply that it was puzzling why men's most common sin is blatantly blown up before the church and women's most common sin is not. 

And then there was the disclosure that absolutely floored me. Somehow it had just been a disconnect in my mind:

Neither of these two deeds was originally created to be a sin...

Lust and vanity are deformed, immoral versions of two beautiful characteristics that are mainstays for marriage.

You see, within the context of marriage, the desire for sex and a need to take care of yourself & try to look your best is essential. The Lord made us that way. Without a man pursuing this kind of intimacy and without a woman taking delight that her beauty is being pursued, these weighty ingredients of marriage would be obsolete and possibly cause much harm. We weren't created for for lust and vanity. We were created for the original atlas of marriage that the Lord laid out. Love instead of lust, humility instead of vanity. It's as if these glorious images were stenciled, punched out, and xeroxed into grotesque and disfigured shapes. And we've gone so far as to assume that these clashing elements are similar to each other. Love is not lust...they cannot compare.

It would make sense that Satan would want to take these amazing notions and twist them into ugly, tangled things.

meddling.

You may move the hands of a clock to suit you, but you do not change the time. You can open a rosebud before its ready, but you'll ruin the flower. Leave all to Him. Hands down. Thy will, not mine.

Stop poking at things. 

[to yourself]

Have you died yet today?

mumford & sons.

Current favorite: If you haven't already...check them out.

bad day at work.

today was the day when the angry customer decided to take out her bad day on the cashier girl.

two beautiful works.

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near.
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose.
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing.
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

                      e. e. cummings

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i didn't know it meant so much.

after being in the san juan, puerto rico airport for five hours, i think i love minneapolis more then any city in the world. mostly because it's mine. and especially because it's familiar i think.

our tickets to board the sun country plane said we were to board at gate 27. after about two hours of waiting, milling about, sitting on the floor, various bathroom breaks, changing clothes in preparation for minnesota cold, reading, and sleeping, a voice came over the loudspeaker and announced something indistinguishable.

"What did he say?" we all asked, looking to a group of women sitting next to us on the floor.
One woman shrugged. "I don't know, I think something about moving to gate 26."

confused, we gathered our things and moved toward gate 26 across a hall and in the next room. as soon as we rounded the corner, we could see the orange and blue sun country symbol on a plane outside gate 28. so where to now?
my dad attempted to talk with a man at the desk (the only employee anywhere in sight), but he mainly answered our english questions in spanish. when he did announce things over the intercom in english, bless his heart but he had a lisp and we could not understand anything he was saying. it was ridiculous. (i can say this because i was a lisper myself as a child)

a few hours later, we got on a plane.
another hour later, we took off.
then we flew six hours. 

when we arrived in the cities at 10 PM, i couldn't have been happier. or felt more at peace when we walked off the plane into a nearly vacant airport. when we were wheeling our bags through the skyway i felt like hugging the stranger walking towards me, simply because he was from minnesota. when we walked out the automatic doors in the parking ramp, the air smelled cold and sweet instead of muggy. things were motionless at last. when we were driving in the taxi, all i could do was stare out the window at the city lights and the straight streets and the clean driving and feel like i was home.

that's why i hold.

and after the storm,
i run and run as the rains come
and i look up on my knees and out of luck,
i look up.

night has always pushed up day
but i won't rot, not this mind and not this heart.

nautical.

sailing.
return date: to be determined.

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midmorning march 2

there is much. 

going home with elsie to her place up north in duluth
over spring break, and i couldn't be more excited.
she is such a sweet spirit and my ARD for next year,
so why wouldn't i want to spent gobs of time with her?
wutke has decided she wants to be
an au pair in england this summer. or ireland maybe.
and she actually applied, so i guess i better grab my suitcase
and pack some antique things, fancy lip balms,
and white, down bedding.
this week, physiological psychology is kicking my butt. 
work is picking up. everyone and their brother
has a comp 2 paper to go over. which i don't mind,
i actually like editing.
getting into planning our room for next year.
my future roomie amy and i have been
documenting window curtains, shower curtains, and wall art.
speaking of amy,
she's really sick right now.
she threw up 4 times and then passed out in her
bathtub. you should pray for her,
even if you don't know her. thanks.
i only get sick for one evening at a time;
i get a fever, sore throat, tender nodes,
the whole shebang,
and then i'm better by morning.
i have an extremely resilient body i think.
feeling very inclined to start my lit & writing major soon.
having to wait until next semester though.
news flash: i only have four more classes
and i officially have completed my psychology degree.
been very monotonous in my coffee choices lately
and would love some new suggestions.
im needing to revamp my habits.
the Lord has been intricately weaving occurences
together for me lately. it's actually been really unorthodox.
five days until we fly out. feeling a bit caged
and can't wait much longer.
nina stated yesterday: "i wonder where all the lost things go."
this is quite the thought, that i think requires it's own post. 
have been contemplating that perhaps every
negative response has a corresponding
reason or wound from the past.
like how you really hate being interrupted,
or how being ignored, even a little,
immediately brings you to tears.
maybe i'm just getting carried away with
psychoanalyzing people who are close to me,
but i think this might be legit.
alright, enough of these short, fragmented sentences;
things are beginning to overlap.
all my love, lo.

contours.

take a step and come out of the shade,
i can tell you're no longer afraid.

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i never thought about it like this before.

this is an excerpt from David Batstone's book 
Not for Sale: The Return of the Global Slave Trade - and How We Can Fight It: 

We have arrived at a momentous stage in the struggle for human freedom. The curtain has gone up, and the future waits for what unfolds. 

All of us wonder how we would have acted in the epic struggles of human history. Would we have stood up and been counted among the courageous and the just?

How would we have responded in 1942 when Nazi soldiers came to our door in pursuit of our Jewish neighbors? Would we have been the collaborator who reveals to the soldiers where the Jews on our block might be found? Or would we have played the role of the spectator who pleads ignorance, minding our own business and watching the drama unfold from our front room window? Or might we have dared to act as an advocate, giving our neighbors shelter in our attic or helping them escape across the border? 

Would we have stood up and been counted among the just? 

esther - by esterlyn

University Avenue in Minneapolis is the most widely prostituted street per capita in the whole nation.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation identified Minneapolis as one of 13 cities with a high concentration of criminal enterprises promoting juvenile commercial sexual exploitation. 






the paint's peeling off the streets again
and i drive and i close my eyes
and i feel nothing, not brave
it's a hard day for breathing again. 

but there is hope in the Lord.  

bushed.

i would give my left arm to take a nap right now.
and sleep for a day straight.

blessed are those who mourn.

Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort
than be comforted, to understand than to be
understood; to love than to be loved; for it is by
forgetting self that one finds; it is by forgiving that
one is forgiven; it is by dying that one awakens
to eternal life.


- St. Francis of Assisi 

When all seems fairly lost and you are lower in spirit than ever before, invest in others...and your light will rise in the darkness [Isaiah 58:7-11].

forget [fer'get] verb - trans: fail to remember.

i bought a $1 mini grow-your-own flower pot kit of forget-me-nots a couple weeks ago. it came with this little pattie of soil that magically grows when you pour a couple tablespoons of water in the pot...it seriously was fascinating to watch. brie and i just stared at it for like three minutes straight as the dirt bubbled and expanded. anyways, so the directions said to put a maximum of ten seeds in the soil (i think this is because the roots would get tangled if there are any more than that)...but, since i had a great lack of faith in my flower growing abilities, i dumped probably close to twenty in.

i think this may have been a poor decision.
with great joy, i awoke yesterday morning to find fifteen little sprouts reaching towards the window. they were so fresh and green, i made brie get off the couch and come look. i was so proud.

good news: they look healthy. bad news: i hope they don't all kill each other as they take over the pot.
i'm going to need a babysitter for this plant over break (march 4-14) to mediate any possible quarreling, any takers?

i think this is a rare cactus plant that i'm in.

so i am currently sitting in a plant trying to type a ten page paper on male vs. female aggression for my psychology of gender class. i'm not actually in the plant, but basically it's the closest i can get to an outlet to plug in my computer...so i have fronds in my face. i and both my amys are currently at the spyhouse coffeeshop which is just about the coolest place i've ever been in downtown minneapolis. we moved from the window seats to a large table since it was closer to the outlet...but even so, i had to ask a random man sitting in the living room area to plug in my charger under the small coffee table. he was like (in his mind but it was written all over his face), "you're weird, but okay, i'll uncomfortably bend over and plug in your cord under this table."

i wish i could draw you all a diagram to show you how awkwardly i am sitting right now.

but seriously, go visit this place...i got like three whole pages typed here. background noise helps me concentrate though...here i'll stick a picture in: see that table to the right? and the plant right beside it? yeah thats the one i was in...although i think it's grown since that picture was taken. it was getting very jungle.

put to sea.

okay so this isn't anything terribly deep or weighty, but i just got this picture of a ship stuck in my mind the other day when i was thinking of my life. ha that's a bit trite.
i think this is a very normal reflection.

i have like three really important decisions that i find out about soon and will basically change the direction of my life a bit. i've been waiting on the Lord and putting my hope in Him, but that doesn't change the fact that when "it" doesn't go quite the way I planned, things get a little sticky.

hence, my brainpicture of the ship.

when you are sailing straight forward, it's easy. you have momentum, you can plan ahead, everything is unwrinkled and effortless. but when you need to change direction (or the Lord decides that your life needs to change direction), it takes A LOT of effort to turn the obstinate wheel. it takes much strength, it's usually hard, you strain and sweat and muscles shake. but once you have turned and have begun the new course, the sailing is smooth.

the turning will probably be hard. it'll probably hurt a little.
i'm a stubborn wheel.

but i believe the Lord's guidance...and that I'll end up where He wants me when it's done if i turn when He tells me to.

cool, lets do this.

come away.

"Come out from among them

and be seperate, says the Lord."

2 Corinthians 6:17

My beloved, you do not need to make your path, for I go before you. Yes, I will engineer circumstances on your behalf. I am your husband; I will protect you, care for you, and make full provision for you.
I know your need, and I am concerned for you: for your peace, for your health, for your strength. I cannot use a tired body, and you need to take time to renew your energies, both spiritual and physical. I am the God of battle, but I am also the One who said, "Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength" (Isaiah 40:31).
I will teach you, as I taught Moses on the back side of the desert, and as I taught Paul in Arabia. In the same way, I will teach you, and it will be a constructive period, not in any sense wasted time. Like the summer course to the schoolteacher, it is vital to you in order to become fully qualified for your ministry.
There is no virtue in activity in and of itself - nor in inactivity. I minister to you in solitude that you may minister Me to others as a spontaneous overflow of our communion. Never labor to serve, nor force opportunities. Set your heart to be at peace and to sit at My feet. Learn to be ready but not to be anxious. Learn to say "no" to human demands and to say "yes" to the call of the Spirit. These may sometimes be at variance. Do not be distressed by the misunderstanding of people. Let Me take care of them Myself. They too must learn this same important lesson, and you can help them by setting the example; but if you try to please them by answering every demand, you will both fall into the same snare.
I am a jealous God, and I am always at peace with Myself. I would have you also to be at peace with My Spirit within you. As you give Me My rightful place and do not allow others to intrude, you will be at peace with Me. Be very serious in this. I am not speaking to you lightly. I was never more earnest in any message I have brought to you. Do not fail Me. I have brought you this message at various times in the past. It was never more urgent then now.
For people are experienceing a new awakening, and they are searching for My Truth more than ever. I must speak through My prophets; and if they are not set apart for Me, how can I instruct them? Yes, I will nourish you by the brook as I nourished Elijah; and I will speak to you out of the bush as I spoke to Moses and reveal My glory on the hillside as I did to the shepherds.
Come away, My beloved; be like the doe on the mountains; and we will go down together to the gardens.

[frances roberts]

betel.

i miss our betel kids.

every monday night, a bunch of us would go down to the park in the neighborhood adjacent to the betel spanish church in downtown saint paul and spend some time romping around the playground and open field with the kids. they are so beautiful and so curious about this 'Jesus.' i can't wait until next summer.

 

diego reading his new bible

jaelyn, aezhi, and i...watching the girls 'cheerlead'

calia and jaelyn