Sunday, June 10, 2018

What You Do for Me, June 3 2018

I left just in time. The drive was very smooth, though I was in strange headspaces a few times: out of it, or dreaming, or suddenly hyper-aware and sweaty. But I drove well.

I took the Merritt Parkway. At one point the surging trees, tousled by the wind, looked like seaweed rolling underwater.
It was a beautiful, Princess Mononoke-esque sensation.

I saw a dead deer that look for a second like a tiger, the cuts in its flesh were so dark against its golden brown hide. I saw a wild turkey stalking in the grass by the road, and mistook it momentarily for a vulture. I saw a dead little rabbit and thought it looked like a fennec fox.

Don't let me mistake You.
I am amazed, God, at what You do for me. The walls are coming down. Thank You for giving me what I needed, including faith and peace. And so very few regrets. Because of Your grace. And because I am choosing again to live in love.


Festooned with Flowers, June 2 2018

I am in a home
I am in a room that glows
festooned with flowers

I am in a room
I am in a bridal bed
festooned with flowers


Another Plentid Day, May 23 2018

I am content.
This is a good day to be alive, and growing, and hearing Your voice. Keep speaking to me. Give me love. Give me wisdom and self-control.

I finally went back to prayer meeting this morning, and walked afterward. I wrote cards for all the transitioning YA Advisors. I cried over my salad of tender greens from the garden (spinach, red lettuce, chard, basil and parsley, sharp garlicky Welsh cheddar and black olives). I used the rest of the peel-off mask, and read Sayers. I talked with A, and briefly with C - it's a boy!

I went to the Rs, where I had dessert and enjoyed a slideshow, and talked for a long while afterward. 

The Maples Could Make You Cry, May 7 2018

The maples could make you cry. I'm serious. I've been struck with the pain of beauty so many times in the last couple of days, while driving. Want so much to stop and absorb it. To paint it, bathe in it, inhale it, eat it. You probably have to feel it from inside a tree. Up in the branches, at least. Feeling it sway and watching the whole, tented, verdant leaves scintillate in the sunshine.

Leaves at this time of year are amazing. They're pristine, nourished, pungent. Their youthful translucence is deepening into something rich and virile.
I'm using all these words because I haven't found the right one. And because this is all about profusion, fecundity, extravagance.
Juice. Verve. Drive. 

The Moon, April 24 2018

The moon on the drive back was so perfect, big, bright, utterly distracting.
Made you want to pull over, get out of the car, and pursue it across the fields. 

Poetry, April 25 2018

Words and rhythms, poetry, have crawled into me. Now I want to read poetry in the park, on a checkered tablecloth. I want to see my friends silent, picking at grass, sun on their arms and hair. And to be silent, and pick at grass, and hear their voices.

I miss that. Five years ago we read poetry on the quad day after day after day. And it wasn't my idea, but I was the most faithful.

I've let myself drift away. Keep on loving, let yourself be known. 

Do Not Awaken, April 24 2018

I feel disinclined to make drama.
Funny to feel that I might be too old and boring, for once. Not for once. I meant in this circumstance. I'm really, really glad that I can let You put me to sleep, and open my eyes to what (and who) You want: I want to want what You want.

I want You. I feel like journalling a prayer for him here, but I also feel like that would be superstitious and juvenile. And I'm tired. So goodnight. 

Perfume Everything, April 20 2018

Jesus, permeate my room. Perfume everything. I want You to reek in every picture, pencil, sweater, book. I want everything I have to declare You as Lord. Everything to have something real, wholly thingy, and unmistakably devoted about it. Let nothing be out of place. Let everything be holy. If I can give it all away, piecemeal, let it carry You like seeds on the wind. Keep declaring Your lordship over all of creation.

It felt so good to crouch barefoot in the cold, damp earth this morning. It WAS cold. My toes went numb. And the wind was raw, but the sun (when it appeared) was ameliorating. I planted cilantro, red lettuce, and chard. Next to the basil. It was a really remarkably good day. 

Raise Lazarus, April 18 2018

How do you acknowledge that someone is too much for you, without thereby making them into a burden?

Fortify my heart, as more and more I see our abject neediness, as humans.
No one is strong.
I can never depend on anyone for my spiritual security. Which is good, if I realize it in time: I can look at You. Really at You. Please help me do that. Please protect me only as much as is good for You.

Can I have faith that You are big enough to raise Lazarus? 

Tryst, April 15 2018

Help me tryst with You in these few stolen minutes, while I wait for them to respond.

Today was wonderful, sleeping in and missing church and feeling that it was from You. It's abruptly chilly again, and wet. But I went out on the back deck this afternoon, and flung open my arms. I sang, "The World! The Moon! The Sun!" and a raven began cawing just as I stared to sing "Caw! Caw! Caw!"
You're such fun.

I want to talk about the things I really care about. What do I want? I want You. More than anything. Heaven is empty without You, and earth is ash. But You charge everything with meaning. Please bring us back.

Remind me that there is hope. Please keep providing for me. Give me what You know I need to live, to be generous, to sow. To travel. To keep painting and doing whatever You want me to do. Please help me to love others. Show me how to bring You my heart, so that I'm not so protective of it, so afraid, exhausted. There will be enough. Help me to trust Your abundance.

Please prepare me for sacrifice. Please prepare me for commitment, trust, joy. Keep me receptive. Give me wisdom.