Lines from June Part 2

16.
I have the hiccups.
Today was a nice day. You are answering prayer.
Candy and soft drinks came today, I had fun putting things away, and I had great helpers (J and B). We had staff devos/worship tonight, and that was what we needed. Also prayer (office girls) this morning.
Tomorrow feels big, again. Giving the talk, but other things, too. Help me just trust You.
That time on the swings with D, T, L, & L was wonderful. Also spinning with L & L afterward. Thank You for the benedictions W spoke of me: sensitive, considerate, team-player, things like that. Team-player, as an unusual term, sticks in my mind. Am I? I'd like to be. "A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me." (Fleet Foxes)

But I do keep thinking of the bees, and the make of the minder. He was trying to tell us. What are You trying to say?
You alone are my heart's desire 
and I long to worship You
That song is like John 3:16, or the Eiffel Tower, or the Mona Lisa.

Please help me. Flow through Mom and Dad like milk through a funnel.


17.
Momentous tomorrow...elsewhere, for others, but no so much for me. It'll be my desperately-needed DAY OFF. Only desperately because I put in such a long day today (banking on tomorrow). ~8:30-9:30. And there's still more to do... but I made good progress. And I enjoyed almost every part. The store talk went well. The iPad snafus didn't crush us. The popcorn machine was a major stinker (took me ~2 hours to do all the steps of cleaning, making a trash batch, cleaning again, re-assembling; not counting the hour+ while it cooled) but it gave me time to talk with K. The marquee, staff shirts, menu board, Lance delivery, CBD delivery, sweeping & cleaning & mopping are accomplished in large part. I had J's help with a few things. He and F kept me company during the last half-hour of mopping/cleanup. And I shared a leftover ice cream with J and L.

Help me know how to be. I'm still picking at scars. No, that's wrong. I'm still bleeding, still haunted. I can't escape the music and the people and the stories that remind me. And I don't want to escape - they are part of me, and some of the best parts. But I need Your help not to build up false images and inner promises and dreams. Not false ones. True ones. You as the center and the starter and the goal.

Forgive me my vanity. Make me tender and true.
Thank You for delightful dreams last night. The last part I remember was swinging from a vine back and forth over the border of two countries/states, without a passport. We were risk-takers, my companion and I.
Help me be patience. Patient. Help me stop writing and turn off my brain and sleep.


18.
Giving me Job 7 last night was pretty clever and perfect of You. Thanks for making today OK, even though I felt like the precious hours of it were wasted on my weary self.
Thanks for the nap. That helped. And it was good to write letters, and make a chore chart, sketch, and visit the old haunt. And the rest on the suspension bridge - probably my highlight. Praying. Remembering how that place has been (and still is) in my mind the epitome of peace and rest - floating down Your river, tall shadowing trees and birdsong.

Two hurting, hurting families. Pour out POUR OUT Your balm Your blood Your fire Your Spirit in each of these situations. Don't allow them to fester and grow numb and die - bring new life, use each thing intended for evil FOR GOOD; show up, and make Your Name glorious as we see love flowing pure and strong and patient, with a never, never ending supply, laughing aloud at our disbelief and flooding us with hope.
Jesus, do all this and more.
Make my spirit sharp to You, not the dead murky thing it is now. Carve out clarity and rest for me tomorrow. Thank You.


19. Father's Day/MM's 80th Birthday/Boy's Camp Day 1
You're a good good Father, it's who You are,
And I'm loved by You, it's who I am.



20.
Bless You for a good first day. Exhausting, and rewarding, a team effort.
Take me, and tomorrow, into Your arms.
Keep my spirit alive, keep my face toward Your light. Cry "Mine" over me.



21.
Thanks for a smooth day "on my own," so very pleasant. But I feel like I might not have ordered enough for next week - !
Please help me be at peace in You. Thank You for opening us up like shy children, reluctant flowers. Please protect every choice to trust, to obey, to love. Thanks for my only prayer request note: "I pray for a wife."



22.
Jesus. This is a charmed life, being Yours. And being part of Your net of love, letting You use me, letting You use others to bless me and carry me. Thank You for all the people loving me and praying for me right now, when I hardly have time to think. Thank You for T visiting, and notes from S and S, and R opening up and wanting to be here.
Thank you for B sharing his Take 5 bars, and B being patient, and my great help in the store. Thanks for Bible Study together. Thanks for the Ms equipping us with air conditioning. Thanks for so many camper smiles today.
Thanks for bleeding for me. Thanks for taking all the long tiring days to get there, and for loving even from Your weariness. Thank You, Father, for hope.
I love You.



23.
Lord, I'm such a goober. Other people are goobers, too. And You are really kind.
Thanks for a long, varied day. Thank You for helping me through the rough points, and bringing joy out of it somehow. Like sweet juice from a spiny fruit.
Thanks for making me flexible enough for all these things. I am not. You make me so. I'm not good enough, but I am. Thanks for all the affirmation You gave me, in little ways, today. For sweet prayer time. For a real, legit prayer card as well as a dumb prank one. Thanks for R saying, "I will never say no to you," and little J being suddenly cuddly. You know what I need. Thanks for J trusting me enough to just come over, and spill, and for our prayer time together.

Please help me accept Mr. J's help. Please help me not be so self-conscious or awkward around B. Please help me not be so jealous and selfish and dense.
Please help me not be so sharp-edged. I find it hilarious, absurd. But there's a bite of satire there, and a bite of bitterness too. Here I am, the humble brown hen, beside a peacock. You know the story. Help me stop sticking borrowed feathers in my tail. Help me be content, not proud and covetous. Help me wear my skin and feathers so that anyone who sees me sees You.
Thanks for helping the popcorn machine break when it did. Please guide all our patchwork tomorrow.
I love You. Man Oh Man.
Meet me here tonight, be more than I think You are.



24.
Dear Jesus,
Highlights of this week:
The T.R.I.B.E. helping out in the store.
Counting coins for returns and talking with B.
C returning the screwdriver.
First mopping.
T's visit, times with J.
A and B and A visits!
Tomato-Basil-Provolone salad.
Whistling in harmony with R.
B borrowing my pens and then replacing them on my desk 1 per day for the next 3 days.
A telling me precisely what he was going to order each day (and then getting completely different things).
Furnishing Lurch cabin.
R warming up.
T making my fist into a TIE fighter.
Take 5 Bars from B
J being cuddly (again today)
Time to pray this morning.

Thank You for all the people who literally give blood, sweat, and tears here. Please give each of us Yourself, the very best. Quiet my heart. Restore me.



25.
It's been a long, lovely day off. Like two days - yes, it was full, but there were restful parts. And maybe tomorrow I'll nap. I could add new highlights to the week: reading Narnia to the kids at Pinesite, having the girls sleep over, and a visit from F, H, and L. We probably had the most fun at Creekside, but we romped all over. It meant a lot to me that they came. I'm glad I also had time to garden, bleach the skull, do laundry, and read Dostoevsky. Plus write 2 letters, and call Mom and Dad.
We had a game night tonight. In Apples to Apples I was Unnatural, Unusual, Disturbing, Odd, Sensitive, and Fresh.
I am so thankful You care about my small schoolgirl wishes and prayers. About my need to be understood. You understand me. You orchestrate things beyond my imagining, and You answer my prayers.
We picked berries today. Made lemonade. Put flowers in each others' hair.
Tonight the T.R.I.B.E. is gone, and it's quiet, after a mighty giddy ruckus of running, singing, sliding, and dancing. Nail polish and hair brushing and gimp. Opera and cereal and Narnia. And 1 Cor 13.
I am so thankful for T and R.
They were meant to be here this summer.
We all were, right?
But I'm not ready for tomorrow. Make me ready.
Speak to C's heart. Help me stay connected to my darlings. And mostly, mostly, completely to You, my paragon Aragorn Paraclete bleeding heart holy Lamb of God. I close my mouth.



26.
Lord,
It's been a beautiful day, and a fun one. We decorated/vandalized M's golf cart about an hour ago. And I painted the skull this evening, and T and R and I went to WalMart.
S and J are here. Today went smoothly. N told me he traded for store duty all week. I seem to have poison ivy on my knuckle.
I'm lonelier than usual, and I'm afraid of being a lightening bug. I'm afraid of the crazed little brat inside me screaming, "ME!"
Jealousy, defensiveness, pride, insecurity... and no praise and no approval is ever enough. And I'm tired of my own morality (or lack thereof). Help me be teachable, humble and gracious, and above reproach.
I nearly blacked out blowing up balloons. A reminder of how frail and silly I am. I want to see with love again. I need to see You. To be a prayer, burning every moment, filling us both with the fragrance of communion. I don't want to do anything without You. Show me what Your heart wants. Make dry bones live.


27.
Thank You for carrying me through this crazy, cranky day with something like victory, sweetness. Thank You for L's notebook gift and note, and that D is here, and that Mom and Dad are coming tomorrow. Thanks for great help in the store, and time to write notes tonight. And that the cut on my thumb from that silly popcorn machine isn't worse. Thanks for B FIXING that silly popcorn machine.



28.
Feeling the love. Tonight it feels like clean sheets, sheets that don't pop off the mattress or slide along with me, sheets bought & washed & delivered by Mom and Dad tonight. I don't know who owned them before, but bless them. And bless my parents.
Bless J, S, L, B, and whoever mailed my letter from the credit union. Bless us all with Your presence, with the knowledge of Your intimate love and care, and how You enjoy us. How You love to help us flourish.
Thank You for lavender, daisies, borage, and poppies, fresh kale and spinach and oregano. Thank You for a peaceful house, J in her hammock outside, the T.R.I.B.E. on their grand adventure. T home. T... I don't know where, but please, please be near her.
Thank You for seeing us through a stressful afternoon, with joy in the process, and more spoons, and no catastrophes. Thank You for all the million gazillion perfections, gifts, and providences You wove into today - I love You. I need more days like this, the cushion (ease) of comfort worn away enough to feel, so sharply, the burning touch of love.
Needs, met.
Happy Jam Day, Merry Christmas. Hallelujah. Save us.

Lines from June, Part 1

1.
Thank you, Good Spirit. Obedience is always worth it.
Teach me to let You have authority over my schedule.

Later
Please take tomorrow's new plans, with N & E. Help me also work hard, listen deeply, love well.
Thanks for S helping me take down the show. Our coffee and quiche and conversation. People who were courteous and appreciative. For Dad cutting the slats for the sign, for C's mixtape (and tea and music), for failing at recording Roma Termini, but for the hope of second chances.
Thanks for the cornbread. Cashing checks. Writing letters. Z's possible commission. Lavender blooming.
That miracle of Holy Spirit prompting me to go back to Mom, and to pray with her for MM's operation. Thanks for nobody responding visibly to my blogpost, and the way it reminds me where I find my identity.


2.
Take today, Deus. Help me live it in such a way that we sing together, that You sharpen me like a whetstone.

Later
Thank You for hearing me and responding.
Today was beautiful and overall productive.
But unquantifiably good. Hibernia with N. Catching up, singing. AW met us, coming down to our spot to be a recluse and play worship songs and get out of herself. So we ended up all talking and then playing songs together. "Good Good Father", "Blessed Be Your Name", "Amazing Grace", "Revelation Song", "Come, Now is the Time to Worship". It was funny and sweetly serendipitous.

E came over around 7:30 for a walk and ice cream and catching up. It was great to hear what You are doing. Oh God, thank You for a man who cherishes her, who loves You first.
Thank You for A's call on the walk back to N's car, and the perfect faithfulness You've shown her as she goes through CELTA. Thanks for J & K and their musical collaboration and support. Thanks for M, Q, & B in Portland and at Stumptown today.

Later
You really must love me something awful. I can't grasp it. I can't understand Your reality.


3.
The world bleeds when you push on it. What does that say about the great heart of God? If we don't notice it, maybe it's because it bleeds inwardly, and the bruise is so wide in circumference that it looks to us like nothing but the landscape.
The landscape of our own suffering: felt and inflicted.
But the world heals, too.
Heals to time and faith and kisses.
(And really, only by Your love).
I'd like to be asleep right now, Jesus. But keep me awake for as long as You want. For whatever You have to say.

Later
It's still the 3rd, just barely.
I feel like I'm seeing today through carnival house mirrors. Those distorted things. I think I'm getting sick. Or maybe reading too much Dostoevsky (though those parts of the day sometimes feel the realest).
Yet, Lord, You meet even my absurd days with strange beauties. Beauties in incongruity and in serendipity. Calling C to sing Happy Birthday, writing cards, starting the sign, big lunches at Harry's with the E ladies, and returning here for tea, fruit, prayers, and tears. That uncomfortable but beautiful brush with raw need and love.
With messy humanity bearing a holy image and housing a Holy Ghost.
The way we sweat and get stiff and our minds wander when we pray embracing others, but we find ourselves saying the most beautiful unexpected words, and meaning them. And feeling, sometimes, with our eyes closed and our legs half asleep, that maybe we are disappearing.

You helped me paint past duty into joy, and past pleasure into obedience, and into acceptance.
You let me enjoy old cucumber poems and sketches. You brought K to the front door with Harvey, F's lost chihuahua, ancient and a little mad. And You gave us the pleasure of discovering where he belonged. A few moments to feel both neighborly and heroic.
You gave me enough grace to keep with Friday night tradition, and the nausea to keep me from work and make me crave your company. So I lit a candle and shook in the dark, slowly chewing sauerkraut and praying, much longer than I planned, because You love me. And You want me to be bigger than my own head. You want me to actually look at Your creation, the flame, and actually think about my friends and kin, to talk to You about them.

And You gave me that dream last night. That oddball, delicious dream. Hillary Clinton; the sugary, shrewd, and probably treacherous hairstylist; the man who left his baby (wonderful baby) in my care; and his brother, who humbly recounted his life to me, using the tattoo timeline on his arm. I held his arm, I remember (I don't know where the baby was at that point). I think I even kissed it. He had my loyalty and sympathy right away, because I sensed his sincerity and saw how You'd changed him. And I also appreciate arms, and he had a very nice arm.
But everything You touch is holy. Even our awkwardness, or my crazed efforts at patience when I begin to think, what is this demon anger? You give us the gift of being wrong. And of being more right than we dared to believe... because we thought we were following an outcast teacher, with prices on our heads, and we woke up to eternal love and a kingdom.

"You do not want to leave too, do you?" Jesus asked the Twelve.
Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that You are the Holy One of God."
-John 6:67-69 NIV


4.
Exchange while walking...

Neighbor I haven't met before: "Ah, the infamous barefoot lady."
Me: (laughing) "I hope I'm not really infamous. Have a good day."
Him: "You too, dear."
Me: "Thanks."


5.
I can't quite sleep yet. What, ho! Wot, ho! What, hoh! Mmm.

Today... friendly to my spirit. Genial Sabbath. Mi piace. Tanks. Oh, Daddy, thank You. Thank You for my Papa who drove me early, early, let me eat breakfast in the car and took home my dishes. Who picked me up late, late, because M and I got so carried away talking that we stayed an hour and a half past the cafe closing time. He was even willing to bring me back to church to sing in the old sanctuary, as I'd planned to do before getting swept up in blessed conversation.

But we went home, in order to catch J's Sunday call. And he did call. He commended Dad for his legacy of not giving up.
Help me entrust my brothers to You. We are all on our journeys...

Oh, to You. "Somewhere, anywhere we go, everywhere You are..." we finally recorded Roma Termini again, decently! That was a miracle. It was a miracle the first time, and the process of trying to re-record it was discouraging. It's a tough song to get all at once. The mood is so specific, but You helped. Thanks for giving that song to me and allowing it to carry weight years later, and have a depth and flexibility of meaning I couldn't have predicted.

Please quiet my mind and heart (T asked if I'd consider Costa Rica). Please keep being my only source of everything. Please keep the ants from crawling on me tonight. Carve up tomorrow and use all the scraps.


8.  Parker House
Here I am at Camp. Thank You, Lord.
For a day to ease in, meet people, reacquaint, count things (like those famous 626 pens).
Thanks for the letter Mom sent on Monday that was waiting for me on my desk this afternoon.
Please help me be excellent at this job. To bless others, not make more work for them. Please fill in all the gaps this summer. Fill it all, soak through everything that's "in-place" too. Nothing works without You. I'm picturing an aspic. :)
Make the work of all my brothers prosper. And their loves, too.
Thank You for loving me. For swinging and laughter and deep green goodness with You tonight, after dinner. And for this quiet haven I have for the next few days. Help me make the most of it. To pray. To rest. To be focused and prepared.


9.
Lord, help me be prepared. To take care of myself SO THAT I can take good care of others and my work. I don't know, maybe it's an absolute good. Help me understand and retain, and be creative. Use me in people's lives. A lot of people are hurting. I am, too, but I'm not in a crisis. I know how it feels to be in one.
Thanks for L coming today, for her kindness and the M&Ms she left me. For J saying, "trash" like "tresche". His slightly lingering, gentle "sh" sound is delightful.
Thanks for putting me here, with these people, this year. Help me be myself. Ugh. I wish there'd be less of me.
(This is bringing to mind M's comment to D about the effect of eating Sank cake tonight: "More of me to love"). Thanks for the groundhog skull he put on my desk today, staring out from behind the phone. I put flowers in the eye sockets; I found forget-me-nots down by the creek. For some reason the image of flowers springing from a skull occurred to me; I must have seen it before.
And now I'm thinking of the parts of "The Idiot" that I'd heard about before reading: beauty saving the world, and the Holbein painting of the deposed Christ that could make one lose their faith. Or not... what a wildness that perhaps You made the earth just so You could show Your Son for everything He is.
"He must become greater, I must become less."


11.
It is almost noon. I'm stretched across the bed, by the open window, and it's becoming a warm day. Layers of birdsong... though fewer than there were this morning, when I drank tea downstairs.
I had brunch at the Mill, and sat with I and T. Both of them have been heavily influenced by Camp. They plan to do it long-term.
I also got to talk with the Ms and Ss. The rest of the day is pretty much mine to do with as I please. Oh, what a terrible phrase. Now I feel hardly motivated for anything. Please... us. This day is ours, is Yours.
You are my greatest pleasure, so please Yourself in me.
Reawaken my sensitivity to You. Help me make the most of this, to rest and work and savor. Thank You for helping me do three small things I was afraid of in the last 3 days: use the propane stove, ride my bike, sit with I and T. Thank You that each instance had a joyful reward.


12.
Last night miserable. Today was livable, all in all.
I suppose every day ought to be, though it doesn't feel like it.

Orlando... that happened today. And a baby bat, "lamb-faced frog" as B and J called it, languished on the pavement. It seemed too viable to justify the shovel, so I put it in the attic on a damp paper towel. D gave me Motrin. It's helping a lot. So, I think, are the many cups of decaf coffee I drank tonight. And the liquified cocoa+coconut oil I've been slathering on the schnoz.

Ugh. I had such horrible dreams, doubtless influenced by "The Mask You Live In", even though I blocked out the screen for whole minutes.
Please take me somewhere I can breathe.
Purify my innards.
"Please! Close the door,"
That sign always bothered me, and yet it is endearing. I hear it as the punctuation suggests.
A warming smokehouse
More,
"A veil for a cupful of the world."


13.
How did it happen that I am in a green room again? A room to "inspire" me, according to L. How is it that today I felt so much better? 80-85%, not 50%?
You, again, answer.
Why are You so kind, so kind to me? When I'm constantly blind to Your generosity?

God bless this home. And this room. Make it a place of rest, of vitality, of nourishment. Make it a place of real conversation, small acts of kindness, illumination.

Thank You for all the pretty things that seem to fit here so perfectly - even the tambourine and the hula hoop.
Thanks for the hotdog with "the works" in the M's fridge for me. And D buying Tylenol for the ladies. And all the laughter at our table tonight.
Please help me settle and process today.
Killing the baby bat between two stones, down by the creek (it appeared to have fallen down the attic stairs, was no closer to recovery). That kind of violence really does something to you - it calls for decisiveness, precision, callousness. And all in a moment the tender, naked, squeaking brown thing became a little mess of blood and crushed bone. Strange kind of mercy.
Thanks for helping me through my first day of ordering, without too much trauma. The Lance lady was nice, even though the credit card didn't go through and B had to fix things for me.
Help me know how to love everyone, even the people I've unconsciously (or consciously) decided aren't like me, don't like me, or I don't like. Your directions on this issue are very clear.
Keep me malleable. Also faithful.
Thank You for Dad's letter with a family photo today. For helping me dust the ceiling, with a scarf wrapped around my face like a bandit.
Thanks for L helping me sweep.
Thanks for the hushing of the creek, audible through my open window.
Make me a blessing.


15.
Miss Elisabeth came home to You a year ago today. I called B, but only
left a message. It's so hard to think about anything but Camp once things get going, but tonight I left the grounds for the first time in a week, to Chili's with the ladies. I was worried about being treated like a teenager here, but this, this was special. Obviously I'm much younger, and in a different place in life, but it was sweet to be included. I need to remember that, for others too. Pass on the welcome.
Thank You for carrying me through today, and making it enjoyable. Thanks for my first ever ICE CREAM DELIVERY.
Please keep the focus on Yourself this summer. Help us perfectly, lovingly chip the edges off of each other. God, we need grace. Kindness ain't easy.
Please help me be less awkward. Or at least more loving. That.
Then it won't matter.
Keep giving Your Spirit without limit.

Lines from May, Part 2

16.
Thanks. I'm a miserably comfortable doofus. But You are so, so kind. You sock me with wonder just when I'm calcifying. You answer little prayers I didn't mean, or didn't say. You dress me like You love me. You give me perfect timing. You remind me of things I forgot, and make me put my mug down in safe places, unconsciously. You use shallowness to repel me back to You, and sophisticated trash to send me gasping back to simplicity, in Your arms.

Will I ever learn this? Give it time. Not just, "ignore and go elsewhere", but "pay attention much longer than you like, past comfort, past desire."

I want whatever treasures You have hidden out in fields. I want what's under Your tongue. What's running through Your veins. Please be patient as You teach me how to die and live with You.


21.
Jesus answered, "My teaching is not my own. It comes from him who sent me. 
If anyone chooses to do God's will, he will find out whether my teaching comes from God or whether I speak on my own."
- John 7:16-17 NIV

I've read this chapter multiple times in the last couple of days, and 17 is underlined, but it seems to be the part I breeze through. Son of God. Make me slam into You. I feel heavy with the need to confess right now, and uncomfortable in my comfort. Where is this guilt coming from? Is something wrong? I will never learn to be faithful and true unless I look at You. And You can't help me filter this waterfall unless I hold up my end of the sieve.
Gory madness. Butterfly kisses. Breakdowns into sheepish humility. Never enough words, or the right kind. I'm trying to get at what I need to write...
I'd like You to help me not be distracted by what I don't know and can't know, anyway. "Here is the time for the Tellable, here is its home." (Rilke). Tomorrow looms. Weft and womb.
Please renew me and our bond. Help me wake to pray again tonight.
Xoxo


23.
Things that made me happy today:

Reading chapter after chapter of "The Castle of Llyr" (I did finish it).
Putting my hair up. There's such pleasure in that taut, airy feeling.
The sun on my head & arms as I paced the deck and walked, reading.
Thick living green everywhere.
Sunset through rain droplets.
Watching the "Benton's Hallucinations" contra video, until I was giddy with it.
Pulling into the driveway.
Joking with Mom and Dad at lunch.
Sharing blueberry cobbler with Dad.
Psalm 23.


Please and thank You. Make me grow despite myself. Think through my thoughts. Want me, and love me, and make me love You. Make me like You: the gentlest & the bravest, the wisest & kindest. Funniest & most serious. Obedient & free. Help me cut loose every weight that would keep me from obeying You, acting swiftly and willingly when You ask me to sacrifice.
I could have an attitude. But I want humility. I want You as my only fragrance, my sole inheritance.
"Gracious and righteous is the LORD,
therefore will he teach sinners in the way."
-Psalm 25:7


24.
Jesus. I'm asking You to replace me with Yourself tonight. I'm not in this. I don't know where I am... too many places. I want to be present, and self-forgetful, and full of love, and ready to listen. And I'm not ready. I don't know what You can do in 20 minutes, but... please do it. You know how I need You. How I'm nothing but a little cup for You to fill with clear water. Maybe You can even turn me into wine. Just don't let me get in the way of what You're doing.
Protect me. Delight in me. Use me.
(P.S. Thanks for the scones)

Later
Outdoors (the world) was clean today. Fresh, and lissome. Under stars, it was luminescent, even without the moon. The air moved in currents like the sea: swathes of residual heat rising, tides of chilliness tugging from the shadows. The catalpa trunk was still warm and fragrant. Hickle's leaves spread out like the skin on the palm of a hand, taut and smooth. The earth smelled like hope. Down at grass level it moved gently, damp and musky, like the breath of a sleeping dog.



26.
BUCKET LIST:

Hold lamb
Eat baklava (again)
Go back to Orvieto
Love & marriage & a baby wrap
Attend a "Challenging Contra" dance
Be present at a death
Be present at a birth (re- works too)
Paint using gold leaf
Memorize John
Weep passionately in public
Finish recording "The Princess and Curdie"
Write a will


27.
"I miss you. Period."
That made me put down my phone awhile. Life charges on, and we spread different directions, and yet sometimes wonder if we've grown at all. My daily sauerkraut routine is reminiscent of senior year, when L laughed at me as I shoveled in a spoonful over the sink. Tonight I grimaced over a bowl, in the dim stove light, pacing in a circle under the circling fan.

It was a warm day today. But the early morning was lovely, and my nighttime nausea never blossomed, so I drove out at 5:15 for prayer. Only C came, so we talked a while and parted. Early-late mornings throw me off a bit. I was so tired most of the day. I want more joy for my tasks. I want to sit for a minute and think about what my current "not yet" looks like, and marvel: 11 commissions? 3 of them currently underway? Who ever knew I'd be so... employed?

Help me to love. To look at myself "the way one looks at distant things" (Milosz). To be content and brave. To believe "there [is] something other than this bog."
Pour all Your sweetness into tomorrow. All Your maple syrup, luscious devastating honey, so carefully collected by sacrifice. Let our dance be true welcome and communion, focused and self-forgetful, a wild worship, a healing contact.
Spin my words out of me and put Your cup to my lips.


29.
What a beautiful and costly thing it is to love, and be loved. To be connected in such a way that tremors are felt across miles, across oceans. Bride of Christ, grow strong.
Lord, You'll have to teach me how to be needed. How to be free in the midst of it. I'm stuck on my own notion of independence. But I have nothing that I did not receive. And I will never be happy serving myself. Be my LORD & Brother & Bridegroom all over again.
Make me a friend You can trust, Jesus.

Lines from May, Part 1

1.
This is the earliest I've gone to bed in... a very long time. Probably sometime in January.

Pilgrim Church was beautiful. Seeing people really care for each other. It is so good to see all kinds of people welcome at a church. And provided for. BAGS of leftover Panera bread, a full lunch of barbecue chicken, potato salad, fresh vegetables, banana pudding. The kids involved in the music (drumming) and collection of offerings. Little C's proud, crinkly smile at being chosen to pass the basket was priceless.
Ashamed to find myself protective and self-justifying in a church like that, though. Reminded with such grace and beauty that we are all abject sinners in need of the same Savior. Glory. And they made me very welcome.

G drove me to Amherst.

The hours with GB & GK so far have been lovely. A tour, wine and cheese and crackers, a long luscious meal. We watched birds. We talked aging, politics, food, art, family and friends.


2.
Lord, thank You.
God, this is real.
I am Yours, Jesus.


3.
Lord, there are such flavors. The flavor of belonging is one of them. There is such sweetness, that makes the eyes little pools.

I had breakfast late again this morning. Heard GB sing, "Good morning to you" to the tune of "Happy Birthday" when GK came out, but I drifted in and out of sleep a while longer. Later A came to work on the sun porch.
GK took me to the Peabody Essex Museum, which was really enjoyable, and dropped me off at Hendrickson, where I got to tour and meet a lot of people.
It was a joyous experience, and flatteringly embarrassing as well (many of them had heard of me). Fun talks with C's coworkers.
We walked by "Turtle" and "Oblong" Ponds, and came back to the apartment for a bit, before going out for Portuguese & talking lots. S was HOME and FINISHED with her exam when we returned. She made amazing cookies, we all had peppermint tea and talked and laughed and listened to S read "The Art of Eating" by MFK Fisher.
Mm, famerly.
We prayed and nestled down. I'm so glad I'm here, even though it's hard to miss things back home. Please knit me closer.
Thank You for what You're teaching me.

"Assyria cannot save us;
we will not mount warhorses.
We will never again say, 'Our gods'
to what our own hands have made,
for in you the fatherless find
compassion."

"I am like a flourishing juniper;
your fruitfulness comes from me."

- Hosea 14:3, 8c


4.
Hello Ageless One.
How is it I care more than ever about my roots, my context, my family? I don't feel so much like a floater now. All this richness. People who somehow love me and make places for me.

THANK YOU for all the gifts embedded in this day. Sibling love. Good things to eat/drink. Fresh air. Laughter. MM standing and waiting at the door as UT drove off. R conking out. MM singing to him. The story of the woman with 99 kids. The offer to do laundry. And the natural way MM included me in meal prep and cleanup.

Make my heart true. I'm overflowing, but maybe cracking too.
Heal me with Your potter's hands.
My Lover.


5. (C's BD, Cinco de Mayo, Ascension Day)
I love being cared for, but not molly-coddled. And I don't just mean by people. You're so good to me, pushing and comforting, challenging and consoling. Giving me flavors I've never tasted, or had forgotten about. The smells of my kin. Damp woods. Dog tongue on the soles of my feet. Exquisite paintings, wherein you begin to sense the soul of the artist. Did I forget that could happen? Did I forget that You delight in me, actually singing? That You remember more than I ever could in my careful keepsake brain, and weave back motifs?
Jesus. Please place me in the thick of this trip. Take and make the most of each day, centering me in You, channeling Your love through me. You know all I want this to be. But I know You want more. Do it. Give us YOU.

Thank You for GE's gracious, patient nature. He drove us to the Isabella Stewart Gardner and back. That was rich & consonant. Satisfying. It hurt.
We had dinner ~10:15, but impressively, GOODNIGHT.

Do You know how sweet & dear You are to me?


6.
"Did you get enough love my little dove? Why do you cry?" (Sufjan)
Because you meet me and fill me like a floodplain, like a sail in the wind.
How did this happen, again? All over again, traveling the best way:
from arms to arms.

MM & GE this morning (MM waiting at the door, beautiful and blue, R mimicking her stance from the side yard). M buying me lemon tea for our hour+ at Sunnyside, R picking me up to take me back to the seminary, and a beautiful afternoon catching up.  Lentil soup for the soul. Hard, heart-wrenching news. Quiet conversation, laughter, soft music on the record player. Their miraculous flowering plant.
And the Ws. Enjoying their home, their pet rabbit, cooking and eating chili, sharing books, talking and praying and making my bed on the couch.
What treasures, cheapening gold and diamonds.
Bless them, Father. Answer our prayers.

Please fill us with Your peace tonight. Fit all the pieces of tomorrow into place, as faithfully as You did today.
You are our one true delight. My eyes & my mouth & my soul are hungry for You. Purify us, bring us Your truth.


7.
This was a day to remember. Thick and sharp and shifting. I don't have many words for what I feel. I don't really know how to think about this, or You, and I'm troubled but tired, and I trust You, too.
This morning you woke me early, sweetly, after a satisfactory night (despite the rabbit's noises). C took me to breakfast at the diner and to an old Jesuit retreat center to walk and talk till our shoes were soggy.
I had just enough time to rest and write in the library before R picked me up. I made our lunch, we came back for the show. It was amazing. A rush. I actually barely finished looking through it in the 2 hours, because of all the people. And I didn't eat or drink.
S picked me up, we went back to pork loin and scalloped potatoes (Julia Childs style), with fermy veg and a movie, and chocolate. C drove me here, where I had a lovely time L & V, catching up. Now sleep... if You're willing. Help me. Bless my Mama.


8.
Dear High Priest,
Plead for me. Speak on my behalf.
Now is when I value Your jealousy; don't lose me.
But let me lose myself, utterly if necessary. Bring me to the bottom if need be. Just don't let me out of Your sight for a moment.
Let me feel Your hands. Let me not deceive myself. Let me see truly, even if that means it's only a few things, nearby.
This was a grace day. Clinging to grace.
Beautiful sleep, showering & eating scrumptious mushroom&onion&cheese scramble and toast and cappuccino with V & A(!). Bestefar sending C to the door to find me. Meeting neighbor S, going to First Congregational and finding it so life-giving.
I loved being with Bestefar. Organizing, talking. He showed me the new arrangement upstairs, had me look through old photos for the portrait. Shared his stash of honey (including Norwegian honey circa 1991). He wanted to send me back with something, so he gave me a Shaw Publishing mug that had been given to Miss E. We had tea and went to meet G at Captain Dusty's.
G and I enjoyed our drive, despite traffic. Got a tour of Boston, including the financial district, and saw the portion of the Berlin wall. We enjoyed "family dinner" here, it was a Roman meal. Pontius Pilate food. We finished with Haitian liqueur and ice cream with syrupy Italian almond paste.

I hermitted up here for a while, and drew an anime logo for G while we sang and talked. Hair playing and back massaging. Prayer. Bed. Tears first.
Guide me. You are gracious to me, Jehovah Jireh. All I have is Yours, You know. Do whatever You want with me. Destroy me. I know You won't waste me, careful Maker.


9. (On the Megabus)
After the coma brought on my a thick chocolate milkshake and a week of 6 beds, I'm waking up to Lincoln Park.
The phone-talker behind me just finished their 2nd conversation punctuated with squawks of laughter.
The trees outside are fleshing out with leaves, full but still tender. We passed a small cluster of homes, and between them and the highway I saw two brown arms sticking out of the tall grass, holding up a newspaper. I discovered it to be a 50s-ish Indian man in rust-pink shorts, his head propped on a rucksack.

G walked me to the Upham's Corner T stop this morning. I found myself wanting to capture scene after scene of the house, before I left. Sunlight on the fustian decadence. Fading, cluttered elegance. Old Puddingstone lurking behind the wall of chairs. G's fresh face. The little bottle of maple syrup someone left on the front porch.
Very glad we sent me on the early train. I was completely discombobulated by the MBTA area, and had to ask directions to the buses. The drive has been mostly pleasant, dozy. I've found I love the upper level, midsection, on the right, and the view it proffers of the trees, or of tombstones encrusting a slope like barnacles. I've been trying to pray. Letting more thoughts come, trying not to fear them. Savoring the voices & embraces of my loves.

I dared the salmon yesterday, unscathed. While he prepared our food, Bestefar remarked how nice it is to have another presence in the house, making noise (mostly paper rustling as I organized piles of mail; we were both humming/whistling intermittently as well). The gnomes still cling to the bathroom mirror and by the front door. Even notes I left the caregivers are still upstairs in the closet. It smells the same. Sea salt, perfume, old furniture.

We are all human. Adam and Eve, glory and shame, and miles upon miles of grace.


Later
And like that, here I am again at home. You were so gracious, so jolly, giving me a 30 minute advantage so I could use the loo and still catch the Great Valley Flyer, getting me home an hour earlier than anticipated!
Home. To people, and mail, and wonderful familiar things. Studio clutter. Old shirts from J. Mixed greens heaped with tuna salad. Corny old "Battlestar Galactica" with Dad. A long big hug from J. Catching up & prayer with Mom.

This empathy is a gift and a curse. Why, God?
You promised. Don't hide from us. Don't give up on us. I am even processing anger at You, and confusion. And fear. Show me the truth. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
So help me God.


10.
Your Word is full of familiar secrets. Secret familiars. Lamentations 3 was the most comforting thing You gave me.

Thanks for YAs too. For "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with N and L.
Thanks for the friends You've given me. My Lover. Don't stop.


11.
My eyes are shrinking and my face is sagging. It is time for bed. But not before these fierce and stubborn blessings.
Sinned have I. Father me bless. You are the original Father, and the exceptional One: You understand Your children, always. And I need that. I don't understand myself. My room might be the top of a pyramid, sliding down from any direction. Only You know if this season is succulent or full of mold, but whatever it is, it's Yours. It's Your problem now.
As am I. Help me stop trying so hard.
Please, please comb through this head of tangles. Even if it takes all night. Even if my scalp gets raw, and bleeds, and I scare myself with my own neuroses. I feel You. You give me things I don't know how to name. You make the wisest psychology laughable. There is no other, there is nothing else. Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.


13.
YHWH, Messiah, Paraclete,
You're going to have to help me through all this loss. You wooed me, from a child. Why has my spirit been so sensitive to Yours? Why can't he feel You? Am I, too, deluding myself? Seeing, feeling, thinking only what I want to? Letting in only what confirms, counting it a virtue to be ignorant of any contrary claims?
There are so many branches to this.
You'll also have to teach me to pray again. I feel betrayed. And I can't really pray to You without trusting You.
I don't know how we get grace (or "get" grace), apart from You.

Oh, You are the best friend and kisser a girl could ever ask for. A just called. Just called. We prayed. About the jamboree, about me & You. You do let me know You're there. I love You.

Later
Thanks for the chance to pray with A again tonight, covering her first night in the new house. Please do protect her. Purify my heart and mind, my intentions.
I'm really twisted; I justify myself. But I want to be clear and true as crystal, as water, as air. The things we love clean. Help me keep my word, and trust You to keep Yours. Please, arrest me. Move in and through me.


15.
When you write a poem / I know the words / I know the sounds / before you write it down / And when you wear your clothes / I wear them too / I wear your shoes / and your jacket too.

Thanks, Suf. God bless Vito, wherever he is.
Thanks for renewed blessing today. Simple and unmistakable. Hope.

Continue to fool me, to prove me wrong. Surprise me. Thanks for being my Rescuer and leaving no doubt of Your love. It would be bald stupidity to deny how badly I need both.

Lines from April, Part 2

16.
We're halfway through April. More than. My heart.
How did I get so old?
It's actually true that 25 feels like downhill; I'm stiffer than I used to be. ha.
My knees hurt more easily after kneeling. Hands get achy. Glutes get stiff. What?
I'm waiting for more gray hair. I've often thought I'd enjoy it. Hope I actually do.

Thanks for telling me secrets, for romancing me. Giving us inside jokes and winks and pure, happy pleasures. Giving me a song about Your "Grand Love" and then making me forget it (so it's really and truly Yours, alone). Dancing with me when no one else would. Working it out so Mom could come with me to the conference today, and the money for my second ticket could bless a woman who came late, who called it a miracle, who'd had to borrow money for her ticket. You're a hoot. You are so much fun. Please don't hold back. I can't handle You at all, but I want to try. I know You know my limits better than I do. Thanks for making all the people born today.
Help me nestle into You tomorrow, not be so jumpy and insincere. Give me desire, purity of heart.


17.
Lord,
Put people in my path that need to hear the Gospel, and use me.


18.
I don't know when I've ever been speechless like that before.
Angry. Guilty. Confused.
I'm still trying to figure this out. I need Your help, Abba. Help me see clearly, myself first. The situation. Him. Help me submit to You, not let this bug me unreasonably, "inordinately".

Later
So, I appreciate this a lot. The fact that You know and see everything, and You're not soft on me because I'm a girl. You hold me accountable for whatever it is: pride, idolatry, judgmental attitudes, selfishness, cruelty. Be as hard on me as You need to be to bring about truth and repentance in my heart. Please make me an acute sinner, not a chronic one. Catch me fast, and kiss me quick afterward, I can't stand displeasing You. Please guard this restless tongue.

Jesus. My Holy Spirit, counselor, I'm a joke. I need You to help me get over myself so You can use me. Please speak light and love through me. Please help me clean the oil off the windowsill (thanks) and the urine off the bathroom floor (ugh). In other words, to address what I'm responsible for, and what I'm not, but can do something about.
Seriously, that stall in WalMart was so gross I didn't even want to tell someone about it and make them responsible for it... but I did nothing...
Humble me so I can be a home for You, humble King. Please forgive me.
I love You.


19.
This isn't how I wanted to feel tonight, but I'm glad You're taking me through it.
I hate seeing my self-righteousness rear up, and seeing how easily and deeply I can hurt other people. It scares me. Take all this, reform it. Thank You for using Mom to speak truth to me tonight. To show me a mirror. Please forgive me, Lord God, for my catty, cynical, bitter attitude. It's crazy how what we least want to be, we can be.
There I was, singing about grace and mercy, and not extending it. Lord, show me, show me, I don't deserve it.
I am so bone-dry empty of mercy, shriveled. Soak me in Your fountain of it, the only explanation possible of why this earth is still spinning.

Lord, mitigate the wounds I inflict. Heal my own. Help me come to You, Your Word, more often. Help me to be transformed by the renewing of my mind. Help me stop trying to find my own pathos in everything. Make me a Magdalene.


20.
Dear Jesus,
Thank You for this day that was actually startlingly productive, despite the ache in my heart and the knot in my stomach. Thanks for the pleasure of driving, the simple, straightforward accomplishment of repairing the backdrop. For dancing with me in the empty room. For progress with four commissions.

Thank You for a sensuous, refreshing walk. For those tasty violets, and the horses that didn't come. For mayapples spreading their leaves. For the steamy rotting potatoes, and the thorn in the side of my foot. For soup and grilled cheese, salad and hummus.
For Dad's beautiful hands. For the last chapter of "The Last Battle", and for V's unexpected letter and gift. It made me cry and laugh. Convenient timing, since Mom and Dad had just left. They didn't have to hear my strange helpless sounds.
Thank You for "Home" and "Ragamuffin" too, these reminders of kindness, kindness, kindness. Nye's poem. M's email. N's text with a song.
A new commission.
Thanks for yoga and soap and frosting. For A's invitation to the Chinese theater production.

For the blessing You spread out over my shoulders, Your gentle electric hands, willing me to understand Your love. Help me let go.
Lord, You've been bringing so many people to mind to pray for. Help me respond to all Your impulses.

"People can change. Everything can change." (M. Robinson)

Praise the LORD, O my soul.


21.
Help me not take anything for granted.
"A man learns what he needs to know." Is that also true of women?
I'm having a hard time. I need new eyes. I'm covering everything in my own shroud of hurt and self-pity.
But thanks for all the sleep. And getting A on the phone. Good interaction with Mom and Dad. Thank You that I'm capable of washing laundry, that I have food to eat, that I can write and think and create - even though I'm afraid of my own words. What they are, what they lack.
I'll be gone soon. The world will go on without me. Everything, everyone is extraordinary, and they don't need me to tell it to them.
My failures are predictable. That's a hard one for me. I'd like to not be a sinner, or at least not to sin in predictable, common ways. See my arrogance?

Rabboni, I want Your words. Make me lose everything, even this journal (forbid) if that's what it takes for me to follow You with all my heart, nothing withheld, nothing dear but You.


Later
Your mercy endures forever. How is that possible? And how do I begin to worship You?

Free us from captivity. "Who bore me these?"
How like the body the emotions are...the one part in pain gets all the attention. Put everything in its proper place. Don't let me realize too late how I love all these people. Help me act on it, pray according to it, now. It doesn't matter that there are too many to count. Help me start with those across the hallway.

Bring greater truth, clarity, and grace into his life. Help him forgive deeply, from the heart, and love with patience and creativity and intensity. Magnify Your Name through him.



22.
Glad today happened. Thank You. Good to act free, even if I didn't feel it.
So in-between. It's hard not to sour. Not to fade out & crumple, or be bitterly contrary. Just keep equilibrium. Breathe. Remember the name I've been given by the One who made me. No other name matters. Things will justify themselfs sevels selves ha! in time. You'll put everything to rights, and sweeten my soul, and help me make sense. Or not, but at least You'll use the goop for something.

Thanks for so many phone calls. For G, who wants to drive me around. Whose car is fixed. Who is my friend, even though I've been so spotty with her so often.

Aw, guts. Why am I so evil? Why is Eve in me, and Jezebel, and Delilah (and Michal)? Show me what this woman thing ought to look like, for me. I'm too interested in my own charm & cleverness. It's disgusting. Show me. Weed me, sow me. Stitch in Useful Pockets and French Seams.

I love You, Lover. I'm choosing Your grace.



23.
Give me courage. I'm so afraid. I'm rotting in here.

Later
Make me into a poet. Help me write You a letter with my life, something You'll understand even if no one else does.
But use me, if it pleases You, for others, too.
Show me whether I'm meant to stew in this funk or shake & dance out of it.

Thanks for redeeming tonight. I was so miserable, after driving up the hill and down, scraping the car, and then not even sure what kind of party I was going to. Was almost ready to go home when S called.
I feel so out of it. Out of the in-crowd. And lonely. I shouldn't really, but it feels like everyone I've been close with in the last year is far away, or otherwise wrapped up in a relationship or obligation. It's pathetic of me, really. My job is to keep opening my arms. How long ago was it that I felt so overwhelmed by love? Not two months.
Remember that, child.
And remember tonight, nuzzling the sticky little leaves in the light of a low golden moon, and shaking with tears in the apple tree, while small creatures shuffled below in the darkness.
Remember the warmth of Elisabeth's sweater, and the firm trunk of the catalpa, and the wind, chill and wild with wanting. Remember those who have died, remember the wandering, and the true.
Remember your childhood, how perhaps this little plot mattered more to you than to anyone.
Holy, holy, holy, God who meets the lowly in a nondescript backyard.


24.
There might be only a few things I want to say about today. But I won't know until I write.

I fell asleep shortly after 3am. Needless to say, I went to 2nd service. And Sisters' prayer before that. Lunch at J's, where I didn't do much except be... I left early to read and pray in the parking lot before L's surprise shower.
I tried to nap, but that didn't work. In part for the delightful reason that early family were on the premises, including grandma and grandpa S, walking with and serenading little great-grandson A. Their voices trilling harmony to him were achingly sweet. A song about children who love their Redeemer being jewels in His crown. A "go to sleep" refrain, improvised with commentary on the surroundings. It was a sacred moment. I tried not to disturb them, kept still and dozy, but grandma did eventually notice me in the car, and they moved to a more discreet distance to sing and walk.
The solidarity of that family is astounding.
It was also good to be part of things, a little. To be with my friends. To feel the pull of the net I'm part of - to remember that I am part of it.
Thanks also for mellow, homey planning, reading & prayer with mom and Dad. And the prospect of real sleep tonight.
Thanks for putting me behind that SUV with a Muslim family, for the opportunity to pray. Keep opening my eyes. Keep helping me pray absurdly big prayers.


25.
Daddy. Babbo, grazie. Caring for those 15 kids with H, for just an hour and a half, was so revealing. 4-7-year-olds. Little humans. Such capacity for kindness and loyalty, compassion, justice, sacrifice, selfishness, betrayal, cruelty, mocking... all of it played out. Modesty. Vulnerability. Arrogance. Delight. Thanks for letting my life touch theirs for a brief moments. These fosters & bios & adoptees. Secure them in Your family, Lord. Build up their parents, who are doing so much, loving so well, answering Your call so faithfully.
Thanks for the time with H. For the perfect, barely inconvenient way the Honda broke down on 30. You protected us. Thanks for E loaning his car for the night. For H's easygoing personality. She's a good one to have around in an emergency.

Bring light and truth, not darkness and hurt and Satan's lies. Hound out every one. Devour them. Keep us loving.
There are a lot of things I don't know how to do. Too many to list. Please help me do one thing really well: love You. With everything.
Thanks for being there. I can't live without You.


26.
Remind me (if it's true) that sacrifices of praise when we don't feel like it are pleasing to You.


27.
So yesterday.
Don't let me take a single day for granted. That double rainbow was, I believe, peerless. And I was maddened and relieved that I could only catch glimpses of it while driving, no picture-taking.

THANK YOU for C's testimony. That she came early and was ready and eager to pray. Thank You for the words You gave her to speak, and the testament to Your power and salvation, and Your use of the young and imperfect.

How do I absorb the fact that that was my last study with A? Our last prayer meeting? That I might not see her again, to really visit, until she's a married woman? It feels like a story ending too abruptly, although I know it's a series and will end well.

Thank You for the real work and transformation You are doing in our lives.
Help all my battered little feelers cling to You. I'm tired of putting hopes in people only to be disappointed. I'm tired of my Gomer's heart, de facto preferring anything to You.
And Lord, I need new breadth and depth. I'm not big enough to hold all this.
The 4-year-old killed on 340, that Mrs. C saw. You held all this.

Later
You have a way of making things OK. Better than OK. Of surprising me by taking what is tiresome and making it glow. Or, more likely, You just twirl my heart around a bit until I see things afresh.
It was so special to go to Hibernia with Dad today, even with the runs and a grey mood. You covered me in my favorite color, gave me damp scents & solitude. And company, too: a hand to hold, an arm to link with. You gave me two chapters of Anne Lamott and crackers to share in the car.

And somehow, it was a productive day. Even thought it's midnight now, and my stomach is still heavy with pie, and turning a bit from the lingering smell of fried fish, I'm light. My clock is running again, and ticking loudly to prove it. $30 of the $50 I sent for the projector is tucked up in my Travel Funds drawer, thanks to Mr. S. The Honda is back in the driveway, thanks to the shop. I have strength for today and hope for tomorrow, thanks to You. Everything, thanks to You.
Help me choose margin, as we prayed this morning for the church family. Not to push everything right up to the edge.
O Perfection. You have not forsaken me. I'm too stupid to realize You never will. Teach me patiently; it's all You.

Give me a new dream, fresh desire for You.


28.
I don't think I meant, by a new dream, a dream about the king/president and his baby boy. That was strange. And funny.
I slept in this morning. I did no painting. I packed, and this afternoon I drove to West Chester in the rain to have a crit with C. This evening I attended the congregational meeting and voted yes to everything. At home I did yoga, showered, and changed my Amtrak ticket.
God, bless You.
"When I called upon thee, thou heardest me; and enduedst my soul with much strength." (Ps. 138:3)
I read it as "enduedest" in my head.

The West Chester trip was smooth and holy. The time with C was priceless - real and refreshing, challenging and comforting. Thank You for her honesty with me. And her story of painting ~"Hell Needs Hope". Something raw and dark and yet so beautiful emerged. Thank You for giving us Yourself, and for giving us each other.
Thank You for J's magnificent and sensitive art, her poetry. For "O Magnum Mysterium". For the "Outlanders" soundtrack N recommended, for a (yet to be read) letter from A.

Thank You for Dad's jokes and Mom's sweetness. For "the perpetual virginity of the soul"... until You appeared. Don't let me forget what a romance this is. You are loving, and kind, and merciful, and You do not despise me.
Awaken all of me to You. Give me complete trust & confidence, whole reliance on You as I enter the fog, the uncharted waters.


29.
Domine, clamavi.
Breathe deep. It's gonna be OK. You're gonna get there. Even today was a "there", this threshed & jittery day.
Wrapping things up. PAINTING. Mailing a painting. Watching "Star Wars". Trying to sit still long enough to pray.
This is dizzying, this spinning world. Stare into my eyes, be my still point again, always. Jesus. Your sweet, honey sword Name.


30. (On the Amtrak train to Philly)
I'm really looking forward to a long ride today. Fringed with nerves, of course, but ready for time to think/write/pray/read. The gift of an earlier morning in the Psalms with You was lovely. And the timing of getting everything done was perfect: pancakes, packing, backing up my Mac, moving the studio, cleaning the bathroom. Thanks.

Later
Pulling out from the Secaucus bus stop. The trip is going really smoothly, and I'm thankful. Nothing out of the ordinary grievances: sore bottom, stalker types*. But I'm trusting my HOPE/FORTRESS/CASTLE/DELIVERER/DEFENDER.
Obviously, this bus is even shakier than the Amtrak. I've enjoyed the height, though. The rest. Dozing, watching people in cars below, soaking in all this new green. I like to fixate on one passing leaf, and remind myself that You made it, You know it. Some trees are already fortified with wisteria. Wysteria? I like that better. Like mystery. Mystical Myst.

*lonely men I don't want to talk to.

Later
Here at the wonderful library Spare Oom. It's been a good, good evening with G. Comfort, talking, prayer. Such a hard day for her and many others, with an accident resulting in a death. A horrific situation... and all we can do is leave it there, in Your hands, and trust that You really do heal the brokenhearted and call the stars by name.

Lines from April, Part 1

2.
Lord Jesus Christ. Please give me wisdom and grace. I need more than I possess. Can I offer anything to You, or take communion, before we are reconciled? Please speak to my spirit, show me truth.
I want to be obedient to You. And I want long-term health, not just an easing of my conscience. I don't know that I can reach him. But You can, Father. By Your powerful Name, break through.


3.
Maybe I'm blind-boating again.
"My milky mouth, my winter lungs;
don't tell me what cannot be done..."
(Innocence Mission).
You are always guiding.


6.
The other day I noticed a couple walking in sync and thought how beautiful it is for two people - even two unremarkable, middle-aged people - to be so used to one another that they function together unconsciously.
And I've noticed things with Mom and Dad, too. Yesterday Dad said he wouldn't eat lunch, not even soup, because of his headache and how ill he was feeling. Mom heated all the soup anyway, telling me he might change his mind and have broth, at least.
She offered broth to him at the table, and he refused it, but when he went into the kitchen for something, he looked in the pot and said, "Is this the broth?...Maybe I will have some." And Mom gave me a look (amusement, triumph, tenderness).
This morning Dad called Mom to tell her that he was on his way home, and Mr. M would be stopping in with him. He made sure to mention that part. Mom and I laughed about it, because it was clearly more than a warning to prepare mentally for socializing; it was a signal to put on "real" clothes.
(They know each other so well).

Later
Well, I couldn't do it. I am rightly humbled, and I don't want to write in pink.
And I've been repeating these words over the last minute, until I found a thin brown pen.
I thought I was healing. I thought I was letting go.
I think the early morning is part of it, part of why I feel so nervy and weak.
I haven't been guarding myself well today. Have been feeding too much on what isn't good for me.

Why are people like this? "Good" but shallow and untried, or "Wise" but hardened and bitter, or "Beautiful" but terrified and cruel?
You still make me believe You are everything right and lovely, and that I'll have some future worth living.
Keep me open to every painful truth. I want so much to snap shut and pity myself for a while.
Gently.


7.
Moshiach,
This was a merciful day. I woke early enough to paint, "Vulnerability is Courage", and Mom was big-hearted enough to work with me even though I was turbulent, moody and taciturn.
We invited L over for lunch (which Mom shared with me, too): chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, roasted carrots, sourdough rolls, and later some fresh chocolate chip cookies.
We were all a bit off, tired, but it was still worthwhile. The food did us good, and the conversation warmed up. I'm going to miss her.
I took a beautiful sad walk in the rain. Ordered tickets. Got a few things done, barely any art though. The highlight was driving to the R's and going with them and L to see "Dispatches from the Front: 9" in Ambler. It was hosted by Westminster, with free popcorn and drinks, and B had packed us a lovely picnic dinner for the car, so the whole trip seemed like a gift. Food, company and conversation, and such an encouraging and stimulating film. Felt like I was on a family field trip.

Of course it's late now. And I'm still feeling an edge of off-ness, disappointment. But it's OK.
You're real, and doing things, and you can't help giving life and hope and love to people who cling on Your robes. So I'm doing that.
Please help me. Open the way. Plant things in me that You want to grow, start desires and dreams that You want to fulfill in this world, for eternity.
This little brown plot is all Yours.


8.
Went with Papa to run errands, went with Mrs. H to pick up A from the airport, went to G park to wait (and witnessed enough drug dealing that I went to wait at the S's instead, where T and I talked about life & YAs, and prayed).

Praise You for this new stretch of uncharted forest, and room to heal and dream, and feel sick with vulnerability and second-guessing.
You've got to help me with that.
You are such a feast. A love feast. Work up my hunger for You and feed me, feed me.


9.
Thanks for helping me today. Good, cozy home day. SNOW.
"Free" lunch from Mom and Dad, of leftover Nav food. So much MEAT this week I almost couldn't enjoy it!
I went and said goodbye to L. The dogs were so sweet and affectionate. Hard to say goodbye; it just doesn't feel right.
All glory to You, Righteous One. I want to spend my life on You. Use and bless bless bless tomorrow.


10.
Today was punctuated in goodness. Full & rich & long.
Help me trust You. Only You know what that means;
make it wholly realized in us.


11.
Such a different day from yesterday. A good day. A home day, a BB's day. Writing notes, drawing, hula hooping, reading, sharing songs, praying, planning.
Help me not be so preoccupied, with myself or my plans. I'm full of myself, I really am. I'd be praying more, otherwise. Slow me down, Lord.
You'd rather have my attention than my busywork, I know that.
You are my only safety. My mind itself is a frightening place, although I've tried to make it homey. Help me feel Your delight. Spirit, move. Bring revival in me, in us. Kiss us where it hurts.
Please give me a new profile pic, and a new heart. Please give me fruit & vegetables this week, and especially You. Let me down on everything but Your promises. Tenderize my heart for all people. Don't leave me.


13.
Kindly, Kingly One,
Gloria. Here I am at the end of a Wednesday, quarter to midnight, brushed teeth and a contented tummy, AC undulating the makeshift curtain. My Narnia shirt from Creation '05, Indian pants from Orvieto market, undies from the thrift store. More hair on my head than ever since 10.31.14.

Here I am in the lap of love, floating and just feeling the power of the water all around me; I add nothing, I only sense and appreciate.

Thank You for "War Room" tonight; I don't even have the heart to criticize it, because there was so much humbling helpful truth. No. I'll hold my tongue, and praise You, and ask You to move me toward You and make me soft and teachable, so that You can work.

Thank You for Dad buying ice cream for us to share. For the chance to pick up sticks in the yard, and make tandoori noodles and vegetables, and do yoga and write R. Thanks for Mrs. L calling Mom to tell her about C's first grandbaby being lost, and for Mom going up the street with Tulsi tea and a tiny bouquet of violets, to say only "I couldn't stay home" and hug her and cry.
Thank You for prayer with Mom in the hallway tonight, and enough cash to pay J tomorrow, and so much yogurt.
Praise You for truth and confession.


14.
What a year You've brought me through. What a glorious invitation, to be alive.

Today was sweet and rapid. Morning at A's, running errands and talking, praying, eating lunch. I bought frames, and got the portrait board from J. We talked about his baby boy. The emotion of parenting. The noisiness, and fear of harming such a little body. He showed me a gorgeous walnut table with ebony bow ties. We talked briefly about how life-giving it is to do personal, or small-scale projects, rather than big corporate productions. Letting the wood show its beauty, and not spoiling it.

I listened to all the Frances the Badger stories in the car, and felt that warm rise of fondness and nostalgia. Laughed, too, at the wit & goodness of it.
I organized, gessoed, read "Screwtape" with L, walked with Mom, baked bread, and read a little of "Home" with warm buttery slices.

Move me. Lift off the ceiling, show me the stars. Heal my weirdly peeling feet, and make them beautiful with Gospel.
Show me how to behave. How to love these many immortals. How to sense You deeply, delight in You. Jesus. 

Lines from March, Part 2

20.
Lord, if I'm honest, I'm pretty fed up right now.
Ready to be angry and sweepingly bitter toward all men. You've got to stop me and help me.
Yesterday was long and rich, from place to place. But conversation really bothered me at points... hearing things or being pushed toward saying things I didn't like. I admit there's pride, and hurt pride, there.
But I long for truth and love.

And then today...ouch. Why does it make me feel like I dodged a bullet, but took a fist to the gut? Insignificance. That's what bothers me.
At least I can extend grace. But help me. I'm too ready to be either a tomb or a hot water bottle. I want to be a woman. Discerning and tender. Make love to my glowering little heart. Make me clear and true and totally at rest in You.


22.
Thank You for taking me through this vulnerable day,
even when I was tired of words.
Thank You for people praying with and for me.
Protect me, but not if it's to the detriment of Your glory. Use me as a light-bearer. But to do that, You've got to keep burning out my darkness. And on this trip, Father, show me how to pray and rest and work, listen and respond, play and laugh. Make this our sweetest time yet.
Daddy, I'm weary. My dreams are weary. Give me Yours.
Love Yourself through me.


24.
Dear Jesus.
Thank You for seeing me through the various steps and confusions of travel to a startlingly quiet haven. To a home in a castle. To a nest of vitality in an inhospitable concrete maze. There are more and better ways to describe this, but thank You.
Last night we had chicken and rice and cucumber-tomato salad, and walked to Fort Tryon park by a round yellow moon, and saw magnolia trees glowing and the bright, 2-tiered G.W. Bridge. Tantrums and tears, walking home. Daffodils massing under trees, in walkway gardens.
We talked late, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Today I got to fold laundry, read, play hide-and-seek, pick imaginary flowers, play I Spy and "Excuse Me, What Are You Doing?" and dance. It's both strange and natural to be here. To have so much history, and yet so little in common in the way of life-season and circumstances. So good to be kindred spirits and know there's that trust and grace. Jesus, help us grow that this week. Really listen and see, and be heard and seen, and keep it all focused on You and coming back to You.
I still feel hungry for Your closeness and security. To not be second-guessing. I am safe with You, my Love.
Feed me Your words, Your True Words. Help me move with grace from moment to moment, to sense what is needed and how I should respond.
Spirit, quicken me.
Maundy Thursday. And I've been barely aware of Holy Week.
Settle me into Your arms that don't get tired.


25.
So much fun to be out and get a taste of life for other families. The air was so fresh. It felt gracious and spring-like.
I wish I could do more to help out, but I do feel wanted and I know it blesses C to have me there to help with the kids, so I don't feel burdensome. It's been lovely to talk, about all sorts of things. We still haven't run out of things, even though we talk ourselves to exhaustion. C makes the best lattes.
So refreshing to be in the Word, even on a screen with background noise and a wandering mind. So good to shower tonight. To have had sweet moments with each child today.
Ah, Lord. Bring to mind what I must recall. Instruct me where I need to grow.
Make my heart humble and secure in You, Jesus. You, who gave everything willingly.


26.
Dearest,
Thank You for this precious day, with so many seasons of activity: reading, singing, dancing, yoga, cooking, drawing, cuddling, pacing with baby. I love these people. I love knowing that we enjoy sharing each other's lives and hearing about the small details of it. And Lord, we want more of You. To be fully devoted, and never apart. Never running on flesh, but on Spirit.
Guide our tomorrow to be a time of enjoying You and worshipping You, of being changed, of loving deeply and patiently and well.
Help us know You for who You are. To know Your heart for the home it is. Make our hearts Your home. Make my heart Your home.
Make me brave and obedient. Fill me with joy in Your presence.


27.
Today was so good; cinnamon rolls and church, resting at home, simple "dinosaur food" supper, talking with C. We saw ~6 rats on the subway. So many good or funny or interesting conversations.
Help me to understand Your welcome, and to extend it.
Thank You for Your loyal love, fresh every morning.


28.
O God, I need Your own words, and yet I can't seem to absorb them. I need Your strength for everything.
You brought me kindly through today, the farewell ("I love you, bay-bay!"), the 4 legs of the trip (including my inappropriately conversational neighbor at 30th Street), the transition back to the studio and the time to talk and look at photos with Mom and Dad.
I'm still reeling a bit from what Mom said, what I may have done. I feel sick. I feel like it's just a sick situation. And I'm having trouble taking all the things that need to be done one at a time, keeping them in perspective.
Jesus, You are true. Even when I am false. When I don't believe You. When I'm too smart for my own good, and really the biggest fool.
Show me, again, Your face.
Romance me through this week, romance and more. Grant me another day of life, if You see fit, for Your glory.


29.
Well, Lord. Wow.
Thank You for bringing me through today, with nothing much to show for it. Nothing to show but Your goodness. Helping me get a little work done, finish Solhzenitsyn (rats, I was hoping I got it right! Still messed up. Switch the h & z), take a walk.
Walking...that was lovely.
N asked for prayer about asking M out, and now they are dating. Whoosh.
But I'm pretty frustrated about tonight. Not as bad as it could be, it's laughable, but sad. It's hard not to make snap judgments. Forgive me, the flake.


30.
It's been a special day. I see that now. Sleeping "in" (no prayer meeting for this insomniac), making pancakes, doing little chores and making progress, making meatballs.
Driving to Camp, and having such a deep dear time with C, catching up, sitting at a picnic table in the sun. I played the song for her, and she cried. And she said such meaningful things to me, I almost couldn't absorb it. Lord, provide for them. Steady them in this season.

B and I had a good long talk after I got home. That helped. Father, please please bring truth and love. Wholeness, not division and strife. There is so much sin, so much poison. It scares me. Bleed us of it, bleed over us, make us wail at Your love and suffering. We still don't understand what it does to You.


31.
Most of the day I've been prepping things for the coffee shop show. Mom and I went out for frames and things, and I was able to find 7 workable ones. It feels good. As we drove back, I felt a wash of gratitude and vitality. I'm thankful I get to be an artist.
Life is riddled with wonders, when I'm ready to see them.
Jesus, thank You.