Category Archives: words

I Am From

Posted in Family, life, words by

I am from woven rag rugs by the sink and stacks of table boards. I am from orderly and punctual, the taste of raisins and garlic and whole wheat bread. I am from plants in macrame hangers in the living room and the swing in the tree whose long-gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.

I’m from morning devotions and shelves of books and baskets of magazines, from reading in silence as a form of socializing and from holding hands for prayer before meals.

I’m from singing for the tape to start playing, God walking with me in the dark, and “It’s always right to do right.”

I’m from camping on Skyline Drive and walking with a hissing lantern and 12-hour road trips to Grampas and countless airport trips.

I’m from Virginia and Germany and Ireland and molasses cookies and canned peaches.

From younger siblings playing church and showing slides, from a typewriter and fabric scraps in the sewing room, from toy poodles, and a world map on the wall.

 

This is based on the poem “I Am From” by George Ella Lyon. The template for this kind of fun writing is here. Try it!

 

 

Rates and Over-Rates

Posted in Ireland, life, words by

According to the numbers, I lost more than half of my blog readers when Google Reader finished. Am I supposed to do something about this?  I’m a little sad about it, but not too much because I’m not writing/blogging these days anyhow. This is the season when teachers rest their brains and give themselves permission to be dormant. At least this teacher does.

I think mostly in single words or lines these days.

Over-rated:

first impressions

clothes’ brand-names

color-coordination. So why doesn’t blue and green work?

silk ivy leaves

whitened teeth

chevron stripes

blog stats

bloggers’ opinions

Can’t over-rate:

going barefoot all day every day

babies’ peach-skin cheeks

wild fuchsias in hedgerows

spicy nachos and cold Coke

breakfast in the sun

swimming in a wild sea cove

To mull:

Most people, most of the time, are doing the best they can.

“The cure for everything is saltwater–sweat, tears, or the sea. “–Isak Dinesen

Good relationships come from large helpings of grace and redemption mixed with a little amnesia.

 

Story of a Hymn

Posted in music, words by

George Matheson went irreversibly blind when he was 20. His fiancee said she could not see herself be the wife of a blind man. So she broke their engagement shortly before their wedding date. From that point, his younger sister helped care for him and George went on to become a pastor and seminary lecturer.

Twenty years later, his sister was to be married and would leave him.  On the eve of her wedding while he was alone and his family was celebrating in another house, these lines came to him.  He said the words came quickly, as if inspired. They reveal a broken, weary man’s agony. The only thing in his heart that was larger than his pain was his deep, sure faith in God and His promises; He was confident that things wouldn’t always be the way they were now.

Mim, this post is for you. Sorry you had to wait this long for it…

 

1. O Love that wilt not let me go, (there once had been a love that did let him go)

I rest my weary soul in Thee;

I give Thee back the life I owe,

That in Thine ocean depths its flow

May richer, fuller be. (he knew God would value his contribution; he believed he had something to offer)

 

2. O Light that foll’west all my way,

I yield my flick’ring torch to Thee; (a reference to his blindness)

My heart restores its borrowed ray,

That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day

May brighter, fairer be. (again, he had something to give God—a humble, faithful act of offering)

 

3. O Joy that seekest me through pain,

I cannot close my heart to Thee; (it is easier to close your heart in the presence of pain)

I trace the rainbow thru the rain, (in his blindness, he couldn’t see it, except through his fingers and then only in faith)

And feel the promise is not vain,

That morn shall tearless be. (his faith knew his what his sight couldn’t: that sunshine comes after rain)

 

4. O Cross that liftest up my head,

I dare not ask to fly from Thee; (the human response to pain is to fly from it)

I lay in dust life’s glory dead,

And from the ground there blossoms red

Life that shall endless be. (his faith knew there would be color someday)

 
Lyrics: George Matheson
Music: Albert Lister Peace, arr. by David Phelps

No Beauty?

Posted in teaching English, words by

“Why do Christians celebrate Christmas?” This was the conversation question.

“It started when Saint Nicholas started giving gifts to children. I’m an atheist, so that’s how I think Christmas began.”

“I’m a romantic, and want to have a lovely wedding in a church someday, so I can’t be an atheist, but I think those stories in the Bible are myths like Zeus.”

I listened because this was about practicing English, but then I said that I choose to believe that the stories are true, and when you read the stories about Jesus, you can see that He was such a beautiful person, the way He talked with people and loved them.

Then the conversation went to the funny ways I use words. I say a dog is ‘handsome’ and I say Jesus is ‘beautiful.’ “You can’t do this in our language!”

We laughed, and they left after I hugged them at the door, wishing them lovely Christmases. But it’s true: Jesus is a beautiful person, even if Isaiah said there was nothing beautiful or majestic about His appearance, nothing to attract us to Him. I wish I could have heard how Jesus read Isaiah’s words about the blind seeing and the captives given liberty. I wish I could have seen Him talking with children and the broken woman accused of adultery.

I’m thinking these days of how earthy Jesus was, how dust and bad smells and conflict was part of His world, and He didn’t run away from it, or think Himself above it.

Our grime and fracturedness is nothing new to Him. It was for the broken and shattered ones that He came, and I think that’s beautiful beyond words.

A related post: My Commander in Chief



 

What You Say is What You Are

Posted in life, Poland, words by

Two days ago, I was driving an unfamiliar car out of an unfamiliar car park. It was snowy and the windscreen was foggy, but I was being as careful as I knew to be. I saw pedestrians around me but I wasn’t close to knocking anyone down, and didn’t skid.

As I waited for a break in traffic to pull out onto the main road (the one that reaches from Moscow to Paris!), a woman knocked on my window and harshly told me to pay attention when I drive out of there. Through the window, I said I’m sorry. She started walking away, then turned around again and pointed her finger at her head: “Stupid nun!”

I nodded dumbly because I can’t defend myself in Polish, beyond saying “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her words shook me because I’m not the brightest light on the street, but I’m not used to being called stupid.  Which says more about the people around me than about me. But I wasn’t crushed or devastated by her rudeness.

It’s something I’ve heard all my life, but only recently the penny dropped for me, and I see that what someone says about me or does to me reveals more about them than about me. The rude lady on the street. The hurtful words or actions directed at me. Neglect or carelessness that hurt me. None of that means that I deserve those words and actions, that I’m stupid or unworthy of care. It only reveals the perspective and the life experience of the one whose words and actions I receive.

Not that I’m perfect and never fail, and never need to be called to higher things. But no one ever deserves rudeness or abuse or harshness, no matter how imperfect they are.

But it cuts both ways. When I judge/criticize/make a statement about someone else, I’m revealing my own heart more than I am giving an accurate picture of that person. When I call someone unfeeling or impossible or thoughtless, chances are that I’m saying words that describe me.

Ouch.

The Sound of Silence

Posted in music, Poland, travel, words by

A conversation last night, after talking about the team’s plans for intensive Polish language lessons for the next few weeks:

1st friend: What about having an English fast for a few days?

2nd friend: Oh yeah, that means we talk English as fast as we can and see who wins.

Me: Great, we’re on! I’ll give you a run for your money.

1st friend: I wouldn’t want to compete with Anita. (This is the same friend who thinks I should be an attorney.)

I laughed and laughed, humored with the play on words and not needing to defend myself.

But today I’m trying to take a talking fast of sorts. I didn’t take a vow of silence, but almost.

Not because I’m ascetic but because I’ve been socializing and singing intensely for the last 3 weeks with The Hope Singers.  Besides vocal fatigue, a sore throat virus attacked me, and now I can sing bass instead of 2nd alto.  This has happened the last 2 times I was on Hope Singers, so I know the pattern, and know that a day of silence will be medicine.

We used to have a neighbor who led retreats with his wife. He told me of the time they led a 4-day silent retreat. “It was hardest for the women,” he said with a wink.

I’m the girl who has enough words to finish everyone’s sentences without even trying, and even today a lot of things want to come bubbling out, but it feels so incredibly good to just be quiet.

Until, of course, the moment that I think of some comment or advice that will completely change your life and you MUST hear it now.

Humility is Truth

Posted in life, words by

If you want a good book to chew on for awhile, pick up Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth. It’s rich, crammed full of wisdom that comes from experience and insight into how people function with each other and God.

This morning I was reading it while drinking coffee, sitting in the sun on the steps. The following paragraph made me remember the meeting I was in yesterday where all 3 of us admitted a certain level of fear about the new things we were planning/discussing, and that honesty helped me feel not so alone as I had before.

This  is from the chapter “Nourishment.”

I am struck by how sharing our weakness and difficulties is more nourishing to others than sharing our qualities and successes. There is a fundamental tendency to become discouraged in community. We either believe that others are better than we are, or that they don’t have to cope with the same problems. The discovery that we are all in the same boat and all have the same fears and weariness, can help us to continue. People are nourished by humility, because humility is truth; it is a sign of the presence of God.–Jean Vanier

Quick Energy

Posted in life, words by

This week I got a darling, hand-made card from teenage sisters I never met. They wrote that they’d seen my prayer card on a mutual friend’s fridge and wanted to let me know that they’re praying for me.

It blew me away, the tangible gentleness and love and care. I depend on email most every day, and value it hugely. But I still love seeing my name and address on an envelope in the post. This surprise card motivated me to write a letter, and drop it in the postbox down the road. I’d been thinking about writing that letter for months, and the card was the final push to do it.

It’s easier to complain or seethe or stay silent during each day’s wear and tear. But no matter the situation, encouragement is never out of order, on this side of heaven. Who have you been thinking about and who could use your words?

“A wise person gets known for insight; gracious words add to one’s reputation. Gracious speech is like clover honey–good taste to the soul, quick energy for the body.” (Proverbs 16:21, 24, The Message)

 

Grace on a Plate

Posted in My Book, words by

Grace isn’t shocking enough to make the headlines. The words that give life and breath to the panting and exhausted don’t usually get said loudly enough for the world to hear. They’re whispered, or mouthed, and seen only by several eyes. But that doesn’t make them less important or powerful.

Micha Boyett wrote wise words here after a public, unloving book critique and a soft, gracious answer to that–actually, an invitation for a meal. The result of this grace was a gentle apology, and a great illustration of how powerful mercy is.  I found these words beautiful and convicting because when I hear criticism about my book, I am carnal enough that I drafted  a scathing, frigid letter sooner than send a dinner invitation.

After Jesus’s disciples absconded, and started living as though they’d never been with Him, He pursued them, gave them a miracle at work, and cooked breakfast for them. I wish I could have been there. His grace to them that morning had to have changed them profoundly–which is what grace and mercy does in its quiet way, without headlines and hoopla.

Micah is writing about words and relationships across the internet, which is an important part of communication. But I want grace to be even more important to me in the real-time, real-life words and actions that I engage in every day, in as normal things as breakfast or dinner.

I find the Internet to be the hardest place to follow the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount. Blessed is she who has the most blog hits? Blessed is he who stands by his theological stance with the most vigor and resentment?

On the Internet, we can talk a good game about Jesus. We don’t have to know each other. We don’t have to love each other from afar. Instead we can pick on each other’s wounds and brokenness and separate ourselves into more and more theological camps. Who needs denominations? We can just align ourselves with the blogger who reads the Bible the way we do and criticizes the ones we like to criticize.

We can be a generation of sarcasm, biting, and cutting. We can roll our eyes and slam the laptop shut. Then open it up again to see if all our friends on Twitter agree.

Or, we can learn earnestness from the example of Voskamp’s genuine kindness. We are also invited to hold the gospel out. We are invited to prepare a table and set a place for the one who criticizes our lives, our beliefs, our art. We are invited to live out the blessing of Jesus:

Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.

The world does not need angry theology: it needs a true, good story. It needs the good news that God’s compassion is deep enough to rescue, to remake, to restore our broken lives.

After all, we are followers of a Messiah who said in his kingdom our job is not to win the argument: it’s to make the peace, to see God, to show mercy.

Beauty and a Blog

Posted in life, recommendations, words by

I’m a bit of a blog junkie, but don’t comment often on them. You’re supposed to get your name out there and comment on lots of blogs so that people find your link and discover your blog. My book needs publicity, but I don’t, and I don’t feel a compulsion to get my name out there, so I’m not driven to do lots of commenting.

What I like best is to have friends who blog, and when they post, I like knowing their email address, and being able to connect via email or Google Chat and have this dialogue going behind the scenes. I like that hugely.

That’s what’s happening with me and my friend Shari these days. Years ago, we were in the same writers’ critique group, and I always liked her pieces, plus her input and advice on what others wrote. Now she’s writing again, and I love to see it.

I think she’s brave and compassionate, intelligent and insightful. She blogs for love of words, and in that she’s able to speak for those who don’t write, but who feel the things deeply, and are happy to find someone who is walking with them who understands. Which is, I think, what our blogs are–not publicity so much as a way to communicate and identify with each other and not feel so alone.

A couples weeks ago, Shari wrote a post on beauty that gave me deep things to think about. I know it’s true that every woman wants to know she’s beautiful, and Shari put into words what is true–that our soul reveals itself and make us beautiful or otherwise, and no creams or colors can hide that. It makes me hope that my wrinkles are/will be from smiles and laughter.

As we mature, we find our inside becoming slowly, inexorably etched on our outside. I know this is true. I have seen it over and over. I love reading faces, and have case-studied this as extensively as possible in my small 29 years, particularly in the 28 ¾ in which I’ve been aware of beauty. People start to look more and more like who they are. It scares the willies out of me.

Each of us is given the wonderful opportunity/ terrible responsibility of painting our own faces. Before 30, only a glimpse of our work shows. After 30… oh boy. Then the peace of my heart begins to take a permanent place on my forehead. Then the bitterness of my soul finds a lasting home in the shape of my chin. Then joy begins to cling to the corners of my mouth. Then anger-in-private carves deep lines in public, to be seen by all. Then humility and confidence awaken visibly, like a halo around my face.

At first, it’s apparent only to those with sharp eyes. Soon, any casual observer can read it. (Isn’t it ironic that many of us find spouses before our souls start to show? Oh boys, beware, beware.)

If you like honest women’s blogs, you’ll like Shari’s. You’ll agree sometimes and giggle other times, like a recent post and its ensuing comments amused me.

Proud of you, Shari, and someday we’ll talk in real space and time again over coffee!