nothing matters

I’m supposed to speak to my study group on the 3rd and the 10th, and I still haven’t a clue what to say.

an update

Yes, my car was run over by an SUV. A white one, that the neighbors and I have seen parked on the block before, but none of us knew who it belonged to. I called the police the day after it happened (that’s last Saturday night), and while awaiting their arrival, did indeed wander the neighborhood looking for the culprit vehicle. Yes, I was barefoot.

I put all the detritus from the front of my car on my back seat, and got the case number from the officer. After the non-response from this winter’s house robbery and sexual threat, I wasn’t expecting anything much.

on lightning strikes, ministry opportunities, and Saturn coupes

Observations from the heart of the adventure:

Three US women priests to be ordained, excommunicated

By Marcia Scott-Harrison

BOSTON, Massachusetts (AFP) – Three women are to be ordained as priests Sunday here in one of American’s most Catholic cities, but they will face automatic excommunication by the Roman Catholic Archdiocese.

California United Methodists make strong pro gay rights statements

In a move likely to fuel controversy within the broader denomination, one United Methodist Church legislative body in California has gone on record supporting those who enter into same-sex marriage and another has commended pastors who agree to perform same-sex marriage ceremonies.

Read more »

my sister’s kids….

introducing Josh, Bekah, Alex, and Adryana. Goofs, all.

rightly wrong

When I was a kid, one of the things that drove me most mad was when my dad, who tended to fly off the handle pretty easily, would be proven in the wrong, yet would never admit it or apologize. In fact, it wasn’t until I was twenty-five or twenty-six that he ever admitted to me the possibility of his being wrong ever in his life.

There was this time, however, when I confronted of my parents for certain damaging things that they chose to do. Now I realize perfectly well that they did the best they could with what they had, and yet this does not erase the fact that what they chose caused monumental damage in our family relationships. I was seeking an apology, or at very least an acknowledgement that an error had been made. From dad, surprisingly, I got tears of deep repentance. From mom, equally surprisingly, I got the martyr treatment. In short, dad learned how to admit he was wrong, and mom still could not see that an apology for her decision, which she clearly regretted, would generate much healing.

I’m not trying to pound on my parents, but to illustrate a point, with which I think we as Christians have far too much difficulty.

We aren’t good at admitting we’re wrong. In fact, we’re really good at denying or deflecting it.

books, books, books!

 I don’t normally do meme-ish posts, but this will be an exception, as it appeals to that insatiable bookworm (more like a tapeworm) in me. 

I was reading Closeted Pastor this morning, and she posted this list from “The Big Read,” which is designed to get people to reading. The list is the NEA’s top 100 books, of which, despite it all, they estimate the average adult has read only six. The ones I’ve read are in red, and I’ve posted a few thoughts on those that motivated me to comment upon.

Yeah, I’ve read a lot. But I’m happy to say I now have a ready-made reading list to occupy my spare time (HA!)—you know, that time I have when I’m not reading philosophy or theology.

It would be interesting to see what you’ve read, too, if you want to put a list on your blog or a comment on mine.

the quest for cave man love

Now we see indistinctly … then we will see face to face. My knowledge is imperfect now; then I will know even as I am known. (I Cor. 13:12)

if my life had a soundtrack

What do I mean by if?

Of course my life has a soundtrack. Ennio Morricone collaborated with John Williams, Thomas Newman, Harry Gregson-Williams and Vangelis. Cool soundtrack, eh?

Okay, so I listen to music all the time. And since my Yahoo LaunchCast station (that I’ve been nurturing and modifying for lo these last four years) is for some reason on strike, I’ve come to fall in love with iTunes. Especially since my brother gave me an Airport Extreme for my birthday and an Airport  Express for Christmas. I have this nice little commercial-free internet radio playing throughout my home all day. Yay me.

Stations that I write to or otherwise enjoy lately:

• Groovera’s Ambient Popsicle and Low Mercury stations
• SOMA FM’s Secret Agent and Groove Salad stations
• ETN’s Trance and Progressive stations
• Dance Radio’s Chillout Lounge
• SKY’s New Age, Mostly Classical, Piano Jazz, Trance, Ambient, and Chillout stations

Any iTunes compatible stations you listen to?

tabula rasa

So here’s another sonnet, a sequel to the last one (I’ve decided to use my chronic insomnia for creative ends). I still haven’t said all I want, so you can expect another one on the theme soon, I’m sure.

Thoughts?

 

The cracked red clay like long abandoned tile

Complains and crumbles ‘neath her worn-out feet—

The sun’s own kiln, this once lush, palm-brushed mile.

She can’t reckon the times she’s walked this street

To haggle over cloth or fresh produce;

She can’t tally the times she stood right here

To laugh with friends and drink sweet mango juice

While husbands argued over law. And near

This bustling street her home once beckoned guests.

And in her dreams she sees its cheerful gate,

The arbor where two weddings once were blessed,

The threshold where it’d all disintegrate.

And standing silent in the street alone,

She feels a raindrop wet her cheek of stone.

 

My Lot

A new sonnet of mine, a product partly of long musing, partly of insomnia.

note: I just altered this to past tense, since it seems more poignant this way. What do you think?

 

The scorching daystar pounded through my head

As my tired fists beat down on pliant dough—

Another day he’d thank for daily bread;

Another day of cook, and clean, and sew.

Each day at dawn he left to dictate law;

Each day at dawn I rose to endless chores.

Each evening claimed him still without a flaw—

Each evening that I faced with aches and sores.

He is renowned for his great holiness;

And I am nameless as his pliant spouse,

So pliant that I stood in silent dress

When rape he said was better in this house.

With treasured guests he fled the blind, and I

Lingered to grieve what good men justify.