Tuesday, March 17, 2009
"The Rest"
from Streams in the Desert:
"'There is no music in a rest, but there is the making of music in it.' In our whole life-melody the music is broken off here and there by 'rests,' and we foolishly think we have come to the end of the tune. God sends a time of forced leisure, sickness, disappointed plans, frustrated efforts, and makes a sudden pause in the choral hymn of our lives; and we lament that our voices must be silent, and our part missing in the music which ever goes up to the ear of the Creator. How does the musician read the 'rest'? See him beat the time with unvarying count, and catch up the next note true and steady, as if no breaking place had come between.
Not without design does God write the music of our lives. Be it ours to learn the tune, and not be dismayed at the 'rests.' They are not to be slurred over, not to be omitted, not to destroy the melody, not to change the keynote. If we look up, God Himself will beat the time for us. With the eye on Him, we shall strike the next note full and clear. If we sadly say to ourselves, 'There is no music in a 'rest,' let us not forget 'there is the making of music in it.' The making of music if often a slow and painful process in this life. How patiently God works to teach us! How long He waits for us to learn the lesson!" -Ruskin.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
One year later
March 3, 2009 – Happy 83rd Birthday, Dad
I am a writer. I can trace my abilities as a writer to my father (who, due to overactive tear-ducts, could not always express his feelings in person but was articulate on the page) and paternal grandfather (a poet). His father (my great-grandfather) was a Member of Canadian Parliament in the mid-1800s and a great orator. While a full-year has elapsed since I saw my dad for the last time, the need to remember, the need to record, and the need to write has not diminished.
In May, I was at a place in my grief where I attempted to categorize events as B.C. (Before Cari), A.D. (After Dad), or something in-between. For the events that occurred B.C., I am entirely dependent on the memory of others; for the nearly thirty-three years since my birth, I am mostly responsible. I am beginning to feel anxious that both my busy schedule and my imperfect memory are working against me and my attempts to remember all the lasts: the last time Dad said, “I’m sorry you have to go” (or was it “I’m sorry you have to leave?”) as I left for work. When did we do our last puzzle together? What day did we have that conversation about heaven? When did we pepper dad with questions about his past only to have him say, “I can’t remember?” And then there are the A.D. types of questions: Was Dad still alive when we watched “Dan in Real Life”? Wasn’t dad there when we had that St. Patrick’s get-together? Oh, that’s right, he was gone by then.
A few weeks before my father’s death, when he was recovering from the flu, I had pulled out a manila folder full of talks he had given at several Catholic retreats back in the 60s and 70s. Although my father was a man of faith, he never really talked about what he believed. Since he was often more eloquent as a writer, I wanted to read them with him; but the day wore on and the folder returned to the bottom drawer in the yellow hutch.
My father died on March 2, the day before his 82nd birthday. Two days later, my brother and I sat on the couch in the dim light of the living room to write his eulogy. We sought to outline his best qualities: generosity, humor, and faith. The first two were easy enough to demonstrate through examples, but describing dad’s faith was more elusive. It seemed best to refer to his words when fleshing out the latter, so the folder came back out of the hutch.
Reading my father’s manuscripts, and seeing the things he crossed out or changed, was like looking over his shoulder during the writing process. He jotted the names of jokes in the margins, jokes that he would tell to loosen up the crowd, jokes that are now infamous among his family and friends: Lousy Lover; Mother-In-Law; Fat-Ass.
While Michael typed away, I interrupted his brain-storm with, “Listen to this: ‘I have learned that people will be more impressed by what we are [and] by the way we live and act; the joy inside has a way of showing itself.’ ”
“That’s it,” he said.
My father was gone, and I was still getting to know him.
Since then, mother has explained that when she and dad were asked to speak at a retreat, they were often given an outline that included a topic (ie: What is Piety?), main points, and Scripture references; many of the words they spoke were not their own. She is also quick to point out that the most powerful and memorable things were the personal stories and examples they shared. This was where they shared their experiences of God’s love and faithfulness; His provision during difficult times; His grace in the midst of sorrow.
Yesterday, I spent the anniversary of my father’s death looking through that same manila folder and found that I am guilty of the same failings that my Dad admitted to in his talks: of being over-zealous, judgemental, unforgiving; I am also offered the same forbearance, grace, and forgiveness. I am my father’s daughter, and I’ve never been prouder to admit it.
I am a writer. I can trace my abilities as a writer to my father (who, due to overactive tear-ducts, could not always express his feelings in person but was articulate on the page) and paternal grandfather (a poet). His father (my great-grandfather) was a Member of Canadian Parliament in the mid-1800s and a great orator. While a full-year has elapsed since I saw my dad for the last time, the need to remember, the need to record, and the need to write has not diminished.
In May, I was at a place in my grief where I attempted to categorize events as B.C. (Before Cari), A.D. (After Dad), or something in-between. For the events that occurred B.C., I am entirely dependent on the memory of others; for the nearly thirty-three years since my birth, I am mostly responsible. I am beginning to feel anxious that both my busy schedule and my imperfect memory are working against me and my attempts to remember all the lasts: the last time Dad said, “I’m sorry you have to go” (or was it “I’m sorry you have to leave?”) as I left for work. When did we do our last puzzle together? What day did we have that conversation about heaven? When did we pepper dad with questions about his past only to have him say, “I can’t remember?” And then there are the A.D. types of questions: Was Dad still alive when we watched “Dan in Real Life”? Wasn’t dad there when we had that St. Patrick’s get-together? Oh, that’s right, he was gone by then.
A few weeks before my father’s death, when he was recovering from the flu, I had pulled out a manila folder full of talks he had given at several Catholic retreats back in the 60s and 70s. Although my father was a man of faith, he never really talked about what he believed. Since he was often more eloquent as a writer, I wanted to read them with him; but the day wore on and the folder returned to the bottom drawer in the yellow hutch.
My father died on March 2, the day before his 82nd birthday. Two days later, my brother and I sat on the couch in the dim light of the living room to write his eulogy. We sought to outline his best qualities: generosity, humor, and faith. The first two were easy enough to demonstrate through examples, but describing dad’s faith was more elusive. It seemed best to refer to his words when fleshing out the latter, so the folder came back out of the hutch.
Reading my father’s manuscripts, and seeing the things he crossed out or changed, was like looking over his shoulder during the writing process. He jotted the names of jokes in the margins, jokes that he would tell to loosen up the crowd, jokes that are now infamous among his family and friends: Lousy Lover; Mother-In-Law; Fat-Ass.
While Michael typed away, I interrupted his brain-storm with, “Listen to this: ‘I have learned that people will be more impressed by what we are [and] by the way we live and act; the joy inside has a way of showing itself.’ ”
“That’s it,” he said.
My father was gone, and I was still getting to know him.
Since then, mother has explained that when she and dad were asked to speak at a retreat, they were often given an outline that included a topic (ie: What is Piety?), main points, and Scripture references; many of the words they spoke were not their own. She is also quick to point out that the most powerful and memorable things were the personal stories and examples they shared. This was where they shared their experiences of God’s love and faithfulness; His provision during difficult times; His grace in the midst of sorrow.
Yesterday, I spent the anniversary of my father’s death looking through that same manila folder and found that I am guilty of the same failings that my Dad admitted to in his talks: of being over-zealous, judgemental, unforgiving; I am also offered the same forbearance, grace, and forgiveness. I am my father’s daughter, and I’ve never been prouder to admit it.
A Eulogy for My Father
Pasted below is the text of the eulogy. I am taking a class on the power of the spoken word, so rather than edit this so that it reads more like a book, I will leave in the punctuation Patty included to help her read it aloud:
Good Morning. My name is Patty, I’m Jack’s oldest daughter. The family asked me to represent them and read this remembrance of Dad. If you know [our] propensity for crying, we’d like to reassure you that [the church] has taken out additional flood insurance!
This is not a sad day. We are gathered to celebrate an extraordinary life. There will be tears, of course, but we hope to engender tears of joy, tears of your fondest memories of your grandfather, your Uncle, or your friend.. If you are sad, please try to put on a smile…it may help you to remember the humor, fun, and zest for life that Dad brought to everything he did… Just think of him stuck in a river....running out of gas....losing his false teeth....or hunting without a gun. The day after Dad died, an old friend of his called and said, “Your Dad was one of a kind.” We have laughed and cried as we have recounted the stories that make up my Dad’s life…. We invite you to join us…
My father was a good and generous man who derived great pleasure from helping others. He was known to drop off a box of gifts for a needy family, stick a check in the mail for a friend in need, or even slip an unmarked envelope full of cash through someone’s mail slot. He even opened his home to inner city kids, a Turkish exchange student, two Ethiopian sailors, a convalescent Grandpa Peirce, several cousins and other family members in need, and a seminary student who is now a parish priest in Louisville, KY. >>>>
Dad’s generosity also emerged in his business life. As a family friend remarked, “[His company] is not just a business, it’s a ministry.” Countless out-of-work friends and family members, qualified or not, found temporary financial refuge and fellowship in [his business]… and that legacy is being carried on by his son. Many a worker found that refuge while riding in a schmutz-stained yellow pick-up truck that tilted perilously toward the curb and usually had a ladder SORT OF tied on top. Naturally, Dad’s comment about the sort-of-tied on ladder would be to say…
“Good enough.”
He had always been a man of faith, but it was through his involvement in the Cursillo movement – a Christian retreat [weekend] -- that his faith became more than just belief -- it became action. That’s what Mom says about Dad’s Christianity—he didn’t just talk it....he lived it. It was also [here] that Dad honed his stand-up comedy act. Many a Sunday morning -- with one or two
of his kids in tow -- he would loosen up the crowd, while wearing a monk costume, with a couple of (now infamous) jokes. After the jokes, he would share his perceptions about the Christian life.. Jack helped others become more faithful, because they could see how he lived as a Christian and how the Lord helped him to be a more effective husband, father, and friend. The following is an excerpt taken from one of the talks Dad gave to a new Cursillo group: ”I have learned that people will be more impressed by what we are [and] by the way we live and act…the joy inside has a way of showing itself.” Dad simply did his best, and he put his trust in God.
If you knew him, you saw it. [gesture]
When you walked through the door [of his home], you were likely to be greeted with a good-natured insult,…. a painful handshake, ….or ….“You don’t have to go home>>>but you can’t stay here.”
Those who knew him well knew also knew of his gentle, loving, nature. You didn’t have to know him long to see past the thin veneer of the raucous jokester....to the heart of a tender, compassionate, caring man. Jack’s inherent soft-hearted sensitivity made him a faithful son,
brother, husband, father, grandfather, and friend. If you felt it deeply, Dad felt it deeply too. If it was important to you, it was important to him. If it was a heart rending story, he cried; if it was
a happy story,… he cried.
Papa was fiercely proud of his family and his 27 grandchildren. Let me introduce you to his legacy… (Those who are here, as I call your name, please stand) Sean Michael, John Warren, Stephen Michael, Sean Paul, Joshua Joseph, Amanda Beth, Conor James, Joseph Paul, Jonathan Richard, Rebekah Hope, Liam Francis, Lydia Faith, Emma Elizabeth, Abigail Christie Louise, Anna Rose, Aidan Peirce, Jacob Peirce, Katherine Grace, Haley Elizabeth, Josiah Paul,
Mary Margaret, Thomas Stephen, Shannon Mercy, Susannah Patience, Alison Kate, Hanneke Joy & Elizabeth Leslie Joy. As Papa would say, “That’s a good start!!“
The following was written my son, Joshua, representing the grandchildren…
Although I do not carry the name of [my grandfather], I have the same “mutated” genes as my grandfather. On an early morning bike ride through town one day, I was pulled over by a cop who wanted to know why I wasn’t in school. I started explaining that I was home schooled when
he stopped me and asked, “Are you [related to Jack]”? I told him that my mother
was [his daughter], in which he responded by saying,
“I thought so… you look just like your grandfather.”
When we were younger, we would all sit around in a half circle, waiting for papa to pop out his false teeth. When he did, we would run screaming out of the room, only to enter timidly a few
seconds later, wanting him to do it again.
I remember one time, while I was helping him down the stairs, my grandmother stood at the bottom and called up, “Jack, hold onto the railing! You twit.” In which he responded in his usual manner, “Thanks Marilyn, I wouldn’t want to trip and fall on you…I might hurt myself.”
For those of us who were used to those comments, we knew he really was letting us know how much he loved us. Strange way to say it, I know, but in some ways it means more to me that way. Things like: “Hey! Knock it off!” One of the many popular sayings of my grandfather, in which all of the grandkids have, at one time or another tried to imitate.
“You don’t have to go home....but you can’t stay here.”
“Whaddya got, a broken leg?”
“Shut the door, you’re letting out the cold!” and
“Come back when you can’t stay so long.”
There are some things money can’t buy. Among those things are the memories, fellowship, sidesplitting laugher, and love that one experiences by knowing Jack.
I love my grandfather, and I thank God that he put me in a family with such a heritage to pass on to future generations. If I can be half the grandfather he is to me, I will die a happy man.
Over the past year or so, Dad would jokingly drop hints that he was concerned that he wasn’t going to make it to his 90’s like his brother Paul and sister Mary, and that he might not be “good
enough” to make it to heaven… As we all know, we are all less than perfect…we all say and do things we regret and fall short of loving others as Jesus has called us to do. Cari and I had little conversations with Dad when he would hint at these concerns, and we assured him many times over that Jesus” blood is more than enough to cover our sins, as today’s reading from Romans declares… “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” …since we are now brought into right relationship with God by Christ's blood, how much more [certain it is that] we shall be saved by Him. As Dad struggled to breathe in the ER, I reminded him of this. There was nothing more he could do but let go and embrace God’s promise.
We wanted you to know that Dad never lost his sense of humor. It was a source of great joy and laughter for those who cared for him and visited with him during his final days. Only a few hours
before his death, when he was unable to speak, the nurse bustled into the room and bellowed. “How you doing?” In response, Dad rolled his eyes and pretended to pass out. A comedian right to the end.
Jack could be hysterical in person and a reprise of his shortcomings is equally hysterical. From lost teeth....to falling off of roofs....to losing his rifle while hunting....the guy’s life was a
side-splitting comic/tragedy.
Most of you know that we found the family home in Arichat, Nova Scotia—the home that everyone thought had burned to the ground. John and Steve worked out the financing to make the purchase and surprised Papa in the spring of 2006. The following summer, Cari and Dad were flying through Logan airport to meet a bunch of the clan at the house on Isle Madame in Nova Scotia.
The following could only happen to Jack....
Jack hastily grabbed his fishing rod case before leaving and checked it with his suitcase when he arrived at the airport. Jack and Cari were standing in the security line, when a TSA agent called him out of the line, took him to a separate room and asked him what he was carrying in the case. Dad said, “My fishing rod.” The TSA agent opened the case to show him {PAUSE} His shot gun! He somehow escaped arrest, traveled to Nova Scotia, and a few weeks later had worked up the courage to tell Marilyn. After dabbing away tears of laughter, Mom said, “We have to tell Lloyd.”
Lloyd, Dad’s hunting buddy, listened to the story over speaker phone and laughingly suggested, “You guys oughta write a book.” The next day Mike started writing and, to date, he has completed 10 chapters recounting Jack’s misadventures. Based on the airport story I just related, the book is appropriately titled “THE ACCIDENTAL TERRORIST.” Though not yet complete, Mike is concerned that he has finished only 10 chapters of what could be 100!
This is the Preface to “The Accidental Terrorist”:
You are about to wander through page after gaffe-filled page of missteps that somehow found their way to the feet of my Father. After reading several chapters of foibles, it would be easy to
come to the conclusion that my Dad was a complete idiot. Nothing could be further from the truth. Dad was what you might call an “accident savant”. Accident prone? Yep. Forgetful? Sure. But like “Rain-man”, an absolute genius when it came to certain things. Dad, I suppose, was a real-life Rain-man meets Macgyver—he could take ordinary materials and make something brilliantly useful. A pile of scrap lumber was turned into a fantastic A-frame fort—with a sleeping loft—dubbed Jack’s Shack. How many people do you know who can build a Christmas Tree? Dad would take two horrific looking evergreens—scrawny firs that only Charlie Brown could love—and turn them into one semi-spectacular Yule tree. He would cut the boughs off of one gaunt specimen, drill holes of appropriate sizes into the other, and viola!
Humor was another way that Dad’s genius showed itself. In his younger days, there was always a joke at the ready. He had a mental rolodex of punch lines that he could, for any occasion, flip
through and deliver. In later years, it was a wallet full of business cards with punch lines, followed by a few years of sorting through e-mails and forwarding the internet’s best. It’s a gift, the ability to make someone laugh, and Dad used his gift effectively to warm up a client, lighten a situation, or make a friend.
Dad was a genius with people. Oh, I don’t suppose that everybody liked Dad – his humor wasn’t welcomed by everyone—but most were intoxicated by his easy-going sense of fun and light-hearted approach to most of life’s challenges. An ember in Dad’s eyes was huffed into a glowing twinkle whenever Dad was engaged in conversation.
I chronicle Dad’s life to honor him, not humiliate him. So, as you read, remember that I could not have asked for a better Father. His mistakes and shortcomings only serve to make him more
endearing, more fun to be around, more of a character, more of a myth. Great guy, great
friend, great father—if you didn’t know him you missed out. Love you Dad.
We thought we would leave you with what Dad wrote in a keepsake journal. The journal asked him to recall five of the most important lessons he had learned in life. Naturally, Dad wrote seven!
Listen to your father and mother
Be thankful for the little things
Be nice to people
Work hard
Keep a smile on your face!
Give to those who need it!
Show that you love your wife!
We would like to thank you for sharing our joy and sorrow. We invite you to join us at [the cemetary], followed by fellowship, reminiscing and refreshments at the Elks Lodge. At that time,
there will be an opportunity for those who wish to share their favorite “Jack” stories. Please join us as we continue to celebrate his amazing life.
Good Morning. My name is Patty, I’m Jack’s oldest daughter. The family asked me to represent them and read this remembrance of Dad. If you know [our] propensity for crying, we’d like to reassure you that [the church] has taken out additional flood insurance!
This is not a sad day. We are gathered to celebrate an extraordinary life. There will be tears, of course, but we hope to engender tears of joy, tears of your fondest memories of your grandfather, your Uncle, or your friend.. If you are sad, please try to put on a smile…it may help you to remember the humor, fun, and zest for life that Dad brought to everything he did… Just think of him stuck in a river....running out of gas....losing his false teeth....or hunting without a gun. The day after Dad died, an old friend of his called and said, “Your Dad was one of a kind.” We have laughed and cried as we have recounted the stories that make up my Dad’s life…. We invite you to join us…
My father was a good and generous man who derived great pleasure from helping others. He was known to drop off a box of gifts for a needy family, stick a check in the mail for a friend in need, or even slip an unmarked envelope full of cash through someone’s mail slot. He even opened his home to inner city kids, a Turkish exchange student, two Ethiopian sailors, a convalescent Grandpa Peirce, several cousins and other family members in need, and a seminary student who is now a parish priest in Louisville, KY. >>>>
Dad’s generosity also emerged in his business life. As a family friend remarked, “[His company] is not just a business, it’s a ministry.” Countless out-of-work friends and family members, qualified or not, found temporary financial refuge and fellowship in [his business]… and that legacy is being carried on by his son. Many a worker found that refuge while riding in a schmutz-stained yellow pick-up truck that tilted perilously toward the curb and usually had a ladder SORT OF tied on top. Naturally, Dad’s comment about the sort-of-tied on ladder would be to say…
“Good enough.”
He had always been a man of faith, but it was through his involvement in the Cursillo movement – a Christian retreat [weekend] -- that his faith became more than just belief -- it became action. That’s what Mom says about Dad’s Christianity—he didn’t just talk it....he lived it. It was also [here] that Dad honed his stand-up comedy act. Many a Sunday morning -- with one or two
of his kids in tow -- he would loosen up the crowd, while wearing a monk costume, with a couple of (now infamous) jokes. After the jokes, he would share his perceptions about the Christian life.. Jack helped others become more faithful, because they could see how he lived as a Christian and how the Lord helped him to be a more effective husband, father, and friend. The following is an excerpt taken from one of the talks Dad gave to a new Cursillo group: ”I have learned that people will be more impressed by what we are [and] by the way we live and act…the joy inside has a way of showing itself.” Dad simply did his best, and he put his trust in God.
If you knew him, you saw it. [gesture]
When you walked through the door [of his home], you were likely to be greeted with a good-natured insult,…. a painful handshake, ….or ….“You don’t have to go home>>>but you can’t stay here.”
Those who knew him well knew also knew of his gentle, loving, nature. You didn’t have to know him long to see past the thin veneer of the raucous jokester....to the heart of a tender, compassionate, caring man. Jack’s inherent soft-hearted sensitivity made him a faithful son,
brother, husband, father, grandfather, and friend. If you felt it deeply, Dad felt it deeply too. If it was important to you, it was important to him. If it was a heart rending story, he cried; if it was
a happy story,… he cried.
Papa was fiercely proud of his family and his 27 grandchildren. Let me introduce you to his legacy… (Those who are here, as I call your name, please stand) Sean Michael, John Warren, Stephen Michael, Sean Paul, Joshua Joseph, Amanda Beth, Conor James, Joseph Paul, Jonathan Richard, Rebekah Hope, Liam Francis, Lydia Faith, Emma Elizabeth, Abigail Christie Louise, Anna Rose, Aidan Peirce, Jacob Peirce, Katherine Grace, Haley Elizabeth, Josiah Paul,
Mary Margaret, Thomas Stephen, Shannon Mercy, Susannah Patience, Alison Kate, Hanneke Joy & Elizabeth Leslie Joy. As Papa would say, “That’s a good start!!“
The following was written my son, Joshua, representing the grandchildren…
Although I do not carry the name of [my grandfather], I have the same “mutated” genes as my grandfather. On an early morning bike ride through town one day, I was pulled over by a cop who wanted to know why I wasn’t in school. I started explaining that I was home schooled when
he stopped me and asked, “Are you [related to Jack]”? I told him that my mother
was [his daughter], in which he responded by saying,
“I thought so… you look just like your grandfather.”
When we were younger, we would all sit around in a half circle, waiting for papa to pop out his false teeth. When he did, we would run screaming out of the room, only to enter timidly a few
seconds later, wanting him to do it again.
I remember one time, while I was helping him down the stairs, my grandmother stood at the bottom and called up, “Jack, hold onto the railing! You twit.” In which he responded in his usual manner, “Thanks Marilyn, I wouldn’t want to trip and fall on you…I might hurt myself.”
For those of us who were used to those comments, we knew he really was letting us know how much he loved us. Strange way to say it, I know, but in some ways it means more to me that way. Things like: “Hey! Knock it off!” One of the many popular sayings of my grandfather, in which all of the grandkids have, at one time or another tried to imitate.
“You don’t have to go home....but you can’t stay here.”
“Whaddya got, a broken leg?”
“Shut the door, you’re letting out the cold!” and
“Come back when you can’t stay so long.”
There are some things money can’t buy. Among those things are the memories, fellowship, sidesplitting laugher, and love that one experiences by knowing Jack.
I love my grandfather, and I thank God that he put me in a family with such a heritage to pass on to future generations. If I can be half the grandfather he is to me, I will die a happy man.
Over the past year or so, Dad would jokingly drop hints that he was concerned that he wasn’t going to make it to his 90’s like his brother Paul and sister Mary, and that he might not be “good
enough” to make it to heaven… As we all know, we are all less than perfect…we all say and do things we regret and fall short of loving others as Jesus has called us to do. Cari and I had little conversations with Dad when he would hint at these concerns, and we assured him many times over that Jesus” blood is more than enough to cover our sins, as today’s reading from Romans declares… “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” …since we are now brought into right relationship with God by Christ's blood, how much more [certain it is that] we shall be saved by Him. As Dad struggled to breathe in the ER, I reminded him of this. There was nothing more he could do but let go and embrace God’s promise.
We wanted you to know that Dad never lost his sense of humor. It was a source of great joy and laughter for those who cared for him and visited with him during his final days. Only a few hours
before his death, when he was unable to speak, the nurse bustled into the room and bellowed. “How you doing?” In response, Dad rolled his eyes and pretended to pass out. A comedian right to the end.
Jack could be hysterical in person and a reprise of his shortcomings is equally hysterical. From lost teeth....to falling off of roofs....to losing his rifle while hunting....the guy’s life was a
side-splitting comic/tragedy.
Most of you know that we found the family home in Arichat, Nova Scotia—the home that everyone thought had burned to the ground. John and Steve worked out the financing to make the purchase and surprised Papa in the spring of 2006. The following summer, Cari and Dad were flying through Logan airport to meet a bunch of the clan at the house on Isle Madame in Nova Scotia.
The following could only happen to Jack....
Jack hastily grabbed his fishing rod case before leaving and checked it with his suitcase when he arrived at the airport. Jack and Cari were standing in the security line, when a TSA agent called him out of the line, took him to a separate room and asked him what he was carrying in the case. Dad said, “My fishing rod.” The TSA agent opened the case to show him {PAUSE} His shot gun! He somehow escaped arrest, traveled to Nova Scotia, and a few weeks later had worked up the courage to tell Marilyn. After dabbing away tears of laughter, Mom said, “We have to tell Lloyd.”
Lloyd, Dad’s hunting buddy, listened to the story over speaker phone and laughingly suggested, “You guys oughta write a book.” The next day Mike started writing and, to date, he has completed 10 chapters recounting Jack’s misadventures. Based on the airport story I just related, the book is appropriately titled “THE ACCIDENTAL TERRORIST.” Though not yet complete, Mike is concerned that he has finished only 10 chapters of what could be 100!
This is the Preface to “The Accidental Terrorist”:
You are about to wander through page after gaffe-filled page of missteps that somehow found their way to the feet of my Father. After reading several chapters of foibles, it would be easy to
come to the conclusion that my Dad was a complete idiot. Nothing could be further from the truth. Dad was what you might call an “accident savant”. Accident prone? Yep. Forgetful? Sure. But like “Rain-man”, an absolute genius when it came to certain things. Dad, I suppose, was a real-life Rain-man meets Macgyver—he could take ordinary materials and make something brilliantly useful. A pile of scrap lumber was turned into a fantastic A-frame fort—with a sleeping loft—dubbed Jack’s Shack. How many people do you know who can build a Christmas Tree? Dad would take two horrific looking evergreens—scrawny firs that only Charlie Brown could love—and turn them into one semi-spectacular Yule tree. He would cut the boughs off of one gaunt specimen, drill holes of appropriate sizes into the other, and viola!
Humor was another way that Dad’s genius showed itself. In his younger days, there was always a joke at the ready. He had a mental rolodex of punch lines that he could, for any occasion, flip
through and deliver. In later years, it was a wallet full of business cards with punch lines, followed by a few years of sorting through e-mails and forwarding the internet’s best. It’s a gift, the ability to make someone laugh, and Dad used his gift effectively to warm up a client, lighten a situation, or make a friend.
Dad was a genius with people. Oh, I don’t suppose that everybody liked Dad – his humor wasn’t welcomed by everyone—but most were intoxicated by his easy-going sense of fun and light-hearted approach to most of life’s challenges. An ember in Dad’s eyes was huffed into a glowing twinkle whenever Dad was engaged in conversation.
I chronicle Dad’s life to honor him, not humiliate him. So, as you read, remember that I could not have asked for a better Father. His mistakes and shortcomings only serve to make him more
endearing, more fun to be around, more of a character, more of a myth. Great guy, great
friend, great father—if you didn’t know him you missed out. Love you Dad.
We thought we would leave you with what Dad wrote in a keepsake journal. The journal asked him to recall five of the most important lessons he had learned in life. Naturally, Dad wrote seven!
Listen to your father and mother
Be thankful for the little things
Be nice to people
Work hard
Keep a smile on your face!
Give to those who need it!
Show that you love your wife!
We would like to thank you for sharing our joy and sorrow. We invite you to join us at [the cemetary], followed by fellowship, reminiscing and refreshments at the Elks Lodge. At that time,
there will be an opportunity for those who wish to share their favorite “Jack” stories. Please join us as we continue to celebrate his amazing life.
Catching You Up Part II
from September 2, 2008 (six months since my dad died)
People talk about grief having stages. I just went through a new one recently: I will never see my Dad again. When Dad died, I had that instantaneous “I miss Dad” that a person feels when someone that they love leaves; in April, it hit me: “He’s not ever coming back; this missing him is – forever.” Or, at least, until I die.
Three of the sensations I try hard to keep in mind and therefore frequently recall to memory are: 1) the feeling of holding Dad’s lily-soft hand; 2) how it felt to kiss him on his ruddy, stubbly cheek; 3) the texture of his snowy white hair (I patted him on the head a lot in the hospital). Dear God, let these memories linger.
He is still with me; he’s still by my side as I walked out of the house my grandfather was born in on Cape Breton Island in 2004 and cried, “This was the best experience of my life,” and he will be by my side when I walk down the aisle.
One of my Dad’s favorite things to say when people who came to visit where getting ready to leave was, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” In the hospital, as my father’s inhales became shorter and his exhales longer, my brother Steve assured him that we would take good care of mom and it was okay for him to let go. Just before he died, Stephen kissed him on the forehead and said, “Go home, because you can’t stay here.”
When Stephen returned from the hospital hours later, we were all gathered at my parent’s house for an impromptu “Irish wake”; friends and family had dropped by and were crying, reminiscing, and laughing with us (it is hard to reminisce about dad and not laugh). Steve came in the front door, and said, “I thought of a joke for the last chapter of Mike’s book (see eulogy above): Dad goes to heaven; he sees Jesus at the pearly gates and gives him a big hug.
Dad asks Jesus, “Do you know how to save an Irishman from drowning?”
Jesus says, “I just did.”
Please continue to pray for me as I get used to the world without my Dad in it.
People talk about grief having stages. I just went through a new one recently: I will never see my Dad again. When Dad died, I had that instantaneous “I miss Dad” that a person feels when someone that they love leaves; in April, it hit me: “He’s not ever coming back; this missing him is – forever.” Or, at least, until I die.
Three of the sensations I try hard to keep in mind and therefore frequently recall to memory are: 1) the feeling of holding Dad’s lily-soft hand; 2) how it felt to kiss him on his ruddy, stubbly cheek; 3) the texture of his snowy white hair (I patted him on the head a lot in the hospital). Dear God, let these memories linger.
He is still with me; he’s still by my side as I walked out of the house my grandfather was born in on Cape Breton Island in 2004 and cried, “This was the best experience of my life,” and he will be by my side when I walk down the aisle.
One of my Dad’s favorite things to say when people who came to visit where getting ready to leave was, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” In the hospital, as my father’s inhales became shorter and his exhales longer, my brother Steve assured him that we would take good care of mom and it was okay for him to let go. Just before he died, Stephen kissed him on the forehead and said, “Go home, because you can’t stay here.”
When Stephen returned from the hospital hours later, we were all gathered at my parent’s house for an impromptu “Irish wake”; friends and family had dropped by and were crying, reminiscing, and laughing with us (it is hard to reminisce about dad and not laugh). Steve came in the front door, and said, “I thought of a joke for the last chapter of Mike’s book (see eulogy above): Dad goes to heaven; he sees Jesus at the pearly gates and gives him a big hug.
Dad asks Jesus, “Do you know how to save an Irishman from drowning?”
Jesus says, “I just did.”
Please continue to pray for me as I get used to the world without my Dad in it.
Catching you up
March 3, 2009
from March 17, 2008
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Dear friends,
I just wanted to let you all know that my Dad passed away (in the full sense of the phrase) on Sunday, March 2, at around 4 p.m. March 3 was his 82nd birthday.
I can't fully describe the peace that I feel in the midst of all of this, but I want you to know that God is good, and his mercy has been so evident in the past few weeks.
My Dad has had his share of ailments throughout the years, from an irregular heartbeat to C.O.P.D. (chronic bronchitis from 30+ years of smoking), but he has escaped death so many times (even survived falling face-first into a pile of dirt off a two-story roof) that we became convinced that God had more for him to do.
In the past few years, Dad's memory had been diminishing, but the cause was not officially determined (we think it was the beginning stages of dementia). However, it was all a part of the aging process, so we were not really alarmed. Last month (around January 19), my Dad got bronchitis and was sick for two weeks. One evening, he got up in the middle of the night, turned all the lights on, and was wandering around the house. When my mom found him, he said, "I'm lost." Although we were not certain if it was due to the sickness or dehydration, it was apparent that his dementia was getting worse. We tried to keep him hydrated and help him gain back his strength, and after a couple of weeks, he seemed to do so.
Finally, on Superbowl Sunday, I was spending the night at my parents', and I heard my dad get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. When I didn't hear him return to his room after he left the bathroom, I went to check on him; I found him in the front room sitting in the dark. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, "Well, I went to the bathroom, so I figured I'd follow through." I began to get very worried.
The following Thursday, I talked to my mom on the phone, and she said, "They call dementia 'The long goodbye.' " I felt like I was losing my dad before he was gone. That day, I cried a lot, but God kept bringing songs about hope to mind:
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have called you, and you are mine.
Seek the face of the Lord and long for Him; He will bring you his joy and his hope."
- from the song, "I Have Loved You," by Michael Joncas
"You would think now hope would be tired, but it's alright.
You would think tired, ragged, and oil brown, but it's alright."
- from the song, "Go," by the Innocence Mission
The next week, I went to my Monday night prayer group and walked in as they were discussing Lamentations 3. Lamentations was written by the prophet Jeremiah after he saw the destruction of Jerusalem (which he had warned Israel about). Despite the desolation all around him, he found the strength to say: "This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope: The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Thy faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I have hope in Him.' The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the Lord.... For the Lord will not reject forever, for if he causes grief, then He will have compassion according to His abundant lovingkindness." (Lamentations 3:21-32)
The day before Valentine's Day, Dad was on the phone with my brother John, when he started talking gibberish. My mom and sister Patty asked him if he could raise his arms, and he could not (this is a sign of stroke). They called 911, and after the doctors checked him out, they determined that he had a T.I.A. (a mini-stroke) although there was no apparent sign of a stroke in the MRI or any damage to his brain. He came home on Valentine's Day, and started running a low-grade fever the next day. We figured it was because they had given him a pneumonia shot in the hospital, but after a few days with a temp of 99, his temp spiked to 102. When his breathing became labored, we rushed him back in to the hospital. The doctor said that he tested positive for the flu, and that the fever had sent him into congestive heart failure, which led to a heart attack. During this hospital stay, which lasted a week, the doctors discovered that his heart was quite damaged. This was a surprise to us, for as far as we knew, the heart attacks he had experienced (including the current one and one he had ten years ago) were quite mild. However, given his dementia, open heart surgery was not option, because they would have to interrupt the blood flow to the brain during the procedure, so after surgery he would most likely be completely out of it. As it was, there were days in the hospital that he couldn't even finish a sentence, because he would forget what he was trying to say. As the doctors said, "When the body is sick, the mind is sick;" and in a person with dementia, it is even more pronounced.
Dad struggled to get better in the hospital, and on Monday, February 25, they discharged him. We had a visiting nurse and a physical therapist come to help complete his recovery, but after five days at home, Dad's breathing became very labored again in the early morning hours of March 2. His lungs were congested, because although we kept asking him to cough to try to clear them, it was as if the dementia made him forget to cough! Mom called the ambulance again, and as the EMT's came in, they asked him his name. "Wild Bill," he said. "Did he say 'Wild Bill'?" the EMT asked. "Yeah," I laughed (for his name is Jack). They proceeded, "Okay, Bill, we're gonna put this oxygen mask on you to help you breathe...." My Dad was a comedian to the very end.
My oldest sibling, and sister, Patty, and my oldest brother, Mike, followed the ambulance to the ER. Although Dad still might have pulled through at this point, the doctor was very candid with them about the shape his body was in; it was just a matter of time before he caught the flu or some other sickness that would tax his weakened heart and lungs and send him back into congestive heart failure. I texted some friends and people from church and asked them to pray; at the end of the message I wrote, "God have mercy."
Midday, Patty and Mike returned, and then the doctor called; it was looking pretty grim, and we would have to decide if we wanted to put him on full life-support or if we just wanted to make him comfortable. Dad had a living will, so we decided that if he was going to pull out of this, it would not be by artificial means.
Before we went to the hospital, I hugged my brother Stephen and cried, "We've been so lucky!" for the past ten years with my Dad have been truly blessed: Four years ago, we discovered the house my grandfather was born in (and my great-grandfather built) on Cape Breton Island in Arichat, Nova Scotia. In the Spring of 2006, Stephen and my brother John surprised my Dad and bought it. Since then, Dad has traveled up to visit the house five times (a beautiful historical home right on the ocean) and was able to make memories there with every one of his children. If you would like to see pictures and hear more of the story, visit: http://www.flydesignstudio.com/arichat/index.html
When I got in the car with Patty and my mom, I said, "I'm ready to let him go." My sister cried, "That's a miracle, Cari! If you can let him go, (being the baby in the family) then we all can!" In room 303, Dad's eyes were closed and his breathing was as bad as ever. They say that the hearing is the last thing to go, so we held his hand, told him we loved him, reminded him that his sins were forgiven, and that God keeps his promises. ("God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16) We even put a laptop on his lap and played a video that my niece Abi had made of his 27 grandchildren wishing him a happy birthday. We didn't know if Dad would pull through, or, if he was going to die, how long he'd hold on, but we didn't want him to be alone, so we decided we'd take turns staying with him. Stephen and my brother Paul volunteered to take the first shift as many of us had barely slept the night before. So at about 3 p.m., the rest of us went home.
An hour later, there was literally 18 of us in my parent's living room (me, my mom, Mike, Patty and her three children, my brother Jeff's wife Wendy and their 10 children--yes, 10). We began talking about what we would do if there was a funeral but agreed that we might be jumping the gun. Dad had pulled through so many scrapes before, and he might do so again. I said, "If there is a funeral, it is going to be the best funeral ever, because so many people love Dad!" Minutes later, the phone rang (as it had been doing all week), and Patty walked into the room with the receiver to her ear. "Okay," she said with her hand on her chest. When she hung up she said, "He's gone; he's passed." And we all cried together; IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. We cried and talked about how lucky we were to have had such a great Dad and Papa and how we would miss him, because we loved him so much. My niece, Katherine (8), said, "I'm gonna be miserable all week!" I assured her that this was normal, and she went on to say: "We're so lucky we still have Nana!" Touche.
I think when I heard the news I actually breathed a sigh of relief. It was so difficult seeing dad go in and out of the hospital and not knowing if he was going to live or die. Certainly, I did not want him to die, but I wanted him to be either well on this earth or well in heaven. In the end, my prayers were answered, and I knew that this was God's mercy for my dad. Within a quarter of an hour of receiving the news, I was able to say, "This is both the saddest and the happiest day of my life." My dad was at peace, and so was I.
Here is an excerpt from my journal dated February 11:
"I can't tell You how thankful I am (in light of recent developments with my Dad) for the memories I have of our drive to Arichat in 2007. It is one of the MOST PERFECT and MOST BEAUTIFUL memories of my life. I cannot find flaw with it, for You have allowed me to preserve only the good, priceless moments and that is the feeling THAT LINGERS. It's so delicious, if it were a fruit, I would be remiss not to eat it. It may be one of the greatest gifts You have ever given me. Thank You. I am also thankful for the opportunity to let my heart overflow for my Dad. I'm sure I won't be able to say everything I ever wanted to say, but it will be a start."
He knew we loved him, we knew he loved us, and he loved Jesus.
What else is there?
from March 17, 2008
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Dear friends,
I just wanted to let you all know that my Dad passed away (in the full sense of the phrase) on Sunday, March 2, at around 4 p.m. March 3 was his 82nd birthday.
I can't fully describe the peace that I feel in the midst of all of this, but I want you to know that God is good, and his mercy has been so evident in the past few weeks.
My Dad has had his share of ailments throughout the years, from an irregular heartbeat to C.O.P.D. (chronic bronchitis from 30+ years of smoking), but he has escaped death so many times (even survived falling face-first into a pile of dirt off a two-story roof) that we became convinced that God had more for him to do.
In the past few years, Dad's memory had been diminishing, but the cause was not officially determined (we think it was the beginning stages of dementia). However, it was all a part of the aging process, so we were not really alarmed. Last month (around January 19), my Dad got bronchitis and was sick for two weeks. One evening, he got up in the middle of the night, turned all the lights on, and was wandering around the house. When my mom found him, he said, "I'm lost." Although we were not certain if it was due to the sickness or dehydration, it was apparent that his dementia was getting worse. We tried to keep him hydrated and help him gain back his strength, and after a couple of weeks, he seemed to do so.
Finally, on Superbowl Sunday, I was spending the night at my parents', and I heard my dad get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. When I didn't hear him return to his room after he left the bathroom, I went to check on him; I found him in the front room sitting in the dark. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, "Well, I went to the bathroom, so I figured I'd follow through." I began to get very worried.
The following Thursday, I talked to my mom on the phone, and she said, "They call dementia 'The long goodbye.' " I felt like I was losing my dad before he was gone. That day, I cried a lot, but God kept bringing songs about hope to mind:
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have called you, and you are mine.
Seek the face of the Lord and long for Him; He will bring you his joy and his hope."
- from the song, "I Have Loved You," by Michael Joncas
"You would think now hope would be tired, but it's alright.
You would think tired, ragged, and oil brown, but it's alright."
- from the song, "Go," by the Innocence Mission
The next week, I went to my Monday night prayer group and walked in as they were discussing Lamentations 3. Lamentations was written by the prophet Jeremiah after he saw the destruction of Jerusalem (which he had warned Israel about). Despite the desolation all around him, he found the strength to say: "This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope: The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Thy faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I have hope in Him.' The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the Lord.... For the Lord will not reject forever, for if he causes grief, then He will have compassion according to His abundant lovingkindness." (Lamentations 3:21-32)
The day before Valentine's Day, Dad was on the phone with my brother John, when he started talking gibberish. My mom and sister Patty asked him if he could raise his arms, and he could not (this is a sign of stroke). They called 911, and after the doctors checked him out, they determined that he had a T.I.A. (a mini-stroke) although there was no apparent sign of a stroke in the MRI or any damage to his brain. He came home on Valentine's Day, and started running a low-grade fever the next day. We figured it was because they had given him a pneumonia shot in the hospital, but after a few days with a temp of 99, his temp spiked to 102. When his breathing became labored, we rushed him back in to the hospital. The doctor said that he tested positive for the flu, and that the fever had sent him into congestive heart failure, which led to a heart attack. During this hospital stay, which lasted a week, the doctors discovered that his heart was quite damaged. This was a surprise to us, for as far as we knew, the heart attacks he had experienced (including the current one and one he had ten years ago) were quite mild. However, given his dementia, open heart surgery was not option, because they would have to interrupt the blood flow to the brain during the procedure, so after surgery he would most likely be completely out of it. As it was, there were days in the hospital that he couldn't even finish a sentence, because he would forget what he was trying to say. As the doctors said, "When the body is sick, the mind is sick;" and in a person with dementia, it is even more pronounced.
Dad struggled to get better in the hospital, and on Monday, February 25, they discharged him. We had a visiting nurse and a physical therapist come to help complete his recovery, but after five days at home, Dad's breathing became very labored again in the early morning hours of March 2. His lungs were congested, because although we kept asking him to cough to try to clear them, it was as if the dementia made him forget to cough! Mom called the ambulance again, and as the EMT's came in, they asked him his name. "Wild Bill," he said. "Did he say 'Wild Bill'?" the EMT asked. "Yeah," I laughed (for his name is Jack). They proceeded, "Okay, Bill, we're gonna put this oxygen mask on you to help you breathe...." My Dad was a comedian to the very end.
My oldest sibling, and sister, Patty, and my oldest brother, Mike, followed the ambulance to the ER. Although Dad still might have pulled through at this point, the doctor was very candid with them about the shape his body was in; it was just a matter of time before he caught the flu or some other sickness that would tax his weakened heart and lungs and send him back into congestive heart failure. I texted some friends and people from church and asked them to pray; at the end of the message I wrote, "God have mercy."
Midday, Patty and Mike returned, and then the doctor called; it was looking pretty grim, and we would have to decide if we wanted to put him on full life-support or if we just wanted to make him comfortable. Dad had a living will, so we decided that if he was going to pull out of this, it would not be by artificial means.
Before we went to the hospital, I hugged my brother Stephen and cried, "We've been so lucky!" for the past ten years with my Dad have been truly blessed: Four years ago, we discovered the house my grandfather was born in (and my great-grandfather built) on Cape Breton Island in Arichat, Nova Scotia. In the Spring of 2006, Stephen and my brother John surprised my Dad and bought it. Since then, Dad has traveled up to visit the house five times (a beautiful historical home right on the ocean) and was able to make memories there with every one of his children. If you would like to see pictures and hear more of the story, visit: http://www.flydesignstudio.com/arichat/index.html
When I got in the car with Patty and my mom, I said, "I'm ready to let him go." My sister cried, "That's a miracle, Cari! If you can let him go, (being the baby in the family) then we all can!" In room 303, Dad's eyes were closed and his breathing was as bad as ever. They say that the hearing is the last thing to go, so we held his hand, told him we loved him, reminded him that his sins were forgiven, and that God keeps his promises. ("God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16) We even put a laptop on his lap and played a video that my niece Abi had made of his 27 grandchildren wishing him a happy birthday. We didn't know if Dad would pull through, or, if he was going to die, how long he'd hold on, but we didn't want him to be alone, so we decided we'd take turns staying with him. Stephen and my brother Paul volunteered to take the first shift as many of us had barely slept the night before. So at about 3 p.m., the rest of us went home.
An hour later, there was literally 18 of us in my parent's living room (me, my mom, Mike, Patty and her three children, my brother Jeff's wife Wendy and their 10 children--yes, 10). We began talking about what we would do if there was a funeral but agreed that we might be jumping the gun. Dad had pulled through so many scrapes before, and he might do so again. I said, "If there is a funeral, it is going to be the best funeral ever, because so many people love Dad!" Minutes later, the phone rang (as it had been doing all week), and Patty walked into the room with the receiver to her ear. "Okay," she said with her hand on her chest. When she hung up she said, "He's gone; he's passed." And we all cried together; IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. We cried and talked about how lucky we were to have had such a great Dad and Papa and how we would miss him, because we loved him so much. My niece, Katherine (8), said, "I'm gonna be miserable all week!" I assured her that this was normal, and she went on to say: "We're so lucky we still have Nana!" Touche.
I think when I heard the news I actually breathed a sigh of relief. It was so difficult seeing dad go in and out of the hospital and not knowing if he was going to live or die. Certainly, I did not want him to die, but I wanted him to be either well on this earth or well in heaven. In the end, my prayers were answered, and I knew that this was God's mercy for my dad. Within a quarter of an hour of receiving the news, I was able to say, "This is both the saddest and the happiest day of my life." My dad was at peace, and so was I.
Here is an excerpt from my journal dated February 11:
"I can't tell You how thankful I am (in light of recent developments with my Dad) for the memories I have of our drive to Arichat in 2007. It is one of the MOST PERFECT and MOST BEAUTIFUL memories of my life. I cannot find flaw with it, for You have allowed me to preserve only the good, priceless moments and that is the feeling THAT LINGERS. It's so delicious, if it were a fruit, I would be remiss not to eat it. It may be one of the greatest gifts You have ever given me. Thank You. I am also thankful for the opportunity to let my heart overflow for my Dad. I'm sure I won't be able to say everything I ever wanted to say, but it will be a start."
He knew we loved him, we knew he loved us, and he loved Jesus.
What else is there?
The perfect marriage
February 25, 2009
Morning Star so radiant and holy
Shine on me in my great hour of need
Jesus Christ so beautiful and lovely
Shine over me
- Don Peris
Christ Is My Hope
You can say the word.
Unworthy though I am,
O bread of life,
O bread of life,
I will be healed and come.
Hold me in your arms,
bridegroom of my soul,
O bread of life,
O bread of life,
I will be healed and come.
Christ, Christ is my hope.
Christ, Christ is my light.
Christ, Christ is my hope.
Christ, Christ is my light,
O my light.
I have been afraid
but I’m on the way to this table.
O bread of life,
O bread of life,
I will be healed and come.
- Karen Peris
Morning Star so radiant and holy
Shine on me in my great hour of need
Jesus Christ so beautiful and lovely
Shine over me
- Don Peris
Struggling in the cocoon...
February 17, 2009
from Streams in the Desert:
"For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Rom. 8:18.)
"I kept for nearly a year the flask-shaped cocoon of an emperor moth. It is very peculiar in its construction. A narrow opening is left in the neck of the flask, through which the perfect insect forces its way, so that a forsaken cocoon is as entire as one still tenanted, no rupture of the interlacing fibers having taken place. The great disproportion between the means of egress and the size of the imprisoned insect makes one wonder how the exit is ever accomplished at all--and it never is without great labor and difficulty. It is supposed that the pressure to which the moth's body is subjected in passing through such a narrow opening is a provision of nature for forcing the juices into the vessels of the wings, these being less developed at the period of emerging from the chrysalis than they are in other insects.
I happened to witness the first efforts of my prisoned moth to escape from its long confinement. During the whole forenoon, from time to time, I watched it patiently striving and struggling to get out. It never seemed able to get beyond a certain point, and at last my patience was exhausted. Very probably the confining fibers were drier and less elastic than if the cocoon had been left all winter on its native heather, as nature meant it to be. At all events I thought I was wiser and more compassionate than its Maker, and I resolved to give it a helping hand. With the point of my scissors I snipped the confining threads to make the exit just a very little easier, and lo! immediately, and with perfect ease, out crawled my moth dragging a huge swollen body and little shrivelled wings. In vain I watched to see that marvelous process of expansion in which these silently and swiftly develop before one's eyes; and as I traced the exquisite spots and markings of divers colors which were all there in minature, I longed to see these assume their due proportions and the creature to appear in all its perfect beauty, as it is, in truth, one of the loveliest of its kind. But I looked in vain. My false tenderness had proved its ruin. It never was anything but a stunted abortion, crawling painfully through that brief life which it should have spent flying through the air on rainbow wings. I have thought of it often, often, when watching with pitiful eyes those who were struggling with sorrow, suffering, and distress; and I would fain cut short the discipline and give deliverance. Short-sighted man! How know I that one of these pangs or groans could be spared? The far-sighted, perfect love that seeks the perfection of its object does not weakly shrink from present transient suffering. Our Father's love is too true to be weak. Because He loves His children, He chastises them that they may be partakers of His holiness. With this glorious end in view, He spares not for their crying. Made perfect through sufferings, as the Elder Brother was, the sons of God are trained up to obedience and brought to glory through much tribulation." -Tract. (bold emphasis, mine)
from Streams in the Desert:
"For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Rom. 8:18.)
"I kept for nearly a year the flask-shaped cocoon of an emperor moth. It is very peculiar in its construction. A narrow opening is left in the neck of the flask, through which the perfect insect forces its way, so that a forsaken cocoon is as entire as one still tenanted, no rupture of the interlacing fibers having taken place. The great disproportion between the means of egress and the size of the imprisoned insect makes one wonder how the exit is ever accomplished at all--and it never is without great labor and difficulty. It is supposed that the pressure to which the moth's body is subjected in passing through such a narrow opening is a provision of nature for forcing the juices into the vessels of the wings, these being less developed at the period of emerging from the chrysalis than they are in other insects.
I happened to witness the first efforts of my prisoned moth to escape from its long confinement. During the whole forenoon, from time to time, I watched it patiently striving and struggling to get out. It never seemed able to get beyond a certain point, and at last my patience was exhausted. Very probably the confining fibers were drier and less elastic than if the cocoon had been left all winter on its native heather, as nature meant it to be. At all events I thought I was wiser and more compassionate than its Maker, and I resolved to give it a helping hand. With the point of my scissors I snipped the confining threads to make the exit just a very little easier, and lo! immediately, and with perfect ease, out crawled my moth dragging a huge swollen body and little shrivelled wings. In vain I watched to see that marvelous process of expansion in which these silently and swiftly develop before one's eyes; and as I traced the exquisite spots and markings of divers colors which were all there in minature, I longed to see these assume their due proportions and the creature to appear in all its perfect beauty, as it is, in truth, one of the loveliest of its kind. But I looked in vain. My false tenderness had proved its ruin. It never was anything but a stunted abortion, crawling painfully through that brief life which it should have spent flying through the air on rainbow wings. I have thought of it often, often, when watching with pitiful eyes those who were struggling with sorrow, suffering, and distress; and I would fain cut short the discipline and give deliverance. Short-sighted man! How know I that one of these pangs or groans could be spared? The far-sighted, perfect love that seeks the perfection of its object does not weakly shrink from present transient suffering. Our Father's love is too true to be weak. Because He loves His children, He chastises them that they may be partakers of His holiness. With this glorious end in view, He spares not for their crying. Made perfect through sufferings, as the Elder Brother was, the sons of God are trained up to obedience and brought to glory through much tribulation." -Tract. (bold emphasis, mine)
Who's your daddy?
February 16, 2009
"Three things tell a man: his eyes, his friends and his favorite quotes." www.quotesdaddy.com
My beloved is mine...
February 14, 2009
A "Valentine" from a friend (actually it was her Christmas newsletter, but I got it today!):
"We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand--out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise." Romans 5
"We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand--out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise." Romans 5
At the top of my lungs
February 10, 2009
ONLY HOPE
There's a song that's inside of my soul
It's the one that I've tried to write
over and over again
I'm awake and in the infinite cold
But You sing to me over and over and
over again
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands
And pray to be only Yours
I pray to be only Yours
I know now You're my only hope
Sing to me of the song of the stars
Of Your galaxy dancing and laughing
and laughing again
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that You have
for me over again
I give You my apathy
I'm giving You all of me
I want Your symphony
Singing in all that I am
At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back
- Jon Foreman
ONLY HOPE
There's a song that's inside of my soul
It's the one that I've tried to write
over and over again
I'm awake and in the infinite cold
But You sing to me over and over and
over again
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands
And pray to be only Yours
I pray to be only Yours
I know now You're my only hope
Sing to me of the song of the stars
Of Your galaxy dancing and laughing
and laughing again
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that You have
for me over again
I give You my apathy
I'm giving You all of me
I want Your symphony
Singing in all that I am
At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back
- Jon Foreman
MY HOPE IS IN THE LORD
February 10, 2009
My hope is in the Lord
not in you
or you
or this
or that
or things
or reason
or evidence
or arguments
My hope is in the Lord
My hope is in the Lord
My hope is in the Lord
My hope is in the Lord
I keep telling myself
over and over and
over and over
hoping that I will believe
that there is hope
that is my
that is mine
that is for me
in You
not in you
or you
or this
or that
or things
or reason
or evidence
or arguments
My hope is in the Lord
My hope is in the Lord
My hope is in the Lord
My hope is in the Lord
I keep telling myself
over and over and
over and over
hoping that I will believe
that there is hope
that is my
that is mine
that is for me
in You
Swallow me whole
February 9, 2009
SOONER OR LATER (SOREN'S SONG)
Come back and haunt me
Follow me home
Give me a motive
Swallow me whole
They say I've lost it
What could I know
When I'm but a mockery?
I'm so alone
Sooner of later you'll find out
There's a hole in the wall
Today is ours
Condemned to be free
Free to keep breathing
Free to believe
I look to find you
Down on my knees
Oh God, I believe!
Please help me believe
Sooner or later they'll find out
There's a hole in the wall
Sooner or later you'll find out
That you'll dream to be that small
I'm a believer, help me believe
I gave it all away and lost who I am
I threw it all away
With everything to gain
And I'm taking the leap
With dreams of shrinking
Yeah, dreams of shrinking
Come back and haunt me
Follow me home
Give me a motive
Swallow me whole
Sooner or later
-Jon Foreman
SOONER OR LATER (SOREN'S SONG)
Come back and haunt me
Follow me home
Give me a motive
Swallow me whole
They say I've lost it
What could I know
When I'm but a mockery?
I'm so alone
Sooner of later you'll find out
There's a hole in the wall
Today is ours
Condemned to be free
Free to keep breathing
Free to believe
I look to find you
Down on my knees
Oh God, I believe!
Please help me believe
Sooner or later they'll find out
There's a hole in the wall
Sooner or later you'll find out
That you'll dream to be that small
I'm a believer, help me believe
I gave it all away and lost who I am
I threw it all away
With everything to gain
And I'm taking the leap
With dreams of shrinking
Yeah, dreams of shrinking
Come back and haunt me
Follow me home
Give me a motive
Swallow me whole
Sooner or later
-Jon Foreman
A Confession
February 6, 2009
SOMETHING MORE
Augustine just woke up with a broken heart
All this time he's never been awake before
At 31 his whole world is a question mark
All this time he's never been awake before
Watching dreams that he once had
Feed the flame inside his head
In a quiet desperation of the emptiness
He says
There's gotta be something more
Than what I'm living for
I'm crying out to you
Augustine
All his fears keeping falling out
All this time he's never been awake before
Finding out his old dreams aren't panning out
All this time he's never been awake before
But he's mad to be alive
And he's dying to be met
In a quiet desperation of the emptiness
He says
Something more
Hey, I give it all away
Nothing I was holding back remains
Hey, I give it all away
Looking for the grace of God today
- Jon Foreman
Augustine just woke up with a broken heart
All this time he's never been awake before
At 31 his whole world is a question mark
All this time he's never been awake before
Watching dreams that he once had
Feed the flame inside his head
In a quiet desperation of the emptiness
He says
There's gotta be something more
Than what I'm living for
I'm crying out to you
Augustine
All his fears keeping falling out
All this time he's never been awake before
Finding out his old dreams aren't panning out
All this time he's never been awake before
But he's mad to be alive
And he's dying to be met
In a quiet desperation of the emptiness
He says
Something more
Hey, I give it all away
Nothing I was holding back remains
Hey, I give it all away
Looking for the grace of God today
- Jon Foreman
MAKE ME BELONG TO YOU
February 5, 2009
carve me out of wood
carve me out of stone
create me
so that i might exist in your world
"I belong to Him simply because He deliberately chose to create me as the object of His own affection." Phillip Keller, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23
carve me out of stone
create me
so that i might exist in your world
"I belong to Him simply because He deliberately chose to create me as the object of His own affection." Phillip Keller, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23
All I need is everything
February 5, 2009
"Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favorite wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end; submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life.
Keep back nothing.
Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, despair, loneliness, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in."
- C.S. Lewis (bold emphasis, mine)
"Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favorite wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end; submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life.
Keep back nothing.
Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, despair, loneliness, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in."
- C.S. Lewis (bold emphasis, mine)
My friends helped me out
February 4, 2009
NOW I CAN'T FIND THE DOOR
it wasn't what i had to drink
that kept me up all night
something you said made me think
i was up all night
i forgot my reservation
there's no room for doubt
i don't know how i got in
but you found me out
but now i can't find the door
love is what i leave for
i can't find the door
away from you, comrade
away from you, baby
away from you
germany and japan
make me feel so poor
like seeing some new movie star
in a dress i wore
you'll notice that i
changed the subject
'cause i'm afraid of you
there must be some back way
or window i can climb out through
unlock this dark room
last time i knocked down the door
i've cornered fear with keys
from whispered core
now i can't find the door
love is what i leave for
i can't find the door
away from you, comrade
away from you, darling
away from you
-sam (leslie) phillips
NOW I CAN'T FIND THE DOOR
it wasn't what i had to drink
that kept me up all night
something you said made me think
i was up all night
i forgot my reservation
there's no room for doubt
i don't know how i got in
but you found me out
but now i can't find the door
love is what i leave for
i can't find the door
away from you, comrade
away from you, baby
away from you
germany and japan
make me feel so poor
like seeing some new movie star
in a dress i wore
you'll notice that i
changed the subject
'cause i'm afraid of you
there must be some back way
or window i can climb out through
unlock this dark room
last time i knocked down the door
i've cornered fear with keys
from whispered core
now i can't find the door
love is what i leave for
i can't find the door
away from you, comrade
away from you, darling
away from you
-sam (leslie) phillips
I've Had the Chance
February 4, 2009
I PLEDGE MY HEAD
I pledge my head to heaven for the gospel,
And I ask no man on earth to fill my needs.
Like the sparrow up above, I am enveloped in his love,
And I trust him like those little ones he feeds.
I pledge my wife to heaven for the gospel
Though our love each passing day just seems to grow.
As I told her when we wed, I'd surely rather be found dead
Than to love her more than the one who saved my soul.
I pledge my son to heaven for the gospel
Though he’s kicked and beaten, ridiculed and scorned.
I will teach him to rejoice, and lift a thankful praising voice,
And to be like him who bore the nails and crown of thorns.
I’m your child, and I want to be in your family forever.
I’m your child, and I’m gonna to follow you
No matter whatever the cost, I’m gonna count all things lost.
I’ve had the chance to gain the world,
And live just like a king,
But without your love, it doesn’t mean a thing.
-Keith Green
I pledge my head to heaven for the gospel,
And I ask no man on earth to fill my needs.
Like the sparrow up above, I am enveloped in his love,
And I trust him like those little ones he feeds.
I pledge my wife to heaven for the gospel
Though our love each passing day just seems to grow.
As I told her when we wed, I'd surely rather be found dead
Than to love her more than the one who saved my soul.
I pledge my son to heaven for the gospel
Though he’s kicked and beaten, ridiculed and scorned.
I will teach him to rejoice, and lift a thankful praising voice,
And to be like him who bore the nails and crown of thorns.
I’m your child, and I want to be in your family forever.
I’m your child, and I’m gonna to follow you
No matter whatever the cost, I’m gonna count all things lost.
I’ve had the chance to gain the world,
And live just like a king,
But without your love, it doesn’t mean a thing.
-Keith Green
Yes, I do...
January 29, 2009
"Do I really belong to Him?
Do I really recognize His right to me?
Do I respond to His authority and acknowledge His ownership?
Do I find freedom and complete fulfillment in this arrangement?
Do I sense a purpose and deep contentment because I am under His direction?
Do I know rest and purpose, besides a definite sense of exciting adventure, in belonging to Him?
If so, then with genuine gratitude and exaltation I can claim proudly, just as David did, 'The Lord is my Shepherd!' and I'm thrilled to belong to Him, for it is thus that I shall flourish and thrive no matter what life may bring to me."
- from A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller
"Do I really belong to Him?
Do I really recognize His right to me?
Do I respond to His authority and acknowledge His ownership?
Do I find freedom and complete fulfillment in this arrangement?
Do I sense a purpose and deep contentment because I am under His direction?
Do I know rest and purpose, besides a definite sense of exciting adventure, in belonging to Him?
If so, then with genuine gratitude and exaltation I can claim proudly, just as David did, 'The Lord is my Shepherd!' and I'm thrilled to belong to Him, for it is thus that I shall flourish and thrive no matter what life may bring to me."
- from A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller
I dare you...
January 27, 2009
DARE YOU TO MOVE
Welcome to the planet
Welcome to existence
Everyone's here
Everyone's here
Everybody's watching you now
Everybody waits for you now
What happens next?
What happens next?
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened before
Welcome to the fallout
Welcome to resistance
The tension is here
The tension is here
Between who you are and who you could be
Between how it is and how it should be
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened
Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened
Today never happened
Today never happened before
-Jon Foreman
That's what I want
January 23, 2009
"This is the Blessed Life -
not anxious to see far in front,
nor careful about the next step,
nor eager to choose the path,
nor weighted with the heavy responsibilities of the future,
but quietly following behind the Shepherd,
one step at a time."
-J. Danson Smith
"This is the Blessed Life -
not anxious to see far in front,
nor careful about the next step,
nor eager to choose the path,
nor weighted with the heavy responsibilities of the future,
but quietly following behind the Shepherd,
one step at a time."
-J. Danson Smith
Let them fly
January 19, 2009
Beyond my solitude is another solitude, and to him who dwells therein my aloneness is a crowded market-place and my silence a confusion of sounds.
Beyond my solitude is another solitude, and to him who dwells therein my aloneness is a crowded market-place and my silence a confusion of sounds.
Too young am I and too restless to seek that above-solitude. The voices of yonder valley still hold my ears and its shadows bar my way and I cannot go.
Beyond these hills is a grove of enchantment and to him who dwells therein my peace is but a whirlwind and my enchantment an illusion.
Too young am I and too riotous to seek that sacred grove. The taste of blood is clinging in my mouth, and the bow and the arrows of my fathers yet linger in my hand and I cannot go.
Beyond this burdened self lives my freer self; and to him my dreams are a battle fought in twilight and my desires the rattling of bones.
Too young am I and too outraged to be my freer self.
And how shall I become my freer self unless I slay my burdened selves, or unless all men become free?
How shall my leaves fly singing upon the wind unless my roots shall wither in the dark?
How shall the eagle in me soar against the sun until my fledglings leave the nest which I with my own beak have built for them?
-From The Forerunner, by Kahlil GibranTuesday, March 10, 2009
MAGNETIC POETRY TAKE TWO
January 16, 2009
porcelain must linger
fire throb steel clean
use present prisoner
&
so surround self
---------------------
am as my father
though two
---------------------
A Haiku for Brooklyn Naim Lorenz:
porcelain sister
& never something marble
slow open flower
porcelain must linger
fire throb steel clean
use present prisoner
&
so surround self
---------------------
am as my father
though two
---------------------
A Haiku for Brooklyn Naim Lorenz:
porcelain sister
& never something marble
slow open flower
And I am his...
January 14, 2009
YOU ARE MINE
Everyone has their obsession
Consuming thoughts, consuming time
They hold high their prized possession
That defines the meaning of their lives
You are mine
You are mine
You are mine, all mine
You are mine
There are objects of affection
That can mesmerize the soul
There is always one addiction
That just cannot be controlled
You are mine
You are mine
You are mine, all mine
You are mine
-Mute Math
YOU ARE MINE
Everyone has their obsession
Consuming thoughts, consuming time
They hold high their prized possession
That defines the meaning of their lives
You are mine
You are mine
You are mine, all mine
You are mine
There are objects of affection
That can mesmerize the soul
There is always one addiction
That just cannot be controlled
You are mine
You are mine
You are mine, all mine
You are mine
-Mute Math
To the point
January 11, 2009
"Question-and-answer is a vanishing art. We are so drowned and smothered and deafened by panels, dialogues, rap sessions, discussions, talk shows, and other such exercises in the pooling of ignorance that, far from developing the art of asking questions and giving answers, we have very nearly lost it altogether. The time allotted for a program must, it seems, be filled--it doesn't much matter with what.
When is the last time you heard a clear, short question asked and a straight answer given? My heart sinks when it is announced that, following the lecture, there will be time for discussion. People put up their hands, but it turns out that it is not information they are after at all. They want the floor. They go on and on.
I was one of the panel of experts (i.e., married women) discussing the subject of marriage in a college women's dormitory a few years ago.Afterward there were lots of questions. But it was hard to figure out just what the questions were. Here is one of them (verbatim--I did not make this up. It was taped and then transcribed):
Um--like--um--I have a couple questions. Do you think--like--that--uh--do you think a woman could have a call just to be--like--a wife, but not--like--not just to be a wife--like, say, you know--if you're gonna be personal--like--my own engagement--like--I have a gift of--you know--a talent in music, you know--like--I mean, I know you're not saying--like--you know,especially in that case, I mean, you're saying more like--you have--like--I think our greatest thing in common probably is--um--is that--you know--is the dedication to serve God--you know--in the desire to, to follow--you know--to do his leading and--like--neither of us,you know, and especially in this kind of life you don't have a blueprint of what you--what he's gonna be doing necessarily, you know--and I'm just kinda concerned because like--you know--I've even thought about that cause I've kinda had a conflict--you know--growing up that way--you know--I'm talented musically--you know--so therefore I should probably look for somebody that's talented musically but he--he likes it--you know--I mean, he doesn't understand it totally but I'm sure we could live happily together with it, you know, but I don't expect him to have a--you know--yearning to go to all the Beethoven concerts or anything--you know--but I mean--I've heard of very happy marriages where--you know--there's quite different--you know--interests--you know--there.
(I apologize for not knowing the rules of punctuation for this kind of English.) Nobody on the panel knew what the girl was asking. She was confused--that came through loud and clear, but she might have seen through some of the fog simply by making the effort to clarify and shorten her question....
The late W. H. Auden once appeared on a television interview and it was delicious to see his interviewers thrown completely off balance by the clarity and the brevity of his answers. They had their questions carefully worked out and the timing approximated, but long before the show was over they were casting about for new questions. When they asked if he thought of poetry as a means of self-expression, he said,"No, not at all. You write a poem because you have seen something which seems worth sharing with others." The ideal reaction from the reader is, 'I knew that all along, but I never realized it.' He could, I am sure, have lectured for an hour on that one subject, but he didn't. He had a sense of occasion.
"You will be living in Oxford, England, Mr. Auden. Do you expect to be teaching there?"
"No."
"You won't be teaching. (Pause.) Well, Mr. Auden, as you move into the more--shall we say--mellow years, would you say that you have any unfulfilled ambitions?"
"No."
One of my unfulfilled ambitions was to hear a simple answer on a TV talk show. Thank you, Mr. Auden.
-Elisabeth Elliot, from All That Was Ever Ours, Keep a Quiet Heart and Love Has a Price Tag.
When is the last time you heard a clear, short question asked and a straight answer given? My heart sinks when it is announced that, following the lecture, there will be time for discussion. People put up their hands, but it turns out that it is not information they are after at all. They want the floor. They go on and on.
I was one of the panel of experts (i.e., married women) discussing the subject of marriage in a college women's dormitory a few years ago.Afterward there were lots of questions. But it was hard to figure out just what the questions were. Here is one of them (verbatim--I did not make this up. It was taped and then transcribed):
Um--like--um--I have a couple questions. Do you think--like--that--uh--do you think a woman could have a call just to be--like--a wife, but not--like--not just to be a wife--like, say, you know--if you're gonna be personal--like--my own engagement--like--I have a gift of--you know--a talent in music, you know--like--I mean, I know you're not saying--like--you know,especially in that case, I mean, you're saying more like--you have--like--I think our greatest thing in common probably is--um--is that--you know--is the dedication to serve God--you know--in the desire to, to follow--you know--to do his leading and--like--neither of us,you know, and especially in this kind of life you don't have a blueprint of what you--what he's gonna be doing necessarily, you know--and I'm just kinda concerned because like--you know--I've even thought about that cause I've kinda had a conflict--you know--growing up that way--you know--I'm talented musically--you know--so therefore I should probably look for somebody that's talented musically but he--he likes it--you know--I mean, he doesn't understand it totally but I'm sure we could live happily together with it, you know, but I don't expect him to have a--you know--yearning to go to all the Beethoven concerts or anything--you know--but I mean--I've heard of very happy marriages where--you know--there's quite different--you know--interests--you know--there.
(I apologize for not knowing the rules of punctuation for this kind of English.) Nobody on the panel knew what the girl was asking. She was confused--that came through loud and clear, but she might have seen through some of the fog simply by making the effort to clarify and shorten her question....
The late W. H. Auden once appeared on a television interview and it was delicious to see his interviewers thrown completely off balance by the clarity and the brevity of his answers. They had their questions carefully worked out and the timing approximated, but long before the show was over they were casting about for new questions. When they asked if he thought of poetry as a means of self-expression, he said,"No, not at all. You write a poem because you have seen something which seems worth sharing with others." The ideal reaction from the reader is, 'I knew that all along, but I never realized it.' He could, I am sure, have lectured for an hour on that one subject, but he didn't. He had a sense of occasion.
"You will be living in Oxford, England, Mr. Auden. Do you expect to be teaching there?"
"No."
"You won't be teaching. (Pause.) Well, Mr. Auden, as you move into the more--shall we say--mellow years, would you say that you have any unfulfilled ambitions?"
"No."
One of my unfulfilled ambitions was to hear a simple answer on a TV talk show. Thank you, Mr. Auden.
-Elisabeth Elliot, from All That Was Ever Ours, Keep a Quiet Heart and Love Has a Price Tag.
Christian Hedonism
January 10, 2009
We Want You to Be a Christian Hedonist!
Bold emphasis, mine
We Want You to Be a Christian Hedonist!
By John Piper August 31, 2006
What Is Christian Hedonism?
My shortest summary of Christian Hedonism is: God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him. We all make a god out of what we take the most pleasure in. Christian Hedonists want to make God their God by seeking after the greatest pleasure—pleasure in him.By Christian Hedonism, we do not mean that our happiness is the highest good. We mean that pursuing the highest good will always result in our greatest happiness in the end. We should pursue this happiness, and pursue it with all our might. The desire to be happy is a proper motive for every good deed, and if you abandon the pursuit of your own joy you cannot love man or please God.The Difference Between Worldly and Christian Hedonism
Some people are inclined to believe that Christians are supposed to seek God’s will as opposed to pursuing their own pleasure. But what makes Biblical morality different than worldly hedonism is not that Biblical morality is disinterested and duty-driven, but that it is interested in vastly greater and purer things. Christian Hedonism is Biblical morality because it recognizes that obeying God is the only route to final and lasting happiness. Here are some examples of this from the Bible:Luke 6:35 says, "Love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great." It is clear when Jesus says “expect nothing in return” that we should not be motivated by worldly aggrandizement, but we are given strength to suffer loss by the promise of a future reward. Again, in Luke 14:12-14: "When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your kinsmen or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return, and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor . . . and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. You will be repaid at the resurrection of the just." That is, don't do good deeds for worldly advantage; rather, do them for spiritual, heavenly benefits.Should Duty Be Our Main Motivation?
But some will say, "No, no. These texts only describe what reward will result if you act disinterestedly. They do not teach us to actually seek the reward."Two answers to this objection: 1) It would be foolish to say, "If you take this pill, I’ll give you a nickel," if you expect the desire for the nickel to ruin the pill. But Jesus was not foolish. He would not offer blessing to those who obey him and then hold it against us if these blessings motivated our obedience. 2) Even more importantly, there are texts that not only commend that we do good in the hope of future blessing, but command it.Luke 12:33 says, "Sell your possessions, and give alms; provide yourselves with purses that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail." The connection here between alms and having eternal treasure in heaven is not a chance result—it is the explicit purpose: "Make it your aim to have treasure in heaven, and the way to do this is to sell your possessions and give alms."And again, Luke 16:9 says, "Make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous mammon, so that when it fails they may receive you into eternal habitations." Luke does not say that the result of using possessions properly is to receive eternal habitations. He says, "Make it your aim to secure an eternal habitation by the way you use your possessions."Therefore, a resounding NO to the belief that morality should be inspired more by duty than delight.Don’t Be Too Easily Satisfied
Hebrews 11:6 teaches, "Without faith it is impossible to please [God]. For whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.” You cannot please God if you do not come to him looking for reward. Therefore, faith that pleases God is the hedonistic pursuit of God.As Christian Hedonists we know that everyone longs for happiness. And we will never tell them to deny or repress that desire. It is never a problem to want to be satisfied. The problem is being satisfied too easily. We believe that everyone who longs for satisfaction should no longer seek it from money or power or lust, but should come glut their soul-hunger on the grace of God. We will bend all our effort, by the Holy Spirit, to persuade people- that they can be happier in giving than receiving (Acts 20:35);
- that they should count everything as loss for the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus their Lord (Philippians 3:8);
- that the aim of all of Jesus' commandments is that their joy be full (John 15:11);
- that if they delight themselves in the Lord he will give them the desire of their heart (Psalm 37:4);
- that there is great gain in godliness with contentment (1 Timothy 6:6);
- and that the joy of the Lord is their strength (Nehemiah 8:10).
© Desiring God Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way and do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction. For web posting, a link to this document on our website is preferred. Any exceptions to the above must be approved by Desiring God. Please include the following statement on any distributed copy. By John Piper. © Desiring God. Website: desiringGod.org
Bold emphasis, mine
Let the dark come upon you
January 10, 2009
from Four Quartets, by T.S. Eliot
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
from Four Quartets, by T.S. Eliot
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
(from East Coker, Quartet Number 2, Part III)
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
Drunkard's Prayer
January 9, 2009
Drunkard's Prayer
You're my water
You're my wine
You're my whiskey
From time to time
You're the hunger
On my bones
All the nights
I sleep alone
Sweet intoxication
When your words
Wash over me
Whether or not
Your lips move
You speak to me
Like an ocean
Without waves
You're the movement
That I crave
And in that motion
I long to drown
And be lost not to be found
You're my water
You're my wine
You're my whiskey
From time to time
-Over the Rhine
You're my water
You're my wine
You're my whiskey
From time to time
You're the hunger
On my bones
All the nights
I sleep alone
Sweet intoxication
When your words
Wash over me
Whether or not
Your lips move
You speak to me
Like an ocean
Without waves
You're the movement
That I crave
And in that motion
I long to drown
And be lost not to be found
You're my water
You're my wine
You're my whiskey
From time to time
-Over the Rhine
Border Walls
January 9, 2009
Border Walls, by Forugh Farrokhzad
Now
come closer
and listen
to the anguished beats of my love,
that spread
like the tom-tom of African drums
along the tribe of my limbs.
I, feel.
I know
which moment
is the moment of prayer.
Now stars
are lovers.
In night's refuge,
from innermost breezes, I waft.
In night's refuge, I
tumble madly forth
with my ample tresses, in your palms,
and I offer you the equatorial flowers of this young tropic.
Come with me,
come to that star with me
that is centuries away
from earth's concretion and futile scales,
and no one there
is afraid of light.
On islands adrift upon the waters, I breathe.
I am in search of a share in the expansive sky,
void of the swell of vile thoughts.
Refer with me,
refer with me
to the source of all being,
to the sanctified center of a single origin,
to the moment I was created from you
refer with me,
I am not complete from you.
Now,
on the peaks of my breasts,
doves are flying.
Now,
within the cocoon of my lips,
butterfly kisses are immersed in thoughts of flight.
Now,
the altar of my body
is ready for love's worship.
Refer with me,
I'm powerless to speak
because I love you,
because "I love you" is a phrase
from the world of futilities
and antiquities and redundancies.
Refer with me,
I'm powerless to speak.
In night's refuge, let me make love to the moon,
let me be filled
with tiny raindrops,
with undeveloped hearts,
with the volume of the unborn,
let me be filled.
Maybe my love
will cradle the birth of another Christ.
Translated by Layli Arbab Shirani (2/96)
Border Walls, by Forugh Farrokhzad
Now
come closer
and listen
to the anguished beats of my love,
that spread
like the tom-tom of African drums
along the tribe of my limbs.
I, feel.
I know
which moment
is the moment of prayer.
Now stars
are lovers.
In night's refuge,
from innermost breezes, I waft.
In night's refuge, I
tumble madly forth
with my ample tresses, in your palms,
and I offer you the equatorial flowers of this young tropic.
Come with me,
come to that star with me
that is centuries away
from earth's concretion and futile scales,
and no one there
is afraid of light.
On islands adrift upon the waters, I breathe.
I am in search of a share in the expansive sky,
void of the swell of vile thoughts.
Refer with me,
refer with me
to the source of all being,
to the sanctified center of a single origin,
to the moment I was created from you
refer with me,
I am not complete from you.
Now,
on the peaks of my breasts,
doves are flying.
Now,
within the cocoon of my lips,
butterfly kisses are immersed in thoughts of flight.
Now,
the altar of my body
is ready for love's worship.
Refer with me,
I'm powerless to speak
because I love you,
because "I love you" is a phrase
from the world of futilities
and antiquities and redundancies.
Refer with me,
I'm powerless to speak.
In night's refuge, let me make love to the moon,
let me be filled
with tiny raindrops,
with undeveloped hearts,
with the volume of the unborn,
let me be filled.
Maybe my love
will cradle the birth of another Christ.
Translated by Layli Arbab Shirani (2/96)
In all moments of life
January 9, 2009
I believe in being a poet in all moments of life. Being a poet means being human. I know some poets whose daily behavior has nothing to do with their poetry. In other words, they are only poets when they wrote poetry. Then it is finished and they turn into greedy, indulgent, oppressive, shortsighted, miserable, and envious people. Well, I cannot believe their poems. I value the realities of life and when I find these gentlemen making fists and claims-that is, in their poems and essays-I get disgusted, and I doubt their honesty. I say to myself: Perhaps it is only for a plate of rice that they are screaming.
Forugh Farrokhzad, four Interviews, P. 79
I believe in being a poet in all moments of life. Being a poet means being human. I know some poets whose daily behavior has nothing to do with their poetry. In other words, they are only poets when they wrote poetry. Then it is finished and they turn into greedy, indulgent, oppressive, shortsighted, miserable, and envious people. Well, I cannot believe their poems. I value the realities of life and when I find these gentlemen making fists and claims-that is, in their poems and essays-I get disgusted, and I doubt their honesty. I say to myself: Perhaps it is only for a plate of rice that they are screaming.
Forugh Farrokhzad, four Interviews, P. 79
Auden
January 8, 2009
We would rather be ruined than changed,
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.
- W. H. Auden
We would rather be ruined than changed,
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.
- W. H. Auden
Just Like Jim Brown
January 8, 2009
Just Like Jim Brown (She Is History)
She walked away just like Jim Brown
When he laid that football down
And walked away because he could
All the way to Hollywood
She walked away so sure and fast
Into her future
Into my past
Just like I should have known she would
It was just too true to be good
She is history; let her go
We are all in this together
We are all in this alone
An axle spins this world around
Rolling over rocky ground
No shock absorbers on that wheel
For us to ease the way it feels
She really caught me off my guard
Sometimes those bumps can hit you hard
No shock absorbers on that wheel
At least this way you know it's real
She is history; let her go
We are all in this together
We are all in this alone
Jim Brown was something that's a fact
The all-time greatest running back
But Jim knew something fools don't know
He knew when it was time to go
-Pierce Pettis
Just Like Jim Brown (She Is History)
She walked away just like Jim Brown
When he laid that football down
And walked away because he could
All the way to Hollywood
She walked away so sure and fast
Into her future
Into my past
Just like I should have known she would
It was just too true to be good
She is history; let her go
We are all in this together
We are all in this alone
An axle spins this world around
Rolling over rocky ground
No shock absorbers on that wheel
For us to ease the way it feels
She really caught me off my guard
Sometimes those bumps can hit you hard
No shock absorbers on that wheel
At least this way you know it's real
She is history; let her go
We are all in this together
We are all in this alone
Jim Brown was something that's a fact
The all-time greatest running back
But Jim knew something fools don't know
He knew when it was time to go
-Pierce Pettis
The Blues
January 6, 2009
Is this the new tear or just another desperation?
Is this the finger or just another fist?
Is this the kingdom or just a hit n' miss?
I miss direction, most in all this desperation
Is this what they call freedom?
Is this what you call pain?
Is this what they call discontented fame?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
I'm singing this one like a broken piece of glass
From broken hearts and broken noses in the back
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
You're pushing till you're shoving
You bend until you break
Do you stand on the broken fields where our fathers lay
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
There's nothing here worth saving,
Is no one here at all?
Is there any net left that could break our fall?
It'll be a day like this one
When the sky falls down and the hungry and poor and deserted are found
Are you discontented? Have you been pushing hard?
Have you been throwing down this broken house of cards?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
Is there nothing left now?
Nothing left to sing
Are there any left who haven't kissed the enemy?
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
Does justice ever find you? Do the wicked never lose?
Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?
And nothing is okay
Till the world caves in
Till the world caves in
Till the world caves in
Until the world caves in
Until the world caves in
Until the world caves in
-Jon Foreman
The Blues
Is this the New Year or just another night?
Is this the new fear or just another fright?Is this the New Year or just another night?
Is this the new tear or just another desperation?
Is this the finger or just another fist?
Is this the kingdom or just a hit n' miss?
I miss direction, most in all this desperation
Is this what they call freedom?
Is this what you call pain?
Is this what they call discontented fame?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
I'm singing this one like a broken piece of glass
From broken hearts and broken noses in the back
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
You're pushing till you're shoving
You bend until you break
Do you stand on the broken fields where our fathers lay
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
There's nothing here worth saving,
Is no one here at all?
Is there any net left that could break our fall?
It'll be a day like this one
When the sky falls down and the hungry and poor and deserted are found
Are you discontented? Have you been pushing hard?
Have you been throwing down this broken house of cards?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
Is there nothing left now?
Nothing left to sing
Are there any left who haven't kissed the enemy?
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
Does justice ever find you? Do the wicked never lose?
Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?
And nothing is okay
Till the world caves in
Till the world caves in
Till the world caves in
Until the world caves in
Until the world caves in
Until the world caves in
-Jon Foreman
Don't let this day go by
December 30, 2008
Sing About
love to the rescue
me on the ground
or worse
i'm under some big heavy thing
it wasn't like falling
it was more like jumping
and she jumped too
imagine the kind of a bell that rings
just don't let this day go by, baby
without praying
without crying out
you can't make a good thing without trying
so what about trying for something to sing about?
love to the rescue
me on my knees
searching for something that fell to the floor
we're gonna need more light to beat the disease
and find the face of the One never seen before
just don't let this night go by, baby
without praying
without crying out
you can't make a good thing without trying
so what about trying for something to sing about?
just don't give up now
kneeling beside you
holding your hand
trying to span the miles between us
how can you love what you don't understand
and i was standing under a greater love
just don't let this hour go by, baby
without praying
without crying out
you can't make a good thing a good thing
so what about trying for something to sing about?
so what are you thinking about right now?
me too
i'm thinking love to the rescue
-Tom Conlon, from the album, Monster with Flower
Sing About
love to the rescue
me on the ground
or worse
i'm under some big heavy thing
it wasn't like falling
it was more like jumping
and she jumped too
imagine the kind of a bell that rings
just don't let this day go by, baby
without praying
without crying out
you can't make a good thing without trying
so what about trying for something to sing about?
love to the rescue
me on my knees
searching for something that fell to the floor
we're gonna need more light to beat the disease
and find the face of the One never seen before
just don't let this night go by, baby
without praying
without crying out
you can't make a good thing without trying
so what about trying for something to sing about?
just don't give up now
kneeling beside you
holding your hand
trying to span the miles between us
how can you love what you don't understand
and i was standing under a greater love
just don't let this hour go by, baby
without praying
without crying out
you can't make a good thing a good thing
so what about trying for something to sing about?
so what are you thinking about right now?
me too
i'm thinking love to the rescue
-Tom Conlon, from the album, Monster with Flower
My Christmas present from God
December 26, 2008
Christmas morning I dug out a box of my father's mementos and looked through them with my family. This letter that I wrote was among them; God has answered every prayer therein:
"My dad is really sick, so please pray for him. He had a horrible headache all day, and this afternoon he passed out, broke into a cold sweat, and was nauseous. My mom took him to the doctor's office, but she just called me from the hospital. He nearly passed out at the doctor's, so they took him to the hospital. When he got to the hospital, he almost passed out again. They are doing some tests, but she doesn't know how long he will be there or if they will admit him.
It is times like this that I just wish I could relate to my father in a way that would make it easier to spend time with him. Sometimes I feel like the only thing we have in common is our last name.
If he were to die, I would never have been able to SHOW him I love him. I know he knows that, and I try to say it sometimes ("just in case," you know?), but I never have a chance to put my love into action. I wish I liked watching the O.J. Simpson trials, just so I could spend some time with him. Sometimes I feel like living a life that is pleasing to God, brings my dad honor, and makes him proud of me isn't enough.
Please pray for a renewal in my relationship with my father. The healing has already taken place, through the acceptance of God's father heart, but we haven't had an opportunity to nurture our relationship. Pray that we get that chance.
"I was regretting the past, and fearing the future.
Suddenly, my Lord was speaking:
He paused. I waited. He continued,
'When you live in the past with its mistakes and regrets,
it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I WAS.
When you live in the future with its problems and fears,
it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I WILL BE.
When you live in this moment it is not hard. I am here.
My name is I AM."
-Helen Mallicoat
I just made some chocolate mousse for my dad, only to hear that he is being transferred to Rhode Island Hospital. At Sturdy they discovered he doesn't have the flu, but something they don't have the means to test. My mom is coming home, so I heated up some soup and set the table for dinner. I hope he doesn't die. I know that is a morbid thought, but being afraid your parents were going to die since you were 10 makes you prepared at all times. I just told the Lord that my daddy's life is in His hands, and if He chooses to take it, my one prayer is this: that before he breathes his last breath, that my dad would be truly saved and deemed worthy to enter the kingdom of heaven. My heart was screaming this prayer. I know He heard me. I know He will answer in His way and time."
-April 1995
Christmas morning I dug out a box of my father's mementos and looked through them with my family. This letter that I wrote was among them; God has answered every prayer therein:
"My dad is really sick, so please pray for him. He had a horrible headache all day, and this afternoon he passed out, broke into a cold sweat, and was nauseous. My mom took him to the doctor's office, but she just called me from the hospital. He nearly passed out at the doctor's, so they took him to the hospital. When he got to the hospital, he almost passed out again. They are doing some tests, but she doesn't know how long he will be there or if they will admit him.
It is times like this that I just wish I could relate to my father in a way that would make it easier to spend time with him. Sometimes I feel like the only thing we have in common is our last name.
If he were to die, I would never have been able to SHOW him I love him. I know he knows that, and I try to say it sometimes ("just in case," you know?), but I never have a chance to put my love into action. I wish I liked watching the O.J. Simpson trials, just so I could spend some time with him. Sometimes I feel like living a life that is pleasing to God, brings my dad honor, and makes him proud of me isn't enough.
Please pray for a renewal in my relationship with my father. The healing has already taken place, through the acceptance of God's father heart, but we haven't had an opportunity to nurture our relationship. Pray that we get that chance.
"I was regretting the past, and fearing the future.
Suddenly, my Lord was speaking:
He paused. I waited. He continued,
'When you live in the past with its mistakes and regrets,
it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I WAS.
When you live in the future with its problems and fears,
it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I WILL BE.
When you live in this moment it is not hard. I am here.
My name is I AM."
-Helen Mallicoat
I just made some chocolate mousse for my dad, only to hear that he is being transferred to Rhode Island Hospital. At Sturdy they discovered he doesn't have the flu, but something they don't have the means to test. My mom is coming home, so I heated up some soup and set the table for dinner. I hope he doesn't die. I know that is a morbid thought, but being afraid your parents were going to die since you were 10 makes you prepared at all times. I just told the Lord that my daddy's life is in His hands, and if He chooses to take it, my one prayer is this: that before he breathes his last breath, that my dad would be truly saved and deemed worthy to enter the kingdom of heaven. My heart was screaming this prayer. I know He heard me. I know He will answer in His way and time."
-April 1995
Bells Across the Snow
December 26, 2008
Bells Across the Snow
O Christmas, merry Christmas,
Is it really come again,
With its memories and greetings,
With its joy and with its pain!
There's a minor in the carol
And a shadow in the light,
And a spray of cypress twining
With the holly wreath tonight.
And the hush is never broken
By laughter light and low,
As we listen in the starlight
To the "bells across the snow."
O Christmas, merry Christmas,
'Tis not so very long
Since other voices blended
With the carol and the song!
If we could but hear them singing,
As they are singing now,
If we could but see the radiance
Of the crown on each dear brow,
There would be no sigh to smother,
No hidden tear to flow,
As we listen in the starlight
To the "bells across the snow."
O Christmas, merry Christmas,
This never more can be;
We cannot bring again the days
Of our unshadowed glee,
But Christmas, happy Christmas,
Sweet herald of good will,
With holy songs of glory
Brings holy gladness still.
For peace and hope may brighten,
And patient love may glow,
As we listen in the starlight
To the "bells across the snow."
Frances Ridley Havergal
Bells Across the Snow
O Christmas, merry Christmas,
Is it really come again,
With its memories and greetings,
With its joy and with its pain!
There's a minor in the carol
And a shadow in the light,
And a spray of cypress twining
With the holly wreath tonight.
And the hush is never broken
By laughter light and low,
As we listen in the starlight
To the "bells across the snow."
O Christmas, merry Christmas,
'Tis not so very long
Since other voices blended
With the carol and the song!
If we could but hear them singing,
As they are singing now,
If we could but see the radiance
Of the crown on each dear brow,
There would be no sigh to smother,
No hidden tear to flow,
As we listen in the starlight
To the "bells across the snow."
O Christmas, merry Christmas,
This never more can be;
We cannot bring again the days
Of our unshadowed glee,
But Christmas, happy Christmas,
Sweet herald of good will,
With holy songs of glory
Brings holy gladness still.
For peace and hope may brighten,
And patient love may glow,
As we listen in the starlight
To the "bells across the snow."
Frances Ridley Havergal
The Rebel Jesus
December 25, 2008
All the streets are filled with laughter and light
And the music of the season
And the merchants' windows are all bright
With the faces of the children
And the families hurrying to their homes
While the sky darkens and freezes
Will be gathering around the hearths and tables
Giving thanks for God's graces
And the birth of the rebel Jesus
Well they call him by 'the Prince of Peace'
And they call him by 'the Savior'
And they pray to him upon the seas
And in every bold endeavor
And they fill his churches with their pride and gold
As their faith in him increases
But they've turned the nature that I worship in
From a temple to a robber's den
In the words of the rebel Jesus
Well we guard our world with locks and guns
And we guard our fine possessions
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus
Now pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgement
For I've no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
There's a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus
-Jackson Browne
All the streets are filled with laughter and light
And the music of the season
And the merchants' windows are all bright
With the faces of the children
And the families hurrying to their homes
While the sky darkens and freezes
Will be gathering around the hearths and tables
Giving thanks for God's graces
And the birth of the rebel Jesus
Well they call him by 'the Prince of Peace'
And they call him by 'the Savior'
And they pray to him upon the seas
And in every bold endeavor
And they fill his churches with their pride and gold
As their faith in him increases
But they've turned the nature that I worship in
From a temple to a robber's den
In the words of the rebel Jesus
Well we guard our world with locks and guns
And we guard our fine possessions
And once a year when Christmas comes
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They get the same as the rebel Jesus
Now pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgement
For I've no wish to come between
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
There's a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure
And I bid you cheer
From a heathen and a pagan
On the side of the rebel Jesus
-Jackson Browne
THIS IS WHERE THE REAL DYING BEGINS PART II
December 14, 2008
seven years ago
God told me that I was a pear tree
that was half dead and half alive
"Having a form of godliness but denying its power..."
one side, green and laden
the other, black and fruitless
years later
the tree was cut down
and I wondered
"What does this mean?"
surely God wouldn't cut me down
like the Giving Tree
except this year
He did
seven years ago
God told me that I was a pear tree
that was half dead and half alive
"Having a form of godliness but denying its power..."
one side, green and laden
the other, black and fruitless
years later
the tree was cut down
and I wondered
"What does this mean?"
surely God wouldn't cut me down
like the Giving Tree
except this year
He did
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
December 10, 2008
River
It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I made my baby cry
He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
Oh, I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye
It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
© 1970; Joni Mitchell
It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I made my baby cry
He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
Oh, I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye
It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
© 1970; Joni Mitchell
It's Emily Dickinson's Birthday
December 10, 2008
FAREWELL.
Tie the strings to my life, my Lord,
Then I am ready to go!
Just a look at the horses --
Rapid! That will do!
Put me in on the firmest side,
So I shall never fall;
For we must ride to the Judgment,
And it's partly down hill.
But never I mind the bridges,
And never I mind the sea;
Held fast in everlasting race
By my own choice and thee.
Good-by to the life I used to live,
And the world I used to know;
And kiss the hills for me, just once;
Now I am ready to go!
-Emily Dickinson
FAREWELL.
Tie the strings to my life, my Lord,
Then I am ready to go!
Just a look at the horses --
Rapid! That will do!
Put me in on the firmest side,
So I shall never fall;
For we must ride to the Judgment,
And it's partly down hill.
But never I mind the bridges,
And never I mind the sea;
Held fast in everlasting race
By my own choice and thee.
Good-by to the life I used to live,
And the world I used to know;
And kiss the hills for me, just once;
Now I am ready to go!
-Emily Dickinson
NEW VOTER REGISTRATION
November 4, 2008
Overheard:
"Political Party?"
Silence.
"You have to put something..."
"Uh...Obama...whatever that is."
Silence.
Overheard:
"Political Party?"
Silence.
"You have to put something..."
"Uh...Obama...whatever that is."
Silence.
from "Streams in the Desert"
November 3, 2008
"It is not necessary to be always speaking to God or always hearing from God, to have communion with Him; there is an inarticulate fellowship more sweet than words. The little child can sit all day long beside its busy mother and, although few words are spoken on either side, and both are busy, the one at his absorbing play, the other at her engrossing work, yet both are in perfect fellowship. He knows that she is there, and she knows that he is all right. So the saint and the Savior can go on for hours in the silent fellowship of love, and he be busy about the most common things, and yet conscious that every little thing he does is touched with the complexion of His presence, and the sense of His approval and blessing.
And then, when pressed with burdens and trouble too complicated to put into words and too mysterious to tell or understand, how sweet it is to fall back into His blessed arms, and just sob out the sorrow that we cannot speak!" - Selected
"It is not necessary to be always speaking to God or always hearing from God, to have communion with Him; there is an inarticulate fellowship more sweet than words. The little child can sit all day long beside its busy mother and, although few words are spoken on either side, and both are busy, the one at his absorbing play, the other at her engrossing work, yet both are in perfect fellowship. He knows that she is there, and she knows that he is all right. So the saint and the Savior can go on for hours in the silent fellowship of love, and he be busy about the most common things, and yet conscious that every little thing he does is touched with the complexion of His presence, and the sense of His approval and blessing.
And then, when pressed with burdens and trouble too complicated to put into words and too mysterious to tell or understand, how sweet it is to fall back into His blessed arms, and just sob out the sorrow that we cannot speak!" - Selected
His words, my feelings
October 22, 2008
George MacDonald writes:
"If I felt my heart as hard as a stone; if I did not love God, or man, or woman, or little child, I would yet say to God in my heart, 'O God, see how I trust Thee, because Thou art perfect, and not changeable like me. I do not love Thee. I love nobody. I am not even sorry for it. Thou seest how much I need Thee to come close to me, to put Thy arm round me, to say to me, MY CHILD: for the worse my state, the greater my need of my Father who loves me. Come to me, and my day will dawn; my love will come back, and, oh! how I shall love Thee, my God! and know that my love is Thy love, my blessedness Thy being.'"
George MacDonald writes:
"If I felt my heart as hard as a stone; if I did not love God, or man, or woman, or little child, I would yet say to God in my heart, 'O God, see how I trust Thee, because Thou art perfect, and not changeable like me. I do not love Thee. I love nobody. I am not even sorry for it. Thou seest how much I need Thee to come close to me, to put Thy arm round me, to say to me, MY CHILD: for the worse my state, the greater my need of my Father who loves me. Come to me, and my day will dawn; my love will come back, and, oh! how I shall love Thee, my God! and know that my love is Thy love, my blessedness Thy being.'"
EVERGREEN
made me slow and made me stop
I hoped to find a way inside
after passing the entrance that I knew
so I turned away and wound around
and found myself climbing the hill
to where the light was particularly mellow
It's the eighteenth of November
and finally cold enough for the leaves to die and fall
but I marvel at how the leaves on
some trees still remain green
while the sun falls just low enough
to let me see
and let me go
2007
I hoped to find a way inside
after passing the entrance that I knew
so I turned away and wound around
and found myself climbing the hill
to where the light was particularly mellow
It's the eighteenth of November
and finally cold enough for the leaves to die and fall
but I marvel at how the leaves on
some trees still remain green
while the sun falls just low enough
to let me see
and let me go
2007
AUTUMNUS
October 10, 2008
this is the most hopeful season
because everything is
dying
including myself
and it is going to be beautiful
this is the most hopeful season
because everything is
dying
including myself
and it is going to be beautiful
THE LADY IS A TRAMP
October 3, 2008
you took a chance on me
hoping that I would see
all that you are
all that you could be
I saw
and heard
and touched
and tasted
and believed
I all but took you in
and only let you go
because the me you knew
was never going to be all of who I am
you took a chance on me
that didn't pay off
no matter how many times
I blew on your dice
hoping that I would see
all that you are
all that you could be
I saw
and heard
and touched
and tasted
and believed
I all but took you in
and only let you go
because the me you knew
was never going to be all of who I am
you took a chance on me
that didn't pay off
no matter how many times
I blew on your dice
YOU’RE NOT ASKING AND I’M NOT TELLING
October 2, 2008
Let me be clear about this:
It's not over because
of this
or that
It's because you said
I don't…
…you do.
But what I want to know is:
Why the f*** not?
It's not over because
of this
or that
It's because you said
I don't…
…you do.
But what I want to know is:
Why the f*** not?
REVENGE FOOD SEX HEROIN
October 2, 2008
I could bail you out
and make revenge a part of the package
a Lorena Bobbitt benefit
Instead I'll let you fall
with a hole in your golden parachute
until you find another crisis
I could bail you out
and make revenge a part of the package
a Lorena Bobbitt benefit
Instead I'll let you fall
with a hole in your golden parachute
until you find another crisis
UNTITLED
October 2, 2008
the tree has dropped her leaves
like so many golden strands of thread
a vermicelli of hair
fallen
like a hoopskirt
around her willing knees
like so many golden strands of thread
a vermicelli of hair
fallen
like a hoopskirt
around her willing knees
SO THIS IS LETTING GO
October 2, 2008
WEEK ONE
I couldn't sleep without Tylenol PM
I couldn't eat
I couldn't be awake without feeling sick
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK TWO
I couldn't eat
I couldn't be awake without feeling sick
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK THREE
Repeat
WEEK FOUR
I couldn't be awake without feeling sick
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK FIVE
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK SIX
Now a lump has settled into my stomach
It's the part of you that I don't want to give up
WEEK ONE
I couldn't sleep without Tylenol PM
I couldn't eat
I couldn't be awake without feeling sick
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK TWO
I couldn't eat
I couldn't be awake without feeling sick
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK THREE
Repeat
WEEK FOUR
I couldn't be awake without feeling sick
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK FIVE
I couldn't wake up without thinking about you as soon as I opened my eyes
WEEK SIX
Now a lump has settled into my stomach
It's the part of you that I don't want to give up
THE ONE THAT SITS IN THE CORNER
October 2, 2008
I looked at your empty chair today
and somehow you were in it
hollowing out the air and
gravitating the space
heavy and colorless
but present still
October 2, 2008 - Seven month anniversary of my father's passing
I looked at your empty chair today
and somehow you were in it
hollowing out the air and
gravitating the space
heavy and colorless
but present still
October 2, 2008 - Seven month anniversary of my father's passing
UNTITLED
September 28, 2008
when am i going to stop
seeing and hoping
your car
on the highway
parked in my driveway
outside my store
when am i going to stop
seeing and hoping
your car
on the highway
parked in my driveway
outside my store
DOUBLE ENTENDRE
September 26, 2008
i was a drooling
crawling mess
barely able to hold
my head up
fallen and unable to move
without feeling sick
i'm not talking about the bender
i'm talking about the breakup
i was a drooling
crawling mess
barely able to hold
my head up
fallen and unable to move
without feeling sick
i'm not talking about the bender
i'm talking about the breakup
THESE MEMORIES ARE PALPABLE
September 26, 2008
running my fingers through your hair
squeezing your knee while you drive
rubbing our feet together
spooning with your arm across my breast
smoothing your eyebrows
kissing your face
my head on your chest
my hands on your skin
i am missing all of this
with a guy
that i wasn't sure of at first
if only i could have
the same disinterest now
or at least fake it
running my fingers through your hair
squeezing your knee while you drive
rubbing our feet together
spooning with your arm across my breast
smoothing your eyebrows
kissing your face
my head on your chest
my hands on your skin
i am missing all of this
with a guy
that i wasn't sure of at first
if only i could have
the same disinterest now
or at least fake it
AND I'M THE ONE TO BLAME
September 27, 2008
I would have married you
and taken your name
and raised your children
and folded your socks
and rocked your world
I would have married you
and taken your name
and raised your children
and folded your socks
and rocked your world
THIS IS WHERE THE REAL DYING BEGINS, PART I
September 26, 2008
After being alone
and single
for ten years
I thought I had done
all the dying
that I had to do
instead it seems
I was just holding my breath
After being alone
and single
for ten years
I thought I had done
all the dying
that I had to do
instead it seems
I was just holding my breath
THAT PRETTY MUCH SUMS IT UP
September 26, 2008
I miss tracing the lines of your face
your eyebrows,
your nose,
your lips,
your jaw
I miss kissing
your forehead,
your eyes,
your cheeks,
your mouth
There are certainly
other parts of you
that I miss
but most of those
I cannot touch
your eyebrows,
your nose,
your lips,
your jaw
I miss kissing
your forehead,
your eyes,
your cheeks,
your mouth
There are certainly
other parts of you
that I miss
but most of those
I cannot touch
MAGNETIC POETRY I
September 25, 2008
she did every dark thing
would it but surround trust
never broken
translucent marble
freshish
free
fly
---
ghost can pick a game
with sacred pie of self
live & haunt
---
if he did bleed
pool and bone
so rob my all
---
she miss her boy
could look up soon
she did every dark thing
would it but surround trust
never broken
translucent marble
freshish
free
fly
---
ghost can pick a game
with sacred pie of self
live & haunt
---
if he did bleed
pool and bone
so rob my all
---
she miss her boy
could look up soon
WHEN THE FOOD SUPPLY IS RUNNING LOW
September 24, 2008
Wow
I just ate my weight
in gluten-free breadsticks
but
not enough
to feel yours
I just ate my weight
in gluten-free breadsticks
but
not enough
to feel yours
GOD DO I TRUST YOU
September 24, 2008
God, do I trust you enough
to believe that you love me
and if I've made the biggest mistake of my life
you will show me?
I don't know
God, do I trust you enough
to believe that you love me
and if I've made the biggest mistake of my life
you will show me?
I don't know
PASCAL'S WAGER
September 20, 2008
I have sacrificed
everything that I have ever wanted
for a God
that some people
don't even believe in
I am scared
that I'm giving it all up
for a fairytale
God has to prove Himself true
not just for me
but for everyone
(formerly titled, IF GOD IS REAL, HE HAS TO HAPPEN TO ME. Thanks, Tom)
everything that I have ever wanted
for a God
that some people
don't even believe in
I am scared
that I'm giving it all up
for a fairytale
God has to prove Himself true
not just for me
but for everyone
(formerly titled, IF GOD IS REAL, HE HAS TO HAPPEN TO ME. Thanks, Tom)
SOMETHING ACTUALLY LOOKED BEAUTIFUL
September 19, 2008
something actually looked beautiful
in-and-of-itself today
the light on the building
across the street
burned amber on the brick
in-and-of-itself today
the light on the building
across the street
burned amber on the brick
BABY, I
September 19, 2008
was happy once
alone and by myself
was satisfied
with so much less
than all you had to offer
was okay
watching a t.v. show that made me laugh
or hanging out with my roommate
or reading a book
now all of those things
were better with you
was happy once
alone and by myself
was satisfied
with so much less
than all you had to offer
was okay
watching a t.v. show that made me laugh
or hanging out with my roommate
or reading a book
now all of those things
were better with you
HOLDING ONTO EVERYTHING I'VE LOST
September 18, 2008
my iPod Shuffle
has the same one hundred songs on it
that I imported over six months ago
they were the suffocated songs
in my aqua green clip on device
when air was still in my father's lungs
holding onto them feels like
a moment in time caught in a jar
as if I could capture one of his last exhales
listening to it today
allows me to live
in the past and the present
my iPod Shuffle
has the same one hundred songs on it
that I imported over six months ago
they were the suffocated songs
in my aqua green clip on device
when air was still in my father's lungs
holding onto them feels like
a moment in time caught in a jar
as if I could capture one of his last exhales
listening to it today
allows me to live
in the past and the present
I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS CAME UP
September 19, 2008
"I'm an electrical engineer, and I want to share a tip with you."
"Okay." (so, what, am I making the tea you just ordered improperly?)
"Sometimes when your car battery is dead you just need to check the cables..."
(or should I have put the hot sleeve on your cup before dispensing the water?)
"...or there might be some corrosion on the connections."
(or is this a metaphor for life?) "Do I look like a girl that doesn't know anything about car batteries (as I indicate that it might be written on my forehead)? I also know how to use a level and a screwdriver..."
"I just wanted to share that tip with you."
"Oh, okay." (fantastic)
"I'm an electrical engineer, and I want to share a tip with you."
"Okay." (so, what, am I making the tea you just ordered improperly?)
"Sometimes when your car battery is dead you just need to check the cables..."
(or should I have put the hot sleeve on your cup before dispensing the water?)
"...or there might be some corrosion on the connections."
(or is this a metaphor for life?) "Do I look like a girl that doesn't know anything about car batteries (as I indicate that it might be written on my forehead)? I also know how to use a level and a screwdriver..."
"I just wanted to share that tip with you."
"Oh, okay." (fantastic)
HOW BEING LONELY PAYS OFF
September 20, 2008
in the past month
I have paid off my credit card
and balanced my checkbook
it feels good
but you are gone
so life still sucks
I have paid off my credit card
and balanced my checkbook
it feels good
but you are gone
so life still sucks
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