tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-95702192008-08-07T18:15:29.201-04:00Saying it since 2001Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comBlogger538125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-4114345157023959422008-08-07T17:41:00.003-04:002008-08-07T18:15:29.216-04:00I am Oliver Twist and porridge, Paris Hilton and Gucci, Judas and 29 silver coins. I am Philip, the disciple who pleaded that just one more would be enough.
"Lord, just show us the Father and it will be enough for us."
He speaks for all of the disciples, all of us. We who are not satisfied with a God in Heaven, and less satisfied with His embodiment on earth. Our void is bigger than a Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-48193415494564801622008-08-07T11:25:00.001-04:002008-08-07T11:25:38.779-04:00I grasp for the tenor of my heart, fingering the flesh and the feeling, the Spirit and the Living. I find nothing. I take measured breaths, an intermittent gauge, a test. The scales are leveled; nothing weighs nothing.
I mean and I purpose and I try and all I find at the day's end is a lot of nothing. I hold my breath, maybe good things come to those who wait. Maybe they don't, but what if Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-3802156955464996202008-08-02T21:13:00.000-04:002008-08-02T21:14:29.122-04:00I tarry summer. A floating timeline, I notch days, perpendicular lines pointing to significance, days I won't remember next summer, but will remember every day until then. I prolong each day from here until winter settles.
We wake and walk in morning, the humid fog resting on fields. We eat blueberry pie for breakfast, playing scrabble over coffee and cream. I cram cucumbers into quart jars andLorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-41883565689864339092008-07-21T22:12:00.005-04:002008-07-22T09:05:11.952-04:00The gulls fly en masse, a swarm of white and a sound of screams. What frightened them from their river shore I don't know, but they make an exit reminiscent of an audience after a bad play. I am sitting on the back stairs in the early afternoon sunlight. I snack on lime tortilla chips and homemade salsa, and I read Isaiah.
I like peace. I'm a secondborn, some people call it the peacemaker's Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-57198780408568695282008-07-20T16:36:00.001-04:002008-07-20T16:53:07.276-04:00I drive early this morning, fog still lifting from the road and the rivers. I say that it looks like what I imagine England to look like, all deep green and misted. The rolling greens and spiraling gardens testify to their maker--we're growing, we are! With all the rain and intermittent sun, humidity and long summer days, they get plenty of all the things they need to flourish. Not too hot, not Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-25144817444610278042008-07-18T18:59:00.000-04:002008-07-18T19:00:02.365-04:00When my closest childhood friend and I were still sleeping over at one another's homes for recreation and not convenience, when we were wishing on glow-in-the-dark sticker stars, and when we were stuffing four years of memories in a metal Time Capsule, somewhere in between all of that, we used to quote Lewis Carroll to one another: "the time has come the Walrus said, to talk of many things..." WeLorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-75599686230009002772008-07-14T23:02:00.001-04:002008-07-14T23:04:19.867-04:00I drive home slowly, enjoying the now familiar detour, the roadside stands, and small peaks of blue in front of me. I am memorizing portions of Psalm 50 and singing scripture with my ipod. Reminding myself again of the sound of thanksgiving.
I think He wants sacrifice from me. I'm sure of it. I'm positive, always, that what I want can't ever be what He wants. I train myself to not want, becauseLorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-75800711180950809612008-07-09T20:01:00.000-04:002008-07-09T20:02:12.380-04:00I overhear from the neighboring office today, "Yeah, there's this like worry gland in women when it comes to money..." I laughed and I'm sure said something smart back, if not in my head. I am a woman. I worry about money. I worry about not enough. I worry about too much. I just worry. And I don't know anything about glands.
What I know is that He satisfies.
I don't know it always: I kick Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-70990513368247086072008-07-08T20:34:00.004-04:002008-07-09T09:23:42.601-04:00It is hot here, but as I watched channel 7 news tonight, heard the forecasted thunderstorms, and listened to Mr. Difranco talk about the sweltering 92 degrees that it is, I laughed inwardly. I am reminded of last summer and the summer before. The northeast is in me, in my blood and history, and I am in it. But my time spent in the south ruined me for the four full seasons I experience here. I Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-38119165696072969862008-07-06T17:03:00.002-04:002008-07-20T16:38:56.034-04:00Last night I swung my feet back and forth talking about the moon, watching the moon, a sliver chased by its greater bulk. It set in the southeastern sky, its face turning orange, reflecting the still light horizon. The big dipper dipped and the little one made a showing too. I sat on a turning world in the dark watching falling bodies of light, reflections of light, shooting bursts of light, and Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-8964145606533991192008-07-01T20:15:00.002-04:002008-07-01T20:44:45.752-04:00I jumped on the Facebook wagon gently, to say the least. I was a new student at Lee University and in a blasted hurry to store the sea of faces around me in some sort of organized system. Facebook was the newest social network (the only social network as far as I knew. I was always more suited to the real life, in your tangible face sort of interaction.) and I succumbed.
There have been Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-47418929035867877412008-06-29T19:15:00.001-04:002008-06-29T19:19:29.366-04:00Thunder rolls from over the Saint Lawrence and moves toward my perch on the side porch. She plays the piano inside and I still taste coffee in my mouth. It is nearly July, but you didn't hear it from me, why would you? It's beautiful and I can't say much else about that. I spent last evening with two true blues and, as we strolled from La Casbah to Scoops Ice Cream Stand, I stated quite happily Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-65682340553046989702008-06-27T21:16:00.002-04:002008-06-27T21:17:39.459-04:00I put my fingers over my pulse, feeling for signs of something. She says to me tonight that it's just a season of trusting, even if it feels like season of flux. In between. Limbo. Putting so many things on hold, not on purpose, on default. Autopilot. Going through motions, feeling the pulse that says there's life, but knowing that if out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks and fingersLorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-69251705762156466072008-06-22T20:47:00.000-04:002008-06-22T20:48:22.854-04:00It's the longest day of the year, the orange moon hovering on the horizon and Ben Folds rocking the suburbs. It's early morning, 1am; she sleeps beside me, her hand on my shoulder, he sleeps in the backseat. I am driving.
I confess I cried for more than an hour after getting in the car. I confess I was still wiping tears from my eyes four hours later while they slept. We drive north, to her Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-90294935380291632662008-06-17T19:28:00.003-04:002008-06-17T20:22:25.460-04:00An article, a conversation, and late night reading material puts things on my mind. Last night I am struck again by how feminism has subtlety crept into me. I catch it, like a sweater on a branch, snared by its trap. Suddenly self-aware, femininity aware; desperate for flowered cottons and a quick application of mascara, hoping they will do the trick. Cover up the natural (we are sinful at heart)Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-35804296591965094982008-06-16T21:48:00.000-04:002008-06-16T21:49:08.369-04:00Website down. Send postcard. And money. No chocolate. Thank you. Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-39193794756279502252008-06-14T10:41:00.002-04:002008-06-14T11:11:15.708-04:00This morning I think of the lame man who sat by the Gate of the Temple called Beautiful. I think of a man who knew nothing more than crippled and twisted extremities, and poverty. A man who thought the answer to his impairment was silver and gold. And I think of two men who wouldn't give him what he wanted if they could.
Because what he wanted wasn't even a portion of what God wanted for Him.
Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-42257000083366842232008-06-13T18:27:00.000-04:002008-06-13T18:28:43.636-04:00If you asked me what I've been thinking about I couldn't tell you. I mean I could, but it's all in bullet form. A numerical list of motions throughout my day. Nothing expounded on, nothing explored, nothing of depth. Lots of thankfulness, some fear, a little frustration, learning to take and give and desire joy. Nothing rich, nothing real. But all of this sense of nothingness results in Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-47206195912822670052008-06-12T20:44:00.002-04:002008-06-12T21:26:11.017-04:00Tonight found the female two thirds of the family at the Village Green where we were marveled by bodies in purple spandex, golden retrievers, and a hundred little children inching as closely as they could to the stage. The spandexed bodies belonged to the members of Galumpha a modern drama dance troupe and wow us they did. And not just with the stunts they pulled with their muscles and Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-36120445964313675122008-06-07T19:32:00.004-04:002008-06-07T21:58:38.266-04:00I knew I would grow lazy because of my recent trend in posting the mundane, and I have. I have been sitting here trying desperately to come up with something more thought provoking than a one-sided conversation about the weather and your health, and I'm coming up dry.
But as a peace offering I'll give you at least this:
I am recently challenged by one reoccurring thought: Have I grown so Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-81163408860609508882008-06-05T18:51:00.003-04:002008-06-05T19:20:48.474-04:00"I honestly have nothing creative to say" I say. She doesn't respond; we call it ignoring. She ignores me.
But I will say:
That I love the weather we're having around here. A few people have been grumbling about all the thunderstorms we're having, but you know, I don't mind. It's warm, a little unseasonably humid, hence the thunder and lightening, but I like it. It was one of the things I Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-62952496357234564812008-06-02T22:40:00.004-04:002008-06-03T08:38:04.416-04:00Today I spent the day in Silence. Many words were exchanged (trust me, plenty of words), but in Silence just the same.
Our office has been shrouded in green marble paper with an atlasesque border almost since we inhabited our property on Rt. 310. In any case, since day one of our employment there, we've vowed to change that ambient fixture. A few days ago we chose our color and today we brushedLorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-14464619402226400282008-05-31T22:13:00.002-04:002008-06-01T22:32:21.630-04:00Until further notice, I am reverting to Old Lore style posts. Partly because, as I mentioned, I'm obsessed with noticing the mundane recently. And partly because my life is mundane recently.
Yesterday a strawberry rhubarb pie with a lattice topped crust was made. It is yummy. Only, I think, too sweet. I'm going to try and find another recipe with less sugar. If anyone has any great recipes feel Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-73727966953157018302008-05-27T21:15:00.007-04:002008-05-29T10:30:02.937-04:00Isn't it easier just to talk to you and get the same reaction? he asks from his couch. The question I posed: you're funny, why don't you blog more often, you make me laugh?! Oh, he's right. No one makes me laugh quite as much as he does. As evidenced by this video, posted on his low-activity blog, a year ago. I am the first moron. The things he does to make us laugh, mostly at ourselves. In fact,Lorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9570219.post-43177628945923341732008-05-26T09:17:00.002-04:002008-05-26T09:41:01.126-04:00It's a trust sort of day. The sort where I lie in bed in early morning and wrestle with not seeing and still believing. I say to someone the other night that it's not faith if we can see where we're going.
This girl doesn't know where she's going.
Faith feels far away; I can make lists of pros and cons, fors and againsts, tallies marking the winner of the moment--it switches periodically: allLorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03330994106636188873noreply@blogger.com