October 2010

I’m moving. Again. Back. To blogger. RIGHT HERE. Sowwy for the ole prolonged bait and switch.


…to be better than the day before.

Yesterday I tried to explain to the new guy, Tom, what it is that I…do. I began to tell him that I wasn’t in college, and then I just sort of stopped trying. It’s too hard to explain without babbling on about how I actually am busy, and am doing constructive things with my time. Why should I care what the new guy thinks of me? If he wishes to assume I’m “a woman of leisure”, so be it.

I’m sure you’re as tired of hearing things like that as I am of telling them, so let’s move on.

Today I read John 21, and was really curious about the whole “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?”. For some reason I hadn’t even remembered that conversation existed, and the child in me was giddy upon reading it. Sure, that doesn’t necessarily mean at all that John is still alive…but just the fact that Jesus said that…made me happy. A little part of me still longs for the fairy tales and fantasy world of Narnia or Harry Potter. I still love the idea of inexplicable things and worlds and magic.

Oh, also, the end of John is so wonderful: “25 Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.” Isn’t it so easy to think we know everything Jesus did? But no, the amazing things he accomplished on Earth could never be exhaustively recorded.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

In about 20 minutes I’m headed off to Burke for the first day of Good News Club. I’m trying to remind myself of all the times I’ve dreaded something and then enjoyed it, but it’s not helping a whole lot. I know I’m apt to exaggerate my problems in my head, but still it doesn’t change my attitude. In fact, a lot of the things I’m doing have begun to lose their…shine. I hope it doesn’t stay like this. Hopefully I’m just going through an enthusiasm dry patch, and things will change soon.

Well, I have no way of wrapping this up, only that I have to go. Until next time, keep each other safe, keep faith, goodnight. ;)

“These fellow-mortals, every one, must be accepted as they are: you can neither straighten their noses, nor brighten their wit, nor rectify their dispositions…”

“For the first time in several minutes, I glanced around at the tiny elderly man with the unlighted cigar. The delay didn’t seem to affect him. His standard of comportment for sitting in the rear seat of cars – cars in motion, cars stationary, and even, one couldn’t help imagining, cars that were driven off bridges into rivers – seemed to be fixed. It was wonderfully simple. You just sat very erect, maintaining a clearance of four or five inches between your top hat and the roof, and you stared ferociously ahead at the windshield. If Death – who was out there all the time, possibly sitting on the hood – if Death stepped miraculously through the glass and came in after you, in all probability you just got up and went along with him, ferociously but quietly.”

“You know that song ‘If a body catch a body comin’ through the rye’? I’d like — ”
“It’s ‘If a body meet a body coming through the rye’!” old Phoebe said. “It’s a poem. By Robert Burns.”
“I know it’s a poem by Robert Burns.”
She was right, though. It is “If a body meet a body coming through the rye.” I didn’t know it then, though.
“I thought it was ‘If a body catch a body,'” I said. “Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around — nobody big, I mean — except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff — I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be. I know it’s crazy.”

“I don’t know. Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They’re always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions”

Delighted. Poetry.


Last night, in the middle of Awana, Brandon came to me, a grave expression on his 7 year old face. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I have a secret. But you have to PROMISE me you won’t tell anyone. PROMISE.”

I nodded, a little worried. You never knew what this kid was going to say. He has a little problem with discretion, so I was doubly concerned over this, something he was taking care to let no one else overhear.

He hesitated then sadly whispered, “I don’t know how to dance! But DON’T TELL ANYONE!” Agony scrunched his face together.

It was ALL I could do not to laugh outright, and even then there was glee in my voice that I couldn’t hide as I tried to console him.

It probably sounds like I’m not trustworthy with secrets now, but as he told everyone else a few moments later, I think I’m safe in breaking my promise. :)