Set
     backs


Dear Spring,
For a season of new life, why so many set
backs?  Why the confusion and self-doubt? 
To be honest, why all the tears?

Mentally, I know these are not life-ending, but
they are life-altering--
so many decisions; so many do-I-dares1.
My composure is wearing thin,
my strength is waning, in their place
only well-worn seams struggling with the tension
of holding this self together.

Primavera.  "Springtime."
Prima vera.  "First real."
I think broken apart, like myself, 
those words offer a better answer
to my initial question.  
Why all the set
backs?  
Because of all the realities.
Ones I'm experiencing for the first time. 
Realities I thought would skip me.  Set
backs I had hoped to avoid. 

Yet a wise philosopher2 conjectures, "Pain is 
what you experience when you bump into reality."
For some aspects of life, this is the "first
real" of a Spring where to become whole,
one must be broken; to move forward, one must be set
back.


1 "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot
2 Definitions by Dallas Willard

I feel like renaming January: "Maybe tomorrow I won't cry"

4-for-4, people - the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I just found this post from 1.16.12.  The day after the fall.

It's been nearly 2 years and it still hurts.

To know the words in the books

This is a poem inspired by my 3-year-old nephew, Ross.  He's just beginning to learn his letters after announcing to his mom, "I don't know the words in the books like you and dad."  That line really moved me, so I wrote the following.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Synapses form in the child's brain -
connections of how and why and when
and where things work.
The codex marvels his months-old mind -
flipping pages, imbibing color, revealing
knowledge and narrative.
Growing older, learning the words,
hearing the stories now, and imploring,
"Read it again."
Older still, he realizes when "grown ups"
open the book, they see more than
shapes and symbols.
The child knows, implicitly - even if
inarticulately - that to some the book
offers impartation.
Seeking the gift, he whispers, "Mom,
I don't know the words in the books
like you and dad ."
So, he discovers another level of learning
Sensory of the mind, not of the fingers
or nose or tongue.
He begins the distinctly human process
of extracting meaning from symbols
and sounds from shapes.
The pain and frustration and delight of
learning become milestones on his quest
to possess this gift.
This precious boy, just setting out on
the road of language and learning
makes me marvel.
For like the little boy, I am seeking
to "know the words in the books,"
to extract the meaning.
He reminds me of the gift, of my
gratitude and of my hope to share
this impartation.

Every time I've left home for an extended trip or somewhere far away,  I break down just before leaving.  Whether packing up the vans for tour or at the counter for British Airlines, I've had some pretty teary moments.  I can't explain all the reasons why.  Probably some fears mixed in there.  But I just get overwhelmed with the sense that no matter how good the adventure, I'd rather just stay at home.  Even before my summer in England, right before entering the security lines, I wanted to go home.  I wanted to forget about the whole scheme. 

It's the Baggins and the Took parts of me fighting.  And right before blast off, everything Baggins starts shouting "Stay at home and stay comfortable!"

Eventually the Took side wins out... but I'm having a very Baggins morning so far.

For those days when you need to cry...

...read this.


If you're happily enjoying this sunny weather - keep doing that.


But.  If you want to read something beautiful and heart wrenching and tear-worthy.  Read that letter.

Speaker for the Dead: Parables Re-told

So, I mentioned a while back how impacting Ender's Game was.  Well, I'm now on my 4th book in the Ender Saga.  Yah. 

First there was Ender's Game. Then Ender's Shadow, a parallel novel.  Then Speaker for the Dead, the first sequel to Game (and the one that gave me major book hangover today).  And I've started Shadow of the Hegemon, the 2nd of the 4 Shadow novels.  It's a bit confusing... but then I guess it's sci-fi.  

I know there's a lot of controversy surrounding Orson Scott Card.  Some of it may be just exaggeration or rumors; some is probably true.  I don't know.  But Card's writings have reached depths of empathy and sacrificial love that other writers can barely scratch.  The Hunger Games?  Yes, I loved them - but Card's first novel packed the same emotional punch as Collin's entire trilogy!  All I'm saying is I've been amazed. 

But how to share my enthusiasm without sharing too much?  Well, there's an excerpt from Speaker that I came across yesterday and wanted to share to give you a taste of Card's power as a writer.  It's a retelling of a parable, rather than a direct relation to the plot.

The only context is that, within the story, this is found in the writings of a devout Catholic:

A great rabbi stands teaching in the marketplace.  It happens that a husband finds proof that morning of his wife's adultery and a mob carries her to the marketplace to stone her to death.  (There is a familiar version of this story, but a friend of mine, a speaker for the dead, has told me of two other rabbis that faced the same situation.  Those are the ones I'm going to tell you.)

The rabbi walks forward and stands beside the woman.  Out of respect for him the mob forbears, and waits with the stones heavy in their hands.  "Is there anyone here," he says to them, "who has not desired another man's wife, another woman's husband?" 

They murmur and say, "We all know the desire.  But, Rabbi, none of us has acted on it."  The rabbi says, "Then kneel down and give thanks that God made you strong."  He takes the woman by the hand and leads her out of the market.  Just before he lets her go, he whispers to her, "Tell the lord magistrate who saved his mistress.  Then he'll know I'm his loyal servant."

So the woman lives, because the community is too corrupt to protect itself from disorder.
Another rabbi, another city.  He goes to her and stops the mob, as in the other story, and says, "Which of you is without sin?  Let him cast the first stone."

The people are abashed, and they forget their unity of purpose in the memory of their own individual sins.  Someday, they think, I may be like this woman, and I'll hope for forgiveness and another chance. I should treat her the way I wish to be treated.

As they open their hands and let the stones fall to the ground, the rabbi picks up one of the fallen stones, lifts it high over the woman's head, and throws it straight down with all his might, crushing her skull.

"Nor am I without sin," he says to the people.  "But if we only allow perfect people to enforce the law, the law will soon be dead, and our city with it."

So the woman died because her community was too rigid to endure her deviance.

The famous version of this story is noteworthy because it is so startlingly rare in our experience.  Most communities lurch between decay and rigor mortis, and when they veer too far, they die. Only one rabbi dared to expect us such a perfect balance that we could preserve the law and still forgive the deviation.  So, of course, we killed him.

"Well, I'm back."

[source]

so very true tonight ='(

Beauty in the desert...

I saw myself kneeling in a lush green place, like a wood or a jungle. He was kneeling beside me. Before me was a wall of flame, and, on the other side, was a desert.

“Must I go through there?”

“Yes, you must.”

I stared at the desert and then stared in His eyes. Those beautiful eyes totally melted me.

“This is for my kids, isn’t it?”

His silence served as more than an affirmation. His eyes said, "Yes, for them and so many more."

“Will you be with me?”

“No matter if you feel me or not, I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

“But will I see you?”

“You will seek me and you will find me when you search for me with all of your heart.”

I held His hand and squeezed it. “I really enjoy these sweet times with you.”

Without really knowing why, I started crying. His left hand caressed my face, “Your tears in the desert water the field of buried dreams. Samara, you have no idea what the beauty of the desert is.”

I took a deep breath… I looked back into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Samara.”

Pressing through my tears, I whispered, “And I trust you…”

"Therefore I am now going to allure her;
I will lead her into the desert
and speak tenderly to her...

I will betroth you to me forever.." - Hosea 2:14, 19

was it a vision, or a waking dream...

I have tried, without success, to write something musical and moving about what I experienced last night. I cannot do it's loveliness and beauty justice beyond saying that I was enraptured by something beyond this world. I laughed. I longed. I cried. The pitter-patter of the rain on the beautiful dilapidated theatre was nothing compared to my tears...

Needless to say, this experience was indeed so pleasurable, I had to ask myself, in the words of Mr. John Keats, "Was it a vision, or a waking dream?"

i've been pondering this lately...

Watch the end scene from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. It's so beautiful.

"I will not say, 'Do not cry.' For not all tears are an evil."

This scene is so moving. I can touch that pain...