I just feel so thankful for this past week. It was full and my bones were tired at its end- but I had so many significant conversations with old, dear friends- and newer ones as well. It was not entirely on purpose, and I normally just do not have the capacity for the number of real conversations that I had this week- but I feel like after such a discouraging week, just the week before, I don't know- maybe God was telling me through all these words that He cared. I don't really know how that works- and it' s even been awhile since I have even been willing to connect such a week with God. And even if I did- I probably would have been too insecure or proud to say I believed such a thing. call me crazy.
Well, it's monday, I have loads to accomplish- and I am ok if none if it actually happens.
annie dillard and God.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
annie dillard was one of the first creative non-fiction writers I was taken by. The way she could expose the world through words really gave some light to rather dark and misunderstood places in my own heart. One of my favorite essays of hers is "expedition to the pole". When I first read this essay years ago, I was frustrated because she alternates between writing about her experience in a particular church, to writing about the early expeditions to the arctic. I wasn't really patient enough to make the connection, so i just skipped the sections where she began talking about things that resembled a national geographic article. I am pretty sure I missed the greater story.
A couple of nites ago, Josh and I were kind of bored, so I asked him if he wanted me to read some Annie Dillard out loud. We do this time to time- read books to one another because we are soooo cute. anyway, i started reading and then I remembered all the arctic tangents- which I knew josh would love because he gets the significance of land much more than I do - but I was not that interested- yet I persevered, and it was worth it. it was even interesting.
I take it so for granted what people actually do to find things. they will die to find things.
So annie off and on talks about these various expeditions to the poles. how on most of the early ones- everyone died, only to be found by the next explorers. she spoke about some english explorers, from the the royal navy, and how they left on a ship full of tea cups and fine silver- and only their uniforms. they were refined, educated men. they all died. interesting, but still no connection.
and then the lights went on. throughout the story, annie is talking about her particular experience at a catholic church on a particular Sunday. there is a band playing, which is particularly annoying to her because she had already left the protestants and their guitars. it's more than this, though. she is disappointed. she wants more.
the connection:
annie writes:
must I join this song? may I keep my silver? my family crest?....I would rather, i think, undergo the famous dark night of the soul than encounter in church the dread hootenanny-but these purely personal preferences are of no account, and maladaptive to boot. they are passing the plate and I pass in my schooling. i toss in my rank with the royal navy....my pious refusal to eat sled dogs....I was looking for bigger game, not little moral lessons, but who can argue with conditions?
It was at the end of this paragraph that i looked up at josh. this is something we are both really struggling with. worship. how we gather. liturgy. prayer. bigger game- as annie dillard says.
but what annie gets in this essay, that I had not gotten, was that worship is a matter of life and death. we want to take our silver and education- our status in the royal navy- but in subzero temperatures, it doesn't matter who you are. you need a coat, and food. silver is neither here nor there.
A couple of nites ago, Josh and I were kind of bored, so I asked him if he wanted me to read some Annie Dillard out loud. We do this time to time- read books to one another because we are soooo cute. anyway, i started reading and then I remembered all the arctic tangents- which I knew josh would love because he gets the significance of land much more than I do - but I was not that interested- yet I persevered, and it was worth it. it was even interesting.
I take it so for granted what people actually do to find things. they will die to find things.
So annie off and on talks about these various expeditions to the poles. how on most of the early ones- everyone died, only to be found by the next explorers. she spoke about some english explorers, from the the royal navy, and how they left on a ship full of tea cups and fine silver- and only their uniforms. they were refined, educated men. they all died. interesting, but still no connection.
and then the lights went on. throughout the story, annie is talking about her particular experience at a catholic church on a particular Sunday. there is a band playing, which is particularly annoying to her because she had already left the protestants and their guitars. it's more than this, though. she is disappointed. she wants more.
the connection:
annie writes:
must I join this song? may I keep my silver? my family crest?....I would rather, i think, undergo the famous dark night of the soul than encounter in church the dread hootenanny-but these purely personal preferences are of no account, and maladaptive to boot. they are passing the plate and I pass in my schooling. i toss in my rank with the royal navy....my pious refusal to eat sled dogs....I was looking for bigger game, not little moral lessons, but who can argue with conditions?
It was at the end of this paragraph that i looked up at josh. this is something we are both really struggling with. worship. how we gather. liturgy. prayer. bigger game- as annie dillard says.
but what annie gets in this essay, that I had not gotten, was that worship is a matter of life and death. we want to take our silver and education- our status in the royal navy- but in subzero temperatures, it doesn't matter who you are. you need a coat, and food. silver is neither here nor there.
digging in.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
it is so easy to slowly isolate oneself in this world. I have realized this over the summer, on a more personal level than ever before. sometimes, over the past few months, things have felt so difficult that I physically felt like I could not "enter" into life. There seemed to so many areas of my life where I could get lost. it was/has been overwhelming.
trying to have a baby (unsuccessfully) can be a lonely experience. I firmly believe that we were meant to live in community, to bear one another's burdens, to live and love where sorrows and joy mingle. to weep with those who weep. but this is not easy.
it's not easy because if we really do this, we soon realize that sometimes the mystery of life is overwhelming. we have no idea what to say or how to love, so we retreat. we isolate. I have felt the awkwardness of this deeply- on both ends. I have avoided situations where moms congregate and talk about their kids- and likewise, I have been avoided because someone feels that there joy, their new baby, their news of being pregnant- will only cause me pain. and to be honest, sometimes it is painful- but I do not think it is right to avoid that pain.
so I am trying to digg in. I would rather feel the pain of community, than walk this alone. I believe Jesus shows up where life is and people gather.
yesterday, I was feeling the temptation of isolation. It had been coming on for a few days, each day feeling more difficult- and thankfully God gave me some strength to choose otherwise. I picked up the phone, called a handful of people, and said, come over. eat with us.
It was late in the afternoon. I was full of insecurities. I thought, God, I am choosing to engage in this world today, and it will crush me if I have to eat alone tonite. So I, with a wee bit of faith, went to the grocery and bought food. I wavered over how much. I went for extra.
Last nite, 8 people sat around our table and ate tacos. we talked about sharks and boats. there were kids there. they were full of youth, all bright eyed and kind. it was simple. no big conversations, just fellowship of the mundane. and it felt good.
at the end of the evening, there was no food left. and I was full. full from food. full from the friends in our home. thankful that I had felt compelled to engage in the supernatural. to trust God to help me. to bring people into my home. a home full of hope and pain.
trying to have a baby (unsuccessfully) can be a lonely experience. I firmly believe that we were meant to live in community, to bear one another's burdens, to live and love where sorrows and joy mingle. to weep with those who weep. but this is not easy.
it's not easy because if we really do this, we soon realize that sometimes the mystery of life is overwhelming. we have no idea what to say or how to love, so we retreat. we isolate. I have felt the awkwardness of this deeply- on both ends. I have avoided situations where moms congregate and talk about their kids- and likewise, I have been avoided because someone feels that there joy, their new baby, their news of being pregnant- will only cause me pain. and to be honest, sometimes it is painful- but I do not think it is right to avoid that pain.
so I am trying to digg in. I would rather feel the pain of community, than walk this alone. I believe Jesus shows up where life is and people gather.
yesterday, I was feeling the temptation of isolation. It had been coming on for a few days, each day feeling more difficult- and thankfully God gave me some strength to choose otherwise. I picked up the phone, called a handful of people, and said, come over. eat with us.
It was late in the afternoon. I was full of insecurities. I thought, God, I am choosing to engage in this world today, and it will crush me if I have to eat alone tonite. So I, with a wee bit of faith, went to the grocery and bought food. I wavered over how much. I went for extra.
Last nite, 8 people sat around our table and ate tacos. we talked about sharks and boats. there were kids there. they were full of youth, all bright eyed and kind. it was simple. no big conversations, just fellowship of the mundane. and it felt good.
at the end of the evening, there was no food left. and I was full. full from food. full from the friends in our home. thankful that I had felt compelled to engage in the supernatural. to trust God to help me. to bring people into my home. a home full of hope and pain.
a story of a kitchen and how it made us crazy.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
josh, tired.
josh, mad at me taking pictures
Josh has been working like crazy this summer, putting in our new kitchen. It has literally taken over our lives. The house is a wreck. Eating is a hassle. Anyway, as of this Wednesday, we will have a functional kitchen again. and I will be a happy woman.
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