[August 27th]

I won't get long sidetracked on this because I have expressed myself at length before but, isn't it strange how desiring peace and as much as possible non-violence makes you a target as a traitor, unpatriotic, disrespectful. Since when does being American mean thinking her name is worth bloodshed no matter the circumstance? Surely I missed that memo. And yet I wish I could speak - not about wars- but about how our lives should be non-violent. Paul taught whatever was beneficial (as he repeats in his letters.) I am just discontent. With the differences, and not knowing where I should be- these opposing sides.

Like this, my friend had a note on facebook of Emerson's poem- and this guy started this long discussion about how God is a jealous God and Emerson had some messed up theories and therefore its wrong to read Emerson because we're aligning ourselves against God. "And Jesus isn't a pacifist (check out Revelations)" - yet Jesus was the one who blessed the peacemakers. I don't know it just upset me- because I wonder, am I wrong? am I decieved? Is God jealous and angry that I am finding the truth and beauty in those artistic expressions and straining out what I think is untruthful? Is that really how God is? It's just so extreme. And then I have friends drawing those lines and I feel exhausted by it. By my faith- not faith in God but my construction of theological beliefs and rights and wrongs and limitedness. Weary of the opposite views of God, and wondering if I am carving a God out of wood or finding the True one. But isn't He good enough to speak if we're trying? He has promised that. (So how do we still find Him so differently.) These are things without resolution but He will someday redeem.

Why can't we dialogue more? What makes us so convinced we are right? (and want so badly to shove that into other people? instead of allowing them to wander and fall upon the same Truth.) Not that we shouldn't share our experiences and give wisdom and the Gospel-- but, you can never make people change or make them believe. I preach to the choir... I can never find the words I mean when I am with the people I want to speak them too, I don't want to argue, I just want to somehow be able to convince people to listen and talk and try to understand. Peace is in my personality, that's probably why I love it, and desire to see non-violent movements. Yes God is violent and judges in the end- but He shows mercy and He has the advantage of being God- of knowing the heart, of knowing who deserves what and who has denied His Son. That's quite different from the wars we now fight. But now I've said a mess more than I meant too.

spin these webs and build a home

I was in Pittsburgh last weekend with my sister at her apartment and there is an old Cathedral converted into a college building - but it looks just the same except instead of pews there are desks and tables- I curled up for hours there reading and these were thoughts I scribbled down.

""If we are not outraged by the seed as by the bloom, there is not true justice in our heart. For all atrocity and the ugliest things of this life begin in our own hearts- in greed, in prejudice, in pride, in envy, in suspicion and fear of those different than us, in the way these fears threaten us. Activism must be every Christian's response, not to issues, but to life. We can not be passive-ist. Our imaginations should be exercised and stretched to match God's zeal for mercy and justice. We should be outraged by the systematic stereotyping and villifying of any people, of media constructs that spin our life. We should and must question the voice(s) behind the messages and adverts we consume as gluttons. We should refuse to stand (or swallow) such.

We have became a nation of passive-ist, not engaging- apathetic, uncaring, and utterly self-absorbed. The reality of poverty, of death, of the spiritual realm leaves us unmarked, and less inspired than the fictitious fables we feast on all hours of the day. The outside world is traded for the matrix of cyber-space, relationships for mirrors and echo-boxes. Our identity as Christians, as belonging to God through faith in Jesus the Christ- must never be sold for nationalist pride. Being a Christian should make our love and concern for those different than us- for Muslims, Buddhist, Atheist, homosexuals, (post-)modernist, new-agers, etc- greater. It should make us more willing to sacrifice to show them the heart of God. In the essence of Christ, it should make us friends and neighbors to our enemies. Because only through conforming to the nature of God will we preach truth. In my view, patrioism is valuable to the extent it produces thankfulness and commitment to making one's country a better place for the world."

But at what point do we resign ourselves to eternity's corrections? To what point do we resist? Should we stop at nothing to promote justice? Where do we draw the balance? How do you change a system/worldview/religiosity- that does not want to change, that would sacrifice you to continue in its way? And why are we so afraid of these questions? Of changing, of allowing that we were in error in our thoughts and practices? Why are we so prepared to be unnoteable, so afraid of taking any action that might effect us. We shrink from disturbing our own lives. What words could conjur a blow to this selfishness in me? Could stir up a true surrender to Jesus Christ? I'm trying to be unsettled, to understand, to be willing to engage, to seek, to change and allow changes, to be corrected graciously. Humility. It must run so deep- to allow anyone to be our teacher, especially those we do not want to be taught by. This discontentment must grow until we know our only choice is to change.

"High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art." I am so thankful for friends willing to question and seek- to put themselves out of comfort to allow change. They inspire me to be braver- to dare those things, to not allow discontentment to settle into apathy.

crimson salt shaped thoughts

Monday, I came to bed at 3am, kept awake by the Olympics and thoughts, and my sister waking said, "lets get up at 6 and drive to the Ocean." So we did. It was the calmest day I've ever been there. Almost no waves, so you could just float and float and listen to underwater noises. It is that type of stillness where God's peace soaks into me.

Everything feels right lately. Not perfect, not like I'd imagine it if I were daydreaming- but just the same, it feels right. Like its moving in the right direction, like I'll get there even if I take slow steps, like I am being drawn by the riptide out to the depths- but this is a good thing. I guess that's what peace feels like- amidst the rushing, rushing. Uganda is coming so quickly, and my heart is butterflies about it and there is so much to prepare for, so much I can't prepare for. It seems unreal. Like the garbled language of the underwater whispering.

I think clouds feel like children, so far above everything that they only see play houses and doll people and little matchbox cars, and very old at the same time because they've seen so much. I feel that way. but never 21. Twenty-one is a strange age. It's supposed to mean too much, It can't possibly. mm. my head is full of sun-bleached thoughts and too much commotion, too many questions and hopes. I feel small. I feel young. But joyful. I want to keep soaking this in, coming to a deeper, ever changing understanding of what everything means.

something I am trying to figure out

Blissful days with favorites this week. The first of which is books- and one in particular that has been stretching my thoughts. The second, my Maryland friends who know my knots and tangles. [Moments] like dobbing on our "European" picnic dusk at the baseball fields, sleepovers and joyful laughter, quiet conversations of truth and faith and doubt and wonder, finding treasures & Pocky at Asian markets, coffee & light rain on the patio of the Poor House, eating Thai at deserted restaurants with friendly owners, sleepy movie time, and pleasant car drives with summer warmth blanketed by beautiful music, and reading stories which perfectly sum up our friendship.

But, another thought has been dogging me lately... It seems so often we can only speak about God in cliches, in similies and metaphors instead of experiences. I want to know God in a way where I can express ideas and thoughts- without a language made of rhetoric, without a language s dressed up in religious garbs, I want to learn this language of the present - of Him "moving into the neighborhood." Fresh like the first bite of summer melon on the hottest day. mint thoughts. Something new, something that comes from prayer, something that blooms each day. Words that come from knowing God, words that are a new song, verbs that are to be that end in -ing, present tense.

God is near. God is - inside, without.
God is beyond, above, before, after, beginning at the ending, ending at the beginning,
outside. unlimited. utterly apart. He is.

I am frustrated by my limitations of grasping Him. He can not be fully known, and yet it is His nature to reveal Himself, to be known, and yet, to ever be mystery. I want to know God and Jesus Christ whom He sent and the Spirit was given me for this very purpose.

new words.
new understanding.
comes s l o w l y.

on the lawn late one summer

From the front porch steps, I see the tree bending like a weary homeless woman. She sags to cover her knobby, beat up roots. Shrinking beneath my watching eyes, in an attempt to hide her disgracing poverty. Scarlet creeps around the edges of her leaves, all she can manage of an apology for her offense to the ideals of beauty. Her branches waver, defeated by a strong breeze. She leans with age, and it is enough to make me burst into tears. I stand, I mean to throw my arms around her and reassure it by my embrace. But the fence frowns with such disarming disapproving, I repent of my emotions.

I stretch out my hand to catch the glimmering light, but it spills through my fingers like water poured out. This time of day kisses me, today with bittersweetness. It kicks my lungs like a mouthful of salt water, over ripe with memory and soiled by my lonely heart. The shadows grow and awaken with a stretch and yawn, lapping up the colors as they flee the skies blushing skin. The aroma of rain lingers as heat makes its departure, mocking me all the more for having counted myself its companion. Noise rings distantly in my ears, draining away beneath an inner commotion. I hold my breathe, counting, but this outlasts me. Like a bully, teasing, teasing. It's a neighbor in all the eyes I see. Every one is always further, everyone is getting farther away. I hug my knees to my chest in acknowledgment of subtle autumn's advancing steps.

The tree reaches for me across the fence and I smile. Ah, who can be lonely with these trees? She shakes loose one treasured golden leaf which floats towards me slowly. And as it falls she whispers with the timeless voice of leaves, that sounds like moss and tangled vines: Remember we are really growing younger. And I can not help but believe her.

loneliness

It taste like a mouth full of salt water.
Lingers of rich aromas without the hope of their return.
It rings distantly in my ears
mocks with the chill of burnt out embers
It fills my head with detached words
and smudges my skin as I paint a temporary escape
it always outlast me, holding my breath
it grows the more I ignore it
devouring the colors fresh on the page
its a neighbor to all the eyes I gaze at
as greedy as the grave, unsatisfied with short encounters
"did not our hearts burn within us?"
and You remembering me remind me
that the deeper night pulls up her blankets
the nearer is the sun.