Harrowing

Parker J. Palmer (who I just quoted on my FB page) wrote this poem as "a token of hope to anyone who may be enduring" a difficult season. Parker wrote this poem as he walked past a field as it was being harvested; the dominant metaphor of the poem is hopeful--although there is destruction in the plowing process, there is also room for healing and new life.


HARROWING

The plow has savaged this sweet field
Misshapen clods of earth kicked up
Rocks and twisted roots exposed to view
Last year's growth demolished by the blade

I have plowed my own life this way
Turned over a whole history
Looking for the roots of what went wrong
Until my face is ravaged, furrowed, and scarred.

Enough. The job is done.
Whatever's been uprooted, let it be
Seedbed for the growing that's to come.
I plowed to unearth last year's reasons--

[But now like the farmer I plow] to plant a greening season.

Words

I haven't blogged in a very long time, and the posting date of my last entry is proof. I suspect that there are currently no readers!

I came back to this blog because I've been (finally) catching up on blogs of some of my favorite writers/bloggers. Trisha and her family (Ben Wall's blog--see side link) are enjoying a TV-free summer and have the pictures (and a future book) to prove it. Sarah Stirman, who posts almost daily, also brings a relevant perspective on current issues of faith, doubt, and life as we really live it. Antique Mommy is just plain fun--she writes what most of us think, but never express so precisely. My sister-in-law Julie is rejoicing in the baptism of her youngest son and settling into life in Fresno--she is a beautiful writer with a beautiful heart. My father-in-law is keeping us updated on all that makes Austin weird and wonderful. And the list goes on . . .

I have felt empty of words this summer. Words dominate my school year, and this year in particular, I felt the power (the sting, the stab, the poignancy, and the healing nature) of words, so I committed to be more careful in how I use them. Words can certainly be weapons. They can also be wise and wonderful.

I have also committed to a life lived more simply. It means saying "no" to almost every opportunity. The simple life requires de-cluttering, not just of so many "things," but also of the thoughts that drive me to believe that doing more equals success, and then the ensuing guilt that comes from never doing quite enough. What would it be like to wake up with Jesus and spend all day with Him? I'd like to find out.

It's late, and for now, enough words. Blessings to any one who happens to find us here.
Jana

Awards

I just left the academic awards banquet at LCU, and needed to pop into my office for some "housekeeping" with colleagues before going home. While here, I wanted to record two quick observations:

1. There are inspiring students on our campus.

2. I pray that my own children are applauded in heaven someday for their integrity, humility, compassion, work ethic, passion, and mostly, for their love of Jesus. Awards recieved in this life are very nice--they motivate, they encourage, and they affirm. But, oh--to have Jesus himself extend his arms and say, "Well done, my child. Well done." That is what I want my children to hear.

Jana

Thought for this day

"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and
not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the
reflection of ourselves we find in them."
-Thomas Merton

When Zachary Beaver Came to Town

I recently finished Kimberly Willis Holt's When Zachary Beaver Came to Town; it is a delight.

Set in the fictional tiny Texas town of Antler (somewhere between Amarillo and Wichita Falls), this coming-of-age story of 13 year old Toby Wilson's heart-breaking summer will make you pause. Faced with a mother who has left to pursue a singing career, the teenage beauty who doesn't know he exists, and "The World's Fattest Boy" who arrives in Antler as part of a traveling side-show, Toby is faced with choices and a change in his perspective. When he reaches out to Zachary, this boy trapped in his own skin, he discovers that the "best way to work through your own problems is to help someone with theirs." The baptism scene alone, near the end of the book, makes this story worth reading.

I loved it. Add it to your list!

Birthday Blessings

Happy Birthday, Dad.

As you enter this next year, may God's blessings wash over you, wave after wave, refreshing your soul and inspiring you in new and creative ways.

You are a person with more energy, more creativity, more courage, and more humility than most people I've ever met. You can run circles around me, and you have so much charm that even the ducks are drawn to you. (Dear blog readers, there's a story there, and it's coming).

I sure do love you, and I am thankful--as always--for a dad like you.

Enjoy your day--and happy, happy, happy, happy birthday!

Jana

Poem for Children

I think I've posted a part of this poem here before, but I came across it again today and decided it deserved a repeat performance. (By the way, Ina Hughes writes for the Chidren's Defense fund).

"We Pray for Children" by Ina Hughes

We pray for children
Who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
Who like to be tickled,
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
Who sneak Popsicles before supper,
Who erase holes in math workbooks,
Who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
Who can't bound down the street in new sneakers,
Who never "counted potatoes,"
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead in,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
Who slurp their soup.

And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
Who can't find any bread to steal,
Who don't have any rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
Whose monsters are real.

We pray for children
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
Who like ghost stories,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
Who get visits from the tooth fairy,
Who don't like to be kissed in front of the car pool,
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who are never spoiled by anyone,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
Who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children
Who want to be carried
And for those who must,
For those we never give up on
And for those who never get a second chance,
For those we smother.
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind
enough to offer it.

We pray for children. Amen.

(We pray for Children, 1995, William Morrow publishers)