Project 52: seven

I crave belonging (I suspect we all do).
We hunt it out wherever it is to be found.
We band together in tightening circles
And bear the marks of our believed belonging in
The intricate carvings on our skins,
The unparalleled symmetry of our faces,
Our shared seeming inability to belong,
Or the fact that he said, ‘you, too?’

We search for our best fit—
A tiny head nestled into mama’s collarbone;
His hand in yours like hook with eye;
The three of you slunk against a rusted rail,
Together looking outward.

And sometimes we find it, but sometimes we don’t
(or we do, and it no longer fits).
The belonging we stretch for
Falls just outside our reach
Or abrades, coarse surface to coarse surface.
And we are homesick
Though this is where we’re meant to be.

Take your heart and wade on with courage
Through present tension to future tense.
We are rooted in earth but ethereal
Never full belonging
Where we won’t be long.

* * * * *

Conversations:

Samantha R -- you said it beautifully :)

Asea -- I heartily recommend the Crafternoon -- as heartily as I recommend trips to Australia :D

Weekend XIX :: and a poem

We file in,
seat ourselves in ragged rows
and perch on the rims of our chairs,
expectant and perspiring.

The great building
rumbles with the hum
of six-hundred murmured contentments;
we all
bless the air conditioner.

Then lights,
fifty tiny seraphs,
blink into the overhead.

Music swells,
rolls forward,
and washes over us;
we all
bless the Christ-child.

This was the weekend when it truly started to feel like Christmas. I went shopping with my mother and sister, my little brother dragged against his will but uncomplaining through crowds that resembled a mental illness. We balanced bags stuffed with purchases on chairs while we ate a late lunch (chicken katsu over rice at my new favourite place). I failed to find shoes for my absurdly strange feet but it didn't make me cry, this time.

This was the weekend when I went to a movie with my sister and soon-brother-in-law. I felt my face frozen in tension at all the scariest spots and knew that James was groaning at the CGI effects, but I suddenly didn't care that, in being swept up by the intensity, I was not Very Grown Up -- and then, ironically, the not caring what other people think made me feel quite grown up indeed.

This was the weekend when I finally had a sleep-in, when I finished a delicious book, when I joined my family for a carols service at our church, when I was reminded of Jesus' message to the captain in Matthew 8: "What you believed could happen has happened."

What was this weekend, for you?

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month in the U.S. And to that I say, Why not international poetry month? Let's make it Poetry Month here in Australia, too!
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The website of the Academy of American Poets offers information on National Poetry Month, including a sign-up form to receive a poem every day this month straight to your inbox.

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There's also a list of 30 ways you can celebrate poetry during April. Among my favourites are the suggestions to put poetry in an unexpected place, start a Commonplace Book, enclose a poem in a letter, and add a verse to your email signature line.

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Lots of ideas appeal to me, but to start with I think I'm just going to pull Mountain Breezes: The Collected Poems of Amy Carmichael from my to-read shelf and tuck in at random.

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PS. I do understand that the picture above is prose, not poetry. I just couldn't resist sharing a page from a mystery book I recently finished which had my brother as the love interest! Nicholas Carey, you're famous.

Monday meme :: poetry

monday; the forecast --
cloudy.
a high pressure system
hovers off the coast.

overhead,
thoughts gather:
grey thoughts,
cluttered thoughts,
bunched together in storm-size strength.

lightning strikes;
a piercing electric current
of worry
fear
exhaustion
condemnation.

tension mounts;
the climate rises.
the air --
thick, suffocating, humid --
overwhelms.

stop.
stop a while;
stop and dip your fingers
in the cooling stream
of living water.


[prompt here]

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conversations:

Staish -- sometimes you wonder. But the cool thing about God (correction: one of the many cool things about God) is that He won't let us languish in ignorance or misinformation. It's so relieving to know that we can stumble along and yet, 'He is able to keep [us] from falling'.

Abbie -- thank you for your encouragement!

Anonymous -- there is definitely a fine line between the extremes of putting God's provision to the test and refusing to trust Him at all. How good to know that He also makes provision for our weakness and guides us to a better understanding of His ways (and, as a result, our responses) through the Word and the Holy Spirit.

Meaghan -- it's very cool. I would be mental without that knowledge! No, I haven't seen the movie; you'll have to let me know what it's like if you watch it! xox

Encouragement for those 'there in love and longing'

This could have been written for the single heart...

Thou hast not that, My child, but thou hast Me,

And am I not alone enough for thee?

I know it all, know how thy heart was set

Upon this joy which is not given yet.

And well I know how through the wistful days

Thou walkest all the dear familiar ways,

As unregarded as a breath of air,

But there in love and longing, always there.

I know it all; but from thy brier shall blow

A rose for others. If it were not so

I would have told thee. Come, then, say to Me,

My Lord, my Love, I am content with Thee.

Amy Carmichael, Rose from Brier

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conversations:

Caitlin -- I am so glad to have a comrade-in-arms! Yes, driving is horrid. :)

Season of suffering

As always when I read Elisabeth Elliot, I find myself revisiting Amy Carmichael's beautiful works. I think it was in one of Mrs. Elliot's books that my appetite for Amy Carmichael's beautiful poetry and vivid prose was first whetted, and I have been in love ever since. This past week, I dug out Rose From Brier, a find from a pre-loved book fair, and began to read.

In the introduction I was arrested by a poem, first written for those who are sick but applicable to anyone who is suffering in any way. We want Him to take away the painful "winds that blow", but most of all, we want to be found to honour Him before their withering heat disappears. The victory is not in the end of the trial, but the beautiful surrender while the fire rages at its hottest. And even then we are thrown upon His mercy -- the victory comes only in Him. May you be encouraged.

Before the winds that blow do cease,

Teach me to dwell within Thy calm:

Before the pain has passed in peace,

Give me, my God, to sing a psalm.

Let me not lose the chance to prove

The fulness of enabling love.

O Love of God, do this for me:

Maintain a constant victory.

Before I leave the desert land

For meadows of immortal flowers,

Lead me where streams at Thy command

Flow by the borders of the hours,

That when the thirsty come, I may

Show them the fountains in the way.

O Love of God, do this for me:

Maintain a constant victory.

P.S. The beautiful stitchwork in the picture came in this morning's mail -- thank you, Caitlin! A special hug for you today, and some mail is on its way back to you!

Weekend

Market day, and sun and air blown clear
with autumn
Better not forget
your cardigan.

And men in ponchos hemmed in braid and fringe
of red and white which strangely match
the music haunting wild and free and joy
from native pipes

It somehow mingles with the scent
and rightly so
heady sweet and full of spice
of hot chai held in little paper cups.

“This music makes me crazy,”
he complains to her,
they pass me and I laugh.
It makes me happy.

Happy like the colours
in the crocheted rugs
tumbled red and blue and gold
and orange like your grandma knits.

“How much?”
Ten dollars each. Well you can have
Two for fifteen.
He smiles, two for twelve.
Too small for my bed, I shrug
and smile.

He smiles as we go.
His voice follows:
“You are both gorgeous.”

Self-aware we dig
through mounds of loveless clothes
and handle ancient things
like playing cards and purses
and awkward brown jugs that are kind of
warm

Because these things you can’t help
but hold.

And happy with the things we have bought
with our eyes
and the little glass rings of red and blue
--fifty cents for a tiny thing
--encircles your finger and
makes you
feel like a princess of Persia.

Fifty cents is not too much to pay
for that.

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conversations:

Claire -- Yes!! In the days when you could actually get something with a five dollar voucher :).

Caitlin -- It's terribly embarrassing; I agree! Twenty years back is far enough to go without the experience being too painful, but reading anything within the last ten or particularly five or so years makes me cringe. I rarely re-read my journals for that reason.

Kristy -- Hooray for being 1980 children. Long live puffy stickers!

Lizzie Balans -- I would love to know your deeply-provoked thinkings! Do share more!