Back in the Game

Lately, I've been wondering whether I should begin blogging again, but there has been one thought that often kept me from writing, "What's the point?" I began to ask myself, "Why exactly did I blog? Is this a narcissistic exercise in let me tell you about me? And who exactly am I writing to?" Considering the many blogs out there, I realized I do not belong among the experts, the advice-givers or the internet excavators, so again I had to ask myself, "What is this space exactly?" And as I pondered this, these were the words that led me back to the blinking cursor:

"We write to taste life twice, in moment and in retrospection." (Anais Nin)

To taste life twice - that's what blogging has been for me over the years. I recently came back to this blog after receiving a very odd email.  I was notified that my even older blog had received a comment from a London advertising agency asking permission to use a photo from my wedding. I clicked on the blog to see which photo they were inquiring about, but I soon found myself rereading my experiences leading up to getting married. The entire experience was like flipping through an old yearbook, laughing at bad haircuts and remembering old crushes. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the same, but it was fascinating to watch myself grow through a blog. As a matter of fact, I ended up jumping to an even older and uglier blog from my time in Spain.

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live… We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon our disparate images, by the ‘ideas’ with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.” (Joan Didion)

After finishing Into Thin Air (quite a story), I haven’t been able to get this quote out of my mind. As the quote describes, stories help us make sense of our lives; help us connect with one another (see The Truth About Stories). But are they stories if they are never told? So, I’ve decided that when I have time, I will go back to telling our story. And the audience will be – well – whoever wants to walk along side us. So, here is a promise of more entries, but with a cautionary note: I am not a designer or artist, a poet or prodigy; I am no expert at all. I am simply a humble collector of moments, and you've stumbled upon my keepsake drawer.

And there may have been one more reason I decided to start blogging again, but I'll have to save that story for next time...

Streets of Gold?

Delicious autumn!  My very soul is wedded to it, 

and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth

seeking the successive autumns.  ~George Eliot

Proud Flesh

This weekend, I had the pleasure of hearing a poet named Jane Hirschfield speak. As she read one of her poems, one of the images in a line stuck in my mind, and I have been thinking about it ever since I heard it. Proud Flesh. The poem reads, 

and see how the flesh grows back

across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest --

(For What Bind Us) 

Not being a horse person, I did not know exactly what it meant, but frankly, it sounded beautiful. But truth be told, it sounded beautiful because I knew I myself have proud flesh, outside and in. When I was a kid, I loved to tell the stories of my battle-scars; I thought of them as life-trophies.

But then I thought of my other proud flesh, the scar tissue of my hardened heart, the locked closets of my soul. Those were the callouses that kept me from believing the promises of the Gospel sometimes, and those callouses gave me a right (in my head) to keep people at a distance. Suddenly, thinking about it this way, proud seemed to be the perfect word for my flesh. That was when I googled the term. I had to know what proud flesh really was, and let me tell you, it is not pretty. Proud flesh is a horrible disfiguring for a horse, and it can significantly lower the animal's abilities. Wow, their proud flesh was just like mine - hard to get rid of, stubborn and crippling.

So, why are we so attached to our scars? Why do we let them define us? Why don't we want healing sometimes? Why are we so proud? Unable to answer my own questions, I was reminded of Jesus's words in John 5, when He looks at the crippled man and asks, "Do you want to be healed?" For years I've read that verse and thought Jesus was crazy for asking. Of course he wanted to walk, Jesus! And yet, here I am, clinging to my proud flesh, not sure I want to walk... are you scarred too?

"And I will give them one heart, and a new spirit I will put within them. 
I will remove the heart of stone from their flesh and give them a heart of flesh." 
(Ezekiel 11:19 ESV)

simple reminders

I needed this little reminder this morning.

This is the time of year when everything suddenly feels like its out-of-control. I bet it was November when Chicken Little thought the sky was falling. School, work, holidays barely out of reach. Weeks crawl, weekends fly. So, I needed this little reminder.

Goodbye Weeds,

Hello Seeds,

So, it's November 2nd: Have a good day and give a good day.

*thanks ink+wit

'' we should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry. ''

-E.B.White

(picture by Jen Altman)