Night Rending

She believes he is asleep
at her side – but he silent lies
to watch a moonbeam paint her hair
and to eavesdrop as she weeps.

A single crystalline tear
he spies, perched atop her raised cheek
like a secret cast in quicksilver.
Then a sniffle, never meant to reach his ear.

Shadows ooze along the wall
like molasses. He smells the brine
of meekness under brazen sun –
deciphers her heart’s encrypted call.

Two souls the thick night somehow cleaves,
one with back turned to hoard its sundry
wounds, one helpless to breach the divide.
Death claps at the window in dry oak leaves.

A tortured mind begs wordlessly for grace
to right what it never knew was wrong
with love. He turns to sleep, dreams stained
by a moonlit tear upon a stranger’s face.

Victory for the forest?

The environmental group ForestEthics (forestethics.org) has been engaged in active protest against the clearcutting of Canada's boreal forest (one of the last remaining forest wildernesses on the planet, it turns out)--and met with recent success against Victoria's Secret, according to yesterday's article. The article explains that after weeks of peaceful but very prominent protesting against Victoria's Secret--which sends out about 365 million catalogs each year, printed on 90% virgin paper coming from the ancient and endangered boreal forest of Canada--the company has agreed to stop buying from the pulp mill that logs in this Canadian wilderness.

Did you get that? They have agreed to stop buying. To stop supporting the destruction of this invaluable terrestrial biome which is the unique habitat of many plant and animal species. A major multinational corporation, swayed by the insistent and unrelenting voices of a meager handful who care enough about preserving the Earth's remaining natural environments. I don't know about you, but for me, this is an encouraging thought.

Granted, I have no idea why it is even legal to clearcut such an old-growth forest inn the first place. It is possible to produce paper in a more environmentally sound manner--by logging forests that are young and managed, forests that are re-planted and allowed to grow until they are cut again for more timber. Better yet, recycled paper--isn't there enough paper thrown away each year in America to meet the catalog-printing needs of a company like Victoria's Secret? Why attack one of the last surviving wilderness areas on the planet, just so that we can enjoy the "glossy paper"?

Nevertheless, it happens, and not just because of one company. Will other clients snap up the boreal timber that Victoria's Secret will forgo? Probably so. But I believe that we can speak loud enough to make a difference. We just have to decide what is more important to us:

This?


Or this?

Morning light

My bedroom window faces northeast, and if you look out you see a bald spot in the horizon (owing to the parking lot to our apartment complex and, further along that vector which starts at my window, the campus of the University of Georgia) which cradles the morning's first sun. When that sun makes its daily appearance there, pushing its way even through my mini-blinds, even through my heavy eyelids, I am hopelessly aroused from my night's sleep, regardless of whether I tumbled into bed eight hours earlier or three.

I don't entirely mind. I see beauty during that first hour of sunlight that many people only read about or view in photographs. I can hear daylight take its first breaths; I can observe the sky blooming with light that only becomes harsher, hotter, heavier as the day ages.

A part of me loves my mornings, though there is another sluggish side that revels in letting my eyelids droop shut for another hour that, in that snoozing reverie, feels like only a few blissful minutes. I am reading a book (an early Christmas gift from my dear and doting Bob) called In the Morning: Reflections From First Light by Philip Lee Williams, and it contains some of the most beautiful language about morning that I have ever had the occasion to read. I recommend it to anyone who wants a deep and many-faceted account of morning--what it means aesthetically, biologically, spiritually... simply. It is novel and lovely, prose wrought with the poetic. It has caused me to think much on morning's place in my ever-evolving life.

How I have always longed to be a morning person... But when you are in high school and college, your social world is constructed around night--theatre and midnight movies, 24-hour coffee shops and bars that close up shop at 2 AM, nightclubs and formal dances, rock concerts and winds symphonies. You stay up later and later out of necessity, until you find yourself on your nights off, sitting at the computer in the middle of the night, idly surfing the web and waiting until "bedtime." That is how, as young people, we are obliged to fashion our lives.

But for me, those who keep going until those early-late hours are missing something quite enchanting contained only in the quietude of morning. Early mornings were the preferred time for Jesus to commune with God the Father, when he "withdrew to lonely places and prayed." It is difficult to find lonely places in the bare and brazen light of day, and it is difficult to pray in the night watches when our biology tells us to be on guard against the dangers of the darkness. But in the morning there is peace and there is solitude. It is a time of day I often missed until I moved here to my beloved east-facing window, which never fails to alert me at the first shard of sunlight that a new day has arisen. I hope only that as I get older and more seasoned, I become more able to leave aside the folly of night life and rise to greet the new day with a growing eagerness.

Giving...

Today is Thanksgiving day here in America, so, well, what do we have to be thankful for? If I am being real and honest, I have quite a lot. Quite a lot, when I look at the poor, the huddled and weary masses that inhabit the streets of this city. Those who bundle up in a long flannel shirt on a night when I have dressed myself in my heavy woollen pea coat that keeps me stylishly warm from my neck to the tops of my knees. Those who gather in a lump at the front door of the winter shelter, carrying around their chronic sickness and their drug addictions and their earthly possessions which hang loosely from their slumped shoulders, waiting humbly for a plate of warm food and a comfortable place to lay down to sleep before the day repeats itself again in the morning.

I almost spent yesterday afternoon at home, curled up on the futon with my favorite blanket and a cup of hot tea. But Bob and I knew that Food Not Bombs gathered at 4:00 every Wednesday to cook food to hand out, and since we are normally busy on Wednesday evenings, we felt this tug at our hearts to be there this week for the very first time. The tug was so forceful that, within moments, we found ourselves pulling up to the door of Common Ground Athens, where we were greeted by the aroma of stewing tomatoes in a heavy-duty stockpot, and herbed potatoes roasting in the oven.

I was nervous that Bob and I would be entirely out of place at Common Ground (an ironic fear, I know)--we don't look like hippies or yuppies; we dress very conventionally and drive a 2004 Honda and go to church. What was I afraid of, exactly? That we would be sneered and scoffed at, looked down upon, because we showed up one afternoon to help create a nutritious, vegan meal out of donated food so that the hungry could be fed? People--well some people (these people at least)--are much more open minded than that.

So for two and a half hours we chopped fruits and vegetables, much of it bruised and soft and ready to be consumed or composted, the refuse of local groceries. All the while we chatted with the regular Food Not Bombs volunteers--there were Ed and Sarah, community social workers who are truly compassionate toward those on the cusp of capitalistic society; there was Joy, an ESOL teacher out in Oconee who enjoys just being able to do what she can when she can for a cause that is dear to her; there were Kelly and Dave and Alex, the ones whose wardrobe is your mother's worst nightmare, but who are there at Common Ground on their own time fighting to right the social wrongs of the community. Among such people, how could Bob and I not belong?

We stayed until the end. Once the vast quantities of food were cooked, we helped transport it all down to the shelter at the corner of Hancock and Hull, where a group of about ten people were already gathered, awaiting their hot meal. Everyone served themselves buffet-style and ate all that they wanted, standing around in the dark and cold on the eve of Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, when Bob and I went to share an afternoon and feasting with our family, would these people have a warm meal? Or was this their Thanksgiving feast, this food that may otherwise be rotting in a dumpster or atop a compost heap at that very moment? Struck with that realization, it would take a very callous person to not be thankful--thankful for the chance to be here, shivering and tired, serving a feast of unwanted produce to the unwanted of this city, the ones whose poor and marginal existence many of us choose to be blind to, day by day. But are these not the people that Jesus came for? And if my Lord came and had compassion upon them and went among them and ministered to them, then am I not called to do the same?

Food Not Bombs volunteers get arrested, even beaten in other cities for their activism. I do not know a whole lot about the movement, and I don't know what their other activities may be aside from merely serving food to the hungry. But I felt my body tense up when a police car pulled up and parked perhaps twenty feet from our makeshift banquet table. Well, I thought, better men than me have engaged in civil disobedience, and impacted perhaps more people than if they had not stepped outside the realm of the law. And my mind turned to Henry David Thoreau, Martin Luther King, Jr... But when the police officer got out of the car, he walked around to the back door and helped a brittle old lady out into the cold night. He was dropping her off at the winter shelter. He saw her inside, and then with a nod he got back into the car and pulled away.

We got home at about 9:30 at night, and set about making a vegan pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. And I was thankful to be in a warm apartment with our oven all fired up and my heavy coat hung back in the closet, making a pie with my husband. In fact, I have perhaps never been more thankful in my whole life.

Learning to be silent

Be still, and know that I am God...

In repentance and rest is your salvation; in quietness and trust is your strength...

I hear my heart screaming, even as my voice falls silent. It doesn't take much to upset my world. I pride myself on my sense of responsibility, my dedication to the task at hand, my perseverance through all my worldly busyness--dedication and perseverance to the point, perhaps, of forgetting to rest and trust in the Father? Do I strive to do well because it is the godly thing to do, or does it come from a sense of urgency because if I do not provide for myself I may not be provided for at all?

One of my favorite stories is the story of the manna the Lord provided to the Israelites. Lost and weary in the desert, unable to rely on themselves, the people of Israel awoke every morning for nearly forty years and found this supernatural substance on the ground. It sustained them through their wanderings, but they could never store up more than they needed in a day, for if they tried to secure a stockpile of this mysterious what is it?, it would be no good the next morning. The only exception was on the day before the Sabbath, when they were to gather enough to carry them through the Sabbath--they were instructed not to work on the Sabbath, of course.

The verses in Matthew which document the prayer of Jesus which we commonly call The Lord's Prayer refer to this time in the history of God's people. The verse Give us this day our daily bread... may be better translated as Give us our bread day by day... Rely on God to give you your bread, your sustenance, every day. Don't try to store it up for yourself; your effort will be in vain. As much as you strive for comfort and security, you are surely at the mercy of God. And that is nothing to be afraid of, for God offers abundant mercy...

There is a line between being faithful with what you have been given, and striving to do for yourself what only God can do for you. I spend my life dancing along that line, trying so hard to keep myself in equilibrium so that I will not totter to one side or the other. For I never want to be someone who did not try hard enough in this life...

But it's not about me, is it? It's not about how hard I try. The truth is, whether I try a lot or a little, I still ultimately have to rely on the one who gives me my sustenance day by day. So while I do believe that God wants us to be faithful, diligent stewards in this life, I know in my heart that he does not want us to constantly be concerned about toeing that line. Our concern should be trusting him--that is the heart of faith. If I truly come to a place in my life where I can stand and close my eyes and cross my arms over my chest and let myself fall, knowing and believing that his arms are wide enough to catch me wherever I go--if I can get to that point of faith, then I know that everything else in my life will align to the purpose that I strive so hard to attain.

Let me not strive to let go. Instead, let me pray, day by day, for the grace to be a child of reckless abandon.

Amazing sky...

The sky really takes my breath away... especially on days like this.

portrait (in flavors)

eyes like marbles of
boldest chocolate--71 percent cacao
(with fine espresso flecks)
garnish a face of
smooth simplicity--
framed by dark-roast tresses,
mild and subtly nutty

and a steeping bouquet garni--a mouth of
fruit and spice (orange-ginger essence)
conceals a cayenne tongue

and a mind like jonagold,
sharp and sweet, permeates aroma
that strikes like a serpent
and adorns concealed complexity

a mélange of marvels,
forbidden flavors enticing
to savor sweet fire

and forever sedate sense and reason.

Art and redemption

As a writer and a lover of nature and of all things beautiful, I have spend a decent amount of time thinking about the place of the arts in the Church, and the role of artists from a spiritual perspective.

If God is the Creator, then His creation is the greatest art ever made. But if He made us in His image--if we are the pinnacle of His creation--then He made us with the ability to create things ourselves. I feel like it's our place to "add to" creation. Art, I believe, is one of our highest forms of worship. The first role God played in our documented knowledge of His was the role of a Creator. If we create things and try to make them beautiful and meaningful, then we're imitating God in the very first capacity in which He revealed Himself to us.

Last year I was involved in leading a ministry called Artspeak, which sought to unite artists (writers, painters, dancers, actors, musicians...) on campus and encourage them, in their artistic expressions, to seek and express the very heart of God. If all of our talents and abilities are breathed into us by our Creator, then they are inherently good and intended for good purposes. The arts are in need of redemption, and I have seen God moving in those artists who have given themselves to Him, all around the world. All art is a chance to explore the natural world, human nature, and even God. Exploring God and His creation is something that, I believe, is very lovely to Him.

There have been great human minds that have contributed so much to the marvels of this world. While I tend to look at mountains and oceans and leaves and feathers and think that there is no created thing more beautiful than creation, there is still much beauty in the creations of mankind. Some of the most amazing art is in the form of architecture. The pyramids of ancient Egypt, old castle ruins scattered across northern and western Europe, the Taj Mahal, the Eiffel Tower, Aztec ruins, the Great Wall of China. The list goes on forever. It is perfectly acceptable, even wonderful, to build and invent for our convenience and our progression and our expression--as long as we are good stewards of God's original creation. Do we always remain good stewards? Certainly not. But that is a tangent to be exploerd in other posts.

I do not try to bring undeserved glory to human art. I try, like the apostle Paul, to "count all things as loss for the sake of knowing Christ..." But our God is a creative God. And He has made us as reflections of Him. So every human characteristic that is not inherently bad can be redeemed to reflect an aspect of God's personality--to express in fresh ways His heart of love and beauty.

Why have I felt compelled to explore this topic today? Two and a half years ago I went on a mission trip to Paris, France, where we worked directly with an arts ministry. Imagine a group of 70-100 artists, all coming together in an effort to bring glory to God through their creations... It was beautifully moving. Here is a website that tells about the event we worked with.

This morning, I had an unexpected contact with one of the artists I met while on the trip. His art is incredibly beautiful and expressive of the Lord. His blog features some of his work, and it's truly worth checking out. After two and a half years, a comment from him pops up in my e-mail box and sets my mind in motion again. Such incidents do not happen without meaning; I have always known that my purpose on this earth was connected with art, and each time I forget that, a reminder is sent my way.

Amazing, yes?

My progression

Early on this semester, I made a promise to myself. Live for the things that truly matter. Well, here I am to document my success and failure over the past eight weeks--my progression from an anxious perfectionist to... whatever you may call me now, I suppose.

I told myself I would walk to Earth Fare once a week. That I've held to very well. The walk from Bloomfield to Five Points has become a truly special time--a time for me, along with my husband, to enjoy the outdoors, the exercise, and the unique character of an Athens that I have not even opened my eyes to until now. It has been a time for us to talk about issues that are important to us--about veganism, about the environment--the things that naturally come to our mind on a grocery shopping excursion.

I promised I would spend more time with Abby and Jessica, not doing accounting but really cultivating friendship. We have done things together as the time has been afforded to us, and now I truly do feel like I can call them close friends, not merely friends by default.

I vowed to keep some kind of creative outlet in place in my life, so that the life of accounting and business would not swallow me up as it so often threatens to do. Well, I've been cooking and blogging, and blogging about cooking. And writing--always writing. And only recently, I have developed an interest in beading and jewelry-making. In fact, Abby and Jessica and I are planning a little trip to a beading store over in Watkinsville later this week. These sorts of things help me stay balanced and maintain a positive outlook, even when the thoughts of being an accountant gather in and suffocate my mind.

I intended to exercise more frequently. Well... I have not exercised so much per se, but I have come to enjoy Pilates as a calming and solitary pastime. Bob and I have picked up tennis again. And, with the environmental enlightenment that we have experienced in recent months, I have been walking as much as I can stand. Walking has always been truly enjoyable, but even more so of late, as I have used those times to reflect on God and nature and beauty... and breathing.

Where, exactly, is God in all of this? I'm afraid He is not in the place He should be. I still struggle to put Him at the top, even when I feel like I am living a life that more closely reflects godliness. And that is evident in my persistent impatience, my frequent snaps of anger and depression. But I have earnestly tried to keep God and His word foremost in my heart; I have sought to draw near to Him, knowing that He, in return, would draw near to me. There have been challenges to my faith, to my trust, to my love, and I have met some and cowered at some. But I have definitely felt a turning in my heart, and it has been toward better things.

And still better things to come...

Who woulda thought?

You Belong in Fall

Intelligent, introspective, and quite expressive at times... You appreciate the changes in color, climate, and mood that fall brings Whether you're carving wacky pumpkins or taking long drives, autumn is a favorite time of year for you

What Season Are You?

Images of autumn

I Love Your Smile

This was the text on the sticker that came to me yesterday, and I do not doubt that it was from the Lord.

Studying with a friend on a bench outside of the business school, suddenly we heard a man's voice trying to get our attention. I looked up, and there was a smiling older man standing over me, trying to give me something. I took it--it was a sticker, a bright yellow one that looked like a road sign, but the words were "Are we having fun yet?" Cute. He gave one to Jessica too. I smiled politely at him. He then proceeded to confront me about his true purpose. Could I donate a dollar to the Athens area food bank? Well, of course I could, if I had a dollar... I just gave him all my spare change. He thanked us warmly, and just before he turned to walk on, he gave each of us another sticker--"Because you're so nice."

This sticker was white with black text, and it simply said in block-style letters, "I Love Your Smile." The "o" in "love" was replaced by a red heart. I kind of chuckled about the whole, slightly strange incident as I slid the latter sticker into the clear plastic covering on the front of my accounting notebook.

My professor flew through class. I wrote feverishly for an hour and fifteen minutes, trying to document every single word that escaped his mouth, because I knew it would manifest itself on the test next week. But the faster I scribbled down his words, the faster he spit them out, and Jessica and I were frantically looking at each other's notebooks--and the notebooks of the students around us--trying to catch what we missed. Then, at the end of class, my professor moved the test back one week. What? I'd been planning all semester for the test to be the twelfth, and now, a week away, it is suddenly on the nineteenth? I was very inconvenienced. I was already irritated by the breakneck pace of class, and now to move a test that I had been planning around for two months now... As I got up to leave, I clapped my notebook closed in a flurry of frustration--and there, drawing my attention like an aptly sent, unexpected greeting card, was the sticker.

"I Love Your Smile."

Something in my spirit melted a little, and I suddenly felt the peace of God around me for an instant, just as strong as if I had been standing amid a cloud of angels. Then I just smiled--I smiled in my spirit, that is, a much deeper warmth than an outward smile that doesn't truly reflect the heart.

My father in heaven loves it when I smile, when I experience the unshakable joy that He intends for me. And amid all my recent frustration and busyness and failing to stay centered on the most important things in my life, He sent me an October valentine to let me know. If I can't smile because of God's unfailing love for me, even despite difficult and exhausting circumstances, then something in my heart is out of place. Nothing in life is so hopeless that it can cast a shadow over the everlasting light of God.

Let me remember, then, to live in a way that speaks of this light. Let me remember to live every day with that purpose at the forefront of my mind. Let me remember to smile--and bring delight to my father's heart.

A new meditation

I have been really frustrated lately. Frustrated, because I get so caught up in everything I'm doing and forget to stop and take time to enjoy the little things that really matter. Like being with my husband. Like being with God. Like clouds that look raised and textured, like blots of white oil paintspread across a canvas that is as blue as nothing but the sky can be.

Yesterday at church we sang a song, written by one of the members of the congregation. The words were something I needed to be reminded of, and still need to be reminded of every day. Here they are--my prayer each day (I hope).

Today I Choose

There is a life I am meant to live
There is a hope I am meant to give
There is a freedom I am meant to choose

There is a joy I am meant to share
There is a load I am meant to bear
There is a freedom I am meant to choose

And even though I've walked this path many times before
Today I'll say it all again and choose this life once more

Today I choose to walk with You
I choose to show the love that I receive from You
And not just say some empty words
Today I make the choice to live like You

There is a person I am called to love
There is a family I am now part of
There is a freedom I am meant to choose

There is a power in the words I say
There's life or death from my mouth today
There is a freedom I am meant to choose

There is a conflict that I am called to see
There is an armor that I can put on me
There is forgiveness that I can choose to give
And in repentance I am free to live

And even though I've walked this path many times before
Today I'll say it all again and choose this life once more

Today I choose to walk with You
I choose to show the love that I receive from You
And not just say some empty words
Today I make the choice to live like you

To live like God... I wish I knew what that really meant. But despite my failings, I know that He is pleased with my efforts, and He helps me grow more and more like Him every day. And that gives me hope--to know that tomorrow I will live more like Him than I do right now. SO now, let me store up my treasures in heaven. Where my heart belongs...

Something wonderful

Over the past week or so, something marvelous has been happening here in Athens, Georgia. I've bee pulling out long-sleeved shirts, closed-toed shoes. We've turned off our air conditioner and opened the windows. Pumpkins and locally-grown apples have begun showing up in the grocery stores. And I feel more alive, in this new air.

My basil plant seems to share my feelings about the season. It lives on a small table beside a window in our bedroom, and all summer I was concerned about it because it was surviving, but did not seem to really be thriving. But when the window opened up, the basil took in a deep breath and stretched out through all its limbs (maybe it's been watching me do Pilates!) and started really putting on leaves. All it needed was fresh, crisp, almost electric air. That's what I've needed too...

Now I will be able to run in the mornings again without the pressure of 16 tons of humidity pressing into my chest. Now I will be able to walk to class and to the grocery store without my hairline dripping sweat when I arrive. Now we can go hiking! And I can make pumpkins! And I can take pictures of all the colors I see out my window!

I love the fall leaves. I love the goldenrod. I love the way my creativity starts to pour out when it is this lovely in the world. Journaling outside, taking long walks in the evenings--these are the things I love to do in the "-ember" months. Just wanted to share... I will share much, much more as the weeks unfold.

An Inconvenient Truth

This weekend the movie An Inconvenient Truth was playing here on campus. I never did manage to see the movie when it was first released over the summer, but last night Bob and I went. This movie was more terrifying than I thought it would be, and sadly, I had no trouble believing every figure, every statistic, every prediction. Since seeing it, I have been wondering what I can do--what more I can do.

I have been truly contemplating the state of the world and its people, and wondering if there is yet any way to hope that nations will pull together in an unprecedented effort to change the statistics--particularly this nation. It makes me angry to see the opposition to the environmental movement that seems to be so prevalent. Growing the economy? We will grow our economy up until the day we kiss our planet goodbye. There has to be a better way. Jesus is coming back soon, so none of this even matters? We Christians cannot use that as a cop out. When I look at the church in America, I have to ask myself if we're ready for the second coming. And we're defacing the world climate so quickly that in my lifetime, terrible things could happen. No, I'm not willing to be complacent and put millions of lives around the globe on the line, for the mere thought that Jesus will return before anything terrible--and preventable--occurs.

So what do I do? Well, as a Christian, I pray. I pray without ceasing. I pray in faith that my God will rouse the empathy and the responsibility in His people's hearts that they may become warriors against the destruction of our climate, of our earthly home. As a citizen, I reduce my greenhouse gas emissions. I walk. I use less power. I recycle. I eat a vegan diet... I put thought into my choices every day. Do I really need that tomato in November? Can I live with it just a couple of degrees warmer in my apartment? And as a writer, I cry out daily. I cry out in the most eloquent way I know how. And I cry with a sense of urgency. And I hope that people will read, reflect, respond.

How does one person make a difference? It feels so hopeless sometimes--but if I gave up, that would only make the problem worse. So I will do what I can, and day by day I will learn what I can do. And as the future unfolds, day by day, I will see what kind of difference all the "one persons" out there can make.

www.climatecrisis.net

Disclaimer

Please, read my previous post. I strongly believe in adopting more eco-friendly attitudes and habits. It's urgent, really. But in regard to what I have written, I feel compelled to point out a few things concerning God and nature.

First: Each of us exists within the rhythm of the planet.

This is not an atheistic or pantheistic statement. I do not suggest that everything is not ultimately governed by God. God created the heavens and the earth--we know this all the way from Genesis 1:1--but He also designed them to work in a very specific way. Thousands of years have told us that the earth tilts in predictable patterns to bring us further from and closer to the sun, creating the seasons. They have also told us that the tide changes every six hours, that hurricanes come in September, that rainfall is abundant in some climates and haphazard in others. Obviously, the planet has fallen into a rhythm. And while God could rock the entire world in a fraction of a second, history dictates that He has more or less allowed the world to persist according to His original design.

Second: To my brothers and sisters in Christ out there, environmentalism is not something to be wary of. In fact, I believe that the commission to cultivate the land and to oversee all the creatures of the earth, which God gave to Adam in the beginning, still stands for us today. God created this world, and He created it for us to enjoy. The world is fallen, but we still live here, right? I cannot believe that God's desire would be for us to simply drop the ball when it comes to being stewards of His creation.

Puffins are pretty funny looking birds, right? Did you know that puffins are nearly extinct? They have been protected over the past several decades, and at last count 52 puffin pairs were inhabiting their natural home near Eastern Egg Rock, off the coast of Maine. Puffins were once a thought in the mind of God, and He put them in this world, with their funny faces and comically enormous bills, for a reason. I don't think He wants puffins to die from the face of the planet due to our lack of sight or concern. Everything God put here was a creative thought that He made a living, breathing, beautiful organism--and every natural thing on this earth, in some way, gives us a glimpse into the mind of God Himself. I know that conservation is not a traditional Christian value, especially in today's world. After all, one day Jesus will come back and this earth will perish. But none of us know the hour of His return, so let's not bank on it being before we've wrecked His creation completely. We're still responsible for caring for what He's given us.

Third: Someone told me once to avoid "falling more in love with the works of the Lord than with the Lord of the works." This is a genuine struggle for me, because I see awe and beauty in all of nature, and I enjoy this relationship. But this beauty and this awe are of the Lord Himself, and none other. So for those of you who know me, this is not only to remind you but to remind myself as well, that in the end, all of my heart is for God. I relate to God very intimately through nature, but nonetheless nature is not the end--God is the end. I am thankful for His creation and I do want to protect it and be always aware of it, but that must come after my relationship with God Himself. After all, "the grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever." (Isaiah 40:8)

A Malignant Attitude

Each of us exists within the rhythm of the planet.

Whether we like it or not, I believe that all actions must be governed by the design of nature... or our earth will die. The thought of our world becoming virtually uninhabitable can seem a very distant and surreal concept, but it rings with a greater imminence than we realize. I see the quality of life on earth becoming poorer and poorer, notwithstanding what conventional statistics suggest. Perhaps I can look forward to a lifespan of 90, 100, even more. But do I want to exist on a planet where polar ice caps have melted away, remaining forestlands have been leveled, and the balance of the seasons has been dramatically realigned toward unbearable heat? Can I really enjoy a place where I know that animals are being tremendously abused and once fertile soil is being irrevocably stripped of all its nutrients to put a mass-produced and genetically modified dinner on my plate?

It is time for all of us to step into a role of greater awareness and sensibility toward the plight of the dramatically underrepresented natural environment. I applaud my friends who abstain from using their ovens in the summertime, instead focusing their meals around chilled salads and soups and exotic, sweet summer fruits and vegetables. I respect those who can live without tomatoes in the winter--for how many pounds of carbon dioxide were released into the atmosphere to transport that tomato from the tropics all the way to your grocery bag? I support the health food store that encourages the use of canvas shopping bags, and facilitates the recycling of those horribly inefficient plastic grocery bags that many supermarkets plow through at nauseating speeds. I thank the driver who makes a concerted effort to stay within the speed limit, knowing that the fuel economy of his car drops of drastically at speeds above 55 mph.

Over thousands of years, human beings have attempted to create their own rhythms by which to live. The problem is, there is no rhythm to how we choose to live our lives today. We live however we wish, whenever we wish. We pay no attention to the dictates of the seasons, nor to the beautifully orchestrated patterns of native plants and animals within each particular region. And so we strain the earth by consuming more energy, we strain the soil and the water supply and the local ecosystem by introducing nonnative species. And we do it without hesitation, without consideration as to the repercussions of our supposed benign actions.

I walked outside this morning into a world immersed in gray. From somewhere far beyond the low quilt of clouds overlying my world, I heard a muffled rumbling of the heavens. And I was reminded that mankind does not have the final dictate as to the condition of the world. There is always something far greater than us at work, and our meddling with the design of nature can only cause ruin. Too often we follow our own designs and desires, and close our eyes and ears to the blatant signals that beg attention toward the mess we are making. But we cannot live this way with impunity forever. Instead we must hear the rolling thunder and respond, all the while respecting that we are not sovereign in this world.

One of the simplest and greatest books ever written, The Lorax by Dr. Seuss, commissions us succintly and eloquently to look further ahead with the following poignant declaration:

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
Nothing is going to get better. It's not."

As I walked to class this morning, I was glad to have brought my umbrella.

A rough but good beginning

School starts tomorrow, which I am not excited about. It's not the worst thing, but certainly not as good as doing all the things I love to do--writing, reading, Pilates, cooking, even working in a real accounting job. But it will be okay, as soon as I get back into the proper mindset.

When school starts, Wesley starts too. And that's a nicer thing to look forward too. We went on the leadership retreat this weekend, and I really didn't want to go at first. But as I got back into worshiping God and praying with the undivided heart that I should have had all summer, I realized that I'm just letting my personal fears get in the way of what I love--communion with God. Bob is working at Wesley this year, and I really am excited about the year. I grow so much when my heart is in it, and I have so much joy when I don't let it slip away from me.

I realized that much of the depression that I went through this past year was rooted in my being afraid to be different. But the fact is, I am different from a lot of college kids--I'm married, I study a lot, I am a vegan, I don't really wear make-up or fix my hair or anything that even my best friends spend their time on. I am comfortable with who I am, but I often feel estranged, no matter what group I am with at the moment. I feel understood very little--perhaps only by my husband sometimes. And since I am a person who values very close connections with people, it is scary to feel alone.

But I understand now that I let myself assume the worst about other people's thoughts of me. While I know that my close friends love who I am and will never judge me or condemn me, I let thoughts sneak in that tell me my friends aren't interested in me anymore, or that they think I'm making bad choices. And in the Christian community I am a part of at Wesley, though many of my values are different, I have to remind myself that they don't think I'm not good enough to be a part of them. These are the very same things that have haunted me my entire life, and I have to get over them.

I have to get over my need for validation from others. It's nice to receive encouragement, but I should not need it to feel worthy of love and friendship and acceptance. And I should not have to feel constant pressure to please my friends, please my parents (I don't even know why this is an issue anymore), please anyone. And I know that I shouldn't be under this pressure. Why do I let myself sway to it, like a feeble pine tree in a gale storm? Am I not a stronger person than that? Was I not created for more?

I was created for more than that. I was created to live in complete freedom, to have joy, to love and be loved, to be always enfolded in the arms of God. And these are the things I long for and pray for. I have a long way to go, but I am optimistic. Because every day I draw my strength from the God who knows my inmost being... the same God who knows every grain of sand on the beach... the same God who died in my stead and was powerful enough to defeat death forever. And I know He is on my side. And I know He longs to be closer to me.

There is a song that changed my life when I was in high school. It is by Michael W. Smith.

This is your time, this is your dance
Live every moment, leave nothing to chance
Swim in the sea, drink of the deep
Embrace the mystery of all you can be
This is your time

What can I be? I can be more than a broken, sad, inward-focused woman who cannot get past her own shortcomings. I can be more than a fearful girl who feels condemned by all the world. And I denounce these things in my life. And I refuse to live under their oppressive power. And I draw near to God, and I know that He will draw near to me.

I continue on... I fight the good fight. And I know that I am never alone.

Descent At Dawn

When the mind is pried open,
nothing is real or false
and all else smears into sepia.

The long, heavy sighs of the ignorant
in flux with the waves
behind the shutters--
deeply rooted in time-circles
and phantasmal places made up
(or forgotten?)
and colors
that stream like chalk in the storm
that was sure to come.

And then...
Rays upon the eyes
and cold feet on the hard old floor,
a knick and a shave...
and rubber oatmeal with stale, steamy coffee.

Genius
effaced like the star that blazed
ten million miles through heaven
and flickered and sank silent beneath the margin of sky.

Goodbye, K-man

Our good friend, Kevin, is gone. Not forever--thank goodness. For a year. In Mexico. Teaching English with the Marist Volunteers. He's a wholehearted Catholic. I think that's awesome.

Bob and I visited him on Friday night, the day before he flew out. Kevin is one of those rare friends with whom all the time you spend is quality; he never lets a moment filter through the sieve of idleness. That is perhaps one of the qualities I, and Bob, admire in him the most. That, and his tolerance and open-minded spirit towards new thoughts. I know with all my heart that he loves Jesus, but he is so unlike other conservative Christians that it is refreshing just to be around him. When we told him that we had gone vegan, I was at first taken aback that he didn't react with surprise. But then he commented later: "I just assumed you were vegan in the first place."

That night we watched with him Diarios de motocicleta, or The Motorcycle Diaries. What a good film. I knew nothing about Che Guevara before I watched it, but it made me really interested in him. Kevin, he has such a strong heart for Latin America--like Bob and I do for France. After the movie we took a long walk, and it was so fun to just hear him talk about the political situation in Cuba, as if he was an authority. I just drunk it all in. The night was warm and comfortable and dark, and it is always refreshing to share such times with friends. We got lost among the neighborhood streets, and followed our instincts eventually back to the right road home.

We stayed up talking so late. Bob had to leave early in the morning, but we ignored that fact as long as possible, just talking about all the world with our friend. He wants to start a commune in North Carolina, where his girlfriend has several acres of good fertile land. How much would Bob and I love that kind of life! We said we would join them, if they ever were able to get it in motion. As it is, I am stuck in a stuffy city with no room for a garden. Making my life and raising my kids in a rural place with good earth and friends would be an utopia for me... But Kevin is idealistic. Perhaps the commune will pan out one day.

Once we got back to his basement we talked about God and Cuba and mangos and everything in between. Finally it got really late, and I said we should probably go. I looked up at Kevin, who was sitting across the room, and said "We're going to miss you, Kevin." My voice broke. Then an amazing thing happened: Kevin came over to the couch where Bob and I were sitting, and the three of us just prayed and sat in silence and hugged and cried (well, maybe the crying was mostly me) and shared our hearts for several long, peaceful moments. We prayed blessings over one another. Praise God for friends like that.

Our hearts were so full when we left Kevin's house that night. It's so hard to say goodbye to someone with whom you have shared so many special times in your life. As we drove home, I thanked God that wherever Bob and I go in our lives, we will go side by side.

Being home

I got back to Athens on Saturday. The last few days have been weird, frustrating, exhausting, and fun all at the same time. For one thing, I have still not finished unpacking--there was a lot of work to do at home, and I've been trying to clean up what's here before dumping a whole lot of new stuff into the mix. For another, Bob is working all week, in addition to this past weekend and this coming weekend. Seven days a week. So it's kind of lonely around here. In addition, I have not been sleeping regularly. I could not sleep last night because I was so exhausted yesterday afternoon that I took a three and a half hour nap.

On a brighter note, one of my close friends came over yesterday and we got to spend some time together. It's so good to spend quality time with people you really know and trust. We talked for so long that I forgot to make lunch for us (as was the original plan). She'll be working with Bob at the Wesley Foundation this year. Several of my friends will be there. I wish I could be doing that too...

Well, since this is my last year in Athens, I really want to have a good time here while I still can. I've spent so much of the past two years locking myself inside and studying, and I really want to take it a little bit easier. I'm usually not one for making to-do lists, but this is different. Here are just some things I'd like to make a point of doing this year, before it's too late:

1. Hang out with my accounting friends and not do accounting
2. Go see live music more often
3. Go to more literary events (poetry readings? I'm so there...)
4. Enter the Honors Program art show this fall
5. Submit my writing to Stillpoint Literary Magazine here on campus
6. Go on more dates with Bob downtown
7. Go to Krush Girls with my friends
8. See Michael Stipe downtown (okay, maybe this one is just wishful thinking)
9. Study at the Botanical Gardens
10. Walk to Earth Fare once a week
11. Work out at the Ramsey Center regularly

That's a pretty good start, I think. There is so much to see and do here, and I want to see it and do it while I can. Not that I think I've wasted my time in Athens--I've done lots of fun things. But after May, I'll never be a college student again. I really want this to be a good, memorable year.


I am reading The Heart of a Distant Forest now by Philip Lee Williams. It's really enthralling--it's hard to put down. His writing is so beautiful... I can't wait to finish it. In fact, I'm going to go read it for a while now--at least until I fall asleep (I'm feeling a little drowsy again).

Stop global warming

Join the march to stop global warming. All it takes is a few minutes... and a willingness to accept responsibility for the welfare of this planet we call home. Awareness is key--please think about this.

Why don't I read anymore??

When I was a kid I read all the time. I felt like such a dork, but it really was what I usually wanted to be doing. Even during spare moments in the car, on the school bus, in between classes, I always spent my time reading.

Now that I'm an adult, I don't understand why I do not enjoy reading as much as I used to. I still like books and I still read them, but not the way I wish I would. Perhaps I have read one too many dry textbooks and spoiled the thought of reading. I really hope I can get myself interested in reading again--and more than just fiction.

I came across a book yesterday called Been Brown So Long It Looked Like Green To Me: The Politics of Nature by Jeffrey St. Clair, an investigative journalist. Of course, being in the store I didn't have much time to thoroughly leaf through it and get a good sense of what type of book it is, but it definitely struck me as one worth looking into a bit more. Perhaps I can find it at the library when I get back to school. What I want is comprehensive coverage of the environment, fair, well-rounded (i.e., not just bashing W. for pushing to open ANWR for drilling), and provocative. Not that I need to be provoked into believing that the environmental state is deplorable at the moment, but I do want to read something that is not just propaganda. I don't know who Jeffrey St. Clair is, but it intrigues me that he is titled an "investigative journalist." Who knew that such reporters even existed anymore? So, perhaps I will give this book a try soon.

One book I started reading early in the summer is The Heart of a Distant Forest by Philip Lee Williams--my nature writing professor! It was unique, written in the style of a journal rather than a narrative, but unfortunately I didn't get very far into it before I moved to Atlanta, forgetting to bring the book with me. It's not a very long book, so I hope to be able to pick it up when I get home and read it from start to finish before school gets back in. (With Bob at intern training all week and working on the weekends, I should have plenty of time to myself...)

My professor is publishing another book, which is to be released this fall, called In the Morning: Reflections From First Light, which I certainly plan to buy. I love the mornings, and this man is a freaking authority on mornings, since he gets up at about 4:30 every day! Seriously, his engagement with nature is deep (his class helped to change my whole perspective on the world) and his writing is beautiful, and I will be thrilled to read his essays on morning.

I did not intend this post to be a rave about Dr. Williams, but while I am on the subject I am going to recommend one of his other books: The Silent Stars Go By, a nonfiction narrative of Christmas memoirs from his childhood. I read this book my sophomore year of college, and it was the catalyst that made me decide to pursue my love of writing again (as I took a long hiatus from any serious writing during my latter years in high school). Anyway, it is a short book and it is something different, and if you are ever struck with the desire to read it I give it my highest praise.

See? I told you I really do love books. I love them so much that while I was writing all of that, I completely forgot that I have been in a no-reading rut lately. So maybe that's all about to change... Maybe all I need to do is remind myself that I really am passionate about reading.

Good news! And more

The accounting firm where I've been interning offered me a job last week! I'm very happy--this means I can go back to school, finish my master's, and know that there is something ready for me in Atlanta when I am finished. And I absolutely love this firm--what a fun group of people to work with every day.

That said, now let me make my official announcement: Bob and Laura Jesser are vegans. Of course, I still have one week left of my internship, and I think that will be a good week for me to practice eating vegan when I do not have the opportunity to cook for myself. It makes me nervous, but I have to believe it will end up being okay. Now that my beliefs and values are directing me toward a vegan lifestyle, I see no reason to pretend in front of everyone at work that this is not the case. I am averse to awkward situations, but my feelings about stewardship of the earth and of my own body are more important to me. I know it will be a good experience, even this week (maybe especially this week), and I'm looking forward to my new adventure!

I think a new adventure merits a new blog, don't you? When I created this blog, my main purpose was to talk about nature and writing and God, to share my writing, to talk about issues that have been on my mind, and so forth. I would like to preserve that original purpose for this blog. However, I would also like to chronicle my new adventures as a vegan, post recipes, talk about challenges I am facing. So click on my profile and check it out!

Something else I've been meaning to post

Several months ago, I made this really, really great vegan red beans and rice recipe. One of my accounting professors is a Louisiana man and loves to cook traditional cajun food. I asked him for some advice on making authentic red beans and rice. Of course, I didn't use the andouille or the ham hocks like he suggested; I substituted some other flavors and it came out so well! I wanted to put the recipe out there, in case anyone else is interested.

1 package of red beans, cleaned and soaked overnight (I had a package of light red kidney beans that I wanted to use up, but I would probably use some other variety of red bean next time)
1 tablespoon "chicken" boullion (check the ingredients)
2 tablespoons cajun/creole seasoning blend (if you purchase a blend, be aware that it has a great deal of salt in it, and adjust the salt in your beans to account for this)
As many dashes of Louisiana Hot Sauce that your palate can handle
Salt
2 bay leaves
2 cloves garlic, pressed or crushed and finely minced
1 sweet onion, finely chopped
1 green bell pepper, finely chopped
6 stalks celery, finely chopped

Bring all of these things to a boil in a large pot with the lid on, in enough water to cover the beans plus about a half an inch. Let simmer for an hour or so, until the beans are very tender and all the flavors have married. The onion, green pepper, and celery will almost become invisible if you have chopped them finely enough, but they will still pack a lot of flavor. Monitor the seasonings along and along--I ended up adding lots of hot sauce, since I like to breathe fire when I eat cajun food.

Once the beans are tender, scoop out about 1/2 to 1 cup of the beans and place in a bowl. Using a fork, mash the beans until they form a thick paste. When smooth and thick, stir the paste back into the pot. This step will give the finished product a saucy texture, and I think it helps bind the rice to the beans so that your meal is truly one dish, rather than red beans served over rice.

Speaking of rice, I used brown rice and cooked it using some of the same seasonings that I used in the beans so that the addition of the rice would not make the entire dish bland. The first time we ate it we served the bean mixture over the rice, but when I put it up for leftovers I just stirred the rice into the pot--it worked great both ways.

Long overdue, I know

I promised this photo a long time ago. This is the salmon Bob and I made for our aunt and uncle. Yes, there is salmon in that picture, but it's buried underneath so many other wonderful things--strawberries, oranges, red and green peppers, honey, fresh baby dill... But believe it or not, all those different flavors did not steal the show in this meal. The salmon tasted very much like salmon, with just a hint of sweetness and zest. It was very tender and baked to just the perfect degree of doneness.

We got the recipe from The Food Network, one of Paula Deen's recipes. I don't ever cook Paula Deen's creamy, rich, thick southern food, but this was a recipe that she actually borrowed from a friend of hers. Light and sweet and healthy, this and some wild rice and a small green salad made a wonderful meal. All the ingredients were fresh, too--straight from the Dekalb Farmer's Market.

Happy anniversary to us...

Yay! We went down to Charleston for our anniversary this past weekend, and we had the loveliest time. We saw a bit of the city, including the very beautiful harbor and the historic downtown area. We had a nice lunch on Saturday at "The second-best restaurant in South Carolina," which was a crab shack downtown. It really was delicious food...

Our campsite was adorable! We cooked some of our own food there, and it was nice and quiet. Hot in the tent, but we were in a very shady spot so it was bearable.

The beach was amazing--the waves were enormous on Saturday afternoon, I think mostly because it was a breezy day and the tide was coming in. But we body-surfed ourselves silly--and red. Poor Bob had quite a nasty sunburn on his shoulders, although we took the obvious sunscreen precaution, and were not really out all that long.

We went back to the beach later that night (after getting a quick coffee fix at Starbucks), and it was just beautiful. I tried to take some pictures, but it was too dark out to see anything. But the sky was half clouded and half clear. Some stars were twinkling down so brightly, dispersed between the intermittent clouds, and then there were patches of sky that looked completely black. As always, I was amazed by the ocean after dark, which sounded so enormous even though most of it was invisible, black and melting into the black sky. We walked up and down the beach for about an hour and a half on Saturday night, just enjoying the quiet, the coolness, the breeze, and the amazing display in the sky. Every few moments or so a distant lightning would strike behind the clouds, so that they were lit up in the foreground of the sky. When this happened and the clouds were outlined in the silver-gray lightning light, the night sky behind them looked blacker and the stars appeared far more distant. You could really see the layers of heaven shining out in those brief, dazzling moments. We left the beach around ten o'clock, at the time when the mandatory lights-out goes into effect for the benefit of the nesting sea turtles.

Sunday morning I woke up at the crack of dawn and shortly realized that I was awake for the day. So to amuse myself, I decided to walk around the campground and take pictures. As I approached the lake, I saw a large white blot out on the greenish water. As I crept closer, I realized that a white crane was standing out in the middle of the lake. He was keeping perfectly still. As quietly and gently as I could, I began inching closer, trying to see if I could get close enough to take a really good picture. In the end, the picture below was the closest I was able to get to him; he kept taking flight and moving across the lake. I spent nearly an hour stalking him that morning, but he was going about his business and had no mind to keep still for my amusement. So I crouched from a distance and just watched him for awhile. I watched him catch his breakfast from the middle of the lake, using his comic-looking neck thrust to dart his head swiftly down into the water. I watched him walk around the opposite bank for awhile, pacing among the trees as if he could not decide what to do with the rest of his Sunday morning. Finally, he crept off into the trees and I never saw him again. On my way back to my campsite, some wild turkeys crossed my path. I stopped for a minute to see if they would scramble away from me, but they seemed altogether undaunted by my presence. When I got back to the tent, I woke Bob up with the irresistible smell of peanut butter and banana oatmeal (which I didn't eat--I made myself some blueberry oatmeal earlier when I woke up). He ate, we packed up the tent, and headed back home.

It was so sad to leave. We had such a lovely time down there, and I wish we could have stayed an entire week. But I cannot be sad, because the time we did have was absolutely wonderful.

Sunday, July 23, was our actual anniversary. We cracked open a bottle of champagne when we got home and celebrated. Then we made ourselves a completely vegan pizza, complete with homemade yeast-risen whole wheat dough. Bob is a pro at handling pizza dough, being the pizza man for seven hours a day at the dining hall. He crimped the edges of the crust and the pizza just looked so delicious! It tasted great too. It's so good to know that when we become vegan we can still enjoy pizza--it had so many delightful veggies on it that I did not miss the cheese in the least.

After pizza and bubbly, we walked to Vision Video (the best rental store ever, at $1.61 for a five-day rental) and rented Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Both of us grew up on the old Gene Wilder movie and have been reluctant to see the new Johnny Depp take on our beloved Willy Wonka. But I'll give any Johnny Depp movie a chance. It actually turned out to be a very good movie--not freaky and dark like I had anticipated. Now it's hard for me to say whether I like the original movie or the new, completely different film better. Both have some very strong points, and both have very unique styles that almost cannot be compared.

So that was our first anniversary. I guess we're not newlyweds anymore, though after several months you could hardly be connsidered newlyweds anyway. Our first year has been the most wonderful time of my life--I can't wait for the rest of eternity! 

Why does the weekend dawdle?

I'm having quite a decent week, I would say. But I want Friday to be here more than anything...

Sunday, 23 July, is our first wedding anniversary! I now understand what grown-ups would always say when I was a kid, about how time whips by so much more quickly as you get older. I don't feel like it's been a year since that day. I remember everything I did, every person who was with me, every butterfly, every tear. How could I ever forget those moments?

Bob and I are going camping near Charleston, South Carolina, and we're as excited as little children on Christmas Eve. Bob wanted to go to the beach, I wanted to see Charleston, we both have wanted to go camping for quite awhile now... It is all going to happen. Soon.

But not soon enough. I miss him still, so much. Yes, I have gotten used to him being there while I'm here. But it doesn't make me not long for him to be here with me. Every week so far he's made it down here once or twice to visit in the middle of the week, but this week it's not happening. I can't blame him for being tired of making the hour-and-a-half drive, and getting up at 5:30 to make it to work. But we're so close to the end of the summer now, and I wish he could find himself able to do it just a few more times. It makes the week easier to know that, at least once, I'll be able to come home and have his arms around me. But like he tells me, a married couple should be able to spend time apart like this. And I can--I just don't want to, and I resist it as stubbornly as a child.

No matter. Tomorrow's Thursday. Day after that, we're together for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary and have a beautiful time together. Just Bob and Laura.

A runner's chronicle

Plink…plink…plink… Every fourth step, the house key that I laced to my left sneaker is jostled so that it hits against the eye of the shoe, creating a tiny metallic sound that no one could possibly hear except for me. It’s not loud, but knowing and expecting it as sure as the downbeats of a piece of music written in common time—my body’s metronome—makes it pop out like the resonating beat of a tympani drum. An annoying sound, to be sure, but more than that a comforting sound. Comforting because as long as I can hear its tiny clang, I know that I will be able to get inside the empty house after my evening run.

I had to untie my left shoe so I could thread the key on securely. I don’t know that my shoe has ever been untied before, since the very first time I laced it up. That’s the kind of person I am, I guess. Silly, really, to think I’m saving myself so many precious minutes by tugging pre-tied sneakers on and off my feet rather than taking the time to tie and untie them properly with each use. But when it comes down to the moment that the shoes must come off, I never find it a habit worth trying to break.

Now, as I run, I can feel the tongue of my left shoe rubbing awkwardly against the top of my foot—I’m not used to this precise position. I could let that drive me crazy, bring a premature end to my run. But instead, I try to focus on something else. Not much else to think about though, that would be any better. Nothing but the green, thick heat makes any impression upon me from mother earth. That—and these hills…

What an awkward summer it has been. Some of the highest peaks of my life I have seen in these recent weeks, and at the same time some of the worst frustrations. It all goes along with being in a new place, at another elbow in the road. Believe me, I would know. My life has taken so many one-eighties over the past several years, and each time I feel like I’m getting off at yet another unfamiliar station. So here am I again, standing amid an alien set of circumstances and just plodding along, new kid at a looming new job, wishing with all my heart that my husband weren’t so far away from me. “Your internship’s only X more weeks,” he tells me again and again. Should I be delighted? Depressed? Because right now I feel both—or maybe neither. Maybe this uphill climb has just deadened me through and through.

My legs muscles are burning. Lactic acid just coursing through them. Clearly I don’t practice on hills often enough—but I truly dread them. I can see the top of the hill about a quarter of a mile in front of me. Car after car drives up the hill, teeters at the crest for a moment, and then slips into a hidden descent down the other side. My body is really pushing to turn around once I reach the top. Just think how nice the downhill cruise will be, going in the opposite direction! But the cars slide so effortlessly down the other side of that hill—I want to see where they’re going. I want to see what’s at the bottom.

This is how I get into these cycles. While I’m running furiously uphill, I hate it. But I don’t hate it enough to forgo the chance to run down the other side. In Savannah I was never faced with such choices—flat, soft land, as far as my feet could take me. Wasn’t until Athens that I developed this love-hate relationship with running. A classic catch-22: When I’m in great shape, I love it. But when I slip out of my habits and lose some stamina, then I begin to despise it as I puff my way, red-faced, up these hills like the little engine that just barely could. Soon, I run out of steam. No more running, no more hills. My endurance deteriorates a little more. Then it’s just that much harder to get up and put rubber to pavement.

So many runners out tonight. It’s good, at least, to know that I’m not the only one who was eager to endure the stifling, torturous heat. I wonder, as I look into each splotchy, shimmering face, how each of them will deal with this heat once they end their evening jog. Me, I’ll probably lie in the floor of my shower and let the cool water pelt me like my own personal thunderstorm. The thought of that, at least, is enough to keep me going, though I hug the right side of the road where all the trees drape nicely over the sidewalk. I run beneath a nicely box-shaped magnolia tree, which had apparently thought it would claim the air space over the sidewalk, though someone with powerful pruning shears must have thought differently. On the one hand, it makes me sad to see the tamed magnolia cowering alongside the walkway. But because of the pruner’s hand those thick leathery branches are not there to whack me in the face. So I feel a twinge of gratitude, followed swiftly by a twinge of guilt.

Another runner, this one a woman about my age, red-headed with a shirt to match. As usual I glance up at her face as I pass by. She didn’t look into my face, but I saw her sneak a glance at my thighs. Checking them out, no doubt, to see if they are firmer or flabbier than hers. All women do it—it’s inherent. I wish I knew how to cure that urge to compare myself to other women, but after I passed her all I could think was, So maybe your thighs are more toned than mine, but boy, are they pasty! But gosh, I would love to have your hair…

These are the kinds of thoughts I want to escape from when I run. But sometimes it’s just useless. I remember when my family thought I was anorexic; I was under constant pressure to gain weight, even though I knew that I was in great shape. But every time I ran, I would have to wonder, Is this bad for me? If I went home and ate a few spoonfuls of ice cream I would ask myself, Is this bad for me? So driven by pressure… When all I really want is to know my own body.

And I do. I know my metabolism, my breathing cycles. I know how my left foot hits the ground harder every fourth step, jostling my house key. I had to learn these things, so I could sustain a run for longer than a whim would carry me. I love listening to the meter of my breath, the metronome of my feet, taking cues from my body as I run. But why must I pack along all the junk that I take with me everywhere else? For once, I want to leave it at home.

Home. Now that I’ve stopped running, my face is pounding—in fact, I can almost see my pulse hovering inches in front of my eyes. I lean against the column on the porch; yes, that’s joy. That’s satisfaction. It’s all flooding back now. This is how living should really feel.

Rather than untie my shoe to retrieve the key, I opt to yank my entire left sneaker off my foot to unlock the front door. That’s just the kind of person I am, I guess.

Can I be vegan?

It's not a question to me of whether I have the desire to be vegan, or even the willpower. I much prefer plant-based foods. My only holdback is, Will I ever be able to have a vegan business lunch? Will I ever be able to visit my parents without fasting? What about retreats? What about those times when you're just in a pinch and need to grab a bite to eat, and nothing seems to suit? I read about the daily adventures of so many vegans, but most of them involved home-cooked food. I love to cook, but the reality of my life right now is that I cannot cook every meal for myself. What about all you on-the-go vegans? You wacky-schedule vegans? You accountant vegans whose managers and clients take you out to lunch weekly to restaurants that feature nothing but eighteen different cuts of beef?

It was not in anticipation of this summer that I chose to become pescovegetarian rather than true vegetarian or vegan, although it has been a difficult feat just to stick to such a diet. The office has been very willing to work with me, but not always very considerate about my diet. I don't blame them at all; I am sure that vegetarianism is very far from most of them, and they don't realize how someone can be so committed to that kind of lifestyle. I have found that, in any given group that I am a part of, it takes one or two times of not eating anything when I'm with them because there's nothing suitable for me to eat, before they realize that I am very serious. But had I cut fish out of my diet before this summer, let alone animal products altogether, there would have been several occasions when I was just entirely up the creek. How do you take two very different lifestlyes and fuse them, and live it well and happily, and not stick out in a very bad way to everyone around you?

I love explaining to people why I have chosen to be vegetarian. In fact, tonight I was able to tell someone the reasons why I want to become vegan. It means a lot to me when people actually ask my reasons, and don't just sit back and think, Okay, whatever... It challenges me to remember my own convictions, and I always hope that it strikes a chord with my audience.

Of course, the main reason Bob and I made our decision was because we felt like the Lord wanted that for us--not necessarily for everyone, but certainly for the two of us. And that is something a lot of people don't understand, making it difficult to share that aspect of our reasoning. When you tell someone you have made a particular decision "because the Lord told us to," the first assumption is often that you are about to start preaching some lifestyle that you believe to be the absolute truth. Of course, I believe Jesus is the absolute Truth, though I don't go around preaching Him without some sort of opening. But veg*nism? No, I don't think everyone is called to that. I don't think there's anything morally wrong with eating meat until it becomes a personal conviction. In fact, most of the people who closely share my spiritual beliefs do not understand the moral and ethical aspects of abstaining from animal-based foods. It's been a great decision for us, but not one that very many people around us, in any circle, understand or are sympathetic to. When your family scoffs at your choice and takes the attitude of You can come visit but if you get hungry you're on your own; when your friends think that the Lord calling you to become vegetarian is something straight out of the book of Ezekiel; when all the world around you is built for something entirely different from you, and it's just you and your husband standing in the middle of it all, it makes it hard to stand up for what you believe in. Not because you waver in your conviction, but because no one gives you the chance to stand up and say the things that are on your heart. Everywhere people think I'm something I'm not, and they don't give me the opportunity to answer to their assumptions about me. What do I do?

Just keep living, and understand that my choice is a good choice, and no one but God has to think so.

Life goes on

It's so weird that all of my friends from high school are getting married! One of my very closest school friends, with whom I unfortunately lost touch in college, contacted me today--with a new last name. Her life's goal was always to get married as soon as possible. I guess she has achieved it now. I wonder if people felt that way when I got married... I was pretty much the first person in my graduating class to tie the knot, and the first of my peers in college as well. Now, everyone's jumping on the bandwagon. I think it's great, and I hope every one of them has a marriage as blessed as mine is. But it's bittersweet--it's hard to comprehend how much life has changed for me, for all of us, since high school. That time of my life seems worlds ago, I am so different; and yet I think of my friends from high school as still being exactly the same now as they were before we lost touch. It's an odd feeling. I wonder if getting older and changing will ever seem normal to me, or if it will always be so surreal.

Speaking of being married, I was really missing my husband the other night. So as a way to release my feelings, I put together an ad hoc playlist on iTunes that encompasses a wide range of emotions that I often feel. People often think I'm not happy--but that's not true. I spend more time being happy, or content at least, than being sad or upset. But my happiness is not always giddiness, is not always manifest in laughter and big toothy grins. It often comes in a more mellow form, and is mixed with other emotions as well, such as relief or wonder or thoughtfulness. Does that make sense? Anyway, here's the list of songs on my playlist (which is playing right now)--but don't assume that I'm depressed. I'm not.

Ralph McTell, "Streets of London"
Queen, "'39"
The Beatles, "Fool On the Hill"
Enya, "May It Be"
Rufus Wainwright, "Hallelujah"
Sarah McLachlan, "Adia"
Simon & Garfunkel, "He Was My Brother"
The Pogues, "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda"
Rod Stewart, "Waltzing Matilda"
Queen, "Bohemian Rhapsody"
R.E.M., "Everybody Hurts"
Led Zeppelin, "Stairway to Heaven"
The Monkees, "Shades of Gray"
Annie Lennox, "Into the West"
Nobuo Uematsu, "Aerith's Theme"
Simon & Garfunkel, "The Boxer"
Bob Dylan, "Blowin' In the Wind"
Queen, "The Prophet's Song"
Billy Joel, "Piano Man"
The Beatles, "Let It Be"

Something about it makes me feel more complex... I guess it lets me feel sad sometimes, and hopeful sometimes, and just sentimental sometimes. That way I don't just feel lonely and sad, sitting here without Bob or anyone else, yet I don't feel like I'm artificially masking my sadness--I'm just expanding. Sounds like a strange way to deal with emotions, but it works for me. I'm sure it works for many people.

So though things are changing all over, and my situation is not always ideal, life goes on. And I know that everything is temporary. I know that nothing lasts forever--except God, and His love for me, and my relationship to Him. So sometimes I listen to my music, lay my head down and close my eyes, take deep breaths, and just imagine that He is here with me, or I am with Him, and all the heaviness is gone. All the complexity is gone. Nothing except love, and trust, and the ultimate contentment.

I have been Diet Coke free for almost a week now. In fact, perhaps make that caffeine free. I don't think it's a realistic goal for me, at least right now, to give up caffeine--I adore coffee. But I'm controlling it better, and my body is thanking me already. However, I wish I could say the same about my eating habits. They're usually pretty good, but I go through phases when I just crave all kinds of sweets. I don't eat tons of sweets, but when it's all I can think of I sometimes cave in a little too much. I caved in today, and I was kind of upset with myself so I just caved in even more. Now I wish none of that had to happen, but hey... one day of giving in is not going to ruin my healthy lifestyle forever. I really love eating healthy and working out, and I love it when my body asks me for healthy food and those little sugar-craving centers of my brain are completely drowned out. I feel so good about myself. Tomorrow, I will think of that--how good I feel when I eat healthy. And that will drive me.

It's too late to start writing poetry or anything like that, even though my creative longing is beginning to stir. Perhaps I will go to bed now and have splendid, colorful dreams. And when I get home tomorrow, Bob will be here!

A favorite that never fails...

So this weekend my husband came to Atlanta to visit me, and in our limited and shared kitchen space we didn't feel like making an elaborate mess to clean up. So today I made a lunch of something that always satisfies me--black beans. This time I took a Tex-Mex approach and made a spicy, delicious soup. A very economical meal, healthy and nutritious, and VEGAN! Bob and I classify ourselves as vegan-curious these days, and perhaps a permanent switch is coming soon.

2 cups dried black beans
1/2 minced red onion
3 cloves garlic, crushed
2 stalks minced celery
1/2 minced green bell pepper
1/2 to 1 jalapeño, minced (I had to go easy, since spiciness is not something my 10-year-old cousin's palate will tolerate)
2 tsp. dried oregano
1 & 1/2 cups cooked corn
1 & 1/2 cups diced tomatoes
1/2 cup salsa (I used a cilantro-lime salsa)
Salt, to taste
Cayenne pepper, to taste

After soaking the beans overnight and rinsing them, I put them in a pot to boil with water to cover plus about 2 inches over the top. I added the onion, garlic, celery, peppers, oregano, salt, and cayenne and let it boil gently with the lid on for about an hour, until the beans were tender. I then added the corn, tomatoes, and salsa, and I let it simmer for another half hour, again with the lid on, until all the flavors were married. This was not as spicy as I would have liked it personally, but it pleased the palates of the family so I was satisfied with it.

The salmon we made on Tuesday night came out so well--it was beautiful. I took pictures but tonight it is too late to upload them. I will do that soon. It was the best salmon I have probably ever had, rivaled perhaps only by seared rare salmon atop a mixed greens salad. This salmon was topped with so many different fruits and vegetables that I cannot even think of them all here, then sealed in foil and baked. It was tender and juicy and full of aroma and flavor... Bob said that he could go vegan right then and never miss fish, because his final fish experience would have been so memorable. We got our fish and produce at the Dekalb Farmer's Market, which is enormous and absolutely wonderful. A pint of organic strawberries for $2??? Incredible.

I found out on Friday that I get to run in the Peachtree Road Race on 4 July--the world's largest 10K race. Of course I won't be racing. I'll be amazed if I manage to run the whole thing, with the shape I'm in lately. But I'm excited just to be a part of it, just to get to challenge myself, just to experience something that 55,000 people a year get to experience. I'll be on the train at 5:30 am on Tuesday morning, to get to the race which starts at 7:30. Perhaps at that time of morning the heat won't be absolutely unbearable. I imagine myself taking a nice long nap before lunch.

Here's a new challenge for myself: I am striving to give up soft drinks. Completely. I am so addicted to Diet Coke, it's unbelievable. It's got to stop. I know it will be difficult, especially with the free sodas at the office that come in so handy during that time of day between lunch and 5:30 when it's so difficult to focus sometimes. But I've got to stop dumping that nasty stuff into my body. Maybe if I just remind myself that I'm poisoning my body and suppressing my respiratory system... Then perhaps it will seem worth it, at 3:00 in the afternoon, to just have another glass of water. Hmm, maybe I need to find a more natural solution for a mid-afternoon energy boost. Any ideas?

My last couple of posts were born of an intense creative streak that hit me a few nights ago. The poem was actually written a month or so ago, during my training week in North Carolina. I was napping out on the golf course before dinner, and every time I looked up I noticed the weeping willow to my left, its limbs trembling even in the near-still air. Suddenly hit with the urge to write, and having nothing on me except my purse, in desperation I canceled a check from my checkbook and penned that poem on the back. This past Wednesday, I finally pulled the check out and revised the verses. The other piece I posted was inspired by a game I recently played (Bob knew what game the moment he read the piece). I am enthralled by characters who are complex and emotional and not much different than myself, really. Those are the types of characters I strive to write. The story that Bob and I are writing is full of characters, some very profound and interesting, others largely one-sided and in desperate need of fleshing out. My favorite part of writing is creating the characters, learning their backgrounds. Yes, learning--for the characters are the ones who tell me about themselves, and I simply make a record of what they have to say. There is so much more to each character than what the reader finds on the page. But even though the life story is not delved into, the reader should be able to detect the dimensions that make up the character. The reader should know, just by reading, that this character is alive and full of history.

It's getting so late, and I'm getting carried away. I do actually have to go to work in the morning. Therefore, I will have to cut this off now. But there is much, much more to say...

Love and Strife

It's not my fault--it's not my fault.

That was what they all told me, as I released her to the planet.

But somehow, wasn't I responsible? In some way, I played a small part. I know it. I know it in my heart.

I knew that look, just as his sword glided through her flower of a body. The look on her face was unmistakable--a look I had longed for her to give me, deeply, without even knowing so until the moment of her death. Pure love.

Everything within her was pure. Her resolve, her deep connection to the planet, her deep commitment to all that is just. But her love was the most pure. And not simply the love she held for me--it would be a blemish upon her memory for me to believe so. Still, her love for me was special. It was sweet and innocent and... and... trusting. I have come to treasure that love in my soul, in the days since her death. It is one tiny grain of purity within me.

But therein lies my blame. Had she not loved me so deeply, so purely, then she would not have died for me. That's right--she died for me, along with everything else that she gave her life for. Had our relationship been different--cordial, distant--it would not have saved her life. It simply would have released me from the sphere of responsibility... To ache. To grieve. And to continue on.

It sears like lightning in my heart. Every thought of her brings pain; every memory causes me disdain at my own weakness in which I was helpless to protect her from his twisted anger. But it brings resolve as well, and more than ever. My resolve on its own is feeble... But resolve bound to her love, which she perished to prove, that is a force altogether unstoppable. From that small bit of purity which she has shed for me, I draw a strength I have never known before.

She did not fail in her purpose, though death railed through her body. I watched her being absorbed by the planet, all her youth and tenderness streaming away. But she's still here, stronger than before. She's all around me, every moment. She floods my heart. And it's left to me to see that the calling of her life is fulfilled. Could I let her death become a vain sacrifice? I could not bear it.

My strength was a joke, and still I leaned upon it. In my strength I nearly saw my own ruin. But she died to give me a greater strength--a strength to find myself buried within the lies in my soul. A strength to love. And a strength to finish what she had the courage to begin.

This responsibility is mine, but I will never bear it alone. Even now, she is here. Even now, she gives me the strength to fight further.

To Love a Willow

For sturdier affections
some cage their hearts--
for limbs that are thicker,
to sand that's not so quick

for fear of a whim,
a pain, a tear
when sadness scars
like thin-skinned grapes
burst with new hurt.

The weepy, wispy willow cries
each time the reckless wind sighs
and the daytime is too hard on the eyes.

A risk, a chance...

Some are willing
to love a willow.
Others... are hollow.

Happier days

Tonight was a great night for running. The thunderstorms scattered just long enough, the sun broke the clouds apart so mildly, and the humidity waned and cooled so refreshingly that there was no way that I could not run this evening. Even the hills did not daunt me.

The neighborhood I am staying in this summer is a fairly old development, and the sidewalks are periodically mounded up by victorious tree-roots pressing through. The houses do not swallow the surrounding ecosystem; people have made their mark here, but it is not a destructive, desecrating one. Merely seven miles from downtown Atlanta, such harmony can exist. At times like this, as I was running tonight and ducking beneath limbs and breathing air that smelled fresh at least, I am encouraged that the planet has a fighting chance.

Bob and I have found an activity to be engaged in together this summer, even though we're apart. We're writing a story together. "Writing" is a bit of a misnomer, because we're still early in the planning phases and have not actually written any of the story's text yet. We have been profiling the characters and working out the kinks of the plot. It's actually an idea he had that we've been stewing over for awhile, and now we're both getting excited about it. We have been chatting online about it, often in character to get a sense of their voices; and while such a medium is far from an intimate way to spend time with one's spouse, we have found that it actually works really well for this purpose because we can record a transcript of all that's been said, which we can build on later. And being excited about the story helps to soothe the pain of being apart so much.

We're actually not separated as much as we could be. We had a wonderful weekend together, and Bob has promised to come visit me in Atlanta once or twice a week. It's just difficult to spend days at a time apart when I have grown to love his presence so much. But as he keeps telling me, and as I well know, in times like this I have to turn to God and allow Him to comfort me when my husband is not there. And I have to rely on His strength to carry me every day. When Bob and I got married, one of the scriptures we had read at our wedding was Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, which talks about the goodness of being bound to another person. The last phrase of that passage is, A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. Bob and I are each a strand, but the third strand in our cord is the Lord. And as long as we stay bound faithfully to each other and to Him, then I believe He will bring us through every trial we face. And at the end of this summer, our marriage will be stronger because we will have learned to rely on God first.

So my life has gotten more and more bearable over the past week, as I've become more comfortable with my job and grown stronger about being away from Bob. Tomorrow Bob is coming to town, and we will be cooking a yummy-looking baked salmon dish for the family. More to come on that!