Save a tree or two

I received the following e-mail from the Natural Resources Defense Council regarding the preservation of Canada's boreal forest. I've blogged a couple of times now in reference to this ancient wilderness (look here and here). Why, as a native of the southeastern United States, am I so passionate about this particular part of the world?

The boreal forest of Canada is one of the largest remaining intact natural regions in the world. It is home to a variety of wildlife including caribou, bears, wolves, and lynx. It is the summer range for about 1/3 of North American songbirds and 3/4 of North American waterfowl. Its ecology is complex and varied, with forests, mountains, lakes, wetlands, and rivers. Such a place needs to be protected, lest it be lost. There are programs and initiatives in place to protect and preserve large portions of the region, and still others aimed at developing eco-friendly practices within its neighboring communities. The boreal forest is a valuable North American biome, and the more people who become aware and empassioned about its need for preservation, the more positive progression we will see in the efforts to save this forest.

Anyway, on to the e-mail. If you click the link, you can sign your name to a letter to the Manitoba government, urging them to take action. It only takes five seconds, and I have to believe that it makes a difference.

*********

The Manitoba government still has not honored its pledge to
permanently protect the Poplar-Nanowin Rivers traditional lands
in our Heart of the Boreal Forest BioGem.

Your urgent action is needed to ensure that Manitoba makes good
on its repeated promises. Mounting proposals for clearcut
logging, roadbuilding and industrial hydropower development loom
over this irreplaceable habitat for threatened woodland caribou,
moose and millions of songbirds.

Please go to http://www.savebiogems.org/boreal/takeaction
and urge Manitoba's premier to grant permanent protection to
these First Nation lands.

For thousands of years, the Poplar River First Nation has relied
on the trees, plants and wildlife of this expanse of rugged
granite cliffs, dense evergreen woods and tranquil marshlands
for food, medicine and the survival of its beliefs and
traditions. In 2004, the Canadian government recognized the
outstanding cultural and natural values of this wildland by
including it as part of a potential U.N. World Heritage Site.

Under pressure from BioGems Defenders like you, the Manitoba
government renewed interim protection of the Poplar-Nanowin
Rivers Park Reserve to allow for the completion of a land
management plan. Yet more than a year has passed now since the
plan was finalized -- and the Manitoba government has failed to
legislate permanent protection.

Please go to http://www.savebiogems.org/boreal/takeaction
and tell Manitoba's premier to take this long overdue next step
toward creating a World Heritage Site in this region.

Thank you for all of your efforts to protect the wildest reaches
of Canada's vast boreal forest.

Sincerely,

Frances Beinecke
President
Natural Resources Defense Council

Just words...

Words make great art sometimes, even when they're just thrown together--as long as something ties them together, it doesn't have to appeal to reason to make a beautiful mosaic.

I made this word cloud here. Try it out!

Every species has its niche

Truly the quince flower has found a special niche, to reach the peak of its blooming season right in the harshest stretch of winter, whilst nearly all other flora lies dormant in anticipation of spring.

Death Knell of the Ancients

Another tree falls, and the taiga mourns with groaning—not the sound of groaning, but the deep and silent rumble of the soul whose tremors make tremble even the deepest parts of the earth. For the thud of one more tree against the pock-marked ground is the fearsome, chaotic clanging of one more thick, cold iron bell, another alarum ringing out the imminent fate of all life that once found its haven here.

For these trees have never seen war, never been brushed by plague or pandemic. Peaceful existence, nurturing coexistence has reigned here for centuries as the trees, fir and spruce, elm and oak alike, have offered their raised limbs to the native grouse for nesting, and to the visiting thrushes who stay only until the first gray of winter touches the sky and sends these fair-weather birds to a more tropical locale for the cooler season. These trees have been proud to wear, year after year, the pure and powdery snow from which raptors flee and grizzlies hide themselves, fat with nourishment to last them for months as they sleep in their deep dens until ground thaw.

These old-growth trees have seen light and shadow, each wonderful and terrible in its very special way. Nothing is as jarring as a full neon sun throwing itself against a tinny, white wilderness; nothing is as spectacular as colored hues that glow and dance across the backdrop of space every vernal and autumnal equinox. The forest has seen it all. It has also seen the nightfall, accompanied by the paralyzing beating of owls’ wings and the death squeals of the small rodents, fallen prey to the hunters of the night. The trees have played the part of protector against harsh daylight, weaving their stretching limbs together as a barrier so that the mosses and lichen could thrive gratefully along the shaded ground beneath.

The forest remembers stories of the first appearance of man, coming in on foot from the west, building their settlements nearby, hunting the animals, treading lightly on the land. Even the last of the trees who had known these respectful men, had lived in harmony with them, have long since fallen and returned to the earth, adding their matter back to the soil to the propagation of forest life. But the legacy of these gentle hunters remains, giving strength to the trees and the delicate fibers of life in this harsh, beautiful wilderness.

Nothing like that legacy are these newly arrived men, who come in droves with their clamorous machines to cripple the forest, their hearses to drag the victims away to the nearby paper mill. They upset the balance and the peace of the long-time dwellers here, giving it no thought as they ravage and scar the land. Another tree falls, its once proud limbs crunching against the snow-packed ground. An alarm sounds to the raptors that had nested in those branches, to the fox and the squirrel whose once secret dwellings are now hopelessly destroyed. And a chill pulses through the forest—a chill that the cold, damp summers and thoroughly severe winters have, in thousands of years, never managed to elicit from the proud and brawny trees. For the trees know they can survive the wind and snow and the days upon days of darkness, a barren climate which has caused virtually all other life to shrink away. But against the calloused greed within the hearts of short-sighted man even the stout-willed trees cannot fight. And in each buzz of a saw, each turning of an engine, each loud and brazen guffaw of a hardened, senseless clearcutter preparing to wrap up another day of hard work, the forest can hear the heralding of its own bleak doom. And so it remains, in jarring silence.

Milk is gross

There are a lot of myths surrounding the healthfulness and ethics of human consumption of dairy products. I have been doing some reading and research, and my goal with this post is to dispel some of those myths. To the best of my ability, I will document all the sources for my information; however, as I have done a lot of reading about these issues in recent months, the list is likely not comprehensive. Research on the subject abounds--do some reading yourself!

Myth 1: Milk does a body good.

Cows are herbivores, and thrive on a diet of grasses. The pastoral dairies we often picture in our minds include black-and-white spotted cows, dotting the rolling green hillsides, lazily grazing on the pastureland and ruminating. The farmer comes out with a tin bucket and a little wooden stool and lovingly milks his cows each day, stroking them and talking to them all the while.

This is not a true reflection of the life and diet of a modern-day, factory-farmed cow. Cows in factory farming operations are confined to stalls and hard cement floors, never given the freedom to graze. They are deprived of a natural diet and instead fed a feed mix consisting heavily of corn (most of it genetically modified), heavy doses of antibiotics, and occasionally the ground-up remains of their fallen comrades (the practice of turning dead cattle back into cattle feed is illegal, but the industry is poorly monitored and this practice still occurs). We all know that animal milk nutrition is based of the nutrients in the diet of the animal that produces it. So what is going into your milk? Genetically modified corn that was farmed with heavy doses of chemical fertilizers; antibiotics; any contaminants that may have remained in the bodies of the dead cows that were ground up for feed.

It gets worse, though. Dairy cows are pumped full of rBGH, a bovine growth hormone designed to increase their milk yield. The increased milk yield resulting from the rBGH causes increased rates of mastitis--the udders of these unfortunate cows swell and become infected with the unnatural volume of milk that they produce. Yet, in the interest of precious time and profit, cows with infected udders are not treated properly for their infection--they are still milked continually. The antibiotics pumped into the cattle feed are intended to deal with such diseases and infection, the intent being that these maladies will get cleared up through the feed and the cow loses no milking time. As a result of not treating mastitis immediately and properly, pus which develops inside the udder ends up in the milk. This pus-infused milk is not discarded; rather, it is mixed with "healthy" milk, packaged, and sold.

Myth 2: Cows need to be milked.

It is true that when cows produce milk, it is healthy for them to be milked and relieved of the pressure that builds up in their udders under the weight of the milk. However, what is not good for cows in these factory farm operations is the extent of their milk production and their milking. These cows are constantly being impregnated, giving birth and then immediately having their calves taken from them, and milked extensively. This ensures that not a moment of precious time escapes when the cow could have been giving profitable milk.

A dairy cow which is allowed to live its natural life, grazing in the outdoors and lactating in natural cycles, should live for 20 years or more. Cows using modern farming methods, however, are often slaughtered once their milk production slows, in as few as three lactation cycles. Modern milking practices, then, scarcely bode well for these animals.

Myth 3: Milk is a good source of calcium and protein.

Our bodies need calcium. Calcium is extremely important in our bone development; without proper levels of calcium intake, we are at risk for the ever more widespread bone disease known as osteoporosis, which makes bones brittle and fragile. America is well aware of these risks, and in fact recommended daily intakes of calcium in the U.S. are some of the highest in the world, at 1,000-1,400 milligrams each day. Yet Americans still are at high risk for osteoporosis. Why?

Calcium is a mineral that neutralizes acid. Our blood has a certain pH level that it must maintain, which is a fairly neutral level that slightly leans to the alkaline end of the spectrum. But certain foods are known to raise the acidity level of the blood--namely, animal proteins and highly processed "junk" foods. Our bodies must produce increased amounts of acid to digest such foods, and once the digestion has occurred, the acid enters our blood supply and makes it more acidic. Thus, our bodies actually leach calcium from our bones to neutralize the acid content in our blood.

So, yes. Milk is a substantive source of both calcium and protein. But when we rely on the protein in milk and other animal products, we actually lose much of the calcium that we take in.

Consider that many peoples have survived for hundreds of years without dairy products, such as the Chinese, and have had little instance of osteoporosis. People in these places take in far less calcium than most Americans do today, but they get their calcium and their protein vastly from plant-based sources. Consider also that vegetarian women, at age 65, average 18% bone loss, while their omnivorous peers average 35% bone loss.

Myth 4: Beef production is cruel, but dairy production is not.

I have already addressed this to some extent above, but there is room for elaboration.

Dairy cows, as I mentioned, are not allowed to graze in conventional farming operations; they are confined, fed meal that is far from their natural diet, and often never see the outdoors. They live but a fraction of their natural lives before being sent to slaughter, once their productivity has declined due to the exhausting methods of milk production that factory farmers implement. During the time when they are alive, disease is rampant among milk-producing cattle because they are confined in such closed, tight living areas where disease can spread easily from one animal to the next, and are fed such enormous levels of antibiotics that antibiotic-resistant strains of the bacteria are constantly evolving--thus increasing the need for more antibiotics, thus perpetuating the cycle.

When a dairy cow gives birth, the calf is immediately separated from the mother, often never even allowed to nurse. Female calves are raised to produce milk, but male calves are considered useless by-products of the dairy industry. They are often sold cheaply into veal production--one of the most horrifying aspects of animal agriculture. Veal calves are confined to crates where they have no room to move, and they are often chained by the neck to further restrict their movement. This is what gives veal meat its characteristic tenderness. The calves are fed an iron-deficient diet so that their meat is pale and desirable; often they become so weak that their legs break beneath their own weight. Then, after 16 weeks of this kind of life, the calves are slaughtered.

"Certified organic" milk, to an extent, helps to alleviate some of these problems, but by no means solves them. Cows whose milk is certified organic must not be fed antibiotics or injected with hormones, and they must be given access to pasture for a part of the year. For large-scale organic dairy producers, this means giving the animals a minimal amount of time in the pasture, and using more conventional methods as much as they can to keep costs low. And even in the organic industry, cows may be sent to slaughter prematurely when they slow down their production. Even in the organic industry, male calves may be sold into the horrible veal industry. For most corporate producers, the animal is still a commodity rather than a living being, and they will do as little as they can to get the lucrative "organic" label slapped onto their products. So unless you personally know your dairy farmer and his commitment to earth- and animal-friendly, sustainable production, unless you know he is concerned for the well-being of his animals, then you cannot be certain that the industry you are supporting is not guilty of the mistreatment of millions of animals each year.

For more reading, follow these links:

Dangers of Milk.
rBGH on Wikipedia.
The Welfare of Cattle in Dairy Production.
Veal Production.
Issues: Organic.

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