Sestina for Afghanistan

Night-time traffic winds through Kabul’s bazaars in a current of electricity.
Cement-colored mountains that cradle the city are stark, austere in their beauty.
Giant cauliflowers, pyramids of melons, pomegranates, spices-- Afghan food.
Like smoke, the call to prayer rises from the mosques filling the air with unquestioned truths.
Suited workers, burqua draped women, school boys-each wants to return home in safety.
After three decades of war, drought, and poverty, the only thing missing is hope.

Youths learning English in internet cafes are the foundation for some small hope.
People want services—safe water, decent roads, consistent electricity.
Who will build houses, factories, or schools unless they can count on their safety?
Talibs slashed many paintings, pulled down their Buddhas, destroyed everything of beauty.
They banned kite-flying, music, dancing, the sound of women’s feet in the street speaking truth
about gathering water, firewood, serving all, being the last to eat food.

Up in Barek Aub we pass out cooking oil, salt, flour, tea, spices for Afghan food.
When I see little girls and boys, the same size as the bags they carry, I hope.
I am hopeful; when young leaders speak of what life is like and they speak the hard truth.
The class stops, and everyone debates passionately-- I feel the electricity.
One says he wants to start an eco-tourism business in Bandi-amir’s beauty.
When ISAF armor patrols the city It feels safe; for a time we dwell in safety.

My wish for Afghans is that they dwell in their homes in quietness, joy, and safety.
That their tablecloths be covered with Kabuli pilau, kebabs, an abundance of food.
Roses of every shade scent the wind, in their well-watered gardens flowing beauty.
In courtyards, behind iron gates, brightly colored finches warble of love and hope.
May they harness the sun and wind, to light mud villages with electricity.
In their homes, workplaces, in the city square-- let the pearl they value, be the Truth.

This is a turning point, the valley of decision, will Afghans choose lies or truth?
If they cede power to poppies, or violent pulpits, there can be no safety.
Trust before investment, peace before aid, stability before electricity.
Land that grows blood— brings down the curse of drought-it can never, ever, grow enough food.
Grow forgiveness instead of Badal; choose trust, weed out prejudices, nurture hope.
Pledge your lives and your sacred honor, to build this nation, and preserve its beauty.

In the snow dusted Pamirs, lakes- are the wide turquoise eyes of the mountains’ beauty.
The eagle screams his need for space, understanding--the hooded falcon’s silent truth.
In the desert sands of the Shomali plains, the smallest of wildflowers hopes.
The bright-eyed Kuchi children scamper under black tents, like goats scattering for safety.
In the high mountain passes, the black panther waits, crouches, trembling for her food.
New year starts, when red tulips thrust through white clouds to jolt blue skies with electricity.

White doves rise from the Blue Mosque, wheel in hope, that the phoenix will rise in beauty
from the blood-red ashes with alacrity, stretch out its golden wings, singing truth
speaking wise words as banners for safety, leaving its egg of myrrh as spirit food.

On Fire proofing a Marriage

It's still strange for me to go to the movies alone. You'd think after a year of widowhood, I'd be used to it. But as awkward as that can be, I want to support efforts that are made to make movies with a Christian Worldview.

"Fireproof" is a great example of a movie that has a message that can transform lives. The theatre I went to was full--mostly of couples--all ages. And the place was still as a mausoleum many times, as the film addressed the pressures on marriages today and acknowledged how much work it takes to work the way it was designed to work. I think the main point is that we can't love anyone else until we truly understand how much God loves us...and that it is only out of that overflow of love that we can love others.

I liked the idea of a book-- "The Marriage Dare" --a 40 day plan to save a marriage, but it is not credible to believe that a marriage so far gone could be saved in such a short time. The models of long term marriages, where there was loyalty even in the face of illness or challenges, were so helpful. Those were models we surely don't see in current Hollywood offerings.

After 32 years of marriage, I have reason to say I know how difficult it can be on some days. But also, how wonderfully rewarding!

The hard part for me is finally, recognizing that the marriage vow reads "till death doth us part"--and my husband kept that vow. and is gone. --

I am still here. how to begin again to look for someone to love like that? I loved the words to one of the songs in the film, "While I wait I will worship, while I wait, I will serve"-- That summarizes what I am doing.

Saudade

"Saudade" is a word I learned in Portuguese that doesn't have an easy translation into English. It is the remembering with longing or imagining with longing. It is wanting but not having. But not a discontent that is bitter or demanding. more like a sweet memory of something that is gone from reality but remains-- in the haunting half-phrase of a tune that arises like a vapor in your mind. It is a fragrance you only vaguely recognize. Its like when the deer pauses in the meadow, bathed in golden light, and flicks its ears, and looks for something, then returns to her grazing. i awaken some mornings, with that sense that there was something I am supposed to remember, something important that eludes my conscious mind, that tugs persistently at the edges of my brain. I can't make out if it is an image, a word, a feeling, ---something. Like Dali's "persistence of memory" it warps out of recognition, hanging from the table beside my bed, behind the netting that veils my bed. It is a stranger I think I know, who attracts me. but no one I know. A face I cannot see.
It is sweet, but not altogether happy. It is sad, but not full of sorrow. It is an empty place, like a missing tooth, that has become familiar. Hollow,hallowed.

Remodeling Project

I was left with a fishing boat, a nice red-and-white Lund, and a boat trailer and no idea how to hook the lights up to the pick-up truck. I gave the Honda Ridgeline to my son. Sold the trailer and boat back to the dealer. Gave away another car, and ended up with a detached garage full of old skis, poles, boots, a weed whacker, a wheel-barrow, bags of lawn fertilizer, old paint, and field mice.

So I decided that it was time I created a real studio for myself, rather than working out of a bedroom. It took about a month to get the proposal through the local architectural review board. Another month to get it cleared out and then the fun of remodeling began.
Studs went in, thick pink blankets of insulation were wrapped around the new bay windows. Replaced the garage door with a set of french doors so that large projects or sculptures can be made and still make it out the door. Sky lights toward the north end shunt the weak northern rays deep into the room. A row of cabinets along the back will hold art supplies--the never ending collections of found things and colorful paints and pastels. There will be a deep sink for cleaning brushes, and a bath. The space that will be my desk has a view of pine trees and blue sky. One wall holds a Walker system to display finished work. There will be a mirror to check the painting in reverse. Laundry lines that pull across like you find in some hotels, will be a place to hang prints or works on paper. The electrician has pulled the wires across from the house and promises me power on Monday. Soon the walls will blush into a warm ivory; and the fanlight will stir the air. Light wooden planks will march across an expanse that was only concrete...The easels will go into place under the skylights. I will load up my brush and start a new work in this new space. I hope to dedicate this space--as I have everything I own, to the LORD who has given me the gift of seeing and the opportunity to learn art. Mainly, I hope to create work here as long as the Lord allows me strength. I hope it will be a place to lodge the weary; to teach young artists and to learn from the experienced; to encourage and display the work of my friends who are artists or photographers; and to be a part of the Jesus House experience. (more about that in another blog.) Now that we are nearly done, this team of craftsmen and workers, I celebrate the wonder that what is old can become new. It makes me smile, to stand in what was a dirty, disordered garage and see such beauty and serenity. Makes me wonder what else needs attention?

How does my garden grow?

Right now, the grass is yellowing and brittle from too little rain. Just as I set out to put sprinklers on the lawn, the drizzle began--most welcome. The day lilies by the front walk are starting to swell, ready to burst. The pink-purple petunias cascade from their baskets, the front ones full of blooms where the afternoon sun catches them. The basket in the back by the swing, is in too much shade and while it has verdant leaves, there are few blossoms. Sun, it needs.
The Burgundy mums, are massed by the white picket fence. Two white mums on either side of the green front door are welcoming I think. I need to change the door wreath from it's cheery, summer Flowers to more fallish selections. Maybe tomorrow if there is time, i will rummage in the basement and replace it.
I peruse the fall garden catalogues...and read a magazine article on "top Fall Projects"--My remodeling project is coming to a conclusion and the new bay windows overlook a rocky ledge, lined with large stones, perfect for a bed of perennials--Daffodils would be an obvious choice because of the flocks of deer who come into my yard nearly daily to graze, steal crab apples from the lower boughs, or to dispense seeds from the bird feeder. Maybe irises --tall, and sculptural, elegant royal blue tissues that unfold like origami into petals.
Then I think of the things it would be fun to incorporate over the next years, if the Lord tarries--a labyrinth for meditation and contemplation? Perhaps a small scaled water feature, adding the sound of water to the cricket's song and to the peepers call. I love the natural sort of rooms that are already emerging. I'm not sure why a garden is so satisfying? Perhaps because there is a Jungian symbol --GARDEN--that is imprinted somehow in our heart/ some information encoded in our DNA and handed down through the centuries--the need to know--even taste the earth. To tend it and from our efforts to receive fruit--colorful, fragrant, or flavorful....Our return to the garden to eat and to fellowship--to be known, to know, to belong--to celebrate--that great feast for which we long--That garden is what keeps us going when the beetles eat the rose petals, or the sun scorches the ornamental grasses, or the wind whips the willow tree. Gardening is a leap of faith, I half think.

Single or celibate or chaste

Am following the debate in Christianity Today about what to use as a term for unmarried people in the evangelical church scene. Recently widowed, I find myself in this strange state. After thirty three years of marriage, I am somehow now not married. Some forms don't even give you a choice of widowed..but I don't think of myself as "Single"--which seems to me to focus to much on the lack of something.--as though I am missing something. Celibate has been suggested as an alternate term, to emphasize the calling of unmarried people to serve God and to serve His beloved church. I like the reasoning, but the term calls up the notion of monastic orders and promises to remain celibate for a life time. Most of us, ungifted with celibacy, may not wish it to be a life-time life-style choice. We may be waiting for some divinely ordained and provided mate some time in the future. In the present we are called to live a chaste life. But chastity should not be confused with celibacy as they come from different roots. "Chastity" is the state of being innocent or chaste, Chastity refers to sexual behavior of a man or woman acceptable to the ethical norms and guidelines of a certain culture, civilization or religion In the western world, the term has become closely associated (and is often used interchangeably) with sexual abstinence, especially before marriage. On the other hand, "Celibacy" is the renunciation of marriage implicitly or explicitly made, for the more perfect observance of chastity, by those who take religious vows. They may look the same in practice, but they have different motivations and values. Either choice is scriptural and should be honored for radical obedience to the Lord in the context of a culture that does everything it can to ridicule or assault the chaste.
Actually, I don't want to be defined by my marital status--any more than I think my race or age or gender should define me. I don't reject it, or these other truths about me, but I don't think any one of these categories is definitive for me And I hate being programed into "singles ministries" or thought of as having special needs because of that aspect of my life.
I prefer to be a person in the pew--who worships, studies the word, and engages in ministry and service with all the other parts of the "body". I'd love to see us cross all kinds of barriers that might be interesting statistically but are irrelevant for who we are and how we live our our evangelical calling.

Writer's revsionary life style

Writers group met today on Kent State's campus. It was one of those lovely, warm, sunny, Fall days when you stop to eat lunch on a picnic table and wish you didn't have to go back to the office.



There is the scurry of heavy traffic, commuter students trying to find parking. It is early in the semester and people are still attending classes. Syllabae are passed out around long conference tables and students text each other when the prof isn't looking. In between classes they talk about what they are dropping and why.



In the Women's Center, all is quiet. We listen to a poet read her work. There is silence. She waits for the group to write comments in the white space around the words. And then, slowly and thoughtfully, there are suggestions about a line break, a possible word choice that will fit the tone better. Someone offers a different title. The last line of one of my sevenling needs some kind of expansion on the idea of "Strange attractors"--from quantum mechanics.



We have worked together this way for nearly five years. I trust them to tell me when a word sticks out like an orange hat in an Amish buggy. I can ask about technical details, or word derivation, or about the usefulness of paring already spare lines. It takes a long time to trust that you will be given the best ideas a person has, because that's what we owe each other. Encouragement is wonderful and always appreciated. But sometimes the best friend is the one who sharpens your prose.



Almost always, what is necessary, is to think more clearly about the idea itself--to go for the pearl of great price. It is always worth the wading into muck, and the digging.



Critique and revision- Like breathing out and breathing in.