snow is magic

eager it falls
freed
from heavy clouds

lightly it dances
on a journey
towards
earth

softly it carpets
windshields
streets and sidewalks

saying rest, wait, hope
let's
start afresh
let go
and fall
into dreams

Before Jesus Came

Before Jesus came to earth, God wasn't man. His grace didn't cover sin. The Holy Spirit wasn't in us. Before Jesus came, the word was not flesh. God's love was not known. When Jesus came to earth, a Savior was born. This Christmas season, I'm going to practice the art of resting. Cherishing the gift we have in Christ. I'm going to unplug from technology, and hold onto the loved ones He has given. It will take putting aside pride, to say what's on my heart. Peace, Love, Joy, Patience, Kindness can only come from one source. I know that the fear Mary and Joseph felt bringing a baby to a troubled world isn't different from the fears we experience today. We wonder if we're strong enough, if we have the faith it takes to pursue Him in the places we are. We don't want to fall short of the expectations of those we care about most. Yet, the God who gives Joy and Hope has no bounds. And He is capable of meeting us in our circumstance and filling our hearts with more of who He is. If we stop to gaze on the majesty of a baby born in a manger, how will He move in our lives this Christmas?

The River of Life

Moss has found it's home between the boards of the deck. Raindrops cascade from the ivy which lines the fence. A mist fills the air. There is a current of water falling from the roof of the shed as the trees sway with life. I feel very still inside this silent house with the storm outside. A siren calls in the distance, the wind howls, and the leaves crackle. I find myself at Madison Street. Despite our insistence on it's persistence, home changes over time. Two cats are welcome where a feline has never tread. My brother's room is now my father's office. Our backyard has become a jungle of native plants. The Television, which was once only a conduit of video cassettes, has full cable streaming. The photos, which once contained only cousins and aunts and uncles, now have neices and nephews. The rain falls harder outside and I'm reminded that this life isn't a moment in time, but a flowing river, moving from one event to the next. When life is sweet, we hold onto the moments and make memories. Each remembrance is the hope that time will stop and honor the joy we have found. My grandma turns 80 tomorrow. She is now the steward of a lifetime of memories. I remember as a child, winding up a piano jewlery case that sang the song from "Cats" and Mimi would belt out the lyrics. As a dairy farmer's youngest daughter, a Navy stenographer in Pearl Harbor, and a elementary-school teacher, she has many stories to tell. We had a sing along with friends and family, to celebrate her life, and found the words we needed in the lyrics of "Moon River" and "As Time Goes By". As the stream of life flows on, I hope that I can bring the peace, joy, patience, and love which she brought to this world.

Headlands Haze

So I am sitting in our dorm at 8:33 on a summer's eve and there is a redish haze on the tops of the hillsides out the window. It is peering through the pine tree which shades our abode. The hanging windows remind me of a schoolhouse in a country town, white squares framing our view. There is a heater duct that roars to life which runs from the kitchen through our common room and down towards the bedrooms. When I walk in to the kitchen, our stainless steel sinks and giant rod-iron gas stove transport me to an industrial cafeteria. Earlier this week, Eric asked if Kevin and I would be interested in helping with the two high school interns who are going to be joining us shortly on surveys and I offered to pick them up from the bus stop on the other side of the golden gate bridge. I even suggested I can drop by in my "shaggin minivan wagon"! It was one of those moments where my brain decides to rhyme for no reason at all. Yet of course, Kevin, my coworker, has brought it up a few times since and is now convinced that I drop by high school cafeteria's on the prowl. Somehow, these jokes/verbal confrontations always come up while I'm driving or in another moment of weakness. I think humor is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, we don't want to take ourselves too seriously and on the other we do! haha. It takes humor sometimes to realistically confront our faults and weaknesses. So I guess I'm learning to not take life quite so seriously. As the day winds to a close, the redish haze has faded to a purple fog outlining the landscape and the twinges of twilight appear. For some reason, I feel more accomplished this saturday than normal. After a great beach trip, phone call with bro, running errands in Sausalito, and making some buttermilk cheese the day feels most certainly done and this jalepeno cheese popcorn is hitting the spot. Goodnight moon.

Oh, how much you love us

I am redeemed
I am restored
I am bought
I am found

You are Redeemer
You are Restorer
Christ is the one who paid my price
You found me

We are the body
We are whole
Working as one church
We see who you are

You are the Bread of Life
You are our Restorer
Working through one church
You reveal the greatest mystery of all

Oh, how much you love us

to this place

Rediscover this poem among my notebooks I was sorting through. It's about the site I chose to research for my senior project in Landscape Architecture, a hidden canyon nestled in the Nipomo Mesa.


Black Lake Canyon
Unyielding sorrow
songbirds overhead
is it the wind or the waves
that paves my heart
to this place?

Black Lake Canyon
Isn't death beautiful?
say I to the fallen oak tree
whose leaves are still green
the quiet seeps into my heart
in this place

Black Lake Canyon
nature unwinding
oak woodland and
coastal scrub dance from
side to side
and I pause to examine my heart
with this place

Rest,

I realize now, in the stillness between the rain, that I'm tired. Tired of being the girl with everything together, of the thoughts that keep racing through my head, of the countless moments I give to worry. Real consideration of this realization means taking a step back- recognizing what it means to rest.

"Rest?" you may ask. Yes. Rest. Because you are not your circumstances and although there may be plenty of things you'd like to fret about at the current moment, none of them is worth your time. So imagine letting each of them go. Put your yoke on the shoulders of the one who has carried the weight of us all.

A friend recently lent me, "The Rest of God" by Mark Buchanan which talks all about Sabbath:
______________________________________________________________________
Jesus shows up, and those who should know better, who should be paying attention-priests, lawyers, teachers, apostles-typically miss it, while those least "deserving"-shepherds, children, beggars, whores-typically grasp it, and immediately. It turns out, numbskulls are numb every day, and seekers of grace awake nearly always.

And yet, of all days we might set apart to practice the art of attentiveness, Sabbath is an outstanding candidate. Sabbath invites us to stop, In that ceasing, fresh possibilities abound. We can shut out eyes, if we choose-to relax without guilt. But there is also time enough to open our eyes, to learn again Jesus's command to watch and pray.
_______________________________________________________________________

What scares me is how dependent I've become on these un-restful thoughts. Yet, in the stillness, I can ask the questions I've been avoiding:

1) Is this worshipful?
2) Is this thought drawing me closer to God?
3) Is it true, praiseworthy, right...good, excellent?
4) Is this bringing Glory to God?

And the answer is easily no. But in the midst of a world which honors the desires, whims, thoughts, and ideas which may come and go- it's easy to loose sight of why we must prayerfully choose rest. It's easier for me to think of resting as fully trusting God. When I've placed my trust in Him I no longer have to plan, work, and achieve. Our success isn't determined by the efficiency of each of our achievements but instead in our faithfulness as a child of a loving Father. In order to rest, all we really have to do is be a humbled recipient of grace.

Home: the truest harmonies

This is the place you've longed for. Where you can put your feet to rest. There is the warmth of a fireplace and fresh brewed apple cider. Loved ones surround you, peaceful. Your brother is scanning the daily crossword puzzle, mum has one of those romance novels in hand, Dad is inspecting the sports page and grandma has her knitting needles out. There is something about home that's infecting. It reaches deep inside us and plucks at the heartstrings that ring the truest harmonies.

Among our families, we realize the grounding importance of our being. God speaks to our hearts and says,

"I am your home, yet these people are your interior decorators. Without them, you can't become who you are. Without them, you won't be able to see what it is within you that must change. And with them, you will become the body of Christ. So know that you are home."

here it is

I haven't written a post in a while just because. So here it is. I'm settled cozily in my friend Terra's apartment, spent from a run to See Canyon and back. So my wandering thoughts have had time to settle, in my bodies incapability to do. And I find happiness. Right here in this place. It is seeping out of my calloused feet and weary calves. It is felt in my pounding heart. And it is heard in the silence. This joy asks me to be still in its presence. And I know that it is filling the room around me, right up to the 12' ceilings and bursting up the stairs and out towards the kitchen as well. And maybe it was hear all along, and I just didn't happen to notice till this moment.

a series.

north

endless blue water
interrupted by
red and yellow stripes
running through the window
dashing across our view
unheeded

forrest capped hills
and snow capped mountains
sliced by black lines
that jump up and down
as we move on

the pale stark sky
is seen through barren branches
of trees which have forgotten leaves
in their delight of the cold

Skinny brown giants appear
every couple seconds
and the red, yellow and black stripes
join us
in our journey north


of a life well lived

immobile
resolute
fierce
the trees are not moving

they stand in agreement
of a life well lived
of a purpose understood
they are the conifers
the air breathers
the dwelling place of creatures
great and small

and they need no words
to demonstrate their fervor
their stiff backs align and
their hands wave gently as if to say
"if you know the way of the forrest,
you may come and dwell with us"

a quiet surrender

snow
is not much more
than a quiet surrender
to all that is holy.
and still.

It pleads our branches
to bend under its weight
and we surrender our strength

It carpets the earth with whiteness
in a hope to heal
the scars that have been left bare
and exposed

It's softness requires us to fall
backwards
and vigorously swing
our arms and legs
for joy

It falls with such tenderness
and ease
neither eager or reluctant
to touch down and surrender
it's reign of the sky

vroom vroom.

So there's this engine inside me that's been revving for quite some time. And it has finally found a release. A place to push on the gas. "Vroom vroom" and then my feet take off. Pounding the pavement, my calves scream out their protest, yet I run on. I firmly close my eyes and let go of all those ideas that like to swarm my brain. All I can feel is the ground beneath my sneakers. It pushes back with an equal force and off I go. Through farms, across streams, by oaks and sycamores and willows towards the green green hills.

the cookie cutter answer

Do you ever open a fortune cookie, eager that it may give you the answer? What answer you may ask. Well, the one that faces the question gnawing at us full frontal. It's the answer, we believe, will lay bear all of our grievances and act as that band-aid we've always wanted. You know, the answer to those questions like...."Why do children die of starvation?", "How can one man kill another?" and the more personal ones such as.."Why am I so frustrated by my parents?", "Why is this relationship so difficult?" and "How is it possible to earn a living doing what you love?"

Well, I think it's time we woke up and smelled reality. There is no cookie cutter answer to all of life's problems. They must be faced with determination and a dedication to hard work as well as the understanding that there is always grace. For you. For me. For us.

With this grace, we may be able to look one another in the face and admit that we don't have the answers. And perhaps agree that this not knowing may be what life's all about.

words.

It seems ironic that I love to write and the best writing program I have is textedit. Almost as if the universe was challenging me to transcribe a story from thought to life in the most difficult way possible. The truth is that my mind is plagued with thoughts and I've begun to wonder if perhaps I should write them down. I can't explain this. It is the most sincere release to be able to concentrate one's brain and express it in the simplicity of words. "Words? Simple?" You may ask. Yes, Indeed. For how can one word fully contain our infinite beings? Can the soul be harnessed by the likes of the english language? I hope it is not possible. I pray that each language, despite it's seeming complexity, still falls short in it's expression. One must believe that anything can be imagined on the basis of these words, but nothing can be fully realized in the same way that it is lived.

And yet, despite their inadequacy, we press on, using these words. Letting them fill up our lives and speak our hearts to those we love. These simple expressions are our gift to the world. As I'm writing this, I wonder which things that people have said stick out in my mind. It isn't the criticism or congratulations. Not the phrases filled with the wanderings of each day. Instead, quiet reflections, grasping at the truth, come singing to my heart. And it finds its peace.

two songs.

Here are the lyrics to two of the songs I've written in the last couple months:

It is a quiet fire
It is a sodden flame
a squelched desire
a word a thought a name

It is irrational
without the work of brain
it is emotional
it cannot hope again

(chorus)
This foolish love
who would call it that?
this eager crush
exempt from fear or shame

It is a solemn breeze
an imagined kiss
it is the gentle tease
of an abandoned wish

It is the afternoon
of the last baseball match
It is the purple bloom
of this tray of ash

this foolish love (x4)



Tagore (excerpt from a poem by Rabindrath Tagore)

Though the evening comes with slow steps
and has signaled for all to cease

Though your companions have gone to their rest
and you are tired

Though fear broods in the dark
and the face of the sky is veiled (X2)

Yet bird, o my bird, listen to me
don't close your wings

It is spoken.

The rain hasn't started
but I can hear it.
It is screaming from the thick morbid
veil across the sky

It is moaning through the fabric
tousled by the wind

It is spoken by the quiet
voices inside coffee shops

It is heard as the roots cry out
to the clouds for life

and the leaves breath in
the ladden air

the rain hasn't started
but I can hear it.


twilight (in progress)

Silhouettes
Outlines
Figures in black
Claim the skyline

They're standing still
immobile
and yet fluidly alive
transforming the present
by releasing the past

The conifers become giants
each mountain, a dragon
their darkness breathing life
to the solemn blue blanket of night

And their fire is seen in the heavens
with each new flicker of light
found in the dimming dry ocean
calling all to the evening's warmth

the heart which sailed the ocean blue

I knew a girl who had a heart
that longed to sail the ocean blue
she had not the heart of a mistress or maid
but that of a sailor, learned in his trade

It's beat could sound the depths of the deep
It's pulse could quicken the creatures beneath
this heart ruled it's owner, you see

From the bow of the boat, it made her leap
into the silent oceans deep
From the top of the sail it made her fly
from the tip of the waves to the edge of the sky

She soared o'r the the wind
and met birds in her flight
pelicans, seagulls and winged messengers of the night

She flew o'r the waters and
met sea creatures too!
The turtle, dolphin, and wales
made a hula baloo!

But when she had nearly finished her very first flight
Her heart wanted more, which she couldn't set right
For the wind was to fierce
and the waves were to strong
and she didn't believe the sirens song

So she left her heart there
in the depths of the sea
to be rediscovered by you and me
She returned to the boat and set things aright
and made the long voyage home with all of her might

a flower grows

"A flower grows! Look, a flower grows!" A young girl squeals in excitement. Her father peers in search of the source of her delight. "Yeah, honey, there's a flower there". Now, the whole neighborhood has heard her cherished phrase.

Each person stops to realize they haven't quite noticed the bloom. How is it that this flower is on the face of every child, yet we have failed to see it? Yearning for sunlight, the blossom unfolds in the darkest places. In the midst of hunger, poverty, abandonment, war and desolation it is not afraid to unfurl it's petals.

Yet it's eagerness has been misunderstood. It's youth mistaken for foolishness. How have children become the flowers we have learned to ignore? What lessons has a child to give? Is there an end to such a question? To answer this is to discover a priceless gift.

new lyrics

Arising (Song of Songs)

Who is this arising like the dawn
as pale as the moon and as bright at the sun
as majestic as an army with billowing banners
she went down to the grove of walnuts
and out to the valley to see the spring
to see weather the grape veins had budded or the pomegrantes bloom
and before she realized it she found herself in a chariot with her beloved

Chorus:

Place me like a seal over your heart (x2)

For love is as strong as death
it's jealousy enduring as the grave
love flashes like fire, the brightest kind of flame
many waters cannot quench love, nor rivers drown it
if a man tried to buy love, with all his wealth, he would be scorned

Chrous (x4)


Besides Myself

In our fear in our pride in our confusion
we tend to loose sight of the conclusion
for we think that we know all the answers
but deep inside we are lost

and my father says I love you (x3)
can everything else fade away?

In our pain in our lives in our exploration
we cling to the things we can see
for we hold onto hope in each waking moment
instead of looking towards eternity

Yet our father says I love you (x3)
and everything else fades away

With this day with this life
we will glorify you
for your are the hope that's alive
and you answer our fear pain pride and confusion
you heal the wounds we cannot

When our father says I love you (x3)
everything else fades away



Before it so desires


He looks her way and she has nothing to say
for his gaze holds the truth

She holding fast to a love that won't last
he's here he's now, but is he true?

Do not awaken love before it so desires (2)

Reminded of what her father might say
she finally turns away

Now she's left with all of her fears
alone with her wasted tears

Do not awaken love before it so desires (2)

Dress-Up (to my brother)

Do you remember dressing up
like old ladies
rummaging through mother's hats
in search of something just right?

running across baseball diamonds
through forests
and between the waves
Crashing down to the shore,
picking ourselves up and leaping
back into the tide?

Remember those quiet adventures
in the backyard, dreaming of
lava monsters and people
beyond our sight?

Was it just yesterday that we
entered the world with lunch pails
and toothless grins?

Was it yesterday we played
101 Dalmatians and laughed for
no reason when mom and dad
weren't looking?

My arms ache to hold the
little brother I once knew
but I'm learning to appreciate
the man that you've become
and let go of growing up
amidst the changing seasons
of this life
we will never be too old
to dress-up
and remember.

unwilling to trust

Tears will come no more
my heart is run dry

the idols of this life
torn away
and self revealed
for what it so often is

lost
confused
disillusioned
afraid
unwilling to trust
in a savior
who gave it all