In which I am distracted, or, writing a paper is like praying, kinda. Maybe I should just dance.

Unless it is urgent, I get distracted. Even sometimes when it is.

on disconnecting

I feel the loss
of facebook less
than twitter

I want the quick and easy
expressivity.

Especially when attempting
to express grand
philosophical
ideas in a tiny format.

Palm Sunday Reflections

There is something so lovely about light

something unphotographable

so unwordable

something about the Word

made flesh

made light

and life

I will mark ash

I will wave palms

I will rejoice

that he is triumphant

that he is risen

that he will come

again

and I remember

whenever the light is lovely.

finding old words

I was going over my finished journal to glean any tidbits of poetry or knowledge before I pack it away, and I found some words I had written to myself, some words I think may not have been my words.

You have a choice Catherine, you can choose to be anxious or you can choose to trust God. This is not the last time you will be offered this choice, nor is it the first. You have failed and you will fail again, but you have also succeeded and you will succeed again.

You have known the kindness of God, continue to search it out. Search for the heart of God. Do not be afraid, know that God is good. He is justice and mercy, he is holy. He desires your heart more than you know, more that you imagine or are willing to believe.

Your heart is beautiful, it is created by God, known by Him, loved by Him. There is more right with your heart than you know, and it's not up to you to decide what is wrong with it. Trust God to shape it as He wishes. Do as He says. Trust that it will result in your good, even if you can't see it right away. Trust that you have His spirit in you, that you can hear Him. Listen to that small still voice inside you.

Body

Some days I don't feel connected to my body at all. I feel like it's not mine, or like it is just a suit my self is wearing. That is not the truth. I want to learn to not only appreciate my form, which, mostly I do, but to actually feel like my body is mine, as in part of my whole self. I want to treat my body with as much respect as I treat my spirit or my soul, because after all, my body houses the Holy Spirit. I want to live in it with comfort and grace, to feel connected enough to be able to offer it as a sacrifice daily.

Some days I feel like all I am is breasts. And hips. This is also not true, but this is part of the problem. I try to take up less space, be less noticeable. I've spent so much time caring what other people thought of my body, worrying that I was showing too much or not enough, hating my body, learning to love my body, learning to not care, that in some ways I've just shut that connection down. I am not my body, because my body hurts people, causes people to lust, and I don't want to hurt people. I am not my body because you think it is ugly and I don't want to be ugly, or too sexy, or... That is not the truth. The truth is I am my body and I have to learn to live in it. Trying to distance myself from my breasts is not the answer. Letting somebody else determine what my appropriate body is cannot be part of the answer.

One Word 2013

I've been debating whether or not to take up this idea this year, and I still haven't decided. Maybe because I can't choose one word. I've thought of rest, speak, listen, and prophet so far, and I think they are all connected--which is maybe why I'm having such a hard time picking one. Anybody have any thoughts?

http://oneword365.com/

New Year

My resolution for 2013 is to get past the surface of my daily thoughts; to get down to the depths of honesty where my heart is dark and broken, and to see what is growing in the cracks like dandelions through a city sidewalk.

modesty in a Christian context

A letter from the women of Providence, my church, on the topic of modesty.

I have struggled with the concept of modesty quite a lot, believing that it is primarily a humble attitude in a person, not limited to the clothing women wear, and I'm so proud of the women in this church for the stand they are taking.

preparing for Lent

     I know, Lent is still pretty far away, but it is one of my favourite Christian traditions. It has been since I read about it in a book many many moons ago, when I was about 14. I start planning what I'm going to give up months in advance. I relish the idea of the upcoming sacrifice. That probably says something about me, that I like to give something up only for a defined period of time. I'm great at it usually, provided that it is something concrete--say junk food, not my snooze button. (The snooze button experiment of 2000-something was a definite failure.) This year I've been trying to identify what would be the most beneficial thing to give up, and I'm thinking it won't be something concrete. I'm thinking it will be harder. I'm thinking that what I'm going to try to give up is the fear of man, their perceptions of me, or least my perception of their perceptions. I'm thinking that the idea behind Lent isn't just to sacrifice something, or to relish the feeling of asceticism I get, but rather to take the time to look at what is holding me back from Jesus, and to let go of that, to focus my eyes upon Jesus. And I'm also thinking, why wait?
   
    If I know that this is a stumbling block for me, and it is, why wait? I spend far too much time being paralyzed by how people will react, and often that fear stops me from acting at all. It wraps me up in my head, imagining their judgement, their disapproval, and beating myself up with it. And that needs to stop. The only judgement I should be concerning myself with is God's.

The Lonely Land

Cedar and jagged fir
uplift sharp barbs
against the gray
and cloud-piled sky;
and in the bay
blown, spume and windrift
and thin, bitter spray
snap
at the whirling sky;
and the pine trees
lean one way.

A wild duck calls
to her mate,
and the ragged
and passionate tones
stagger and fall,
and recover,
and stagger and fall,
on those stones--
are lost
in the lapping of water
on smooth, flat stones.

This is a beauty
of dissonance,
this resonance
of stony strand,
this smoky cry
curled over a black pine
like a broken
and wind-battered branch
when the wind
bends the tops of the pines
and curdles the sky
from the north.

This is the beauty
of strength
broken by strength
and still strong.

A.J.M. Smith