Incoherant Mutterings of a Rabid Poet

Tuesday, 09 September 2008

  • farewell to thee, oh xanga

    I'm switching to my blogger account. I decided it's not worth the hassle of posting on two blogs, especially when almost no-one reads either of them, anyway. In case anyone does stumble across this page sometime, and is, for whatever reason, interested--my ramblings will, most likely, continue here:

    http://rabid-poet.blogspot.com/

    Tally-ho!

Sunday, 10 August 2008

  • in which we discuss the dangers of driving at sunset

    When I took the driving test to get my license, I only made one mistake. But it was a bad mistake. According to the lady who kept track of my score, it was the worst mistake listed on her sheet (except, probably, for mowing down pedestrians or attempting to outrun a cop). Going through an unmarked intersection, you see, I apparently breezed right through, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and putting myself and my passenger in grave danger of being broadsided by any number of phantom cars that might or might not have been there. Subtract eight points from the final tally. Actually, I retain the private opinion that I did look both ways before crossing the street; only that my head didn't move, and due to the fact that I was wearing sunglasses, my instructor failed to note the silent rotation of my eyeballs in their sockets. I did not, however, press charges at the time, seeing that I received a passing grade even with the deduction. It was also comforting that, apart from my instructor, my mother, and myself, no-one ever need know about the incident, thus keeping my driver-ly reputation, for now, at a decent level of mediocre. Unless, of course, some loony-bird were to take it into her head to include it as an anecdote in a blog post intended to be broadcast all across the universe by way of the internet. But what kind of nut would do something like that?

    It struck me the other day what a tragically hilarious irony it would be if that was how I died: if, in a carbon-copy repeat of that one mistake on that first day, I was flying blissfully through an unmarked intersection on my way to a Bingo re-match at the senior center, heedless of danger and daydreaming happily of brownies and decaf coffee, only to be skewered at the last by a panic-stricken semi. Actually, it would probably be the semi's driver that would be panic-stricken. I doubt if the truck itself would care that much.

    I seem just as likely, if not more so, to die in a head-on collision with oncoming traffic (what other kind of traffic, might I ask, does one get into head-on collisions with?), due to an irresistible compulsion to gaze, enraptured, at the sunset or a passing pelican, instead of at the road. Roads don't stand up to a whole lot of enraptured gazing, and I tire of them rather quickly. Sunsets, on the other hand...ah, me. Oh, and pelicans. Pelicans are nice, too. So are wallabies, for that matter. But I digress.

    I was headed east on a rather lonely blacktop this evening, and I could see rain on the horizon. A greyish haze smothered most of the visibly sky, but there was a certain amount of sunshine filtering thoughtfully through from the west. It was neither gloomy nor cheerful. I didn't even really notice that it was anything at all, until later. I came to a stop sign, and signaled a left turn. There was a blue minivan coming up on my right, so I waited for them to pass. (See, I do sometimes look both ways at intersections.) I happened to glance to my left as I rounded the corner, and I saw the sky.

    It wasn't quite sunset yet, but it was glorious. I groped, even then, for words that might translate a little bit of this glory to the page; but the endeavor was vain. Imagine a clear, blue patch of sky on the western horizon of an otherwise overcast sky. Imagine a single column of mounting, gilt-edged cloud in the center, and hard-edged rays of sunlight spilling out into the corn fields below. Imagine that, only a hundred times better and more brilliant. Do you think you could keep your eyes off it? I couldn't.

    The glory surprised me. The rest of the sky was so nondescript this evening; who would have anticipated such brilliance in that one corner? There's something incredible about finding beauty where you didn't expect it. A dandelion wriggles its way up through a crack in the sidewalk. A boring acquaintance turns out, in fact, to be quite witty and charming once you get to know her. A really lovely song sets in the middle of an otherwise forgettable CD. A hand-written letter arrives from a far-away friend. A gorgeous sunset crowns the end of a cloudy day.

    I glanced back at the road just in time to avoid hitting a large pickup truck coming over the brow of a hill. They should never have given me my license.

Saturday, 12 July 2008

  • Babies, Bugs and Breezes

    Part I

    Breezes


    I was picking strawberries, and it was hot. It could even, I believe, have been classified as very hot. Have you ever sat down on your knees in the middle of a vast field of strawberry plants, wearing a pair of thick, rubber rain pants, crouched in the same worried position for hours on end, exposed to the relentless persecution of a 95 degree summer sun? I don't really recommend it. It is...well...hot. But that's what I was doing. I kind of thought I was going to die.

    But then it happened. There was a rustling noise in the trees round about (too far away to offer any useful shade, but near enough to rustle effectively), and the leaves of the strawberry plants began to sway back and forth and laugh delightedly. The thick, lifeless air that had been hanging around my face, like a fat kid at a candy store, became suddenly alive and animated. My hair fluttered off the back of my neck, my t-shirt flapped around a bit, and my whole body heaved a collective sigh of incalculable relief.

    There was, in a word, a breeze.

    There are few things quite so delightfully refreshing under such circumstances as a cool, delicious breeze--even if it floats through for but a moment and is gone. It's such a simple thing. All the air has to do is move around a little bit. But it does such wonders for an aching, weary strawberry picker.

    I was reminded of a day, not long ago, in which a breeze of a less obvious sort had similarly lifted my spirits and smoothed my rumpled nerves. It had been, as they say, "one of those days". To begin with, my alarm had forgotten to go off at 5:55 the way it was supposed to (largely because I had forgotten to reset it the night before), and I leapt with a startled cry from my bed at about 6:54--six minutes before we were supposed to arrive at the strawberry patch, half an hour away.

    Things didn't exactly plummet downhill from there, but they didn't really improve, either. We were, obviously, late for work; and the picking that day was exceptionally bad. To make matters worse, I wasn't keeping a close enough eye on the time (again), and at about 1:45 I remembered that we had to get home in time to get Cami to work by 2:30. The details aren't worth explaining; just believe me when I tell you that that wasn't enough time. The icing on the cake, or the straw that broke the camel's back, or (as I prefer to call it) the end of the world as we know it, came when the van ran out of gas on my way home.

    Well, it all worked out in the end, and though I felt rather awful at the inconvenience that I caused for everyone in the process of getting back up to sea level, it could certainly have been much worse. Nevertheless, I was feeling rather low when I stopped at the grocery store later that afternoon. It didn't help much that the parking lot exit was obstructed by a number of road cones and a man in a florescent suit. Actually it was supposed to be the parking lot entrance, but the real exit was entirely blocked off, so the entrance was double-tasking. I recognized the man in the florescent suit, actually; I'd noticed him directing traffic in different places as road construction progressed over the past few weeks. He looked pretty much like the rest of the worker dudes (as we like to call them), except for one thing: his arms and hands were short and deformed, so that in order to hold onto his orange traffic flag, it was all he could do to hug it against his chest. My heart went out to him, but I tried to resist the urge to pity him. Instead I admired his determination to live, and work, without falling back on welfare or self-pity. It was more than most in his position would probably have cared to achieve.

    All these things I had thought before, but I wasn't really thinking them that particular afternoon as I pulled up to the edge of the road and waited for the signal that the coast was clear. I was still thinking listlessly about how dumb I was, and how all these mini-catastrophes wouldn't have been so depressing if only they hadn't been so obviously and exclusively my fault. Then the man in the florescent suit walked up to my open window, and asked me how my day was going.

    I was so flabbergasted that the best I could do was to blink hard, smile, and stutter, "Um, well, not too bad so far...." And it really wasn't such a fib as all that, because all of a sudden my day really didn't seem that bad anymore. It's hard to describe the sudden breath of fresh air that washed into my life through that expression of friendliness and compassion, so casual, but so unexpected. I could only imagine the struggle that this man's entire life had to have been, living with a disability like he did; I was the one sitting comfortably in an air-conditioned van, while he spent his days standing out in the heat, the noise, and the monotony of rural road construction; and yet he was the one that reached out, with cheer and friendly concern, to brighten my day.

    Several seconds passed before it occurred to me to ask how his day had been. He said he was almost done for the day already. "It's just wrong going home this early," he laughed. I laughed, too. We chatted for a minute, and then the pilot car drove by, and I went on my way.

    It's amazing the impact that can be made in someone's life, with such a simple expression of concern or encouragement. You never know what kind of trials may be burdening the lives of the people you meet every day; so go ahead--chat with the elderly lady behind you in the checkout aisle; cheerfully hold the door for the busy mom with her arms full of diaper bags and children; look people in the eyes and smile as you walk by; ask them how they're doing. Let the love and joy of Christ flow through you and touch the lives of those around you, even in small ways like this. Be a gentle breeze on a hot summer day.

Wednesday, 09 July 2008

  • Fluff and Stuff

    Read the lyrics to this song, would you please? Does it sound like a song of repentance and worship? There's only one adjective I left out, and, in my opinion, it's that adjective that determines the meaning of the song. Read on:


    I have been blind, unwilling to see
    The true love you're giving.
    I have ignored every blessing.
    I'm on my knees confessing

    That I feel myself surrender
    Each time I see your face.
    I am captured by your beauty,
    Your ________ grace.
    And I feel my heart is turning,
    Falling into place.
    I can't hide it
    Now hear my confession.

    I have been wrong about you.
    Thought I was strong without you.
    For so long nothing could move me.
    For so long nothing could change me.

    Now I feel myself surrender
    Each time I see your face.
    I am captured by your beauty,
    Your _________ grace.
    And I feel my heart is turning,
    Falling into place.
    I can't hide it
    Now hear my confession.

    You are the air that I breathe.
    You're the ground beneath my feet.
    When did I stop believing?

    Cause I feel myself surrender
    Each time I see your face.
    I am captured by your beauty,
    Your _________ grace.
    And I feel my heart
    Falling into place.
    I can't hide it
    Now hear my confession.
    I can't hide it
    Now hear my confession.
    Hear my confession



    The song is called (predictably) "My Confession". The missing word is (less obviously) "unassuming". I find this rather disturbing. You see, apart from that one word, this song ought only ever to be sung to God. Only God deserves that kind of unreserved, worshipful, all-consuming love and adoration. If you were to replace the blank spaces with something like "amazing" or "overwhelming" or "never-changing", you'd be on the right track. But who ever thought of God's grace as being "unassuming"? It sounds weird, it isn't accurate, and it doesn't fit.

    So this is a love song. To a person. (Josh Groban sings it--what else did we expect?) Talk about idolizing love.....Or, well, "love". But we've been over that. The point is that there isn't a human being on earth whose merits warrant that kind of praise.

    Most "love songs" tend to be like that, from what I've observed--the sort of "baby, I can't live without you, my life was empty before I met you, if you leave me I'll go into a delirious fever and die" kind of thing that would make any right-minded listener question the singer's sanity.

    Now, don't get me wrong. I like Josh Groban. Or at least, I like his music. I've never met the guy, and don't really care to. But he has a swell voice, and tends to sing musically engaging songs that just beg to be sung along to. (At least, the ones you can actually pronounce the words to; the others you have to sort of just howl the melody line, and make gargling noises periodically so it sort of sounds like language.)
    It's the lyrics that cause problems. I mean, even aside from the fact that most of them are sappy, idolatrous serenades to anonymous women. Of the few that are actually written in English, the vast majority are really bad poetry. (Honestly--would you ever stand up and do a recitation of something like "And when you're with me if I close my eyes / There are times I swear I feel like I can fly / For a moment in time. / Somewhere between the Heavens and Earth / And frozen in time, Oh when you say those words"? Oh please.) There are a couple that might pass for decent poetry, mainly on the strength of their being so cryptic and ambiguous that it's hard to tell which way is even up, let alone if it means anything. Most of the songs, however, are written in Italian or Swahili or something else equally absurd; which, though somewhat annoying, mercifully keeps the listener from actually comprehending what's being sung. Though I imagine, if you were to go find some scholar of Swahili and have him translate the lyrics, you'd come out with the same kind of phenomenally garbled, fever-induced craziness that crops up all over the English ones.

    I don't know--I have yet to step inside the world of what we call "romantic love", and can only observe its symptoms from afar. Maybe it really does cause even its better victims to lose their center of gravity and go spinning out into depths of wide-eyed delirium. Maybe there is no escape. But I'm inclined to think there is; we're just ignoring it, because we like being lost.

    This world is in desperate need of some intelligent, musically-and-poetically-g
    ifted songwriters with their heads and hearts screwed in straight, to write us some decent, level-headed, honest love songs. Wouldn't you rather be told anyway, in the end, "Darling, I love you, but I love my Savior more"?

  • So...Do They?

    "Even Angels Cry"


    -By Jars of Clay-


    I whisper,"You don't have to worry, we'll survive"
    Forced smiles underneath the brittle, frozen light
    No proof that you're alive
    Cold fingers find the curve below your tired eyes
    No comfort in familiar places, not this time
    You hold it deep inside

    Oh sister, if you wake up in the night
    Walls are falling, letting in the light
    No need to worry
    Baby, even angels cry

    No flood warnings, still the waters rise
    Flowers through asphalt, Diamonds in the pockets of your eyes
    Turn your face and hide
    I saw a woman with ribbons in her hair
    Old and lonely, so beautiful I had to stop and stare
    The well will not run dry

    Oh sister, if you wake up in the night
    Walls are falling, letting in the light
    No need to worry
    Baby, even angels cry

    Oh sister, if you wake up in the night
    Walls are falling, letting in the light
    No need to worry
    Baby, even angels cry

    Cry Sister, if you wake up in the night
    Walls are falling, letting in the light
    It'll be alright
    Baby, even angels cry

    Baby, please don't worry
    Not tonight


    ---------

    Eccl. 3:4
    Rom. 12:15
    Rev. 21:4
    John 11:35

    (All these verses seem to refer mainly, if not exclusively, to humans; so they may be irrelevant to the topic. In fact, the topic itself may be irrelevant. But I just wondered.)

    --------


    What do YOU think? Do angels cry?

Saturday, 14 June 2008

  • Fool's Gold

    I watched the movie "Spider-Man" tonight, for about the seven hundredth time in my short career as a human being. This movie, though a worthy film in many ways, and still on my list of favorites, has been watched and re-watched by our family, very nearly to the point of exhaustion. I know it, as the saying goes, like the back of my hand.

    Tonight's viewing, however, kept my attention unusually well, for at least three different reasons. The first item of interest was the fact that we were forced, by the approaching bedtime of the youngest of our company, to shorten the film to about half its natural length, by way of the FF button. The second was due largely to the over-active vocal cords of another brother of mine, who, though charming enough in his own peculiar way, is an incurable chatterbox, and apparently gains immense satisfaction from giving a running commentary on anything and everything that crosses his field of vision. Neither of these things is all that unheard of, though, in our household, and it is in the third abnormality that I am chiefly interested.

    You see, I discovered tonight that I am jaded. Hardened. Disenchanted. And I'm glad.

    Don't worry: I don't really mean that. At least, I'm over-stating it. Here's what really happened.

    Tonight I watched "Spider-Man", and the romantic part of the story didn't touch me the way it used to. It didn't cause a melting sensation to begin in the pit of my being and work its way outward, and it didn't start a lilting, springtime song in the back of my head. I didn't sigh, I didn't sympathize, and I didn't daydream. I watched it as a disinterested observer (not uninterested--disinterested; there's a difference), hypothesizing how, under different circumstances, this might work; but shaking my figurative head over how artificial it all was. And I realized that I finally believed something that I've known for a long time: This isn't love.

    Hollywood and its advocates, along with most of the rest of world, would like very much for us to believe that it is love. They want us to think the jumble of sensations and emotions we experience when we are around certain people who interest or excite us, can be confidently be labelled as "love". They want us to believe that this love is inevitable, inescapable, spontaneous, and uncontrollable. They want it to rule our passions, dictate our actions, and excuse our shortcomings. But they're wrong.

    Now, I have never been "in love", neither by the world's definition of the term or by God's. I admit freely that I am no expert on the subject. There is much, much that I do not know or understand; an eternity will not be sufficient for any of us to even begin to scratch the surface of the unsearchable depths of God's wisdom and knowledge. But here, nevertheless, are some of my observations and convictions, for your consideration.

    Girls today (and, doubtless, throughout history, though in different ways) have been led to believe that the "perfect guy" is out there somewhere, waiting for them, and that if they "try out" enough guys, they'll eventually find him. They'll know when they've finally got the One, because he'll do things like hold her hand in public, play with her hair, call her just to say "I love you", tell her she's beautiful, and do handstands to make her laugh when she's had a bad day. An electric thrill will run through her body when he looks into her eyes, and she'll get weak in the knees when he talks to her. She won't be able to get him out of her mind, and he'll tell her he can't stop thinking about her, either. This is supposed to be love.

    But it's not. It's just an empty counterfeit, and it will shatter under the pressures of real life. No flame can burn with such fury indefinitely, without adequate fuel; and a vague, emotional attraction will certainly never suffice. Any worthless, unprincipled bum can run his fingers through your hair, if he thinks that's what will make you "fall in love" with him; anyone can tell you you're amazing and you light up his life, if he thinks that will make you believe he's also "in love" with you.

    I'm not saying all this to try and make everyone suspect everyone else of foul play, or to create an atmosphere of mistrust and fear. That's certainly not what we need. I merely propose that the above-mentioned symptoms of of who-knows-what-mental-disorder ought not to be confused with real, abiding love.

    I'm going to make a few rather shocking statements now. Please don't shoot me.

    1) Love is not an emotion. It is an attitude of the heart.

    2) The only sense in which there is "only one perfect match" for any given person, is in that God has determined from before the foundations of the world if and whom you should love. Inasmuch as it lies with you, you could love any number of very different people.

    3) Love is a choice.

    I don't want a guy who will buy me jewelry and sing me love songs and sweep me off my feet. (Though if my future husband wants to do that sort of thing, in addition to what God requires, I'll be the last one to stand in his way.) What I do want is a godly man; a man who desires to serve and glorify his Savior with everything he is and has and does; a man who isn't ashamed of what he believes in. Certainly he will have faults and shortcomings in abundance; but if he trusts in Christ's blood to cover his sins in the sight of God, we can make the life-long journey of sanctification together.

    What do you suppose would happen if you saved your love for the one God has chosen for you to spend your life with? Suppose you gained the mastery of your emotions, and refused to allow them to govern your life. What if you guarded your heart, and gave it away to no man or boy, until you were ready to give it to one man forever?

    Don't be fooled into settling for a counterfeit. Wait for the real thing. It may not look the way you expect it to; it may seem more frightening, less adrenaline-laced, and infintely more real, than what you thought you wanted. But God's way works. Trust Him.

    "I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
    Do not stir up no awaken love
    Until it pleases."
    ~Song of Solomon 8:4

    "Keep your heart with all diligence,
    For out of it spring the issues of life."
    ~Proverbs 4:23

Saturday, 10 May 2008

  • alone

    I sit here quietly
    And all alone
    I wonder why
    And will it change?
    I've been like this
    For far too long
    It's like a chill I can't escape
    That clutches heart and flesh alike
    If I move
    Will it bring heat?
    Or will I run in desparate circles
    Gaining nothing for my pains
    Until I am overcome?

    On an island
    All alone
    I scratch my name out in the sand
    And watch the ships as they go by
    Some so near
    They brush the shore
    But never stopping
    Never waiting
    Always just beyond my reach
    If I stand up
    And wave my arms
    Will they see and let me in?
    Or will I make myself a fool...
    Just sit back down

    I lie in bed
    So much alone
    I whisper to the darkness
    Are You still there
    Or have You gone?
    My tears are cold
    Upon my face
    Then in anger brushed away
    I can't do this
    On my own
    I know You're here, but let me see You
    For my faith has grown so weak
    Lead me out
    Into Your light
    Show me there what really matters
    Make Your love my one delight
    Take me away

    I hear You say
    I'm not alone
    I never was and never will be
    That burden too You bore for me
    I have no need
    That You can't fill
    This world has nothing now to offer
    I've searched it to its farthest corners
    All its love is emptiness
    It fades and dies
    But You remain
    How could I chase that phantom candle
    And leave the sun behind my back?
    Take what I am
    And make me Yours
    Save me from myself, I pray
    Make Yours the joy that keeps me going
    Yours the love that keeps me warm
    And Yours the peace
    That fills my soul
    As You help me to believe
    The promise that You've given me:
    I'm never alone.


Thursday, 08 May 2008

  • The golden sun, sinking towards the horizon,
    Will rise again tomorrow.
    The fresh, spring grass, quivering in the breeze,
    Always grows again.
    Our God is faithful.
    You're His little girl.
    He shared you with us, for a little while
    You taught us so much
    You brought so much joy
    You touched so many lives
    With the love of your Savior,
    In ways we may never understand.
    You were a heavy gift, but precious
    And when your time here was complete
    Your Father wrapped His loving arms around you
    And carried you home.
    Now you dance, with perfect abandon,
    Through fields of endless delight
    Your eyes, from tears forever free,
    Gaze upon your Savior's face
    And your beautiful, celestial voice,
    WIth saints' and angels' blended,
    Is lifted up forever to praise our glorious King.
    I'll miss you, sweet sister,
    More than I know how to say
    Sometimes words just aren't enough
    But I know this isn't the end
    This world wasn't your home
    And it isn't mine
    Every moment
    Eternity seems a little nearer.
    Each breath
    Carries us a little closer to home.
    Someday soon I'll come join you
    And we'll sing together
    Forever.
    I love you
    Happy Lord's Day, Mitten.

Friday, 01 February 2008