"Wake up, kids, we've got the dreamer's disease..."
New Radicals, You Get What You Give
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
Semisonic, Closing Time
"I am invincible, as long as I'm alive."
John Mayer, No Such Thing
"I can only imagine..."
MercyMe, I Can Only Imagine
What lyrics speak to you, more than just words?
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Fiction Excerpt
From my work-in-progress.
My main character, Besty, is caught in a splendid and carefree moment, one of her first in quite some time. Her adult son has interrupted with a phone call, with his plans for the family trip she's been coordinating...
***
“I’m sending Virginia.”
Besty was weeding her garden, deep in the soil, wearing panties and a faded shirt of Silas’—not a stitch more. No custom gloves protected her smooth hands, no tools littered the bed of flowers. She didn’t have use for them. No want for them, either, not today.
The feel of the dirt, which now slimed the cordless telephone she held between head and shoulder, smudging her cheek, was like raw silk. It was a... an intimate feeling.
“Sending her? What do you mean, Charles?” The warm morning breeze, alive, stirred around her bare legs, making them long to dance.
“To the lake, Mom. I can’t come, but the wife can.”
She heard a tap tap tap, full of motivation, behind his voice.
“Virginia’s really excited about it. I'd bet she’s already packing.”
“That’s wonderful, love. But why can’t you come?” She rose to her feet, spun with experimentation. Didn’t lose her balance, hmm. She’d forever been envious of dancers, who moved their bodies with such powerful ease.
“Here’s the deal, Mom.” More tapping, woven with his voice.
Besty imagined it was the beat; she, the dancer.
“I’ve got procedures that week, there’s no telling how they’ll go, if there will be complications. And of course, there are always emergencies. I doubt things will clear up enough, Mom. I just don’t see how I can take vacation right now.”
“You’re certain?” Breathe, two, three. Breathe, two, three.
“I don’t want to make any promises I won’t be able to keep.”
A rock jammed her heel, puncturing her poise. Chagrin filled the space that had only moments before been occupied by beauty. Confidence.
She dropped to her knees. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am, Charles.”
My main character, Besty, is caught in a splendid and carefree moment, one of her first in quite some time. Her adult son has interrupted with a phone call, with his plans for the family trip she's been coordinating...
***
“I’m sending Virginia.”
Besty was weeding her garden, deep in the soil, wearing panties and a faded shirt of Silas’—not a stitch more. No custom gloves protected her smooth hands, no tools littered the bed of flowers. She didn’t have use for them. No want for them, either, not today.
The feel of the dirt, which now slimed the cordless telephone she held between head and shoulder, smudging her cheek, was like raw silk. It was a... an intimate feeling.
“Sending her? What do you mean, Charles?” The warm morning breeze, alive, stirred around her bare legs, making them long to dance.
“To the lake, Mom. I can’t come, but the wife can.”
She heard a tap tap tap, full of motivation, behind his voice.
“Virginia’s really excited about it. I'd bet she’s already packing.”
“That’s wonderful, love. But why can’t you come?” She rose to her feet, spun with experimentation. Didn’t lose her balance, hmm. She’d forever been envious of dancers, who moved their bodies with such powerful ease.
“Here’s the deal, Mom.” More tapping, woven with his voice.
Besty imagined it was the beat; she, the dancer.
“I’ve got procedures that week, there’s no telling how they’ll go, if there will be complications. And of course, there are always emergencies. I doubt things will clear up enough, Mom. I just don’t see how I can take vacation right now.”
“You’re certain?” Breathe, two, three. Breathe, two, three.
“I don’t want to make any promises I won’t be able to keep.”
A rock jammed her heel, puncturing her poise. Chagrin filled the space that had only moments before been occupied by beauty. Confidence.
She dropped to her knees. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am, Charles.”
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thanksgiving
Look closely. Do you see them? The fingers of God? They reach thick and full and bright through the clouds, stretching toward that which is His. The land, every thing upon it, near, far, breathing, not. You, me. All is His, and He wants to touch, warm, remind of purpose and beauty. Call out His existence.
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I watch for and eagerly await those fingers. When I see them, and it's often if I'm looking, I know He's not far, not really. And I know He sees me, too, insignificant as I am from His highest perch. But I am. And you are. Each of us in this great big, hurting, beautiful, brilliant, lacking world.
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We are.
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For this, I am thankful.
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This holiday, what are you thankful for?
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