Mending 'Broken Thought'

Sometimes I think,
as if I can figure things out.
Sometimes I write,
like I know what I'm writing about.
Sometimes I feel,
as if feeling could change the world.
Sometimes I speak,
having something "important" to say.

But sometimes...
I breathe deeply, remembering what it feels like to inhale.
I sing at the top of my lungs in the middle of a crowd, as if I were all alone.
I dance, confident with my bosom and my hips,
not seductive, just free.

And I recline into another's lap, one like a mother.
She is warm and wet, and I suppose this is like a womb.
So I feel safe.

That's when I know what believing is about.

blog-worthy blessing of the day

this morning i was once again amazed by the providential care of God. i have been contemplating the idea of purchasing a new laptop. mine is a 1998 IBM Thinkpad. it is very thick and heavy. and don't even think about buying a wireless card. alas, there would be nowhere to put it.

so, this morning i innocently inquired with one of my computer-savvy classmates for some advice about what kind of computer to get, etc. instead of advice, he offered me a FREE Dell laptop, much newer and thinner than my current model, complete with wireless capability and windows XP. turns out it was given to him as a gift, and he doesn't need it. he already has a nicer laptop of his own. so, that's right, he offered me a FREE laptop.

so, this post is about saying thank you to generous, generous people (thanks, Chuck!), AND recognizing that God is the ultimate source of "every good and perfect [and free] gift."

Back in Black

"back" meaning back to school. "black" being a color i have worn a lot this week. i have noticed that for some reason i tend to wear colors in phases. red for a few days, then black, then purples and blues. what does all this mean? perhaps you can tell me.

i think it is going to be a good semester. on the study agenda for the coming week:

african traditional religions (not all of them. that would be utterly exhausting. yoruba mostly.)
a theology of pastoral care & counseling
Mark 2 in its original Greek expression
paul riceour's hermeneutics and the human sciences
(but only about 10 pages, because that's all we can handle in one week's time)

i am also beginning an internship with the Christian Life Commission of the Baptist General Convention of Texas. the CLC works on a wide variety of public policy issues in texas, including but not limited to criminal justice, environment, education, and campaign finance reform. they also do interfaith work, and i will start my internship by focusing on Christian/Muslim dialogue. next week i'll be attending a forum on this issue that is sponsored by the texas council of churches. my plan for this blog over the next year is twofold:
1 let ya'll know what i learn about the inner workings of the texas legislature, various policy issues, and the interfaith community
2 prove that all baptists are not closed-minded, fundamentalist, republican, etc. (widespread misconceptions here)

Hope

Today a flood of danger swirls about us.
Today the tides of sorrow rush our home.
Just one tomorrow may not heal this devastation.
But one day we'll be singin' victory songs...

Preach it, Sistah!

On Sunday, I preached my last sermon of the summer at Lake Somerville (that's a lot of s-words for one sentence). I have been preaching there for the past two months to a different congregation of lakeside campers every week. The outdoor setting is ideal-- right beside the water, under a grove of trees, subtle breeze to soften the Texas heat.

It was a good "last Sunday." The sponsors of the service had many kind words to say about my sermons and my leadership. They even offered me a gig there next summer. It was the kind of morning that I would like to bottle up and store in my cellar, so it can age and be savored again, during times when good feelings run scarce. At one point, Maxwell, who's sort of the boss of the whole lakeside ministry, even got a little teary as he spoke of what I had meant to him. I want to remember Sunday, August 28, 2005 on days when I feel sucky and incompetent and unloved, when all I see upon looking in my mirror is a scarred and feeble, misshapen girl.

That reminds me of something I saw on a soap opera the other day. Yes, sometimes I watch soap operas. I was watching "Days of Our Lives," tuning in to the latest chapter in the saga of Chloe and Brady. The short version of the story is that Chloe was in a terrible accident, probably a year or so ago, and now her face is horribly disfigured. Not only is her face scarred, but it is also infected with some kind of something that causes her wounds to fester and ooze. Chloe is convinced that no one can stand the sight of her, much less love her. Well, Brady does love her. He has for quite a while, even back before her accident. And he loves her still, so much that when he looks at her face, he doesn't see the ugliness. The TV screen actually morphs when it is showing Brady's view of Chloe. All you see is shimmering perfection, smooth complexion, where scars used to be.

Well, if you don't think God can inspire somebody through a soap opera, think again, 'cause it happened to me. It occured to me, as I indulged my appetite for bad TV, that God sees you and me the way Brady sees Chloe. It's not that God is unaware of our scar tissue-- our failures, our weaknesses, our BIG mistakes. It's just that God doesn't hold these things against us. I think God must have this incredible capacity to envision what every human being is underneath all of that crap that distorts our images of ourselves and gives other people a bad impression.

Part of being a Christ-follower is coming to grips with the way God sees you and me. "From now on we regard no one from a human point of view..." (2 Cor. 5:16 or 17?) I think it's often much easier for us to see our own sin than it is to see our own beauty. Especially on some days. That's why we need days and times when people sing our praises and give us a glimpse of what we often fail to see in ourselves. Thank God for last Summer sermon at Lake Somerville Sundays.

It would be nice if drinking too much wine could actually give you God-vision, instead of a hangover. There'd be a lot more happy people out there, and a lot more peace in the world...

PMS

PMS is a real thing. I can go for almost a whole month feeling relatively happy and normal until the hormones go nuts and bring me along for the ride. I think PMS stands for:

Pocket of Miserable Shittiness
Pool of Masochistic Suffering
Probably going to be a Monster for Several days
Perfect Method for Self-destruction
Paranoid Mass of Suspicions
not Possible to Make Sense
Plethora of Maniacal Symptoms
Passing Mirages of Serenity
Please love Me, Sir!