blurred version of what You, my clear-eyed Friend,
can see without deform. I steel my nerve
against the fear of rumoured pain which all
my disappointment says that I deserve.
I want to shed the doubt that makes me stall.
Forgive me when I shut You out. I think,
in time, that when You touch me, I won’t blink.
“My child, do not ignore the instruction that comes from the Lord, or lose heart when He steps in to correct you; For the Lord disciplines those He loves, and He corrects each one He takes as His own. (Hebrews 12:5 The Voice)
When I received my first blogging award nomination my reaction was kind of like this –if you can imagine a very plump middle age woman in the place of this talented child. Well, perhaps this is not the best visual, but still:
I didn’t post it right away because I was just so humble (ahem) and also because I couldn’t figure out how to get the pasty link thing to work. So I dropped it to contemplate the gravity of the honour. Then there were some more very flattering nominations, which I truly appreciated.
Then I read the rules on some of them. Pass the award on to 15 other bloggers? As I often say to my husband, I said, “Husband, I am an English major. You do the math.” So he did. He figured that if everyone receiving an award passed that award on to 15 other people the very next day and they did the same, in little more than a week we could pretty much encourage the entire world –at least several billion of them.
This relates to my post On Being a Descendent of Royalty. Just because the designers of rules for receiving blogging awards were exceedingly generous doesn’t mean that they are not of value and that some kind people out there took the time to read my blog and nominate me for an award. I am truly grateful. I thank you. I am honoured.
So to catch up on some inexcusably overdue acknowledgements I would like to thank the following bloggers for their generosity and kind words:
Admin at Pure Gory
Deborah at “Ye shall know me by my fruits”
Victoria at Made for Victory
Melody at Meanwhile Melody Muses
Gracie at Frames and Focus
I highly recommend their sites.
Now, the obligatory seven things about myself list:
1. When I was in grade three I rode my imaginary horse, Ginger, home from school every day. The neighbours thought I was seriously gimped.
2. I’m usually in the process of reading at least six books at the same time and I often start in the middle.
3. I can’t dance or remember the 7 times table, but I always have music in my head. It can be annoying.
4. Between my husband, my children and their spouses and myself we have about 49 1/2 years of university education (so far). Some of it is paid for. I’ve done umpteen year’s worth of courses in music, education, theology, art, and English, but I don’t have a degree.
5. My parents were told I was dead. Mom had a caesarean section to deliver a stillborn, but some friends gathered all night to pray for this young couple and their baby. God must have heard, because I am here. Still.
6. I am seriously in love with Jesus Christ. So is my husband. It’s a magnificent threesome.
7. I published my first poetry at 12, sang in my first opera at 14, performed in a nightclub when I was too young to get in, dated a politician when I was too young to vote, learned to fly a kite at 45, went through adolescent rebellion at 39 and started splashing right through the middle of puddles at 55. It’s not just that I have a tendency to be ahead of the curve or behind the curve — the curve and I have never met.
The point of awards is, I think, to bring attention to worthwhile blogs, so rather than contribute to the devaluation of awards I choose to bypass the whole system and get to the point of saying check out these blogs. I shall try to do this on a more regular basis. The following bloggers may consider themselves winners of Charis’ very own first I LIKE YOU award (if I could figure out how to make an icon I would):
Check out these blogs:
(Edited to add: after 25 edits on this post I think this is as good as it’s going to get. Click on the URL and not the name of the blog and you should get there. sigh.)
There are other blogs I enjoy, of course. I’m just starting in order of when I first started reading them. If I forgot an award, please remind me, so I can make an excuse, and then acknowledge it.
I was looking forward to this journey to my Father’s house on the Alberta side of the Rockies. Usually the mountain views are stunning, but instead I drove through fog for nearly four hours. I could see very little beyond the verge by the highway most of the time. Sometimes the fog would lift for a moment only to re-form and descend again. I stopped near some cabins, closed for the season, to take a break from the tension of driving in poor visibility and found a beautiful stream. When I descended the Kootenay Parkway the clouds vanished.
(The stream that flows out of this reservoir is called St. Joseph’s Creek. It flows through the town below, out into the countryside and across a First Nations Reservation where it joins the St. Mary’s River just before it’s confluence with the Kootenay River. After a brief sojourn across the border, the Kootenay turns north, back into Canada, and waters a wide valley where fruit is grown commercially.)
(The story of this dinner party is told in John 12 and Mark 14)
But you are a chosen race,
a royal priesthood,
a holy nation,
a people for his own possession,
that you may proclaim
the excellencies of him who called you
out of darkness
into his marvelous light.
This poem goes with the painting “Night Vision” of a woman dreaming on a crystal sea under a night sky full of lights. It uses the imagery of the lovers in the Song of Solomon and also makes reference to the story in the book of Hosea of a man who keeps rescuing his unfaithful wife. Ishi is the old Hebrew word for husband/saviour/hero. Through the prophet Hosea God tells his people there will come a time when they will call him Ishi and not Baali (master). The ancient Hebraic written symbols for seer are a wall, a cutting implement and an eye. For kindness they are thorns, a cutting implement, and a door. Night Vision
Come away with me,
her lover calls.
He peers through the lattice;
he tosses pebbles against her frosty window.
Arise, my love, my chosen one
and come, come away with me.
The winter is past; the sleet is gone; the flowers lift their heads.
The season for singing has come.
Leave your compass on the desk;I am the way.
Our secret place lies in the rock’s cleft.
She stares through the glass darkly.
Ice shatters her view.
Where are you, Beloved? Where are you?
She rises, lifts the bar
and crosses the threshold on freshly washed feet.
Behind her ears, the white wolf,
descended from the city’s seven mountains,
accusing
cursing
threatening
yelps as his howls
meet the linen fence.
With her newborn eye she cuts a hole
through the thinned place in the thorn wall
and climbs into greater truth.
A pillar of lilies awaits her.
With one look you have ravished my heart, he whispers.
See? I rend the curtain of heaven
and like a gazelle leap the hills for you.
Let us swim in the sky, fly under the sea.
Come dance with me, my bride.
We are like children spinning amid the galaxies’ swirling skirts.
Together, let us puzzle the pieces
adding breadth and width and depth and height
until you sit at my side,
the earth our footstool.
Your eyes will hear.
Your ears will see.
Your fingertips will taste and know that I am good,
and in the language of the Spirit
write of colors you’ve never seen before.
Her lips move gently with the mouth of sleepers.
Ishi, my breath, she breathes.
Ishi, my hero.
Yeshua
(Inspired by a Learning Channel video about a Canadian surgeon who taught brain surgery to doctors in a tiny Russian clinic. The patient was required to be conscious in order to participate in the procedure.)
You May Feel Some Discomfort
Perhaps I had my eyes closed when your assistants bashed
my horizontal chariot through the swinging doors.
I didn’t see that sign.
Just as well.
If I had known
the surgery you intended to perform
(removing the run-away tumour of mal-formed thought)
required me to be awake for the procedure
I may have searched for an alternate practitioner,
one who would anesthetize me
with framed platitudes hung beside
hand-penned personal testimonies
of painless probes
and joyful function (temporarily) restored.
I would have,
at least,
googled the back pages of ancient pdf-ed medical knowledge,
or youtubed reports of accidental new age discovery,
or followed the links to a parallel universe of pharmacos deliverance.
I confess to some disrespectful misuse of your name
when the raucous drill began its breakthrough,
(can you really buy those at Walmart?)
but once my thoughts lay open before you
I merely concentrated on
raising my arm
and opening my hand.
Thanks for letting me rest
as you reassembled my humbled dome
(and for being careful to leave room for expansion).
Charis: Subject to Change 