The Campaign run by Protest4 is offering a t-shirt that raises awareness of a secret and cruel existence for many woman and children. The goal is to change things and the culture that enslaves them.

You can go here just to donate,

or if you would like to sport your own personal (and much more comfortable) sandwich board go ahead and visit this site which will get you delivery to your U.S. address. Each shirt gives $4 to fund the campaign.

I just ordered mine.

Just watch, the shirt will soon show up in Us Weekly. Louis Vuitton is so last week...

So Far So Good

Karin misses me sufficiently. Not too much, not too little. I can even lend a hand at internet tools. Next step is for her to get a blog. I'd read it! Then again, that may be the drawback.
The Vanguard University campus (formerly Southern California College back in the day) is just right for the type of college it is. And close by is Buffalo Exchange, where K will work. I'm really happy for her and am looking forward to sharing this time with her.

The house is pretty quiet, a little cleaner perhaps, but not very fun. I still may not be recovered and I feel badly for those who are left in this dwelling with me. But I am thankful for small graces and a few friends who are listening for me at the door of their lives. The world is really a beautiful place. The fog may yet clear for me to see it properly.

Uganda May Get Peace

Peace does have a price, but should the price be justice? The peace talks in Uganda means that some may go free in order for there to be a stop to the killing. What would the children want? What can bring peaceful nights to the parents who live in fear?

Can it be enough to just hope and pray that for now, no one has to die?

Ginnungagap

While in Seattle I went to see Sigrid Sanstom's art at the Frye.
It was one of the many ways I was listening before coming to see friends @ Soliton. The images of ice connected me to what I saw and experienced in Alaska, but the images of explorers with flags staking claims arrested my attention. She speaks to the longing in us to "lay claim". She wonders through her paintings, films and installations whether permanence is impossible and what we do with the longing which can often distract us from our purpose. The question hangs in the air. The film of a vast ocean with a flag on a floating buoy let's the question be beautiful and fascinating.

Some notes form my journal as I reflected on these images:

I see that flag again. How can one be welcoming in a barren expanse? We have to have a rootedness in order to welcome. Do we see a wilderness in us longing for a claim; a place to settle? This artist says there is a falsity to laying claim. And it's disturbing to think only because she may be right. We follow Jesus who was of a clan of wanderers. Why do we put up structures? And when we do, why are surprised it can't hold people?
We make a home, but only for children who move away. We make a church, but it cannot contain heaven. I am really speaking of houses and Cathedrals; the symbols.

Maybe like the faith of the Father, I can love and never let go. Maybe that faith sees the whole. Maybe the Prodigal in fact never really left the Father. The Father only lost sight of him. It is fitting that the Father would trust this. He knows because of growth. (And the son(s) being in his bloodline can be expected to grow likewise.) At least this is the design of things, this is the opportunity. This is the inheritance, freely given. Whether he is alive or dead, it doesn't matter, the Father was more than willing to give it away. Here I am reminded that this must be a story of God. How impossible it all seems.
The Father, this Good Father, shows himself to always give freely. Even to the one who stays at home. The Elder somehow did not understand he was free to receive and lay claim. The Father says "Here, take it all"
We can be the son who takes all from the Father and we can be the Father who gives all to the son. The Love between them is the Holy Spirit, the hidden love that makes things visible. I don't know whether I can say I've layed claim to this love. I don't know if love is like a wide open sea with a depth too deep to anchor. But this painting speaks of Home. And I choose to trust the one who paints it.

I Will Survive

"as long as i know how to love i know i'll stay alive"

I think I heard this in the airwaves as we ate together this afternoon. Matt was sitting across from Karin. The dynamic at the table was gracful for him even though He could hardly look at me 'cause I had to lay down the parental.



Laying down the parental means telling the boy what needs to be said to him in spite of how cool I am. We are usually on the same side of the political landscape of our home, but I had to remind him of a few things. I am convinced, that even though he is all of 14, (pause and think of that! -how insufferable) he should treat house guests which had arrived that morning with more than a silent stare. I must teach him.
So I was making my point at the table with an uncharacteristically heavy hand. I've been a single parent this past week.
To add to the parental duties, is the College Dorm Shopping.

I am too young for this.
We are at times taken for sisters. But today I am clearly the ol' Mum.
It physically hurt. I would be waiting for her at the end of the shampoo isle, the towel isle, the small electronics isle. I tried to straighten up from my slump over the cart in time as she approached. I tried to keep the deep sighs from reaching her ears. I had moments of transcendence and grace in which to forget that she is moving out. I had singular moments where I was not aware that this part of her life is over and I'm disappearing from the Role I once played.
Something is coming after all this, but I don't like it. So I will go for a drive and listen to MJB.
The soul, the soul, it must be all good for the soul.

One Moment is Enough for One Word

One moment is enough
for one word
and what you say to me of
lists and gangling fences
corral my self tight tethered
Brick-fast
plastered to embankments
blasted by winds of words
cast in careless timetales
microwaved in mindless
microclimates

One moment is enough
for one word
and what you say to me of
tesselating glances married
unto bright and outlined funneled
braces
folding outer arms and basements
heated by a tender covering
shaped by silent potter's tension
cut loose and visited by
daily uses.

Mind Your Elders

This elder brother is saying so much to me and I am hearing his justice. We all love justice deep down. Who hasn't suffered doing the right thing only to forget that all that work just might keep him from the reward of that work? I for my part have given what I now wonder if I never really released. The gift has now gone it's way and disappeared. The other son has come home and I am stuck out in the field, hearing the music, but hurting too much to come inside.
I am loving so much that the Father has come outside to plead with me! I rant and rave in my own accent and see that Love is calling me in too. I might be able in a moment, just give me a moment.

Now it is time for the elder to come home, to come home to the blessing. What do you think that blessing should look like? The elder thought it sould look like the party the Father was giving to the one who sinned.
But what will it look like for the elder and the younger to meet when he finally comes inside? Can the younger also come to his brother and offer everything he is to the offended one? Never mind rights! It's not about who's right any more. It's about pulling each other in and hearing from all sides "this party isn't complete without you. I'm sorry I sinned against you, I humble myself because you are worth more than my righteousness."
The love the Elder really needs is not out in the field. It's with the fellow sinner in a place called home.

I am still wondering. Father, give me one good reason why I should come inside.

Bearly up

I've wandered around a bit and stumbled onto Hemlock Lane. Take a look there to see what has kick started this jag.
Getting a dose of hospitality is fine when you're in the mood for it. But what if you don't want to come in?

I will be heading off for a much needed rest after I lay it down right here.

I'm dealing with lonliness and loss these days and I have only so much spiritual muster. I am to bear with the "one anothers". This is what is so arrestingly written of in Hemlock Lane's "Ponderings."

I am bearing and it sucks! I am bearing and it must be love cause it feels like hell. Just when I think I may be over the hurt and it's settled into a dull enough pound just to let me know I'm still breathing, I find I am more than alive with the imbalance that has me as noisy as a dryer on tilt. I'm too full of "ifs, ands, and buts". I am throwing it done now, and someone else can bear it, if you please. Humanity? Yeah I've got that in spades! Justice for my little cause; probably not.
Bearing with those I love as they get to live the life they want is not going to feel like love. It's not going to make my story sweeter. The others cannot understand how their choices effect me and the burden they put on me to love them anyway. My only gift is empty hands. Who will fill them?
I pray who will fill them.

How to Come Home

All I needed really was a photo of a house for your veiwing pleasure. I'm happy to have found this.

A Moon House.


In addition to being a place of shelter, the house had a cosmological meaning for the Haida, who thought of the house as a very large box and often decorated its walls to coincide with the images used on boxes. The concept of boxes within boxes is central to Haida beliefs about containers and the spiritual beings who safeguard their precious contents.

Can coming home ever be easy when you've already ventured out? How much you've traveled makes for a new home when you arrive, don't you think? My home is filled to the brim and what I've brought back with me is hard placed to settle. I'm not sensing it's good to ignore the messes that need my time and attention. So that means work. My house is my work.

Everyone needs to get back to work. I have my sense of belonging from my work/my home, but it has been stifled by a naive acceptance. I am not my work/my home, but the work of my home can benefit from who I am now. My house needs to be in harmony with what is real in the world and in me.
The change in me is good. I am wise to hold on to the good. I have a large house through which I manuever my daily living. It's too large. That's why there are changes happening this coming year. What once was an identity through aquiring more has now become a contentment with simplicity. My Old Order is inhospitable to my New Order. Reminds me of that certain parable Jesus told. Not only is it through humility the younger son comes home, but also with great courage. No one will relate to him the same way again.
I am at home in prayer and hopeful about new possibilites.
But the coming home will never be the same.

Irresistable

I've discovered Foxfire and how it will help me to make these posts all the more savvy. Content, however is another issue I'm still working on.




I'm finishing up Irresistable Revolution and instead of seeing a book that I am drawn to for it's comfirming message, I am being challenged to my roots.
Growing up, my faith community loved peace at any cost and the gospel at any price. But in the years between then and now I have opted for a preaching gospel rather than a practicing gospel.
I had been lured all these years with looking "right" rather than being right. Just in the past few weeks I have been given the chance to turn the other cheek. I am now seeing the enormous life calling of imaginative redemptive action. This is only the beginning of my education.
Rather than harping on it, I am doing it. I absorb the cynicism that comes from suggesting that High Schoolers can make a church. I whittle down the enormous piles of material that I have accumulated for the past 22 years. Instead of saying goodbye to my children, growing up and moving out, I welcoming any and all people who I meet through my days looking for God in their faces and being Christ for them by some grace.

Today I am given and today I will

• Welcome anything that Replenishes
• Give everything without measure
• Forgive so that today can hold the whole weight of blessing

It's not so much that I need to switch political parties or eat certain foods. But I may need to line up with the changes that are happening within in me. I may have to become someone many would not expect in order to be the person I expect to be.

The post is looking pretty good. How's the content?

The Greatest Prize

Are you surfing around and reading anything and everything about Soliton? I am and I love that the sharing hasn't stopped. A whole year for me to gather up into friendships that for others are pages deeper. We all can share. And for such a small number, relatively, we are blooming so large. So find out what you can and share the heart of thought you have, we're listening.
Just being present is a prayer. I am coming back home to my own body, realizing my worth at just being here. Because all those years of digesting Christ have to lead to some sort of trust that He is having his way with me, even if I mess up. Many of the questions that last year's Soliton stirred up in me remain silent and unknowable still, but who cares? I'm amoung friends now. The best has taken me in. The best in me will take in others and never again have to insist on their finished package. Christ allows me to treasure them in this moment. Hospitality is a thick road in a narrow way.

The hurting is there no doubt. We all come rich with feeling because of what's wrong with everything. We know deeply that we want this acceptance for everyone. And there is a hospitality that goes the whole way. It says "No matter who you are, I will welcome you in." No small task when we carry the victim around inside us, or the aggressive arguer inside us. For a time, we set that aside to welcome the other. Some of us have more stamina is all. But we got a taste at Soliton. Some giving what is seemingly menial and obvious: a warm bed, a meal, a bottle of water. We crown them with words or prayers, they were not unseen or unappreciated. And for those of us who walked in the door and out again, we will imitate you and echo your gift.
The Bridge without their own home was the greatest prize at Soliton. Their authentic self in hospitality.

Let Me Count the Ways

I loved my two weeks. That should be a title: My Two Weeks.
The time at the center of my life. So many things culminated for me during this time away from home. I set new values, new trends and solidified deep resolutions. Alaska, Seattle, and Ventura. All these places had me meeting and finding friends that made me feel loved, beautiful and contributing. Nice way to set the pace for goings ahead.

I drove away from Ventura and all of Soliton with a minimal of tears. This in itself a testament of solid gifts ground deep. It's only a walk around the park until I meet these Favored Ones again. You know how time is speeding up. I'll let it work for me now.


The Summer of Reading had me ready to give. I was not found out of sorts or quizzical of signs. Time spent alone, rather than being a selfish thing, had me thinking and responding to many different people.
Some were those I met on the street. I had time to pause and see them.
Some I held in my thoughts and prayers in anticipation of meeting/reunion. Time spent well.
I revisited places from some tender years. The bittersweet memories were held in the light of these new inner friends. We carry our dear ones with us, admit it. I let them speak to me and I listened to their love for me. I hope to spend some time writing impressions from this time in the days ahead. I'll listen for what continues to echo.

I think on Him my focus and
my re-member.
I pass over fear by loving
and surrendering to
God who holds it all

Bless you
Bless you
Bless you

I move under you the grass beneath your feet
I whisper and caress you the cool of breeze
I light upon you the grey moon of muscle
I open your hand the fitted form and tender

You bend under weight of days and patient watching
You cradle witness of the funeral
You think and write a parallel network
You pace a landscape unseen
my brain a spongy soil.