I will be guest-posting/guest-praying on Osheta Moore’s blog on Thursday, so I will be back to remind you then, but I don’t want you to miss the rest of this series. So I’m letting you know today, because today is when it starts.
This might be the most important thing I am a part of this year. Not that it’s a competition. But if it were, this might win.
Posted in Church | Leave a Comment »
(Originally written during the 40 Days of Poetry and featured on the Story Sessions blog)
[Possible trigger alert: inexplicit rape theme]
I
It begins…
And it is summer sunrise
A new day with dew-kissed air
And the juicy promise of the first peach of the season.
When the weather is warm, not hot
Breezy, not gusty.
There is heat,
And there is sunshine.
The gaze holds…
And it is rain –
The lovely kind that’s cool, not cold
Or warm, not clammy.
And you have no place to be but dancing in the puddle,
Curls plastered to your face
In a way that’s cute, not messy
Quirky, not weird.
There is laughter,
And there is thunder.
You go out…
And he orders your coffee before you arrive
Because he knows how you like it –
Strong, but smooth,
Sweet, but not fluffy,
Hot, not cold.
And you know that you’re a song he hears –
His favorite one
That he plays over and over.
There is melody,
And there is harmony.
II
He calls one day…
And he is sad, not happy
Worried, not carefree.
And he says, “I just got raped by that test.”
And the words are brown and rotting fruit,
Thrown to the ground by a careless wind.
You want to listen,
But you’re baffled and speechless
On the outside
On the inside, however,
You’re hissing…
No.
No, you did not.
No, you weren’t invaded
To your depths
To your soul
Despite your pleas
Despite your no
Despite your fists
And elbows
And knees.
Despite throwing everything you could think to throw
But still being marked
Helpless, not powerful
And weak, not strong.
You failed because you failed.
Not because something was inflicted upon you that you
Did not deserve
Did not ask for
Could not have foreseen or prevented
III
Or maybe the hiss slips out
Makes its way
Across the line of your lips
Across the line between you
Receiver to ear
Without a face to keep it company.
And it’s his turn to be baffled
And he says, “Where the fuck did that come from?”
And you know he’s hurt, not angry
And confused, not insensitive
(not intentionally, anyway)
YOU KNOW.
But you can’t hear what you know right now over the blaring trumpet solo the patriarchy is playing in your head.
All you can do is spit out…
It comes from
Be a good girl
And mind your manners
And nice girls don’t say things like that
And ladies don’t wear things like that
It comes from
You’re such a goody-goody
You’re such a slut
You’re such a tease
And how talented you must be to be all three.
It comes from
I know what’s best for you
You don’t know what you want
You know you want it
You knew what you were doing when you
Said that
Did that
Were that.
It comes from all the lies that you have ever been told
That you are second in command
Yet responsible for all
And utterly powerless to do anything
Except watch it all fall on top of you.
And no one will help you
Because we all think the whole mess is just one big joke.
IV
So it ends…
And it doesn’t occur to either of you
That there is a response that exists
Between baffled and furious
A way that reaches
Beyond livid and bewildered
Because in that moment, there isn’t.
Because when something fragile shatters
The instinct is
To stand very still
Or to sweep it all away.
No one thinks
To walk barefoot through it.
Posted in Poetry, Story Sessions | Leave a Comment »
My OneWord365 for this year is beauty, and this month, I have been a little detached from it. I haven’t ignored it, but for the most part, I have let others handle it and have said “yes and amen” (or the 21st century equivalent of doing so – i.e., sharing via social media).
I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing. It’s part of the process. The additions to my Pinterest Beauty Board this month have been powerful stuff. Here are some highlights:
– This fantastic Gabourney Sidibe picture and quote
– Stacie Stine’s post about UNT’s Cinderella Project (with pictures featuring two of my beautiful RAs and one of my beautiful residents…excuse me while I have a proud aunt moment…and get this piece of dust out of my eye…)
– Ritz’s post about your worth being a constant, not something that ebbs and flows with what people (even you) consider “better.”
– Pam Hogeweide’s love letter to her body
I meant to read some books this month. That didn’t happen. But they are close to the top of the to-read-next pile, so maybe next month.
Two personal moments of beauty stick out to me:
This is me in front of the charming painted window of Blue River Books in Oklahoma. My friend Jaan took this picture and emailed it to me with the caption “Cute.” I am fighting the urge to argue with that caption. I am fighting the urge to pick the picture apart or deflect your attention from me to the window (look how charming!). I am fighting it, and I am going to win, because one thing I want to learn about beauty this year is how to find it in the place I already am. I no longer want to insist that something be finished or perfect before I can see beauty there. I want to see beauty in the present and in the process. So I am posting at least one picture of myself a month. I am going to put my face (and in most cases, also my body) on it and label it “beauty.”
I attended the IF: Gathering in Austin a couple of weeks ago and stayed with some Story Sessions sisters at a ranch house in Dripping Springs. Mary greeted us on the way in. Although I am not making it to church as often as I’d like (funny how 3-4 years of not attending services regularly weaves its way into your routine), I am already sensing a change in my spirit. in previous years, I would have driven by the statue with a “That’s…nice.” This year, though. This year is different. With one look at Mary, the peace of community and covering (you know, the nice prayer-y kind, not the do-what-we-say-or-else kind) set into my bones. This peace pervaded the entire weekend for me – through the triggery worship (my issue, not theirs, to be clear) and conflict and epiphanies. The one who brought the Prince of Peace into the world kept bringing him into my weekend. I am new to this, so I’m not sure if that’s how icons are even supposed to work, but I am so thankful.
I’m linking up with Amy Young – join us over there to see how others’ one-word journeys are going!
Posted in Beauty | 8 Comments »
Disclaimer: Yes, this was inspired by a real-life conversation. If you were there, you know it, because I wasn’t subtle. Nothing here will identify you, nor will it offend you, because it’s so much nicer than what I said to your face. All others, if this post offends you because you feel that, in some theoretical way, it could be directed at you, maybe take it up with Jesus. Maybe talk to him (or a licensed professional, if you prefer) about why it could have been directed at you.
If you say something racist within earshot of me, I consider it my business. I will confront you. Even if you weren’t talking to me at the time. Even if I don’t know you. I will do my best not to embarrass you, because shame is a lousy motivator, but I will address it.
I will confront you, just like I expect you to confront me when necessary, because I am not perfect and need to be confronted sometimes.
It’s not that I think I’m better than you. This is not image management; I’m not trying to look smart or culturally sensitive. I’m not even really trying to teach you something, although in the best case scenario, we would both come away from the experience having learned from it.
It’s just that it is my business.
Racist speech inevitably draws a line, dividing the whole of humanity in two. It breaks the natural design of the universe. Our differences are meant to empower us and to give us voice. Racist speech corrupts this design and turns difference into a silencer. Your racist remarks draw a line and force me and everyone else around you to choose which side of the line we’re going to stand on. And lest the word “force” sounds like it’s some great burden, the truth is that my having a choice in this situation in the first place is a privilege afforded to me by my lily white skin. The easy choice is to stay quiet and pretend that it doesn’t concern me, or to say that there’s nothing I can do, or to hide under the cloak of “no one needs me to speak on his or her behalf.”
But as a friend recently reminded me, I don’t have to make the easy choice. So I choose to use my privilege in a different way.
When you draw that line in the sand between us and them, I choose them.
If you are a complete stranger, I choose them.
If you are my very own flesh and blood, I choose them.
If you are randomly wandering through my building at work, I choose them.
If you occupy any rung of the ladder at my workplace(s), even rungs that are far above me, I choose them.
If we are friends despite our having nothing in common, I choose them.
If we are friends because we have so much in common, I choose them.
If you are trying to get my attention because you want to date me, please note that this is the exact wrong kind of attention to get from me. I choose them.
If I have shown interest in dating you, don’t expect my crush to silence my response, because I choose them.
Even if telling you that you’re wrong will cost me our relationship, I will still choose them. If that’s going to break the deal, I’m going to go ahead and let it break (for a little while at least). My hope is that eventually you will cross over the line with me. My hope is that one day the line will be destroyed and diversity will be a place of celebration, not competition.
But if you draw that line in the sand, I will choose them.
Posted in Hope, Rants, Revolution | 4 Comments »
This post was born in tonight’s Story Sessions Write-In. The question was “Where is he calling you to risk right now?”
My call to risk is not initially a do.
It’s a stop.
Maybe yours is, too. Feel free to fill in the bracketed space with things to lay aside that are specific to your need.
Stop [teaching more classes than you have time to teach.]
Stop [taking more classes than you have time to take.]
Stop bringing the job home with you. [Do not check the desk blog on the weekends. Do. Not.]
Stop [answering when part-timers phone or text on your day off.] You can’t control their urge to doubt themselves, but you can control your urge to reward their doubt.
Stop saying yes to everything that sounds like it might…
…maybe…
…could be a part of the big picture, for your big picture is so, so big, and the day is so, so short. Learn what yes sounds like when it is whispered to your spirit instead of manipulating it to sound true when it is spoken aloud.
Stop insisting on keeping traditions that you no longer have enough help to keep. Today is not the same as yesterday. The good news is that it is also not the same as tomorrow.
Stop talking about how angry you are that you don’t have time. Use that energy to create time instead.
Stop. Abide.
And then get ready to embrace.
Posted in Story Sessions | 2 Comments »
This month January was fast. I just don’t know where it went.
The semester started, and then it just took off. I only have the one class this semester, so it seems like a year goes by between teaching days.
I made resolutions and chose my one word.
I started Story 101, and you’re going to hear a lot about that. Yes. Even more than you already have. It seems that every other post is from a prompt from the class. If you haven’t taken it, go ahead and follow the hyperlink above, because the spring session starts soon, and you don’t want to miss out!
Here are some other things I’m into:
To write:
I had the honor of guest posting as part of Preston Yancey’s series on what women want from the church. That was scary and also fun.
I worked on some of my WIP, but not as much as I planned. Other than the guest post (which I actually wrote in December), it’s been a bit of a blah writing month.
To read:
It has also been a light reading month. I have been reading books on writing for the ecourse, and so far, May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude has been my favorite.
To watch:
Ah, the reason that writing and reading have gone the way of the VCR this month…
My habits clearly think we’re still on holiday, because I’ve been watching way more TV than I usually do. I got several seasons of Friends from Michelle and Steve for Christmas, so I have been reliving happy times. That scene in The One With The Blackout where Ross gets attacked by the cat while the group is inside singing Top of the World? I still laugh just as hard now as when I first saw it. That’s just good TV. And nostalgia has not changed my unpopular position – I just don’t give a flying fig about Ross and Rachel’s relationship. I know I’m supposed to care deeply, but I do not.
Parks and Recreation – I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to let it know that I saw what it did. *stern face*
Community – I’ll talk about that. Nathan Fillion, how are you so adorable? Okay, that’s pretty much all I had to say on the subject.
As far as movies go, I went to see Frozen again, and this time I took my sister. I love this movie. I’m pretty critical of Disney, and I still have a couple of it-might-have-been-nice-ifs, but overall, I love it. I even have a post planned to discuss the depths of my love for this movie, and that doesn’t happen very often. It’s rare that I am able to invest in characters so quickly.
To hear:
I really love this song:
It makes me miss tango. I’ve been feeling dance-y lately and listening to a lot of this-would-be-a-good-tango-song songs.
To taste:
Most of my meals lately have been odd combinations of frozen holiday leftovers. The most memorable was the taco roast-kale-Parmesan quesadillas.
I also made a pretty fantastic batch of Burgundy Beef after I had a glass of a disappointing wine. It certainly redeemed itself in the dish.
My favorite thing I made all month, though,were my vanilla coconut waffles. I could eat these every morning for the rest of my life.
So that’s my month. I’m linking up with Leigh Kramer, so hop on over there to see what everyone else is into!
Posted in Books, Food, Story Sessions, TV, What I'm Into, Writing | 3 Comments »
This week in Story 101, we practiced silence. This week was a crazy week at work.
This week, I sucked at silence. Well, sort of.
I tried to stay away from Facebook during work this week. I gave myself ten minutes in the morning to answer questions on the group that I admin for work, to wish people a happy birthdays, and to answer direct messages. I was going to spend ten minutes and then log off.
Then an announcement needed to be made on the group page. New residents requested to be added and then came to the front desk, perplexed that it hadn’t happened immediately (because doesn’t EVERYONE live and die by their Facebook notifications?). Then our supper club meeting on Sunday had to be overhauled. Then etc. Then I just kept logging back in to do one more thing.
I tried to stay off Facebook during work. I failed. I did this log-in-log-out business for two days. Then I just gave up logging out.
But at home, that was a different story.
At home, it was quiet. Finally quiet. Blissfully quiet.
I did not log in to tend to work or anything else. Because I don’t work (for the job that pays rent) at home, and I don’t work (for the job that pays rent) for free.
At home, I do what I love. And this week of silence gave what I love the space to rest and breathe.
Even at home, my writing time, no matter how faithful I am to stick to it, is usually a rush-in,go go go,
don’t pause to ponder
just write write write
And even then, there’s not time to get everything I planned to do in the time I had to do it.
This week, with silence, I had time to ponder. And I loved it.
The problem with silence is that when I get it – even a little of it – I start to crave it. All the time.
And the normal stresses of being an introvert in an extrovert job are multiplied by ten billion.
There’s no silence there.
It’s loud loud loud loud loud.
People talking at and over each other. Not to communicate. Not really. Just to hear their own voices. And I know they aren’t hearing anyone but themselves, because their responses are comically non sequitur.
It could be an SNL skit. I try not to laugh – which I really want to do, because it’s absurd and hilarious, even if they don’t mean for it to be – because sudden bursts of laughter from the previously silent desk clerk will provoke a whole new set of chatter as they try to figure out what’s so funny without ever stopping to listen for the answer.
Oh, wow. That would be even funnier.
Talking talking talking talking talking. So much blah blah blah
And I feel blah (blah blah).
And I get it. I do. It’s mesmerizing to hear your voice. To learn its sound. To hear words that come out that might be your ideas or might be a variation of someone else’s ideas but are out there. You put them out there. You gave them your voice. And it’s especially mesmerizing when it’s new – when you are learning new things and meeting new people.
You know, like people do. When they’re first-year students. In a dorm. Where I work.
I get it.
I just can’t deal with it when I know that the silence is waiting for me on the other side of the time clock. When I can go home and breathe it in. Breathe it out. Inhale. Exhale. Unwind. Unclench. Where it will actually matter that Facebook is off or that I’m not on Pinterest. When I can choose silence and actually have it choose me back. When I will actually get the silence I’m seeking. Where choosing silence actually works. Where I can go, as May Sarton phrased it in Journal of a Solitude, “to take up my ‘real’ life again.”
Is it this way for everyone? The increased intentional silence a reminder of the glory of what everyday life could be (should be…must be)? Does it make them yearn for quiet solitude to be the thing they do full-time rather than the thing they have to make time to do? Do they feel even more unsatisfied than they usually feel with where their choices about how they make a living – make a life – have landed them?
In this way, silence has been a mixed bag for me this week. I love it, but because I love it, I am more acutely aware of how much my life lacks it. I am thus dissatisfied. And restless. And wistful.
Posted in Story Sessions, Work, Writing | Leave a Comment »
Beauty is my OneWord365 for this year. Beauty and I are off to a slow start.
Part of the problem is that I don’t really know how to track beauty. I have my trusty Pinterest board to help, but beauty is not necessarily a tangible thing. Tangible things can be beautiful, but the beauty of a thing (or person) usually lies within its (or his/her) story. And stories take time to unfold and be told.
What mainly trips me up, though, is my tendency to see things as not quite beautiful when they’re not quite done. I want a nice, finished project. And I see patterns and gaps pretty easily. This is helpful, because the first step is admitting the problem, but it also gets me bogged down in details and what-could-bes, and I miss the beautiful moments.
I see:
1. A day planned for writing wasted because I sliced my finger, and how ridiculously long it’s going to be to write this post without using that finger. On the upside, I am a little impressed with myself at how fast I’m learning to type four-fingered with my left hand.
2. A plan for Pilates ruined by an iffy stomach. On the upside, I successfully recognized the trigger in time to avoid pushing it, thereby avoiding another nasty, week(s)-long episode of digestive woes. Plus, I got a nap and soup.
3. A plan for a clean kitchen put on hold because of that ridiculous finger. I’m not seeing an upside to this yet. My kitchen is hideous and desperately in need of a scrub-down, y’all.
And that was just yesterday.
So apparently I’m going to learn to see beauty in the process this year. Neat.
I also think there’s something to beauty as found through story, so I’m going to explore that. I’m going to spend some time reading about beauty (Is reading a love language? Because it totally should be). The first four on the list are The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, On Beauty by Zadie Smith, Child of my Heart by Alice McDermott, and She Walks in Beauty: a Woman’s Journey through Poems by Caroline Kennedy.
I’m also linking up with Amy Young’s Trusting Tuesdays. Click over to read how others’ OneWord365 journeys are going!
Posted in Beauty | 8 Comments »
The stage is ready.
The wobbly chair has been replaced.
The burned-out bulb has been changed.
Everything is set.
The audience is humming with social niceties and anticipation.
The announcer quiets them –
“And now – what you’ve all been waiting for – introducing….Brave!”
The curtains roll back, and the stage is empty.
The audience laughs.
“That’s clever,” they say.
“Brave wants us to think she has stage fright.”
They think it is all part of the act.
The laughter turns nervous as minutes pass and nothing changes.
Where is she?
The one who was up for anything
Who would try on any hat
Who was the first to step up to the mic
To step into the spotlight
To step out on the dance floor
Whose costume was see-through
In the right light
Who found that thrilling instead of terrifying
Who would have left the stage bare
So that she could choose her own entrance
And not leave it up to the curtain.
The joke of the faux-shy star would have been merely an afterthought.
Where is she?
She’s in her dressing room, throwing up.
She’s not sure if she’s sick from worrying whether she toned it down enough,
Or sick from what it says about the person she’s become that she toned it down at all.
This was my response to the prompt “Show me your brave” during tonight’s Story Sessions write-in. Show us your brave. Join us.
Posted in Poetry, Story Sessions | 4 Comments »
I’m linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker today for Five-Minute Friday. The word is encouragement.
What a great word. It brings to mind a pouring in, a filling up of good things. Things that will give you courage. Things that will reward the nerve of you. Things that cheer you on and tell you, “I like you, kid. You’ve got moxie.” And it’s a noun. It’s not just the pouring in, filling up, building up. It’s the state of doing it. It’s the place where these actions are the norm, not the exception.
It freaks my little solitary heart right on out.
Because what if it ends? Or rather, when it ends (because experience has taught me that it usually does)? What then?
Encouragement is great…while it lasts. But when it goes, it leaves a hole. A big, yawning, scary hole. A hole that you warn children and pets to steer clear of, because they’ll tumble right in and break a clavicle or something.
And when it ends, you have to start all over again. And you do. Every time it ends. Because once you’ve been to the magical land of encouragement, you aren’t satisfied living anywhere else.
I think I’ve figured out the key to staying there, though. Have a whole lot of other people living there with you. It’s a mistake to just have one person as your encouragement. That’s too much pressure to put on one person, and sooner or later, this person will notice that s/he is trying to do the work of eleventy dozen people and run away.
You need an army.
If you are an introvert, I highly recommend that the bulk of this army be online. If they’re all in person, you will be exhausted, and then you’ll be the one who wants to run away.
And there will be the hole.
With the darkness.
Maybe dragons.
But have an army. Have people who are willing to fight for you, even when what they’re fighting against is the voice in your head telling you that you can’t go on or can’t do that thing your soul needs to do.
And be that person for them, too. Encouragement works best when it’s shared.
Posted in Five Minute Friday | Leave a Comment »
M. Suzanne Terry 