Meet my cat Moses

On August 11, 2012 I adopted a cat from the San Diego County animal shelter. They had named him Moe. A one syllable pet name is not effective.

The shelter was technically closed by the time I chose to adopt Moses. Upon meeting him, he licked my face. How could I say no?

He is 1 year 6 months old. Upon the recommendation of the employees at the shelter, I set up Moses in the bathroom at my cottage. This way, he could not hide from me under the bed.

So, we hung out in the bathroom. I sat on the floor. He walked around. He'd come near me, so I could pet him. I told him how I couldn't believe I had a cat. I had become a pet owner. The employees at the shelter had commented how the cat chooses the person as much as the person chooses the cat. I decided it was only appropriate to ask Moses if he wanted to be my cat. He responded by licking my face. It was settled.

Written during church

When we live hidden in Christ,
We...
  see the sunset every day,
  sing and dance,
  apologize for tears we caused,
  forgive those who made us cry,
  spend grace and mercy as our currency,
  give generously,
  communicate honestly.

When we live hidden in Christ,
  The world sees Heaven on earth.

One poem of many about suicide

March 5, 2012 will never be forgotten. I miss you, uncle Peter.

One

One bullet:

A thousand echoes

Phone calls

An obituary

A life in four hundred words.

One bullet:

A thousand pieces

Our shattered world

My broken heart

A family torn apart.

One bullet:

A thousand tears

A hundred handshakes

Mourning and night

Grief never rests.

One bullet:

One less.

Hope 2012 Relay

Hope is elusive, but I saw it once.

The summer after I graduated from college, I lived with my best friend (bestest friends since middle school) for a summer in an eccentric town in the Adirondack mountains. We described it by saying, "where the men are men and the women are men." That kind of town.

I am an idealist, so I always thought Hope was a positive trait. Helpful. Inspiring. Motivating.

In college, I had been shocked to learn that according to the Greek myth, Hope was in Pandora's box. I audibly gasped at the thought. How could hope be a bad thing? Since then, I think Hope becomes toxic when the desired outcome is simply not going to happen. Unfortunately, Hope does not have a sell-by date nor does it stink when it morphs into resignation.

Thank you, Google maps.

Meanwhile, back in the charming Adirondack town, I saw Hope.

It was the summer of 2005. I was walking on Ampersand Avenue. I glanced at a street sign and immediately stopped walking. In brown and gold, I saw "Hope St." The road began to climb upward with one side street and then a stone wall at the peak.

Who would name a dead end street Hope?

I immediately began to walk upward. This time, simply gasping to breathe.

As I approached the top, I saw the road curve to the left, continuing;  I laughed.

Hope often feels like a dead end path, but we will not know what is waiting for us at the top unless we start walking. Call me if you need a walking buddy.

Hope 2012 relay credit to Melanie Crutchfield: http://melaniecrutchfield.com/2012/07/27/hope-2012-a-blog-relay/

Introducing my poetry

I remember visiting my grandmother's house as a child. She always had a pile of scrap paper and a coffee mug full of pens. I used to draw until I learned how to write. I never advanced from my standard sunset, squiggly ocean waves, and a sailboat sketch. Words are my palette of colors.

Recently, I shared a poem with a dear friend. She, in turn, shared that poem with other people whom she knew. The feedback my friend reported was perspective-shifting. I was described as intelligent and brilliant based on my poetry. I've been called smart before but not for my poetry. My writing has always been therapeutic for me. A place where I can release the emotions built up within me.

So, I think I'm going to start sharing more of my poetry on my blog. I've withheld mostly because I want to be published. I have had this dream since I was young. Well, younger as I'm still young. It just seems silly to have my poetry sitting in a binder, unread. Perhaps, it will stir up some words for your feelings. Perhaps, you will say, "Yes! That's how I've felt!" Perhaps, you will even say what I've written is hogwash. That's fine, too. I write for me. Besides, most of my poetry I don't like. I write a variety of poems. Some I actually have an idea and a plan for, others are therapeutic, and others still are a gift from God. He often reminds me of the gospel and of His love for me.

I'm going to begin this new phase by sharing two poems. You see, I'm on a journey with God. He's stretching me thin and reshaping me. He's retaining my essence but making me stronger. There are days when I feel like I've made no progress. Then, there are days when I reread an old poem...

Originally written April 27, 2011 (it has been edited twice since then)

I silence the voice within me:
It is choked, suffocated, buried alive.
The painful pleasure at play in my mind
A swingset of needles,
Daggered monkeybars
I merrily go around and around.
A voice desperate to speak

...and compare it to one I've recently written.

Originally written April 12, 2012, entitled

Alternative Communication:

My soul has a voice.

Sometimes it is silent,

A single tear sliding down my cheek.

My soul has a voice.

At times, it is demanding,

A wailing torrent of tears.

Even still, it is joyful,

Tears responding to Love and beauty.

Other times, it is angry,

Frustrated sobs for injustice.

My soul has a voice.

When needed, it cries out in exhaustion,

The final tear yields rest.

When moved, it expresses sorrow,

My pain and that of others.

My soul has a voice,

Sometimes, in my shame, I silence it.

My soul has a voice,

At times, when feeling safe, it speaks freely.

My soul has a voice,

Praying with or without words.

My soul has a voice,

Even now.

Eyes glistening.

Suck it up

I decided to run the La Jolla half marathon earlier this year. I have been looking forward to it. I never thought I'd run this race as the course goes up Torrey Pines. Twice a month, I have run (or walked) up that hill.

Thursday at work my throat felt scratchy. An hour later, I had sore throat. Friday I stayed home from work and nestled in my bed. Today I am feeling better. My sore throat is gone, but I am congested and lacking energy.

I had to make the difficult decision to NOT run.

Perhaps you're wondering why it's a difficult decision. Perhaps it seems like a no-brainer: If you're sick, don't run.

For me, however, my gut reaction is to suck it up. Do it anyway. Adapt. Find a way to make it happen. I don't shy away from things that seem impossible or improbable. I believe one day I will set fire to the rain (or more likely, God will let me witness rain setting on fire). I don't like to give up. I don't like to admit I cannot do what I planned to do. I am human, and there are times when I hate it.

So, I am learning to receive grace. I can be human and still be forgiven. Good news, indeed!

Tomorrow morning I will sleep in. I will go to church. I am thankful that God provides for me, even if the race fee seems like a waste (or just a really expensive t-shirt). I will remind myself that it's ok to be limited in what I can do. That's it's better to take care of myself than to chase after idealistic expectations.

I'm human, and that's ok.

Poem for April 9, 2012

(title) A void

I ache for something more than what I find in a store.
I ache for something less than the pain in my chest.

I yearn to burn the fears expressed as tears as they sear my heart:
Tattooed-black and blue.

My beating heart wants a meeting with God.
Impatient, I let idols win,
Capturing my attention
The rupture of innocence
Lost in the crowd
Seen by the Son of God
My Savior--a brave warrior
Nailed to a cross
Bail for my sins
Mercy for my heresy
Grace for when I want to hide my face.

Yes, I ache for something more and God won't give me anything less than Himself.