EAVESDROPPING IS A REWARDING HOBBY

Wife: No, you do not like cake, remember. You like pie.

Husband: I would like cake on my birthday. Chocolate cake.

Wife: But you always ask for pie on your birthday, that's why I bought this raspberry pie. You don't like cake.

Husband: But I do!

Wife: No--no, you don't!

THESE ARE GIFTS

I put my pen down and turned on my back to look at the heavens--there! in a long streak, a giant fell, pouring himself across a black desert sky; starry sacrifice for my grey eyes.

I wandered restlessly about the sleeping house, finally collapsing under a pool of moonlight that spilled from wide glass onto dusty floor. My fingers traced thoughts of a song on familiar strings.

Sun broke through clouds stronger than Jericho and snow spilled into rising water, splashing over my shoes to fall across the road, stretching her arms to reach the other side. When she touched, my ears feasted on the soulful chime. 

These are moments, these are gifts; when He delights, and my heart is not blind. 

THE HONESTY OF CHILDREN

Henry: Why did you cut your hair off? It used to be so long and beautiful. 

Moriah: I like having short hair.

Henry: But now you look like a boy!

Moriah: Do I look like a boy, Ayla? 

Ayla: Yeah, you're handsome!

BURNT FINGERS, BLIND DATES, AND AN IRISH FARL

Scene 1. Katie, Aunt Joyce, Brianna and Moriah sit around the dining room table, decorating mason jars with lace, ribbons and twine for Katie and Blaine's wedding. Occasionally, burning their fingers on a hot glue gun. 

Brianna: It's okay Katie, we've known each other longer. 

Moriah: Yeah, we used to go on double dates in Grandma's upstairs guest room.

Brianna: Blind double dates.

Moriah: Blind double dates with imaginary men. 

Brianna: And they were always named Marc and Luke.

Moriah: And they were always jerks. 

Brianna: Yes, they were. And we'd get mad and slap them and throw cold water in their faces.

Moriah: And look at us now...

Brianna: Single.

Scene 2. Katie, Aunt Joyce, Blaine, Barrett, Brianna and Moriah sit at a table in the middle of Paddy Ryan's Irish Pub, perusing the menu hungrily. 

Brianna: I am so sick of pizza. I'll meet up with friends in the evening and what's the cheapest for three people? Pizza. Then I go home and what is for lunch? Pizza. 

Aunt Joyce: Sometimes, it's the easiest thing to throw in the oven.

Brianna: And then I will go out with my class and do you know what they order? Pizza! Always pizza. And I'll eat it because it's cheap and I'm hungry, but pizza four times a week is just too--

Waiter: Are you ready to order? 

Brianna: I'll take the Meat Lovers Irish Farl.

Waiter: With red or white sauce?

Brianna: What was that?

Katie: He asked if you wanted red sauce or white sauce.

Brianna: Red please. 

15 minutes later. The waiter serves the plates of steaming food, setting a pizza in front of Brianna. 

Katie: Who ordered pizza?

Brianna: This must be yours Barrett--?

Barrett: No, Mom and I are sharing the Barbeque Pork Boxty.

Everyone is served their food. Brianna stares at her plate unblinkingly. 

Brianna: I thought the Irish farl was a sandwich. It said it was on flatbread...

Brianna's shoulders tremble, tears come down, Moriah meets her eyes and they let out an uproarious laugh. The rest of the table joins them. 

15 minutes later. They are still laughing, all of Brianna's mascara is on her face. 

SMARTER THAN EVERYBODY

Ayla and I sat beside the gas fire, she was on my lap, her owl-print blanket sprawled across us both. Her dark pearly eyes met mine, wide and excited, as her four-year-old voice boasted, "My brother, he's really smart. More smart than everybody in the whole world, because he does math. He's the smartest brother I know. The only person as smart as him is Isabel. She's very smart. They're smarter than everybody, besides from Moms and Dads..." 

Yup. So there you have it folks. 

PINK SCALES AND GOLD-TIPPED WINGS

Three small hands reached for mine, taking turns. Three small girls with dancing feet, led me to our "home" at the end of the hallway where all our dragon treasure was piled to the ceiling. "Come on mama!" their voices chimed, calling me. 

"Can I be a mama dragon too?" asked the blue-eyed child, with brownie crumbs framing her mouth and speckling her polka-dot dress. 

"Nooo, M'riah's the mama dragon," whined the brown-eyed girl.

"Nora, you can be the mama dragon." I laughed, then turned to Ayla, "It's okay, I can be the grandma dragon instead." 

Ayla wasn't pleased, "I don't like this game anymore if you're not the mama dragon." 

"Alright," I said, "I guess Nora and I can both be the mama dragons." 

Nora's face lit up as she wiped at her face with a wrinkled napkin.

"Can I be the big sister dragon?" asked the hazel-eyed child, her blonde curls spilling onto her shoulders. 

"Of course, Hazel." 

"And I'm the baby dragon!" Ayla ran in circles, squealing like a happy bug.

Three small hands reached for mine, taking turns, as I spun them in my own to the end of the hallway.

Then a young boy, nearly as tall as I (but only six-years-old), snatched playfully at my bag. With his brown eyes wide and palms out, he pleaded, "Can I have another mint, please?" 

I reached into my bag and pulled out the little Georgia tin.

"You may. But remember these are magical mints and once you swallow one, you will turn into a dragon," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "and the only way to transform back into a human, is to have another mint." 

"I know." A smile took over his whole face. 

Today, I was a mama dragon with pink scales and gold-tipped wings.

TO BE THANKFUL

What is it? 

What makes the lines at the corners of your eyes curl slightly upward like lashes? What makes you swim in breathless calm? What makes you feel as if you have always existed but just been born? What makes you forget about all the tomorrows and yesterdays and feel perfectly contented here, now? What is it that makes your heart beat like a swarm of wild horses galloping to shake the earth? What is it in this life that speaks to your soul like a poet's tongue?

Four things come to my mind today.

The first is something personal and raw, but something beautiful indeed. 

The second is when I find myself again on 61, driving home with the moon already pulled mid-way across its course, both of us contentedly alone. Then I see her--! my thoughts on their rabbit trails fade to a halt and I can't seem to roll down the windows fast enough: to hear her steady beating against the tracks, her voice calling out, a desperate voice, a purposeful voice, and her heavy lift and fall, racing me, parallel to 61. 

The third. When I wander the crags that follow the shores of Lake Superior, listening to her faithful music, so soothed. There is a dusty, soulful sense of belonging by that sea, as if it's one of God's favorite places too. 

The fourth. When the sun is golden as it falls and its touch feels like a hundred kisses or a crown of wildflowers to braid into my hair when it was long. It is my favorite painting. My favorite artist, right before Monet.

I think I will write out more of these to remember, m

PERHAPS

When all turns to soft ice and it is as if I have climbed a dragon's neck between the flames before they've collapsed into smoke and finally we've met eyes. There are moments like these in my life. Or when I've climbed a volcano and now peer into its lashing heartbeat, uninterrupted, the heat rising like the sea at tide. 
It's a quiet valiance of facing giants and just breathing in the stillness of the victory (for certainly moments of this kind are victories and giants). Yet not only in the "valiant" things, but more truly the unforgettable. Immortal moments, when time forgets to move, but also in the littlest of things, like watching the sun catch on the ridge of an autumn leaf barely clinging to its branch or the soft tracing of fingers between your own and that gentle resistance to never let go of that beautiful, familiar hand.
Breathing, breathing, I breathe. We breathe. In those moments, I know that this is life. That this life is beautiful. This is why I breathe. This is what I was created for. For such a time as this. Maybe this doesn't make any sense at all. Maybe I can't explain. Maybe it wasn't meant to be explained. 
I feel that little moments make up who I am. It is as if the memories are my atoms and my blood and they build a rib-cage with heart and lungs beneath, binding together my whole person, like the words on pages that make up a story, but ever expanding, ever reaching further out, because the story doesn't end, not now, not here, not ever, for this raw soul of mine cannot die. 
The moments feel wasted without realizing--while in their midst--that there is something more, something divine held within them, as if they were gifts given from a Higher being, God himself. Perhaps, the gift is the moment, or perhaps the gift is the grace to see from higher ground and a grace to feel with a renewed heart. Perhaps even to feel a depth of pain and suffering is a gift, I don't know how exactly, but perhaps. 
I believe that it is only when the moment is shared (with God or man), that the moment becomes a dragon's gaze, the time becomes soft, the volcano turns to sea, and the clock loses its power: only then is the moment a vein sewn into immortal flesh. 

Maybe this still doesn't make sense at all. I guess I tried. 

m

WHEN THE RAIN WASHES OUR CARS

Isn't she lovely? 

This gent has very attractive eye-wear. 

If I were a wall, I'd want to be this one. 

They were precious.

Minneapolis City Hall.

In the oddest places, mountains are calling me back.

"HAPPINESS IS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED."

 Christopher McCandless realized, after abandoning consumerist, careerist society and taking off into the wild to live simply and in solitude. 

He wrote: "So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun." 

Be inspired, be courageous, let Him be your vision and go do. But share the adventure, m

WHEN MONDAYS WERE SACRED

ANTLERS

Me, I am two;
two halves,
two wild deer, 

two heads at war. 

Antler's a mess, 

caught and tangled,

bloody bones.

Two deer, but only 

one

can move on. 

SKIP TO MY LOU

Thursday.

1. I woke up too late to feel good about the day. I blame my vivid dreams for making it difficult to entangle myself from sleep. At the same time, I wish I hadn't dreamt last night.  

2. I lay in the late morning sunlight spilling onto the living room carpet and read an article called The Kind of Person God Uses, by Walter Henrichsen. This paragraph spoke loudly: "All that you hold dear to yourself--your family, your health, your dreams, your aspirations and goals--must be held with an open hand. If you desire to fulfill God's will for your life irrespective of the price, the sum total of all that makes up you must belong to Jesus Christ. He must be free to do with you and take from you as He pleases. You need not open your hand to God with a sense of fear, for God loves you with a perfect love and has your best interest at heart. But having said that, the faithful person is one who is willing to pay any price to have the will of God accomplished in his life." Pg. 12

3. As I ran the gravel, following the road to my cousin's, over and over I was overcome by the flooding fields, the scarecrow forests, the blue sea above my head, the gentle undertones of cow manure in the breeze, and the sun pouring onto my back. God you did good; Wisconsin is beautiful.

4. Bri, my-cousin-who-is-really-more-of-a-sister, taught me how to make quiche and homemade ginger ale. Both incredibly elegant and simpler than you'd ever dream, well simpler aside from shredding the ginger root. 

5. After the quiche and ginger ale, Bri, Barrett, and I took the dogs into Kinnickinnick where we followed the river between the thicket and fallen trees, bouldered a small falls of icicle and river, breathed deeply the crisp air scenting of pine, and spun in the dusk that spread itself out gracefully across the hay field until we tumbled over in laughter. What is better than good friends, big dogs, mud up to your knees, and a wilderness? 

6. Blaine, my-cousin-who-is-really-more-of-a-brother, is getting married in a little over a month to an incredible woman. This afternoon, he and Aharon, my big brother and also the best man in the wedding, went tuxedo shopping and tried on their tuxes (and Bri, her floral violet dress) for my aunt and I--and suddenly! seeing the three of them, the three people who have been knit into my life always... it swept over me; the reality of how life is changing, how we are all growing up and how many beautiful (and perhaps heartbreaking) things that are to come. It was deeply felt, a bittersweet, and they were beautiful; radiant. I am so thankful for them. They will never know.

MRS. CASH

Happy Birthday Princess,
We get old and get used to each other. We think alike. We read each others minds. We know what the other wants without asking. Sometimes we irritate each other a little bit. Maybe sometimes take each other for granted. 
But once in a while, like today, I meditate on it and realize how lucky I am to share my life with the  greatest woman I ever met. You still fascinate me and inspire me. You influence me for the better. You're the object of my desire, the #1 earthly reason for my existence. I love you very much.
Happy Birthday Princess. John

SPIRIT OF A COWBOY

"The best people possess a feeling for beauty,

the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth,

the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable;

they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed."

-Ernest Hemingway

WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT YOU?

"Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength

of my heart and my portion forever. 

For behold, those who are far from you shall perish; you put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to you. But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all your works."

In France, this was the song I sang in the earliest hours of the morning, when the tears poured out. It was the song I sang when I escaped to the stars, the stars that looked like the dusty kiss of soul some people carry in their eyes. I sang it to myself when my lungs were filled with fire and I ran up the winding mountain road. It was the song I sang when I stood beneath the wolf moon at the painted cliff surrounded by His majesty. It was my song when I followed the moss river until I collapsed, surrendering to His will. 

I listened to this today. Piper speaks a chilling truth. A truth that I can vouch for. 

Listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTc_FoELt8s

COMING SOON

I've had an itch to tackle this project for two years: to create a series of art pieces based around natural disasters. 

Volcanoes, lightningstorms, tornadoes, avalanches, earthquakes, landslides, floods, hurricanes, tsunamis, wildfires, droughts, meteors, dust bowls, windstorms, blizzards, cyclonic storms, hailstorms, heat waves, solar flares...

Wish me luck.

RESONATE

"And then her heart changed, 

or at least she understood it; 

and the winter passed, 

and the sun shone upon her." 

-J.R.R. Tolkien