Wisdom for the Day

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Cardboard Girl

she is a prisoner
in a cage whose door has no latch or lock
held captive by words like "then" and "should" and "impossible"
she carries a pine tree shaped car deotorizer in the back pocket of her GAP jeans
and pulls it out to impress her cell mates with stories of her adventures in the backcountry
adventures that she weaves as she goes along
sniffing the cardboard cutout
when she forgets what might come next
she has only ever seen photos of trees
because nothing real grows in her cell
except her belly's self-indulgent buldge
rope swings and tree climbing contests frighten her
she is fearful of splinters and sap stains

The Grizzley, Our God, and Oompa Loompas

i am reading a book called Story by steven james.
it is james' interpretation of what scripture might look like. yes, look like. and i don't mean that in the post-modern, psycho-babble sort of way. i mean, he uses words to paint pictures. he explores what god's story might litteraly look like if we could see it.

i am loving the journey he is taking me on. begining in genesis.

he takes: "in the begining God created the heavens and the earth . . . " genesis 1:1

and shows me this:
you clothe yourself with daylight.
you wrap the stars around your waist.
crickets chirp from the folds of your garmets.
grizzlies growl from the deep hidden pockets of your evening robe.

where do you set me upon yourself?
am i an earring, dangling in the moonlight?
am i a necklace, flashing by your breast?
where do you slip me on?
where do i fit into your tale?


and i think this:

i love the image of god's evening robe. i picture it as a thick billowing quilt made of burlap like the rocky mountains and silk like the adriadic sea . . . stiched together with tropical vines. hints of piercing bright blue like the eager eyes of my husband and the deep indigo sky of the evening i married him. specks of the grey from the coat of kelly's beautiful dog, and though i don't understand the purpose of pets, i love that kelly loves her dog. threads of the many shades of green from the lush rolling hills of the midwest. cinched with a rope braided of the cream of my newborn baby cousins and the chocolate of my sweet friend latonya. i love imagining that god keeps a grizzley bear in his pocket. and there the bear stands, dwarfed by god's glory but set freed by god's closeness to know his own wild roots. i like to wonder where and how and why he might choose to slip me onto himself, despite his perfection without me.

i love james' descriptions. but for some odd reason, when he describes eden . . .

"adam was one note, eve another, and god a third. and they were woven together in a melody of relationship none of us has ever come close to recapturing. we hear faint echoes of that original song. but we haven't heard the whole thing. not for a long, long time."

. . . i can't help but imagine the scene from willy wonka and the chocolate factory where the children are receiving their initial tour of the magical land. and while the idea of a dark (not milk) chocolate river is heavenly, i don't imagine the the "original song of eden" was sung by oompa loompas.

confessions of a blushing bride

sometimes i am afraid that if i don't know everything that is happening at all times and the purpose and reason behind it all that i will loose control and get hurt.
sometimes i get really scared that i will screw up my marriage because i am raw and immature and filled with piss & vinegar.
sometimes i am mean to herb because i want to be the stronger one. i want to dominate. the bible said it would happen. and it does.
sometimes i am sad that i will never go on another first date again.
and sometimes i am so thankful that i will never go on another first date again.
sometimes i look around my home and feel so thankful for all the warmth here.
sometimes i forget he loves me.
sometimes i want to have sex.
and sometimes i would rather read a max lucado book while sitting in a dentist's chair, listening to kenny g.
sometimes i stare at the diamonds on my finger.
sometimes i forget to assume the best about him.
sometimes i love knowing that if i don't cook dinner, he wouldn't have such a delicious meal.
sometimes i jump up and down and growl and wave my hands above my head because i can't find the words.
sometimes i look in his eyes and see the real man. and i love him.
sometimes i need to be called on my stuff.
and sometimes i just need to be called "lovely".
sometimes it is really hard to be married.
sometimes i want to pack my bags and head to portugal. not to get rid of herb, but just to know that i can do whatever i want whenever i want.
sometimes i am sad that i can't do whatever i want whenever i want.
and then sometimes i remember that what i used to long for was a partner to make decisions with - together.
sometimes i feel like i was voted out of the cool club when i got married.
sometimes i think i am crazy.
sometimes i feel really really undeniably filled with joy and peace.
sometimes i am still angry that my wedding flowers were not the way i envisioned them. i specifically said no light pink.
sometimes i am angry at myself for still thinking about my wedding flowers.
sometimes i want babies.
sometimes i don't. ever. never.
sometimes i do again.
sometimes this all transpires within five minutes.
sometimes i feel fat.
sometimes i don't.
sometimes i really need my man.
sometimes i still look at wedding web sites and magazines.
sometimes i forget to take my birth control pill.
sometimes i love being a wife.
sometimes i am volatile and hard to live with.
sometimes i put lipstick on before herb get's home even though that seems like a 50's housewife thing to do.
sometimes i realize that at the end of the day, my God loves me in it all and despite it all.