Elliptical circles

She thinks that perhaps
if she spoke
in these elliptical circles

if she let these

it’s not that she needs to
conjure up the picture-perfect words
nor the right tenor of feelings
nor the perfectly robust theology
to validate existence

As if buoyed

As if buoyed
By some mysterious hope
By some fragile grace
That what is seen
Is not all there is

As if buoyed
By some frail strength
By those threads of prayer
Those steadfast hands
Of love

As if a God
Yahweh
Dances in the shadows
Smiling surreptitiously
Gathering hope
Bestowing faith

You will be ok
You are mine.

Oh merciful God...

of course I do not deserve your grace.
It is grace.
A good, grand thing to come home to...

What is left to say?

It's the end of the day, and I'm not sure what to write--there's so much to say, but what matters? Is anyone even reading this?

I've been thinking I would like my blog to have a wider readership, which would motivate me to write more regularly. So far, I didn't share this blog widely because I wanted the freedom to write my thoughts without worry about others' evaluations, but now, I want to have more interaction. Particularly, I want to write out my theological musings and foster some dialogue...please chime in! Your voice is appreciated, and matters.

Today, I had a phone interview for a part-time admin assistant job at a church (not mine)--went well, so in-person interview on Wed afternoon. Two tutoring center interviews this week, plus interview Wed morning for Grant Assistant jobs. Only the Grant Assistant jobs are full-time. Of course, I would prefer full-time, but realizing I need to make money in whatever way I can, short-term, while aiming for better-fitting jobs long-term.

Starting tutoring at another center this week, just two times, but feeling like my plate's rather full, esp without a car. Oh, boy. Feeling like I'm juggling more than I can handle...

One note of encouragement: I sat down next to a woman on the bus and asked her how she was doing.

"Doing well-I'm blessed."

"That's great. Why do you say 'blessed'?"

"Well, I'm alive and healthy and living another day. I have a job I know is from God..." She proceeds to share in glowing terms how good God is to her, how he's rescued her from drugs, and her children, and I am humbled. She commutes from Long Beach to Norwalk I think. I ask her what job she has, and it's cleaning offices. Huh--she's grateful for that job? Maybe if I knew more of her story, I would see the "miracle" of that job.

Ohhh, Pasadena...

You are beautiful. Calming. Enchanting. Could rival Portland in green-ness. Fuller: heritage houses you can take classes in! Or work! How cool is that??

The world is to open.

Who knows whether there is life on any other planet anywhere else in the universe, but there is life on this planet. And what is life like? Think of not knowing what life is and then finding out: a book suddenly learning how to read; a rock jutting out into the sea suddently knowing the thump and splatter of the waves, the taste of salt. You are alive. It needn't have been so. It wasn't so once, and it will not be so forever. But it is so now. And what is it like: to be alive in this maybe one place of all places anywhere where life is? Live a day of it and see. Take any day and be alive in it. Nobody claims that it will be entirely painless, but no matter. It is your birthday, and there are many presents to open. The world is to open.
~Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace

The reality of context

The reality of context:

Of course, it shapes us—
The streets that we walk-
Or drive
The spaces in which we pass from 8-5
The faces that grace our face
Daily
And sporadically.

Here was the gift she felt so close
She could not see
When, covered in threads of loneliness
She felt the hoarseness of her throat
Conjure up visions of
Surreptitious casualties,
The consequence of long-forsaken treaties.

What is she hoping for
She is not sure
When the curtains have fallen
And the wizard is no more.

That iconic grace kept her plastered to her side.
Hoping that momentous struggle
Meant something—anything—
To keep her striving against the tide.

If it were just a face to behold,
She could look up any number of strikingly arresting visages.
But no—what she longed for
Was to be beholden
Beheld
To be held
Be seen.
And that taste, that sip, was what moved her
To seek
To hope, that,
Seeking, she might find.

Of course,
She thirsts
For what matters.