Pylvia Slath

Sylvia Plath makes me sick. She was writing more eloquently at age eighteen than I'll be writing at age fifty.

Example: "Words revolve in flame and keep the coliseum heart afire, reflecting orange sunken suns in the secret petals of ruined arches."

But, I do not envy her.

Thankfully, unlike Sylvia, I do not put my hope in words, but rather the substance of Christ who's light can ignite even the darkest human heart.



The quote below came from a collection of her journal entries and letters. I've read through some of them before, but the following always strikes me as ironic:

"With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand...hopeless from the start. A story, a picture, can renew sensation a little, but not enough, not enough. Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. the high moment, the burning flash come and gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die."

Ten years later, Sylvia killed herself by sticking her head in a gas oven.

God, I praise you for giving me hope in the future despite my dying body and a dying world.

Reminds me of the memory verse for The Women's class this week:

"Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you endure; they will all wear out like a garment. You change them like raiment, and they pass away; but you are the same, and your years have no end." Psalm 102: 25-27

Dashboard Inspiration

Running fast--wolves at my heels.
Teeth bared, bellies of bottomless appetite chasing
the hem of my dress.
Who was to think I could hide from them?
Who was I to think I could hide from You?
Tempted by the forest's edge
I crossed the timbered line.
Trees grew taller and speckled light dissolved.
Muscles weak, skin bruised, body weak,
running circles around
your mercy
your grace.
But in the center of darkness
and defeat
You called my name.
You opened the door to a fortress of stone.
You fed me, cleaned me, wrapped me in warm robes.
I fell at Your feet.
Told me I'd be safe forever.
You saved me.
Jesus, you saved me.


Waiting a red on red light downtown yesterday, I saw one of The Queue customes cross the street in front of me. The car waiting for him to reach the other side turned so very close to his feet. Instantly I thought of the way the world chases us with bared teeth and outstretched claws. Thankfully, this world is not our home. :)

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. He who is the hired hand and not a shepherd, who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. He flees because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father, and I lay down my life for the sheep." Jesus, as recorded in the book of John 10:10-15.



The Women's Theology Class met again this morning. The meetings have been an enormous blessing so far. I've been consistently humbled by the confessions and insights of other women and I know God is working on my heart.

Picked up John Piper's Don't Wast Your Life a few days ago and was struck by this: "Some of you will die in the service of Christ. That will not be a tragedy. Treasuring life above Christ is tragedy."

Oh God, I pray my life is not a waste.

Here, There, and Everywhere

I am perpetually discontent (B. Anne just slammed me in the back and yelled, "You were content today!" because she thought I was referencing life. Let me finish my sentence woman.) with my background color. That dark blue had to go. This purple is rather nice, I think. It might stick around for awhile.

I was content today. The roomies and I walked to Central Park-- lunches and radio in hand. We had such a beautiful time. B. drew. Patty read. Erin danced. I slept and wrote in my journal. I relish time spent with my precious friends and sisters.

Thoughts I copied down:

"Fell asleep in your cobwebs."

Sinking. You threw me into the sea like an anchor and I'm sinking fast and furiously into the depths. Deep. Deep. (Last night I fell in love with a polaroid art exhibit. The artist referenced a sinking feeling she felt when she first woke up in the mornings. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one.)

interests: stories
Pictures are the stories we tell when we're too afraid to voice them out loud.

Plaid table cloth and towels on the moist ground. Things fall from overhead. Squirrels gather around. We're they're entertainment. The air is light and effortless. The sun is merciful, and were shaded under ancient trees and branches. The grass is itching with activity.



I've tried to be more focused while writing these entries because my mind is always going in a million different directions and most of the time these posts lack cohesion, but I say, "Screw it!" It's my blog and I'll say what I want, when I want, and how it comes to me. There. That's always been my struggle with writing, but I'm tired of feeling guilty about it. I'm tired of living in fear of who I am, if that makes any sense. I have all these ideas at once and I never just focus in on one thing. I jump here and there and over and over and back and forth, but it's okay.

I went to the first meeting for a Women's Theology Class this morning and it was wonderful. I love talking about the Bible and God and meeting new faces.

And some pictures: :)

Repeat, repeat, repeat

Vandaveer performed at the 930 tonight. Sooooooo goood. I can't get this song out of my head.

I used a hyperlink. :) Shoot. Cake.

Don't Mess With Yahweh

"When the Philistines captured the ark of God, they brought it from Ebenezer to Ashdod. Then the Philistines took the ark of God and brought it into the house of Dagon and set it up beside Dagon. And when the people of Asdod rose early the next day, behold, Dagon had fallen face downward on the ground before the ark of the Lord. So they took Dagon and put him back in his place. But when they rose early the next morning, behold, Dagon had fallen face downward on the ground before the ark of the Lord, and the head of Dagon and both his hands were lying cut off on the threshold. Only the trunk of Dagon was left to him. This is why the priests of Dagon and all who enter the house of Dagon do not tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod to this day." --1 Samuel 5:1-5


Hipster snap.

Blog! You've finally arrived

So, I just realized that my last post was the 100th one!!! I think that means I'm serious about this blogging business. I feel like there should be cake or something. :)



Currently, I'm attempting to read four differnt books simultaneously. Not a wise choice, my friends, but I think my lifestyle as a literature major has molded my habits, perhaps forever.

One is a book I found at the flea market for the delightful price of three dollars. Not only was the outside aesthetically nice with a sage green cover and art deco-like design, but the inside pages have that wonderful old musty book smell. If your're a book afficionado like myself you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. Yeah, that smell. And, I really like the way this guy writes. The book, Where the Bong Tree Grows by James Ramsey Ullman, is actually a non-fiction (woot woot non-fiction) compilation of Ullman's journal entries as he travels to the South Pacific.

Ullman has a lot to say on an individual's sense of place. He writes, "...I can only submit that if years of travel have taught me anything, it is that it cannot be said of anywhere--as of Miss Stein's famous rose--simply that a place is a place is a place. It is also what each traveler brings to it in his mind and heart."

He also talks about writing in general:

"I was a writer. Sometimes I have thought, 'God help me, I am a writer.' At other, and I believe sounder, times I have thought, 'Thank God I am a writer.' And I have thought it in both pride and humility, for writing demands greater devotion and bestows richer rewards than most men have ever dreamed of." :)

And words:

"Take words alone. Lagoon is a lovely one. So is atoll. Who of us, in his time, has not conjured vicarious magic out of palm, breadfruit, pandanus, copra, schooner, outrigger, reef, trade wind, Kanaka, beachcomber, pareu, hula? But that is the trouble: we have conjured too often. They have been written, composed, painted, and photographed into a huge encompasing cliche--to the point where one hesitates to use the very phrase South Sea Island without a cough of apology."

Buffy, the Fluffy, Blankenship

Buffy, our fifteen-year old family dog, was put to sleep yesterday at 2:00 pm. She was buried up the hill and under the tall oak tree in our backyard where we threw the table scraps. I think that's appropriate. Buffy loved to eat. :) My parents were hoping that she would just die naturally, but she didn't and things were terrible for her. I even prayed that God would take her peacefully, but for some reason He didn't.

When she was a puppy, I used to get scraed thinking about the day she would die and that day came yesterday. I thought it wouldn't be as horrible as I had always imagined because she was so sick and we knew she would die soon, but it really feels terrible knowing she's gone forever. I think it's about the memories too. She embodied pieces of so so many other things in my life-- Big snows, birthday parties, other cats that came and went, my childhood, one of my best friends that moved away, my brother, my dad, my mom. She was home. And more than anything, her death means that home is changing...without me. That's a selfish thought, but it's true.

Buff, in her better, younger days:

Coraline, a stop-motion film directed by Henry Selick, is delightfully creepy and imaginative. I've watched the movie a total of three times, and for me that's a big deal. I don't watch or read things multiple times unless I really, really like them. The beauty of the design and the storyline captivate me everytime.