re: august second

friends surpass the call of duty sometimes. as i spent my day celebrating and grieving the birthday of my father, in quiet conversation with karen on a monteagle park bench, nichole was in dallas, singing happy birthday to my daddy whom she has never met.

and then helen called last night from los angeles, leaving a voicemail: i need to know your father's first name, she said, because i've been talking to him tonight. i told him i'm sorry i never got to meet him, but that you'd missed him today, and i'm glad that you're around, because i feel like i get to know him through you.

and then marlei asked for favorite memories with my father, and all i could remember were the wordless kinds: touches, scents, looks on faces. and she cried with me.

i was treated with great care.
and i think my dad would be happy to know i've got such great friends.

mountains. eagles.

if one is desperate to mount up with wings like eagles, i'd assume that a good place to go would be monteagle, tn. so. that is where i am going tomorrow. i have the visions and i've dreamed the dreams, and now i pray for deliverance from weariness.

karen is giving a lecture tomorrow about her experiences on the island of iona. i'm going to join her. from there, we will simply be on the mountain with our hopes.

for one day.

and it will be a day indeed: august 2 is my daddy's birthday. had he lived past 69, he would be 74 tomorrow. so young. it's hard not to feel the injustice of life snatched, especially around birthdays. but, my dad--bob--lived, and lived abundantly. and his life gave me life; his birth brought my birth, and so tomorrow is celebration, and conscious awareness of just how alive i am.

---

we must not forget to chronicle the patty griffin experience: after talking marlei into joining me for the outdoor, free event, we showed up just before patty went on. it was crowded. loud. beer was spilled on my (open-toed) shoes. when we finally found a space to stand, people flooded our personal space, to the point of claustrophobia. and then patty sang. and had i been able to hear her, i would have been able to forget my cramped surroundings. but, alas, i couldn't hear her. all i heard were annoying voices of chit chat around me. it was an unspeakably frustrating experience.

so. marlei and i left.
we went home and listened to the 1000 kisses cd on our own, outside on the patio, with a glass of wine.
(i comfort myself with the fact that patty probably would have left with us, had she not been on stage playing at the time.)

and now, to bed. this girl has to drive to the mountain tomorrow.

sparrow's etty

i've been reading the words of etty hillesum, slowly, since dear anne sent her to me. i'm having to read her one sentence at time, as there are none to be taken for granted.

last night's life-changing words:

"sometimes i long for a convent cell, with the sublime wisdom of centuries set out on bookshelves all along the wall and a view across the cornfields--there must be cornfields and they must wave in the breeze--and there i would immerse myself in the wisdom of the ages and in myself. then i might perhaps find peace and clarity. but that would be no great feat. it is right here, in this very place, in the here and now, that i must find them. but it is all so terribly difficult, and i feel so heavyhearted."

it's all right here.
(everything is liturgy.)

and if we're all a choir, bearing witness, then a choir master is in town tonight: patty griffin is here.

it is morning as i write. early. the cats won't let me sleep. so. i blog.
i have an hour before i have to be to work. i considered a trip to the good ol' YMCA, but i am now thinking better of it. this is more of an etty morning, and coffee, over at fido.

sound good?

somehow all that matters now

september 24 will be a good day. nichole nordeman's new cd will be available for the whole world to hear and it will be good.

in the meantime, access to pre-releases is a definite perk to how i make my living.

so, nichole's words have been my words this weekend; they have been a preface to all things hopeful. and, this morning, when becca preached on mustard seeds and what the kingdom of God is like, i really tried to hear. she asked us and herself: can you believe? can you BELIEVE thiiiiiiiis much that this seed can change your world? her answer: sometimes. sometimes, becca can see that the kingdom of God is like nine miners, pulled from 247 feet of darkness, early on a sunday morning. sometimes, she believes. and everything is new.

today, the kingdom of God is like vicky next to me at church.
an email from a sparrow.
it's like constance.
and a big squeeze from two-year-old jakey.
it's rachel home safely
and nichole singing holy.

(the kingdom is here.)