Deep Calls

The Old Ones say there was a time when man counted us equals.

A time when the roar of saws and the ax's bite were things not to be fathomed.

They say man called us by our true names and that is why we must serve them, bear them our precious fruit.

But to serve such a flawed Master. It cannot have always been this way.

The Old One's stories, they must be true. It has to be true that under heaven, the two-legged Beings God-Almighty calls man must have loved us, even if only for a short time.

They say our Life-Breather God first formed man from the dust of the earth, the very same earth that our roots have thrust themselves under.

Earth-kin.

Each created; Each named.

Inseparable under Heaven's Dome.

Why then? Why this rift between ones so similarly formed?



Deep calls to deep. Earth-kin fall, and reverberations sound all around us. Through the trembling air, across the scarred land.

They say man has forgotten why the seas rage, the skies fall, and the earth wrenches itself awry.

They have forgotten that they too ache and burn; The creaking of their bones, the rot and decay of their flesh.

They forget the glory and brilliance that was once theirs.

They forget the eternity that was cut short, west and west from here.

They've forgotten the face of the Father.



We too forget.

We forget that the wind through our keening leaves was once a great symphony, terrible and glorious to behold.

We forget that once, our sturdy trunks and knotted branches reached unhindered toward heaven, flawless and shimmering in His own reflection.

More than anything, we forget that it was from our extended branch that man plucked the deathfruit and condemned us all.

And so we groan, hardly knowing, remembering why we suffer.

Why we hate.

Why we kill.

Why we die.



We wait, as the birth pains grow stronger.

We wait.

I've always had something of a strong reaction to movies and books.

Case in point: When I was around 12 or so I read "Knee-Knock Rise" by Natalie Babbitt. Well I guess I read more like half of it because it was seriously the scariest book I'd ever attempted to read. I remember just shaking uncontrollably in the bathroom at 1 a.m., trying to smother the sounds of my own sobs. 

It sounds overly dramatic, I know. But at the time it seemed that my irrational fear of fictional characters trumped the lack of sleep I would have to deal with the next day by spending the night in the tub with all the lights turned on.

 

It's the same with movies. "Marley and Me" was a disaster, but thankfully the witnesses to that breakdown were only my parents. 

I wasn't so lucky my sophomore year of college when "My Sister's Keeper" threw me over the edge. My poor roommates didn't know what hit them. Well, more accurately, what hit me (which I'm sure resembled a typhoon).

So tonight after a viewing of "The Ides of March" I'm feeling out of sorts. It wasn't a sob story, although in a way it really was. The waterworks didn't gush forth, but I'm just super bummed. 

"It's just a movie, Becca," my dad says. 

Yeah, I know. 

But what are movies and books if not truth bearers? Alright, so some are really only for entertainment purposes. But some, for example "The Ides of March", are much more. Human nature took a heck of a beating from this movie and I guess that's what has me in a funk. 

Imagine this for a moment:

One plaid- clad (poet and didn't know it) girl curled up in bed around her laptop, trying to pull herself from the depths her most resent film viewing has sent her to. Her feet are freezing and its way past her bedtime. She knows that if she stays awake for much longer, 6:50 is going to come around far too quickly. 

It's that dang movie. She's realizing, not for the first time, that truth can hurt. 

The last notes of "The Girl" by City and Colour fade from her laptops speaker and a silence ensues that makes this girls dark thoughts even murkier. But then behold! Yet another truth bearer appears, this time in the form of music. "Hope for the hopeless" by A Fine Frenzy. 

The characters in "The Ides of March" really are hopeless, and the ending gives no sense of redemption or comfort. But what I didn't find in that movie, I found in a song that wouldn't be considered lyrical genius by any means. 

But I guess that's the really awesome part. As well done as that movie was, and how well it portrayed a certain truth about brokenness, it did not convey the truth that'll get me to sleep tonight. 

A simple song that would have to be played over and over countless times in order to reach the length of "The Ides of March" is what pulled me from that hole to realize (again, not for the first time) that where the film ended is not where it ends for us as God's children. 

Yes, we are all the awful, horrible things portrayed in that movie. 

But thanks be to Him who doesn't leave us there. Him who takes us as we are and molds us into the vessels we were always meant to be. 

And for that, I am and will do my best to always be, a grateful piece of clay in the Makers hands. 

Family

"Well this has got to be a little different for you, eh Becca? You're usually surrounded by people at the start of their lives, full of hope, a future. Us, well, we're at the other end of that," Grandpa sighs. 

"Yeah," I say. "Kind-of a culture shock"

"You can say that again," Caroline pipes up from the back seat. 

We'd just left the retirement home and were on our way to Grandpa and Caroline’s house. My Grandpa's sister and her husband have been at the home for over three years now and every time I visit we make the rounds, visiting all the great aunts and uncles who live in the area. Caroline, my grandpa's wife of three-ish years, has really embraced the family and all the responsibilities that entails. I'm sure it's not easy. My grandpa's four sister's aren't always the easiest to get along with. 

But it's hard not to love them. Especially when the oldest, Alice, seems to be wasting away in front of our eyes. That night at the home, I was just amazed at the bright spark that would shine in her eyes for a moment before becoming dull and lusterless again. And that's how it was for her: She'd have a minute or two of clarity before asking me again who I was. 

It really broke my heart. 

My uncle Harold's doing a bit better. He can communicate better, but he still asks when he can go home and where his truck is, the one his kids sold over three years ago. 

"I can see Tim in you," he tells me. That's my dad. "Howard too," he adds, my dad's brother. 

Maybe when it gets to that point, family is really one of the only things we've got left. 

The next day, when grandpa got off the phone with one of his other sister's he looks at me and says, "Can you believe it, I've lived in the same town as my siblings for this long?" I laugh, trying to imagine it myself. 

"I haven't done that since seventh grade," I say. "You like it?"

He gives me a rueful smile, "Yeah, I spose," he says. "Feels like home. As much of a home as I'm gonna have on this earth."

And all the sudden I get this dull ache in my chest for my own siblings. It's true, I haven't lived in the same area as all of them since 7th grade when my brother first packed his bags for college. 

My brother, sister-in-law and little baby share a house with my sister and her boyfriend right now. 

And as much as I like college life, I yearn for a closeness that my grandpa's had for so long. A closeness to my earthly family, not just by blood, but geographically too. 

It may not happen in this life. 

But one day, geography won't mean much. Family and love will mean everything. And this ache I've got will fade as we come together in a way we've never experienced. And then we'll praise the One who invented family in the first place.

At long last, we will fully know as we are known.

Grateful doesn’t really cover it this time. 

Oops

Big oops.
Well, not really. I made a pretty conscious decision last night when I went to bed instead of writing a post. So this might end up being a "Morning/evening/whenever-I-get-to-it Thanks" project. Oh, the life of a college student.
I guess that's actually what I felt most grateful for yesterday: college life.
Let me start over.
So the night before last I started reading Acts. You know, the early church community and whatnot. I guess I didn't really think too much of it, except to marvel at how good they were at fellowship. Well the next morning I got an email from a good friend of mine who invites a bunch of people over to his apartment on Wednesday's for some time of... fellowship. Huh, I thought. There's a funny coincidence.
Well then, guess what my bible study looked at that evening... yup, you guessed it. Christian fellowship.
Alright God. I'm not an idiot.
So even though I have an irrational fear of people I don't know too well, I hoofed it over to my friends apartment. And surprise surprise, it was a real blessing.
As I think of it now, I realize I probably couldn't have done that if I wasn't in college and didn't live a hop and a skip from everyone that goes here.
People are great.
And God is awesome.
And for that, I'm truly grateful.

Evening Thanks

I'm TA-ing this semester for some English profs and... well surprise, surprise,  I really love it.

Granted, there's entering grades that isn't so fun all the time, but I think more than anything else I just love being surrounded by my heros and role models.

So if anyone sees me coming out of the English pod with a silly grin on my face that's why. 

One of the projects I'm working on is going through one of the professor's blog entries and finding his "Morning Thanks" to make into a devotional. 

He started this ritual a couple years ago mostly to keep himself writing. Eventually though, it turned into consciously making an effort each morning to record a blessing he's struck by on that particular day.

Imagine for a minute a girl hunched over her computer,  maybe a little drool dripping off her chin, and giggling to herself randomly. Yup, that's me reading through these things. I love this guys writing. I love his teaching. If I could be him (the female version) I think I'd be pretty happy with life. 

Anyway... in an effort to keep writing, as well as deliberately think of the many blessings my God has bestowed on me, I've decided to follow suit. 

One minor difference: They'll be my "Evening Thanks" since I love my bed too much to drag myself out of it any earlier than completely necessary. 

Here goes nothing: 

Today I'm thankful for standardized testing. Never thought I'd utter the words, but it's true. Assessment day means one thing, and one thing only to most of the campus: no classes. 

So after two hours of skimming through math problems that could have literally been Greek for all I knew, and really only trying on the reading and writing sections (English major, through and through), a couple of my roommates and I went out for lunch at a local bakery where I ate more than I should have. It turned out to be a beautiful, if somewhat windy, spring day-- perfect for a bike ride. I got some homework done, had a great dinner with my roommates, and worked on a story for the prof that inspired this entry. 

Assessment day rocks.
And so do inspiring teachers.

Until tomorrow...