Monthly Archives: January 2012

What Do I Know

I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?

What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life “its” name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?

What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?

Artist: Addison Road

Album: Addison Road

Songwriters: Allison L Rogers, Jennifer Ann Simmons

Friday morning I left for work. I knew there was a chance of slippery spots, so I went slow. But unbeknownst to me, I would have to cross a stretch of road that was covered in black ice as far as the eye could see. As I slid toward the guardrail and the ravine filled with rocks and trees, I thought about how it might feel, how much it might hurt. I kissed the rail with the rim of my front wheel and slid toward the ditch on the other side of the road, full of large rocks. Now I thought about my car. And about stopping.

Thanks to the large rocks that took the tire right off the rim, I did stop. The ice continued far beyond my resting place. I promptly turned off the engine, and literally saw the handwritten figures in my notebook, telling me how many dollars left I had to pay on my car, and how long that would be, and what kind of car would I even be able to find on short notice? I reached for my cell-phone, and suddenly. . .this happened for a reason.

I am not going to pretend that it took me less than 5 hours to stop shaking. I won’t deny that that thoughts of my car, the repair bill or the replacement, the remaining debt and the crunching, jolting, grinding noise as I used a bunch of boulders to stop my uncontrolled descent continued to play through my mind.

But underneath it all, I was happy.

God was out of the box.

Not that I was every really keeping Him there, or even intended to put Him there. But when everything seems to be going according to plan, to my expectations. . .somehow God is marginalized. It’s not a happy place, but somehow it is easier to accidentally put Him in a box than it is to deliberately draw Him out.

Sliding around like a hockey puck was NOT in my plans. God is here. I have no idea what He’s doing or why, but His very presence is a comfort.

I Hate TV

I had to watch an episode of House for my school work.

I hate TV.

I hate how everything is broken up into tiny clips, chopped up by ads.

I hate how they build each clip to a roaring emotional rage, so you will stick to the channel even through the ads.

I hate how the roaring emotional swells make you glad for the commercial breaks to let your adrenaline come down.

I hate how every sound, every camera focus, every facial expression is design to jerk at primal emotional reactions. Pain. Rage. Lust. Fear. Danger. Grief.

I hate how well it can work.

I hate the subtle or not so subtle ways they say that living by raw, unrestrained emotion is okay, normal, good.

I hate that it can be so hard to tear one’s self away from a very vivid game of emotional puppetry, and yet there is never anything worth taking away from it.

I hate that it always pounds on the most primitive reactions of the body, and never goes deep enough to stir the soul.

This Page Intentionally Left Blank

This is when I think of witty, clever, interesting, thought-provoking, imaginative things to write: 12:14 AM. I am half awake, half asleep. Or maybe 75% asleep and 25% awake. Maybe not even that awake. Everyone knows twilight is the best time for writing ideas.

This is when I forget witty, clever, interesting, thought-provoking, imaginative things to write:

*when my alarm o’clock goes off 6 AM. Seriously–what do YOU remember when your alarm goes off?

*when I am hustling around to get out of the house and to work on time. What do YOU remember when you hustle?

*when I am at work. Because when I am trying to remember all of my patients, there isn’t room in my head for anything else. I have a small head. It’s tiny. Not much can fit in it.

*when I come home from a 10 hr day. I look at the white screen in front of me and find it almost a mirror for the blankness in my mind. It makes me pretty sure that Descartes was a terrible philosopher. ‘Cause I certainly don’t think and yet I exist. If we blink out of existence every time we stop thinking, then, well. . .life would be a heck of a lot easier. ‘Cause do you know the consequences of not thinking? Better to skip all that.

I apologize for not being witty. It’s not that I’m not witty, it’s just that I’m only witty at 12:14 AM, and I’m far too selfish to wake up enough to share the joke with you. Sorry.

I want a bird

This is sorta akin to saying “I want a pony,” because I have a friend who works in a pet store, and I found out the genus of bird I’m interested in runs at like $200-$300. Owie.

But still. While I am talking about my pony, let me describe it to you. I’m looking at Conures, which are a type of parrot. They’re very people friendly, very smart, and full of playful antics. According to their singles’ ads. I mean, their descriptions online. Like this. How could you not want one?

Oh, yeah. That price tag.

I’m still tempted to save my pennies.

Aw, it’s a birdy.

Family Business

So my little family-owned physical therapy company decided to have their company holiday meal in January. People were just too busy and too stressed in December. They sent out their invitations to three of their offices (plus the one I work at) to come join them at a local steak house.

And when I say family owned, I mean the husband and wife jointly own the company and both sat in the middle of the U-shaped seating arrangement; he had his arm about the back of her chair nearly the whole time, and the conversation frequently veered into the territory of what was so great about the Green Bay Packers. He was thoroughly picked on by his employees when he had to borrow his wife’s glasses to read the bill, and pictures were taken and threatened to be put on Facebook.

Everyone touts the all-American, small town family businesses, but so few actually get the pleasure of being part of one.

Clean Clean Up

That’s not a typo. Clean clean up.

Today at work, a laundry detergent jug was jiggled off the counter by the washing machine. When it landed, its cap popped off. Yay for clean messes!


It also happened to land in the garbage can I had just emptied the vacuum cleaner into. That made a nice, soapy mud.

My co-worker went straight for a bucket of water, but I opted to first scoop as much of it up with a mop and a dustpan, which was a lot of it.

Anyway, needless to say, I still reek of laundry detergent. I don’t know if my last two patients noticed or not; I’m sure neither would have mentioned it.

My co-worker was highly unamused by the whole mess (argh, pun!), but was just profoundly happy it was a clean mess. Not bodily fluids or semi-solids. Puke is terrible. It makes you gag. Reeking of urine is a lot harder to politely excuse. A 1/4 of an inch of laundry detergent over a wide swath of floor is relatively pleasant in comparison.

There Was So Much Work Left to Do

I continue to explore the topic of Sabbath in my mind.

In the past, I have noted that observances of days are not required and that we are not to be bound by law, and left it at that.

I don’t deny any of that; but I have continued to consider that, though it is true, it may not the complete picture.

I have heard discussions that Jesus is our ultimate rest, and that the Sabbath is a symbol.

I don’t deny any of that either.

But as one who is constantly making plans bigger than her time and is prone to burning herself out, I consider that it is all of this and more. The Sabbath pre-dated any law-giving; pre-dated, even, the fall. And when the law was given, even then it was made clear that all were entitled to Sabbath rest–even animals. Rest is good, for all of God’s creation. And like a creature of any addiction, I say, “I can stop any time I want.” I can stop and rest, and “not do,” any old time I want.

Calling my own bluff discovers that I can’t. This needs to get done, that get done, I HAVE to do this. I have to do this.

And then I think of the Sabbath, of having the faith enough to live, “I don’t have to do anything. My Lord has called me to rest.”

More oft is quoted, “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Less often is considered all that we can NOT through Him that watches over us.

Why don’t they just use bigger print?

Use less words and make them bigger. I don’t care how many syllables you use, but use less words.

This request is directed at textbook writers. Srsly. I used to tease my brother that he just went to the library and picked out his books on the quality of height and width, but it appears that textbook writers are confused about the fact that this was just a joke. Quantity does NOT equal quality. Once you reach a certain number of words on any given subject, you are not “exploring in depth.” You are “obfuscating”.

It’s bad enough writing a tedious book on a tedious subject, but do you have to obfuscate on top of everything else?

When Snow is Softly Falling

As much as I grouse and grouse about winter, there are some parts about winter that I do like. I loathe the darkness, it’s true, and I’m not above complaining about the bitter cold when I come in from starting the car in the morning.

But I like gentle snow falls. I like the pristine cover of white that says, despite all the closures and traffic warnings we blare about, all is well. A fresh, sweet, pure new beginning. I like the brilliant sunlight refracting off of every crystal of ice.

I like the chance to gather myself up before Spring.

The trick is to realize winter for what it is, and keep a razor-sharp focus on that throughout the season. It’s too easy to say “nothing”. To easy to say it’s too hard, in the middle of winter. But this is the chance to pull yourself together so you can hit the ground running. This is when you clean, this is when you plan, this is when you take the necessary preliminary steps so that–when winter IS over–you are ready.

Really ready, not a waking-up-slowly ready.