So JG and I spent yesterday evening with two female Covenant grads. They made dinner for us in Gainesville and served an almond vanilla pound cake with freshly-whipped cream and stawberries for dessert. Good grief! I was (comparatively) speechless.
We watched Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad, Black Woman together. Like ALW's Phantom, it was a musical before it was a movie, which makes me think about how that sort of translation occurs. The cast of DOAMBW was almost certainly not the stage cast. They were way too conscious of those little understatements which an audience can't notice onstage but can through the camera (eye movement, detailed body language like lips and jaw muscles, etc.).
I really liked what the movie said about forgiveness being difficult and not fun and not negating responsibilities. I really liked Tyler Perry's characters (there were three). But it was still not a great movie. More of a fun movie: one I would see again, but would probably prefer to see on stage.
"Do you move like that so they can never get their piece of you?
Do you dance so fast they can never get their fingers around you?"
I'm wondering if all this moving around and "sacrificial uprooting" that I've been doing isn't really just a safety mechanism. Do you think that people move because they don't know how to put their roots down or do you think that people forget how to put their roots down because they move too much and get out of the habit?
I know that it's usually refreshing to meet people who grew up and grew old all in the same town.
Jenny
Clark
Drew
Anne Hope
Benjie
Art
Mary
Michael
Alison
Jenna (a.k.a. Hollywood)
Curt
Mary Catherine
Lawson
Hannah
Dan
Jonathan
Mike
Robin
Allie
I was in Fairmont, WV Thursday and Friday to hang out with some short-term construction and VBS teams from around the country. I set up my tent and got a whirlwind tour of most of the sites before getting the chance to settle down with a team from Morganton, NC. It was awesome to see God at work through them, between them, around them. Sheesh.
I get to do this twice more, in about a month. In some ways, this is just what it will take to kill my hidden insecurities and people-pleasing idols. There's no way you can impress people when you're tossed together for 48 hours -- instead, you just have to be yourself. Plain. No frills.
It's a good thing I feel that way, I suppose, because logistically speaking, nearly everything went wrong! I was late getting to Fairmont on Wednesday night, so I didn't get the chance to meet anyone in advance. I left all my prayer cards back in Charleston. I also forgot my towel and shampoo. And I never notarized my release form or got a copy of it to Mae Lee in Atlanta. But God was faithful. (Of COURSE he was.)
So now I'm back at home in the big old ATL. Gotta catch up on email, wash and iron my uniform for tomorrow, and think about flying to Colorado in two weeks.
I like to empty my pockets after coming home from work.
Plunging hands reach for slick, scaly creatures
Deep in those dark pools.
Everything goes in a pile on the table:
Softly flapping receipts,
Wriggling car keys, a bit of twine,
Splenda packets from the restaurant.
I notice my wristwatch catch
On the hem of my pocket,
As if it would rather swim.
Traitor.
Into the pile he goes.
Absentmindedly, I stare a long time
At floppings and blinkings and gaspings
On the shore of our dining room table.
It smacks of obligation and security.
It smells.
I will do this again tomorrow.
But I am dreaming now, will dream tonight,
And I will go to sleep.
Because I (yes I) have bigger fish to fry.
(Actually written May 24th, on the back of a wedding announcement envelope. It was from CO Springs, for those of you who care. I was really tired but somehow lucid enough to evaluate my state. Would I really have what it takes to work for years in a blue collar job? I don't think so. But then again, people do what they have to do, don't they? If I had to, I would.)
(One more parenthetical thought: I'm not entirely sure how much internet access I will have this week. I'm at a conference near Lake Lanier all week. Call me or write to me or send me big mysterious packages. Just don't expect me to blog or respond to emails... Oh wait. I rarely respond to emails anyway, these days. Love, me.)
This sink, this formica counter, the things around which I wrap my hands seem so REAL, so meaningful. And the nations are as dust before the Lord? The coastlands as fine dust? Where does that leave my breakfast, my keyboard? Where does that leave me? Are there measurements for things as small as I am? I was reading this morning in Isaiah (ch. 40, I think). The same God who sits above the span of the earth, meauring all of reality and cupping it in his hand, also gives strength to those who wait upon him. He does not grow tired or weary in his lovingkindness to tiny details such as myself.
More details: I'm in WV. Today my sister turns 17. I was shocked to visit my blog last night only to find that I haven't posted since May 22nd! I must have a few unpublished posts floating around... backs of envelopes, that sort of thing. I'll gather them and post a few after I get back (home?) to Atlanta.