When I was a child
I used to look at my mother.
I marveled at her hands,
So delicate, so beautiful.
I wondered if I would ever look like her.
As I grew, I knew this was not to be.
My hands, not enormous,
Are my father's hands,
Not my mother's
But my face.
I am the image of my mother.
I have her eyes, her expressions,
Her hair, her nose--
So when I look in a mirror
I see my mother gazing back at me.
I married, had children, and marveled.
So beautiful, so distinct,
And yet so similar
One to another.
And now they're grown.
Three look like me.
One looks like his father.
Although they all have features of both
and they are distinct to themselves.
And they have children, too.
Do those children look at their parents,
Do they notice hands, hair, eyes,
And do they say to themselves,
I wonder if I will ever look like that?
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Go and make disciples of all people
Looking down the boulevard, she waited for the visitors that never came. She had waited all these years, sitting on her porch, looking down the street, hoping against hope that the person sauntering, the old man tottering, the child scampering--that even one of them would be for her. She was alone--had been since her mother died. She hadn't particularly enjoyed caring for the woman. She was cranky and demanding, but she was a voice that spoke to her, a person to play cards with at night. Since her death, she had gone quickly from grief to quiet solitude. At first, the quiet didn't bother her. After her mother's grating and demeaning demands, quiet was for a time a welcome friend. But the quiet became all-consuming, and she began to feel as overwhelmed by it as she had by her overbearing mother. She took to sitting on her porch, a small woman hunched in a lawn chair. To the people passing by, she was a shadow. Many didn't even realize she was there--she was that insignificant.
One day, sitting in her chair, she saw two men in white shirts, black pants, and ties. They had ridden their bikes to the corner nearest her and locked them against a light post. She watched as they went from one house to another, knocking, waiting, and then moving on. The woman knew that it was Saturday, and many people were either working or away. Not all, though. Some were inside, but they didn't want to open their door to these clean-cut young Mormon missionaries. Not her. They would be welcomed--someone to speak with.
As the boys made their way up her walk to her door, she noticed how very young they were. She could hardly remember being that young. Their eyes sparkled, even though they seemed at the same time very weary. By the time they had gotten to her house, their jaunty step had turned--just slightly--to a more world-weary trudge. The optimism that had exuded from them had faded somewhat. As they came to her porch, she had the thought, and it went from unvoiced to voice in a second: "Are you boys thirsty? Can I bring you some lemonade?" They seemed very grateful, and she went into the empty house and quickly found glasses and a tray. She made them each a glass of lemonade, and then she made them each a sandwich, too.
When she came back with the sandwiches and lemonade on the tray, the boys seemed grateful--and relieved. She suddenly realized--they probably thought she had used the offer as an excuse to get away from them. Awkward with the attempt to make conversation after all these years, she said, "Oh, I wasn't trying to get away, boys. I just thought you probably were hungry, too." The missionaries smiled at her. "It's all right, ma'am. We were going to wait as long as necessary." The stilted English and beautiful accent were charming. "Where are you from, my dear?" "Germany, Ma'am."
The woman told them to feel free to sit on the porch swing and eat. She would wait, and she promised she would listen. They had no idea how eager she was to listen--to anything. It had been so long since anyone had come to her house, these boys seemed like angels to her. The other missionary smiled his thanks. He seemed shy, but when he spoke, he seemed to know exactly who she was.
Ma'am, we're here to tell you about our faith. Do you mind if we speak to you about a man, Jesus Christ, who sees you and loves you and wants you to have an eternal home with him? If you believe, I can promise you that you will be part of a new family, and you will never be lonely again.
Tears began to flow. She barely listened to the words as they spoke about this Jesus and his travels in America. She'd gone to church with her mother, (a woman who delighted in slamming her door in the faces of Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses), but this, to her, wasn't about religion. This was about never being lonely again.
As the boys finished their talk, she was more than ready. She prayed a prayer, got a hug, and was given an address for a church nearby. They promised that a church member would call upon her soon. As they went away from her house, smiling and optimistic once again, she sat back in her lawn chair, amazed. They had promised: she would never be lonely again.
From within their houses, several of her mother's friends--members of her church--had been watching the interaction. They sniffed to themselves. 'Well! Who would have thought!' But nobody went to her to speak about it. They left her to her new fate and retreated into their womb of hypocrisy.
One day, sitting in her chair, she saw two men in white shirts, black pants, and ties. They had ridden their bikes to the corner nearest her and locked them against a light post. She watched as they went from one house to another, knocking, waiting, and then moving on. The woman knew that it was Saturday, and many people were either working or away. Not all, though. Some were inside, but they didn't want to open their door to these clean-cut young Mormon missionaries. Not her. They would be welcomed--someone to speak with.
As the boys made their way up her walk to her door, she noticed how very young they were. She could hardly remember being that young. Their eyes sparkled, even though they seemed at the same time very weary. By the time they had gotten to her house, their jaunty step had turned--just slightly--to a more world-weary trudge. The optimism that had exuded from them had faded somewhat. As they came to her porch, she had the thought, and it went from unvoiced to voice in a second: "Are you boys thirsty? Can I bring you some lemonade?" They seemed very grateful, and she went into the empty house and quickly found glasses and a tray. She made them each a glass of lemonade, and then she made them each a sandwich, too.
When she came back with the sandwiches and lemonade on the tray, the boys seemed grateful--and relieved. She suddenly realized--they probably thought she had used the offer as an excuse to get away from them. Awkward with the attempt to make conversation after all these years, she said, "Oh, I wasn't trying to get away, boys. I just thought you probably were hungry, too." The missionaries smiled at her. "It's all right, ma'am. We were going to wait as long as necessary." The stilted English and beautiful accent were charming. "Where are you from, my dear?" "Germany, Ma'am."
The woman told them to feel free to sit on the porch swing and eat. She would wait, and she promised she would listen. They had no idea how eager she was to listen--to anything. It had been so long since anyone had come to her house, these boys seemed like angels to her. The other missionary smiled his thanks. He seemed shy, but when he spoke, he seemed to know exactly who she was.
Ma'am, we're here to tell you about our faith. Do you mind if we speak to you about a man, Jesus Christ, who sees you and loves you and wants you to have an eternal home with him? If you believe, I can promise you that you will be part of a new family, and you will never be lonely again.
Tears began to flow. She barely listened to the words as they spoke about this Jesus and his travels in America. She'd gone to church with her mother, (a woman who delighted in slamming her door in the faces of Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses), but this, to her, wasn't about religion. This was about never being lonely again.
As the boys finished their talk, she was more than ready. She prayed a prayer, got a hug, and was given an address for a church nearby. They promised that a church member would call upon her soon. As they went away from her house, smiling and optimistic once again, she sat back in her lawn chair, amazed. They had promised: she would never be lonely again.
From within their houses, several of her mother's friends--members of her church--had been watching the interaction. They sniffed to themselves. 'Well! Who would have thought!' But nobody went to her to speak about it. They left her to her new fate and retreated into their womb of hypocrisy.
Monday, August 12, 2013
New Book--New Name
Today I looked through old files and officially have begun getting them together to form a book of monologs. On the same topic, I am also telling you my nom de plum--Leslie Thomas.
Here is a sample of one of my monologs. This one is from my first book--monologs taken from the time of Christ.
Here is a sample of one of my monologs. This one is from my first book--monologs taken from the time of Christ.
subito
Shepherds roamed the
fields by night
noisily rounding up
the herds.
In the city, census time
was here.
Thousands of people,
millions of words.
Listening to them,
one would say
that chaos was the
order of the day.
The cacophony of
sound
that every moment
grew louder
more urgent
more raucous
more insistent
except
in a stable.
Here the noise is
hushed
the air seems charged
the molecular
structure changed,
the atoms and ions
rearranged.
And why not?
Nothing would ever be
the same,
the order and balance
of life,
once perfectly in
synch--
then skewed in a
slithery sillibant slur of sin
now is whole
both out and in.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Dream to Goal
I have dreamed of being a published author my whole life. In the past, I thought that this would never happen. I was so bound up in my own hurt that I could only see the road straight ahead of me, and that only for a few yards. Whenever I tried to write, voices seemed to shout at me, "You're so stupid! Why do you think you can write? Nobody wants to read what you have to say!" That would continue until I put down my pen and walked away. Obviously, I was being fed lies, some would say through demons, others just by my own poison self talk. Either way, I knew this had to change. I sought counseling from an old friend (NOT the best idea, those of you who are searching. It worked for me, but I don't recommend it for the majority of people).
My friend was more interested in renewing our friendship than in a strict patient-counselor relationship, so we tried that out. It seemed to work for us, mainly because she understood where I was in the relationship. There were times when I only wanted her to be my counselor; other times I accepted her as a friend. It was a long time before we could do both at the same time.
While we were finding our way in this relationship, she asked if I'd like to go with her to San Diego. I agreed, and we had fun seeing the sites and searching out the used book stores. In the car, she would play classical music. On the way back, she played Taverner's Akathist of Thanksgiving. The Eastern Orthodox sound and the beauty of the music were overwhelming. As we listened, she gave me the CD notes to read, and I realized that the man who wrote the meditations on the Psalms was held in a Russian prison. He spoke of the beauty of nature, the glory of God, and the wonders of his love--all with only a small window which looked out on the barrenness of the prison. I was inspired. "If he can do all that facing certain death, surely I can write meditations as well." When I got home, I started writing meditations on the Psalms--starting backwards at Ps 150. Such joy! A wellspring seemed to come up out of nowhere, and I began writing more and more. My counselor/friend and I began writing music together, too.
So I was released to write, and for many years, that was enough. But eventually, the desire to publish became a burning within me. I've never been one of those people who can write for God or for his own self-pleasure. I write for an audience. Even now, I think of you reading these words as I write them. I think of you wondering if maybe it can work for you like it worked for me. I'm praying that you realize that it can.
So I had the desire to publish, but I didn't have the faintest idea how. I also was afraid. No matter how many people told me that my content was good, it didn't give me the courage to submit it for publication. So I kept writing, but with no place to show it off, it was frustrating.
Then I found blogs. I started writing, testing out different styles and having fun. I was excited and felt that maybe things were starting to come around. But then--I wrote something that got me into serious trouble in the work place, and fear overwhelmed me. Before, I felt that I was too stupid to write. Then, I felt that I could lose my job if I wrote.
It took time, but I started again. This time, lesson learned, I determined never to put anything on my blog that I wouldn't want my worst enemy to read. It worked. My audience was small, but I got good reports. After a while, I also started a blog for language teachers, and that took off. I was very happy about that, too. But still--publishing? However, this time I felt a little more hope. I started reaching out to the writing community. There were some false starts, yes, but then I found it: a Christian writer's group! This was truly an answer to prayer! In one simple meeting, I received all the hope, affirmation, and encouragement that I could ever have wanted. Last night, I got out all my writings and am starting to categorize them. I'm excited, because I now know what to do and how to do it.
So now my dream of publishing has turned into a goal. I'm setting that goal down here as a marker: I have decided to release a book of monologs by Christmas. It will be called Biblical Portraits, Vol. 1, and it will center on the people and time during the life of Christ. I will self-publish (it just so happened that this was the topic of my first meeting), and I will release it on Amazon.com.
So there, friends. My goal is down for all to see. Please pray with me that I might achieve this goal.
I will let you know how it goes, and I will give you samples of the portraits. I would appreciate it if you would pass them on to your reading friends. It seems I also have to have my own website, so that is in the works as well.
Love to you all! I know that many of you have been praying for me to get to this point in my career. Thank you!! I'm excited!
My friend was more interested in renewing our friendship than in a strict patient-counselor relationship, so we tried that out. It seemed to work for us, mainly because she understood where I was in the relationship. There were times when I only wanted her to be my counselor; other times I accepted her as a friend. It was a long time before we could do both at the same time.
While we were finding our way in this relationship, she asked if I'd like to go with her to San Diego. I agreed, and we had fun seeing the sites and searching out the used book stores. In the car, she would play classical music. On the way back, she played Taverner's Akathist of Thanksgiving. The Eastern Orthodox sound and the beauty of the music were overwhelming. As we listened, she gave me the CD notes to read, and I realized that the man who wrote the meditations on the Psalms was held in a Russian prison. He spoke of the beauty of nature, the glory of God, and the wonders of his love--all with only a small window which looked out on the barrenness of the prison. I was inspired. "If he can do all that facing certain death, surely I can write meditations as well." When I got home, I started writing meditations on the Psalms--starting backwards at Ps 150. Such joy! A wellspring seemed to come up out of nowhere, and I began writing more and more. My counselor/friend and I began writing music together, too.
So I was released to write, and for many years, that was enough. But eventually, the desire to publish became a burning within me. I've never been one of those people who can write for God or for his own self-pleasure. I write for an audience. Even now, I think of you reading these words as I write them. I think of you wondering if maybe it can work for you like it worked for me. I'm praying that you realize that it can.
So I had the desire to publish, but I didn't have the faintest idea how. I also was afraid. No matter how many people told me that my content was good, it didn't give me the courage to submit it for publication. So I kept writing, but with no place to show it off, it was frustrating.
Then I found blogs. I started writing, testing out different styles and having fun. I was excited and felt that maybe things were starting to come around. But then--I wrote something that got me into serious trouble in the work place, and fear overwhelmed me. Before, I felt that I was too stupid to write. Then, I felt that I could lose my job if I wrote.
It took time, but I started again. This time, lesson learned, I determined never to put anything on my blog that I wouldn't want my worst enemy to read. It worked. My audience was small, but I got good reports. After a while, I also started a blog for language teachers, and that took off. I was very happy about that, too. But still--publishing? However, this time I felt a little more hope. I started reaching out to the writing community. There were some false starts, yes, but then I found it: a Christian writer's group! This was truly an answer to prayer! In one simple meeting, I received all the hope, affirmation, and encouragement that I could ever have wanted. Last night, I got out all my writings and am starting to categorize them. I'm excited, because I now know what to do and how to do it.
So now my dream of publishing has turned into a goal. I'm setting that goal down here as a marker: I have decided to release a book of monologs by Christmas. It will be called Biblical Portraits, Vol. 1, and it will center on the people and time during the life of Christ. I will self-publish (it just so happened that this was the topic of my first meeting), and I will release it on Amazon.com.
So there, friends. My goal is down for all to see. Please pray with me that I might achieve this goal.
I will let you know how it goes, and I will give you samples of the portraits. I would appreciate it if you would pass them on to your reading friends. It seems I also have to have my own website, so that is in the works as well.
Love to you all! I know that many of you have been praying for me to get to this point in my career. Thank you!! I'm excited!
Friday, August 9, 2013
thoughts
You run and you run
and you run
trying to get ahead
And then you look ahead
and you're still behind.
Somewhere in the pack,
along with everyone else.
Life is not a race, people.
Life is an excursion.
Live it slowly,
One day
One step at a time.
and you run
trying to get ahead
And then you look ahead
and you're still behind.
Somewhere in the pack,
along with everyone else.
Life is not a race, people.
Life is an excursion.
Live it slowly,
One day
One step at a time.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
i make a difference
I make a difference.
I come into a room,
knowing that every life in that room
will be touched
changed
by their time spent with me.
I make a difference,
I have the power to make evenings a joy
or a misery.
I can turn a peaceful family experience
into a nightmare of horror
with a simple phone call.
Conversely,
I can make a family proud
and happy
and uplifted
with a simple email.
I make a difference.
I instill knowledge,
and I try to make it fun.
I spend hours planning lessons
that last 50 minutes,
but can be remembered for a lifetime.
I make a difference.
I teach.
I come into a room,
knowing that every life in that room
will be touched
changed
by their time spent with me.
I make a difference,
I have the power to make evenings a joy
or a misery.
I can turn a peaceful family experience
into a nightmare of horror
with a simple phone call.
Conversely,
I can make a family proud
and happy
and uplifted
with a simple email.
I make a difference.
I instill knowledge,
and I try to make it fun.
I spend hours planning lessons
that last 50 minutes,
but can be remembered for a lifetime.
I make a difference.
I teach.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
God Vs God
I read the most interesting article yesterday in Christianity Today. It spoke to the seeming difference between the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New. Many people say that there is too much difference--that they can't trust God because of his bloodthirsty nature. Sure, Jesus was all mercy, but he had his moments, too. Think about his attitude toward the moneylenders in the temple--not all sweetness and light there, was he?
The problem is that we tend to focus on God's vengeful nature in the Old Testament and his mercy in the New. In fact, both are in both. The punishment that comes in the Old Testament comes because people rebel against their God. In the NT, there are many pointed references to the religious leaders of the day. These are men who have turned away from the true God and are leading their people harshly, all the while rebelling against God in their own lives. In the OT, the prophets spoke the words of God; in the NT, John the Baptist and Jesus spoke for him. Prophets were despised; John was beheaded; Jesus was crucified.
But the OT doesn't just speak of punishment. "If my people who are called by my name shall humble themselves and pray, then I will hear from heaven...and I will heal their land." Rahab was spared from the Canaanite massacre and is called a woman of faith. Jonah was angry at God because he went to Ninevah and warned them of God's wrath--and they listened and were spared!
The thing is, God desires fellowship with his people. His people are called to righteousness. If they heed the call, they are spared and chosen. If they ignore him, they are turned away. The results of being turned away are not pleasant. However, God sent his Son Jesus to redeem us and make us righteousness. As the article says, "The cross is God's defiance of himself....At the cross, God made a way for his mercy and love to triumph over his justice and judgement." (from the article "Can We Trust the God of Genocide" by Mark Buchanon, Christianity Today, July/Aug 2013) In Christ, "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other (Psalm 85:10). We can trust in God to be safe against God.
But remember, nothing has changed as far as God's wrath is concerned. It is spelled out for us: we are the called; we are the chosen. We are given the call--the gift of salvation. We can accept that call and live. If we don't accept that call, well...
Many years ago, I spoke with a colleague, a westerner who was married to a Muslim. (Remember that the culture of the Middle East was the culture of Jesus, the culture to whom the Bible was addressed, When they heard the words, they understood instantly what was meant and there was no question. It would be as easily understood as saying to an American "the groom carried his bride over the threshold at the start of their new life together". It would be understood that the couple had been married and were entering their new home.) She was a teacher, as am I, and it was grading time. Anyone who taught in the days before computers knows what her coffee table must have looked like. Her gradebook was in the middle, report cards beside it, papers strewn about, a red pen in one hand and a blue pen in the other, and her mind totally on what she was doing. Into all of this came her husband, a cup of tea in his hand. "My darling, I've made you a cup of tea." Without looking up, she said, "That's fine. Just put it on the end table. I'll get to it." Without another word, the man left.
After a while, she came to a stopping point and remembered the tea. She looked at the end table. No tea. She looked around the room--no tea anywhere. Confused, she came into the kitchen. There she saw the teacup, washed and put in the dish drainer. Even more confused, she found her husband in the bedroom reading a magazine. "Sweetheart, why didn't you put the tea down like I asked you to?"
"My love, you don't understand. You did not ask for that tea. I knew you were busy and thought you would enjoy the gift of a cup of tea. It was a gift, given out of love. And you didn't even look at me. You rejected it. Therefore, it was taken away." This was a valuable lesson. If you are offered a gift, you must accept it. If not, it is seen as rejection, not only of the gift but of the giver. That rejection results in the gift being taken away and possibly even being given to someone else (the story of the wedding feast that nobody attended comes to mind).
Think of the gift we have been given. God offers himself to us. He gives us prophets to speak his words and call us to himself. More than that, he gives his only Son. He sends his Son to die for us, and to live with us and for us. He has given us the most amazing gift. However, that gift will not be available forever. If we hear, it is up to us to respond. Yes, it seems that the offer is going to be there forever. But one day it will be taken away if we do not accept it. God is love, but God is also righteousness. How amazing that he sent his Son so that we can clothe ourselves in His righteousness and thereby be made acceptable to our father.
The problem is that we tend to focus on God's vengeful nature in the Old Testament and his mercy in the New. In fact, both are in both. The punishment that comes in the Old Testament comes because people rebel against their God. In the NT, there are many pointed references to the religious leaders of the day. These are men who have turned away from the true God and are leading their people harshly, all the while rebelling against God in their own lives. In the OT, the prophets spoke the words of God; in the NT, John the Baptist and Jesus spoke for him. Prophets were despised; John was beheaded; Jesus was crucified.
But the OT doesn't just speak of punishment. "If my people who are called by my name shall humble themselves and pray, then I will hear from heaven...and I will heal their land." Rahab was spared from the Canaanite massacre and is called a woman of faith. Jonah was angry at God because he went to Ninevah and warned them of God's wrath--and they listened and were spared!
The thing is, God desires fellowship with his people. His people are called to righteousness. If they heed the call, they are spared and chosen. If they ignore him, they are turned away. The results of being turned away are not pleasant. However, God sent his Son Jesus to redeem us and make us righteousness. As the article says, "The cross is God's defiance of himself....At the cross, God made a way for his mercy and love to triumph over his justice and judgement." (from the article "Can We Trust the God of Genocide" by Mark Buchanon, Christianity Today, July/Aug 2013) In Christ, "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other (Psalm 85:10). We can trust in God to be safe against God.
But remember, nothing has changed as far as God's wrath is concerned. It is spelled out for us: we are the called; we are the chosen. We are given the call--the gift of salvation. We can accept that call and live. If we don't accept that call, well...
Many years ago, I spoke with a colleague, a westerner who was married to a Muslim. (Remember that the culture of the Middle East was the culture of Jesus, the culture to whom the Bible was addressed, When they heard the words, they understood instantly what was meant and there was no question. It would be as easily understood as saying to an American "the groom carried his bride over the threshold at the start of their new life together". It would be understood that the couple had been married and were entering their new home.) She was a teacher, as am I, and it was grading time. Anyone who taught in the days before computers knows what her coffee table must have looked like. Her gradebook was in the middle, report cards beside it, papers strewn about, a red pen in one hand and a blue pen in the other, and her mind totally on what she was doing. Into all of this came her husband, a cup of tea in his hand. "My darling, I've made you a cup of tea." Without looking up, she said, "That's fine. Just put it on the end table. I'll get to it." Without another word, the man left.
After a while, she came to a stopping point and remembered the tea. She looked at the end table. No tea. She looked around the room--no tea anywhere. Confused, she came into the kitchen. There she saw the teacup, washed and put in the dish drainer. Even more confused, she found her husband in the bedroom reading a magazine. "Sweetheart, why didn't you put the tea down like I asked you to?"
"My love, you don't understand. You did not ask for that tea. I knew you were busy and thought you would enjoy the gift of a cup of tea. It was a gift, given out of love. And you didn't even look at me. You rejected it. Therefore, it was taken away." This was a valuable lesson. If you are offered a gift, you must accept it. If not, it is seen as rejection, not only of the gift but of the giver. That rejection results in the gift being taken away and possibly even being given to someone else (the story of the wedding feast that nobody attended comes to mind).
Think of the gift we have been given. God offers himself to us. He gives us prophets to speak his words and call us to himself. More than that, he gives his only Son. He sends his Son to die for us, and to live with us and for us. He has given us the most amazing gift. However, that gift will not be available forever. If we hear, it is up to us to respond. Yes, it seems that the offer is going to be there forever. But one day it will be taken away if we do not accept it. God is love, but God is also righteousness. How amazing that he sent his Son so that we can clothe ourselves in His righteousness and thereby be made acceptable to our father.
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