Tuesday, December 21, 2010

christmas in connecticut.

I know connecticut best in stripped down december. bare trees raised in pride. and there is a humility about connecticut in wintertime. it stands tall, unwavering, unashamed. connecticut in the wintertime is an old man, poised without a covering, merely skin on bones, a history but only a skeleton. there is no reason to suspect what he was like in his past - the dawn of his spring, the youth of his summer, the glory of his autumn. and now, we are at the death of his winter.

and my mother and i walk up and down its hills. atop of our hill where we have built our home on, and our history on, and laid plans for our future on, there are other hills peaking. and in those hills there are steeples peaking. every where i go, there are steeples peaking.

and these are some of the things that i like about coming home.

the year of forgiveness

i have found that in my year of forgiveness, i am repenting. i have found that my own need for forgiveness is greater than any mercy i might hand out to another - some gift of grace that i myself do not contain. and, i have found that every inch of me, every cell, and interwoven emotion and substance of being that might make up a soul is thirsty. i need grace to pour over me and through me and in me and create in me a new heart and a steadfast spirit. i have found that i need a grace willing to see me and i need it to matter. i need it to cover and go deeper and wider than me.

i have found that in my year of forgiveness, i am the one asking.

"My secret is that I need God--that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love." (douglas coupland - life after god)

Friday, December 17, 2010

new york was simply the place where we grew up. saw the whole world and decided who we would be. and, there was pressure to stay, and there were influences to bend us. as far as i can tell, there is no magic in these streets, no charm to move us.

only, we were shown the whole world, and decided where we would go. we navigated the streets against wind and dirt and grey, and came out with decisions, with poems, with more of the world in our bones. and, it hasn't left us. i take him with me into the mountains, i take him with me into the sea.

Monday, November 29, 2010

" In those days, at that time, declares the L-RD, the people of Israel and the people of Judah together will go in tears to seek the L-RD their God. They will ask they way to Zion and turn their faces toward it. They will come and bind themselves to the L-RD in an everlasting covenant that will not be forgotten." (jeremiah fifty, four&five)

memories, wisdom

years ago when i lived transatlantic, there was a beautiful woman with curls and strawberry in her blonde and she taught me about seasons about about writing. there were books to write her life in. i have been traveling and recording in a book of maps.

i spend a lot of days wondering how much more travel there could be. transatlantic. transcontinental. and, i wondered, how long can a season of transition last? but here i am. in a home, that isn't quite a home, but must be one for now.

this afternoon my father called from new york city on his way to jerusalem. this is his typical farewell, and today, a piece of advice. "kate, embrace it. be lonely. explore the feeling. that's something new, right? maybe a story will come out of it." and with that, he was off to the holy land.

and, on a different note, i bought a new book today even though the old one was not finished. it is bound with rope and pictures a nest. and, i hope i do.

Friday, November 19, 2010

family.

before i left, when i was just deciding to leave in fact, a wise old soul young woman warned me about the loneliness.

when you go, she said, i will be worried about the loneliness. that's what i would think of if i were to go.

i told her i was looking forward to it. it might be nice to be lonely for a while. at the time, i craved such solitude.

it didn't come right away. the first five months i have been surrounded by hearts and love and welcome. and then, all of a sudden, it was thanksgiving and everyone had a family and i longed to look into little hannah's eyes and talk to her about her shoes. and i started crying. and there haven't been many days since that i haven't cried from need of a family.

i need a family.

Happiest Place in America.

Apparently, San Luis Obispo is the Happiest Place in America, second only to Denmark in the world.

A man from Delta Sky magazine wanted to take my picture for an article.

trouble adjusting.

I find that when I'm in the first hour of a nine hour work evening, and I'm already pressing my tea to my forehead, I really need to gear up for a tough night.


There are 21 days until home. That makes 138 hours of work, 3 bands, 2 Christmas parties and a whole lot of coffee and wine.

Friday, November 12, 2010

pictures, at last

Picture of life.

James came to visit me and we looked a sea lions.
Me & momma.
Dad and I climbed rocks to feel the spray of yosemite falls.
This is a bed & i own it. I often regret that I don't have a mounted moose head or antlers or something.
I really love my mini shelf
Roadtrip map
Desk complete with King's College coaster.
My favorite part.

another thought, in the same vein.

another thought, in the same vein.

i am tired of all this love thrown at me. i am tired of my affections asked for in places i cannot give in order to assure others they are okay. i am tired of love that will not go anywhere.

and this is what i ask for everyday. and this, i think, is why i love books with worn binding. and this is why i am quiet in groups of strangers. i ask for secrets. i ask for secret love. i ask for love in secret places. in the pages of a book that i read all by myself. me and a story, communing. in my bedroom with my door closed and my windows blocked by embroidered curtains. i have secrets in my book and behind my curtains. simple and waiting to be found.

i am a woman with old veins. i am not old. i have one hundred years to live before i go. i am old. i have lived one hundred years in twenty-three. i will not stop going. there are villages to build and huts to dwell in. there are children to be born. there are frames to fill. i live in a past that i did not create and work for a future i will not see. this is way of eternity. this is time i yearn for life never ending.

independence makes me tired. i much prefer a simple life of submission. bending and bowing to a glory beyond all my pride. i much prefer the life of family and of quilted history. it is all much different than i imagined, no longer hoping for my name to be remembered, but rather hoping for my history to be discovered.

my heart lived an ex-patriot

lately, life consists of a lot of me picking up. i come home from long hours of work and explode onto my bedroom floor. i wake up and pick of the pieces until it is time to go back to work. i am adjusting. i am conforming my life to a routine i never thought i'd follow. and, even working with the things that i love most dearly in an office of sorts walled in books and portraits, i get tired.

lately, there has been a yearning to conform. this is all different from how i imagined it. my youthful heart dreamt of trailblazing new life ways, to tell stories never heard. my heart lived an ex-patriot in its hometown. now, i look forward to making my bed. to putting all of my things back where they belong. deeper still, i have no fight in my against tradition. i take a step on an ancient road, and think, it is good and right to follow the ways of so many, to stand in the line of generations.

it is an old, settling sort of feeling. and peace descends as a covering on my head.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

pictures coming soon.

the weeks go by so quickly when people keep coming through. james was the first and i remembered why i miss new york and why i left it. it is conflicting to be brought home in memories and kept here in body. running in so many directions makes it difficult to be where i am. i am in california. i must be in california. i wonder if day dreaming children have trouble later in life.

and then yosemite and my parents. the most wonderful man married to the most wonderful woman (if there are any heavens my mother will (all by herself) have one). and together we talked and prayed and fought and won. we may be a strange family, but i believe we are of the simplest hearts, though often misunderstood.

and all of those details are leading up to the biggest one. for the first time in months (years) i am sitting alone in a room all by myself. i anticipate no one. no one else belongs in these four walls except for me and my busy writing fingers. i have planted three seeds: a bed, a desk, a dresser. i am the most home i have been in months (years).

this is still scary when i think of intention. i intend to live abroad. i intend to have a family. i intend to have a bigger bed and wider walls to house and make this family. but last night i settled in my sleep and woke up to no one but myself. i am excited in my fears. perhaps this is a daily (life-long) question. how do i keep on moving while grounding myself in something?where do i sew roots? how do i weed them? should i? how can i run and stay still? (grow heart, grow.)

i have planted myself temporarily, and i no longer know when the end is. i no longer rush to leave. i love my home. i have planted myself temporarily. i live in a nursery. a newborn plant growing in a greenhouse before the forest. (a country of marriage. there are forests beckoning.)

all of this, and a full-time job. from now on, forty hours a week will be spent in the same place. how consistent. how terrifying. how suited for me. as my sweet friend said, it was like it was all tailor made. how can it be so tailor made?

sometimes, with sweet spontaneity, my heart floods with gratitude. it is almost more than i know what to do with. it is more than i could have ever expected.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

there is a stillness here. i stand on top of glacier point and breathe. three waterfalls, half dome. how do you write about holy ground? dad and i, we climbed the rocks to feel the spray of yosemite falls on our face. there's a purity here and stirs up all my restlessness. it takes a while to accept the silence.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

California

Those that call California young

have not met California.

Those that scoff at the plastic faces
plastered on all of our advertisements
have not met a farmer, seen the lines on his face,
nor shaken his hand missing fingers.

Those that call California young
have not met California.

She wears her age in her dirt.
Old vine Zinfandel growing for 100 years,
evergreen oak tree's roots reaching deep
into the soil and the brick.
Even her roots look like bark.

California wears her age in her dust
circling us and settling on antique hearts.

And I sit and pause on her piers,
looking out onto the rocks the take the
beating of the ocean.
And I wonder if when the Spirit, resting on the
earth without form and void,
if he rested longer on this place.

So carefully, oak trees look like fathers
poised on the rolling hills -
our protectors.
So gently, hills look like mothers
guiding us home -
our comforters.

Those that call California young
have not met California.

The earth is so old here it makes me
wonder if we even belong-
intruding on sacred spacial history.

Monday, October 25, 2010

living in california sometimes feels like living the promise land. land flowing with milk and honey. land flowing with his presence and provision. is it real that he could be this faithful? it is dumbfounding. and beautiful. and so so fun to smile so often.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

the L-RD loves me, that he loves me, that he loves me, that he loves me.

how do i know? i hoped my new bedroom window to look out at the birdbath and feel the sweet autumn air and what do i notice for the first time?

a window box. with a single orange flower blooming. it is like the simplest whispers of my heart are coming true with each passing day.

how good it is to be a child.

Thursday Morning


I am so thankful for this year.

meditations/ zacchaeus

i wonder what it might be like to climb a tree just for the sake of his face. i wonder if he was climbing a tree both to see his face but also to hide. a man so despised isn't always welcomed into the salvation circle. men like to see salvation come to the helpless, not the thieves. he must have sensed the hunger in those hands and feet that climbed the tree. i wonder if, in walking by the tree, the depth of his soul responded to zacchaeus. as deep cries out to deep, come over for dinner. and aren't they one in the same? i am lonely L-RD. come dine with me. come buy food and drink, you who have no money. and we buy the food of the L-RD at no cost to ourselves. eat of me. eat my flesh, drink my blood. what a strange beginning to a religion. or, what a most obvious sign that he was in love. i love you, my church, my bride, come take all of me. eat of me. let me pour myself out for you. does not a mother do the same?

and then the part the moves me so deeply is that the holy one chose the hungry one and they dined together. zacchaeus ate up his love and the lovely one ate up his hunger. and they were both satisfied. and zacchaeus, i imagine, finally felt known, loved, accepted, seen. which is what i imagine it is like to look into his eyes. to melt with so much humility because it is impossible to be proud and to be loved. that amount of grace brings a person to his knees. and we stand so tall so often because no one is standing with us.

my favorite part: zacchaeus meets love and is moved by love. love does not allow him to stand still. and love this overwhelming compels a person to say, i'd do anything for you. i'd even give half of what i own to the needy. i'll even repay what i stole. i'll even be less so you can be more.

lower, still.

and for all of this, and so much more, i pray: come dine with me. i want to see your face.

and for all of this, i long for his invitation. to be the one he sees. to be the one he calls out. to be recognized in my hiding and to rest in his gaze. what beauty there is in salvation. what romance.
i am terrified of so much wasting.


Sunday, October 10, 2010

I want to look like you

I recently spent an evening being a trendy white person with my loving, caring, authentic, life-saving roommate who hardly fits any stereotype at all and makes me laugh everyday and is beyond good to me, watching TED talks. On this particular evening, we watched a talk about empathy. At one point, i heard something very interesting. Babies learn by empathy. We are soft wired. When we see tears, we cry. When we see laughter, we laugh. Babies learn everything by copying. Adults practice compassion through empathy.

This is something I liked hearing because I have often liked the idea of empathy.

And then tonight. I sat with a woman and she was beautiful but she was lost without a home. And we bowed our heads and asked Jesus for love, more love. And a home and a job. Because love, in this case, would look like a home and a job.

And I left frustrated. I left with so much longing. My heart is too small! I don't have enough empathy because I look at her and do not feel that her plight is my plight. More than that. Jesus why can't your glory presence fall on two women who need your love right there on the sidewalk on Osos street? Why can't your sweet Holy Spirit come like rushing waves and spread love?

And I left frustrated because Jesus, I want to look like you. And I thought, how well you have designed us, to learn by empathy? You have made me to look at you and then to act like you. And so I ran home, mumbling like the crazies. Jesus, I want to look like you. Jesus, I want to look like you. Father, give me your heart. Give me your heart. I need so much of your love so that everyone I meet knows your love too. That's what you looked like, Jesus. That's your heart, Father.

And I write this only so that someone else might think a little bigger too. Why can't love mean something meaningful? Why can't Jesus hang out on Osos street? And then I pray: Sing, O barren woman...Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes. Give me new wine skins, O L-RD, that I might hold more of your new wine. I want to look like you.

Friday, October 8, 2010

and i knew that he was good.

and i laid there, still, feeling every bit of tension struggle in my spine. and i was fighting to find a place that didn't hurt, that didn't feel so crooked. and his peace was falling over me. and all of the tension dissolved into tears and i laid there, crying. and he whispered in my ear, you don't know how to be helpless. and i laid there, helpless, in so much need of a healing, a realignment, that i cannot bring. and i knew that i was helpless. and i knew that he was good.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

checklist/ facing my fears

_bed frame
_mattress
_night stand
_dresser
_mirror
_2nd job
_November 1st rent check

Three weeks to get it all together. Ready, set, go!

Psalm 116

"I love the Lord , for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live."

I think I discovered Psalm 116 my freshman year of college. Meditating through David's songs, I found this one. I love the Lord because he gave me his hand of mercy. I love the Lord because he extends his hand and gives me peace. When I cried out to know the Lord's love, he loved me. When I cried out to know his peace, he soothed me.

In California, I am learning to walk by these words. Life by faith is getting to be a little bit fun. Everyday I wonder, how will the next step come to be? And, every question is answered by his hand. Life by faith isn't scary anymore. I get to pray things like, "God, I need this, how will you provide it?" I do not have to ask if he will. I just get to watch. "I love the Lord, for he heard my voice...The Lord protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need, he saved me. Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you." There has never been a need he has not met. There is no more anxious yearning. There is only patience, peace. There is so much joy in the waiting for him to come.

In these words I look to him and say, I need not fear. I need not fear what will come next. You have been good. You have been good. And faith-full-ness is a lot more fun than fear. I need not fear that you are a bad father. I need not worry that you do not care.

And the King is coming home! I am stocking up my oil for when my bridegroom comes back for me. He is coming. I will wait for him with so much pleasure in my heart.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

wonder

i've been doing a lot of awe-gazing lately.
everything that's right with this picture: dirty hands, wild hair. butterfly, and pinot noir.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Hosea 6

His promises are still faithful! His promises are everlasting! He is still doing what he did so many years ago.

"Come, let us return to the LORD.
He has torn us to pieces
but he will heal us;
he has injured us
but he will bind up our wounds.

After two days he will revive us;
on the third day he will restore us,
that we may live in his presence.

Let us acknowledge the LORD;
let us press on to acknowledge him.
As surely as the sun rises,
he will appear;
he will come to us like the winter rains,
like the spring rains that water the earth."

In Him we live and move and have our being.

I am so thankful! I am so thankful! There is a small stream building into a rushing river in me. I feel it! My heart is growing soft with so much life. There is so much life.

Can it be? Can I always feel this light? Like my heart has lifted above my tired, heavy shoulders, singing over me? Can it be that I miss him after only an afternoon? Can he really be this good? This coming back to life is so slow and steady, and I sometimes have to stop and notice. I am more alive that I was three months ago.

A new (heart) season

There is something in the California air that tells me I am a wife and I am a mother. In the cement, real life way of things, I am not a wife and I am not a mother. But the soft earth that gives way to so much life tills my heart. What froze in the harsh New England winter is thawing in the California autumn. Today we had wind and a chill and leaves swirled around my feet and dropped into my coffee. I walk through our sweet little downtown on the brink of falling in love. I wrap myself in my sweater, and notice my hands are lonely for a more permanent friend. My finger feels too bare; it is missing something gold.

And these were not thoughts that I intended to think. I did not intend to catch myself thanking G-D for the daughters I will raise, to imagine the stories we will tell to one another. I did not intend to be so tired of all this flirting, to be tired of all men except for the one with a beard and rough hands. And I surprise myself. I ask Holy Spirit to be my best friend. I light up at the sight of kittens and giggling little children.

I dream of cream gowns and red lips. Of lavender growing in my window boxes and bread baking in my kitchen. Of children laughing in the bearded man's arms. And even, of buying a bed.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

A little project for Rachael, take one.

There is no need to be ashamed.
I, too, am I a woman.
My heart has also been shattered
and broken at the expense of
someone's name I don't remember.
And he never asked for mine.
I am not the same as you,
and I don't pretend to be.
I have not seen the terrors that haunt you
or watch you.
But, I, too, am I a woman.
There is no need to be ashamed.

Let me whisper something into your heart,
let me tell you the secret hope that pulses through me.
He works all things together for your good.
His love will cover you,
and clothe you in goodness, and mercy.
Woman, let me tell you,
there is no judgement held against you.
Let love cover you.

A tree

There was once a tree who bent down to pick me up. He said, you are too small; let me make you bigger. His branches stooped down below my head and curled around my waist. His branches held me. And up, up, up we went! Beyond my head, there are leaves. Beyond my vision, there is sky. And up, floating, in the midst of the leaves on top of the sky I am in your arms. I am in your arms.

There was once a tree who bent down to pick me up. He said, your heart is too small; let me makes it bigger. He picked me up and then he lowered me down, down. Everyone was a skeleton and all I could see was their hearts. They were melting. All of these hearts were melting and they were grey. Some had been thrashed and others were so bruised, they were dented. Crying, I said, take me out of here tree! He drew me out and then I look at myself, hidden in the leaves, and I saw that I was naked. There were bruises all around my heart.

And I cried, tree, having a heart is painful. And he said, but you are the luckiest one. You get to be human. I am simply a tree, a resting post. Now, go be a human and love all the other humans you can. Let me tell you a secret. And then the tree took me up into his crook of his neck and whispered, when you love the humans, their bruises go away and their grey becomes colour.

Friday, October 1, 2010

I'm Coming Home.

I'll be home for Christmas. It's official.

Northeast, I've missed you.

See ya December 9th.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Beloved

I believe forgiveness looks like laughter. The sweetest laughter that rises from my heart. That tells my precious friend, there isn't a single thing you could do in this world that I wouldn't forgive you for, you are that close to my heart.

So go ahead, fail me! Try me out! And then come back and watch how we laugh. How that healing salve pours over your wounds and mine and calls us home.

Beloved, let's go home. We'll still be the best of friends there. You and I will bellow laughter when we see him. This is what we always hoped for! Beloved, there will be too much joy for us to handle.

And, I know you're away now, but you're coming home. You're just taking the scenic route. Just like me. One day, we'll be together again. Hugging and tearing, and laughing inspite of the tears.

Beloved, I know you. You are good.

the found the L-RD in the sunrise

i have met the L-RD in the sunrise. this week i woke up every morning before the dawn. looking out into the sky i can still see the stars. the mountains are just silhouettes in the background. when i am driving, the dawn breaks. darkness turns to light. the sky is blue and the sky is yellow and the mountains still live in their darkened mystery. and then i am working. grape by grape into the bucket. i work in silence since i am the foreigner of the group. i am the one who does not belong. in a work force full of aliens, i am the stranger. i begin to pray. and then the sun rises.

and this is when i tell him, i love! i love the mountains, and i love the pink florescent sky, and i love california, and i love this vineyard, still steaming from the morning dew. and, L-RD, i love you! i love you, i love you, i love you, and how long did it take for me to say that? and how long did it take for me to believe that you are good? but you are good and thank you for taking me here. the most beautiful of all places.

here, in this place, sweating in the sun, doing a job that no one wants, picking grapes. this place, exactly where i wanted to go, doing exactly what i wanted to do.

and then i cry out: give me a bigger heart! your love has stilled me, now move me with your love! give me more of you, sweet Jesus. You, like the gazelle, who leaped over the mountains just to be near me. You. Give me more of you. You who took me to the very place where I can love you again.

And six hot hours of manual labour goes by quickly in the silence, contemplation, prayer, and so much celebration.

i used to love the noon day sun, and i have always loved the sunset. but, i have found the L-RD in the sunrise.

So, papa G-D, moved me with your love so that I may love. So that I too may break forth like the dawn. So that my healing may come quickly.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

five years in the making

When I first moved to New York City, I fought. With everything in me, I fought G-D. He said Go and when I got there, he said Stay. Every semester he said Stay. I did not want to go to college. Much more, I did not want to lead strategic institutions, and I did not care about classical philosophy, nor politics, nor economics. For the most part, this is all still true, except that, I am repenting.

When I moved to New York City, I had just come home from Europe. In Europe, life changed. There was the day that I got off the train in Paris, and fireworks went off in my heart, I was home like no where else I had ever been before. Then, there was the afternoon in Le Gault la Foret. It was the day that I told the L-RD he was worth more than all else. I wore his ring. I promised him my heart. That day was a sort of pivot. I wore his promise that I would know his love. I love his love.

This all came after the day a stranger told me my life would change in Paris. I scoffed, but in my heart, I waited.

I lived in New York City for four years, telling everyone who asked that I was going to move to Paris. I'm not sure I even believed myself. And then there was the terrible months last year, where I told Him I wanted nothing to do with building His Kingdom. I only wanted to be in the sunshine and pick flower and read poems.

I am here and I do not read nearly enough poems. Rather, my heart is coming out of its long hibernation. I waste my hours away day dreaming how good he is.

I often have looked at girls who get engaged with a kind of awe. How, I wonder, must they feel making such a final decision. How can they be prepared for such a settling? Are they giddy? What is it all like? I look at them as a kind of alien, walking a life I've never lived before.

But today, I wondered if this is how they might feel, when all of the pieces begin to come together. The realization that this is all finally happening. Since I moved to California, all of the pieces of Paris are finally coming together. There is no longer a question in my heart if this is possible, but rather, when is the best time?

I am giddy. For five years, I have had no other plan than to get there and stay forever. Relationships ended over this city. I could not get married if that meant giving up on this place, though I never knew if I was actually going to make it. Now, I am thinking timelines, visas, preparation, language, literature.

I had no idea the L-RD was this good. I had no idea that in telling to Go he was giving me tools for the thing I have prayed for more than anything else. (Lord, Give me Paris). I had no idea that he could lead me so perfectly. I thought he forgot.

So, here is my repentance: I am thankful for New York City. I am thankful for seasons of waiting. I am thankful for here. I am thankful, even, for college.

And now, as I am still waiting and praying and thinking in timelines rather than in future maybes, I feel like Mary, treasuring all of these things in my heart.
Jeremiah 6:16
This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.
Psalm 116:7
Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Father

"I imagined that the right name might be Father, and I imagined all that that name would imply: the love, the compassion, the taking offense, the disappointment, the anger, the bearing of wounds, the weeping of tears, the forgiveness, the suffering unto death. If love could force my own thoughts over the edge of the world and out of time, then could I not see how even divine omnipotence might by the force of its love be swayed down into the world? Could I not see how it might, because it could know its creatures only by compassion, put on moral flesh, become a man, and walk among us, assume our nature and our fate, suffer our faults and our death?

"Yes. And I could imagine a Father who is yet like a mother hen spreading her wings before the storm or in the dusk before the dark night for the little ones of Port William to come in under, some of whom do, and some do not. I could imagine Port William riding its humble wave through time under the sky, its little flames of wakefulness lighting and going out, its lives passing through birth, pleasure, suffering, and death. I could imagine God looking down upon it, its lives living by His spirit, breathing by His breath, knowing by His light, but each life living also (inescapably) by its own will - His own body given to be broken."

-Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

Saturday, September 18, 2010

It seems often that there is too much to say and not enough words. Yesterday I went on a hike for several hours, then took a break to read Wendell Berry in an oak tree. These are the sorts of experiences I used to yearn for while living in New York City.

It is almost October. My heart tells me that it is so. Coming from Connecticut, I used to take the train home every autumn, waiting for what might be the peak weekend for foliage. Even just the drive home from the train station to my parent's house was magic - colours, colours. And then I'd be home. The night air would smell like fire and my home would be like cinnamon. I'd request a hike, just to see as many maple trees lit up as I could. This is what I miss about New England. We'd pick apples and drink cider and I think that perhaps there is no other place on earth of be than New England in Autumn.

California is changing too. I am learning to get over my belief that we are in a perpetual season of pleasant weather. I can smell it in the air, something has shifted. Harvest, too. We gather the grapes in the Autumn.

I find this to be a significant discovery, because I only know the L-RD as he relates to seasons. And, what is happening now? Roots are going deeper, though not in any specific place. I am still nomadic, my things are still stored in the trunk of my car. But, my heart is stretching. This season seems to be exactly what he told me he would give me. For that, I am thankful. For that, I trust him. Somethings are not so great, nightmares haunting me, and never knowing where I am sleeping next, or for how long.

But I am beginning to lose my fear.

I wonder how it is I came here. We didn't plan it or pick it out. We were just sitting on his couch one day and I saw a picture and then I felt at home. I do not know how often G-D works in my decisions, but in this one I can only see his hand in it after the fact. And, my retrospect is how I know to trust him. How good, how good.

In the spirit of Autumn I have begun to ask him what needs to be sacrificed. What can I give up? What can I burry? How can I be more free? He must become greater, I must become less. I need a bigger heart.

e.e. cummings

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be—
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

Friday, September 17, 2010

And this I feel, all the time.

You have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw—but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported . . . All the things that have deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it—tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest—if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself—you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say 'Here at last is the thing I was made for.' We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want . . . which we shall still desire on our deathbeds . . . Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it—made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand.

(the problem of pain, c.s. lewis)

sehnsucht.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

i think my first recognition of god was in my father. it was a natural association and one that i do not regret now, though it took some time. god had no face except for dad's. and since dad spoke for god, god had no other voice except for dad's. i like my dad's face and voice, and i still think the two are very similar people.

and then i grew older and people talked about god as a lover. i had had some experiences with lovers and only knew them to be flightly and self interested. i did not want a jesus who used me. i shyed away from this image, feeling sour at the thought of it.

i am here now in california working through a lot of ideas i had in my head and testing whether they are true are not. this is not always something that i think about, sometimes it just comes on me. this morning, for example, thoughts of forgiveness came to me looking like freedom. i don't have to hold on to this. i am not required to have a grudge. peace, peace.

and there is more. jesus seems to be growing arms and legs like a tadpool in my heart. in all of the instability of my living, there is cement hardening in me. jesus is like a rock in place my hope on. he is growing arms and legs in me. and so, this morning i scrubbed some bathrooms and asked him to teach me to love. i am ready for his arms and legs to move for me. what does love look like?

Saturday, September 11, 2010

cinderella

Once, while I was still important and he and I were still talking, he called me Cinderella. And, what a fitting nickname it was, extending back a year. For years, the most important work I can find in a day is cleaning another dish, checking in on the kitchen once more. He didn't call me that then.

It was only recently. We were going to talk and I needed to finish scrubbing the toilets. "I'll talk to you soon, Cinderella." And I imagined how fast I would have worked had there been any prince to meet. He was no prince to go looking for me and I was no woman to respond.

I do not follow trends very regularly anymore. I do not own a T.V. and I do not read the news and I do not live in any epicenter of culture. I simply go about the days. But, I do know what silly bands are and I find them true to their name.

I clean toilets day in and day out. Today, at the winery, a guest gave me a silly band in the shape of a white shoe. And I thought, Cinderella; I'll wait for a love big enough to find me. I have been preparing my whole life to be a wife anyway, without me even knowing it.

Friday, September 10, 2010

i must forgive because i rejoice.
and what room is there for bitterness in a heart full of praise?
in eyes that seek out your holiness?

i must forgive because i do not have time for such nonsense, wastes of time.

the L-RD is love and he loves me and he brought me here to live and i am living.
oh, i am living in deep rich ways deeper than ever before.
and so what time to i have for bitterness?
i forgive you.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Go, and it will go well for you.

I know that I did not understand the significance of leaving when I left. I am not even sure that I understood that I was leaving. I only got on a train and left my home of four years. We didn’t expect that day. It was routine, forever engrained in my mind as the perfect way to say goodbye. By that time we were a pair, and so we cleaned my apartment together. I ate a salad, alone, of course. We fought. I won $800. Such luck. Our lives had been routine and we lived in it still. I stalled leaving for as long as I could. Those last few hours, we told each other all that we had meant. Roots deep and fast. I didn’t understand how fast leaving would pull them out. And then the goodbye. I was always the stoic one, and so, I expected to board and forget it all. We stood on the track, was it eleven or nineteen?, and we held on. I was not the first one to start crying, I am not sure who was the last.

Two days later, I was in Ohio, visiting my family. There is not much to say except for the first time I realized that I did not have a home or a job in California. I was riding on a simple word spoken from God, “go”. I imagine now that he said “Go, and it will go well for you.” But, that’s only my imagination. I poured over the story of Abraham that week: “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” And later, “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward.” I was afraid. I only hoped that G-D could repeat himself 3,000 years later. That's what I prayed, anyway.

I did not stop being afraid. I only came home, packed everything I might need in my beat up car. I stepped into my father’s sanctuary the day before I left. Again, distant friends came up to me and assured me, “The L-RD says you do not know why you are going, but he knows. You are going to find something, and when you find it this will make sense.” In my innermost heart I hoped that it was love.

A second goodbye. This time my parents and brother Michael stood in a line. First I hugged Michael, thinking to myself, you have no idea how much I admire you. And then my father. Is there a more tender word than father? Those two stoic men are among my favorite in the whole world. And finally, momma. What a beautiful woman, transformed into my closest friend. We said goodbye as I moved for the third time, only, this time had no end date. I drove off, playing Joni Mitchell’s Blue album on my way to pick darling girl up.

She was more than a travel companion. We needed a sister when we met. And in this way, we grew up together. In two short years, we grew up together. At the beginning, we used to wonder if anyone knew how lucky we were to have bosom buddies. We were eight when we met. Two years later, we were grown.

It wasn’t until Tennessee we noticed the L-RD joined us. She noticed first, of course. We fought the first two days; it had been a long time since we lived together. We finally asked him, please take us into the mountains. Please show us this place, please give us more time. And then we found that detour that took up a mountain into the Smokeys. But first, we traveled through Appalachia. We hiked and escaped a thunderstorm and then we gained an hour crossing into Nashville. I am convinced the Holy Spirit lives deep in the mountains in Tennessee. I am equally convinced that he loves to travel. It was only then that I started to believe that he might have actually meant what he said. That’s what I’ve always wanted from G-D, to know that he really means what he says.

"serve God, love me, and mend"

i choose to continue to tell this story. this is for my own benefit as well as anyone else's. there is a story of G-D in this year. This is the truth. Write it down.

The day I decided to leave, three people came up to tell me that I needed to rest after graduation. I shook from the fear that I might need to prove something more worthwhile to G-D. Was there not some country that needed my saving? Was there not some destiny that I owed him to fulfill? In the freedom to rest, I remember crying at random. I remember asking G-D to let me be human. I remember asking G-D to show me that he was good. I began to seek him in poetry and in philosophy. I remember learning that I could learn. This was all a break from my misguided understanding that there were tasks to accomplish for the L-RD.

I'm not sure anyone else knew how much I cried that semester. How often I shook in my sleep or prayed so deeply for relief. At the winery we talk about bottleshock. I am only learning that this refers to the time after first bottling when the wine is still getting rid of sulfur and CO2. Apparently, after a few months, all of this dissipates after time. Perhaps I too was going through bottle shock. I had met someone who saw me clearer than anyone in the whole world, and then it was gone. Bottleshock. All of a sudden, I was in a new surrounding that I could not comprehend. Though I had been there for years, everything felt foreign and unnatural. I moved stiff for months.

I don't remember much of Christmas that year. Except, that I fought a lot with one of my closest friends, and I escaped into the friendship of another. Both of these routes turned out to be wrong. The truest thing I remember is that I was afraid of the L-RD by then. "Don't get too close," I often whispered. I could not be transparent without the fear of collapsing.

And then there was the season of preparation. It was a sweet six months. We speak of it now with regret, though my heart holds none. It was like a detour. Not mine to hold, but mine to remember. That season makes everything harder now, of course, but I am not ashamed. We sowed roots deep and fast. We laughed. I like to think that when we left that season we promised each other to keep those memories locked in a chest for protection. I'm not sure what a good job we've done of it, but, I think we try.

At the end of that season, the season of sweetness, of learning, of experience, I nicknamed this year the 'year of forgiveness'. Four years of being in a place that i did not fit into, i was so tired of walking and nursing my bitterness. I needed to forgive my surroundings, I needed forgive my enemies, my resentments, my pain. I think most significantly, I needed to forgive the L-RD.

I have discovered a whole new facet of forgiveness since being here. G-D loves me. It is the first thing he tells me every time we meet. In being here, I have stormed with anger, fought demons in my memories, failed in my loneliness. I am lonely here. Moving here was not as magical as I had daydreamed. Life is still the same. I still wear my favorite jeans that have a broken zipper and don't fit and I still only touch reality a few times a day, and I still don't own a hairbrush. Life is the same, but I left so many things I loved. I left so many friends and even, I left love. It was not an easy move.

Forgiveness right now looks like bitterness displaced by love. It looks like evaluating the damage, and believing his promise that he works it together for my good. It looks like going through anger only to one day realize that I do not have to be. It is beginning to look like expecting G-D to give me what I plead for in men. A transition of sorts. And in it I am realizing why I left everything. Perhaps I found a treasure in a field somewhere, and sold everything to buy it. Perhaps a piece of my heart still believes somewhere that the L-RD is really worth all of this. And so I cling to all of the promises and mystery that surrounds him. I tell him, I forgive you, come back and come close. And what that really means is, I kneel down at his feet and wonder, how could I have ever lived without you?

"O God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune god, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still. Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee, so that I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away." Then give me grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long."
-- a. w. tozer

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

testing sugar: some photos & thoughts




today we went to dan's to test the sugar level in the grapes. first we picked, then we crushed, then we tested. this is just the beginning.


i want to badly to put together all the meaning and magic in this adventure. but, like life, it is still life. i am still in my other world-thoughts, i am working out my emotions distant. but dan's vineyard is my favorite place to be in all of san luis. i am more here than i used to be.

i keep asking, what is the L-RD doing? what is the L-RD doing? picking grapes led to no prophetic revelation. we just played in the grapevines. but, he's doing something. i know this from the things that i want: holiness, his presence, a home. i so consistently live in the dichotomy of hopes and actions, but i crave to be whole, to be righteous. i think this can only happen from touching the fringes of the holy spirit, and i have. and, he keeps coming back. i think this because for so many years i have loved rebellion. now that i am free to do what i please, i want to be under his wings, in his right. what will a year do? what will a year do? these new thoughts may take a year to transfer into action.

this goes through my mind almost everyday: he works all things together for my good. this is my hope for the season.

(these are pictures and i don't know how to move them. dan testing the sugar, johnny picking, the vines under nets, and me sipping sweet grape juice.)

Monday, September 6, 2010

Eternal Structures - Kevin Patrick Sullivan (a poem about my home)


Driving the coast road
my head breaks through
the morning fog
like one of the seven sisters
I feel like I belong here
home among the old mountains
the coastal range
their feminine form
all my life
I've lived among women
friends and lovers
sisters and mothers.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Ready for the harvest.

Tonight was the last night of every other friday night volleyball. Ranger Dan owns a few acres in Edna Valley and invites everyone who's ever met him to come play in his field until sunset. I'm not much of an athlete, but there's so much about this evening that I enjoy.

The first thing that I noticed about Ranger Dan and John Salisbury (my other vineyard boss) was their humility. There is something profoundly self sacrificing about working with the earth. When I met Dan, he invited me to work with him all year in the vines. I will be harvesting, crushing, producing, bottling, enjoying... I know nothing about Dan's accomplishments. I only know about his mistakes with the vines. I have noticed this in the men I meet who respect the earth. They don't want me to know what they have done, because, they have not done much of it. I have needed to meet men like this after four years of rising towers in New York.

And then there is all of the scenery. I watch volleyball from atop of a hill. Below me in San Luis. It is nestled in between ranges of hills and mountains. We are a protected town. Just before sunset, the fog rolls in. This is what I want you to imagine. The fog is like nothing other than cotton balls. Thousands of cotton balls rolling over San Luis heading toward us. They block the sunset, but their holes leak orange. We are a covered town. And then it stops, and the sun stops setting. And, just for a moment, everything is golden. The hills, the leaves, the cotton ball fog. and then, the fog hovers in the valley waiting for the next sunlight. And we lay on the picnic table until the stars come out. More stars that we've ever seen in town. The sky is glittered. And we lay there until we are too cold to stay. And then we go home, thankful for a friend who lives hidden in the hills. Ready for the harvest and ready for the sunset fog and ready for the stars.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

But Mine Own Vineyards I Have Not Kept

This is the story of how I came back.

Early in August, I flew East. My first night home I drove into the city, seeing its skyline in full panorama. That night, in Harlem, I sobbed until I slept. I was home, but my heart was not with me. Late in September, I grieved a quieter kind of grief. I fell in love in California. Now that that was over, I walked around the city determined to pay attention. The mornings were the hardest, waking up short of breath with sorrow's heavy hand pressing down on my chest.

The nights were hard too, but, in a different way. That's when the anger came in reckless storms. There was no stopping the anger, though all my reason told me that to forgive was to love, and I wanted to be able to love. I never cried after the first night. I only felt weak. All my love, like blood, had drained out of me. The nights went long with rage, cycling through the same reasons why everything had gone wrong. After the rage came the longing, missing someone who could recognize me. Then loss, and anger again that I had lost. This is how it always went.

One night, tired and scared that this was how it was always going to be, I turned to him. 'Papa,' (this is what I always call him), 'I need you to take me somewhere where I can be healthy again. Somewhere I can love you again. I have been tired for such a long time.' His reply was a month long. There were pictures of flowers, rows of vineyards, promises of rest, and finally he sang to me from the Song of all songs. "They made me the keeper of vineyards; but mine own vineyard I have not kept."

And from there we went, to tend to the vines together. To catch the foxes that kept my lover and I away. To forgive, to love again.

California, Take Two

The last time I was in California, I was in love. Now, I am not. There are thousands of things that happen in one years time.

I came back. Not to relive that rose bloom summer, but to regain the pieces of me I scattered along the Pacific. There is a story of how I got here. And, there will be stories to follow; stories of California, of the L-RD, of wine, friends, longing, learning, reading. As to not forget, I will write.

This is The Year of Forgiveness.