This morning’s God moment

22 08 2010

Okay. A little bit of too-much-information: while sitting on the toilet and reading All The Hits So Far But Don’t Expect Too Much by Bradley Hathaway this morning, I came across The Hug Poem again, and this time, more than any other, I was profoundly moved. I don’t think the touches that Jesus gave in order to heal were in any way diminished by the fact that the Bible doesn’t say they were hugs; I think He would have given hugs, and really good ones at that. I think the power of Jesus’ touch was in the sheer fact that He touched at all; we think of the very rich, recoiling from the outstretched hand of the very poor.

I was touched in a big way while reading that because I’ve been really conscious of the new back piece I got on August 13, and I don’t want to be touched in case it’s ruined or something. That’s what it was like at yesterday’s Solid Rock meeting – even though I was really excited about seeing the youth again after 3 weeks away, I was hesitant about hugging people. The physical touch does say so much more than just words though, and I found myself being enveloped by the girls I hadn’t seen in the last month, and as we caught each other up on our various activities over the summer, I was struck afresh at their joy for life, in spite of what they’re going through. They may not even know it themselves, but their very beauty is in the soul that the Creator placed in their being, and as it shines from their eyes, one can’t help but be captured by the love, and creativity, of God.

So may you, as you live each day stressed out or rushing around or doing chores or studying or whatever else you do, find little reasons, old reasons, new reasons, and surprising reasons, to love God and love what He has created. Because it is good, even when we don’t understand it.

When you have time, the poetry collection I wrote about is found here.

Something to think about?

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A rocking chair type of thing

6 02 2009

So I went and had Vietnamese food tonight with Sharon, and that was good, albeit the Richard thing was a little unsettling. But okay. It, too, could have been worse.

In other portions of the day: work was… work. We started writing the “Where I’m From” poem by George Ella Lyon and it was KILLER. Very difficult because it’s so abstract and seemingly-random. I can’t wait till they hand them in; knowing where who you are now is originally from shapes your understanding of who you will be, I think. I’ll bang mine up when I see it again.

I’m on my way home right now, and the bus is giving off this crazily high-pitched whine as it’s going, and I’m getting The Official Killer Headache. Love it? Not so much.

I feel a bit more positive today – at least I know what I need to do: plan out the rest of the English 9 week (going with metaphor, the overbearing statement, and simile that’s like strands of silk in the web of poetry), as well as Advanced Comp (with the rap-as-poetry connection, which loves as it hears and shouts as it speaks). History 9 week will have to happen a bit later as I don’t know quite where to begin. Either way, before Tuesday afternoon would be fine, I reckon. I’m supposed to meet up with Sharon again tomorrow so we can work on our respective essays. A bit of accountability and company never hurt. Maybe I’ll go to the young adults thing tomorrow night, without SR being my Saturday (but also, how do I react to the numbered group? What if I end up loving it? What if it’s where God ultimately tells me I have to be? 7 months may seem short, and long at alternating times, but to whom am I accountable during this time? I need to know the answer in my heart and not just in my head, and I need to let go).

I’m just so tired… I felt like I could fall asleep on my feet on the train going out tonight, and that’s the first time I’ve ever felt that way. I’ve not had bad sleep for a whole week since I was a teenager. I’m getting too old for this.

Ahh, but sometimes I do love the work I do; teaching keeps me young and on my toes. But sometimes I wish I were retired and could spend my time reading a good book in a rocking chair.