The Formal Offer

March 29, 2013 § 1 Comment

IMG_0216Myke and I meet the agent on Saturday to write up the formal offer on 18 acres of beautiful country. We had been negotiating casually through email and now, we are ready to make the offer official. « Read the rest of this entry »


From Urban to Rural, What Should We Expect?

March 27, 2013 § 11 Comments

IMG_0093My husband and I are steps away, God willing, from owning our own plot of land to do the things we’ve dreamed of doing for the past several years. Eighteen acres featuring a cleared area for a future home surrounded by panoramic views of rolling hills lightly speckled with neighboring homes, a creek, a pond, a barn and some wooded places and finally an old cemetery smack dab in the center, already fenced and tended by the local church.IMG_0097

Personally, I find the cemetery an intriguing feature and I don’t mind spending our days with a little history in our back yard, nor am I superstitious.

I’ll be searching wordpress for blogs on first time farmers/land owners for information on what we might expect.

As a means of earning extra income, we hope to have chickens, goats and a garden yielding produce for the local farmer’s markets. I would be responsible for those things and am pretty excited about it. I see it as an adventure I never would have imagined myself taking 10 years ago.

I would love to hear from folks about their own land owning, crop producing, animal tending, tractor driving adventures, especially those of you who went from urban to rural settings.

So far, I know to expect the following:

30 minute drives to the grocery store and everywhere else for that matter
– Fire ants (which seems weird for that area and in the colder weather)
– An entirely new and tangible understanding of the character of God in the process of gardening
– An improvement in my own character and ability through the process of tending all things on the home-front
– And finally, everything else I never expected

Come, Hear, Do…A Response

March 20, 2013 § 4 Comments

Mixed media by Tatum Hart

Mixed media by Tatum Hart

Rarely do I act on my desire to thank those who have invested in me – especially the women. « Read the rest of this entry »

A Philisophical Attempt

March 15, 2013 § 3 Comments

thinker“Did you know that evil doesn’t exist?”

“How so?”

“Well, since darkness is the absence of light, it can’t be measured. So evil doesn’t exist.”

“Hmm. What about the acts of people who rape women and abuse children?”

Pause. “Lesser forms of good.”

We sat next to each other with our dinner plates in our lap, watched the muted commercials which followed a segment of our favorite sitcom, both relieved to be home after fighting the traffic from work. Just as casually as the conversation came, it left. « Read the rest of this entry »

Anatomy of Faith, three parts

March 12, 2013 § Leave a comment


Wall paper clings to the room like skin
The ceiling is like the face of an owl

Gold swirls methodical, militant lines and
Rows like faces
Pointy chins
Gargoyle palms
Ornate masks
Silent, pendant, on the light –
The legs of tables end in carved paws, sharp tendons. The air smells musty and all the furniture is oversized – the heavy velvet drapes don’t sway, they hang like an
Innocent figure in death, all the faces in the walls look on their glory.

Vessel cracked, sleek panes
We watch.
At the edge of the earth,
Hot breathy sigh
Bitterly quenched

The room shivers, seizing, torn in two the space that divides


My eyes are scales, flakey and dim –

I am cared for by those suspicious of me
I was charging, murderous, seething
Rogue zeal
I am
A Villain

I pursue those belonging to the Way
I haul their bodies through the streets
I hate
Because I believed
In figures clad like jewels – villains.


bell-elemsEach time I drive over a pot hole, my brain knocks around in my skull
Side to side – resounding
The anatomy of bell parts
I am
Like a bell
With ears and eyes
Decorative Belts
Head of tongue and staple
A strike point
Body – Skirt
Reverberating knowledge I have been told – the way I am struck – how I absorb
A beating

My axis sways
Between spirit and flesh
A stubborn defeat

I am being conformed to Him.

An Image of whom, there is always someone
Standing by who’ll tell you
New and improved theologies for a new and improved Jesus

The Axis
Who shook the world.

A Table by a Window on Dale Ann Drive

March 9, 2013 § 2 Comments

There is a pumpkin scented candle
On the dining room table

A green satin string
Stretched from my book
Across the grain of wood where
The stain has worn away

Oscar perches
On three points and
Sniffs the air –

The window is open
Its layers are lines in a poem
The outside, then the screen, then the glass

I say
Good morning to the chirping bug
Caught inside the world of neither in nor out

Then the inside, a room
And there are webs and
The crispy corpses of insects, dust, paint chips

Layers of sound
Birdsongs tuned to 10am
The jingle of dog chains followed by
The crunch of shoes against the sidewalk

A train – an airplane – a crow

On the table
That same adapter is coiled
Like those random things
In a house

Without a closet or drawer to place
Without a basket or box or bag

For the Love of Writing and the Why of Blogging

March 2, 2013 § 7 Comments

Blogging is writing, but attached to blogging is a different why. Although I write everyday, I’m new to blogging. I get so excited when I check the stats on my blog and find that so and so “liked” a post or that I have a new follower.

I blog because I want to know what a reader thinks – how they are moved by what they’ve read, otherwise, I’d be content to close the cover of my journals.

I write because I love to write – from grammar to form to context – every aspect excites me – the initial idea, the drafts, the process, the end product – the editing, the reading, the technicalities, even the way words look on paper – the shapes of letters, the scratch of a pen on paper, the way the ink sinks into the smooth, white fiber, the clicking of keys on a keyboard, and metaphor, how I love it!

The way the world becomes a tunnel, a sharp ray concentrated on the page – how words and letters originate, how they are spelled, how they sound before meaning is attached to them – what the symbols mean, to pause, to stop, to emphasize – it’s like looking first at a work of art, then taking steps closer and closer until the image disappears and you see the strokes, the layers, the hidden things that have been absorbed into the whole.

You start on the surface and sink to the core and that’s where you really learn something. For me, writing is where I meet God. It’s how I process, pray and worship.

I write to convey what I love, what I hate, what I feel, what I know, what I’m told, what I learn, what I see, what I hear – the way I respond to living; I love it all.

No matter how existential something may sound or a person may feel, a writer writes because they believe something.

Writing means you move and breathe. When you put something down on paper, anonymous or known, to loved ones only or to the world – while you are still living or after you’ve died, it matters.

Only God can blot out what someone has written.