The Day After Ash Wednesday

Well hi all of you in cyberland! I could tell you the long story, but my fingers are not patient enough. So, here's the short story. I've wanted to nurture my love of writing by blogging for a long time now, but as with all good intentions, well.... need I say more?

But, here I am. And I've been motivated to finally translate intention into action with by two things:

1) I heard Jim Wallis speak here at Fuller night before last and he said some things that really spoke to me. (That will be a later blog - part 2 of the story)

2) I've been intrigued by the idea of more intentionally commemorating the liturgical calendar in my life ... integrating seasons with daily life in an effort to be more ALIVE. I decided to use this impetus to get my lazy fingers typing.

1+2=vwahlah - my new blog, entitled "Reaching for Hope."

I'm a bit nervous AND excited at the thought of throwing some of my thoughts out there for anyone to read. Partly because I am naturally a private person, and partly because it could potentially dig me even dipper into the self-defeating well of concentrating on what others might think about what I'm thinking. Either way, I'm ready for a new adventure.

So, my first entry will be this poem I wrote on Tuesday.

Without further ado:

THE EVE OF ASH WEDNESDAY

I am like them.
I don’t want it to be so.
I want to fall asleep in the garden of Gethsemene.
To dream.

Your death.
My death.

I’d rather pretend it never happened,
Die slowly and forget that I am dying.

Surrounded by translucent leaves in golden hours, the melody of rain, miraculous creation, the just knowingness-
Surrounded by children laughing, sultry chocolate, sparkling crests of ocean waves, and ruby red of berries-

I wish that little girls having sex on websites for lonely older men who don’t know how to reach out and slaves sewing clothes for $5 a day that are sold for $50 and my desire to buy just one more CD rather than donate to an organization that drills wells for people without drinking water, and my desire to consume, consume, consume-
I wish these didn’t exist.

And they do.

Your death.
My death.

Help me please.
To walk some semblance of a journey with You.
Grant me courage to face it—
In myself,
In the world,
And hold my heart together as I do.
But how to walk forward into another day knowing of such things?
And how to savor the sweet tenderness of a raspberry knowing that his belly’s swollen?

Help me please.
To walk in these two worlds.
To walk some semblance of a journey with you.

So that—
When I grab my keys and paint my lips and head to church to sing that You are risen,
I might carry within
joy that only comes from knowing sorrow.

-2/5/08, SB