God formed Adam from the dust.
I think He did it to remind humanity to maintain humility- ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
We fade in our temporal glory to rejoin the collective of life.
Dirt both grows life and decomposes that which was alive.

Adam worked the land after the fall
And although God made it difficult, He was still there; bringing rain and sun to nourish and sustain.
It is this dependence that again should strike humility in people from the soil.
Maybe that is why farmers are often described with “humble.”
I think they live so close to the soil, they cannot help but remember that they cannot control everything.

Farming used to be a common occupation; after all,
everyone needs the fruit of the dust.
I am even descended from a long line of farmers;
families who worked the land
tanned
cracked
calloused
weathered
skin.

I did not grow up on a farm.
My family was far from the dust
my father is allergic to…
Yet my mother would always take us to visit where she grew up.
I don’t think she did it to remind us of the land-
but I know it is what she loved
because it was home.

I must confess that
Somewhere in my young mind
The seed and smell of land fixed itself
And I was drawn to the common vein of my ancestors.

I work in the soil
Even though I dwell in a city.
My feet, shod with steel toes
Tread the dust that settles in me
like a plant taking root,
assessing all the creases in my skin
under my nails
on the sweat of my brow.
My hands destroy the life shell- now shroud-
of maize.
I look at my hands
tanned
cracked
calloused
although not so weathered-
and I almost see my grandfather’s hands
from when I was very young
and shucking corn
mercilessly sliced my fresh skin.

I am older now, grown from the soil
I am older now, having worked the land.
I am grown into humility-
Knowing the power of the elements
the power of God
the difficulty of the task
and the delight of completion.

O my soul, sprouted from soil;
reach heavenward until harvest
when we will be taken home
or become one with the dust.

Bittersweet; the compound word embodying the dichotomy, the paradigm of something both sharp yet sweet. I do not like that the first word is bitter. It implies a hardening of the heart; a certain jadedness I could never wish to possess in any way. Sweet, on the other hand, is pleasant. Rarely does anyone have any negative connotations for it (save perhaps too much of actual sugar in concentration). Apart, they have their individual meanings, yet together, they are something different altogether. They complement each other, creating something not all one or the other, but together.

Bittersweet. Like the cold fall rain, it is reminiscent of happier or warmer times, yet heightens the senses with the intensity of change; the difference between summer and winter that meets somewhere in between. I dislike the cold, yet I still embrace the rain, laughing even when I have no umbrella and must face the soggy socks as consequence of deluged walks across campus.

I remember this, and it is with that combination of pain and joy that I embrace change. I accept that, in a sense, Winter has come; yet at the same time, it is ninety-five degrees and I am bathed in penetrating heat that covers me like a blanket of love. I cannot change the seasons that have been predestined. I cannot, out of sheer willpower, still the oncoming storms. What I can do is smile- not simply in token facial facade, but in soul. I can allow my heart to melt and radiate heat so it cannot freeze or be drowned in storms of tears or sorrows.

It is amazing that with such diction, I strive to pull you in, to help you understand one thing.

It hurt me to see the sun shine on a place where I dwelt many days, when all I had seen was thunderheads, cold rain, and mud; yet I still smiled, heart and head, for the happiness of the next esteemed guest who was already bright with sunshine and bathed in love.

Bittersweet.
I cannot cling to clouds, but I can most definitely bask in the sun that has returned.

May all your storms of doubts and fear be cleared with the promise of sunlight’s cheer.

24 ” ‘ “The LORD bless you
and keep you;

25 the LORD make his face shine upon you
and be gracious to you;

26 the LORD turn his face toward you
and give you peace.” ‘

Numbers 6:24-26

I could not find my keys. I knew I didn’t deserve to so I hesitated to pray about it. God wondered why I wasn’t asking.
“I know I didn’t do anything worth having You help me.” I told Him.

“Rachel, do you ever do anything actually worth my favor? What have I been telling you the past few months?”

“Do You still want a disobedient child?”

“Do you still want to come back to me?”

“Yes, but I still don’t feel like I want Your help on this one.”

“Just keep looking.”

I was looking around my room all this time. I actually had a flashlight out because my roommate was already in bed by 10 with the lights off. I grumbled about this in my head and heart, thinking I should figure out when she wants to be productive and then sleep. I checked the basement where I had done laundry, retraced my steps, found the jacket I had worn to dinner… then remembered. There were my keys between the futon and the wall; where I had thrown them in anger earlier because my roommate had the door locked again when she was awake and video chatting online with more of her friends. I was frustrated with her, wondering why she had to be so anti-social and difficult, thinking about all the issues in her life that made it seem like she was fighting everything so hard… she was struggling.

And here I was, selfish as usual, focusing on the little things yet missing the message by a mile.

“Love her.” He told me gently.

“How?! She doesn’t want to spend time with me. She’s not happy here. I can be as polite as possible, or as caring, or sweet, but it doesn’t do anything.”

“Love her.” He said again.

“Yes, Lord. Please show me how. I’m sorry I keep wandering off like this. Thank You for loving me endlessly.”

I’m already wondering what to do with mine…

EIBC?
PCCC?
Work in Ames again?
Work and live at home?
Camp Adventure?

Too many choices. No me gusta.

I agree that our past experiences make us who we are, but I don’t think they define us.
Not all of them anyway. For example, have you ever done anything you felt didn’t coincide with who you are or who you want to be?
We are changed by experiences, but it is who we are becoming that matters. If we are looking forward, looking to the future, trusting God to shape us into the people He would have us become, then there is no reason to dwell negatively on the past, but to rejoice that by God’s grace we are growing and getting one step closer to eternity =)

One from that other day that I forgot about (even apart from the one that’s staying in my notebook).

Reflections
distorted in water
poured over the surface of the lake
A grand masterpiece that Picasso might make.
Yet what are they but shadows of complex realities?
It seems to me that distortions we create with such ease;
a smudge of a character, or a streak of personality
can be drawn into sharp relief with mental vitality.
If we were careful artists, seeing the depth of real things
We might not make such a mess judging what each person brings.
Oh, that we might be brilliant, painting people in good light!
Noting flaws, yet seeing immortals, striving to make our lines right.

From 10/22

Reaction to T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

Let me take you on a date-
All the while in a state
of utter desolation and decay.
Oh, lets find some way
to dwell on every unpleasant thought
Every terminal disease ever caught.
Isn’t this fun being frankly morose?
Can I enchant you even further by being verbose?
I hate the world, I have no loves
I’ve killed off all the mourning doves.
See their splattered guts just there?
It’s a metaphor for how much I care.
Let me be droll and use big words
I like my thoughts released in herds.
This poem has dragged on line by line
Meaningless repetition and poor design.
See my merit? See my skill?
Let me expand- no answer? I will.
And on and this torture goes.
Anyone who is intelligent already knows.

And just a random musing:

I’ve written lines of love and hate
Written arguments or just to debate.
But the merit of the written word
Is nothing like the things I’ve seen and heard.
It’s bottling brilliance or feelings or scenes
A worthy endeavor by any means.
The page is a picture, reflecting the age
Of time
Of people
of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These days I am busy, but I’m learning slowly how to hand it over to Him so I can walk.

Round… 3 (I think?) of things written in Eng 228. I wonder if that man knows how valuable he is to my writing.

In response to the discussion of concrete poetry by William Carlos Williams

In response to the same author’s idea that you can make a poem out of anything that is felt or felt deeply, and the connection to sensory images we cherish.

Fascinated
With the light on the leaves
Bright colors and beauty enough to tempt thieves.
Shapes.
Shades.
Silhouettes.
I want to live in wonder with no regrets.

And another exists, but it doesn’t make the blog post cut. lol I rarely even say that… I suppose you all can read the rest of my writing after I die, like every other author =p

I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking lately. I don’t know if I’m the person I wanted to be; yet I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. I dislike dealing with the human condition, yet dealing with relativism would definitely drive me mad. I hope that I am becoming something different and better than my own simple plans. I used to want so much- all the stereotypical “perfect” things. Now I don’t know what I want. It’s really disconcerting to let go and let God make those decisions. Not knowing what I want means my will is breaking down and leaving room for God which is a good thing for me. Generally I do know what I want, but I’m getting used to my game plan changing at a moment’s notice. The down side of this is that I go to extremes and lose my will in some other things where it would actually pay to be stubborn. I’m still working on a lot of things- just taking it one day at a time

“We are the sum of our experiences” is often quoted in various forms about why people are the way they are, and, in a sense, I think it’s right, yet I can hardly fathom how our lives were orchestrated to make us into exactly the people we are. Every choice, every meeting, every situation, somehow forming our character, personality, and habits.

It really makes me step back and think about the little habits, small occurrences, and areas in my life that could use some polishing up. What would it look like if we lived life attentive to the details? Perhaps not details, but what would a life of love really look like? Ephesians 5 offers a great starting point, even answering the “how” aspect of my question, but it’s one thing to read, and another to live. I begin to think and greatly appreciate the New Testament for giving specific details to believers growing in faith.

Today I was thinking about how God put me where He did, how the people I have met have impacted me and I, them. How my prayers can have an impact is beyond me, yet God listens to us. He is present! There are so many people who just want to live a “good life” and they boast in doing so in their own power, having good morals and living well… but I don’t see how that works. I feel like it would be using a flyswatter to flip pancakes; clumsy, not very practical, and definitely not the purpose it was created for. In fact, using it for its intended purpose would actually be less burdensome.

Everyone wants purpose, wants to love and be loved, craves justice, and hates failure… these are common human desires. It’s like C.S. Lewis’ argument- if I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, then I must conclude that what will satisfy me is outside of this world.

It’s there- I can’t help but tell people so.

I know I’m far from perfect, yet He still loves me and gives me opportunity to succeed in Him. That is what I want to do because it pleases Him, and reveals truth to mankind; I can’t imagine any greater purpose, or any greater grace.

(another lit. class composition while listening to the prof. ramble about Robert Frost)

I hear her voice like aged wine
Rich with wisdom and strongly divine.
Her eyes yet pierce with brown strong stare
When the pain was not great and her spirit still there.
I recall the days she would recite and see
Long tucked away lines of classic poetry.
She was strong, this woman so dear to me
A hard simple life and a flowering family tree.
I know she is well, yet all the same
I miss her and keep her with our shared name.

It will be two years a week from Friday. I can’t wait to see her again someday.

Silence washes over me like the spray of a hot shower at 6 a.m., flooding my senses, yet quieting my soul with its power. I know the trials aren’t over, but I’m getting a break from the storm. In His arms, I am close and warm, and suddenly the concept of abiding in Christ is real. He hugs me and runs fingers through my hair, the superlative to the paragon of comfort; He is peace. He is grace. He is love. It’s been a tough day, but I came home and He was waiting.

O God my God- Creator of my inmost being and of the entire universe, Holy Righteous Judge, Lover of the broken and rejected, near to the humble, faithful in love and perfection, innocence and purity of heaven that selflessly sent Christ, You- the only reason for living… I pray for the world that doesn’t understand You yet. Broken people who are just trying to get by when you have given us wings to fly. People who want to be better people… but don’t know why or who they should be like. Purity. Selflessness. No judgement, but love. Acknowledgement of our inadquacies, yet also overwhelming shock and awe that You could see us how we are and provide a way to be holy. Thank You for letting us choose. Thank You for being available whenever we need You (all the time!).

My life and love,
Rachel

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love that He knows my heart and my weaknesses. I love that He knows the one I might get to meet and marry someday- the one to whom I can be a helper and fellow Christ-follower; the one with whom we can show others Christ’s love by loving each other as Christ loved the church.

I love that He knows me.
I am honestly sometimes overwhelmed and scared of what is to come, scared of pain and hard times, yet thankful for the opportunities to grow. I’m daily humbled by my capacity to do terrible things, and the power with which Christ can direct my life, if I get over myself and allow Him to.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
~Romans 15:13