Up the Sunbeam

-- I can hear the telltale clanking. The monkey wrench has been thrown into the machinery again. The gears are grinding to a halt, and the flow of words has stopped. I keep anxiously watching like a weary traveler waiting at an empty baggage claim for bags that do not come. I wish I could see down the chute and open everything up to fix the problem. I wish it was as easy to focus my thoughts as it is to focus my camera. I flit and flutter, scanning my mind for an idea, just one good idea, to perch upon.  Where, oh where are the words hiding? Why won't they show themselves? What have I done to chase them away, and what can I do to bring them back? Are they alive and green somewhere under the frosty cold? What if I've already written everything I know? What if there are no more good ideas? What if nothing I say is original or creative or special? What if the keys have gone silent for the last time? Wistful wishes, wretched what if's, mixed up image...

When I was too little to know any better, my mother tells of her complete mortification when I would make loud slurping sounds as the tray of communion cups was passed in our little church. The sight of all those little me-sized cups of grape juice going by just out of reach was all I needed to notice how thirsty I was. Since I didn't have the words, I found another way to let it be known that I wanted something to drink. So it was, just about a month ago now, when Laura Boggess wrote about a new book she loved and was offering as a giveaway. As I followed her instructions to be entered, I found myself uncharacteristically REALLY hoping I would win. I never win these things, and don't often enter or think too much about them. There was something about the sight of that elegant cover, and the chance to see behind the scenes of L. L. Barkat's creativity that was like the tiny cups of juice that tempted that long-ago thirsty baby. I don't think I actually slurped, but ...

  In Oakland, California, in a park called Fairyland,   dwells this beautiful little church, where the main thing is still the main thing.   These pictures were taken in 2002, and it had been almost that long since we felt this good in church.   We visited a new church on Sunday. I won't even tell you (because I can't remember them all) how many first time visits to new churches we've made over the last eight years. That all those visits were necessary is tremendously sad to me and if it could have been otherwise, we would have found that far preferable. Lest you think we must be chronically dissatisfied, critical, fickle and flighty, let me add that before these eight years of moving from church to church, we were at the same church for over thirteen years, and tried like crazy not to have to leave that one. I am also not going to tell you all the reasons for leaving the churches we've left after attending for periods of months and sometimes for yea...

-- It doesn't always feel like this. Sometimes the thoughts and words and pictures bubble to the surface so plentifully that I can hardly tap out the keys and snap the shutter fast enough to keep up. But at the moment, my mind is a blank, a blur, unfocused, unsure. If I want to be any kind of professional at this writing life, how can I withstand and overcome this dryness in my creativity. What am I missing? Why am I so empty of ideas? My heart and life are not empty. I am filled with the goodness of God, the blessing of my precious family, a life that is rich with beauty and provision despite an extended period of economic uncertainty both for our family and the world. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Minutes after I wrote those few grasping words, writing about not being able to write, my computer blue-screened to match the blue-screen in my mind. For the last two days I have tried everything I can think of to rescue my computer, but it appears to be down for the count. N...

-- The woman in the pew in front of me had a distracting habit of rocking back and forth as though she were soothing a baby to sleep. I had to work to turn my attention from my annoyance at her rocking and focus my attention above and beyond her to the guest speaker. He had an engaging style, and had thoughtfully provided fill-in-the-blank notes for his sermon, which was a welcome way to pay attention to him and not the rocking woman I couldn't NOT see. His topic this morning was utterly familiar, much-studied, well-known . . . and woefully under-practiced, both inside and outside of the church. He spoke about LOVE. The visiting seminary professor brought a message that was both convicting AND uplifting (evidence of his giftedness), and he highlighted many points of truth about love and our responsibility that are absolutely crucial to our lives in Christ. While I will continue to chew on the meaty goodness of this message, there was one idea he shared that really sparked my...

-- The energy in the room changed dramatically. The entire audience seemed to feel it and sit up a little straighter in their seats with anticipation. Intermission was over and the band my son assembled to perform some of his original songs in a concert at his college was about to play--the debut performance of Jordan Friday and the Beautiful Romance! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Being on a college campus, the concert up to this point had been an eclectic mix of musical styles, varied cultures and lyrical content. There had been . . . . . . profanity-laced rap and hip hop . . . . . . some nice acoustic guitar work punctuated with angst and anger, lyrics about men reverting back to apes and violent rituals and despair . . . . . . and finally, my first introduction to a live performance by a screamo death metal band--lots of rage, frenzy, desperation, writhing on the floor and sounds I didn't know human voices could make "singing" words I think I'm glad were unint...