I looked out of the plane window this afternoon and laughed for memory of the treeless plain that is Oklahoma. Pah.

I swear I will not lose it.
The danger of summer break is that I slip back into old habits as easily as I slip into the top bunk in my old bedroom.
But I have gained too much ground this year to simply retreat. Summer is not going to be a retreat. Nor will it be a stagnation. Indeed, let it be known here and now that I will not let go. It would be so easy to just crawl back into the old mold. But I don't fit there anymore; I don't want to fit there anymore. All it requires is a bit of exertion on my part.
Goodbye, Colleen.

I just realized the beauty of coming back to New England in May. I get two springtimes. In Tulsa springtime was waning: here it is just coming into fullness. The azaleas are out and the lilac tree is heavy-scented. The dogwood smiles pinkly, and the lilies of the valley wait to be sought out. The wild plum is through blooming, but the Japanese maple is still dark and burgundy.
I took a walk when I got home. This is the most beautiful place in the world. The road winds over hills and trees crowd the sides and push back the sky.

I am going to go read Calvin and Hobbes. Then I shall sleep the sleep of the blessed and the weary.

What? Oh, dear-- that's horrid. Take it away. Take it all away.

I read through my site today, and was disheartened. My posting here has gone from mediocre to occasionally decent to awful. I blame School, Humidity, and Ralph Nader. In that order.
Today in my 7.50 Spanish class, I openly mocked my professor's cartographical deficiency. He took it rather well. I was right; it was a terrible map. I have seen cows that could draw better ones. But then I have known some very skilled cows.
I have reached the nadir. I no longer do work. I pretend to enough that I am able to coast sufficiently in all of my classes. But finals are coming up quickly-- I envision a large, gnarled, hunchbacked, snarling man with a snaggletooth and a knotty wooden club, running at me barefoot, and sort of mumbling to himself-- and I think my carefully constructed academic playhouse is going to fall down.
And I was worried about Dr. Barbeau asking us to produce "sophisticated rhetoric." Pah.
I am getting a sort of tan, I think. I hesitate to declare it for I do not want the dermatology gods to wax capricious and torment me with a peeling burn or never-ending blinding whiteness. Oh, to be like Kara, with her built-in tan. A pox on my Northwestern European genetics.

I found myself saying "eh" to God today.


I am nearly sure I need to be slapped.

Familiarity breeds contempt. I need to be constantly reminded of God's Godhood. I need to be trained to see His work. My eyes are bad.

Easter Sunday at Believer's the message was titled "Tombs." Everyone is within some sort of tomb, constructed by themselves, sealed by others. And I found myself crying. Not because I am in a tomb; but because, ever so recently, I was in one...and I can still hardly realize that I'm not anymore.
God, keep me thus in ecstatic incredulity at Your feet.

Emperor's New Clothes

With indecisive certainty
I put pen to page,
A measure of vulnerabilty in each stroke.
I know nothing
But you don't see it.
You will read here what you will.
What would happen
If I did not and the paper
Were blank? I fancy
From what I know of you
You would smile as you are smiling now and say
as you are saying now,
"I like that;
it's good."

Revelation in a parking lot

Rain pelted pavement, lightning kicked a yeilding sky, thunder growled at the quiet earth. I hurried through the drops, cringing at the wetness.

Then I heard His voice. And in one gust of wind my eyes and ears were opened.

Rain wet thirsty soil; lightning danced on clouds to the rumbling baritone melody of the thunder. Raindrops played on windshields, mud glorped happily at my heels, wind spread the smell of clean through a tired and grimy city. The heavens declared glory, the storm told of wondrous works to the weary, distracted children of men.