Look Homeward, Angel

I referred a while back to a time in my younger days, when I lived in Asheville... Well, it was a beautiful time in a beautiful place. Nothing less than marrying my own true love could have torn me away from such a life.

First of all, I had a great roommate - my best friend in the world, secondly, it has romantic significance for me because it was where Tom and I courted, and third... well, it was Asheville! Asheville has a rich history, and abundant natural beauty. In a previous post, I characterized Savannah as a woman... If Asheville were a woman, she would have curves that don’t stop, wear expensive vintage clothing and sing a sweet, nostalgic song. Or psalm. Because it is hard for me to be there and not be reminded how great God is.

Ahhhh.... Asheville...

I never got used to seeing the mountains everywhere I went. Native son Thomas Wolfe wanted to write stories in which the mountains themselves were a main character. I totally understand that. I mean, I would be at WalMart, for instance, and look up – and gasp... Every day I drove through Beaucatcher Tunnel and when the town appeared before me, my heart just sang. One day everything was all shimmery with a sparkly golden mist... and when I mentioned it to a co-worker, she said, “Oh that’s just the sun shining on the smog trapped between the mountains.” And every afternoon as I left my downtown office and walk west toward our parking lot, gazing longingly over the mountains and how the sun and clouds hovered over... More often that not, the hymn, How Great Thou Art would pop into my head, “O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder / Consider all the world Thy Hand hath made, I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy pow’r throughout the universe displayed... If you like a traditional sound, here’s Elvis’s version... but if you like to groove, try this one.

Thomas Wolfe writing
in his Oteen cabin

Even though my roommate and I lived in a nondescript apartment complex – a place people usually lived in on the way to somewhere else – our location could not have pleased me more. If you came in on Highway 70, you’d drive through Oteen, where Thomas Wolfe once holed up in a cabin to write. Oteen is nothing to look at, but just knowing that made me happy. If you’d drive a little way past our home, you’d get to a sweet little area called Happy Valley... It’s really not an especially remarkable neighborhood, but even the ordinary seemed extra quaint to me. Maybe it was the way the houses – sometimes made of stone – were kind of tucked in to the rolling landscape... maybe it was the fact that some people kept horses in their back yards... maybe it was the occasional bear-rummaging-through-a-trash-can-rumor you’d hear... Asheville is full of ordinary neighborhoods that looked extraordinary to me. Like the little The Manor Inn apartments – a group of charming residences that are part of an old mountain resort dating back to the late 1800s. Of course, there are also neighborhoods that were populated by gorgeous mansions – like those on Merrimon Avenue, or the  historic Montford district in all its Victorian splendor. 

The Grove Park Inn

Also splendid – two major landmarks: the Biltmore Estate, and the Grove Park Inn. I love them both, but for some reason, I love most the earthy hobbit-hole-ishness of the Grove Park Inn. Made of stone, with walls of 6 feet thick and a fireplace so large you can stand in it... its view is spectacular, and I couldn’t even imagine having the dough to stay there.

Art Deco detail on the
S&W building

This stuff is all very expected when one speaks of Asheville. But there are so many things I love about it – the downtown architecture, for instance. If I understand correctly, the Great Depression hit especially hard in Asheville, so hard that very few new buildings were built in the downtown until maybe the 1970s... so the fantastic buildings – some built by craftsmen who had come to work on the Biltmore house – are still standing. Ornate, gargoyle-adorned structures, spectacular Art Deco masterpieces... they’re all still there. Again with the Thomas Wolfe - but I found it fascinating to read his first-hand description of the real estate bubble that preceded the bust of the depression.

"If you need me, I'll be
at the Basilica."

Anyway, what follows is a list of additional things I love to look at and do when I go back to “the land of the sky” for a visit. I may not be telling you anything new, and I may be missing some best kept secrets, but I do love to make a list...!

1. The Basilica of St. Lawrence: a gorgeous Catholic Church that was built by a Biltmore craftsman... full of great art and meditative silence. I certainly spent my share of time meditating in that silence. In fact, we took Bill to see it on our recent visit and even he – a slightly hyper seven-year-old boy, wanted to just sit and reflect a bit. 

2. The Grove Arcade: an early version of a “shopping mall” that stood dormant for years, but was renovated, given a good polish and reopened for business for Asheville’s many tourists.

The Grove Arcade

3. Malaprop’s Bookstore: The selection is not astonishing, but I am a sucker for an independent book seller... Also, Downtown Book & News on Lexington Avenue: A huge selection of used books and offbeat ‘zines. Really, Lexington Avenue is full of funky shops, and funny smellin’ kids that are fascinating to watch. Reminds me of the 80s when the occasional tourist would snap my photo outside Ruthless Records in Chapel Hill.

President Obama knows:
Mast General Store = candy

4. Speaking of Ruthless Records, Asheville still has plenty of independent record stores – like Karmasonics: Lots of tunes to thumb through just like in the old days.

5. Mast General Store: Candy.

6. Tupelo Honey Café: A funky take on the Southern plate

7. Early Girl Eatery. Locally grown, creative comfort food.

8. Grace & Peace Presbyterian Church: I attended this church in while living Asheville, and still love to visit. It’s small and quiet, and boy do they love the Lord and take care of each other. They meet at they YMI Cultural Center (usually... right now, there’s a Brian Eno exhibit in their space, so I think they’ve had to move for a while)

9. The Thomas Wolfe Memorial: When I moved to Asheville, my soon-to-be-husband gave me a copy of Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe, which I devoured... After that, I read all his other books. I couldn’t get enough, really. Since they are biographical, I learned a great deal about Asheville’s history... I also learned that Thomas Wolfe and I both attended UNC and have worked at two of the same newspapers – The Durham Morning Herald, and the Asheville Citizen Times. His mother ran a boarding house in Asheville, and you can go visit it!

10. TOPS for shoes: Every kind of shoes, comfy and courageous – functional and funky... and sometimes they have a buy one pair, get another for a penny sale! Don’t mind if I do!

My Old Kentucky Home – Thomas
Wolfe's mother's boarding house

I guess 10 seems like a good round number for a list... I’m pretty sure there is nothing extraordinary about my list of must-sees, but it’s really stuff that I always really love and miss about the place. And now, a word from the psalmist: “I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth." 

St. Bill of the Dissertation

Bill is seven, but he's still pretty snuggly.

Bill is seven now, an age that sort of wavers between little kid and full blown kid... meaning that, he may be embarrassed when I sing in public, but he is still not ashamed to climb in bed with his mommy if he wakes up and it’s still dark. Tom gets up at 6, and I guess his movements must have woken Bill up one morning this week, because he wiggled in next to me around 6:20. When he was a 6-pound baby, he used to sleep on my chest, which I loved... so I honestly don’t mind anytime he wants to get a snuggly mommy fix. I know that all too soon, he’ll think I’m clueless and shun me whenever possible. 

Anyway, this particular morning, in the pitch black of my room, he threw his arm over me and whispered, “Mommy... I can’t see you, but I know you’re there because I love you.” How sweet was that, right?! Well, when I shared this dram of sweetness with my friend Grace later that day, she said, “That’s a pretty good summary of my dissertation.”

Again with the St.
John of the Cross...

Of course I had to have her explain because I don't have the brain power to sift through this kind of scholarly tome. I actually tried to help her proofread her book-length work on St. John of the Cross and his “dark night of the soul” when she was writing it... Sad to say, though, it took me a whole day to read the first chapter, and I got a whopping headache for my trouble! In her defense, that’s just how dissertations are, for the most part. She actually tried to write something that was a bit more accessible, but her director scorned it as “television writing.” So, because of his scorn, she produced, Thought and Poetic Structure in San Juan de la Cruz’s Symbol of Night, a document that I find as impenetrable as its subject. 

Grace's dissertation –
available on Amazon.com!

Anyway, Grace is the only reason I know anything  at all about Saint John of the Cross, his dark night of the soul, and the adjective “sanjuanist”... I think she would tell you that being in grad school and writing a dissertation summon a particular brand of dark night for the student. Just watching her go through it triggered my resolve to avoid grad school unless absolutely necessary... and so far I have managed to give it a wide berth. 

Anyway, her explanation, IF I understood it correctly, was that Spanish Golden Age poet and deep, deep mystic St. John of the Cross, suffered plenty – under the Spanish Inquisition, and also from his own order... AND from feeling a noticeable absence of God's presence and comfort. Nonetheless, he asserted that in the night / darkness of suffering and spiritual despair, we can know God strictly through our love for Him, or as Grace said, “love as an epistemological mode.” So... I had to look that up too... and, well... Epistemology is the branch of philosophy concerned with knowledge. It addresses questions like  What is knowledge? How is knowledge acquired? How do we know what we know?

So, again, if I understand correctly, St. John said if you are suffering and can’t feel God with you, you can know Him through LOVE. (I guess it makes sense that St. John was all about the Song of Solomon, the Bible's great metaphorical love poem.) Or, to put it simpler, as Bill did, “I can’t see you, but I know you’re there, because I love you.” How sweet is that?!

Steaming Hot Wild Boar with a Side of Spiced Onions

I am feeling a little self-imposed pressure to write a blog post, but absolutely nothing is popping into my mind just now. And I would half to say that there are some extended periods where I just sort of grind through life doing one thing after another – both chores and fun diversions – without giving much thought to the deeper meanings of things... the Divine stuff swirling all around us... 

Bold knights a-jousting

This past weekend the following things happened: Halloween Carnival at Bill’s school (at which 3 people thought I was in costume when I was just wearing my regular clothes), our heat stopped working, we went to the Renaissance Festival, spent the night with my mother-in-law in Greensboro, came home, carved a pumpkin, ran errands, had the heating looked at... 

I thought about writing about the Renaissance Festival, but there isn’t much to tell. I had a good time, but really, it was just like a county fair with a theme – and alcohol. I wanted to buy a full set of clothes, but couldn't justify it – $155 for the corset alone! I would have to say that the biggest hit with our family was the jousting show. Bill has always been fascinated with knights and jousting, etc., and finally he got to see actual dudes with poles running towards each other on horseback. Needless to say, he loved it. There was no authenticity about the whole thing, though, except maybe the authentic “privy” smell of the port-a-johns. Also, I thought it was pretty cool that the rides did not have motors or electricity... it was all propelled by manpower and momentum. 

Large hunks of meat -
something you won't
catch Bill eating...

And fortunately for Bill, ye olde medieval serving wenches served up pizza and sprite – just like in olden times, right? Bill is a picky eater in the extreme, so I couldn’t imagine that he would at any time being tucking into a plate of steaming hot wild boar meat... with a side of spiced onions. Anyway, I have no pithy or insightful things to say about our trip. I will say, however, that my mother-in-law is fabulous. She is always so kind to us, so generous, so thoughtful... I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that we have produced a grandchild for her?!

No, like I said before, sometimes I am just bouncing from one thing to the next – chores, homework-helping, nose-wiping, work, various entertainments... and my brain can get totally stuck on a superficial level... (Although we did say a LOT of prayers that the cost of fixing our furnace would be reasonable...!)

There’s what they call the dark night of the soul – when you reach out for God in agony, but can’t detect His Presence... but this isn’t like that. It’s more like... the dull day of the brain... or something. It’s not like I’m rejecting God, or have forgotten Him, but I’ve allowed my brain to drift into and hover over some drab area of everyday-ness... Instead of seeing God in the beauty of every little thing, yearning for His perfection in every imperfect thing, experiencing His grace in every fallen thing... I’m just going along as if this is all there is. 

The dark night of the soul is no picnic.

I am not sure which is worse. I have been through some pretty dark nights, and let me tell you, they are no picnic... on the other hand, it is during these times that you are reaching out to God with all you have... so you’ve got that going for you... which is nice. But if you’re in the dull days, it's like you're the people in Mark 4 – they hear the word of God, "but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful." And if you're here, you’re stuck, but you’re not in agony – you may even be having a fairly good time... how will you know that something is missing?

I’ve actually heard people say things like, “God caused me to break my leg because I wasn’t paying attention to Him”... (really, I have!) But if that were the case, then LOTS of people would be on crutches! I know I would! I am not sure God causes misfortunes to get our attention. I believe that He uses our misfortunes to get our attention... But frankly, I’d rather not need a misfortune to point me in the right direction.... no thanks! I guess it's a good thing that I do know that something needs to happen. But what? How do I get out of this bland place? Like in this song by Soul Asylum, I need sombody to shove me... but figuratively, right? (That's right, I'm speaking metaphorically about the need to think more metaphorically.)

I'm not sure how, but Soul Asylum
always says it just right.

I think maybe slowing down could help... not that I know how to do that... The cliché answer, I guess, is this: read the Bible and pray more, ie. turn toward God. An since I don’t know what the non-cliche answer is, I guess I’ll have to go with the cliché... 

In the meantime, here is another awesome song by Soul Asylum that reminds me of the dark night of the soul. It says, “In a New York blackout, it’s so hard to see / All the angels that are looking after me” and, “And I may never escape this darkened city / But still I’m trying to find you in this blackout."

In Good Company

Sooooo... I was thinking some more about what I posted yesterday, and I wanted to add a couple of things. First, as I said, I am no longer judging people according to their musical tastes... AND I am also not judging anyone according to their relationship to the Almighty... That's really not my thing. I was just saying that it was silly of me to rate my own worth – or anyone else’s – according to musical preferences... 

Also, a great bonus of having a deep interest in music is the people you meet who share it – it’s like being in a foreign country and finding someone who speaks your language. You may be sitting at the weird kids table in the lunch room, but you’re in pretty good company!

Here are just a few examples: 

• With my junior high friend Allison, I listened to Elton John non-stop and attended my first concert – that’s right, Elton John. 

• In college, my friend Suzanne and I listened to the Rolling Stones and discussed the Glimmer Twins at length. It was with Suzanne that I first put my toe into the local music scene with visits to the Pier. (Howdy, Suzanne!)

Time for a night of fellowship
with my girl Alecia!

• My post-college roommate Alecia: though we met in the extreme prep-dom of the expensive dorm, we found pretty quickly that we preferred similar music... As roommates we slathered on plenty of eyeliner for club nights together... and we are friends to this day. (Hey Alecia!)  

• Alecia and I met Eric, while standing in line to see Quadrophenia at a late show. He was wearing an army jacket like a real Mod. Yep - I’m still friends with Eric... (Hi Eric!)

• And then there’s Todd – a beautiful, sweet guy I met in a record store, like, a zillion years ago, and have been so pleased to find on Facebook recently. I LOVE that he is back on my radar! My son can hardly believe I have an actual friend with dreadlocks. (Hi Todd!)

Sweet, beautiful Todd

• And I loooooove all my brothers and sisters with an immeasurable kind of love, but there’s a reason my brother Andy and I are so close... (Hey, Fudd!) It all comes down to the music. Click HERE to hear a song he wrote that explains it all. (This is the best way I could figure out to add a song – if anyone knows a better way, please share!)

• Last, but most, my husband, Tom, and I were able to step over the invisible line between news and advertising staffs in the little newspaper office we worked in because of our shared love for music and movies. It’s still something that adds great dimension to our relationship.

It’s a little like the friends you make at church in a way – broken people sharing their lives... Inasmuch as rock and roll is an expression of great angst and alienation... And when you get together and share this among yourselves, well – that’s fellowship. 

Robert Smith
of the Cure

Sure, you may have dark circles under your eyes from staying up all night discussing song meanings... or you may have a headache from bobbing your head up and down during “fellowship”... you may be deaf the next day in the ear that was next to the amp tower... you may never get the smell of cigarette smoke out of that black shirt that you think makes you look like Robert Smith... (I’m dating myself, aren’t I? People don’t smoke in clubs anymore!)...

But the feeling you share with your fellow headbangers... It's a beautiful thing... if you allow music to invoke the Divine... to pull truth out of those late night discussions. Maybe our relationship to music, to each other around the music is sort of a picture of our relationship to the Divine and His people. I guess it would be sad, though, to  mistake one for the other... If we're lucky, though, one will lead to the other.

Extremely High Fidelity

Here’s what I’m wondering... Does anyone ever click on the song links I put in this blog? I hope so. If you clicked on the link yesterday, you’d have found out (if you didn’t already know) that Bob Dylan is a fantastic poet, and kinda funny:

Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”

Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”

God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”

God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but

The next time you see me comin’ you better run”

Well Abe says, “Where do you want this killin’ done?”

God says, “Out on Highway 61”

Donny Osmond,
my first love...

If you don’t click my links, you've missed Wanda Jackson – both young and old - completely shakin’ it, David Johansen of the New York Dolls singing a hymn and Weird Al getting jiggy with Donny Osmond. I guess I just throw in the music because – well, I think it’s entertaining... I use it to add dimension to what I am trying to say – because I’m nothing, if not multimedia... and to share parts of myself with you, because for most of my life, the music I love has been a big part of my self – or at least my self-image.

I remember being 8 years old and following my older sister’s lead in falling in love with the Osmonds – particularly Donny. I moved on, but this affection did allow me to get the extremely obscure joke in a Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson sketch in which Craig and his robot Geoff, on a trip to Vegas, seek help from a bartender guru played by Donny Osmond. I wonder how many people knew that the song was playing when they arrived in town was by a particularly raucous Osmonds song, “Crazy Horses. 

Two of my faves: Elton John 
and John Lennon

Later, I was a die hard Elton John fan. Ask anyone. Ask my eighth grade teacher, who told me that I was not, under any circumstances, to write any more papers about Elton John. I just loved him – he played the piano – like I did, he dressed in wild and beautiful clothing, and he was hard evidence that a chubby person with glasses could go far in life. 

In college, I became obsessed with the Beatles – right before John Lennon died. Weird, right? They were, of course, great... but I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you that. I also loved Bob Dylan because I read a book about him that I checked out of our small-town library. Then I discovered that I didn’t have to go far to hear good music. There were local bands that we could follow - like Arrogance, and later, Let’s Active, the Pressure Boys, the Bad Checks, the Flat Duo Jets, Snatches of Pink.... I could make a much longer list of the local bands and musicians I followed ... and the non-local bands we followed. It was an exciting time in Chapel Hill, the early eighties. 

One of the bands I loved in 
1980s Chapel Hill

I don’t know what it is that attracted me to pop/rock and roll music. I was just taken by it, and the people who made it... Maybe I saw them as something I would never be: popular and COOL. Pre-college, being so into certain music didn’t really help my popularity – it just made me seem weird – like in that scene from Almost Famous, where young rock enthusiast William Miller is shunned by his classmates for being who he is, and even in college, it sort of set me a bit a part... but this is where it also turns good. While it made me an outcast among the Carolina girls who lived in Granville Towers, it cast me right IN to an circle of people that actually existed in Chapel Hill – where I lived!

A good read

For the first time, I at least appeared cool! I actually dated a guy who quizzed me on what music I liked before he asked me out. I guess I passed the test... but I sort of wish I hadn’t, in retrospect. It did not end well. In Nick Hornby’s novel High Fidelity, the protagonist uses this same strategy to vet girls. Sometimes, I’m still tempted to judge people this way. I try to nip it in the bud, though. Some extremely awesome people have much different taste in music than I do – or even, shockingly, no interest at all!

And I am still tempted to see myself as a person who knows a lot about music and loves a certain kind of music. Which is stupid. I mean, I’m not even the one making the music! I’m just sitting at home or in my car listening to it! And in the end, it’s not what you know and love, it’s WHO you know and love. And WHO I love has given me a new perspective. Now music is something I love, but I’m listening to it through a filter of the Divine. People have been praising God with music since... forever... i’m just using the music I already love to express who God is and who I have become. 

Genesis 22 Revisited

Today I read Genesis 22 - and I have to say... “What the....???” Not that I haven’t read it before - it’s a pretty famous passage. You know, the one where God tells Abraham to kill Isaac? His only son? The one who is going to give Abraham more descendants than stars in the sky or sand on the beach?

How Rembrandt envisioned it

I’ve got to say, the Old Testament is full of wild stories like this... Talking animals, sadistic townspeople, crazy kings... If you look at it as a story, a legend, a piece of literature... you could distance yourself from it and just think, “What is the plot? What is the author’s purpose? What is it supposed to teach me?” That’s easy enough to figure out and write down in your little notebook... and it’ll make you feel smart!

But if you climb down into the story and think about what actually happened... God tells Abraham, “Go kill the only kid you have” and then Abraham actually does it! Well, he sets out to, anyway. Good thing God stops him. “I just wanted to see if you would do it.” What? I mean, I’m paraphrasing, of course, but that’s the essence, isn’t it? 

All I know is that Abraham had a giant amount of faith... because I’m thinking I would have been, like, “My kid? I don’t think so! Besides, didn’t you say this son was the ticket to that long line of descendants you promised me?”

I guess, though, that Abraham had more faith that I do – plus the added advantage of God actually speaking to Him directly. I mean, I’ve had times when I thought God was telling me something, but I was nowhere near as sure as Abraham was that I was hearing from the Lord Himself.  

Bob Dylan sang about Abraham and
Isaac in Highway 61 Revisited

The author of Hebrews said, “By faith Abraham, when God tested him, offered Isaac as a sacrifice... Abraham reasoned that God could even raise the dead, and so in a manner of speaking he did receive Isaac back from death.” 

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had that kind of reasoning power. Or faith. Now, I do know that sometimes the things that God asks of us seem a little crazy according to conventional wisdom... Asking for a person to kill his child seems a bit over the top even for God. I don’t even want to think about what might have been going through Isaac’s head! Maybe he trusted his dad as much as his dad trusted God? 

Nonetheless, if you can get over the overall horror of the story, you might realize a couple of things: In ancient cultures, child and/or human sacrifice was not unheard of... but this God did not expect it. Actually, in this case, God Himself provided the sacrifice. “Abraham looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son. So Abraham called that place The LORD Will Provide. And to this day it is said, “On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided.”

So... that’s our God. Even though I don’t understand why he put Abraham through all this... He doesn’t ask us to kill each other – or even animals anymore – in His Name. No, God Himself is the one who provides the sacrifice. So here I am, AGAIN, scratching my head, and saying “Thanks,” at the same time.

In Which My Sister Recommends Gorilla Glue – A Guest Blog

by Lea Holt
So here I am. Guest blogging on the big mouth... A blog that I love that my sister Julie has which speaks so eloquently about life and Christ and His influence in her life.  She’s funny and real and she relates His love to her simple doings.  Work, raising Bill, being married, going to Target, cooking, dressing, rocking out to music and movies and basically figuring out how to live a Christian life amongst all the influences and media and texting and emails and all the things that take us away from the quiet. Quiet thoughts, quiet prayer, time when we just sit with ourselves and God and the universe and feel... peaceful. Serene. Connected to something bigger than we are. It is something that I’m working on.

I will be honest – I’m new to this whole Jesus business.  I grew up Christian, but then went off to Meredith College and took a lot of religion classes and because of studying the Bible as a book, and not THE book,  and other religions as well, I began to question things. Was the Bible a history book?  How would a God so grand and forgiving and great condemn so so many people in the world just because they didn’t know Christ? Surely He had a bigger plan than this and I questioned and fought and wrestled and fought and languished in the “out there” that is “questioning and floundering.”  I remember asking Julie about all this, and she told me so simply that she didn’t have the answers- that it wasn’t up to her to know these things-- And that she simply knew that Christ was her way into peace and forgiveness and a best way to live.  So the years went on and I fought and resisted and raised kids and had jobs and made friends and went on trips and was fairly happy.

And then it happened.  Jesus came to me in the quietest of moments, when I was upset and stressed and He spoke so loudly, but so gently and powerfully, to me by my bed.  I remember looking around to see if someone was actually there... But it was just Jesus, in my head and my heart and my vision, telling me to rest and that He had me, if only I believed and accepted all that my heart already knew.  It was magic.  It was stunning and powerful and the remembering makes me cry and feel awed and humble and strong and that I can do anything that I set my mind to. 

It amazes me that such a reluctant Christian can be so awed by Christ’s power. I was always all in for God, but I never believed that Jesus was the way for me... I thought that my studies and my beliefs in the powers of other great religions and doing good and being a good, generous spirit was enough.  But Jesus sat by my bed one night and laughed so kindly and so wisely at my humanness and told me in a breathless instant, that there is so much more. 

I am still a fledgling Christian, all new wings and wobbly legs.  But the power and grace and forgiveness I feel when I think of Christ now gives me more hope than I ever could have imagined.  Suddenly, there is nothing I can’t do – There is no dream too big. I am awed by the fact that HE came down and spoke to me – such an insignificant person in this world, and yet He spoke to me so personally. He saved me from myself, just so quietly and powerfully.  He laughed with me, and He knew me. And He got me.  And somehow there’s no going back. 

It’s like when I look at a design project I’m doing... Today is a perfect example of an on-going thing...  I bought these awesome Italian-made urn/vase things  at TJ Maxx and drilled the holes in the back with my proud ceramic bit and bought the lamp kits and was determined to make these suckers into lamps.  I got the fixture kits and ALL BY MYSELF hooked these things up and connected the wires and plugged in a bulb.  AND there was light!! I ran around my office/craft room and said, in a salute to Tom Hanks in Castaway, “I HAVE MADE FIRE!!”  I called in my husband, my 17 year old son... “LOOK!!!! I HAVE MADE FIRE!!!”  And they chuckled at me and were not nearly as impressed with my accomplishments as I was.  So there I was, basking in the making of fire. So satisfied was I until I realized that this particular victory would not be complete until I actually found the right lamp shades to go onto these lamps I had created.  These pots are squaty and beautiful and the way I had to glue-gun the lamp kit onto the necks of them... This would not be easy. But undeterred, I set out to Kmart and TJ Maxx and Target... I looked online... For the perfect lampshades, the odd size I needed to fit these “perfect” lamps I had so smuggly created. I was so much more creative than most people – I could envision these urns as lamps. If only everyone had my talent.

Long story short, there are no lamp shades that look right with these damn urn lamps.  I found some small ones I thought would work, and I thought that if used linen-colored burlap and mod podge to cover them, that I could, again, create the vision I had in my head. Mod Podge and burlap – not a great mix. I resorted to the glue gun. Again, a design disaster of cursing and burnt fingers that lead me to ball up the whole mess, spent lamp shade and all and throw it all in the trash.  But one of the most frustrating elements of the whole experience was that my lamp kit, so smuggly glued to my urn, sagged and wobbled and no matter how I rigged and glued, it would not stand straight and secure.  My “I have made fire” dance went limp...  My lamp still made fire, but the light kit hung pitifully over the side of the pretty white Italian urn, the cord still plugged in, still casting light, but sideways and sad.

Well that is how I was, I think, before my “finding” Jesus or whatever you call it. I cast a light, because I’ve always believed in God.  But I think my light was sad and sideways and unsure.  Much like the weak glue I used from a crappy Micheal’s glue gun, instead of Gorilla Glue, my faith was based on the cheap stuff...  I liked the easy parts. I liked God being all loving and I liked His forgiveness and His goodness, but going all in – using the best of my heart, the whole of my heart, seemed too much. Too permanent, too... committed.  But now, as I think about my little Italian would-be lamp, I realize that accepting Jesus, going all in for permanent bonding, the Gorilla Glue, has made my spirit brighter and that I no longer sag along the side of something beautiful.  I shine tall – the perfectly installed lamp kit with the perfectly-sized, textured, homemade silk and burlap shade.