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Introducing the other half of this singularly sided blog (until NOW),
Yeah! I’m here, live and in the…uh…blog?
Well, enough with said stupidity. Now for completely NEW stupidity! Now I’m sure that some of you out there are hoping for something deep or theological or…uh…remotely, intelligent.
Not tonight. I just got home from work, am tired, and have been talking to my wifey-sauce about her night and telling her about my night (NASTY! Church custodial work can sometime be *shiver* …gank…nuff said). As we were talking, she was telling me about her poetry post. This “inspired” me to write a short, off the cuff limmerick about how bad I am at writing limericks. She laughed and laughed and laughed and told me I “HAD to blog it”.
Which leads me to the now. And the here. And the now.
Here’s my run for the 2009 Pullitzer prize in “I dun hab gud skullz wid Englitch”:
There once was a girl who got Panera,
There was too many syllables in that line.
Doh! The second line didn’t rhyme,
DOH! Neither did the third!
Oh MAN! I stink at writing poetry!
Please hold the applause. Yes, I wrote that all by myself. The Hibby & Hubby family hold the corner market on poetry writing. HUZZAH!
Enjoy my masterpiece,
Isn’t it weird to find something, tucked in the recesses of your computer, that you wrote ages ago? It’s strange to be transported back to what you were thinking at the time. I just found a poem I wrote a few years ago, while I was still single, still living in Minnesota, and still attending Bethlehem Baptist. I find it, while to the best of my knowledge theologically correct, cumbersome. It’s not a pretty poem, but it is interesting to see my thoughts from back then. Very Piper-influenced, I’d say.
Can we understand love without
First truly knowing God’s devout
Love for Himself? Knowledge that He
Foremost considers His glory—
While offensive to some (for they
Would prefer to regard God’s way
As making much of themselves), is
Sweet truth to sages and pure bliss
To embrace. For otherwise idolatry
It would be for God to esteem
Another lovelier than He.
This truth, this reality be
To us but an invitation—
That we too may value the One
To whom all praise is due. In this
We find our commandments exist:
Love God with all our heart, soul, mind,
And to love our neighbor in kind.
What does love look like? In reading
Philippians 2, it’s being
Of the same mind as Christ. We must
Empty ourselves and become dust,
And in so doing, consider
Others around us as better
Than ourselves. We—so far below
Christ, who, in form of God and though
Exalted high, came not for fame,
The very form of a servant—
Thus, we must be of same intent.
His own deity He did not
Grasp, but came to give us blood-bought
Purity before the Judge. How
Can we, in self-importance, bow
Not our hearts in meek submission,
Finding our Holy Ambition?
Might this edict cause us to hear
And pray salvation-working fear
In us. And may God be gracious
To work, by His efficacious
Power, to will and to labor
To the end of His good pleasure.
I believe the beginning of my career in poetry ended just as it began. However, I would like to recommend one of my favorite poems, written in this narrative style by a far better poet than myself. It’s John Piper’s three-part Pilate’s Wife. [[dramatic sigh to emphasize just how good this poem is]] Of this narration, I could (and do!) listen to the third part time and again.
The women used to say, “is there
In living with this man? We dare
You, Claudia, though he be rich
And powerful, there is no hitch
Unbreakable, and this one has
Been broken just as surely as
The man has failed in ev’ry vow
He made. You are not bound to plow
For this man like a heifer now,
Nor lie beneath him like a sow
To satisfy the lust of swine.
No Roman law has this design,
Nor any Jewish ordinance,
That you should keep your vow. So whence
This foolish faithfulness that keeps
You in the bed where Pilate sleeps?”
My own insertion here: The next verse is powerful. I turn up the volume at this part on the recording. And with this, I conclude my Poetry Post.
And Claudia would answer them,
“O women of Jerusalem,
You speak as if there were no God.
As if there were no tender rod
To comfort me and lead me through
The darkest valley of my few
And painful years, as if there’s not
Nor should be higher aims than what
You’ve dreamed for man and wife, as if
The path were safe nor any cliff
Be close or any bitter wind
Be in my face, nor I be sinned
Against, or feel this constant grief
So long, my death would be relief.
How many women do you give
Such shallow counsel? As I live,
O, women of Jerusalem
Who counsel thus, I pity them.
As for myself, there is one love,
One covenant, one vow above
All married bliss or pain, and I
Once held the bloody price on my
Own lap, and heard him, dying, say
To me enough to show the way
A covenant is kept. Now go,
And learn what God designs to show
When Pilate crucifies his wife
And she is faithful all her life.”
It is such a blessing to be able to “keep house.”
This statement has become such a stark reality to me as of recent. There are many theological reasons to prove this to my mind, such as the fact that I cannot lay claim to our little apartment myself–it is the Lord’s; He has blessed us beyond imagination with a place for hubby and I to begin our marriage. We will always remember this apartment as our first home. He has blessed us with furnishings to make the place comfortable, and He has even so much as given me an inclination and ability to decorate to make it homey… He has given me all these blessings, and it is my privilege that He allows me to be the one to care for and keep this house.
There’s also the consideration that He is a God of order, and it is both my joy and my duty to reflect Him in the order that is displayed in my home.
Et cetera… Yes, yes – my mind is convinced, but what about my heart? My actions? In all earnestness, my heart does not always find delight in the nuances of housework (does anyone?). But most recently, after being forbidden (by hubby) because of restrictions (due to my back) from doing almost all the housework, for the few moments I am able to do something little (reorganize a set of drawers, file or purge papers and junk), I have found so much joy in it.
While hubby and I pray for my regained health when I may resume more regular housework duties, I do praise Him for the little He has granted that I’m able to do. (The question is: will I remember this when I have young children “under foot” and an entire house to keep? Good question…)
It’s bright out here in the blogosphere! I guess it would be as I finally emerge from the dark hole I’ve been burrowed into for the holidays. (See Frog and Toad Are Still Friends for current holiday status–she knows of four times as many holidays than I knew existed! Therefore, I feel justified to still call it “holidays.”) And if I see my shadow, we can expect six more weeks of blogging. I suppose one can only hope…
And now, where does one start? How about where I left off. The beginning of holiday season! I was so excited for my first married Christmas: my own tree to decorate, my own home to make cozy and yuletide-y, new traditions to make with hubby. The day before Thanksgiving, I begged hubby if we could get our tree. He consented, and we got our sweet, little “Charlie Brown” tree from Target. We got home and as I was bursting at the seams with excitment, I gave him a guilty look. He knew what it meant. I couldn’t stop myself. I put our tree up…the day before Thanksgiving. Only the late hour stopped the faux pas from getting out of hand–I donned it with ornaments after Thanksgiving. It was lovely, decorated in Swedish straw and red ornaments with a strand of white lights. I had Twila Paris’ Christmas CD blasting from the speakers whenever I could, and I scored big time with a 60% sale on Christmas decor at JoAnn’s. Whenever I could sneak a peek on the blogosphere, I loved seeing everyone’s Christmas posts, pictures, stories.
I know Christmas posts are passe now; we’re moving on.
The beginning of the year brought with it–among many other sundry items that so easily overtake schedules–hubby’s new semester, my birthday, an attempt at physical therapy for my back (great massages with no lasting effect), a trip to Las Vegas to meet up with my sister- and brother-in-law visiting from Nanaimo.
And Valentine’s Day. The first day of a week and a half being bed-ridden due to my back completely giving out. Not what I’d consider romantic, unless you consider the literary connotation of the word (I did feel, on occasion, I should be part of a BBC mini-series set in the British Regency or Victorian eras as the bed-ridden invalid confined to perfecting the fine art of crocheting…granny squares?). Tomorrow will be the final day of my first full week back at work.
While it seems Christmas has been only a few weeks past, it also feels like we are quite on the other end of the year so much has been packed into those few weeks. I do beg your pardon for such a dreary and whirlwind summary of our “holiday season,” but now we may move forward and…
Is that a shadow I see?