Angels @ the Red Eye

Calloused hands reach for the warm soup No words are exchanged as the smell of urine and sweat fill my nostrils I am humbled and do not react I am proud that I am humble and I'm forced to start over As she grabs the soup from my hands I wonder if she expects charity and immediately feel sorry recognizing the shame in her posture that I have seen so many times in my own mother I want to save her until I realize I would be saving her from people like me who allow others to become charity so we can feel better about ourselves As she begins to walk away my heart is stirred to speak hoping something in my words might save her soul My voice catches in my throat as I realize it is me who should be ashamed I don't even know the color of her eyes.

Mareesee's Manor

Hey mister, I don’t know who mister is exactly, but I always seem to write better if I think I’m speaking to someone besides myself. If I were just speaking to myself, I could just have the conversation in my head. Somehow, documenting the conversation makes me more accountable to what I have convicted myself to feel within the conversation. Also, it helps me to remember what the conversation entailed, because my memory is lousy. It’s funny, well, not really funny, it’s actually pretty annoying, but I could be reading a book and think it has some pretty amazing remarks that change my life for the better, and someone could ask me what the book is, who wrote it, and what it’s about, and I would hardly be able to answer the questions, because I have a hard time remembering specifics. However, the book still changes me, so all is not lost, and with a book, I can just recommend it to someone else, and even buy it for them, and they can experience it for themselves. I wish I could do the same with my own convictions, like with explaining where they come from, but it is made up of such a smorgasbord of events, people, conversations with God, and so much more, that it makes it almost impossible for me to defend how I feel or what I think without sounding like a babbling idiot. (Case in point, the run-on sentence that the green grammar squiggly line is telling me I just wrote.) I’m writing at 4 in the morning, and I am exhausted. I can’t sleep. I need to be sleeping. I have an incredibly busy day tomorrow. Also, finals, work, rehearsal, plus the rest of the “Angels” run, and a few extra projects are going to keep me running full steam all this weekend and all next week as well. I have been changed. I don’t know what’s going to come of it, but God hasn’t told me one time that it will be comfortable. That doesn’t make me very comfortable. He promises comfort and peace, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I stopped by Jeannine House today, a house for homeless women and children, to see if my services were needed. I was welcomed with open arms. I did not want to go, it would have been easier to sit on my butt at the coffee house and think about how nice it would be to help out sometime, you know, when I found myself with some free time. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with frustration at myself, and got up to ask directions to this house. It was very easy to find, and everyone was extremely kind. It felt good to actually take action. They told me, at Jeannine House, about a garden they have a few blocks down, that takes up about three lots. I surveyed the garden, and realized that it was one of the saddest looking things I’ve seen, which means it has a lot of potential, kind of like a lot of sad people I see. I realized I would have my work cut out for me, but it was possible. I decided to survey the neighborhood considering I had never even seen that part of Saginaw before. I’ve heard a lot about the East Side, near the hospital. It’s on the news at least a few times a week. I drove a few blocks down from the garden, and pulled over when I saw The House. It was an old abandoned house, clearly trashed, with a phone number and a price spray painted on the front in bright red “$3000 or Best”. The house is huge. It looks like there might be at least three apartments inside with a small yard outside. Every single window was broken, and graffiti and trash were everywhere. I have not felt as alive as I felt, as I was surveying that house, in a very long time. Something stirred inside my bones. I began to pray. “Is this it, Lord? Is this what you want me to do? Ah, man, I wouldn’t even know where to begin….” My prayer was interrupted by a shout from across the street. “You fixin’ to buy that house?” I turned around to see a girl of about twelve years old, standing near a couple of boys who looked about eight or so. “I don’t know” I said hesitantly, “It looks like it would take an awful lot of work to clean and fix it up.” “It’s a big house.” She said. “Yeah…would you help me clean it up if I bought it?” “Yeah, I’d help you clean it.” “You would?” I turned back to the house and let out a sigh. Suddenly one of the boys chimed in, “give me some money and I’ll help you.” I just laughed and began to walk back to my jeep. Just as I was reaching for the handle the girl spoke up, “You don’t have to give me no money… I’ll help you.” In that moment, I knew why I have to buy that house. I asked the girl her name. I had her repeat it twice and still don’t think I have it right, but it was something like Marissa, but a bit different, pronounced like Mareesee, or close to that. Well, if God intends for that house to be fixed up and used as a hub for the kids and people of that community, at least I know I already have a name for it. Mareesee Manor. I need to go to bed. I have to get up in two hours, and I will be going all day until after midnight. It looks like Sunday through Saturday of next week is about the same schedule. I looked up at God a minute ago and asked Him why He chose this week to show me this neighborhood. He told me that this is the week I finally got off my butt and went there, He’s had it on my heart for a while. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the timing couldn’t be better. It gives me four months of mediocre to above-average weather to work with. I am scared to death. I can’t get this house out of my head, or the garden. I cannot save Saginaw. I cannot even save myself. God is going to do what He’s going to do, with or without me. It’s time for me to get on board. It’s time to sell everything I have and follow Him. I knew this was coming. I know my life is about to change. It’s going to get harder, but it’s going to be what it’s intended to be, not what I would have it be. In the words of Rage Against the Machine in their song Guerilla Radio, "It has to start somewhere. It has to start sometime. What better place than here. What better time than now."

Bailar

she moves legs, arms intertwining with the notes on the page bare feet wood floor tears begin to dance as she envisions her castle on the cloud up on her toes her hand brushes the sun she blows a kiss sending hope she bends never breaks the silence of the notes on the page bow, my dear to your master as they applaud to each other and smile

Iggy & Me

No words quite fit The way a cold beer tastes At 2:38 in the afternoon While reading a Rolling Stone And listening To Celtic women sing From somewhere deep Somewhere raw Propaganda of my nature The Starry Night of Edvard Munch Staring into my soul Vanilla flames dance To the melody While I dance To the beating of my own heart You’re not the boss of me Iggy Pop You’re not the boss of me

happy keester

It seems like whenever I see someone else doing something, or watch something amazing, I seem to think it’s my new calling. That’s weird, isn’t it? Like, I just read a novel written by one of my friends, and suddenly I find myself writing all the time now. I watch the NCAA tournament, and I want to get back in the gym and shoot around. I watch a play, and can’t wait for rehearsal. I’ve recently learned to knit, and am currently working on a puzzle. I have taken piano lessons, and now take drum lessons. I desire to take dance lessons more than anything, but I’m afraid I’ll be good. Is that weird? I hibernate in my apartment. I have succeeded to isolate myself from almost everyone. Lately, I haven’t been feeling too good about it, but I don’t know how to fix it, and I’m not so sure I even want to. I have no desire to invite people over, and I have no desire to go anywhere else when I’m here. Part of it is lack of money, I’m sure, because most things take money. I enjoy getting out when I have rehearsal, or to go to my church in the evening. I have seriously become a hermit. I wouldn’t mind so much, except I have also become quite lazy. I want to step out from this lifestyle, but I feel so rested and calm, I’ve fallen in love with it. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can say I feel at peace, because I’m constantly feeling guilty for sitting around thinking about everything. I’ve begun talking to people out loud, instead of in my head. I have full conversations, until I realize I’m talking out loud and end the conversation mid-sentence. I have a desire to connect with other people, and I yearn for that human companionship sometimes. However, I love this new state I’ve found because I feel like I have time to think, and to read, but mostly to think. I have time to form a whole thought, dive deep within that thought to find the contradiction, and circle back around to a resolution, which usually leads me to another contradiction. It’s a relief. However, I know that I need interaction with others. I don’t need much, but I do much better as a person when I find balance. Social situations and intimacy are part of that balance. Like I said, I’ve never needed very much, but to connect with someone on a higher level at least once in a while would do me good. I don’t really know how to get there from here. I know it could be a matter of picking up the phone and calling someone to hang out, but what if I don’t feel like it when the plans are made, or I don’t have money, or they say no, or they expect more out of me than I can give, or I expect more out of them than they can give, or everything works out really well and I want to hang out with people more, and soon I become very social again, and lose this alone time, and the scales tip in the opposite direction. I have a tendency to get in ruts of severe unbalance, if that’s even a sentence. I get to hang out with my mom today, but deep down I’d rather hang around my apartment in my sweatpants. Isn’t that weird? There is no pressure when I hang out with my mom, we just chill. I know I will feel good about it once I’m home again tonight after hanging out with her. I just can’t seem to get my butt moving to make the trip, or pick up the phone to make the call. I’d rather sit and do nothing. Usually I end up getting up and doing something for a while, like I started to organize the pile of stuff I have in my kitchen, but I only get so far and then something else catches my attention, and I stop. I get excited when I think about doing it, and it’s always like 3 in the morning, and I’m like ‘ok, tomorrow I will do it, and it will be great, but I can’t get into it now cuz it’s 3 in the morning’. Then tomorrow comes, and I find something else because I’m not motivated to do it anymore. It’s a vicious cycle. I know it will take discipline to get out of it, but I think part of me likes this low-key, low responsibility lifestyle. I know it’s not very fulfilling, though, and I think that’s what keeps jabbing me in the side about it. I need to stop typing right now and go see my mom. It’s weird, I know I should be doing something else, so the words really start flowing on the page. I have begun to give into those urges and do whatever is in me to do. Is that beneficial? I don’t know. A lot of good things have come from doing that, creatively speaking. Unfortunately, I’ve dropped a lot of responsibilities and really can’t hope to move forward very fast if I continue down this path. What is forward anyway, though? I’m at peace, and I’m calm, and I’m not starving. Why not sit and create? Why not hang out by myself, if that’s what suits me? I can’t help but feel there is some sort of balance that needs to be maintained, even in this lifestyle. My body is the type that just needs to move, so I know I will never become stagnant. I know I will continue to thrust myself into social situations, even if I still maintain an isolated lifestyle. I am always meeting new people, and finding out all about them. I think what I’ve been feeling lately is that a lot of people don’t know much about me. That’s selfish though, isn’t it? I’m being selfish right now, because I’m continuing to write even though I know I should be getting dressed and out the door to see my mom and honor the time I told her I would be there. However, I can’t help but feel she would understand if I told her I had an epiphany and needed to write for a while. That doesn’t make it right, though, does it? If I’m meant to write these thoughts down they’ll come later won’t they? I’ve found that’s not always the case. Am I selfish for sitting here and writing, knowing I’ll be a better person if I get this stuff down? Alright, I can sense the thoughts beginning to fade. That’s good. It’s time to get dressed and go. Now I was able to write, and I’m also able to go spend time with my mom and still be reasonably on time. To me, that’s balance.

Feeding Time

He swims beneath the algae to get a closer look at the castle The rocks are bright pink, her favorite color Timidly he approaches the drawbridge and begins to nibble Stone. Crap. He always forgot. Turning to his left he sees a pair of blue eyes staring right at him Through the glass Mascara running down her face Trails of salty tears She whispers softly “Other fish in the sea…but just one in the bowl” He smiles warmly wishing he could swim in her tears But he is a freshwater fish She sprinkles the food into the bowl Watching as it floats along the surface He allows himself to rise to the top Hoping to feel her hand glide along his back Knowing he never will ‘Maybe if I kiss her, she’ll turn into a fish And we can live in my castle Forever.’ He nibbles the drawbridge once more Stone.

Dear Colleen

Another relevant find.... Saturday Nov. 27th, 2004 2:10pm Dear Colleen, I write you today, instead of God, Himself, because I know what God hears in your heart and that writing a letter to Him is entirely unnecessary. However, I see that you could use a letter of encouragement. This is not to barrade you, or ask why you are who you are and make the decisions that you make. This is a letter of the here and now - not revisiting old decisions that have long since passed and by the mercy and grace of God have been forgiven. I see the path your mind is taking you on in this moment and I'm writing this letter to you to turn it around. They are satan's lies - you should not be ashamed or afraid. Don't even give him the satisfaction of entertaining such notions. Rather, reflect on God's love, forever. No one can take that away from you. You are eternal, but only through the grace of Jesus Christ. Reflect on that and the words of Christ. You are His friend. God wants you to be happy - not ashamed. You can break the cycle here and now - but you have to believe it's possible. It is easy to get wrapped up in things of this world - you're not the only one who has given in or stepped away. Repent and search again for God's way, and you will find happiness there. Expose and admitt your mistakes to God, but do not dwell on them. Sin gives birth to sin. Love gives birth to peace and casts out fear. You are weak - but that is not a fault - God's power is made perfect in your weakness. God's power is perfect - so you are weak. Satan will try and try - he will never give up because he knows the war is lost - so he will try to win every battle he can. He will lose. God has won and God has chosen you. You have a tender, sensitive heart and people will make you feel like that is wrong. Keep listening for God's word - He speaks to you - speaks peace into your heart. Keep talking about God's love. Keep showing others what it is through your life. Keep admitting and exposing mistakes and sin, repenting and forgiving yourself after you know God has forgiven you. Go through each day picking out a mistake from the day before and giving it to God without replacing it with a new one. You are not the bad person that you so often think you are. You are loved by those in Heaven and by some here on Earth. Surround yourself with love every day. You are a work in progress, and nobody knows that better than you. Don't forget to rest sometimes. I don't mean physically. Don't forget to give yourself a break sometimes. You are a good person - you are on the right track most of the time. Don't forget to enjoy God's blessings. Just breathe, and don't judge yourself for it. It's all about balance - mind, body, soul, and other people. Heaven will be great, but every day you're on this earth can be great, too. It's just a matter of perspective. Keep God in front, let Him do the hard stuff - He wants to, and He's good at it! He loves you. God did not have time to make a nobody - He did not have time to save a nobody. To God you are somebody. You are somebody to me, too. Keep going out there and being somebody to everyone you meet and God will be there. Love, Colleen

Keep it.

He refilled her wine glass, took the five dollar bill she had set down, and brought it to the cash register to make change. “Keep it,” “You sure?” The response came automatically, after years of bartending many things became automatic. “Keep it.” She watched as he put the money in the till and pocketed the change. “Can I ask you something?” “Sure” He seemed agitated, but she knew he wouldn’t say no, another unwritten bartending rule. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” She knew he had heard the question many times before, as he quickly grabbed the drink order from the ball cap next to her. “I’m sure you get that a lot, not that it’s a bad place to be…I can’t imagine what you see, standing behind the bar, watching people try to stay afloat.” She continued “I’m not hitting on you…I’m sure you get that a lot, too. I’m not interested in you like that. I mean, I’m interested in you…just not like that.” “What kind of place should a guy like me be?” He said as he rang up another drink order on the register and handed out the change…still agitated. “Hmm…a guy like you should be allowed to go anywhere, anytime, no constrictions. A guy like you should be able to be…just to be, so everyone could see what happens next.” She knew she needed to be there in that moment to say those words to him. He didn’t act surprised, or annoyed, or grateful, he just continued to take orders from around the bar. Regardless, she knew he needed to hear it. Many times people didn’t react to the things that she said. Many times people almost became angry at her for the things she said, but she still said them, because she knew.

ALS, age, materialism, and me.....

“What looks like the end, becomes another beginning….” On the 5th anniversary of his prognosis…Stephen decided to go on a respirator. He had ALS…and a camera crew had followed him for over four years. The show, “So Much, So Fast” was on PBS last night. “Time is relative, the faster you move, the slower it goes.” –Einstein Watching Stephen’s family deal with the new mission that stood before them, and seeing how each individual member of the family responded, makes me wonder about my role in this fight. You see, when I was first starting grade school, my Aunt Wave was diagnosed with ALS. It did not take long for the disease to begin to rob her of her joy. My aunt wrote a note to her family, brought a gun into her bathroom, and shot herself in the head, while she still had the control to make and carry out the decision herself. Many people might not understand the choice she made. I think her sister, my Grandmother Colleen, and their mother, understood all too well. Wave and Colleen watched as their brother Cliff lost all mobility from the disease, many years earlier, and eventually, as my grandmother describes it “died a horrible death”. That is the only thing my grandmother has said about any of it. I have never heard her talk about her brother and sister, and now that her mom has passed, my dear Great-Grandmother Rose, she hasn’t mentioned her much, either. Of course, I do not get much of a chance to talk with my grandmother, with her being in Colorado, and me being here in Michigan. I worry about her. She often has a horrible time with anxiety and depression. She cannot work or drive because of it. Her daughter, my aunt Terry Lee, (yes, you’re catching on, Colleen, Rose, Florence, Lee – Florence being my other fabulous Great-Grandmother, mother of my grandfather), lives 20 minutes from her, so she will sometimes take her shopping, or to the doctor’s office, or just stop by for a visit. My father, unfortunately, is not so good about stopping by. That’s just kind of how that family works, they seem to be extremely self-serving, and…cold. I wonder how my mother ever fit in with any of them. I’m not so sure she ever did. I’m not so sure anybody ever has, even the very people that make up that family. The funny thing is I still absolutely adore all of them. Another good thing, I guess, that will come from not being able to have kids of my own...I will not pass this deadly gene onto them. My brother could have it, and my nephew could have it...who knows, I could have it. I will not drive myself crazy wondering if I do. I feel compelled, however, to have a more active role in the fight for a cure. My older sister's birthday is today. Deana is 35 years old. That seems totally crazy to me. When did she get so old? When will I stop thinking 35 is old? Probably when I turn 35. No, then I will probably think it's older than ever. I think 27 is old. The world tells me where I should be at 27...married, graduated (maybe with a Master's Degree by now), with one kid and another on the way, a house in the suburbs and a dog name Murphy. My friend Lindsay had a dog name Murphy, it only had three legs. Sometimes it would get loose from their yard and run to the high school to visit her. She would be so embarassed because everyone knew it was her dog...I think it was the only one in town with three legs:) Anyway, I don't think there is anywhere I'm supposed to be right now. The world bombards us with images of the American Dream. I look around me and see images of stressed out teenagers or twenty-somethings all striving for the same dream, not realizing that right down the street are people who have stopped dreaming altogether. I find myself more and more uncomfortable lately with the stuff that I have, and the life that I lead. Mother Theresa's feet were deformed. Did you know that? They would get boxes of shoes donated to the people of Calcutta, and she would dig through the box and find the worst pair, so nobody else had to wear them. Her feet were deformed from years of wearing bad shoes, or no shoes. My feet are already pretty ugly...but not because of a giving spirit. It is time to act. I'm not sure what it is I'm supposed to do, but that won't stop me from doing something. I can start small, start here, in this town. It will start with shedding my life from all the "stuff". It's kind of funny...I usually look around at my stuff and feel bad that I don't have very much, now I realize it is not a lack of stuff, but an over-abundance of stuff that is making me uncomfortable. Now, just to come to the realization is not enough, it's time to act. I am currently reading a couple of books, and both have compelled the same thoughts within me. The first is called "The Irresistible Revolution". The second was written by a friend of mine...he was traveling across the country with a backpack, and nothing more...there's obviously a lot more to it than that, and I'm sure I'll reveal more as I continue to read...but one excerpt spoke to me in the same way as "The Irresistible Revolution"... "...But more than all this, the joy and value of living out of a pack stemmed from the austere limitation of available space. Nagashana was forced to carefully consider the importance of each item that went into it. There was no room for the usual trivia and trifles that fill and eventually overtake the average American household. Nagashana had often heard people complain that their space was so cluttered that they didn't even have room to think. Living out of a backpack ensured, at the very least, plenty of room for that. Yet Nagashana took it even further than this. He remembered the teachings Jesus had on the subject of possessions: "Lay up your treasures in Heaven, rather than earth; for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also...If you would be perfect, sell all that you possess and give the money to the poor." Nagashana knew that these words were not about the importance of being a charitable person. They were a warning: He knew that possessions will eventually do the possessing; master will become slave, and a path will be forever lost. Shackles and chains, he knew, could have such alluring forms...cars, stereos, televisions, electric blankets, secure jobs, credit cards, cellular phones, satellite dishes - each a link binding and burdening until we all become like Marley's ghost: a cold sould trapped eternally by luxury and wealth...For him (Nagashana) consciously limiting his material goods was an act of spiritual training as important as meditation, study of sacred texts, or worship. The lightness (in weight) of his pack was directly proportional to the lightness (in luminescence) of his soul." - "A Handful of Dust" A Novel by Marc Beaudin http://www.myspace.com/crowvoice You know, for a guy claiming to be more spiritual than religious, I would say he's got more of the right idea than many Christians I know. I keep receiving this same message over and over and over and over again. You think God's trying to tell me something? ;) I have to head off to rehearsal, to play two amazing characters...an old rabbi (yes, an old man) and a homeless woman from the Bronx, who many say, is believed to be a prophet in the show...seriously, could I have been any luckier with this show? I was just cast in a Neil Simon show, I get to actually play a normal 30-something woman. No one is really normal, though, she will have a story to tell and act out just like all the characters I've been playing all along. At least I won't need to contort my face or my body for this one...I'll just need to dig deep within myself and find her.

Hot Flash...or the Holy Spirit?

I choose to write in this color, because that is how I feel right now...on fire. I now have so much empathy for middle-age menopausal women. I'm a twenty-something menopausal woman. Yes, hot flashes, dry eyes, fatigue, mood swings, the works. There is a blessing in all this, no monthly curse. However, I do still get PMS, pretty much every week. What is that about? I will not go on about my feminine troubles...who wants to hear about that, really? I am supposed to be in church...I was in church...and then, BOOM, hot flash...I'll make it back in for communion...that's why I came today, anyway, and to catch up with my kids and see how everybody's doing. I hear the organ, and somehow it is enough for me to know that there are people who I care very much for, worshiping the God I have learned to love, right in the next room. I have a warm feeling, not uncomfortable like the hot flash, but the warm feeling of love...like a cat stretched out on the carpet, as the sun pours in from the window, bathing the cat in its warmth; warmth you can feel right down to your bones...the Holy Spirit warmth. So many people get hooked on the rules. I have always had a problem following rules that nobody could explain to me. Right now, many people would frown at the fact that I am sitting here writing this blog. However, I am so in tune with the Holy Spirit right now. I have trouble sitting in church sometimes, and I know many people can relate. Some days, I really enjoy just sitting there, dressed up, my time, to hear God's word, and let Him speak to me. Some days, I don't really listen very well, and I write, or read, but I'm still there, and hear what I need to hear. Some days, like today, I am in the building, and that seems to be enough. Some days, I show up in my jeans and t-shirt, knowing that that is the only way I was going to get my butt to church, and if people frown at me, I smile and say "at least I'm here, man, and I am comfortable". Some days, I have other stuff going on, but I know God is just as much a part of that as He is a part of the service that is going on at the same time. Some days, I am at home, sleeping, or sitting, resting, and God is there, too. Don't get me wrong, church is great, and fellowship is wonderful, and without it, it's easy to become less accountable. If I have built a relationship with God, like a friend, or like my Father, than I will come to Him every day and speak with Him, invite Him to be part of every moment, and read His word whenever I get the chance. I would also stop by His house occasionally to visit...sometimes I stop by during the week, when no one else is here, and sit and talk to Him. Those are some of my favorite moments, and I'm blessed to have a key to His house, so I can come in whenever I want. I've never been really good at relationships, thankfully, most people are understanding. God, however, expects more, and I'm grateful. I've always had a lot of respect for the people who expect more out of me. God knows what I'm capable of, good and bad, so the fact that He expects more shows me that I am capable of more. I better get going, Jesus is waiting, broken for me.