Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
I know, it’s February, and not actually spring yet. But we’ve had a string of warm days here, and now I can’t seem to get to all those chores on my list, like cleaning the bathroom and stacking wood in the basement. I just have to be outside!
Spring is great for everyone and everything in the Little Yellow House. The cats are less destructive inside the house when they get to burn off all their energy outside. They chase everything --birds, frisbees, each other-- except the neighbor dog, who chases them! Thankfully there are lots of trees nearby for escape.
Last week I sat outside one afternoon and watched them play. I am an avid observer of nature in all seasons. I love to see small shadows speeding across the ground, and search the sky for hawks gliding in the summer heat. I love to see the foliage splashed with color in the fall, like an exuberant toddler was let loose with finger paints in the forest. I love to see the snow shining like glitter on the ground, and hear the frozen winter branches tapping together like morse code. And I love spring, because everything seems to begin again. I listened to the birds singing, and they seemed hesitant, like they were using tunes that had gone unsung for too long. A woodpecker circled the trunk of a tree, tapping tentatively to find a good spot. The ground is damp and waiting, and though it is still too early for flowers to begin uncurling their leaves, the buds on the trees are beginning to swell.
I am ready for spring in my heart, too. Ready for new things, and beauty, and life. Lent begins soon, and as the church calendar goes, things will get much darker before we can truly celebrate the miracle of rebirth. But I am ready.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I enjoy writing. Unfortunately, since I finished school, I seem to only write when inspiration strikes, instead of as a discipline that would develop my skills. But since what I have is all I’ve got, I might as well try to find something that works.
I know lots of bloggers schedule their posts in advance to help with the consistency and continuity of their blogging. I’ve started to do this with my poetry blog since I have only sporadic internet access. It might work here, too. What if, during my moments of inspiration, I take the time to churn out a few blog posts instead of just one, and schedule them to be posted at a later date? We’ll see how this goes.
Do you remember taking hearing tests in elementary school? I remember it being something mildly exciting for me and my young classmates. As a group, we would leave our room and file into one of the back basement hallways, and wait in line as our peers were taken in a few at a time. The room was dimly lit (Why are they always dimly lit?) and at the hearing test station, we put on a pair of giant noise-blocking headphones and were instructed to push the button every time we heard a beep. We had to hear a certain percentage of the beeps in order to pass the test, and I was always a little bit afraid that I would miss too many.
I feel like that with God sometimes. I sit there, my senses on edge, straining to hear his voice. I stretch my ears to hear a word, a whisper, some direction.
--Did you hear that?
Was that your voice, God?
...or just background noise?
I wish I had a pair of worldly-noise blocking headphones, because I can’t always hear the beeps. Sometimes they’re unmistakably loud, but sometimes I just know I’ve missed one. Sometimes what I think I've heard turns out not to be from God, and sometimes what I think I hear doesn't seem like it could be true.
How do you hear God?