Into the wilderness far
Farther than ever before I
Will go to the wilderness
And there I may find a valley deep
And narrow where sand stretches far
Farther than ever before I
Will kneel to the rocks and gather stone I
Will gather stone to throw
To bash in the head of my dragon my
Idol I will throw stone after stone and
They will fly as our screams fly reverberating
Sharp and crushing screams till it falls, dead,
Bleeding.
Down I will hold its shiny head and mourn my
Loss, my idol’s death, its destruction and
Think how its life had been glorious and
Proud and so beautiful I
Will remember plans made in silent houses I
Will remember long mornings of sun and
Pleasure that ran through my bones when
My idol breathed hot on my heart just so I
Will weep for it a little then no more because
My idol is dead and already I can
Feel its nothingness filling my chest with eyes
That stare and that can never be
Surprised.
Then in the stillness a voice will speak
With words that can fill the eyes in my
Chest with knowledge that barely understands, with
Wisdom that can hardly comprehend it
Will say words of comfort that echo down into chasm
Walls to where I stand, surprised.
“Trust. Trust me,” it will say in tones as
Deep as Earl Grey and tingling as a
Lover's soft touch on the waist of his wife.
And I will trust.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
I want.
As selfish a statement as I can formulate. As focused a purpose as I can work toward. As deep a consideration as I can imagine. As confusing a sentiment as I can feel.
I want. I want, I want, I want, I want, want, want, want!
"I want..." I say and then my mouth goes dry and my head clears of all information or ideas. I want...everything, nothing, bigness, littleness, dark, light, far, near, love, hate, joy, grief, hope, despair, courage, fear...I want it all. I want it all. I want to know. I want to know why and how and when and where, and oh Lord God of my fathers I want to know You. But I don't know anything really. I only know that I want to know.
It occurs to me that food isn't as delectible as it should be, that sleep isn't as restful as it should be, that time ticks torturously by, that the sun is unbearably intense, that the mountains opress me, entrapping, holding me in, that color isn't as vibrant as it should be, that the most elaborate fractal isn't as infinite as it should be. It occurs to me that sixteen wasn't sweet enough, that twenty won't satisfy me either, or thirty or fourty, or eighty. It occurs to me that the creaking of the rusty, dusty gears in my head are louder than my constructive thoughts. It occurs to me that when I open my eyes after napping in the sun, everything looks gray-blue instead of gold and green. It occurs to me that everything is wrong. It occcurs to me.
Do you ever wonder if Jesus will ever come back? I do. When I'm feeling especially selfish, or tired, or disgusted, or hopeless. Or when the grainy sand of this endless desert they call history seems to stretch further and dryer than I can bear. So I look up and I know that my creator watches and holds and breathes with me: in, out. I know that He sighs with me and creation. And it occurs to me that the time I spend here, that the tears I cry here, that the desire I hold in my being here, unfulfilled will be worth it if His glory is served. If His purpose is served.
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
Not to worry--He'll come. And then I'll know. And then every "I want" will be His to fulfill.
I want. I want, I want, I want, I want, want, want, want!
"I want..." I say and then my mouth goes dry and my head clears of all information or ideas. I want...everything, nothing, bigness, littleness, dark, light, far, near, love, hate, joy, grief, hope, despair, courage, fear...I want it all. I want it all. I want to know. I want to know why and how and when and where, and oh Lord God of my fathers I want to know You. But I don't know anything really. I only know that I want to know.
It occurs to me that food isn't as delectible as it should be, that sleep isn't as restful as it should be, that time ticks torturously by, that the sun is unbearably intense, that the mountains opress me, entrapping, holding me in, that color isn't as vibrant as it should be, that the most elaborate fractal isn't as infinite as it should be. It occurs to me that sixteen wasn't sweet enough, that twenty won't satisfy me either, or thirty or fourty, or eighty. It occurs to me that the creaking of the rusty, dusty gears in my head are louder than my constructive thoughts. It occurs to me that when I open my eyes after napping in the sun, everything looks gray-blue instead of gold and green. It occurs to me that everything is wrong. It occcurs to me.
Do you ever wonder if Jesus will ever come back? I do. When I'm feeling especially selfish, or tired, or disgusted, or hopeless. Or when the grainy sand of this endless desert they call history seems to stretch further and dryer than I can bear. So I look up and I know that my creator watches and holds and breathes with me: in, out. I know that He sighs with me and creation. And it occurs to me that the time I spend here, that the tears I cry here, that the desire I hold in my being here, unfulfilled will be worth it if His glory is served. If His purpose is served.
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
Not to worry--He'll come. And then I'll know. And then every "I want" will be His to fulfill.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Looking for Overworld
Its like we used to be high, so high up in Overworld. Its like we used to see the sun and the sky and the sea. Its like we used to talk to big, bright lions and have adventures.
Its like we've sunk down to the dark lands legions farther down than can be comprehended. Its like we don't even know what the sun looks like anymore or the sky or the sea. Its like we've settled for a second-rate substitute to satisfy our need for happiness, or love, or everything. Its like we're tied in a shiny chair listening to a soothing, sweet voice whisper succulent lies in our ears. Its like we look at a cat and think its a lion, like we look at a lamp and think its the sun, its like we hear a little sappy strumming on an acoustic and think its a symphony.
Its like we don't even listen when someone wakes up from a dream one day and says he's seen real lions, suns, and heard real symphonies, and insists that he wander in our Underworld for as long as it takes to find his dream one. Its like I had the same dream and I try so hard to remember and record it all before it slips away, carefully tucked into the archives of my dusty mind. Its like I try my best to believe that there really are lions and suns and I tear at the ropes every night in my shiny chair, but the lies come a-whispering, and the fire flares green as a snake, and I can't bear to stay awake anymore. Oh no, no, not anymore. But someone has to stomp on the fire for me, I can't, I can't. Oh please stomp on the fire for me. I have a dream, a dream as big as a lion, and it comes bounding in as gold as the dream sun and as bright. I have to believe it, and every night I will wander Underworld in my dreams and look for Overworld till I can see the sun and the sky and the sea and the lion.
Its like we've sunk down to the dark lands legions farther down than can be comprehended. Its like we don't even know what the sun looks like anymore or the sky or the sea. Its like we've settled for a second-rate substitute to satisfy our need for happiness, or love, or everything. Its like we're tied in a shiny chair listening to a soothing, sweet voice whisper succulent lies in our ears. Its like we look at a cat and think its a lion, like we look at a lamp and think its the sun, its like we hear a little sappy strumming on an acoustic and think its a symphony.
Its like we don't even listen when someone wakes up from a dream one day and says he's seen real lions, suns, and heard real symphonies, and insists that he wander in our Underworld for as long as it takes to find his dream one. Its like I had the same dream and I try so hard to remember and record it all before it slips away, carefully tucked into the archives of my dusty mind. Its like I try my best to believe that there really are lions and suns and I tear at the ropes every night in my shiny chair, but the lies come a-whispering, and the fire flares green as a snake, and I can't bear to stay awake anymore. Oh no, no, not anymore. But someone has to stomp on the fire for me, I can't, I can't. Oh please stomp on the fire for me. I have a dream, a dream as big as a lion, and it comes bounding in as gold as the dream sun and as bright. I have to believe it, and every night I will wander Underworld in my dreams and look for Overworld till I can see the sun and the sky and the sea and the lion.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
My security blanket
School is my security blanket. Its a place where my purpose is obvious and sure. Here I stand, I can do no other, etc.
So there is no reason why I should be worried about the future, right? Of course right. You have convinced me, I believe there isn't.
In September of 2005, Rebekah Reimers, 17, enrolled in a two-year degree program at Whatcom Community College. She was scared, and short, and in love with Tennyson. In June of 2007, she will graduate from WCC with an associates degree in arts and sciences at the age of 19, having retained a grade point average of 3.8, taken five English classes, and been a member of Phi Theta Kappa. She is scared, and short, and in love with Tennyson. So what.Or shall we say, now what? Yes, school is my security blanket. Or so it seems. No my dears, as much as I would like to say that school is my security blanket, it really isn't. That's a lie, or it should be anyway. God is my security blanket. Has been, is now, and forevermore shall be. Amen.
So there is no reason why I should be worried about the future, right? Of course right. You have convinced me, I believe there isn't.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
The dining room dissertation and me
In desperate need of tea, I set to work. Soon steam was rippling like transparent silk towards the dining room chandelier, free from the bonds of gravity. Hope was addressing me from the rotating tape deck on the table, insistent in its honest sincerity. Why joy? I wonder. Why joy in the worst of times? Because these are the best of times.
"It takes real faith in a real Christ to weather the storms," the tape deck declares. Do I dare believe? Do I dare "put my confidence in Christ alone"? In dissapointment also, He is trustworthy, it said. "Faith brings the glory of Christ in the present experience." He's the one I need, He's the one I want. Only. "When did I let myself forget again?" my pen wonders as it hushes across my journal page.
Why should I look to any other source for comfort? Or for hope, or joy, or fulfillment, or delight? My tea is cold, but I still see steam rising like rippling gray silk toward heaven. He has love that can intoxicate the soul. Because He is in Himself the essence of empathy. He knows.
"So I'm on my way back home into the hands that made the wine from the water, into the hands, the hands of the potter."
The tape said that peaceful coexistence is not love. It is not knowing and being known. My eyes trace the lines of glass panes in the china cabinet like a cathedral window. He loves beyond the love of honor or duty or "function." Oh God, help me to remember this tomorrow, and the next day and the next day.
"It takes real faith in a real Christ to weather the storms," the tape deck declares. Do I dare believe? Do I dare "put my confidence in Christ alone"? In dissapointment also, He is trustworthy, it said. "Faith brings the glory of Christ in the present experience." He's the one I need, He's the one I want. Only. "When did I let myself forget again?" my pen wonders as it hushes across my journal page.
Why should I look to any other source for comfort? Or for hope, or joy, or fulfillment, or delight? My tea is cold, but I still see steam rising like rippling gray silk toward heaven. He has love that can intoxicate the soul. Because He is in Himself the essence of empathy. He knows.
"So I'm on my way back home into the hands that made the wine from the water, into the hands, the hands of the potter."
The tape said that peaceful coexistence is not love. It is not knowing and being known. My eyes trace the lines of glass panes in the china cabinet like a cathedral window. He loves beyond the love of honor or duty or "function." Oh God, help me to remember this tomorrow, and the next day and the next day.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go before you make yourself miserable again.
Its not fair. Who said anything about it being fair?
What about justice, though? What did I ever do to deserve this?
I'll just think of swear words in my head and then maybe I'll feel better.
No. Let go. Let go before you hurt yourself!
You hate me, don't you.
You must hate me or you would have done everything in
Your power to give me my own way. The world hates me, doesn't it.
I thought so.
No. Let go. Let go before you ride this trolley all the way to hell!
I'm not listening to you--you hate me.
I like this trolley, so just leave me alone.
No. Let go. Let go before its too late!
You know what? I can't even see you--you're not real so shove off.
I am real. I am here.
I don't care, don't you see? I don't care.
You know what? Why don't you find yourself a
Nice bridge, and jump of it, okay?
No. Let go. Let go my daughter of darkness, my
Hopeless child of fear and failure.
Let go. Let go and look up. I'm here.
Why? Why are you here? Everyone else left.
You hate me like everyone else--you're just
Trying to trick me.
No. Let go. I am here. I have always been here.
I will stay here forever.
I can't look up--my head is so heavy. Please
Don't ask me to try.
You won't have to try. I will lift it up. You will see me.
I made you. I love you. Love me.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
English 121 (fiction and poetry writing)
Waiting for Kenton
(Who was born on July 14, 2006)
Bright. Too bright. But the light stayed stubborn.
I wiped sweat again.
Hot. Too hot. But the kids played on, unaffected.
Somewhere in a neighboring town
A mother was probably pushing, breathing, calling for ice.
I couldn't see the blue of the sky
Just yellow. Too yellow.
I wiped sweat again.
Time was creeping, air stagnant
The kids ran and jumped,
Their hair drenched.
Red-painted metal mondey bars,
Not a swing to be found.
Who forgot to build swings?
The sun was bearing down
I wondered if the mother was too.
Oh child, stop, rest, think!
Your face is the color of tomatoes:
Red. Too red. But you run anyway.
You must.
The baby must cry.
The baby must live.
So you run anyway.
(Who was born on July 14, 2006)
Bright. Too bright. But the light stayed stubborn.
I wiped sweat again.
Hot. Too hot. But the kids played on, unaffected.
Somewhere in a neighboring town
A mother was probably pushing, breathing, calling for ice.
I couldn't see the blue of the sky
Just yellow. Too yellow.
I wiped sweat again.
Time was creeping, air stagnant
The kids ran and jumped,
Their hair drenched.
Red-painted metal mondey bars,
Not a swing to be found.
Who forgot to build swings?
The sun was bearing down
I wondered if the mother was too.
Oh child, stop, rest, think!
Your face is the color of tomatoes:
Red. Too red. But you run anyway.
You must.
The baby must cry.
The baby must live.
So you run anyway.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
This Dancing Virgin
"The Lord has appeared of old to me,
saying:
'Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting
love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have
drawn you.
Again I will build you, and you shall be
rebuilt,
O virgin of Israel!
You shall again be adorned with your
tambourines,
And shall go forth in the dances of those
who rejoice."
--Jeremiah 31: 3,4
Wow. That is justification. Guilt is merely a theory until you know it by experience. Grace too is merely a vague concept never truly understood until seized upon. Here I go again, shouting out the same old story: fairy tale forgiveness, irrepressible joy, remarkable restoration. I can't help it! God keeps doing incredible things, and as long as He continues, I shall have to sing His praises.
Shakespeare may have said that "silence is the perfectest herald of joy," but for once I can't agree with him quite wholeheartedly. God's grace is too glorious for silence. It just makes me want to scream with delight!
saying:
'Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting
love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have
drawn you.
Again I will build you, and you shall be
rebuilt,
O virgin of Israel!
You shall again be adorned with your
tambourines,
And shall go forth in the dances of those
who rejoice."
--Jeremiah 31: 3,4
Wow. That is justification. Guilt is merely a theory until you know it by experience. Grace too is merely a vague concept never truly understood until seized upon. Here I go again, shouting out the same old story: fairy tale forgiveness, irrepressible joy, remarkable restoration. I can't help it! God keeps doing incredible things, and as long as He continues, I shall have to sing His praises.
Shakespeare may have said that "silence is the perfectest herald of joy," but for once I can't agree with him quite wholeheartedly. God's grace is too glorious for silence. It just makes me want to scream with delight!
Monday, February 19, 2007
Presidents Day with Kylee
Today Kylee and I took a walk in the rain under the protection of two enormous black umbrellas. We sang "I know an old lady" the whole way and somehow we got from, "I know an old lady who swallowed a horse--she's dead of course," to, "I know an old lady who swallowed an umbrella..."
--Later--
"My stomach is grabbling," quoth Kylee and clutched her belly dramatically.
"Surely not," I replied and ran in the general direction of the kitchen, whereupon we made a sandwich shaped like an elephant.
--Later--
"What game shall we play?" said she, looking inquiringly into my face.
"I don't know," I said earnestly.
"Let's go in Grammie's room and fink," she said decidedly, and would have marched ceremoniously thence if she hadn't been waylaid by my capturing arms and hauled over my shoulder potatoe fashion. "Let's go in Grammie's room and fink," she repeated, confused. And I laughed. And she laughed too.
Note: Kylee and I have been saying, "I could eat a whole elephant," whenever we're hungry. Thus the pachyderm-shaped sandwich.
--Later--
"My stomach is grabbling," quoth Kylee and clutched her belly dramatically.
"Surely not," I replied and ran in the general direction of the kitchen, whereupon we made a sandwich shaped like an elephant.
--Later--
"What game shall we play?" said she, looking inquiringly into my face.
"I don't know," I said earnestly.
"Let's go in Grammie's room and fink," she said decidedly, and would have marched ceremoniously thence if she hadn't been waylaid by my capturing arms and hauled over my shoulder potatoe fashion. "Let's go in Grammie's room and fink," she repeated, confused. And I laughed. And she laughed too.
Note: Kylee and I have been saying, "I could eat a whole elephant," whenever we're hungry. Thus the pachyderm-shaped sandwich.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
My Valentine Rose
Someone told me recently that the sole purpose of Valentines Day was to cause people with sweethearts the trouble of buying meaningless symbols of affection such as roses, candy, teddy bears, etc., and to cause single people unhappiness and discontent because they don't have an excuse to buy said meaningless symbols of affection. I also recently heard the radio tell me that roses are boring and sappy...so I should buy a Vermont Teddy Bear!
I think neither of the above examples of society's attitude toward Valentines Day quite understands. Today I recieved a very red, very beautiful rose from a friend of mine--no not a sweetheart--a friend named Sarah. This rose was my companion throughout the rest of the day. It stayed in my hand like a bold, sweet, beacon of red truth, defiant love. The rain could not wash away its brightness. The vulgar "Dating Game" and other such rituals carried out here at Whatcom Community College could not mar its purity. It reminded me of the unapolagetic nature of blood.
God gave me a gift of love today. He reminded me of the sweetness and absolute purity of a gift infinitely more beautiful than any I have ever been given before. This is what romance means to me. Yes, romance! That is what I said. God, the author of romance, is in Himself the essence of romance.
The blood of Christ has bought back His bride for Him and I find myself simply starry-eyed with the glory of it all. Yes, I am in love. I am childishly, naively, infatuatedly in love with my Savior. Somehow I don't think all the Vermont Teddy Bears in the world can match that.
Happy Valentines Day one and all, and may your hearts be fired with the romance of redeeming blood.
I think neither of the above examples of society's attitude toward Valentines Day quite understands. Today I recieved a very red, very beautiful rose from a friend of mine--no not a sweetheart--a friend named Sarah. This rose was my companion throughout the rest of the day. It stayed in my hand like a bold, sweet, beacon of red truth, defiant love. The rain could not wash away its brightness. The vulgar "Dating Game" and other such rituals carried out here at Whatcom Community College could not mar its purity. It reminded me of the unapolagetic nature of blood.
God gave me a gift of love today. He reminded me of the sweetness and absolute purity of a gift infinitely more beautiful than any I have ever been given before. This is what romance means to me. Yes, romance! That is what I said. God, the author of romance, is in Himself the essence of romance.
The blood of Christ has bought back His bride for Him and I find myself simply starry-eyed with the glory of it all. Yes, I am in love. I am childishly, naively, infatuatedly in love with my Savior. Somehow I don't think all the Vermont Teddy Bears in the world can match that.
Happy Valentines Day one and all, and may your hearts be fired with the romance of redeeming blood.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
If you weren't Adam and I wasn't Eve
If you weren't Adam and I wasn't Eve then maybe romance would mean more than teddy bears and valentine candy.
If Earth was not Earth but Pangaea instead, then maybe we could have united.
If Joy to the World wasn’t bought at the mall then maybe we’d really be singing.
If lemons were sweet without sugar added then maybe we would have really found the perfect diet.
If love was really amen never-ending then maybe lawyers would never have been invented.
If band-aids were only for pretending then maybe children would never cry.
If man had not desired what God did not give then maybe “contentment” would still be in our vocabulary.
If man still walked with God in the cool of the day then maybe we wouldn’t know what “maybe” meant.
If the world was perfect and the people were good, then there wouldn’t be Jesus and redeeming blood.
If we trusted without stint and kept in our place then there wouldn’t be Christ and amazing grace.
Disclaimer: "What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? Certainly not! Why should we, who died to sin live any longer in it? Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life." Romans 6:1-4
If Earth was not Earth but Pangaea instead, then maybe we could have united.
If Joy to the World wasn’t bought at the mall then maybe we’d really be singing.
If lemons were sweet without sugar added then maybe we would have really found the perfect diet.
If love was really amen never-ending then maybe lawyers would never have been invented.
If band-aids were only for pretending then maybe children would never cry.
If man had not desired what God did not give then maybe “contentment” would still be in our vocabulary.
If man still walked with God in the cool of the day then maybe we wouldn’t know what “maybe” meant.
If the world was perfect and the people were good, then there wouldn’t be Jesus and redeeming blood.
If we trusted without stint and kept in our place then there wouldn’t be Christ and amazing grace.
Disclaimer: "What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? Certainly not! Why should we, who died to sin live any longer in it? Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life." Romans 6:1-4
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
In the Spirit on the Lord's Day
"Day of all the week the best, emblem of eternal rest."
Heads are bowed, hands are folded. The body is at rest, the soul has taken flight. At last the week full of sin is over. The week full of labor has ceased. At last this frail being has found rest once more on the Lord's Day. Pure rest, from the inside out. Was there ever a delight as glorious as this? Was there ever a joy to equal mine today?
"My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."
Such quiet joy this is. Such gentle peace. We sit, we pray, we stand, we sing. We listen. But most of all, we worship. Our hearts are open and being filled to the brim with new measures of understanding. Understanding of the grace of Christ our Lord. When our heads rest again tonight, we will say, "I have met with God today. I have walked with Him in the cool of the day."
"Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy."
I can't shake the conviction that one of God's greatest gifts to His church is the Sabbath. But then, I don't want to. The Lord's Day is not only a "perk," but also absolutely necessary. Mandatory. Commanded. Beautiful.
"Be still and know that I am God."
We are human--we need to rest and bless the Lord for His gift. What an incredible thing it is to be still. To stop everything and quietly be filled up by God.
"Thus may all our Sabbaths prove till we join the church above."
Heads are bowed, hands are folded. The body is at rest, the soul has taken flight. At last the week full of sin is over. The week full of labor has ceased. At last this frail being has found rest once more on the Lord's Day. Pure rest, from the inside out. Was there ever a delight as glorious as this? Was there ever a joy to equal mine today?
"My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."
Such quiet joy this is. Such gentle peace. We sit, we pray, we stand, we sing. We listen. But most of all, we worship. Our hearts are open and being filled to the brim with new measures of understanding. Understanding of the grace of Christ our Lord. When our heads rest again tonight, we will say, "I have met with God today. I have walked with Him in the cool of the day."
"Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy."
I can't shake the conviction that one of God's greatest gifts to His church is the Sabbath. But then, I don't want to. The Lord's Day is not only a "perk," but also absolutely necessary. Mandatory. Commanded. Beautiful.
"Be still and know that I am God."
We are human--we need to rest and bless the Lord for His gift. What an incredible thing it is to be still. To stop everything and quietly be filled up by God.
"Thus may all our Sabbaths prove till we join the church above."
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Scientific Method
As utilized in "The Case of the Vagabond Smell."
Having been utilized by many brilliant thinkers down through the yellowed pages of history, the Scientific Method seems to me to be a worthy recipient of my attention and study. Perhaps someday I shall be famous because of my groundbreaking discoveries. Perhaps someday I shall be in grave danger and be required to make quick, logical deductions based on evidence in order to preserve my health and happiness. Or perhaps I shall remain an ordinary Jane, and continue to solve household problems such as the one I am about to summarize—all with the aid of the simple process we call the Scientific Method.
One fine day, when the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everything in general was going marvelously (as all things should), I walked by the kitchen on my way to the living room. Just as I was positioned opposite the doorway into the haven of culinary imagination, I stopped. I gasped. Something horrid was singeing my ten-year-old nose. A smell of incredibly revolting magnitude was assaulting my senses, thus I made one undeniable observation: Something smells terrible. Dozens of action plans raced through my mind as I stood there, nose wrinkled, sensibilities offended. Should I dash into the kitchen and frantically throw open all the windows, doors, and all such portals? Should I call the fire department? Should I take out the garbage? Should I call my shrink? Far from giving in to hasty tactics, I calmly deduced that I must first apply what I had learned in my fifth grade science class, namely the Scientific Method.
I realized that I had already made my observation: Something smells terrible. Therefore I proceeded to the next step as outlined by my teacher. Create multiple working hypotheses. Thus I began to guess as to what could be causing the ghastly smell coming from the kitchen. First, I proposed that the garbage was in need of “taking out.” One quick glance under the sink however, confirmed that the garbage had been emptied that very morning. Next I proposed to myself, “Perhaps someone left the limburger cheese open somewhere in the kitchen.” So I searched the kitchen from top to bottom—no cheese. Each time I eliminated a hypothesis, I realized that I was in effect, joining great scientists of the pasts in the common goal of finding out why and how things work. One by one, the possibilities on my list of hypotheses were confirmed erroneous and at last I was left with one, last, lonely, guilty-looking hypothesis. Warily I made my way across the room, past the pantry, past the refrigerator, past the sink and the items under the sink, until at last I was face-to-face with the big, black oven itself. The time of reckoning had come and I was ready. Before opening the door however, I called out to my sister who was blissfully reading a book—unaware of the momentous event occurring in her very own house.
“Anna,” I said excitedly, “I’m going to propose to you my theory,” I informed her and did my best to look important. This was a difficult task seeing that I was trying to stifle my giggles at the expression of disgust on her face and her fingers carefully pinching her nose shut. “You will notice that something smells terrible. I have been employed for the past half-hour, utilizing the Scientific Method in order to discover the source of this dreadful vagabond smell. After much careful experimentation, I am certain that there could only be one possible guilty party: the oven! I declare to you my trusted sister, my theory that the oven contains something simply ghastly.” She nodded, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. With a flourish I tossed open the oven door and bowed ceremoniously before the awed gaze of my big sister who would have clapped except that she was pinching her nose. There, in the oven, melted through the tray and dripping all the way to the bottom of the oven, was a mess of broccoli, cheese, rice, chicken, and plastic bowl, with a few bits of foil thrown in (for flavor no doubt). My theory was correct, and I walked out of my mother’s kitchen nearly bursting with pride at my use of the grand thing they call the Scientific Method.
Note: This essay was assigned for my Geology class. Don't believe a word of it--I seriously doubt that I gave the Scientific Method a second thought when I was ten years old.
Having been utilized by many brilliant thinkers down through the yellowed pages of history, the Scientific Method seems to me to be a worthy recipient of my attention and study. Perhaps someday I shall be famous because of my groundbreaking discoveries. Perhaps someday I shall be in grave danger and be required to make quick, logical deductions based on evidence in order to preserve my health and happiness. Or perhaps I shall remain an ordinary Jane, and continue to solve household problems such as the one I am about to summarize—all with the aid of the simple process we call the Scientific Method.
One fine day, when the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everything in general was going marvelously (as all things should), I walked by the kitchen on my way to the living room. Just as I was positioned opposite the doorway into the haven of culinary imagination, I stopped. I gasped. Something horrid was singeing my ten-year-old nose. A smell of incredibly revolting magnitude was assaulting my senses, thus I made one undeniable observation: Something smells terrible. Dozens of action plans raced through my mind as I stood there, nose wrinkled, sensibilities offended. Should I dash into the kitchen and frantically throw open all the windows, doors, and all such portals? Should I call the fire department? Should I take out the garbage? Should I call my shrink? Far from giving in to hasty tactics, I calmly deduced that I must first apply what I had learned in my fifth grade science class, namely the Scientific Method.
I realized that I had already made my observation: Something smells terrible. Therefore I proceeded to the next step as outlined by my teacher. Create multiple working hypotheses. Thus I began to guess as to what could be causing the ghastly smell coming from the kitchen. First, I proposed that the garbage was in need of “taking out.” One quick glance under the sink however, confirmed that the garbage had been emptied that very morning. Next I proposed to myself, “Perhaps someone left the limburger cheese open somewhere in the kitchen.” So I searched the kitchen from top to bottom—no cheese. Each time I eliminated a hypothesis, I realized that I was in effect, joining great scientists of the pasts in the common goal of finding out why and how things work. One by one, the possibilities on my list of hypotheses were confirmed erroneous and at last I was left with one, last, lonely, guilty-looking hypothesis. Warily I made my way across the room, past the pantry, past the refrigerator, past the sink and the items under the sink, until at last I was face-to-face with the big, black oven itself. The time of reckoning had come and I was ready. Before opening the door however, I called out to my sister who was blissfully reading a book—unaware of the momentous event occurring in her very own house.
“Anna,” I said excitedly, “I’m going to propose to you my theory,” I informed her and did my best to look important. This was a difficult task seeing that I was trying to stifle my giggles at the expression of disgust on her face and her fingers carefully pinching her nose shut. “You will notice that something smells terrible. I have been employed for the past half-hour, utilizing the Scientific Method in order to discover the source of this dreadful vagabond smell. After much careful experimentation, I am certain that there could only be one possible guilty party: the oven! I declare to you my trusted sister, my theory that the oven contains something simply ghastly.” She nodded, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. With a flourish I tossed open the oven door and bowed ceremoniously before the awed gaze of my big sister who would have clapped except that she was pinching her nose. There, in the oven, melted through the tray and dripping all the way to the bottom of the oven, was a mess of broccoli, cheese, rice, chicken, and plastic bowl, with a few bits of foil thrown in (for flavor no doubt). My theory was correct, and I walked out of my mother’s kitchen nearly bursting with pride at my use of the grand thing they call the Scientific Method.
Note: This essay was assigned for my Geology class. Don't believe a word of it--I seriously doubt that I gave the Scientific Method a second thought when I was ten years old.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Grace
Through fog of fear and doubt
The Devil whispers, "Sin, sin, sin."
Standing outside the door of hope,
His taunts refuse to let me in.
"Go away!" my tortured spirit cries,
I remember sin of the past,
Tattooed on my soul like graffiti
Or a dirty word iron-cast.
Through fog of fear and doubt
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
I wonder why, and where, and how
But I dare not look up--exposing my dreadful face.
"How can it be?" I mutter through chapped lips.
No, my sin is too awful to be written off for free.
My soul shrinks back to count my good deeds:
Like pennies I count them hopefully.
Through fog of fear and doubt again
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
My dirty fingers grasp the last little copper
Then my pocket is empty of the last trace.
Pockets inside out, hands upraised
I try to grasp the door handle and enter
But the Devil says mocking,
"You're no better than me--despair forever!"
Through fog of fear and doubt yet again
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
I cry out in anguished, stubborn misery:
"I can't believe such a foolish grace!"
My mind is spinning like a child's top,
I'm trying desperately to comprehend
This foolish thing called grace.
"What fire has my brain for a friend!"
Through fog of fear and doubt
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
"You are dirty, but I will wash you--come as you are,
The Master delights to save in this very place."
A hand that is mine reaches up once more.
But the door is already open
I see myself as in a dream:
Expression screwed up, suspicious, like a wren.
Through fog of fear and doubt
My Master says, "Grace, grace, grace!"
"I have done it by grace,
Leave your pennies--lose them in my embrace."
A forgiven princess I stand:
Coronation robes surround me with grace for thread
Perfect obedience of the Master
Crowning my transformed head.
And the Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
The Devil whispers, "Sin, sin, sin."
Standing outside the door of hope,
His taunts refuse to let me in.
"Go away!" my tortured spirit cries,
I remember sin of the past,
Tattooed on my soul like graffiti
Or a dirty word iron-cast.
Through fog of fear and doubt
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
I wonder why, and where, and how
But I dare not look up--exposing my dreadful face.
"How can it be?" I mutter through chapped lips.
No, my sin is too awful to be written off for free.
My soul shrinks back to count my good deeds:
Like pennies I count them hopefully.
Through fog of fear and doubt again
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
My dirty fingers grasp the last little copper
Then my pocket is empty of the last trace.
Pockets inside out, hands upraised
I try to grasp the door handle and enter
But the Devil says mocking,
"You're no better than me--despair forever!"
Through fog of fear and doubt yet again
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
I cry out in anguished, stubborn misery:
"I can't believe such a foolish grace!"
My mind is spinning like a child's top,
I'm trying desperately to comprehend
This foolish thing called grace.
"What fire has my brain for a friend!"
Through fog of fear and doubt
The Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
"You are dirty, but I will wash you--come as you are,
The Master delights to save in this very place."
A hand that is mine reaches up once more.
But the door is already open
I see myself as in a dream:
Expression screwed up, suspicious, like a wren.
Through fog of fear and doubt
My Master says, "Grace, grace, grace!"
"I have done it by grace,
Leave your pennies--lose them in my embrace."
A forgiven princess I stand:
Coronation robes surround me with grace for thread
Perfect obedience of the Master
Crowning my transformed head.
And the Spirit whispers, "Grace, grace, grace!"
"Those lazy, hazy, crazy days of Summer..."
"Son of a motherless goat!" -Ben Miller
"Kenton, you poop alot." -Katie Miller
"It was a mosquito!" -Mary Robbins
"The baby rarrs like a lion." -Katie & Andrew Miller
"Raarrr!" --Kenton Miller
"Church showers are very important because cleanliness is next to Godliness." -Joel Robbins
"Where is that blasted park?!" -Me
"Excuse me sir, could you tell me where the park is?" -Me
"I think if you go to the end of this street and turn right you might hit on it. I don't know though--I haven't been there in twenty years!" -Nice Old Gentleman sitting in his front yard
"Kenton, you poop alot." -Katie Miller
"It was a mosquito!" -Mary Robbins
"The baby rarrs like a lion." -Katie & Andrew Miller
"Raarrr!" --Kenton Miller
"Church showers are very important because cleanliness is next to Godliness." -Joel Robbins
"Where is that blasted park?!" -Me
"Excuse me sir, could you tell me where the park is?" -Me
"I think if you go to the end of this street and turn right you might hit on it. I don't know though--I haven't been there in twenty years!" -Nice Old Gentleman sitting in his front yard
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Shadows
"We live in the Shadowlands." --C. S. Lewis
A revelation--sudden as it is brief. Insistent as it grows in my mind--refusing to fall into the abiss of incomprehensibility. Just one sweet, painful moment of enlightenment among so many more of dull, dark ignorance. My mind falls back to the laborious, though painless existence of apathy. I cannot bear this nothing feeling for long. My heart longs to be fired by conviction, fired by joy, fired by love. Fired by God.
A revelation--sudden as it is brief. Insistent as it grows in my mind--refusing to fall into the abiss of incomprehensibility. Just one sweet, painful moment of enlightenment among so many more of dull, dark ignorance. My mind falls back to the laborious, though painless existence of apathy. I cannot bear this nothing feeling for long. My heart longs to be fired by conviction, fired by joy, fired by love. Fired by God.
Friday, November 24, 2006
I love Mondays
What a glorious day! Number 26 has just screached to a halt at the bus stop behind the Heiner center at Whatcom Community College. I sling my side-saddle pack over my shoulder, stand up warily and wave a cheery "Have a lovely day," to the driver. In a moment my shoes have touched pavement and I am on my way. There is nothing better than a Monday. I have just come from my tutor's warm kitchen where I spent the morning as usual studying wonderfully dreadful pre-calculous in the comfortable familiarity of her presence.
Now I march forth, back straight, head up into the next item on my schedule. Today I meet Sarah from ceramics class at 12:15 for coffee, sharing, and prayer under the stairs in Kulshan (our science center). Sarah is a lovely girl, full of passion for Christ, for life, and for service. After purchasing our drinks from the Dockside Cafe in the Student Center, we trudge off to our spot under the stairs and spend the better part of a half hour simply enjoying each other and God. Soon 1:00 is upon us and Sarah departs to her classes as I am joined by other dear friends.
Monday afternoon is the time for Christian girls from all over campus to convene in the very same spot, our spot under the stairs. Their for another half-hour, we share and pray before it is necessary for us to scamper off to classes. Mandy and I were the two that came up with the idea, and Mandy it was that provided the amount of attendees who faithfully arrive at 1:00. Our group currently is comprised of eight to ten girls most of which are new to Whatcom. Only three of us are returning students from last year. Our beliefs range wide in the spectrum of Christian churches, and yet we gather for the single object of encouragment, fellowship and dialogue with our Lord and Savior. In the face of the pagan world in which we have been called to study, nothing could be more wonderful than to rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep--just as we have been commanded. That little, dusty corner under the stairs acts as the hearth for the gospel to go forth in a very special way at Whatcom Community College. God has blessed us.
And now you know why I love Mondays.
Now I march forth, back straight, head up into the next item on my schedule. Today I meet Sarah from ceramics class at 12:15 for coffee, sharing, and prayer under the stairs in Kulshan (our science center). Sarah is a lovely girl, full of passion for Christ, for life, and for service. After purchasing our drinks from the Dockside Cafe in the Student Center, we trudge off to our spot under the stairs and spend the better part of a half hour simply enjoying each other and God. Soon 1:00 is upon us and Sarah departs to her classes as I am joined by other dear friends.
Monday afternoon is the time for Christian girls from all over campus to convene in the very same spot, our spot under the stairs. Their for another half-hour, we share and pray before it is necessary for us to scamper off to classes. Mandy and I were the two that came up with the idea, and Mandy it was that provided the amount of attendees who faithfully arrive at 1:00. Our group currently is comprised of eight to ten girls most of which are new to Whatcom. Only three of us are returning students from last year. Our beliefs range wide in the spectrum of Christian churches, and yet we gather for the single object of encouragment, fellowship and dialogue with our Lord and Savior. In the face of the pagan world in which we have been called to study, nothing could be more wonderful than to rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep--just as we have been commanded. That little, dusty corner under the stairs acts as the hearth for the gospel to go forth in a very special way at Whatcom Community College. God has blessed us.
And now you know why I love Mondays.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Abolish sibling superiority!
I hereby declare my dedication to the cause of the little people--namely younger siblings in general. I pledge to champion their rights, intelligence, and equality. Older siblings must recognise the plight of we underlings, and seek to bring us up--up to the dignity of responsibility. The Association for the Advancment of Younger People (AAYP) seeks to gain acknowledgment from elders of their human-hood and desires to impress upon them the truth that younger does not mean stupider. Give us respect, give us nurture and we will indeed cease to annoy, frustrate or defy you. We will instead become valuable friends and loving companions.
Yours for freedom and for fellowship,
Rebekah Reimers
Yours for freedom and for fellowship,
Rebekah Reimers
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
I talk too much...
...so I'm letting other people put their oars in for once!
"Can I be used to help others find truth when I'm scared I'll find proof that its a lie?" --Nickel Creek, Why Should The Fire Die?
"Of all letters, the love letter should be the most carefully prepared. Among the written missives, they are the most thoroughly read and re-read, the longest preserved, and the most likely to be regretted in the afterlife." --Professor Thomas E. Hill, The Essential Handbook of Visctorian Etiquette
"Who makes the waters of my sorrow part and leads the gladness into my heart...its You." --Jaci Velasquez
"Men of sense don't want silly wives." --Mr. Nightly, Emma
"Winter must be cold for those who have no warm memories--we've already missed the Spring!" --Terry McKay, An Affair to Remember
"I heartily believe in equality of rights as between man and woman, but also in full and emphatic recognition of the fact that normally there cannot be identity of function. Indeed, there must normally be complete dissimilarity of function between them, and the effort to ignore this patent fact is silly." --Teddy Roosevelt
"They've eaten the baby!" --Nanny Wetstone, Nanny McPhee
"I did knock." --Nanny McPhee, Nanny McPhee
"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." --Aslan, The Last Battle
"All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page; now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read; which goes on forever; in which every chapter is better than the one before." --C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle
"The Autumn can color me gold and the Winter can dress me in snow but its You I see, the timeless part of me. In the Springtime I'm young once again in the Summer I dance on the wind but its You I see, the timeless part of me." --Levi Kreis, Timeless
"BIG Z, little z, what begins with Z? I am a Zizzer Zazzer Zuz as you can plainly see!" --Dr. Seuss
"Its hard to stop a soprano--or was that a train?" --Gerald Rutgers
"Can I be used to help others find truth when I'm scared I'll find proof that its a lie?" --Nickel Creek, Why Should The Fire Die?
"Of all letters, the love letter should be the most carefully prepared. Among the written missives, they are the most thoroughly read and re-read, the longest preserved, and the most likely to be regretted in the afterlife." --Professor Thomas E. Hill, The Essential Handbook of Visctorian Etiquette
"Who makes the waters of my sorrow part and leads the gladness into my heart...its You." --Jaci Velasquez
"Men of sense don't want silly wives." --Mr. Nightly, Emma
"Winter must be cold for those who have no warm memories--we've already missed the Spring!" --Terry McKay, An Affair to Remember
"I heartily believe in equality of rights as between man and woman, but also in full and emphatic recognition of the fact that normally there cannot be identity of function. Indeed, there must normally be complete dissimilarity of function between them, and the effort to ignore this patent fact is silly." --Teddy Roosevelt
"They've eaten the baby!" --Nanny Wetstone, Nanny McPhee
"I did knock." --Nanny McPhee, Nanny McPhee
"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." --Aslan, The Last Battle
"All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page; now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read; which goes on forever; in which every chapter is better than the one before." --C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle
"The Autumn can color me gold and the Winter can dress me in snow but its You I see, the timeless part of me. In the Springtime I'm young once again in the Summer I dance on the wind but its You I see, the timeless part of me." --Levi Kreis, Timeless
"BIG Z, little z, what begins with Z? I am a Zizzer Zazzer Zuz as you can plainly see!" --Dr. Seuss
"Its hard to stop a soprano--or was that a train?" --Gerald Rutgers
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