Trust

Last Thursday was the last day of Kid's Club. It was sad, knowing that I would probably not see these kids again until next fall, and maybe some of them never again.

Several weeks ago I had to write a poem for my poetry class including something about rain. I was thinking about Kid's Club, so I wrote this.

Trust

Some days when I looked up at the two-story brick building,

waiting for someone to notice me and open the door,

it was raining.

Sometimes I was late, and when I entered the basement,

six kindergarteners yelled my name and tried to hug me at once.

The curly-haired woman smiled, calling the kids back to their bold blue seats.

Some lessons I held Markell as he slept,

running my fingers through his long brown locks.

Sometimes when my mother’s friend, with the mic

pressing down her silvery hair, said, “God has a good plan for you,”

my heart beat fast. I traced Aubrey’s soft brown cheek with my finger,

wondering what the plan for my little friend held,

praying it didn’t include slammed doors and ex-husbands and sitting home alone.

Some days it was still raining when I let the door slam against the cedar doorstop,

and I avoided stepping in the streams running down the sloped drive.

Every time I opened the car door, I could still feel the last long squeeze

from Maria’s chubby arms and her whispering in my ear like a caressing prayer:

“I don’t want to ever let go.”

The title of trust is double in meaning. It is the overwhelming and sweet burden of feeling the utter trust a child has in you. And it is loving someone you cannot protect. Sometimes, it seems harder to trust God for the people you love than for yourself. Then we turn to prayer and cry out to the Lord, and we learn to delight in God's sovereignty.

Why Writing Matters

I didn't post anything last month. I haven't written in so long, I'll have to write about writing.

I have a draft on my blog that consists of quotations. Being known as I am to collect quotes, I must clarify. These aren't amusing things I heard someone I know say, but quotations I found that impressed me in some way. Most of them regard writing.

I like reading Jeff Goins. I just added his blog to the ones I follow. He can feel rather self-promoting and redundant. But he always makes me want to write. The majority of his articles can be summed up simply: write what you're passionate about and be confident-admit you're a writer!

Of course, reading about writing always makes me want to write. Which is why I am writing rather than writing a summary of an article. That is not writing. I do not like writing things I am not interested in writing. In other words, something academic. As I am fond of saying, if it needs citations and research, I don't want to write it. Until I get into it, at least, and then if I can grasp some importance in the subject (i.e. relation to real life), I sometimes sort of like it. 

One of my favorite quotes says, 

"Perhaps it would be better not to be a writer, but if you must, then write." - J. B. Priestly

It's a favorite (though admittedly when I use the word "favorite" it's used loosely) because it describes me well. Similarly, 

"You become a writer because you need to become a writer - nothing else." - Grace Paley

Thinking overmuch always makes me need to write. As another of my favorite quotes about writing says, 

"I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker."  - Gwendolyn Brooks

That also describes me well.

You might strongly agree that I am not a talker if you don't know me well. You probably strongly disagree if I know you well. Or perhaps you know me well enough to understand.

I think that is why I like reading Jeff Goins. He recognizes something important. I am a writer. I have things to say. But, speaking takes courage.

And that is something I want. I want to have the courage to say what I really think. The confidence to believe that it's worth saying. As my poetry professor says, a good poet must have a sense of (as my brother would say) hubris. Of self-respect and pride. He takes it a bit farther than I would, saying you must believe that what you have written is the best thing ever written. But there is truth to it.

"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." - Thomas Mann

Although non-writers would mostly disagree, there is something true about that. And maybe it's because the non-writer doesn't care much about what he writes. The reason anything is hard is because you care about it. If you didn't, it wouldn't be hard.

The best things I have written I can enjoy as if someone else had written them. In some cases, I know they are good. And the reason they are is that I was honest. And they were about something I considered important.

To say something you think is important and--even more so--to let other people see that you think it is important--is to be vulnerable.

I'm writing about my writing, and my need to write, but it matters because what I'm really writing about is fear. Fear and love and identity--which means I'm writing about Christ.

The Mind and the Pen

For Christmas I and two of my sisters were given The Young Ladies' Course for Proper Writing by Becky Moorecraft. Each lesson has a lecture, questions, and, perhaps our favorite, writing exercises. So far we've only done two lessons.

The last exercise was interesting: take some publication (I used the workbook) and find at least ten interesting words or phrases in four categories. Then write a short story, poem, three-paragraph essay, blog post, etc. Needless to say, blog post appealed to me.

Gathering the words was fun:

NOUNS:
status quo
innocence
shiver
frailty
oddity
disgust
woe
loveliness
image
vehicle
refinement

VERBS:
tantalize
diminish
infest
distort
pour out
crush
gasp
swell
journey
hone
glean
gambol

MODIFIERS:
graceful
barefaced
ramshackle
poetic
adequate
thick
mere
trippingly
untutored
exceedingly
exact

The last category was the most interesting: phrases or quotations.

"I'm conscious of many people as I write."
"into the jaws of death"
"a reminder of all the choices"
"the mind travels faster than the pen"
"careful interpretation and application"
"putting into it the squirrel as well as the mountain"
"spoken words are slippery"
"I haven't had time to make it shorter" (This was a quote from Blase Pascal, who apologized for writing a long letter, saying he didn't have time to make it shorter. I immediately delighted in this quote. I often when writing-such as this very post-feel that it'd be better shorter, but how to explain myself in such a short time? It'd take a lot of thought.)
"compensating merit"
"fashioned as for the palace" (a quote from Solomon, I believe)
"my portion, rich and full" (another Bible quotation)

After scanning these words, what is your overall impression or thought? Mine was clear, and I knew I would be writing about writing and posting it here. This is what I wrote.


The Mind and The Pen

The mind travels faster than the pen. At least the unfiltered images that swell in my mind press against the tip of my dull pencil as they attempt to pour out onto the lines of my notebook. It's the vehicle for refining my thoughts, for crafting untutored ideas into exact and graceful flow, for honing the oddities into acceptable propositions. 

I'm conscious of many people as I write. Mere need to express is tantalizing to me, but words are slippery. Which have compensating merit to be taken from the barefaced frailty that infests my mind and tutored into poetic loveliness? What is adequate and worthy of being fashioned in the palace style? Considering the unfiltered impulses that gambol through my thoughts, unique and far from status quo, I am reminded of all the choices, of the exceedingly vast journeys that I might probe with my pen. Which is one from which others might glean some benefit, to find our time profitably spent? This requires careful interpretation. 

Mostly my musings remain rather ramshackle; though I attempt to put in the squirrel as well as the mountain, yet not distort my thought or disgust the reader, the journey is often too tedious for others to take after me. So I sometimes gambol alone, for I haven't had time to make it shorter.

This reminds me of an assignment for the poetry writing class I am taking this semester. We had to write an "Ars Poetica," a poem about poetry. By "had" I mean that that was what we learned about that week. Poetry being what it is, we aren't really required to follow the assignments given each week.

I almost didn't, because I knew what I wanted to write about (the drive to write poetry in order to understand my own thoughts), and I had some ideas of what to write (for example, explicitly what I meant, something like the essay above, and some ideas for a metaphor), but nothing was inspiring.

Then the idea of a pit of snakes came to mind, and I decided to pursue it. I wasn't excited about it until I was well into it.

Organizing Thoughts by Poem

The rocky dirt cuts at my hands
as I scoot close to the sharp edge
like an army-crawling soldier.
Peering down at the neon colors
weaving in and out like a living rug,
I realize I’ve avoided my task for too long.
I must get these serpents in order
before they multiply enough
to escape the dark hole they inhabit.
Struggling to lift my cold iron tongs,
I extend my arm deep into the abyss.
The muscles in my calves tighten
and my toes, digging into the ground, ache.
My eyes squeeze shut
as with both hands I close the tong’s jaws
around the closest snake,
waving its head at me like an enemy flag.
Pushing up digs my elbows into the sandy gravel,
driving stones into my skin like a million BBs.

I shudder at the almond-shaped pupil,
reminding me of Quasimodo, my yellow-eyed cat.
I shrink from its squarish face,
reminding me of a Chinese dragon.
Moving the tongs to one hand, with the other
I grasp the clear plastic storage box,
Pulling it towards me and stuffing in the vibrating snake.
I slap down the lid and latch on both handles
lest it nose its way out.
The hissing creature squirms,
but now I clearly see its body through the plastic:
Jonny green and taxi yellow,
White scales along its back like lightning bolts,
holes like gills above its bloody red dragon mouth.
I glance from the caged creature
to the tangled mass below.
One set,
twenty-one thousand to go.

Again extending my arm against the rough wall,
I am startled by a face rising
like a gray Loch Ness monster.
With eyes darting about as if searching
for flesh in which to sink its thick round teeth,
it is already tasting the air with its tongue,
both shiny black like oil.
With tongs quivering in my hand,
I nudge the smooth head towards the plastic walls
waiting like an empty cell.
Silently the creature dives in,
rippling over the box’s edge
and coiling at the bottom as if it belonged there.
Tongs clattering to the ground, I slap down the lid,
click on the handles, and swivel against the box,
heart pounding, fingers resting in the dust.
Two done,
twenty-one thousand to go.

What do you think? Can you tell what I'm doing with it? Some people can and some people have to have it explained.

Sorry for the length, but "I hadn't time to make it shorter."

Planning My Time

I have made it my practice since starting this blog to write a New Year's Eve post. I am a little late this year, but here it is. There are many ways that I could write this, many different things that I could focus on, many ideas running through my mind. The summary of any one month this past year could have material enough for several posts.

Early on New Year's Day morning in another of our 3:30 am conversations, Rebekah and I were discussing how a year ago we never would have imagined things being as they are now and wondering what it will be like a year from now. This year has been full of changes for the Beerbower family. A year ago, none of us had been in a relationship, and next year, we'll have two weddings. That alone is change a' plenty. Six months ago when my siblings started dating seems like a long time ago. Something I've thought about frequently the past year is that although time seems to go increasingly fast, a great many things can happen in a short time.

There are many things that I want to accomplish this year. I made a long list of things I want to do and learn. Not all shall be accomplished, but as we said early on New Year's Day when we went around, sharing a New Year's Resolution (or something we wanted to do this year), "without a plan the people perish," and as Ben is fond of saying, "Anything worth doing is worth doing badly."

We had an enjoyable group of my immediate family and some delightful friends, and some almost-family. Before we did resolutions, everyone was compelled to say something that they did last year that was big or they really enjoyed. There was quite a variety from our group, ranging from four "got engaged" to lost a tooth and growing a new one (Kristen :-) to an epic vacation to got a book published. Then I suggested we share resolutions. These were also varied, ranging from getting married to not dying to graduating from college to becoming more musical to writing another book to accomplishing everyone else's resolutions (we made Chris change that...) to buying new socks to reading more books.

That was mine, one of my 30-some goals for the year. I started a list on which I will write any book I think of that I desire to read, and I will also keep a list of books I have completed. Thus I hopefully shall get more read. In addition, I hope to keep a reading journal about the books I read to aid in remembering and pondering what I read.

Once again, I have several goals regarding prayer. For a number of years the Holy Spirit has been drawing me to become faithful in this. I have gone through phases, but in general I haven't been very consistent or faithful. One way I am planning to accomplish this is by studying A Call to Spiritual Reformation: Priorities from Paul and His Prayers by D. A. Carson, a book that I started last year and have found very helpful, and Wrestling Prayer, by Eric Ludy, of which I can say the same. I reread the first several chapters of the first one, and my goal for this month is to apply one suggestion he has, which is to read the prayers of Paul (printed in the book) every day and see how that transforms my prayers.

There are a number of accomplishments on my list, such as finish writing a book, do a sewing project, finish Ryan and Grace's scrapbook, get my driver's license, find a way to get income (taking pictures or something like that or get a job), learn to cook different things, begin a letter-writing correspondence, complete the proper writing course that we got for Christmas.

Some are a little less definitive and concrete, such as building relationships with some younger girls, learn to study the Bible on my own (using How to Study the Bible by Kay Arthur, another leftover project from last year), memorize more, learn to take more initiative, develop photography skills, organize my clothes and desk, control computer time and free time.

Actually, learning to make the most of the time is a main reason that I made this list. It's something that I've considered this year. It's something that you think about when you have the last Christmas night and morning as a family with all its members you will probably ever have. It's something you think about when you realize that in just over four months, for the first time one of your siblings will not live at home. That in a year, two will not be around in the day-to-day happenings but rather come for visits. When you realize that what has occupied a good portion of many evenings, a visit from your sister's boyfriend or fiancee late into the evening, soon won't be so regular, when your little sister says about the eldest, "but it was fun having her here, right?", when you realize that this could be the last ride you and your brother have to school together.

None of these things are bad things, and I think I have begun to learn that change is often good. But nothing stays the same; each day progresses a little, and some do a lot. What matters is people, and thus every moment should be treasured and delighted in. To everything there is a season. I realized this past year that I have had time that many people do not have, being very free from much responsibility. Someone told me that he wished he had that time, and to use it and not take it for granted.

Making the most of the time is something that you think about when you lose someone you love. I had forgotten that I started the year thinking about that. It was almost a year ago when I wrote my post after my friend died. 

There isn't time to waste. I don't want to watch movies by myself when I've got a little sister who wants to play a game. Or check Facebook again, when there are books to be read. Or let my thoughts wander, when there are friends who need prayer. Or indulge in sleep when there are words to be written. Or engage in meaningless chatter when there are people who can teach me and people who need encouragement.

The most important thing I have learned--but only begun learning--this year is that Christ is more than sufficient, that I need trust Him, that everything means nothing without Him. It is good to find yourself saying these things, and realize that what you are saying is a cliche, but you didn't say it because it was; rather, you understand why it became one: because it is true. And in a small way, I have experienced it. No, not in a small way. God did it, so it isn't small. But it is beginning

That is what gives me hope for the next year, knowing that the Lord of time is in control and though I will fail to accomplish in this next year all that I wish I would, I know that He will bless my time. A verse that I have been considering recently is, "A man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps."

Another Happy Story

It happened again.

Last Wednesday was a busy day, but nothing terribly notable. I babysat in the morning, had a wonderful lunch with a sweet friend, came home and talked with Mom and Eric about different plans, went Christmas shopping with Mom, came home to potato soup and muffins, spent time with the family including Stephen, and watched Elf.

Half of Elf, that is. I think the scene when he breaks a poptart over his spaghetti will always make me think of this evening. The door opened, and Eric and Ruthie came back from going to the lights at the zoo. I got up and stood by the fire. Eric said, "You're watching Elf without us?" Deanna looked at Ruthie, and Ruthie was laughing.

This way they're coming in, smiling, with all of us here, kind of feels like...something familiar....

It couldn't be. She had told him he had to wait until after she graduated...I looked for the ring. She had on three. One on the left hand's ring finger.

Ruthie was laughing: "Deanna is staring at me like she thinks something happened."

Someone asked if Eric had asked her a question.

Ruthie laughed. "Maybe."

(Note: to avoid repetitive, boring "someone said something like this," statements, I am writing as if this were exactly how it happened, but some is paraphrase and could easily have been remembered incorrectly.)

"He asked you if you liked the lights?" Mom asked.

"Yes," Ruthie chuckled.

I went and stood by her and hugged her.

"What did you say?" someone asked.

"I might have said yes."

"You did like the lights?" Mom asked.

I looked more closely at the ring. Eric showed it to me online a few weeks ago, and I immediately thought it was perfect for her, with a twist around a little flower. It looked a little different than it had online.

We hugged them both and told Eric good job. Then we made them come in and sit. "You guys both have to tell us the story!" we cried. "You know how this goes."

"I know," Ruthie agreed. "I was here last time."

This time, Deanna and Stephen had already been sitting on the love seat. "You guys don't have to move," Ruthie said. "We don't have to sit there."












We all objected. Remembering how I had refused to let Eric sit there last time, I said, "We made you guys move last time," smiling at the amusing irony. "It's your turn now." So they took their seats and we gathered around.

Ruthie went first, telling their awesome, pretty adorable story. He had brought her flowers, ostensibly because he was late. After dinner, they went to the Lights before Christmas at the Zoo.

At the synchronized lighted trees, they stopped when a Transiberian orchestra song came on. They had just gone to see them in Grand Rapids the previous Sunday. Eric decided it was time. He asked if she wanted to sit down in a more secluded spot. She objected to the cold seats, so he just asked her. She had no suspicions and was completely surprised. "Wait..is this for real?" she asked.

"I guess I should kneel," Eric said, kneeling, and asking again if she would marry him. Having time to process a bit, she said yes immediately. Then she suggested they sit down.

Before Eric even had a chance to put the ring on her, a man came up. "Excuse me, but my nosy wife informed me that you just got engaged. Do you have a camera and would you like me to take your picture?"

They didn't, so he pulled out his smart phone, took it, and emailed it to Eric. A message said it was using data. "This is totally worth it!" he said, pushing send. They had two kids with them and were the first to tell them congratulations.

The picture isn't of great quality, but the story is adorable and it's fun to have.

Eric had been unusually quiet as Ruthie told her side of the story. Then he told his side. He had been so nervous, but managed to act normal. He was late because the people at the store couldn't find the ring at first.

It was delightful and amusing. (It was also much more involved and special than I made it sound, but if you want their whole story, you'll have to ask to hear it unless I later feel like telling the whole thing properly.)

"Now we can't tell anyone," Kristen said seriously when they had finished the story.

We all laughed. "She knows how this goes!" I said. "She'll be an expert by the time it gets to her."

 Paulie had made some mint chocolate chip cookies.

At one point, Eric said something about how he wanted to do it that day. "Wait..." I said, suddenly realizing, "today is the 18th, isn't it?" Eric smiled and nodded. It was exactly five months after their first date. I smiled. He had done a good job.

Conversation died down for a minute. "We should watch the movie now," Kristen said.

"More important things are going on right now," Stephen said.

"All right, that's done. Back to the movie!" Dad teased.

After we had discussed the proposal story, there was a pause in conversation, and Dad spoke from the couch. "Jeannette..."

Everyone laughed.

"I can only handle two at a time."

I laughed. "What, you don't want three weddings at once?"

"No more engagements this year," Mom joked, and Amy and Ruthie noted that there were only two weeks left in the year.

Conversation turned to Melody, and this time Dad put a number on it: "You're not liking anyone until you're 30."

"Every time the number keeps going up! When Jeannette gets engaged I won't be allowed to like anyone until I'm 40!" Melody exclaimed.

"Melody, if you come live with us, we'll let you like someone whenever you want," Stephen offered generously. Melody is going to live with them and be their slave. However, he went on to say only if she chose the person he wants her to...

Eric gave a counter-offer: "If you come live with us, you don't have to wait and you can like whoever you want. Well, almost."

There were lots of phone calls to be made. Conveniently, Ruthie and I were already planning on meeting the next morning. It was sweet to be able to spend that time with her, and she said it was nice to be able to talk to someone who had been there so she didn't have to explain what had happened with her and Eric.

As usual, I was struck by the everydayness of things. As I told Ruthie, it's sort of weird-your sibling just got engaged!-and yet the world goes on as usual.

Ruthie says, "Truth!"

On Thursday, I saw some people and it was so hard not to tell anyone. In the evening we went to the Armentrouts'. We weren't sure if Eric and Ruthie could come or not, but then Lalita came in, saying, "Everyone calm down - Eric and Ruthie are here!"

They came in and greeted everyone, and while Ruthie hugged Merri, Audrey noticed her ring. "Wait...does everyone know this?!" Audrey asked.

"No!" cried Merri. "Know what?!"

Eric announced to everyone that they were engaged. After much excitement, once again, they sat on the couch, everyone gathered around, and they told their story.

It's kind of funny that a lot of the people who were well-acquainted with the state of their relationship were not expecting it to happen now, while others who were less informed were. I didn't expect it yet, since Ruthie had told him to wait until after she graduates in May, but I wasn't surprised.

In my last post about Ruthie, I would have been more direct about Eric and being part of our family if they had been engaged. I love having it official, to be able to talk about it freely, to say "Eric's fiancee" rather than his girlfriend, to not worry about saying too much to anyone who asks about their relationship. And it makes me smile.

Late Wednesday night when I went to bed with Kristen, she wanted to pray as usual, and she added a prayer to her list. "Pray what everyone will be excited what Eric and Ruthie got engaged." That is one prayer that will certainly be fulfilled.

Some of mine already have been. A few people have told me, "Congratulations!" Then they're unsure if they should. I say that I accept congratulations, as I did for Deanna and Stephen. I'm getting a sister, after all. I think that's worthy of congratulations. I've been considering how unpleasant it would be if your siblings married someone you didn't approve of or didn't like, and then feeling very blessed. I've always wanted to have a sister-in-law that wasn't a friend just because she's part of the family, but that I would have been friends with anyway. My other brothers will (hopefully!) marry someone significantly younger than I, so whoever Eric chose would be a unique relationship.

And I cannot imagine anyone better. As we've said, everyone loves Eric, and everyone loves Ruthie, so everyone loves them together. We feel quite blessed.

Dear Ruthie

I met you almost exactly two years ago.

We were going to a concert that our sister church in Bloomington apparently put on every year. We, not including you. Unaware that we were missing anything, we didn't know you existed.

None of us knew you except for Jonny. We heard he was bringing his friend from college to the concert. When I discovered that his friend wasn't a guy, I was surprised. Naturally we assumed you were interested in each other, unaware of the Bloomington connection.

There was much confusion about rides, which I shall not attempt to recall or describe. Suffice it to say, though I hadn't planned on going, I wanted to and I was told there was room...and we discovered when we got there that there was not. As we confirmed this year, we all know that something will be confusing and complicated, or it's just not right. Ironically, my gentlemanly brother let me go, briefly met you in the church office parking lot, and left.

So, suddenly you were on a long drive with six people, knowing only one. We didn't know you hardly even knew Jonny.

I wondered what you thought of us. We were very comfortable together, and acted no differently with this friend of Jonny's. That was all we knew, really, though perhaps we knew you were in engineering. And I found your name fascinating--I wonder if we talked about it. We wanted to name the twins we always wanted Mom to have Ruth and Naomi, and I always liked the name Ruth. But now, it sounds kind of incomplete, and I prefer Ruthie. I wonder if you told us your name was Ruthanne, or if I just wondered if Ruthie or Ruth was your real name.

I don't really remember telling you about Ryan and Grace's wedding, but since Mercy and I were both there and at that time it was never too far from my mind, it doesn't surprise me that we did. You must have told us that you were going to do a co-op in Bloomington and that was why Jonny invited you, so you had connection to a church.

I can picture a place along the highway where we were having a conversation. I know Rebekah and I were talking with you, but I cannot remember what exactly it was about. I think you might have told us about one of the many places you've visited or that your sister lived in Japan. It's interesting to think that these vague things I scarcely remember were probably about your mission trips to China and Romania, living in the Dominican, your family's travels, your tree story, and so forth. I don't remember much. Though I liked this friendly, quiet girl (as I think I had thought), I didn't expect to see her again.

The most vivid memory I have of you on that trip was on the way back. You had volunteered to sit in the front (somehow discerning that I didn't want to, already able to read me well). They had been joking and warning you about how Rebekah and Jonny's brother Ben drove slowly, never above the speed limit. When we stopped for gas, after Ben shut the door, you turned around, with that wide-eyed, very expressive look that I love, and said, "He does drive slowly!" And of course, as always, nothing that you say can be properly written down, for the words cannot relay your indescribably wonderful voice. At that point, I picture you as I know you now. Other than that, I cannot quite see you as yourself.

I saw you once again soon after that. You visited college group at Nick and Heidi's apartment once. I remember which wall you sat against and that Joy was there that night too. Other than that, I remember more about sitting on the couch by Ryan and Grace and joking about Gerald with them than anything about you that night.

I met you again one year ago. After discovering the Bloomington concert, we went back. As we sat in the pews, I recognized someone in the choir. "There's Ruthie!" I told Rebekah, pointing you out.

Afterwards, we talked to you. You were surprised to see us, I think, and that I remembered you, and I think I may have gotten my first Ruthie hug. I remember you saying that you were coming back in January and that you would come to our church.

After the rest of a stuffed-full, delightful December and a bit of January, I had forgotten that you might come until one Sunday I saw you. "Ruthie's here!" I said to whoever was beside me--Melody, perhaps. "Who's Ruthie?" she asked. "She went to the concert with us last year. I forgot she said she was coming here." I believe I went over and said hi to you.

I don't remember much of the beginning of that year. I remember when you were going to be in the Student Union at UT doing some sort of presentation, so I decided to go see if you were there. I think I may have startled you. Eric had just filled out a form and got a water bottle. You started telling me that your time was about done, but I could talk to this other guy--but I said good, I wasn't really interested in computers but in talking with you.

Then I walked out to the car with you. I don't remember a lot of what we discussed, but I remember pretty clearly where we walked and thinking that I really liked this Ruthie. We went past this fence and into this parking lot in an area I did not know on the side of campus closest to Engineering--now a quite familiar area.

We discussed school, and I think that I told you then why I had decided to go to school, and for the first time perhaps I went away smiling because of your encouragement. And also for perhaps the first time I noted your sweet gray-green Explorer. I like your car. The color is cool, and it always makes me excited when I recognize people's vehicles. Mostly, though, I get excited when I see it because I expect to see you.

Even though I don't remember much before then, I considered you a good friend by the time you agreed to come to our women's summer Bible study. That was about the time you decided to stay in the apartment at the Armentrouts'. Both of those things made me happy. I found it amusing when you and Mrs. Armentrout both appeared at Bible study unbeknownst to the other. "I could have told you that," I said.

Probably the reason I don't remember becoming friends with you is that, as you have sometimes kind of complained (or as close to complaining as you get), you just fit in so well so quickly, that everyone assumes you know things you haven't been told. Because we just can't--or don't want to--imagine life without Ruthie. That's the worst. 

Then there was Backyard Bible club--two of them, actually. You added so much fun to BYBC, and there you got more taste of the craziness that is the Beerbower family, the "vortex that once you're sucked in you cannot escape from," as Uncle Al said.

Although that might have been more at the Exaltation concert in May, where you said you fell in love with my family. I loved how you fit in so well, how you appreciate my parents, how Mom (and later Aunt T) makes you die laughing, how the kids love you. Although, "everyone loves Ruthie."

As you would say, True, that. No, but really.

Your calm, peace-loving and always sweet disposition is the perfect complement to our family's exuberant, dry-humored and always sarcastic nature. As is your realistic discipline to our free-spirited, that-sounds-fun impulsive tendencies, and your unbending calm confidence that won't stoop to indulge our love of a good argument and the way we "state [our] opinions as commonly accepted fact."

I delight in your adorable voice and your way of speaking. I often remember once when you said, "Jeannettie, you're coming with!" I know that's silly, but you were happy I was coming and your voice and way of speaking are so delightful. Plus I especially enjoy how you say my name. And it makes me happy that you always call me Jeannettie, as only a few certain people who really love me do.

I love the goofy, eyebrow-raising, wide-eyed face you put on for my pictures. (The first time I noticed that at the camping trip, I thought, That just happened! Okay, maybe that was before I used that phrase...)Your height, perfect for giving real hugs, makes me happy. You don't know how much I appreciate your company, your interest in me, your indulgence when I want to verbally organize my thoughts, and your reliably practical and calm responses to my idealistic, flighty ramblings.

There are some people that when you think of them, you must simply marvel at God's graciousness to you that He put them in your life. You're one of them. Thinking of how God has worked in your life and connected it with ours, I can't help but rejoice. (I hope you do too, because you know we're never going to let you get away from us. :-)

As you would say, You're the best thing ever.

Truth.

I am so glad God blessed the world with you, Ruthie. Happy birthday. You're the best.

I love you, Ruthanne.

True story.


*Words in italics are copyrighted by the Ruthie-Jeannette phrase-stealing club and should be read in Ruthie's voice.

Seeing What I Said

I found a quote a while ago that I immediately loved. Quotes are delightful when they say something that you realized you had always thought but had never had the words to say before.

There's some debate as to who really said it and what they really meant, but I don't really care, and I take it at face value like this:

How can I know what I think unless I see what I've said?

I think the first time I saw it, it said, "How can I know what I think unless I read what I've written?"

It was one of those quotes that is so perfect it makes you smile. It exactly describes what I thought. Often, when I am confused I will write, and then I will realize, "Oh, that is why I feel like that. I didn't realize that was what I was thinking." Somehow, having concrete words put to feelings makes them much more objective. Most of the time it shows me how silly my thinking is. For example, in a recent post I told how I had written that I needed to be content with God's love. Then I realized how ridiculous that was. How could I think something so ridiculous?

That is why I write, and why I write whether others read it or not.

If I could have one (frivolous) wish, it'd be for another lifetime. One would be for living life, and the other devoted exclusively to reading and writing. There is simply not enough time to do all the reading and writing needed.

Actually, as we did when we were kids, my wish would be for three wishes. Then I would wish for a life for reading and for a life for writing. I haven't figured out what I would use the third wish for. I would have written that I would wish for two more wishes, but we always wished for three wishes, and two just doesn't seem right.

I remember very distinctly when we started the first orphanage we played, my younger brother and sister had been thrown into a maze, where they met a man who gave them three wishes. One was for horses. When I met, them, however, they were walking. "We should have wished with those wishes that they wouldn't run away!" they said.

There are a lot of things I would wish for with an extra wish...big things for my family, spiritual things...but there is a reason we aren't granted a wish for whatever we want. Really, if I was offered a free wish, I would probably decline it, or ask for something really quite small and silly.  Unless it was something like God's offer to Solomon....) Because we are very finite in our wisdom and it's often good we don't get what we ask for.

And, thinking of Solomon, I realize that I have that anyway. What I would really use a free wish for, if I were really offered the chance, I can ask for and receive. Because I'd ask for a heart that longs for Christ over all. Or that He will give that to my siblings or family or friends. I don't need free wishes. I have a God who knows what I need.

That was quite the tangent, wasn't it? But there you have it: the reason I write. Those thoughts just came from thinking as I wrote. Writing can transform your thoughts. It is a way of meditation.

The other reason I write is because I forget. Every once in a while, I get lost for a few hours in my old blog posts, journals, or other writings. It's good to be reminded about what the Lord taught me.

And sometimes, I write because I'm compelled. Sometimes I have thoughts and feelings that must be expressed. Some of my favorite poems come from these times. This one, for example. Poetry is good for expressing thoughts that are hard to express. Writing randomly is too. This is why I enjoy writing randomly. I never know what I'll discover.

Too Many Children

We were assigned to write a political narrative poem for my creative writing class. This isn't so bad as it sounds; categories for poetry are pretty flexible. One of the examples he gave of political narrative was a strange, thought-provoking poem about American consumerist culture, and another a poem I found really amusing about rap music, with very apt descriptions (doesn't "a thousand schizophrenic Shakespeares" describe rap perfectly?).

Still, I wasn't inspired. Then I thought doing one about how we always wanted Mom to have more kids might work for political. However, I had a hard time getting it to be narrative. So I started writing about a baby we wanted to adopt once. I liked the idea and incorporated much that I had written for my first idea.

Too Many Children

We called him Joel.

In our minds, he was perfect and adorable.

He was just the right fit for our family.

“Timmy is getting too old,” we complained to Mom.

“We need another baby.”

“Too old?” she asked. “I’m too old.”

“No,” we said. “People have babies even in their 50’s sometimes.

You should have twins. There’ll be more baby to go around.

It’ll be easy now. We can help.”

“You can’t just order twins,” Mom said.

“Or a baby, for that matter.”

We didn’t care.

At church, we jabbered to our friends,

All at least twice our barely double-digit ages,

About the babies.

“Ruth and Naomi will be their names,” my older sister declared,

Flipping her long brown locks behind her thin shoulders.

“Ruth Arlene and Naomi Annabelle,” she added.

Fifteen months older than I, Deanna was a name enthusiast.

“After our grandmothers,” I informed, grinning.

Our audience would smile at us,

And we were too young to notice the raised eyebrows.

The next week, Mom would be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“Congratulations! How many is this?”

The questioner would receive a blank look.

“You’re not pregnant?” they’d ask.

Mom would shake her graying head, smiling.

“Your daughters were talking about twins…”

“They’re just talking. Wistful thinking.”

“Oh,” was the reply.

Every birthday, no one told what they wished for.

There was no need—we knew.

Wait for the singing to end.

“Make a wish!” they’d cry.

Shut your eyes tight.

Whisper under your breath.

I wish Mom would have another baby.

Open your eyes.

Blow, long and steady, until you waver,

Forcing out the last bit of breath.

Sometimes all the flames went out, sometimes not.

Would the wish come true?

Babbling little Timmy couldn’t be called a baby any more,

But there was no sign of another one.

“The older you are,” Mom said,

“the more likely you’ll have complications with the pregnancy.”

“We should adopt,” Deanna suggested.

“Yeah!” we all clamored.

“Our house would never pass inspection,” said Mom.

“That’d be fun,” Dad said. “But adoption is expensive.”

They dismissed it, but late at night when we couldn’t hear, they talked.

I don’t know how we found him,

But we called him Joel,

Our choice from Deanna’s piles of library name books.

We gathered around the armoire,

Looking at his information on the computer screen.

He was going to be a little person when he was born.

We had never seen him, but we loved him.

She wasn’t married, but his mom chose to give him life.      

But not to us.

“Why?” we asked. “Why wouldn’t she let us have him?”

“We have too many kids,” Dad said.

“She thought he wouldn’t get enough attention.”

“Enough attention!” we laughed.

With six older siblings, what child would have more?

“That’s not how they think,” Dad explained.

“They think that he won’t have as much time with the parents.”

We did not understand. He would have plenty of attention.

We could help him.

We could reach things for him.

We would love him.

It was not to be. Some other family got him.

A perfect, 2.5 kid family, perhaps.

Or maybe he was an only child,

So that his parents could give him their full attention,

Without half-a-dozen other people to distract them from him.

Without half-a-dozen people to love him,

Or pray for him,

Or be extra hands and legs for his little body,

Or care for him and their parents when they are old.

Our wishes came true, twice more—

Though they weren’t twins,

So we did fight over getting to hold the baby.

We were happy to be blessed with two more siblings,

But sometimes,

We wish there were nine

And think of Joel.

I took some liberties with the story about Joel; I think it was actually after Paul was born when it happened, and of course none of the speech is exact quotation. Other things I also made more specific than I actually knew.

I was interested to hear people's responses when I read it in the workshop. Their remarks weren't entirely unexpected, but I was still somewhat surprised.

They didn't like my use in the second line of "perfect and adorable." They also wanted to know more about the family and what their interactions are like. Someone said it was like a children's book, and another agreed, saying, "Oh, yeah, it's fairy-tale like." A lot of people thought the use of dialogue was unique and worked.

The professor wrote, "It's tough to pull off a poem in 3rd person [I think he means first person plural?] without imposing a definable group voice, but you almost almost almost pull it off." I also found it hilarious when he marked by the part about what we did at birthdays and wrote childhood fertility/baby Ritual!

I originally called it, "The Perfect Family." Most of them didn't like that. One suggested I "reword the title because it is a little contradictory." Of course, I meant it sort of sarcastically, with a double meaning, a satire of what people consider a perfect family. But one guy said bluntly, "I have an aversion to the word perfect."

One girl said that she thought the conclusion was a little judgmental because it's difficult to predict whether Joel received the love he needed. "However, I do not think this was the narrator's intention. Consider revising these lines to help the reader." They are often, especially my professor, concerned about people sounding judgmental.

But the biggest thing, the main question was this: why do they want more kids? Why isn't what they have enough?

"Consider explaining why the family wants another child after six children already." My professor wrote, "big question: why do they want more kids?"

I didn't know how to explain. I didn't understand: why wouldn't you want more kids?

The most interesting and telling critique was from the guy who wrote that he had an aversion to the word perfect. He said:

I philosophically have a difficult time with this poem and it makes it hard for me to read it objectively, but the family in this poem seem to love each other, and you portray it rather eloquently. I think this poem is very well written and in the eyes of the right audience, will be appreciated.

In the eyes of the right audience. I philosophically have a difficult time with this poem.

That was my trouble with many of the critiques I did: philosophically I differed so much with the poem that it was hard to read objectively. (Especially since in my opinion, they ought not to have been read by any audience, nor written to begin with.)

Isn't that fascinating? I found it interesting that he would say that. It's amazing how your worldview affects your thoughts and opinions, even on things you wouldn't think it would (an idea I shall return to if I post my last poem).

It's not simply a Christian worldview, I have come to find out. Even many Christians, and not just marginalized Christians either, do not value children. Let me rephrase that. They value children, because you cannot be a Christian, read and believe Scripture, and not value children. But they do not love and delight in children. I am not saying that everyone should want more than six kids. The older I get, the more I understand why not everyone is wholly positive about having kids, something I didn't when I was younger. But that doesn't mean that you cannot understand that having many children is a joy.

I have discovered that, in this, my family is something of an anomaly. Even many children from big families do not embrace the idea. Perhaps, however, that has to do with the nature of the children they grew up with.

We've heard lots of comments like this:

"You liked having that many brothers and sisters? I can't deal with the ones I have."
"I wish my brother was like yours."
"Your sisters are so nice. My sister would never do that."
"One sister is more than enough for me!"

"You wanted more siblings?" people ask when we excitedly told Mom was pregnant or said something about wishing she'd had twins.

Do we want more? More best friends? More help around the house? More amusement? More babies? More birthday parties (dude, any excuse for more ice cream is good!)? More people to give Christmas presents to? More brothers- and sisters-in-law? More nieces and nephews? More cousins for our kids? Yes!

I've thought lately what it'll be like when most of us move out. Just imagine: the boys can have the big bedroom-they'll have so much space!-and Kristen can have the boys' room and a walk-in closet to herself! That sounds amazing. I would love it. I have never had the experience of having my own room.

But as I thought about it, I thought, no. I do not envy my youngest siblings. I don't want my own room. I would much rather have my siblings than space. As I am fond of saying, siblings are awesome.

I've thought about that as I've talked with my youngest sister. She doesn't like the idea of Deanna getting married because she doesn't want her to leave. When I tried to convince her that it was good, she said pitifully, "But it's been fun having her here, right?" It's sad and adorable that it affects her so much even at such a young age.

"It's been fun having her." That's a pretty good summary.

Not everyone is called to be in a family with lots of kids. But few relationships-perhaps none save my parents-have shaped me more than those with my siblings. I am thankful. I don't think you can have too many.

Okay, that's not true. My sister used to say she wanted to have 50 and adopt 50. That's a little excessive. I like to remember all of my siblings' names at least. Of course, if you named them all after the states and their capitals as she was going to, that might help.

A good ending ought to tie everything all together. It should never be something random that has nothing to do with the essay. However, nothing is coming to mind and I feel like posting this. Perhaps later I will think of a good ending and change this. Until then this will have to do.

On the other hand, since I write for my own enjoyment, I will probably never change this.

Siblings are awesome. Is that an acceptable ending?

Rejoicing in Blessings

Holidays, especially Thanksgiving, are wonderful times for considering where you are in your life. And convenient excuses to write blog posts! So this Thanksgiving I am doing both.

One thought has really impressed me: I am blessed.

I would fall into the cliche, "I don't know about you, but I am blessed," except I do know. You are blessed as well.

While writing, I said once that I must be content with God's love. Then I had to laugh. Content with God's love? As if someone dying of thirst must be content with oceans of water! Here we sit on the beach of a fresh-water Atlantic, picking at the grains of sand and considering attempting to quench our thirst from this muddy puddle beside us, totally unaware of the OCEAN at our feet!

What has this to do with thanksgiving?

If you realize what God has done for you, how can you not only not be displeased, and not only be satisfied, but further REJOICE in where He has you? And not only what He has done, but what He plans to do.

I have been struggling to wrap my prideful mind around such amazing promises:

"Because you have made the LORD, who is my refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
Nor any plague come near your dwelling...
Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high, because he has known My name."
                - Psalm 91:9-10, 14

"I am the LORD your God,
Who brought you out of the land of Egypt;
Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it."
                - Psalm 81:10

"If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!"
                 -Matthew 7:11

These are only a few verses this idea has struck me in. (I recommend reading all of Psalm 91. And there's a link for those too lazy to look it up, so you have no excuse not to!)

Let me explain what I mean by prideful. Ought we not to accept all that the Lord tells us? And yet, seeing our sin, we do not accept His love. How can He do this, when we are so unworthy? Of course, as good Christians, we would never say this. (I wonder how many times that sentence has been written...) But we believe it.

I could say that I am speaking for myself here, and I don't know about you. But I think that is overused. Yes, I am speaking for myself, and yes, not everyone has the same thoughts. But "no temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man," and pride and resisting God's Word is a struggle we all encounter.

Now what does this have to do with being thankful?

It is good to see our sin and unworthiness. This realization is something that is essential for thankfulness. If you think that you deserve what God gives you, why should you be grateful? But if you do not deserve any good, how can you not be grateful for everything? 

(Because you're sinful and prideful...but you get my point. That's another phrase that I wonder how often it's been used.) 

And if your sin does not grieve your heart, pray that the Lord would open your eyes to it. He is faithful to answer. "You do not have, because you do not ask." The Lord did this for me. It is hard and not fun, and you may be surprised by the trials that come, but it will give you joy.

Realizing our sin does give us thankfulness. See on the one side your sin, and on the other God's blessings to you and His desire to bless you, and your thankfulness will be great. It puts everything into perspective.

God has been teaching me to rejoice in my own life. He knows each person, and He works in each life differently. Sometimes this is hard, because we cannot read hearts as God can. Thus, the grass is always greener on the other side. We see others' blessings that we do not have, and we are envious, forgetting their trials and the blessings we have that they do not.

And if we do see our blessings, we forget that's what they are and are prideful.

Recently after I had shared some things that God had been teaching me, a lady told me that she appreciated it. "You should be a teacher," she said. "Kids need to hear what you have to say."

It made me think of a time when Abraham had been brought up, and a girl asked if he was the one who had to sacrifice his son. It boggled my mind that a Christian could not know that story. Since then, I have been aware of how much I have been given. Indeed, what do I have that I have not been given? What separates me from a young believer who knows little more than Jesus and Noah's Ark?

Just this: where God has chosen to place me. 

I have not been more faithful, nor do I have a better memory or understanding. I have simply been situated in places where knowing God's Word was expected, and so I reaped the benefits.

At one of these places, the teacher asked, "What is your geneology?" He asked us to consider our spiritual genealogies. Who prayed for you? Who taught you? And don't stop there. Who prayed for them? Who mentored them?

What an incredible thought. You begin to see yourself as a small mechanism in a huge, interconnecting plan. I think of things such as the debt I owe to a lady I never knew who many years ago did a Kid's Club that was instrumental in bringing God's word to a woman who has been an inestimable blessing to my mother, and to me. Of people, some of whom I may have never met, whose influence led people to come to my church and thus became a blessing to me. Of the great men and women throughout history who wrote down so powerfully what God taught them so that lives were transformed to become my examples.

You have your own blessings. That Christ died is blessing enough. But God has freely with Him given us all things!

On second thought, there is another thing that separates me from some believers. I love God's Word and I long for holiness. My struggle to overcome sin grieves me. This is one of the greatest blessings God can give.

I knew that Scripture says that work in the heart is from God, but I didn't quite understand how that could be. I mean, it's my heart, my desires and thoughts. Yes, God has to bring to life someone dead in sin, but the sanctifying work seems like it must be ours. Once again, as a good Christian, I knew such thinking was wrong and never would have thought I believed it.

Remember how I mentioned that God had opened my eyes to my sin? One year, I realized my walk with God wasn't very good. I wanted it to be better-sort of. I tried and tried to be good, but I couldn't. Really, I wanted to want it. I read in the Psalms how David thirsted after God's Word, how he hated his sin and God's enemies, how he delighted in righteousness. "Lord," I said, "I want a love for You like that. I don't even want Your Word. I don't even hate my sin." And I realized I couldn't work it up and asked Him to give it to me.

About a year later I was struggling and frustrated. Why, I wondered, could I not defeat sin? Why were things difficult? A friend encouraged me at that time, not really knowing what I was thinking, saying how she rejoiced seeing God's work in my life, in my love for Him and His people. Suddenly I realized: this frustration with sin-that was because I hated it. It wasn't because I was any more sinful than I used to be, but that I could now see my sin as the offense it was against God.

I had tried and tried to become more holy, and I had failed. Yet suddenly I realized I had changed-without doing anything. What glory! I rejoiced in verses like, "He who began a good work in you is faithful to complete it," and "He has given you all things needed for life and godliness through the knowledge of Him." I could see how it was completely God's work, changing my heart. I really had done nothing. God had just given me a receptive heart.

Don't diminish God's glory by not acknowledging what He has given you. It is the humble person who is thankful, because they realize that no matter how "good" in the eyes of others they may be, every good gift comes from God. Do not fail to rejoice in His promises of blessing to you. If we trust His character, we must believe them. It is precisely because we are unworthy that we can be so grateful.

I do speak to myself, and as usual, write for my own benefit. But I do pray that as you read how I have been impressed by God's mercy, it will also cause you to rejoice in thankfulness.