You'd think I was Snow White.
I couldn’t resist. The weather was perfect. With my cream of wheat lunch, my water, and a book, I went into our backyard and settled in a chair. At some point--who knows how long it had been?--it occurred to me that there was a lot of noise and scurrying around going on. I glanced up from my book. My backyard teemed with birds hopping here and flying there and squirrels dashing and jumping to branches so distant, it looked like they flew. It must’ve been the pecans falling. A dash of red caught my eye. A bird, mostly grey with a red head (immediately endearing him to me) hugged a tree (that tree-hugger), knocking his beak in places, climbing up a bit more, inspecting, knocking again. He reminded me of a shopper looking for the perfect pumpkin.
And it hit me: a veritable woodpecker!
Most of the birds were shades of brown and grey, although a few had a dull orange chest. They searched behind our wood pile, amongst the trees, beneath the fire bowl. I felt for a moment transported to some cabin in the woods, and it made me want to sing (well, what doesn’t, really?).
After a while, I looked back down at my book. There, crawling over the top, was a caterpillar with a blue and green pattern on his back, fuzzies sticking up on end like he had just had a scare. A fellow booklover, I knew immediately, because he gravitated toward the words, pausing over an especially delectable one before moving on.
30 November 2007
You'd think I was Snow White.
This book is about a teenaged girl struggling with anorexia while her family struggles to survive after he father's been fired.
Olivia grew up as a pastor's kid until her father was fired. Now, her father, is disillusioned by the church, her mother is trying to keep a semblence of a happy home on a budget and growing tired of her husband's unemployment, and her sister runs away feeling neglected. And to make things worse, they've been planted in the middle of a small town, and you know what people say about small towns!
Olivia's walls are papered with magazine cutouts of beautiful women--women she desperately desires to model, and women with whom she'll never be able to compete.
But's it's not just about body image, for even when Olivia realizes that her eating habits are a disorder, it's not so easy to fix. Still, every night she counts the calories and fat grams and makes sure everything fits into the food pyramid. The counting soothes her and gives her a sense of control in a helpless situation.
New beginnings. That's what it's really about.
This book is excellently written with real characters that get up and walk around us. While I wouldn't use the word "quirky", each characters has their own quirks that makes you think, "That's just crazy enough to be true!" Pierce gets inside Olivia's head and creates a cast of sympathetic and flawed characters.
It has one of the best conversion scenes I've seen, although I think for me there was still a sense of, wow, so everything's just fixed now? at the end.
Lessons as a writer: watch catch words. Pierce made a habit out of "retorted." Olivia and her sister often retorted, and it began to get on my nerves.
Also, Olivia's narration sometimes felt pedantic. "This is how I felt. This is what I was thinking." I knew that already because Pierce did an excellent job of showing that, so I didn't need that, and those parts sludged for me.
But a good book. If you like Lisa Samson, I think you'll like this book.
28 November 2007
Sorry, Erin, no pictures on my garden this time, but to make up for it, I've got pictures of my new baby.
We picked up Hans on Saturday. He was a bit uptight. Who could blame him? The poor guy's been uprooted from his home in a tragic circumstance, taken from all who love him and whom he loves, and brought down to Texas. (I feel your pain, buddy.) We took him home, let him relax in a warm place with a glass of brandy (actually, it was a glass of sugar water).
Sunday, he let his hair down, and we gave him new clothes. He's right at home now, happy and shining.
And for a little more Christmas cheer, here are a few other pics of my living room:
Yes, I have three trees in my living room. Yes, that one is completely red (with red lights). And, yes, I also have a tree in my bedroom. That tree has a legacy, though. You see, once upon a time, when my parents married, my mother's parents' neighbor, Rose, gave her old tree to my parents. Sometime in college, my parents passed it on to me. I call her Rose in honor of her original owner. Rose (the tree, not the neighbor) is three and a half? four? feet tall with white lights wrapped around each branch (of which there aren't many).
Oh, and yes, that's my computer on the chair next to the fireplace. With all these trees, why lock myself up in the office to work? Almost everything in my living room is packed away in a closet to make room for the Christmas paraphernalia. Gotta love it. I like to think of it as the snowmen--excuse me, snowpeople--ward of the insane asylum.
Throughout the month, I'll share some fun Christmas tidbits with you.
26 November 2007
My Thanksgiving holiday was stuffed with people, food, and decking my halls. Oh, how I love the decorations. Yes, I'm a saccarine sucker when it comes to these things.
We got our Christmas tree--Hans is his name. He's donned with blue lights and ornaments. But more on that later this week.
Today, I'd like to introduce you to Maria.
Maria received her masters at Dallas Theological Seminary and works in Dallas at a ministry called Buckner Community Outreach. Born in Mexico, her family moved to Chicago when she was a child. Years later, she ended up at seminary. I'll let her tell you the rest of the story.
Folks, if you're in a rush, please, at least scan down to the question where she tells you about her favorite part of her job.
Maria, tell us a little bit about your ministry.
I oversee a Buckner community outreach program in the Vickery Meadow community of North Dallas. This community which has a 3 mile radius is one of the most dense communities and has struggled with crime and poverty. We have after school programs for children 6-18 and see about 85 children everyday. We support the children's families by offering their parents classes in ESL, computers, parenting, and marriage. I personally see a lot of famiiles in crisis and help them access the help and support they need. The children participate in lots of awesome activities and are able to be exposed to much that they would normally not be able to. We work closely with local churches and help them engage in this community. Currently about 80-100 people from this community are attending Park Cities Baptist Church. This church sends a shuttle every Sunday.
What brought you to Buckner specifically? Was there an "ah-ha" moment or was it a journey? Were they any inadequacies/past experiences/obstacles that you had to overcome to get there?
I started working at Buckner my last year at DTS. I was looking for an internship and at the same time was looking for a church to serve and really plug into. It was very creative how God answered that prayer. My job at Buckner served as my internship and I worked full time. God led me here because of a need for an internship but now I see that this is what God has called me to do. God led me to Park Cities Baptist Church and I am a member there. My two worlds merged together. I have the privilige of worshipping with the children and families I serve in Vickery Meadow. I love seeing my kids in the halls of the church and have seen some of them be baptized.
My biggest obstacles has been in overcoming my insecurities, past hang-ups and prejudices and needing to develop a different way of seeing myself. When I first came to seminary I went to pursue a counseling degree. God led me in a different direction and I never thought I could do what I am doing now. I look at myself and wonder how I got here but at the same time can see how God had been preparing me for my ministry all of my life. It all makes sense to me now. My background is very similar to the children that I serve and I have had to let God minister and heal me so that I can offer the same hope and comfort to these kids. Yet, I can tell them that God helped me to overcome all obstacles and he will do the same for them. With God nothing is hopeless or impossible.
What is your favorite part or what you do?
I love praying. I pray with the children when they are hurting and I see God filling them with his presence and that changes them. I have seen countless number of children with huge burdens on their shoulders and I have seen God lift those burdens. I then see them light and free, the way children should be.
I also pray for needs in the program or for families and God provides abundantly every time.
What do you feel is your biggest battle?
My biggest battle I guess is pride. When things go well and God is at work I want to take the credit and glory instead of Him. Then I think it is me doing all the good and I stop depending on Him. Also, when things go well you receive attention and praise and then my motive in what I do is to receive more of it instead of serving Christ. In order to serve others I have to continually be more like Christ and that means sanctification. This process is often very painful and at timesI don't want to keep going. But the only way for God to continue to use me is to continue to cleanse me. Ouch!
How can readers support this ministry if they feel led?
We have many volunteer needs, especially people who want to tutor and mentor kids. We have lots of awesome volunteers who share their talents with the kids such as playing an instrument, sports, or knitting. By doing this you might help a child discover and develop a talent that they did not know they have. This changes their life. We need people to invest in youth.
Maria, thanks for sharing and for your time. Hearing about your ministry excites me. I have recently taken up the habit of knitting and am working on scarves to donate to a local ministry, but maybe it would be more fun to make the scarves with them. What a great idea!
20 November 2007
Back in the spring, I told you about my new garden. Well, it was time for some fall planting.
I'm new at this whole gardening thing. In other words, I have no idea what I'm doing. Good thing my mom's brilliant with these things. Last week, I spent a few days in their neck of the woods (and I mean that literally), and helped my mom do some of her gardening. Very instructive. For example, I learned that pansies and snap dragons are winter flowers.
So home again, home again this weekend and time to work on my miniature garden (which never feels miniature when you're working on it).
I think I like gardening. Besides getting to sink your hands into dirt (or, in Texas, clay, which passes for dirt), you have time to think, pray, and sing (yes, out loud--don't worry; the neighbors have known for a while about the conditions of my mind). And it struck me. God's work in me is a lot like gardening.
The process spanned three days. My process, that is, not God's. Although wouldn't it be nice?
Saturday, I bought all the supplies with the intention of planting in the afternoon. Except we needed to run this errand and that errand. Okay, so no gardening done Saturday. Still, supplies were bought.
Sunday, after an afternoon nap that went longer than planned, I got out there. Alas, our big trees (which I adore, so this is not a complaint, mind you) had stripped their leaves all over our front yard, including in my garden. You'd think they were five (or my husband) leaving (leafing? I know, I know) their clothes all over the floor. Sheesh. So I spent most of my time on Sunday clearing out the leaves and the acorns and the pecans, knowing that in another week, I'll have to go back there and clear it out again.
Which brings me to astute observation number one: does God get tired of clearing out my old dredge, knowing He's going to have to do it again? And again. And again.
I also had to pull out the summer flowers--the vinias and the zinnias (I sound like Dr. Seuss) and the daisies. I hated doing it. They still thrived with the weather being what it has been (spring-like). But I knew (or rather, my mother knew and told me) that they wouldn't last much longer. They wouldn't make it through the next season. So I pulled them out and cut back the potato vine and the honeysuckle. The potato vine and honeysuckle look like they've had a crew cut.
Astute observation number two: does it make God sad to pull out things that seem beautiful in our lives but that He knows won't last? He has to pull out the old sometimes to make room for the new. Does He ever not want to dig out some flowers in our lives? Or prune, even though He knows that's what'll allow us to thrive later?
Sunday was also my day of pain. The sun had set, and the light dimmed, although I didn't realize it because I was busy at work and busy chatting on the phone with a friend. My mom had given me an agorapantha plant (which I'm spelling wrong, but I can't find how to actually spell it), and I took a knife to it to cut it into at least two plants. Suddenly, sting, sting. I looked down at my knees to see a colony of red ants attacking. I could almost hear the trumpet: Charge! I ran into the house, peeling off my pants as I went (hoping the neighbors weren't watching).
"Fire ants! Fire ants!" I yelled and dashed into the shower.
Now, if you live or have lived in Texas, you know the two bains of gardening here are the aforementioned clay (which is not conducive to growing living things other than roly polies) and fire ants. Fire ants inflict much pain. Later, that pain becomes a maddening itch (although I'll contend it's not as bad as fleas).
Needless to say, I was done gardening for the day. The following day, when I returned to the garden, I found the knife sticking out of the agorapantha like an abandoned crime scene.
Astute observation three: does God's gardening in my life sometimes inflict pain upon Him? Besides even the pain He endured on the cross? Does He hurt when I lash out, not liking having a knife stuck in me one bit and sending out my army of fire ants?
Finally, we're at Monday. The final day (sort of) of my gardening process. Monday was my fun (as opposed to all claims in the song). The ground was prepped, and I came armed with a drum of ant killer. Before planting the seasonal pansies and snap dragons and dianthus, though, I dug holes for my bulbs--tulip, daffodil, and hyacinth. I don't remember what I put where or what colors I bought. Which means that come spring (hopefully), I'll have a fun surprise waiting for me. But it'll be a long, long wait through the cold (or occasionally chilly days here in Texas).
Astute observation number--what number are we on?: I don't want to wait. I've been through all this pain, this pruning and clearing and digging, and I want the pretty now. But maybe come spring, I'll have a fun surprise waiting for me. I wonder, is God ever pleasantly surprised by what comes up? (Scratch that last question. I'm not in the mood to debate omniscience and sovereignty and free will.)
After the bulbs, I put in my winter plants. This was the easiest step and the most immediately gratifying. Voila! Beautifulness on my front lawn. I went running yesterday and stood first for a couple of minutes in front of my house, admiring my work. I like making things beautiful, in music, in writing, in knitting, in gardening. That's not to deny the darkness of it, the tension without which resolve and release in music means nothing, the conflict that makes the plot in writing, the cramped hands in knitting, the tight hamstrings and fire ant bites in gardening. But in the end, it's beautiful, and I like being a part of that.
I suspect that God enjoys making things beautiful. After all, He's Creator. We get it from him (I learned it by watching you, alright?).
19 November 2007
18 November 2007
Today I'm going to tell you about two very special people: my parents.
My parents aren't the type who would cause you to immediately conjur up trendy social justice pictures. They're more covert in their care for the least of these.
They like to take care of people. Particularly people in the fringes of society.
Exhibit one: a teenage boy showed up at a local homeless shelter. I don't remember how, although my parents could tell you. Filled with Christ-like compassion, they took him into their home and treated him like their own son. There were frustrations, of course--there always are in these situations--but my parents loved him through it until it was time for him to move on.
You know, I debated telling you the end of that story. I'd like to tell you that he is now an upstanding member of society, on his way to being a pastor or congressman or something of the like. After all, these are "Mentor" Mondays. They're supposed to encourage you to follow the examples of these people in caring for the hurt, and wouldn't it be easier to care for the hurt if you knew, I mean absolutely knew that your efforts wouldn't be in vain? But life isn't always Hollywood. Sometimes we labor in what feels like futile effort. I'll tell you what I know: God works your efforts for good in your life, and we don't always know the end of the story. In this case, though my parents fought the ish in this boy's life, he returned to some yuckiness. Today, his life doesn't look pretty. But it's not the end of his life, now is it? We don't know how God'll use my parents demonstration of love someday.
Okay, enough of that. Moving on.
Exhibit two: a young, single, pregnant woman showed up at their church. This woman--a girl, really--has little, but has a desire to know God. My parents show her God every week. She doesn't have a car, so my mom picks her up for church, though it's out of the way, and drives her to other places. They've helped get her situated. They've welcomed this woman's family.
I could share other exhibits, about how their church has reached out through the youth group to the outcast teenagers. My parents have been there for that. About how they're involved with the local homeless shelter. About the hospital visits they've made time after time after time. About the times they brought home someone to share our Thanksgiving meal so that no one would be alone.
Caring for the hurt, for the orphans and widows and homeless starts in your own community. It often means setting aside your own preferences. It often doesn't have some big pay-off, for our reward is in heaven. It's often messy, bringing people into your life. Sometimes you won't like it.
Enough preaching now. I'm convicting myself.
This book is lush. A rainforest of words. Especially after reading The Road. The Memory Keeper's Daughter tells a heartbreaking story, and Edwards writes flawed but loveable characters—I hurt for all of them, including the one who caused all the pain. I knew why he did what he did. When the other characters in the book saw him as something of the antagonist, I wanted to tell him, “You’re forgiven.” And nothing in the book is simple or pat. The author develops messy characters and a messy situation, and she doesn’t cop out at the end. There’s hope and redemption, but it’s not easy.
Things that bugged me: repetition. Did the author think I’ve forgotten the situation or a particular memory or how so-and-so deals with it in the space of a few pages? Because of this, the book occasionally felt maudlin.
Also, the male character had a penchant for describing things like a woman. Now, I understand that later he becomes a photographer (don’t worry—that doesn’t ruin anything about the book), so perhaps he’s more visual, and I like when she associates his descriptions to the lighting and shadow he becomes obsessed with in his photography or when it’s akin to the rocks he collects or bones he studies as a doctor. But, seriously, especially in the beginning, using too many words and color choices and hair styles and clothing trends. If she set it up, perhaps he worked in a department store to help ends meet or he followed the clothing industry as part of his way to hide from his past, but she doesn’t, so it doesn’t fit. He comes from backwoods and then becomes a doctor.
In the end, I liked the book. It deals with issues such as the mentally ill and quality of life and how secrets affect relationships.
17 November 2007
He hadn't spoken to me in eleven years.
We met in January seventeen years ago. I don't remember it being cold, but it must've been because I wore my oversize coat. I was in eighth grade and patches of clubs and honors littered the sleeves of my jacket. It was a week or so after Christmas, and I was mourning the loss of a family member--a car accident on Christmas day.
Dozens filled the room I walked into, but he picked me out straight away. Before I knew it, he was on my shoulder. He was no bigger than the palm of my hand.
It was a match.
He purred all the way through his flea bath, through the massive hair dryer that fluffed him, through the car ride to his new home. We named him Oreo. I don't know why, seeing as how he is all black, but Oreo fit, and Oreo stuck.
Oreo was born on October 31st, the lady at the shelter told us. A black cat born on Halloween. Throw in a broken mirror and an open umbrella, and we'd be set for life.
When we got home, we gave him the dish that belonged to Nonny before he died on Christmas day. Before Nonny, it belonged to Buttons.
Oreo slept in my bed--often under the covers. He sat on my lap when we watched TV, but when I left for college over eleven years ago, Oreo couldn't forgive me.
He greeted me with hisses and a twitch of his tail. If I came too close, I walked away with scratches up and down my arms.
I spent the last few days at my parents' house, where Oreo lives. He doesn't leave their bedroom now. He's grouchy and old and crotchedy. He's a curmudgeon. He and the dog don't get along. In my parents' bedroom seeing the new furniture layout, Oreo came out from under the bed and meowed. Like I have so many times before, I held out my hand for him to come sniff.
And then he stretched out in front of me, inviting me to scratch his belly.
After over eleven years, Oreo and I reconciled.
14 November 2007
Perhaps everyone in the free world has seen this but me, but I can’t resist a few comments. Excellent, excellent movie. Superb acting with Jeremy Irons, Robert DeNiro, and Liam Nielson. And the area is beautiful--the dangerous but gorgeous falls reflecting the love and calling of God. (Side note: not too long ago, a missions conference was held there as a tribute to the Jesuit's work.)
The movie picks up when the boundary lines are redrawn putting the Jesuit missions in Portuguese territory. The Portuguese don’t like this. Neither do the Spanish. Jesuit missions prevent slave trade, and their plantations combat with plantations that put money into western pockets. The question is: will the Church support the government or not? The pope sends a cardinal to evaluate the situation. In truth, the cardinal comes to persuade the Jesuits to close their missions.
What I love about this movie: in the midst of cruelty, in the midst of the failures of the Catholic Church to protect and serve and love, the Jesuits shine as an example of people committed to loving the Lord and loving their neighbor. It’s beautiful to see a group of priests, each fighting in different ways, standing firm in their beliefs and to see the transformation in their lives because of it.
If you haven’t seen this movie, put it on your Netflix or Blockbuster account. You need to.
12 November 2007
Posted by Heather at 2:54 PM
Heather is a missionary in Kenya along with her husband, Brian, and their kids. They have been involved with church plants, setting up church training, establishing primary schools and water wells, working with an orphanage, and engaged with AIDS/HIV victims.
That's a busy day.
I asked Heather to share her struggle in her ministry. I've learned one thing about missionaries: they're everyday people with everyday struggles and doubts who have chosen to follow God's calling anyway. Thankfully, Heather is willing to open up about her struggle and doubt.
I'll let her say the rest...
Today was our 7th anniversary in Africa. We arrived here, sight unseen, on November 5th, 2000. I still remember landing and being certain that I would surely die the second I stepped foot on African soil and breathed African air.
I had seen CNN. I knew what Africa was like.
I crammed my little 5 year old Jordan’s anti-malaria pill down his throat as we taxied to the gate. He spit most of it back up which assured me that he, too, would probably be dead before week’s end.
Um, I’m not exaggerating.
When I say that I had EVERY fear in the world about coming here, well - - - I can’t say it any more clearly than that. But even though I didn’t want to come here nor would I choose to stay here should God give me the green light to turn this work over to someone else and head back to the States (um God???), I can definitely say that I have seen a side of God here that I never expected to see. Not because I didn’t complain. Nor whine. I did. I remember one person who used to support us (she was actually our largest personal or church supporter at that time by far since we came here on a shoe-string budget) who wrote to us after we were here a year and said that I should stop whining because I wasn’t making the name “missionary” look good. That person no longer supports us here. But, thankfully, God does. Not that God likes for us to complain - He doesn’t. He says not to do it. But God is patient, forgiving and gracious with us and He takes our doubt and complaints and during those, He teaches us contentment, peace, surrender, discipline and diligence - but mostly He teaches us His faithfulness. He teaches us His forgiveness. I still complain. I admit it. I wish I didn’t. But I do. I still get scared silly. Illness scares me. Danger (thugs, roads, Africa) scares me. The threat of disease scares me. Lots of things scare me. Making a wrong decision scares me. Choosing to partner with a wrong person scares me. But hopefully my fears and complaints are less than when I first came 7 years ago. And they are now coupled with a hopeful assurance that God will walk me through them to teach me something and to make me stronger and more humble.
Thank you, Heather. I pray that God continues to work in and through you.
You can visit their family website or Heather's blog (doesn't she have a great name, folks?).
If you're interested in the ministry she does with the orphanage, go to their website, Adopt-a-Legacy, and find out how you can help provide basic needs for a child and education.
One more thing--in case you haven't noticed, I'm horrible at titles. I can sit down and write prose for hours and hours, but ask me to come up with a couple words in a title and I'm paralyzed. If you have any suggestions for an alternative to "Mentor Monday" I'd love to hear them. Leave them in the comments. Thanks!
10 November 2007
My friend and mentor, Sandra Glahn, has a new book on the shelves, Informed Consent, a novel.
The writings propels you forward, forward, forward in the action, and deep into the character's psyche. Sandi doesn't waste a single word. Each scene spins with meaning.
Nothing is simple. Even when characters make decisions that you know are wrong, you don't question the character. Sandi doesn't give you predictable or easy answers. Flaws pepper the pages, yet these characters aren't pure evil. They are you and me trying out to figure out truth in this messy world.
I had the opportunity to ask Sandi a few questions regarding this book:
This book brings up the question of AIDS, opening up discussions for how we, as Christians, can and should handle it. You've mentioned before that the church in Africa is doing a better job with it than the church in the States. As you know, my heart is to incarnate Christ's love to the hurting and hopefully inspire others to do the same. What are some practical ways that we can incarnate Christ's love to those who have contracted the virus both in our country and in other countries?
. Pray. Really. Fervently.
. Care for widows and orphans. Send money monthly through an aid organization such as Samaritan's Purse earmarked for HIV/AIDS orphans/widows.
. Sponsor someone you can grow to know. Link up with an HIV/AIDS-impacted family via http://www.adoptalegacy.com/ (Heather Jamison's ministry). Sponsoring a family through a ministry such as hers helps put a face on AIDS, and research shows we only give to that through which we feel we can truly make a difference.
. Lend to the poor. You can do so through kiva.org (secular) or ALARM (http://www.alarminc.org/) (Christian), which work through locals to help families start small businesses to help with the economic impact of the pandemic. You get all your money back with the satisfaction that you've invested in what lasts.
. Get informed. Watch the Frontline "The Age of AIDS" show online (http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/aids/) or get it on Netflix. It will provide you with a terrific history of the disease, what we know about it, and even how the faith community has responded (good and bad). You can also check out a related website: World Vision's info on AIDS.
. Volunteer. In every city you can find ways to volunteer. For example, in Dallas we have the AIDS Outreach Center, which at the moment needs a librarian and someone to coordinate events. http://www.aoc.org/volunteers.asp
Mentor(s)? Reg Grant at Dallas Seminary. My many editors in publishing houses.
Historical Church figure(s)? Julian of Norwich; Margaret Fell Fox; Dorothy Sayers
The first secret is to hire a doc as a consultant! Actually, I've coauthored four non-fiction books in the medical field--two on infertility, one on marital intimacy, and one on contraception. So I kind of knew my way around medical journals and sites or I never would have attempted it. I also had a nasty fall two years ago and had two major surgeries as a result. (For a while I had a hospital bed at home.) So I kept notes on sights, sounds, smells, and procedures down to the tinkling of the plebotomist's vials at 4:30 AM!
09 November 2007
Chris and I finally rented this movie the other day.
First, let me say that this movies was excellently done: the writing, the dialogue, the directing, the editing, the cinamatography, the acting, the soundtrack--oh, the soundtrack. I must tell you about the soundtrack: at times ironic, at times in your face, but the best thing about it was when they would stop...and that stop would step up the tension. Great job with the music.
And look at the cast: Jack Nicholson, Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg (who, although always Marky Mark in my mind, is innumerably better at acting than he was at singing--kudos for finding your calling, Mark), Leonardo DiCaprio (who's acting recalled his Basketball Diary and What's Eating Gilbert Grape? days), oh, who else? oh, of course, Matt Damon, who just gets better and better with each movie, I think, and Alec Baldwin, who seemed a bit odd in this role, no that's not right. His role seemed a bit odd. Too naive, I thought.
The movie is about the crime war: mafia v. the cops.
Except no one knows who is who.
Who's good and who's not. Who's fighting violence and who's feeding it.
There's not much room for God in the streets.
This movie is a study on evil, the manifestations of evil, the devastation of evil, and how evil affects humanity in different ways. Under good-boy haircuts linger dark hearts. In the facade of hitman is a man struggling to do good and tormented by what surrounds him.
Redemption? No. There isn't any. Without God, what redemption can there be?
Justice. In a manner, yes. I'll leave you to decide that.
Pain? Mess? Yes. There always is when evil's involved.
For those looking to rent it--beware of language and blood. Lots of both.
07 November 2007
This one's dedicated to Erin. She nailed it.
This is exactly how I feel when writing, both music and novels. There's always something just out of reach.
And yes, lots of banging.
And I agree, Erin, Rowlf is way too cool for this.
By the way, you have to turn your volume up for this one.
Posted by Heather at 1:47 PM
I've always had a weakness for mafia and pirates. Maybe because I'm from Jersey and have a love affair with the ocean? Who knows.
But the truth is, I'm a thief. It's true. It's why I carry this little Nancy Drew notebook around with me. I'm casing the joint. I hear a snippet of conversation here or witness a child antic there, and it's gone. It's mine. I stash it away in my Nancy Drew notebook.
That's what writers do. They steal. I steal personality quirks and funny lines and crazy accidents. You may one day pick up a book of mine and think, "Hey, that looks familiar. Where have I heard that line before? Oh, yeah! I said it!"
It may happen.
My friend, Ang, knows this. I swear she has a shortcut key for the word, "Dibs." We'll be on an IM chat and someone will have this great line and before any of us can type lol or something to that affect, she's typed "Dibs!" Once, I beat her. But then I forgot to write it down, and now I've forgotten my dibbed line.
Writing is like hunting for buried treasure, if you ask me. During the rough draft, you look for the X marks the spot. Some people use a map. Others have a compass like the one in Pirates of the Caribbean that points you to your heart's desire, even if you don't know where that is.
Then you find the spot, and you start digging. Digging for theme and metaphors and character arcs.
Until you hit something hard. You heave it up, lift the lid, and thrust your hands into a chest full of gold coins and diamond necklaces and ruby earrings. The treasure slips through your fingers.
And then you have lots of money!
Okay, so maybe you rarely get lots of money. But you do have a treasure.
So be on the watch! I'm huntin' for buried treasure, matey! (And don't mind stealing supply on the way.)
06 November 2007
*(sounds like one of those commercials that's supposed to inspire you to teach or become a Big Brother--not the 1984 type--doesn't it?)
At some point in my blogging life, I started following the interviews at Novel Journey. The other day (code for maybe yesterday, maybe six months ago), they did an interview of Dean Koontz. I should've posted a link then, but I forgot to, and let's be honest, most of you read Novel Journey. But for those of you who don't, whether you're a reader or writer, you might want to read his interview. I learned more from this than I did the couple of conferences I've been to.
Yesterday was a bad day. I'm not afraid to tell you that. And part of that bad day came about because of my writing.
I didn't like it.
What am I doing? I thought and almost deleted the file (which wouldn't have been nearly as satisfying as burning the manuscript--heck, maybe I'll print a couple of pages for burning purposes).
You see, I've been on my second rough draft, I'm calling it, of this novel. At first, I loved it. Now, I wonder, what am I doing? (If other writers have these moments, feel free to chime in now.)
Which is no surprise. I'm a cryer, and not for the town (although if that position's open...).
But two things have acted as a pick-me-up (outside of Whole Foods).
1. A cool front came in last night. Yesterday was a gorgeous day. For late spring. But it's November. And today I have my crisp fall day with some color on the trees.
2. (And this one's the best): my friend, Erin, that creative cat who I've bragged about before, sent me one of her Coffee Cuffs. Oh, my, this thing is cool. You see, my friend knows that I love bright colors. So she gave me bright colors--yellow and blue and orange with fun patterns like swirlies (I love swirlies) and stars and glitter. She knows that I love fun imaginative stuff, so she gave me a picture of a chicken and a cow in a purple car. She knows that I love red, so she gave me a reversible side with all red and even more swirlies! And, to top it all off, my friend knows that I love fun yarn, so she put a fringe of pink and turquoise and black crazy fun yarn.
I love my friend.
So today, inspired by my creative cat friend and my Coffee Cuff, I went to Starbucks for my favorite drink--pumpkin spice misto.
I love pumpkin spice.
And now I'm feeling good.
Want to see this crazy cool cuff?
To buy your own Coffee Cuff (and you should, you know), go to Erin's Etsy shop--she has a slew of great ones, including Christmas styles. Come to think about it, these would make great stocking stuffers.
*Fifty points if you can tell me the song from which these lyrics come
05 November 2007
Normally, I'd have a Mentor Monday post for you. However, a couple of things fell through. In the absence of today's mentor, I leave you with this:
Quite a bit a go, I told you about my love for Whole Foods. I'm a Whole Foods evangelist, I told you. If you're having a bad day, go to Whole Foods for a pick-me-up.
One more confirmation that I belong at that store: While shopping there, "Walk Like an Egyptian" came on the speakers (reason enough, but wait! there's more!). Of course, you can't hear that song and not dance. So there I was, pushing my cart, dancing down the aisles. I turn the corner, and low and behold, I spy another dancer! I smile, we nod to each other, we fellow dancers. Then a couple turns into our aisle, and they too dance to the song while pushing their cart.
What can I say, folks? It was meant to be.
02 November 2007
- Sweeney Todd music: are you surprised? I'm gearing for the movie release in December and the musical coming to Dallas in January (hint, hint, Chris). The music is complex in its themes and its revelation of relationships through the characters' interaction in song, their harmony and disharmony. The story (and when the movie comes out, I'll do one of my movie and theology posts, which I haven't done in a while) is about a villian, who we all know is the hero of his own story. But this villian, a barber who goes on a murderous rampage, generates compassion when you find out his story, and you wonder, is he really the villian or the hero (or anti-hero)? And it's an excellent commentary on life and the detachment that's been going on since the Industrial Revolution (and dare I say Internet Revolution?). And if you don't laugh at "Try a Little Priest," then there's something wrong with you. Okay, enough about that one.
- Pushing Daisies, the TV show. Have you seen this one? It's different from anything I've seen. I love the characters, the humor, and the color. I mean literally the color. Bright, vivid, and hopeful, as are the characters, come to think about it. Excellent writing.
- The Memory Keeper's Daughter, my current read.
- Lush writing. After The Road, which was minimalistic, the words and sentences feel like a feast on which to gorge myself. I love words. Okay, so no laughs here. But good story thus far. Good complicated characters. I love Caroline. And Al. I love Al.
- My Mardi Gras yarn. That's not the technical name, but it's what I'm calling it because of the colors and the flashy gold weaved throughout. It's rich in texture with several strands weaved throughout--furry, glittery, and colorful. It inspired to make my own yarn. No, not by shearing sheep or picking cotton, but by buying different supplies--thin cotton thread which I'll knot like those 80s friendship bracelets with beads, furry "Elf Eyelash" yarn, and a strand of thin, gold, ribbon. Knotting the cotton and tying in the beads will take a long time since I have to do this with very, very long strands. I won't get started for a month or so because of some other Christmas knitting projects I need to do first. A secret dream--that I'll be able to someday sell these crazy, off-beat, gypsy scarves and wraps. I have a lot to learn. After I learn more about knitting, I'd like to take on embroidery. Hobby Lobby has these great embroidery patterns: Moroccan, modern, Indian. Love them. Someday, I'll put them on my jeans and then I'll start putting them on my crazy scarves and wraps. But that's a long time from now.
- "The Velveteen Rabbit": how egotistical is it to say that your own writing inspires you and makes you laugh? This is a short story I wrote and am revising to submit to journals (it's a quirky piece written in 1st person--any journal suggestions?), and I can't help but like it. I think, personally, it's one of my best short stories, not that I've written many of them, but this one does something unusual, and I let the stream of consciousness flow. Yes, yes, I crack myself up.
Oh, and because of this story (not my story but the children's book, which, if you ask me, is traumatic), I've never been able to get rid of any stuffed animals, and trust me, there have been lots. Finally, I gave away a garbage bag or two to charity hoping another child could love them. But Big Foot, who's been a close friend since before I was born, he stays with me.
I'll leave you with those five. What's inspiring you these days?
01 November 2007
Remember that diatribe I wrote last Friday? Well, the Napoleon Dynamite gods decided to exact their revenge.
After a lovely weekend of camping, where the only chirping was that of birds rather than phones, where blinking was at the awe and majesty of creation and the Creator God, not computer screens. It was beautiful.
Then we came home.
And I needed my Internet.
But I had no Internet. Nor did we have TV.
Verizon equipment had gone kaput.
Did I rejoice and embrace this as an extended vacation, as an opportunity to write senza interruption? Oh, no. Figuring out the problem was a faulty router, not the lines coming into the house, I rerouted and rewired and risked electrocution (so that last one may be a bit of an exaggeration) to continue streaming cable until a new router box could be sent. I had to work in the living room, the room with the working hard line of Internet.
We now have a new router. And after some fighting, arguing, reasoning, and finally pleading, it began to work. I'm back in my office, which I cleaned and fancied up with pictures, getting my Internet wireless.
"Yes, I love technology."
It made me consider: would I, could I give it up? To live a life of handwritten first drafts and not being able to speak to my best friend a thousand miles away and to spend my mornings gardening instead of blogging?
To be honest, I just don't know.
I think I do love technology. As long as it's not in my way.