August 2003 Archives

Today there’s only silence from the West:
No word from the curséd town.
And we can’t believe that we believed this best.

We’ve heard that every ocean wave must crest
And with a heavy groan come crashing down,
But today there’s only silence from the West.

They said, “Cross the Mississippi-you’ll be blessed!
The soil is of national renown!”
Now we can’t believe that we believed this best.

Success! It was the creed that we confessed.
Well, water is a fine thing, too, until you drown.
And today there’s only silence from the West,

Yes, today we are poor and sore distressed.
As pasture-green turns into desert-brown,
We can’t believe that we believed this best.

One day those who labor will find rest
And exchange their dusty sorrows for a crown-
But today there’s only silence from the West,
And we can’t believe that we believed this best.

4.19.01

"Okies", I understand, were migrants from Oklahoma to California during the dust bowl days in the 1930s. Basically, midwestern farmers overworked the land -- removed too much of the natural grass cover -- which was fine as long as they had good rain. They had lots of rain for about 10 years or so, and then the drought hit. There was nothing to hold the dry soil down, and the wind literally blew it away. Which gave rise to a lot of apocalyptic feelings on the part of the poor farmers. Many of them left their valleys of sorrow for the "promised land" of California -- hence John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath , a movie by the same title, and Woody Guthrie's song about Tom Joad, and Bruce Springsteen's song about Woody Guthrie's song about the movie about John Steinbeck's book. Think I got all that right.

For obvious reasons, Californians were not thrilled about an influx of impoverished job seekers. So they called 'em "okies", I think in a similar spirit to today's "honkey" or "cracker".

Anyway, I have a long-held fascination with the dust bowl period and the plight of midwestern farmers in general. So I wrote some poems about it. I'm going to post some of them here, in a bit.

Also, the Library of Congress has a great collection called Voices of the Dust Bowl.

We are living with Grandma Clarkson now in East Ridge. She has lived there for more than 40 years – before I-24 was there. She used to be out in the country, but now she is surrounded by houses and speeding autos. She still has one of the biggest lots in the neighborhood, though, and refuses to sell the extra property. Back in the day, it made a great baseball diamond, flexi course, etc. It could also make a great parking lot for the dentist she shares it with.

At Grandma’s, we eat a lot more meat, ice cream, and cole slaw. Part of her duty this month is to fatten us up before we go down south, where refrigeration (and therefore meat) will probably be scarce. We come home from work at 6 or 7 and she’s prepared this big meal for us, and then she insists on cleaning up afterwards.

After dinner we usually watch the news, or unfamiliar sitcoms, or Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!. Kel and I are not used to watching TV. It is a strange experience. I think pharmaceutical companies must have tripled their advertising budgets in the last few years. Whatever problem you have (or didn’t know you had), there is an expensive prescription drug for it. The other day we even saw one for Zoloft that addressed “social anxiety” as a chemical imbalance.

Aaugh! Why are rental cars so dang expensive now? I can't find anyplace that charges less than $25/day for drivers under age 25.

Anyone have any suggestions? We're going all over New England, at least that was the plan...

There's an interesting discussion started by lang over at Maleficient Distraction, about "attainable intimacy levels" in marriage and same-sex friendships.

We've been reading this book called Compassion by Nouwen, McNeill, and Morrison, which is a great read for anyone thinking about mercy ministry, or the church's responsibility to the poor, etc.

In one of the last chapters, after quoting Matthew 25:31-46 (the sheep and the goats), the authors have this to say:

"Action with and for those who suffer is the concrete expression of the compassionate life and the final criterion of being a Christian. Such acts do not stand beside the moments of prayer and worship but are themselves such moments. Why? Because Jesus Christ, who did not cling to his divinity, but became as we are, can be found where there are hungry, thirst, alienated,
naked, sick, and imprisoned people. Precisely when we live in an ongoing conversation with Christ and allow his Spirit to guide our lives, we will recognize him in the poor, the oppressed, and the downtrodden, and will hear his cry and respond to it wherever he reveals himself. Thus, action and prayer are two aspects of the same discipline of patience..."

... Which ties right in with a lot of what Kelly and I seem to be learning and talking about these days. I have taught myself to calculate my way to heaven -- constantly analyzing what must be the best way to live. Is it ok to live in the suburbs? to shop at Wal-mart? to work for a profitable business? Isn't it better to hang clothes on the line? eat stone-ground organically-grown whole wheat bread? evangelize on street corners? Would I be more acceptable if I talked to more homeless people? went to another country?

These sorts of analyses leave me either a) proud or b) despairing.

But the truth is that the life I want is a product of the Spirit, something he gives. And I don't think I've learned how to listen to him. How come we don't talk about this more? I think we are afraid of being "pious" or "mystical" or even "gnostic."

Anyhow, one of our prayers over the next few days/weeks/months will be that the Lord will teach us to be sensitive to the Spirit, a la Galatians 5:25: "If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit."

[our letter to friends about upcoming trip]

July 30, 2003
Dear Friends and Family,

As most of you know, Tom and I (Kelly) are planning on going to Honduras this fall with Joe and Rachel Staven, another young couple from Chattanooga. We are excited to inform you that it is finally official: we have bought our tickets and are planning on leaving the country Friday, September 26th.

Throughout the past six months, many of you have shared in our excitement through long conversations and lengthy prayers. Without a doubt, the most commonly asked question has been: "What exactly will you be doing while you're in Honduras?" We write to help flesh out the answer to this question, to share our plans with you, and to let all of you who have expressed a desire to support us through prayer or money have a better idea of our needs.

This blog is meant to be a way to help folks keep up with Kelly and I while we're in Honduras (September 26 - July). If all goes according to plan, we'll be posting stories, thoughts, pictures, and so on throughout the duration of our stay. We'll also be sending emails to those who don't want to deal with a blog.

Also, I've always loved personal websites. In spite of all my neo-luddite tendencies, I find the idea irresistable. I am an exhibitionist, or something.

But we really hope that this becomes a helpful, community-constructive place as well.

Listo?

My bride brings me pineapple --
not canned, but fresh
harvested delicious
liquid yellow flesh.

My lovely hunter-gatherer –
innocent and wise –
Braves the many-aisled market
with two strong arms and two keen eyes.
Braves the bonus card bonanza
the Freon, the fluorescence,
the cynical cashiers,
and arrives –

Undaunted and triumphant,
a merchant ship with golden sails
Carrying her blue-bagged bounty
from faraway locales.

Our hidden yellow treasure,
our Ananas comosus,
awaits the knifeblade revelation
of amazing future grace.
And we will know the pleasure
of a longer, deeper taste.

My bride brings me pineapple --
not canned, but fresh
harvested delicious
liquid yellow flesh.

(upon receipt of Winn-Dixie pineapple in June)