Later

After the first of the year, when my schedule evens out, I shall do far better at updating this blog. You all know how hard erratic schedules are on a writer.

 They’re the worst.

Look for more and better posts soon!

Merry Christmas!

God bless us, every one!

The End of the World, Pt 2

“Ducks.”

“Did I stutter? Yes, ducks.”

“Why in the world, when you could tell me about any of the manifold wonders found at world’s end, would you tell me about ducks?”

“Because ducks need to be thought of too, and they depend on traveler’s bread for sustanance. Why does it suprise you so?”

The End of the World

“How do you get to the end of the world?”

“Long days of hard walking.”

“What about the sea?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you have to cross the sea to get to the end of the world?”

“It depends on where you start from.”

“Where should I start from?”

“Wherever you are right now.”

“I’m laying on my bed looking out the window. That seems a silly place to start such a long journey.”

I’m back in the saddle again

“I’m riding the range once more
totin’ my old 44
Where the lonely cattle feed
On the [something] gypsum weed
I’m back in the saddle again”

!

 Greetings from the Emerald Isle. My life is back to drivin’, workin’, lovin’ Jesus and spending as much time as possible on art and writing.

To that end, I would like to jump on my sister’s Flash Fiction kick and ask you all to recomend topics for tales. I shall write one short story per day for a week if I get at least ten different suggestion. So invite your friends, spread the word, get people to suggest things!

And I, for my part, will entertain the stuffin’ out of you! (Or at least, do my best!)

Is back safely

Luggage and all!

 I’m pretty worn out, and 24 hours of airports is no joke, but I am ecstatic to be home for Christmas. I cannot quite communicate what a wonderful culture shock it is to come from wattle trees and surf boards to rain and twinkle lights.

Hooray!

If you’ll excuse me, I have a mound of laundry that would make Everest look like a mole-hill. Toodles for now but more to come soon.

I’m coming home baby…

“I’m coming home now real soon
doo doo doo
I’m coming home now right away
Doo doo DO”

It’s a Michael Buble song. Don’t worry about it too much.

It’s my last morning in Tauranga and I woke up at 6:30 to say goodbye to my dear friend Nick Pierson Badger. He’s a champion that one. I went back to sleep for a while and had gnarly dreams. But the sun is shining through some storm clouds, my bags are mostly packed and we have a full day in which to enjoy NZ.

I tweaked out fully last night and spent a couple of hours staring at people, making nonsensical comments and hiding behind my hair. I also ran around giving away my food to anyone who would stand still long enough to eat something.

Now before me is a walk, a visit to town and then a plane ride.

“I’m leavin’ on a jet plane
Don’t know when I’ll be back again
and babe, I hate to goooooooo”

Though I’m fairly light-hearted about the whole thing (if you couldn’t already tell from the songs…)

On another note, staring at my two enormous bags full of stuff… I really need to simplify my life.

 Anyway I love you very much and I look forward to seeing some of you on my return. (And the rest of you eventually.)

Coming Home

In about 56 hours I shall be home in Seattle once more.

Goodbye’s stink.

Morte

There is a graveyard near here;

            a raw wound in the flesh of my soul

only lately covered over

            by hands more loving than mine.

Those hands which, even now,

            press down the earth with care

have been carefully preparing me

            and lovingly protecting me.

When the death-blow came

            they were the only hands

in which I could lay the corpse

            of a broken thing once lovely.

He took from me that which was broken

            and wept many tears over it.

With love in his eyes, and great care

            He buried it where you see.

When the pain made me cry out

            His were the hands

that stroked my tear-stained face.

            I stand now in dew-wet grass

my eyes filled with a death which,

            though long foreseen,

is not mourned less for the knowing.

            For a moment I imagine that I am alone

with ghosts and spirits and rain.

            My hands are empty. I have no token;

I am desolated in this place.

            But then I see His hands

reach down to lay something

            on the place where I have died.

Roses of many shades, perfectly formed

            and sweet with fragrance

Perfume the air over this grave.

            The Comforter, once again,

offering me the great exchange;

            Life for death, the oil of gladness

in the place of mourning, roses for dry bones,

            Himself for lesser lovers.

To die so all my days

            Is naught but that for which I seek.

I rejoice in the graveyard of my soul.

From the Ends of the Earth

From the ends of the earth
From the deep places, from the high
We’re crying out, we’re calling
Saying “we miss you, please return”

We miss you! The whole earth groans
We miss you! Each tortured soul
bent and beaten, sick and lame
weak and worried, wild but tamed
by one glance of Your eyes;
One word from your heart.

We cannot see you but live by faith
Knowing that we are strangers
Trespassers in a world not our own.
A land ruled by hate, given over to lusts.
They beat us back and drag us down,
They fight against You, in vain!

Death is no enemy, time no foe
For nothing can stand against You
and we are children, the Bride
For whom You sent Your Own to bleed and die
And we miss that beauty,
That selfless Love
So send Him again! Send Him soon!

Let Him trample kings under His glorious feet
Death and judgement, glory and beauty
Fiery eyes and pealing voice
Jehovah Lord of Hosts
My Lord my Husband

And I miss You.
Won’t You come again?!