Things the fjord makes me think of

I am perfectly aware that it have been over two months since I have posted anything. And I also am aware that my last entry involved me saying that I may write more "blogger" type entries that are impulsive and less drafted than what I've posted previously. Well, I don't think that's happening yet. For the past two months, I have been concerned with finishing my first year of teaching, moving, getting married, going to Norway and then coming back and going to Chicago. It has been a whirlwind. Forgive me that I have not put anything out onto the blogosphere.

Any rate, what I have included below is something that I wrote in my travel journal on 19 June. We were staying in a cabin about two miles from Flåm, Norway. It sat right next to the fjord and, this particular day, I sat out under the eaves while it was drizzling and wrote the following list, the name for which is also the title of this blog entry.

• The moment that a Tolkienian Elf first sees the ocean rising from the mist or shining in the evening sun
• Deep waters, turquoise blue and frigid
• The tide creeping up or slipping away when you're not looking
• It's hiding secrets, out there in the shipping lanes
• When it rains, the droplets reveal which water is swelling and which is being pulled by the current
• The low-hanging, misty clouds that lurk on the mountains when the conditions are right
• How the size of the water and the mountains make the passing cruise ships look like toys
• When you live on a fjord, you could be a farmer while your next door neighbor is a fisherman
• You go out to explore and find yourself so small but so intimate with the place, all at once
• You can look across the valley and see there is still snow on top of the opposite mountain, while its feet go right down into the dark water (though my reaction is still it's not that big; I could climb it)
• How people figured out such good ways to make houses here, but the tradition is so deep and so authentic. What's more is it was all developed before machines were around to help

Rationale

So I think this may be my first proper "blog post."

If anyone cares to start going through the other posts that I've made, you'll see that the chronology of when they went online has absolutely nothing to do with when I actually wrote the content. Additionally, I understand that you're really not supposed to draft a blog post; that a true blogger just kinda writes everything that's on their mind that day and publishes it on the blogosphere. Well, that's what I'm doing with this one. Almost.

What I really want to do with this post is explain why I've been publishing these written works that I've largely kept on my hard drive for so long.

I've always wanted to show them off... but I've been afraid that they wouldn't be received well or that I wouldn't show them off at good times, either of which would subject me to have my work rejected or simply passed over.

But now, through the miracle of modern telecommunication, I can put my work out there, for anyone to see at any time, in any place anywhere around the world! Which is completely terrifying... and maybe a little compromising... but I am intentionally putting it out there and I will also deliberately start telling people that it is there. Because I really do want this stuff to be read, but I don't know how to say that in the manner that we speak everyday. I want to use these observations and reflections that I've had as a kind of preaching, but I have not yet found a good way to do that.

I want to preach, but I don't know how to do that when I know so well what the restrictions are at church or at school... and I might go start preaching on the street corner, except that I know what the reactions are to that sort of thing.

So I guess I'm turning to the blogosphere as a place where it's free to publish and anyone can read it. I'll call this practice and keep looking for a place where I can share what I've written in person.

Of Cattails and Mires

I stand here

Surrounded by hard wood

It is probably here to make us focus

For the idea presented here is lofty

I read off a sheet

Given to me as I entered

I give into the monotony

This monotony bred of ages

Worshiping in cold, stony cathedrals

I still lose focus

My mind is wandering in mine own celestial planes

I romp around and go whither I will

I come to a stream and decide to drink

But I stop while stooping

For there is a figure standing among the lilies

A figure garbed with white raiment

This person smiles, head shaking at me

And sends me on my way,

Back the way I’d come

My mind returns

To find my body seated in the car

I’m driving across the bridge downtown

Black water is lit by a tugboat light

I don’t know where I’m going

But I find him just the same

A man, a bum living in a cardboard box

Behind the fish stall on the pier

I get out, walk to him

Drawn by some otherworldly force

Hey old man

Hello, he says

I think we’re supposed to talk

Though I’m not sure why

Yes, he says, I suppose we are

Do you need anything from me old man

No but you do, his words trickle out, you need help

See boy, you are thirsty

And the river is the only drink

Wayward enough to quench that thirst

But how to drink a river old man

With this, a shell of a trinket he hands me

Now move, he points upstream

And I begin to drive

I drive along the darkened streets

Until they are dark no more

I drive until the morning hum blinds my eyes

The car pulls to the side of the road

Free of my control

I move out and find a marsh

My feet move to the edge and in

I flail at the cattails

And my ankles are cradled by mud

I come out at the river

In a burst of light and perplextion

Water past my knees

The figure is there again

Smiling my grandfather’s smile

Eyes twinkling like my first love

Hands calloused and caring like dad’s

He pulls me in and takes the shell

Fingers brushing my palm

Water pours from the shell

It covers my head and face

Running down my neck and throat

It covers me inside and out

As I choke and gasp

A thumb presses at my forehead

Makes a sign and withdraws

I smell something

That pulls memories out.

Old and long forgotten

It penetrates my being

I open my eyes and see the white robes

And through them a whole world

Filled with good and bad

People lost and people found

Past, Present, Future

They mingle and murder

Love and laugh

Through my crystal mire

I can see I must be with them

Love them and guide them

Hold them and console them

I’ll to them now

For the river is long and wide

And it beckons me on

"Of Cattails and Mires" is a piece that I'm particularly proud of. I distinctly remember writing it, too. Quite frankly, I was pissed off one night when I had to be at a church service with my Confirmation class and I started writing things that came into my head on the back of the bulletin. It was a small demonstration of resistance but I kept adding onto it when I got home. 

This one took me a while to finish. I remember that because I started writing it when I was in Confirmation in Minnesota and I didn't finish it until later that summer (2004) when my family was settled in South Dakota. I also remember showing it to my mother late at night when I was done with it. She was so moved by it and, while I felt proud of being able to have that effect, I really didn't know what I should have been feeling about being able to do that.

At any rate, reading it now, I realize how long it has been since I've started trying to articulate what I believe about Baptism and salvation and Christianity. I think my methods have changed some, but I think I'm still going along in a similar trajectory, don't you?

My report card

My best guess on this piece is that I wrote it sometime in early 2005. I can't remember what was happening when I wrote it, but I remember writing it. I'm not holding it up as a paragon of poetic work, but I am offering it as a gesture of vulnerability. Anyone can obviously see the emotion in it and I'm hoping that most people can sympathize, seeing something in their past that connects to what this piece is trying to articulate.

I work so hard

to be called “holy”

but put to sermons’ standards,

I don’t really add up

I feel bad

I feel insufficient

I wish I could see

God’s report card for me

do I get an ‘A’

in Piety?

and am I earning enough

extra credit in Stewardship?

I wonder if I am creative enough

in Bible Study views

oh, how I wish I could see God’s comments

in that box at the bottom of the page

so that I can truly see

what percentile I match

my trouble lies

in where to find this card

where do I look

in God’s wide creation?

do I look to the stars

or down at my hands?

do I look high and low

or wait for the mail?

perhaps the best I can do

is buy me a copy of the Good Book

open it up

and find where I fit

cause doesn’t it say

God loves me so?

doesn’t it say

that I just need believe?

after all this

God’s message, I think

is not directed toward my doubting

but more to my faithing

the Lord leads me blindly

but of course the Creator knows

which heading to follow

to keep from sticking to the muck

by that celestial sea

the Lord is my shepherd

and if God leads me by still waters

then I’d best go swimming