Male and female, created He them. The male is given all the apparatus to know a woman…and as he exhibits his knowledge trust is presumed upon her. If she grows cold is it for lack of covering? Or has she chosen winter’s indifferent arms rather than the deep warming thatwould undo and possiblyabandon?
Latest from Mining with a Feather
God’s Currency is Relationships
The Image of A Pearl
I woke up this morning with the image of a pearl in my mind: a tiny sphere brought into being by an irritating grain of sand within the house of a muscle… a space where competition between a foreign and a resident thought spar to arrive at something both beautiful and kind. This is an image of instruction for me….
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Regrets
As a young woman you seemed a red flame in a kind white field.Your eyes orbed, magnetic, Gathered me in your wind –blowing blowing blowing through the cracks of me. I, a reed, a chime, a swinging bell. Saved from among tiny begging mouths, I licked the spoon of you believing in the more the more the more. Of course,…
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Giving Up
I’ve had an ongoing internal conversation about Lent prompted by a World Vision Video. I wonder what it means to sacrifice. It seems like the word sacrifice implies a painful relinquishment. In Biblical times sacrifice required the death and burning of a spotless animal, which seems barbaric at best. If the “thing” had lived it would have been a source…
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What C.S. Lewis Said
“She’s the sort of woman who lives for others – you can tell the others by their hunted expression.” ― C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
Prayer of an Old Chimney
Oh ignored Carpenter, Over-looked Yahweh, Thank you for givingme what my smoke-filled eyes mistook for loss. For sustaining my conflagrating arrogance until every defining board, every weight-bearing rafter,every imperiled shingle I false-claimed as trophy for gain,smoldered to foddering ash. By the power of your soft-petaled will you forbore my ill-conceived fireand suffered the flames of all my self-victimizing stories. At…
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Daybreak….
there is nothing so besotting as the slow release of daybreak — bright patina seeping from the sun swollen armsspilling out to a sleeping world,waking, informing. Consider Jacob, a mere mortal –wrestling all nightwith God. And for what strange purpose? Wrestling holds apathy at bay.Suffers the questions.Suffers the answers.Names our brokenness andall our small disasters,ennobles our slow perpetual limping.
What Eyes are For
In order to see the speck in your eye, I align it with the self-pixelated grain of the beam in my own. Unless I am exceedingly familiar with the warp and woof of the beam’s bark in my eye, I have no frame of reference. And because the beam in my eye obscures my vision, I misjudge the magnitude of…
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Today’s challenge
Today I suggest you might consider which idealogical Group you would most like to be a heretic among and image the kind of bouquet you might bring to the gathering. Though an assortment of flowers is a possibility and not a bad one, there are other bouquets as well. What kind of bouquet would compell those at odds with your…
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A Second Chance
Wrote about her once. Quick words, scared onto the page. left her on the edge of a river. skirts hiked up past her knees, Didn’t say how far. Didn’t say: past her thighs, past her waist, up to her shoulders. Exposing breast, belly, those things. Mentioned the swirl of her skirt around her shoulders, tightening at the neck. Blinding her….
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Relying on Others
The setting sun flanked by conical clouds looks like melting candy corn and for a moment looks like becomes is. Of course, it’s not candy corn. She knows this but does she know this? She’s told that the sun is an enormous fire. She believes it is an enormous fire because it comes out with the heat of the day….
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