Catching up on a little Hepker

So, I know it's been a little while (OK, a LONG time) since you've seen anything from me on here. Blogging is a picture of life, for me -- I start off with such great intentions (to blog 3x a week, to use this to inspire my writing, to develop some discipline SOMEWHERE), and then a little thing called Life comes along, and I allow it to get in the way. Pretty soon, it's been 3 months since I've even looked at this page, let alone posted anything, and y'all have nearly given up on checking.

Making perfectionistic promises always gets in my way, so this is my declaration that I won't make any more declarations -- to myself, to the world, to anyone (except maybe God). :) I'll simply do my best to keep you all in the loop of my mind, and sometimes my heart.

For today, here's where both of those are residing:

Thinking a lot about how God calls us to get out of the way so that He can fill us with Himself. With His spirit. With the essence of something so much deeper and bigger than anything I'm capable of knowing or understanding. Three poems seem to best describe what's fermenting in my mind on this topic. (I know, big surprise.) The first is by Sir Thomas Browne, a 16th century theologian who didn't write much poetry, but who seems to have nailed it with this one. The second is my own response to that poem, and the third is by Madeleine L'Engle, also in response to Sir Thomas.

I'm not sure where God may take me on this subject. I just know it's important to me to pay attention to it.

Here's the poems:

#1
If thou could'st empty all thyself of self
like to a shell dishabited
then might He find thee
on some ocean shelf and say
"this is not dead"
and fill thee with Himself instead

But thou art all replete with very thou
and hast such shrewd activity
that when He comes He says
"this is enough
unto itself -- 'twere better let it be
it is so small and full
there is no room for Me.

#2
If I could keep blank and clean
the parchment of myself
in anticipation of thee
Then might You find me on some lonely shelf
and inscribe me with your love (and make me free)

Then, purely written,
could I unroll before men
that they might view Your love
without the blotted inky stain of my sin,
and so sighting, be blank'd themselves
ready for inscription

#3
If thou couldst empty self of selfishness
And then with love reach out in wide embrace
Then might God come this purer self to bless;
So might thou feel the wisdom of His Grace,
And see, thereby, the radiance of His face.

But selfishness turns inwards, miry, black,
Refuses stars, sees only clouded night,
Too full, too dark, cannot confess a lack,
Turns from God's face, blest, holy, bright,
Is blinded by the presence of the Light.

March of the Stroller Brigade!

If you live anywhere in the vicinity of Illinois, you've heard by now about our (by-now-annual) budget crisis. And once again, the first thing on the chopping block is social services.

I don't know whether the threatened cuts are that much more dramatic than usual, or if I just know more folks who are impacted by them, but this year I decided to get involved. Today I participated in a Stroller March ( :) ) to protest the probable cuts to childcare, senior care, education, and so much else. It was eye-opening as well as moving to see people fighting for justice, and to be a small part of it.

Here's the link to the video -- you can't see anything of me, much, except one shot of the back of my head around :13, but you can sure get an idea of what it was like and why we were there.

http://cbs2chicago.com/video/?id=60250%40wbbm.dayport.com

Enjoy. And pray for the whole process. We need it.

Finally.

So, the last time I posted, I promised to share some of my own writings with you. And then... well...life got in the way. A cold, a massive schedule transition, and a bit of trepidation at exposing my creative side again after 10 years all massed together to provide a month of delay. However, after reading some of my work at an open mic last night and surviving, I decided it was time to make good on that promise.

These are the poems I read last night. All written at least 10 years ago. This first one was a class assignment, in which we were asked to write a sonnet. In my free-verse, totally unstructured, hippie-type mind, this was the worst thing you could have asked me to do. So I wrote a sonnet about how much I hated sonnets. (I've since learned to love them.)

The Long Awaited and Much Despised Sonnet
Structure art a ponderous thing
it stilteth writing greatly
for rules, my pencil will not sing
they're stiff, and much too stately.

The freeing absence of such structure
allows my words to echo my thoughts.
But forced, my pencil becomes bitter,
for it cannot find what long it sought.

Methinks that others also share
a yearning for this freedom.
None of us for structure care.
Those who do? We bleed 'em!

Yet dons and deans I have to sate,
So for the present I'll cease to prate.

These next two poems are great examples of the classic college angst I felt when it came to love and relationships. One, as you'll quickly recognize, was written when things were good. The other, when I had decided that I had no room in my life for the male gender. Thankfully, after 13 years, my perspective has balanced out a little. But I still like some of the imagery in both of them.

Somewhere
Somewhere between a memory and a dream
I slipped on a kiss and fell in love with you
Fell down and down and down
out of myself
into you and your soul stream

Remembering a dream

stuck in a memory

I'm standing in a hall of mirrors
reflecting only you

and I don't care that I've lost myself
I don't think I want to find me

Somewhere II
Somewhere between ever present memory
and nonexistent now
we had it.

I can't define it
I don't know how long it lasted

But for that one eternal microsecond
Your thoughts grasped mine
with the power of a newborn's fist
around my finger.

We entered together
the terrifying world
inside each other

Unaware, unforgivably naive
uninformed
that to venture there
is to toy with death

oh, we pled innocence
even to each other
blithely believing
desperately ignoring

plugging our intellectual ears
to the subcutaneous screaming

the supersonic death knell
sounding somewhere
beneath our already
crumbling
friendship (?)

Someone Who Inspires Me

So, it seems that poetry comes across my thoughts pretty consistently -- whether it's mine, or someone else's. Somehow poetry just fits the way my mind experiences the world.

When I did my senior paper in college, one of the professors who graded it paid me the great compliment of telling me my poetry reminds her of Denise Levertov's. Consequently, I went on to obsessively read nearly everything she's written. :) Here's one of hers that always makes me think. I enjoy her imagery and the way she shows you what she sees and feels, rather than telling you.

Enjoy. (And yes, eventually I'll get up the courage to show you some things I've been writing.)

Losing Track
by Denise Levertov
Long after you have swung back away from me I think you are still with me: you come in close to the shore on the tide and nudge me awake the way a boat adrift nudges the pier: am I a pier half-in half-out of the water? and in the pleasure of that communion I lose track, the moon I watch goes down, the tide swings you away before I know I'm alone again long since, mud sucking at gray and black timbers of me, a light growth of green dreams drying.

"Blind" Worship

Our pastor, Peter Hong, preached quite the challenging sermon on Sunday about being "scattered" -- ie allowing God to change our hearts so that we desire to be in the place where we're able to do the most good, vs. feeling the most comfortable or happy. At the end, the worship team led a song called "The Stand", in which the chorus goes like this:

so I'll stand, with arms high
and heart abandoned
in awe of the One
who gave it all

I'll stand, my soul Lord
to you surrendered
all I am
is Yours

And I found myself, even as I was caught up in the power of the moment, unable to sing the chorus. Because I'm just not certain that it's true, or that I'm ready to say this to God. It's a big deal to tell the person who I'm attempting to make the Lord of my life that He can do what He likes with my life, and that I'm abandoned to Him. Is that really true?

Now, don't get me wrong. I think there are people in my church community for whom this is true. I think the Holy Spirit was present and working in that place on that day. I think He worked in my heart, for sure. But I think He was working to help me see that it's not enough for me to raise my hands and feel the surge of powerful emotion in church on Sunday. If I'm going to sing it, I for sure better be ready to LIVE it. And I don't even know what that looks like for me yet, let alone whether I'm willing to say it to God and mean it. It gave me pause, and I hope that we as lovers of Christ are approaching our worship each week in a thoughtful way. Because otherwise, aren't we perpetuating that wonderfully convenient frustration that the secular world often seems to hold about us?

Just a thought. Any one else?

Deep But Dazzling Darkness

Perhaps I was born in the wrong century. Maybe there's just a little piece of me that stuck around from my ancestors of the 17th century. Either way, I love the 17th century poets, Henry Vaughan being one of my favorites. The last stanza of his poem, "The Night", strikes a chord with me. As any of my college English profs will tell you, I hate analyzing poetry. I prefer to just read and allow it to impact me in whatever personal ways it will. So I'll let you have the same experience. Enjoy...

THE NIGHT.

JOHN, CAP. 3. VER. 2.

by Henry Vaughan


THROUGH that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine,
And face the moon :
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.

Most blest believer he !
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see
When Thou didst rise !
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the Sun !

O who will tell me, where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour ?
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower ;
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fulness of the Deity ?

No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carv'd stone,
But His own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone ;
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.

Dear Night ! this world's defeat ;
The stop to busy fools ; cares check and curb ;
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb !
Christ's* progress, and His prayer-time ;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime.

God's silent, searching flight ;
When my Lord's head is fill'd with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ;
His still, soft call ;
His knocking-time ; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.

Were all my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent ;
Then I in Heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.

But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To ev'ry mire ;
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.

There is in God—some say—
A deep, but dazzling darkness ; as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
O for that Night ! where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim !

The First Attempt

So, it's my first 'real' attempt (outside of things like Xanga and Facebook) to join the world of bloggers everywhere. I have no idea how often I'll manage to do this -- a thought a day, perhaps? Maybe 3x per week? I'd love to use this as a way to jumpstart my ideas for novels, stories, etc., as well as (perhaps egoistically) share my perspective on life.

I'm at the end of 4 days off of work, headed back tomorrow. And I'm thinking about the idea of excellence. How can I, in whatever situation I happen to be in, be the best person I can be? The most reliable, knowledgeable, passionate, consistent, person I'm capable of being? Someone I look up to challenged me on this today. Initially my mind rebelled at this idea, because I have learned to believe that as a Christian I should not put myself forward. But as I processed it I realized that this is how I glorify God in a workplace where it is beyond verboten to discuss religion. Heck, this is how I glorify God no matter where I am. And it's also how I grow, and prepare myself for whatever next opportunity God has for me.

How effectively do we as Christians do this? Particularly in a culture where work is our identity, siestas or breaks are generally unheard of, and most people live fairly unbalanced lives. On the other hand, despite the time and priority we place on work, how effective and reliable are we, generally? I read a quote from a well-known author and talk-show host (whose name I of course can't remember now) that said most Americans only work about 50-60% of their actual day. The rest is spent on the phone, checking personal email, balancing their checkbooks, paying bills, talking to coworkers, taking a few minutes extra at a lunch break, etc.

Thoughts, anyone?