Jul 2007
Anne Lamott is my new anti-hero
Thu Jul 05, 2007 Filed in: Recycled
thoughts
Quotes from a sermon I listened to today called
"things I don't need in a pastor":
"I think laughter is really the carbonated form of Holy Spirit."
"Crying is the way home...it's good to never get over it."
"...it makes you a little lighthouse, when you've gotten down to what's true and what's real. And lighthouses don't go running around the islands looking for boats to save...they are on the islands of wreckage and disaster and they give off a little bit of light, so that people might be saved."
"I think laughter is really the carbonated form of Holy Spirit."
"Crying is the way home...it's good to never get over it."
"...it makes you a little lighthouse, when you've gotten down to what's true and what's real. And lighthouses don't go running around the islands looking for boats to save...they are on the islands of wreckage and disaster and they give off a little bit of light, so that people might be saved."
|
vision and none
Mon Jul 02, 2007 Filed in: Poetry
I have no vision for light-bleeding stars
or moons that draw oceans like bedsheets over the shore.
I wish one grain of sand
to become two, then two to one;
I do not the know the coasts,
fleeing from sunrise to darkness
printed by thousands of crashing years.
what thrall keeps men to themselves--
my insulation!
(the devil wants my petty rhythms
and flatters me warmly;
he gives me my own key.)
the divine gift
ha!
I am not so bold to take it
or to know why.
thrust into me,
He makes homes
of the dark corners,
and my hell-spoiled life
speaks of great black expanses crossed.
or moons that draw oceans like bedsheets over the shore.
I wish one grain of sand
to become two, then two to one;
I do not the know the coasts,
fleeing from sunrise to darkness
printed by thousands of crashing years.
what thrall keeps men to themselves--
my insulation!
(the devil wants my petty rhythms
and flatters me warmly;
he gives me my own key.)
the divine gift
ha!
I am not so bold to take it
or to know why.
thrust into me,
He makes homes
of the dark corners,
and my hell-spoiled life
speaks of great black expanses crossed.