Holy Spirit,
giving life to all life,
moving all creatures,
root of all things,
washing them clean,
wiping out their mistakes,
healing their wounds,
you are our true life,
luminous, wonderful,
awakening the heart
from its ancient sleep.

Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)

I've just awaken this early morning and in the pit of my stomach, I feel unclean, full of mistakes, full of relational insecurities, full of missteps. I want to ask everyone I know for affirmation, yet I know that this won't do: my dependence upon words will last for a moment and then I will be alone again with this feeling in my stomach that's empty.
However, when I recall, when I let the balm that Hildegard writes on above apply its properties, only then can I get enough and feel the hope of strength and care. I so much need the Holy Spirit's care of confirmation that I can move on in outward promise and security. I bow my head and submit.

We jump outlined against the white pine, outlined against our wood fence, outlined against the black bouncy tarp with a blue ring. My hyper boy and I fling ourselves into the air as we fly away from impending enemies of dismembered lego men, arms, legs, trunks; of rolling murder balls of marbles; of flat-ish fatal footballs, basketballs, soccerballs, a volleyball. I submit to the penalties of being touched: 10 jumping jacks for these two balls, five for the rest; two for lego pieces; and three for marbles. Cody editorializes my memory lapse constantly and constantly shouts out my number of jumping jacks to do. My jumping jacks have never felt more light, more airborne. We're off again flying, avoiding the bouncing brigade, laughing, motionfull, close to the squirrel on the nearby power line who flits and floats and pounces down upon a wobbling shifting twig, tail waving us on, as we pounce, jump, and fling ourselves upward into the air of lovely drifting clouds.

And when I slide off, and touch my feet down to earth, I have my doubts. Someone told me just last night that her adhd son is doing well because of their structure; he will be able to succeed upon this ground because his habit will be practical, predictable, patterned. I trudge up my deck steps to the door to call my son back to duty, yet duty is hard for me as well, so will I be able truly to exact anything which can help him upon the solid back of necessity? Is motion only appropriate if it is forward?

No, I can spring again. We're good. Robert Frost and his birch knows it. Uvavnuk knows it when he writes:

The great sea has set me in motion,
set me adrift,
moving me like a weed in a river.

The sky and the strong wind
have moved the spirit inside me
till I am carried away
trembling with joy.

So, thank you once again, Poets, and all who know about such things. I affirm jumping, leaping, bouncing, rolling, upward toe-touching, soaring, bounding and springing just for the sake of a fuller understanding.

Now, we'll get to math.

Every Tuesday and Friday while Cody is at school for an hour, I go to my coffee shop where I get a Cheers patent greeting: an empty bottomless drinking device (mug) and a hello Norm! Many days, I go alone to grade papers or prepare for class or to read the National Geographic (the ultimate luxury). However, some friends are available enough to meet me. Yesterday, an old artistic/intellectual friend drove over, and we exchanged books with one another. He received “Socrates Café” by Christopher Phillips, one of my favorites because Socrates is one of those enmeshed heroes of mine for some odd reason (the love of the question); and, “Pilgrim on Tinker Creek” because Annie Dillard rocks with words and philosophical-spiritual musings and awareness of the natural world. Most friends I’ve loaned Pilgrim to, however, cannot finish it, but it’s one of my favorites.

And, I received typical-this-friend books: The Enlightened Heart: An anthology of Sacred Poetry, edited by Stephen Mitchell; The Enlightened Mind: An anthology of Sacred Prose, edited by Stephen Mitchell, and Mitchell's “The Gospel According to Jesus, A new translation and guide to His essential teachings for believers and unbelievers.” As you can tell, he thinks Stephen Mitchell rocks. Anyway, so I’m steeped in “The Enlightened Heart” this morning, and it’s lovely; the Tao-ist, the Buddhist, the Judaic, the Christian, despite their belief differences, resonate in similar longings expressed through metaphor or direct observation which tells of something higher. I’m not doing a theology study as I read this, just listening to the beautiful language that these authors/translators use. Enjoyable like a long bath. Hmmm….. om….. :)

I think my husband has been practicing his spiritual disciplines more lately. I’m feeling their influence even though mine has been lacking lately. It’s weird; we haven’t talked about it, but I’m feeling closer to him lately in a directed sort-of way. I’ll catch him praying over his Bible, or he’ll ask me to hold him accountable in an area which holds allure and temptation for any normal male. And, inside of me, I want to let go of my things that block or plug up my love for him. My distractions. I’m good at keeping at an arm’s length. And, then he’ll do things for me that make me unexplainably tear up. Sweet things. Like send me expressions via e-mail. Or, ask me to stop in the parking lot by the grocery store, by his employer, so he can walk over and kiss me. Or, offer me a gift of money and time for something luxurious for myself. And, he’s stepped up responsibility in the way of parenting my/our teen daughter. Anyway, something is different and good. He’s always been good, but now it seems like he’s tapping into that higher Good, which is influencing me! Oh my, I may have to give up even more so that I can make this good love more complete!

Yesterday Cody had a meltdown in my class at the co-op school. He tore up papers, threw a couple of chairs down, shredded paper, and muttered, "I'm evil. I'm evil." He was frustrated because he was socially left out at an earlier class which transferred into mine. So, he then he felt like the rejection needed to be made complete by being as outrageous as possible, with the other boys staring at him like he was a total freak. That's my boy!
I felt all day and this morning like I had walked into a parenting sinkhole. Sad. Worried. Then, I checked on my Asperger at Home yahoogroup which had the following post; I sent it to my husband who cried like I did when I read it. I think it's worth sharing and keeping:

The Insider's View of Life With a Special Needs Child
Someone I love relies on me in ways you will never understand. Someone I love endures pain and challenges that break my heart and renew my spirit at the same time. Someone I love is unable to advocate for themselves for things that most of us take for granted. Someone I love will never have the opportunities that every child should have. Someone I love will need conditional love and support after I am gone-this frightens me to the core. Someone I loveencounters pity, stereotyping responses and prejudice at every turn, because they look, actand/or learn differently from others. Someone I love has needs that require me to allow "outsiders" to have power and input in areas that should be mine alone to meet. Someone I love will continue to look to me for everything in life long after other children are able to assume a place as part of the world. Someone I love has needs that require more time and energy than I haveto give. Someone I love has needs that mean I am not able to meet basic needs of my own. Someone I love has needs that have become the driving force behind major decisions my family makes. Someone I love has changed me in ways I will never beable to describe. Someone I love has taught me about love and about the really importantthings in life...
Copyright 2000 by Communication Skill Builders, a Harcourt Health SciencesCompany. Lori A. Hickman is the author.

Rita whirls forth across the Gulf tonight, and I am safe in the Midwest tonight (although a couple of nights ago a tornado could have spawned, could have thrown us into the straits of displaced others, could have stretched our faith into crepe paper thinness). I just hope it turns at the last minute and travels backwards to a miraculous gracious sea. Father Creationist.
I haven’t blogged for a while. I’ve been busy, internetting around on E-bay where I’m selling some items so that I may purchase myself something small, something selfish, something nano: an iPod. I’ve been imagining myself blissfully tuning out those sound irritants that take my attention away from what I’m reading in a public place. Imagining biking to my Helen bench with music in my ears, syncing my pedal, pulsating my peace. I’ve never wanted to thwart naturalistic sounds until this year. Now I want the music, some Chopin, some Green Day, some Jennifer Knapp, some musical friends, some Allison. Hmmmm…. am I growing old or growing backwards?
I’ve also been e-mailing frequently instead of writing here. I think my correspondence is a distraction that I may not be facing at the moment. We’ll see when the time comes.
I went to my women’s ministry meeting tonight reluctantly, yet, as usual, it was wonderful. My class laughed and shared and ate chocolate and planned on going to an artistic theater together. We talked about discipleship, unconditional love, prayer, stone massages, bargain books. I like one woman in particular who was in the pilot/aviation field before moving back to Missouri. We talked and laughed a while after class. Nice.
It’s quite predictable how, especially as it relates to church, reluctance turns into relief that one went afterall and heard what God had to say. I’m quite glad for his patient persistence in my case.

Rita whirls forth across the Gulf tonight, and I am safe in the Midwest tonight (although a couple of nights ago a tornado could have spawned, could have thrown us into the straits of displaced others, could have stretched our faith into crepe paper thinness). I just hope it turns at the last minute and travels backwards to a miraculous gracious sea. Father Creationist.
I haven’t blogged for a while. I’ve been busy, internetting around on E-bay where I’m selling some items so that I may purchase myself something small, something selfish, something nano: an iPod. I’ve been imagining myself blissfully tuning out those sound irritants that take my attention away from what I’m reading in a public place. Imagining biking to my Helen bench with music in my ears, syncing my pedal, pulsating my peace. I’ve never wanted to thwart naturalistic sounds until this year. Now I want the music, some Chopin, some Green Day, some Jennifer Knapp, some musical friends, some Allison. Hmmmm…. am I growing old or growing backwards?
I’ve also been e-mailing frequently instead of writing here. I think my correspondence is a distraction that I may not be facing at the moment. We’ll see when the time comes.
I went to my women’s ministry meeting tonight reluctantly, yet, as usual, it was wonderful. My class laughed and shared and ate chocolate and planned on going to an artistic theater together. We talked about discipleship, unconditional love, prayer, stone massages, bargain books. I like one woman in particular who was in the pilot/aviation field before moving back to Missouri. We talked and laughed a while after class. Nice.
It’s quite predictable how, especially as it relates to church, reluctance turns into relief that one went afterall and heard what God had to say. I’m quite glad for his patient persistence in my case.

"...an insight came to me: that I'd been focusing almost entirely on being a "writer," on how my work would reflect upon me, whether it would be seen as the product of a professional or the vainglorious rubbish of an amateur. I realized that this self-consciousness was crippling, that the real question was not how others perceived my writing, but my relationship with the writing process itself and the characters I'd created."--Robert Charles Wilson

My Monday spirit-friend gave me this quote, and I love the part about the 'relationship' to one's process and creation. I can do relationships much better than chiseling out in the cold with nothing to hold onto. It's an interesting angle to think about, which might actually offer a difference. Always needed.

Thank God they discovered coffee has antioxidants marching around the mug in search of fiendish germs to finish off. As I swigged mine down today at two various coffee shops, I decided that I should answer any pleas for research bodies. Since I live in a university town, often we’ll get calls from young voices asking, “Would you like to earn a quick $35 cash? Come and answer our research questions! It’ll only take 30 minutes of your time.” The last one I did was regarding my feelings toward all things yogurt.
The young African graduate researcher in an agricultural department smiled and asked me, “How do you feel about the consistency of yogurt?” And, then she smiled at me as if it was a joke and I was auditioning for Jerry Seinfeld’s sitcom audience.
As a smiler from my maternal side, I, of course, reciprocated the smile. And, I pondered deeply for a split second before saying, “I feel good about it.” She wrote my response down, and we’d smile at each other all over again.
“Would you purchase yogurt with calcium supplements in it?”
“Sure.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Existential angst. Ha, ha, I mean, I feel pretty good about it.”
She would write that down. Then, I had to rank yogurts using these handmade cards that had numbers on them. I had to express my feelings about such meticulous yogurt ordering. I had to smile afterwards up until the point where, smiling, she handed me the cash. With most of my feelings thus depleted, I immediately went and bought a Polish pottery plate for a collection that I’m supposed to have because all women collect something homemakingish, which I’ve been very relaxed and eclectic and lazy about apparently.
Anyway, these memories flooded me during my coffee bouts this morning and afternoon. Cody has been at appointments, and I’ve been drinking it up.
How do I feel about that?
Bottoms up to healthy excess. I sit by the phone and wait to earn another plate.

It was one of those days where you whirl around remembering and forgetting things, being here and being there, speeding up and waiting. But, for me, it was promising like an upcoming pumpkin pie season. A scent of something substantial, a slice of goodness for a satisfying taste. For me, it was, not surprisingly, through a conversation with a friend who always seems to know what I mean when I say things poorly. Who nods and understands and relates highly to the unknowable, unthinkable, unwordable, irrational, subjective. We had about one hour this morning, within a ten-year friendship stint, to come together over a table, express, nod, relate, and then leave. I always notice the leaving as much as the other part. But, it’s okay – my friend is steady. It’s taken me a long time to realize and accept the truth of this. I notice, however, upon the leaving that something is taken out of me; I feel emptier but not in a sense of loss. I can’t explain it well, yet I feel it so incredibly much, so please just nod and understand if you’ve experienced the same. Maybe one day I will have words for it.

Relationships in general have been on my mind a lot lately. I walk a balancing line between being too needy and too independent. I despise being the former, so often I hold back and am the latter. I can’t figure it out. God must guide me in this continually as I am drawn to something I find mystifying.

The other wonderful activity today was teaching a Creative Writing class with 20 4-7th graders. At one point, they made ear-splitting barnyard sounds as I dared them to use sensory repertoires to experience the world. We laughed together, their fresh faces, minds. Awesome kids! I become enwrapped in possibility when I teach. I can’t wait for next week. So enjoyable.

That’s been my little moments in time. Thankful for His good gifts.

The lobby was full of kids, and Cody and I took our wall, feeling pressed. Fortunately, he pulled out his warted thumb and said, "Wanna thumb-wrestle?" And, so we did, employing all the crazy moves that he's created to break the mold of "Southern" old-fashioned wrestling as he calls it (since his mom is from the south part of Missouri and still does some things too plainly).
Finally, the choir teacher came and called, "Okay, kiiiiiiidddddddsssssss. You need to follow me into the gym where we'll start choir." Cody and I gave each other quick glances, and then he was gone, folded into the chattery mix, beginning something new again without hesitation.
I love this boy. He's brave, despite other awashing anxieties. He mixes in and sees how it goes.
When I picked him up, he ran in squealing and ducking; a girl he liked last year is in choir, and, all of a sudden, he was knocked out of any operation of normalcy. We laughed and talked about it (later I had to cajole him to focus on science, focus on pollination, focus on adaptation, focus, focus).
I love this kid. He's a wonderful, whooshing force, a whirlwind sent message to me of energy, and essessence, and joy. Thank you, God, for your awesome gifts.

It's late, and I should be sleeping, however, my mind is caught on a mill wheel in which water makes its circular rounds again and again....

For these last five days or so, I've been engrossed in two things only: 1) Hurricane Katrina; and 2) "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Fact and fiction: horror and mystery; reality and escape. I know that psychologists say that focus on disaster is unhealthy, but I can't help it. I'm the type that can handle brutal war movies also. I want to know what certain circumstances are like, how people are coping, what reality is like. Some people would say that it's due to morbidity, but I would rather attach it to attributes of mercy (sounds better, right?). But, I do want to know what others' experiences are so that I can understand and feel it better. Knowledge, to me comes also through feeling and not only through thinking. Of course, feeling requires action as a subsequent step, and, besides contributing money, goods, and prayer, I'm at a loss as to what to do besides making myself aware. Awareness is good but should lead to activity.

The other fascination has been the book "The Shadow of the Wind" By Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Alright. I did not want to get caught up in this fiction written by a Spanish author (expect the realm of the subjective to engage with the objective in a seamless way); I mean the book is dubbed a 'romance' a 'suspenseful mystery' ... 'Gothic'. One character himself, Fermin, is highly satirical about religion/faith in a way that I, unfortunately, find humorous (a la Canterbury tales). However, the spell has swept me in; the mystery that the book unravels is too well constructed, so I've been muting the CNN commercials and diving into my chapters melding this weird existence of base reality into mysterious fantasy (although it's grim too). And, through the middle of this, my husband and I were in Little Rock where he interviewed for a job. The Hilton Hotel, with its giant headboard, on University Avenue, has a role in this cerebral, merciful stew as well. So does the Clinton museum bookstore. So does a few margueritas. Okay, no more ingredients needed.:)

Fortunately, all mysteries will be solved soon as I'm nearing the last 90 pages of the book. As a family person, I can't slip away so entirely like I did today. We're back home and things need to be washed and scrubbed and the kids need outlets (unfortunately, they don't consider books as such). However, if ever you need or want to admire excellent plot construction, you must read this book and lose yourself for a while in it. It's wonderfully annoying (if you're a sensitive Christian reader, though, you may find yourself offended in many ways). I think it's worth the plunge.

Dear Father, please help those who sleep on cots tonight wake up to reunion, comfort, and hope.