Dear Dissertation,

Right now you are in my head. . . somewhere.  Hiding.  Over the next twelve months my mission--should I choose to accept it--is to squish you from my brain to this intimidating, blazingly white Word document screaming in the other window I have open on my laptop.  Right now I must admit, you seem like a bit of a bully.  I keep telling myself that you're not so big and bad; you're not so tough.

Well. . . you might just be, but I am going to pretend for the next twelve months that you aren't, and on December 16, I will put you on a shelf, have a wheat beer and then proceed to ignore you for five or ten years, but until then our relationship is important.  Please treat me nice--don't be too rough.  I know you're scared too. But rest in this fact, the point isn't whether they like you or dislike you.  The point, my new friend, is the squishing, so come on out and meet the world.  

Helpless

I am now a professional car jump-starter.  It takes some serious practice to earn such a distinction, but  I have jumped my car battery eight times in the last two months.  I think I'm qualified.  I had to jump my Taurus two times yesterday alone.  Each time that I found myself in this helpless situation, a different smiling face took the time to help me out in the biting cold.  I am so grateful for all of their help. . . but I am buying a new battery. . .*today.

*If I can get to the store.

Marriage

When you "sign up" for this marriage stuff, all glittering in a white dress, I don't know if you can ever totally understand what you're entering into.  Don't get me wrong, I highly recommend marriage. . . but at times as a couple you find yourselves helpless.  Like yesterday evening. . .

The day started for me with sterling intentions.  I tried to save some parking moolah by bumming rides to UNL campus, but when I was dropped off last night, keyless--locked out of my own home in the cold, I knew I had to call Ralph.  He was 20 minutes away, warming up for his basketball game, and I had volleyball pretty soon. . . as we sat on the phone in silence, both knowing the only answer, I wished I could undo it somehow.  As his new tires screeched into our driveway, I could tell he was annoyed. . . actually that's putting it lightly.

After getting my volleyball gear, and both of us going to our respective sports games, I was preparing myself for a second round of wrath, but instead he came home smiling--like he does--excited for me to see part of my Valentine's present early.  I've always wanted my 8-bit Nintendo back (he hates it when I call it 8-bit), but I never realized he was listening and seeing me so clearly.

Marriage isn't what I expected, but I love it more all the time.

a boy named grace

Yesterday I taught a lesson to middle schoolers about the holy spirit.  While planning the lesson I started to realize that I didn't even understood this slippery concept.  Teaching this was a lot like explaining to a goldfish how the Internet works, so to start the lesson my co-teacher actually explained the World Wide Web to my new beta fish, Grace.

I am glad to have a fish again.

As I stood at the pet store with screeching birds in the background, I pushed four little containers filled with blue beta fish, to expose one red one.  I could see that he was different.  I like different.  I like Grace.

For July 1

Today I lived a real day.

It hurt. Walking in color.

Not the daily gray that I usually

Step, step through leaving no footprints

or echoes

Today I lived a real day, and emerging

I sit on the totter edge of difference.

My breath has been short, my guts turning

Thoughts bouncing, jumping, squirming

My anxious thread of existence

Taut.

Trying to guess at the text, the dialogue

Of the “conversation” coming

The words, the realities like a Jell-O fluff casserole

That I must push myself through

To emerge here.

In the now.

In the middle of this real day where life sprung

Zesty and sharp.

And on the other side of this huge serving

verbal tennis match

Where I stop---

Realizing the ball is out of my court--

He surprises me with his grace, in soft return.

His humanity

His ability to set emotion aside

And not to hide behind the easy way

Wet in corners his eyes smile,

In a way that make it okay

This horrible thing I’m telling him.

The words punching

Kicking

Scratching

His best intentions and life’s work.

That I wish I could will myself into

Costume me up for our real shared passion

I tick through the words. . . a slow cadence

From a hidden pool, leaked

They’re out—

And I’m naked.

But instead of punching back with his own river

Of words that punch from the azure spring of rage

That’s there if he rides in default

But he shifts gears

Melts grace over me like a warm butter quilt

That’s far too fancy for me.

It’s comfort scratches, but I sit. . . soaking.

Knowing he’s given his best

Though undeserved

It’s given.

Today I lived a real day.

And I’m tears, and I’m wrung out, and I’m alive.

A little broken. . .

Yet thankful.

That dialogues play out creative

Unforeseen, unexpected, unwiched between

All that is predictable.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I shall pray again.

For today’s answer was so beautiful. Real.

Courage was mine. Grace was Yours.

And I give You thanks.

For smiling at me through his eyes.

As the two of us lived a real day today.

Meeting at a faintly lined crossroad

on this Pilgrim Journey.

I throw away my Kleenex

Balled and transparent as

tomorrows line up.

I look past them right at today

And my hope sits

Shiny

Quiet

Listening

In the real day, today.