Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff?
Full moon behind you
blue light surrounding you
and the deep warm water below
just jump
you watch the water ebb and flow
the swirls and whirls
there are dark places,
but those aren't as scary as they once were
you know the water is warm and inviting
comforting and carressing
peaceful and promising
just jump
you feel the moon above
surrounding you
pulling you
reminding you of all that is holding you back
the pain
the fear
the empty promises and broken trusts
just jump
you know all that is possible in the water
you know it is a risk
a gamble
that it just might hurt
but somewhere - deep in the darkest corners
where the moon's light just doesn't quite reach
you see hope
you see light
and just maybe......love
and you jump
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
the birth of a church
The kitchen is by far my favorite room in any building. In this one, I sit with my back to wall where a sink will soon stand. I can close my eyes and remember the tree that was here. Not that I remember that there were trees here, I remember the very tree that stood in this spot. It was a Saturday of course, that is our “work day,” and I was walking in the woods that were known as “the property” with Mike Frank and my Dad. They were telling me all about the building. They walked me around the property, pointing at little yellow and orange flags and telling me what they were marking. They told me about wings and “els” and dimensions using technical language that was wasted on my ears. Then we stopped at this tree, the one I remember. I leaned against it while listening to Mike. He told me we were in the kitchen and that a sink would be where I was standing. It wasn’t much of a tree, but it could support my weight. The bark was smooth, the kind I liked to sit and peel when I was a young girl. There weren’t many leaves on the tree, but it had tall branches, like it was trying very hard to reach up in this forest to survive. I was up to my ankles in mud trying to imagine this kitchen I am now sitting in. Let me tell you I didn’t even come close.
The room I am sitting in today has a concrete slab floor that is covered with drywall dust and blobs of drywall mud. The splatter is obviously a result of the efforts to cover the million and one screws in the wall. There is a gritty feel to the dust and it easily spreads to any available clean surface. We have a table in the kitchen for meals on work days and there are still a few ladders here. The pantry doors have not been framed in, as we are waiting final measurements for the doors, so I can still see the 2x4’s peeking out from the drywall in the closet area. The air is thick with drywall dust and the smell is a comfortable one to me. It smells of my Dad’s projects. You can smell the raw odor of wood and drywall, of mud and glue and other bonding materials. The air is filled with that incredible scent that only a power tool can make and hearing my Dad in the background, I remember what it was like to grow up as his carpentry apprentice.
As I peek around the wall, I see the Sanctuary space open before me. There are three large windows that look out over Amelia–Olive Branch Road. The center window has a clear view of the old cross that has stood on the property for years, marking the place for the community we are building today. Carol is high on a ladder scraping the stickers from the glass so tomorrow when we hold our Easter Sunrise Service at the site, we can see the glorious sun shine into His space uninterrupted by annoying yellow and white stickers. The feet of her ladder rest on the worship platform that will hold our altar. It is accessible by a ramp so that mobility will never be a question when it comes to participation in the worship service. A week or two ago there was pink insulation covered with brown paper peeking between the framing members all over this room. Today it is almost completely covered with drywall. On the wall behind me that leads to the kitchen there is insulation that is more yellow in color. Dad said it has to do with fire protection. He explained why and the codes involved, but I will spare you those details. Bob the Builder and Thos are on the people lift hanging drywall against the ceiling on that wall. It is amazing; they have just covered the last of the visible insulation. The excitement is palpable it looks so completed, until you look up. The ceiling will be this beautiful light wood boards that have been spray-finished by dozens of volunteers at Anderson Hills Woodworking. Now it is trusses and insulation and vents. That is okay, though; compared to the muddy forest we started with, this is just incredible. Chris is walking around unbelievably soon after surgery to reattach his calf muscle. He never seems to stop, which is good because he keeps us coordinated. I watch folks sweep up piles of drywall dust in preparation for tomorrow’s festivities. Frances picks up scraps while Paul washes windows. What a miracle!
I walk toward the foyer, passing Judy and Les on my left. They are chatting outside the utility room. There is no drywall here yet. Wires and pipes hang from the walls and vents from the ceiling where a ladder is folded down allowing access to the attic space. Bob excuses himself as he passes through with a handful of something or other. That man is amazing, regardless of what is going on and what needs to be done; he always finds the perfect way to be productive. The little utility room that holds the circuit breaker box is straight ahead. That thick dark red goop that Mike used to put around the pipes is visible and it reminds me of taffy that melted in the sun and then hardened in the cold night air. The breaker box is installed and copper piping is visible between the insulation layers. It is amazing that such a little room can control so many important things, but then again so many things are amazing here.
The foyer is up a slight step. From what I understand there will be no step here when the building is complete. They left the level difference to accommodate a wood floor in the sanctuary space, but today there is a step. I try not to trip as I seem to every time I make this walk. On my left, there are entrances to the restrooms. The urinal sits outside the men’s room door waiting for two strong men and a boy to heft it out of sight for tomorrow’s festivities. I hear someone making a wise crack that we can use it for a holy water font. That is why we survive this project; there is always someone to make you laugh. The main entrance doors are just beyond the rest rooms, and looking out those doors you can see the “cornerstone”. It is a beautiful stone-looking plate that announces this project was underway in 2004. It is hard to believe that it started life as a scrap of plywood. I try to imagine the kids that years from now will hang out here waiting for chatting parents to finish up with coffee hour. As they lean against it will they have any idea how proud and excited we were to find this stone here when we came to work? I imagine no one will ever know. They will look and say “Wow, this church has only been here that long?”
The foyer doubles as the staging area. There are tools strewn across a make shift table, an obvious attempt to organize and put away is under way here. There is a movable scaffold that is also covered with tools and supplies. With a couple of dozen volunteers and tools owned by multiple owners, keeping things straight is a daily task. I can see where Dad has started packing away the tools that we no longer need to make way for the toys we will need for the next stage. I see five buckets of drywall mud stacked beneath the tool table. Have you ever played with drywall mud? It is SO soft and smooth and creamy between your hands. I love to play with it, but today I resist. Maybe I will come and help put the mud on the walls so I can dig my hands into the bucket and feel the soft cold mud squish between my fingers. It makes clean up a little tough but the joy makes it well worth the extra effort. The drywall dust isn’t so bad over here. It may be because this drywall has been hung for a week or two, or maybe because the door opens here more often. It doesn’t much matter why, but as I wander into the “el” wing Mike and Dad have described for so long I notice that I breathe much easier.
I peek into the largest of the four rooms in this wing. It is someday going to be the room we use for meetings and gatherings and other such events, but today it is a virtual lumber-palooza. This room smells like the old lumber stores I used to visit when I was a kid. It is all treated wood so the smell isn’t pure. I can smell the chemical scent of the varnish or whatever finish they sprayed on at Anderson Hills Woodworking. The ceiling lumber is stacked and acclimating to the ambient temperature. As Chris has explained, it is important for the wood to slowly be brought to the same temperature as the space it will be in and regulate itself before it is placed, otherwise it will shift and crack and not get along well with the ceiling. It seems to be adjusting well so I sneak out and leave it to settle.
Directly across from this door is another of my favorite rooms. There is a metal grid window in the wall so you can peek into the nursery. That window is now filled with permits and passed inspections, our victories along the way. I walk into the nursery and along the half wall that deters little tots from running out of the door. This will be an incredible space. In my mind’s eye I can see the bright colors on the wall of the pictures the kids will draw, the Veggie Tales books strewn across the floor with the Duplo blocks that were abandoned when the person keeping the nursery started to tell them a great story and a rocking chair or two for singing crabby little ones to sleep. I can’t wait until we can clean out the two tons of stuff that we are keeping in this room and make it into the beautiful room it will be.
Next door there is a storage room where we are keeping the grill we used for cook outs last summer. Here is another pull down ladder that leads to the attic space; this one is folded up and almost invisible except for the rope handle hanging down. It is dark in here as there are no windows and very little light shines through from the hall way. Not stumble-around-blindly dark, but dark nonetheless. There is just one room left, the vicar’s office. It has two windows and a beautiful light shines into this room. It feels like an office, you can see that the other rooms were designed for people to be in or for stuff to be in while this one is very obviously designed for the day to day base of operations. I can almost see where the two desks will sit, angled so the vicar and receptionist can work in their own little worlds and still pause to chat when the mood strikes. I can see the vicar excusing herself to go speak with an upset parishioner in the nursery where it will be quiet so the receptionist can carry on with the business of the day. I can hear the phones ring and see the bulletin boards with events and plans and announcements, this of course in my mind’s eye. Today I see my Dad and Becky shaving down the drywall around the door frame preparing it for the final instillation of 2x4’s to ready the frame to hold a door. Becky stops to point out the flooring samples for the sanctuary space. She shows me the one the committee has chosen and tells me why. It is a fine grade maple that is unfinished. She goes on to tell me that it is the highest quality in our price range and that it is untreated and can hold a stain so it can have the look we want. It looks good up close and from far away so I suppose the committee made a good choice. She also shows me this deep mahogany/cherry color that is against the wall. She is unsure what that color will be used for but we throw crazy ideas back and forth until Dad gives us his patented raised eye-brow. For a moment we are 12 and 7 again and break into a fit of giggles. After all what good is a day without an eyebrow raise?
I start to make my way back to the front door. Everyone is hard at work building the dream they have carried for so long. I think about the men and women who work 5 days a week at their daily grind and spend their Saturday here making this dream a reality. I think about the families that will laugh here, growing in their faith as they grow together. I think about the folks that will wander in looking for answers and finding the only answer that matters. I think about the community that will come together for births and deaths and weddings, the folks that will laugh and cry and love each other, creating families from strangers. This building is a miracle in so many respects, in the people that made it, the faith that sustained the community’s dreams for so long, and the little things that just seem to keep happening when people are starting to believe that a building on Amelia-Olive Branch for the Good Samaritans is much like the Holy Land is to the Jews, always for next year. I hope you can see my miracle here, and who knows?, Maybe you will come see it for yourself some Saturday. I have a better idea. Wait for us to be done; you can come ring the rafters with us. Alleluia!
The room I am sitting in today has a concrete slab floor that is covered with drywall dust and blobs of drywall mud. The splatter is obviously a result of the efforts to cover the million and one screws in the wall. There is a gritty feel to the dust and it easily spreads to any available clean surface. We have a table in the kitchen for meals on work days and there are still a few ladders here. The pantry doors have not been framed in, as we are waiting final measurements for the doors, so I can still see the 2x4’s peeking out from the drywall in the closet area. The air is thick with drywall dust and the smell is a comfortable one to me. It smells of my Dad’s projects. You can smell the raw odor of wood and drywall, of mud and glue and other bonding materials. The air is filled with that incredible scent that only a power tool can make and hearing my Dad in the background, I remember what it was like to grow up as his carpentry apprentice.
As I peek around the wall, I see the Sanctuary space open before me. There are three large windows that look out over Amelia–Olive Branch Road. The center window has a clear view of the old cross that has stood on the property for years, marking the place for the community we are building today. Carol is high on a ladder scraping the stickers from the glass so tomorrow when we hold our Easter Sunrise Service at the site, we can see the glorious sun shine into His space uninterrupted by annoying yellow and white stickers. The feet of her ladder rest on the worship platform that will hold our altar. It is accessible by a ramp so that mobility will never be a question when it comes to participation in the worship service. A week or two ago there was pink insulation covered with brown paper peeking between the framing members all over this room. Today it is almost completely covered with drywall. On the wall behind me that leads to the kitchen there is insulation that is more yellow in color. Dad said it has to do with fire protection. He explained why and the codes involved, but I will spare you those details. Bob the Builder and Thos are on the people lift hanging drywall against the ceiling on that wall. It is amazing; they have just covered the last of the visible insulation. The excitement is palpable it looks so completed, until you look up. The ceiling will be this beautiful light wood boards that have been spray-finished by dozens of volunteers at Anderson Hills Woodworking. Now it is trusses and insulation and vents. That is okay, though; compared to the muddy forest we started with, this is just incredible. Chris is walking around unbelievably soon after surgery to reattach his calf muscle. He never seems to stop, which is good because he keeps us coordinated. I watch folks sweep up piles of drywall dust in preparation for tomorrow’s festivities. Frances picks up scraps while Paul washes windows. What a miracle!
I walk toward the foyer, passing Judy and Les on my left. They are chatting outside the utility room. There is no drywall here yet. Wires and pipes hang from the walls and vents from the ceiling where a ladder is folded down allowing access to the attic space. Bob excuses himself as he passes through with a handful of something or other. That man is amazing, regardless of what is going on and what needs to be done; he always finds the perfect way to be productive. The little utility room that holds the circuit breaker box is straight ahead. That thick dark red goop that Mike used to put around the pipes is visible and it reminds me of taffy that melted in the sun and then hardened in the cold night air. The breaker box is installed and copper piping is visible between the insulation layers. It is amazing that such a little room can control so many important things, but then again so many things are amazing here.
The foyer is up a slight step. From what I understand there will be no step here when the building is complete. They left the level difference to accommodate a wood floor in the sanctuary space, but today there is a step. I try not to trip as I seem to every time I make this walk. On my left, there are entrances to the restrooms. The urinal sits outside the men’s room door waiting for two strong men and a boy to heft it out of sight for tomorrow’s festivities. I hear someone making a wise crack that we can use it for a holy water font. That is why we survive this project; there is always someone to make you laugh. The main entrance doors are just beyond the rest rooms, and looking out those doors you can see the “cornerstone”. It is a beautiful stone-looking plate that announces this project was underway in 2004. It is hard to believe that it started life as a scrap of plywood. I try to imagine the kids that years from now will hang out here waiting for chatting parents to finish up with coffee hour. As they lean against it will they have any idea how proud and excited we were to find this stone here when we came to work? I imagine no one will ever know. They will look and say “Wow, this church has only been here that long?”
The foyer doubles as the staging area. There are tools strewn across a make shift table, an obvious attempt to organize and put away is under way here. There is a movable scaffold that is also covered with tools and supplies. With a couple of dozen volunteers and tools owned by multiple owners, keeping things straight is a daily task. I can see where Dad has started packing away the tools that we no longer need to make way for the toys we will need for the next stage. I see five buckets of drywall mud stacked beneath the tool table. Have you ever played with drywall mud? It is SO soft and smooth and creamy between your hands. I love to play with it, but today I resist. Maybe I will come and help put the mud on the walls so I can dig my hands into the bucket and feel the soft cold mud squish between my fingers. It makes clean up a little tough but the joy makes it well worth the extra effort. The drywall dust isn’t so bad over here. It may be because this drywall has been hung for a week or two, or maybe because the door opens here more often. It doesn’t much matter why, but as I wander into the “el” wing Mike and Dad have described for so long I notice that I breathe much easier.
I peek into the largest of the four rooms in this wing. It is someday going to be the room we use for meetings and gatherings and other such events, but today it is a virtual lumber-palooza. This room smells like the old lumber stores I used to visit when I was a kid. It is all treated wood so the smell isn’t pure. I can smell the chemical scent of the varnish or whatever finish they sprayed on at Anderson Hills Woodworking. The ceiling lumber is stacked and acclimating to the ambient temperature. As Chris has explained, it is important for the wood to slowly be brought to the same temperature as the space it will be in and regulate itself before it is placed, otherwise it will shift and crack and not get along well with the ceiling. It seems to be adjusting well so I sneak out and leave it to settle.
Directly across from this door is another of my favorite rooms. There is a metal grid window in the wall so you can peek into the nursery. That window is now filled with permits and passed inspections, our victories along the way. I walk into the nursery and along the half wall that deters little tots from running out of the door. This will be an incredible space. In my mind’s eye I can see the bright colors on the wall of the pictures the kids will draw, the Veggie Tales books strewn across the floor with the Duplo blocks that were abandoned when the person keeping the nursery started to tell them a great story and a rocking chair or two for singing crabby little ones to sleep. I can’t wait until we can clean out the two tons of stuff that we are keeping in this room and make it into the beautiful room it will be.
Next door there is a storage room where we are keeping the grill we used for cook outs last summer. Here is another pull down ladder that leads to the attic space; this one is folded up and almost invisible except for the rope handle hanging down. It is dark in here as there are no windows and very little light shines through from the hall way. Not stumble-around-blindly dark, but dark nonetheless. There is just one room left, the vicar’s office. It has two windows and a beautiful light shines into this room. It feels like an office, you can see that the other rooms were designed for people to be in or for stuff to be in while this one is very obviously designed for the day to day base of operations. I can almost see where the two desks will sit, angled so the vicar and receptionist can work in their own little worlds and still pause to chat when the mood strikes. I can see the vicar excusing herself to go speak with an upset parishioner in the nursery where it will be quiet so the receptionist can carry on with the business of the day. I can hear the phones ring and see the bulletin boards with events and plans and announcements, this of course in my mind’s eye. Today I see my Dad and Becky shaving down the drywall around the door frame preparing it for the final instillation of 2x4’s to ready the frame to hold a door. Becky stops to point out the flooring samples for the sanctuary space. She shows me the one the committee has chosen and tells me why. It is a fine grade maple that is unfinished. She goes on to tell me that it is the highest quality in our price range and that it is untreated and can hold a stain so it can have the look we want. It looks good up close and from far away so I suppose the committee made a good choice. She also shows me this deep mahogany/cherry color that is against the wall. She is unsure what that color will be used for but we throw crazy ideas back and forth until Dad gives us his patented raised eye-brow. For a moment we are 12 and 7 again and break into a fit of giggles. After all what good is a day without an eyebrow raise?
I start to make my way back to the front door. Everyone is hard at work building the dream they have carried for so long. I think about the men and women who work 5 days a week at their daily grind and spend their Saturday here making this dream a reality. I think about the families that will laugh here, growing in their faith as they grow together. I think about the folks that will wander in looking for answers and finding the only answer that matters. I think about the community that will come together for births and deaths and weddings, the folks that will laugh and cry and love each other, creating families from strangers. This building is a miracle in so many respects, in the people that made it, the faith that sustained the community’s dreams for so long, and the little things that just seem to keep happening when people are starting to believe that a building on Amelia-Olive Branch for the Good Samaritans is much like the Holy Land is to the Jews, always for next year. I hope you can see my miracle here, and who knows?, Maybe you will come see it for yourself some Saturday. I have a better idea. Wait for us to be done; you can come ring the rafters with us. Alleluia!
The Skin You're In
Some days your skin just fits better than other days. On the average day we walk around in skin that fits like the perfect pair of jeans – a little give when you need it – just tight enough to make your ass look good, but not so tight it cuts you up the middle – Its comfortable – it fits – its good- Today I ask nothing special of anyone – I can handle what they give me – I can take what comes - People can come and go – it’s okay – I don’t need anyone close – but I don’t need them to go away – the world seems manageable today
It works
Then there are those huge days in your life – a new baby – a new job – a new lease on life – your skin is suddenly small – you are so full of your accomplishment it feels as if you might burst wide open – it’s tight, yet still magically comfortable – it works and it is still good - Today I want everyone closer – be here – celebrate with me – celebrate me – tell me you see what I see today – I might not see it tomorrow – I want proof - stay close enough that I wont burst – keep me in – keep me grounded – keep me here
It works
The days I dread are the days that it just doesn’t fit. You spend your whole day tucking and twisting, pinching and puffing, turning and avoiding so no one realizes that you can’t fill your own skin – so no one notices that you just aren’t enough – so no one sees that you aren’t what they think you are – those days are uncomfortable, scary, and not so good
Today I want everyone gone – I want space – I want to hide what I think they might see – I don’t want them to know – What if they don’t like me this way – what if they see that the shucking and jiving – the laugh and the smile are there to make them comfortable – what if they find out that I am small, and weak – that I am scared and unsure – that the bravado is to keep them away – I speak first so I have the home court advantage – I walk strong and tall so no one will question – because if they did I might not have what it takes to back the walk- Go away – let me be – don’t ask- wait until it fits.
It works
It works
Then there are those huge days in your life – a new baby – a new job – a new lease on life – your skin is suddenly small – you are so full of your accomplishment it feels as if you might burst wide open – it’s tight, yet still magically comfortable – it works and it is still good - Today I want everyone closer – be here – celebrate with me – celebrate me – tell me you see what I see today – I might not see it tomorrow – I want proof - stay close enough that I wont burst – keep me in – keep me grounded – keep me here
It works
The days I dread are the days that it just doesn’t fit. You spend your whole day tucking and twisting, pinching and puffing, turning and avoiding so no one realizes that you can’t fill your own skin – so no one notices that you just aren’t enough – so no one sees that you aren’t what they think you are – those days are uncomfortable, scary, and not so good
Today I want everyone gone – I want space – I want to hide what I think they might see – I don’t want them to know – What if they don’t like me this way – what if they see that the shucking and jiving – the laugh and the smile are there to make them comfortable – what if they find out that I am small, and weak – that I am scared and unsure – that the bravado is to keep them away – I speak first so I have the home court advantage – I walk strong and tall so no one will question – because if they did I might not have what it takes to back the walk- Go away – let me be – don’t ask- wait until it fits.
It works
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