“…they will make vows to the Lord and keep them.” Isaiah 19:21
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I like to sleep at night so I strive to not make promises I can’t keep.
I can’t recall any New Year’s resolutions I’ve ever made good on. The changes I’ve made have instead come steadily, through intentional doing rather than the loose speaking of them.
I have a good friend who lives by her word. She does not give it lightly nor does it roll off her tongue like loose change. She cannot be cajoled, she will not roll over in submission to pressure. Yet… when she gives you her word, you can take it to the bank. It’s as good as gold.
“Let your yes be yes and your no be no,” isn’t that what Jesus said? And let’s not forget those other words that followed, though God knows I’d like to sometimes…. “anything beyond this come from the evil one.”
The corollary seems a bit harsh. What about all those lovely justifications? And how about all those feel-good rationalizations? And what about those wishes — like I wish I may and I wish I might?
Surely these words of Jesus are words to squirm by if not to live by.
New Year’s Resolutions? I think I’ll pass (the plate).
“Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.” — Ranier Maria Rilke
A year ago today, I penciled this question across the lines of my journal:
“Can I bring everyday life in one of Oklahoma City’s oldest neighborhoods to life?”
Sitting in the shadows of the question was a prayer: “God …be with me.”
Questions and prayers are sparks of faith. They light the way out of darkness. We would not bother to speak them if no one were there to listen.
Writing for this blog is an exercise of faith. When God is in it, the writing breathes. It grows, it flows and transforms before my very eyes. Words and thoughts I had no intention of writing are written. The direction changes in mid-sentence and answers come. A post is finished and I wonder at my role in it.
In writing, I come closest to experiencing God. Perhaps if I were a better writer, I might exercise more control and rely less on faith. Yet this approach doesn’t seem to work for me.
This blog, that was created a year ago today, was empty of posts for twenty-five days. On day twenty-six, in publishing my first post, I learned I must write out of poverty and empty hands. Only then will answers have space to grow.
I have found answered questions to be as life-giving as answered prayers. In writing my everyday life, they are one and the same.
Two years ago, on just five hours of sleep, I wrote a few morning-after thoughts of Kara’s wedding day. I began where I was…
“Alone with my thoughts and a cup of coffee to stimulate them…”
Rather than let myself sleep or think ahead of pleasures to come, I took time to save a few freshly minted memories in my journal. Good thing too. But for their hanging on to the life-preserver that my words have become, I surely would have forgotten most of these fleeting moments. It all happened so fast.
Today, as Kara and Joe celebrate their second anniversary on a beautiful sandy beach, I celebrate too. I celebrate their special day, but even more, I celebrate the everyday way they express their love to one another.
I watch when they think no one is looking. I see them catch each others eyes and smile. I like how they give each other space to breathe and to be themselves — Kara doesn’t mind when Joe goes off to the pub to watch college basketball games with his buddies until O-Dark-Hundred; nor does Joe mind when Kara spends her Saturday night visiting her aunts in Shawnee.
The freedom they grant one another in everyday life began the night of their marriage when Kate stole the first dance with the bride. Ever gracious, Joe knew this dance was nothing more than a bit of spontaneous sisterly frolic.
It was an odd first song to inaugurate a marriage. But even now, as I recall how the girls kicked up their heels to, “Thank God I’m A Country Boy”, I see how perfect it was to begin the party with John Denver. Dancing to this old familiar tune forever binds the girls, both as sisters and to the special memories made with their father, when the three would sing this bit of rockabilly while driving down the road in their father’s pickup.
In her “Best Gal” toast to the newly married couple, Kate shared how the refrain that begins with these words…
“Well I got me a fine wife I got me old fiddle…When the sun’s comin’ up I got cakes on the griddle“
…had to be rewritten to save Kara from a childhood meltdown. Kara, then just four years old, was tired of Kate always being on the griddle when the sun came up. She told her Daddy she thought it was her turn to be on the griddle.
No one realized Kara had been singing “Kate” when her sister and dad were singing “cakes.” But the best part of the entire story? Rather than laughing at Kara’s expense, their comedic father never missed a beat in his wholehearted support of Kara. So happily ever after, the three alternated the song’s refrain so Kara got her time on the griddle.
The Denver tune was also perfect since most everyone knew Joe had indeed “got” himself a fine wife. And when it was time for Kate to jump off the griddle, Joe took over as Kara’s dance partner for the “official” first dance. And after Joe’s dance came my husband’s turn. Then Kara’s dad. And then maybe Joe again, but I’m not really sure.
The vision of Kara dancing is one memory that lives without need of the words I recorded two years ago. Perhaps it was the contagious joy she exuded or maybe because she rarely left the dance floor that night. Kara danced with anyone who floated near her orbit: Young or old, male or female, it didn’t matter, though I recall Kara dancing by herself some too. Kara’s dance card was as full as her heart was with love.
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I like to sleep at night so I strive to not make promises I can’t keep.
“Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.” — Ranier Maria Rilke
an everyday life 