You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November 2007.

“Be tolerant of the human race. Your whole family belongs to it — and some of your spouse’s family does too.” – Anon.

“The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.” Francis Bacon

As the Christmas (Advent) season approaches, and God’s mystery draws near – coming to us as Emmanuel, God with us – will we allow the mystery to deepen in our souls? And if not, what will we do with Christmas?

or Yeah Kitten! Yeah Christmas! Go Away Woodpecker!

Well, the house is decorated, all but the tree. Victor helped bring boxes down from the attic on Sunday, and I’d been piddling at decorating since, but “Rosie” (see “Here kitty, kitty, kitty. . . ” and subsequent comments) was coming at 5:30, so I thought I’d better get moving yesterday. And move I did. All day long.

About five o’clock, Victor put the boxes back into the attic. Just in time for the kitten I can’t find. 🙂 I thought, you see, I’d be playing with a kitten today, but no.

Victor brought the tree box down, so it won’t be long until it’s up, too. He just loves to go to the attic when he visits. Not. But Bill hurt his back last week, and Victor’s been a big help.

The UPS man is beating a path to our door. And I “need” the tree up, you see, because there’s no place to store the presents. 🙂 No crowded shopping malls for us. No waiting til Christmas Eve to shop. Put the tree up. Find the kitten. Enjoy. Yeah Christmas!!!

Meanwhile, a red-headed woodpecker is hard at work on the maple tree whose bark is falling off in large strips. 🙂 Jut an observation. Go away, woodpecker.

Isn’t life great?

And she’s here. A shy girl who’s hiding behind the desk. We haven’t seen much of her yet. . . . Here kitty, kitty, kitty.

The  dancer in the test is moving counter-clockwise.  I’m right-brained!

“[F]aith comes by hearing, says St. Paul: but by hearing what? The cries of snake-handlers? The soothing platitudes of the religious operator? One must first be able to listen to the inscrutable ground of his own being, and who am I to say that your [the Unbeliever’s] reservations about religious commitment do not protect, in you, this kind of listening?”

Thomas Merton. “Apologies to an Unbeliever” in Faith and Violence. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968: 210.


The resurrection of Jesus was a hidden event. Jesus didn’t rise from the grave to baffle his opponents, to make a victory statement, or to prove to those who crucified him that he was right after all. Jesus rose as a sign to those who had loved him and followed him that God’s divine love is stronger than death. To the women and men who had committed themselves to him, he revealed that his mission had been fulfilled. To those who shared in his ministry, he gave the sacred task to call all people into the new life with him.

The world didn’t take notice. Only those whom he called by name, with whom he broke bread, and to whom he spoke words of peace were aware of what happened. Still, it was this hidden event that freed humanity from the shackles of death.

Try this left brain/right brain test. Which one are you? Guess which I am. Answer online Monday night. Don’t hesitate to click on the link. The test takes less than 30 seconds.

uses logic
detail oriented
facts rule
words and language
present and past
math and science
can comprehend
order/pattern perception
knows object name
reality based
forms strategies

uses feeling
“big picture” oriented
imagination rules
symbols and images
present and future
philosophy & religion
can “get it” (i.e. meaning)
spatial perception
knows object function
fantasy based
presents possibilities
risk taking

Small people make little comments
which somehow make them seem large—
in their own eyes.
The mighty admire the intellect,
and revel in lessons learned
by a tiny brainsponge with an infinite capacity for love and learning.

If you love me
speak large,
sing tall
let your
unconditional words
read as loud volumes
in my album of life.

now you have my desire.

Valerie MacEwan is the editor and publisher of The Dead Mule School of Southern LiteratureThis poem, that first appeared on her Mental Kudzu, is reprinted  with permission.

November 2007