Poems and Poems: Jillian Wiese and “The Book of Goodbyes”

It’s about relationships, whether the subject is an antiquated law about maimed people, a recipe for tilapia, even flower arranging.

Welcome to The Book of Goodbyes: Poems by Jillian Weise.

It’s a notable volume, and not only because it was the 2013 winner of the James Laughlin Award for best second book of poetry from the Academy of American Poets. Weise’s first was The Amputee’s Guide to Sex (2007), the title of which tells you at least some of what you might expect in The Book of Goodbyes.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

A National Scarcity

The CEO of the corporation I was working for had agreed to be part of some prestigious national commission, and needed to have a staff person assigned who could do research, assemble reports, write speeches, and basically “staff” the CEO on the project. It would be a six-month assignment.

The search immediately focused on the speechwriting team – three of us who wrote for a dozen executives, did issue papers, prepared the quarterly financial reports, and generally any other kind of writing project the executives needed. (In addition to speeches, it fell to me to write the quarterly reports, a few issue papers, and the chairman’s annual United Way message to employees.)

One of my colleagues was chosen for the CEO’s assignment. He was even physically moved to an office in the executive building. The six months actually was closer to eight. His normal work – a full-time job – was given to the two of us who remained. Most of that extra work fell to me.

The special project came to an end, and our colleague returned. Two or three weeks later, the entire department was called into a meeting, where my colleague received a special recognition for the work he had done for the CEO, i.e., a special bonus check.

For the two of us who had carried the load of the department, who had picked up the extra work, there was – not even an acknowledgement.

This is not unusual in corporate America, then or now. Gratitude always seems to be in scarce supply. Had we not done what we did, our supervisors would have had a major mess on their hands. As it was, no one said a word. I was disappointed. My other colleague was furious, and went to the head of the department. Nothing came of that, however.

Gratitude is always in short supply.

I’m not sure why. Thanking someone is not a big deal. Even recognizing good work should not be a big deal. But it is.

In Slow Church: Cultivating Community in the Patient Way of Jesus, Christopher Smith, John Pattison and Jonathan Wilson-Hargrove say this scarcity of gratitude comes from forgetfulness, a kind of national or cultural affliction. I suspect it also comes from the disconnect between the blessings we enjoy in our lives and understanding who the source of those blessings is. We like to think of ourselves as doing it all on our own, but that’s rarely if ever true.  

But there’s something worse, the authors say. “Gratitude is perhaps the most important way we practice recognizing the enough all around us. If lack is the root of injustice, than gratitude is the root of justice.”

This seeming inability to express gratitude, this national, cultural and individual forgetfulness, plays havoc in our lives. We can do better.

For the past several Mondays, I’ve been discussing Slow Church. This week’s discussion is about the chapter entitled “Gratitude.” Next week, the discussion will be on “Hospitality.”

Photograph by Anna Langova via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

A seed in Antioch

A seed is sown in Antioch

on the face of it, rather

an infertile, unproductive

ground growing only weeds,

no promised land

no milk or honey

barren of soul

devoid of spirit.

A seed was sown in Antioch

and took root, sprouted

growing in the most unlikely

of fields.

Photograph by Martin Birkin via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

A moment in time

He flashed a moment

in time when he was

young, a moment

in time when he knew

everything, a moment

in time when anything

was possible, a moment

in time when empires

could be conquered.

He flashed a moment

in time when he was

old and understood

how little he knew.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

It changed

It changed, it did,

the weather, I mean,

grass basking in the sun

put on coats of frost

overnight. The newspaper

in its plastic wrapper

was cold, coated

by flat crystals of ice.

Frozen news, encrusted

with the onset

of an early winter,

a seasonal archive,

unread

unheard

unimagined

covered in frost

forgotten.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

“Playdates with God” by Laura Boggess

The crowds are large. Jesus is busy with Kingdom work. He’s talking to people. He’s having yet another “let’s out-teach-the-teacher” session with the Pharisees; this time they’re trying to trip him up on divorce. And then some people bring small children to him for him to lay his hands on them, to give them his blessing. His disciples admonish the adults bringing the children. And then he admonishes his disciples.

“Let the little children come to me,” he says, “and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:13-15 NIV).

It’s a punctuation scene. Right before this happened, and responding to his disciples’ question about who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, Jesus had called a little child to his side and said, “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3-4 NIV).

Writer and editor Laura Boggess decided Jesus was serious.

She asked herself what might happen if she approached God with the heart and mind of a child.

And she wondered what that would look like.

One of her first experiences was on a trampoline. When the people who owned the home weren’t there.

Thus were born regular “playdates” with God.

And thus was eventually born Playdates with God: Having a Childlike Faith in a Grownup World.

It’s not just a trampoline. It’s a zipline (I want to see a video of the author ziplining). It’s bird watching. It’s Super-Soakers. It’s walking on the beach. It’s a hammock. It’s anything you plan or encounter that pushes you out of your adult comfort zone and embraces the idea of play and wonder, with the idea that it will lead to a more childlike heart, and a more childlike faith.

 

Boggess has the gift for telling stories. Each one of the chapters is built around a specific playdate and theme. But she doesn’t stop with only an account of the theme; she adds insights from toher events and situations, calling upon authors from St. Augustine to Madeleine L’Engle and Luci Shaw to enhance and expand.

If I have a personal favorite chapter (and I first have to say I have several favorites, including the naptime chapter), it’s the one entitled “Love Story: Yada, Yada, Yada.” It’s about how the busy world (not to mention arguments and misunderstandings) can crowd out and turn cold our closest human relationships.  

I read Playdates with God, and I experience both the joy of play and the deepening of faith. Boggess is that good a writer.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The Control Cycle

The control cycle, say John Lynch, Bruce McNichol and Bill Thrall in The Cure: What if God Isn’t Who You Think He Is and Neither Are You, is what happens when we believe we can control our lives.

We are all into control.

We all believe we can control our own lives.

Even when the evidence that we can’t is right there in front of our faces.

Each day, I arrive at the office with a plan in my head for the day’s activities – meetings, blog posts, Facebook and Twitter posts, and so on. I lead the social media team for my company, and each day I plan on what I will be doing once I arrive.

Each day, my plan meets reality. The crisis no one expected. The crisis a few people expected but neglected to tell anyone about. The blog post that someone promised would be delivered for publication that’s suddenly delayed, upsetting a carefully thought-though schedule. Or the blog post someone forgot to tell us about but that absolutely has to be posted by 2 p.m.

Each day, my plan for the day flies out the window. That doesn’t stop me from making a new plan for the next day. I believe I’m in control.

I delude myself in that regard.

The authors of The Cure say this is even more an issue with addictive behavior, or sin, whatever the behavior or sin might be. We believe we can control it when, in reality, it controls us. “The power of sin,” they write, “is not when I act out. It’s when I gave myself permission.”

This cycle of control, this belief we can control our own destructive behaviors, dishonors God, they say. And they’re right. It is a form of idolatry, in that we are putting ourselves at the center.

What are these sins or destructive behaviors? They list the obvious things – pornography, drug dependence, gambling, substance abuse – but add a few more – lying, gossip, spending, unhealthy attention-seeking, manipulation, unforgiveness, and unrepentance.

The desire – and the myth – of control is part of our human nature. It affects all of us. Believing we can overcome it on our own is self-defeating – and actually integral to the cycle of control continuing.

But there is a way to break it. More on that next week.

Led by Jason Stsyszen and Sarah Salter, we’ve been reading The Cure. This is the first of two discussions on Chapter 4, “Two Solutions.” To see more posts on this chapter, please visit Sarah at Living Between the Lines.

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.