All Things

Crisp evenings and foggy mornings,
Early birdsong and late night town lights.

The opressive heat fades and evening breezes bring refreshment.
The night fades and early rays bring new mercies.

The wild wind turns into sweet rainfall.
The torrential rain dies down into a stillness full of the smell of clean roads.

Heartache fades into hope.
Pain turns into healing that brings healing to
others with the same hurt.
Every storm of life fades into peace
if you let it rest in God's hands.

I do love that all things have the promise

of one day

being

made

new.

Rhetorical Questions

A few out of a gazillion things I don't understand:


Why the Very Expensive Peruvian dog looks so much like the Peruvian Street Mutt.

Why the majority of citizens are discontent with the politicians that they elect.

Why I was born in the US and not, say, the Congo.

Why American hamburgers have no ham in them, and why Peruvian hamburgers are made mostly of fried potatoes.

Why my blog says I have 13 followers, and sometimes it says 18, but only 13 appear.
I haven't deleted anyone, I swear.

Why you can't get healthcare in Peru without a govt. issued ID,
you can't get an ID without a birth certificate,
you can't get a birth certificate unless your mom had healthcare and you were born in the hospital... and for that she needs an ID.

Why mayonnaise tastes so much better in Peru than in the US.

Why a "balanced" meal here consists of rice, yucca, potato, plantain and some fish.

Why I am so darn easily distracted.

Why so many people I don't know want to sell me viagra online.

Why the politicians vote themselves exempt from regulations they pass on to us...
Oh wait, I think I know the answer to that one.

Feel free to add your unfathomables in the comments.

Rats, Poison and (un)Common Sense

Rony's grandfather, a sweet older man who has lived his life hard,
eking out a living among rain, mosquitos, fertile soil and devastating floods,
has a problem:

His liver is failing from his continual drinking.

He has railing pains that wrack him and turn him into a knot of agony.

He goes dry, takes his medication, gets a bit better...

and starts in on the bottle again.

Repeat cycle.

And he knows that one day it could quite simply be the death of him.

Have you ever heard a story like this?


A month ago I discovered that I had a rat in my house.
My house isn't that large, or spacious and there is DEFINITELY not
enough room in it for both me and a rat
who chews holes in my oil bottle,
chews holes in my bread,
chews holes in my nifty new handbag,
and poops all over my tidy home.

So I did what anyone else with a bit of sense and cents would do.

I bought poison.

And mixed it with a rat's favorite foods:
roast chicken the first night.
That next morning I found the bowl disturbed, some chicken and rice pulled out
and the majority left behind.
However, my bread bag that was hung on a tight rope across my ceiling
 - accessible only by the acrobatic best -
was quite compromised.

So, thinking he liked bread better, I bought some fresh lovely bread,
cut it in half and smeared the middle with strawberry jam -
and poison.

That night I slept fitfully, hearing the rat knocking around
and half-guitily knowing him to be in the throes of death.
The next morning I awoke to the relief of finding the bread gone.
All of it.
But no little rat carcass to be found.

I did my morning ritual of a trek down the hill to the pit pot,
and coming back up my stairs, saw a bloody wreck in the corner.
Squeamishly, I moved shoes and peered under the bookcase...

and there in the floor was a round,
completely whole
circle of messy red
jelly.

The stinker had hauled the bread to the corner, eaten the whole top of it,
flipped it over, and eaten the other side too.
Leaving the poison completely untouched.
I was so incredibly frustrated - and simultaneously impressed.

Somehow, my little rat knew what poison was... and as tempting as the food was,
he knew to stay away from it.

Now back to Rony's grandfather...

Why is it that we may not be as smart as some rats?

And before we judge, I just need to go a short ways to
think of the times in my life that I
*KNEW*
something was bad for me, but went ahead and did it anyway.

Rats.

Tangent

And I sit here on the edge of darkness and light

and I linger and fret

for I know the Tangle is deep and dangerous

and I wonder if I should go in after you

or stay on the fringe and wait.

If I go in, the chances of my finding you

are slim

- the last time I saw you, you were running

pell-mell, away from me -
(for which I am confusedly and unequivocally sorry)

But I am waiting poorly, with anxious heart

for I know the dark is deep

and dangerous.

Oh, why do you linger there?

...and can you perceive the dark

from the light?

Please,

begs my heart,

do not tarry -

or if you do see the light,

stretch out a hand,

that Someone may grasp it

until you can feel the Sun on your face,

and see the Way easy to walk it on your own.

....
This was written for a friend, but on further and better reflection, I see 
myself (oh beam of judgement in my own eye!)
and how often and how well I run 
from the One who is Light, who is waiting...


I run because I don't believe.
I don't believe that He will be there, that He is waiting,
or that He is good - towards me - that He will answer, and
that He still has good and unparalleled plans and purposes for me.


The thief does his job well, whispering lies of mistrust, of unfaithfulness, of my own inadequacy.
Of inferiority and superiority and easier ways out 
of the thick of longing for Life and Reality in which I find myself 
caught in those moments when it falls silent all around...


So I start to run.
I run to distraction and I run to pleasure. 
I run to forgetfulness and I run to self-pity.
Perhaps... just maybe... the time has come to run back to His arms.
With all the strength that can be mustered.