What's in a name?

Feeling a little puny on a dreary Monday morning I was mulling over this blog and I realized that I haven't yet explained where I got the name for my blog. I was trying to think of a play on my name or something that describes me. Through the magic of Google I found a poem by Delmore Schwartz that contained the words "time is the fire in which we burn." I really like the way he used words and it spoke to the way I had been feeling about the swift passing of time. I have included the snippet of it that I like the best:

Each minute bursts in the burning room,   

The great globe reels in the solar fire,   

Spinning the trivial and unique away.

(How all things flash! How all things flare!)   

What am I now that I was then?   

May memory restore again and again   

The smallest color of the smallest day:   

Time is the school in which we learn,   

Time is the fire in which we burn.

     Delmore Schwartz "Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day"

Ode To The Egyptian

Recently my son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter were out of town. They left behind 7 chickens secure in a coop, or so they thought. When they came back home they discovered that a predator had gotten into the coop and a couple of chicks were missing and a hen was dead. The hen was this unique little chicken named Gertrude or Gertie. She was also an Egyptian and that is what we called her, "The Egyptian." She was a sleek, pretty bird and very swift of foot. She also seemed to have a bit of a mean streak in her. I loved to watch her dart around the yard like a roadrunner. I felt very sad to hear of her demise so I wrote a little eulogy for her and for my daughter-in-law, Sarah.

Ode to an Egyptian

There was an Egyptian lady, Gertrude was her name.

But we just called her the Egyptian, she came running just the same.

She had spunk and attitude, for her the girls made way.

Aloof and arrogant she seemed, and selfishness her play.

But when danger came calling, Gertrude showed her strength,

With fight to the death, she gave her last breath,

That her sisters might live another day.

Oh Little Liza 2

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Spilled Grape Juice...

This past Sunday morning I was sitting in early service, grateful to be there, but oh so tired after working three twelve hour shifts in a row at the hospital. The service was great but I struggled to remain focused due to sheer exhaustion. We ended the service with communion and wouldn't you know it, my clumsy, tired, inattentive self spilled the grape juice on my white capris. (Why did I wear white?) That moment of inattention precipitated a flood of thoughts. I was feeling like an emotional wreck, physically and mentally spent. The crux of my anxiety wasn't just fatigue but the fact that the time had arrived that my youngest son was leaving home to go to seminary in Kentucky. This isn't the first time that he has gone away, after all, he had lived on his own while in college and had only come home to save some money for this next step to seminary. There is something about this time that has more finality. This is a big move for him. He is embarking on a journey in the Lord's work and we don't know where the Spirit will lead. I know in my head that this is right and good, but in my heart it hurts a lot. I feel like a hot mess, a little like spilled grape juice on white capris. Then it came to me, aren't we called to be poured out. The Spirit fills us and in this walk we are poured out only to seek the refreshing of being filled again. I'm just a clay pot, cracked, chipped, imperfect, waiting for the next filling. Waiting to be poured out...