Well, Wanderers, the title says it all. Last week, the lovely Maddie from Myriads of Blessings nominated me and The Mind That Wanders for something pretty sweet called the Liebster Award--it's basically an award new bloggers give to other new bloggers when they love what they read. It's meant to encourage people to read and… Continue reading Hey I got the Liebster Award!
Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed? Can the writer isolate and vivify all in experience that most deeply engages our intellects and our hearts? Can the writer renew our hope for literary forms? Why are we reading if not in hope that… Continue reading “Why are we reading…?”
[E]very creative person, and I think probably every other person, faces resistance when trying to create something good...[R]esistance, a kind of feeling that comes against you when you point toward a distant horizon, is a sure sign that you are supposed to do the thing in the first place. The harder the resistance, the more… Continue reading Charley horses.
Happy Mothers' Day, Wanderers. Today's blog post is an essay I wrote three years ago for one of my writing classes. It's called "Love," and it's about my mother. This one's for you, Momma. I love you. --Erin It’s in the way my mother does laundry. When we are home, and, more often, when we… Continue reading Love. (For my mom)
I took a hike yesterday, Mud on boot soles, wind on my face And as I reached that first landing, And looked around me, Down the wide valley, Up to the Wasatch peaks, I could see God And hear His voice. He said, I created this mountain, And so have I created you. I created… Continue reading Mountain hymn.
I love the earthy smell, the heaviness of the air right before it rains. I love the clouds, moody and blackening as they unfurl, ushered by wind and suspended above the earth on strings. And I love putting in my earphones and blocking out the rest of the world, just so I can watch the raindrops race… Continue reading For autumn.
the one true story rained down upon the planet's cracking skin its chapters muddying the dust soaking old and arid rumors of bygone riverbeds over time the words sank resolutely into their sedimentary plots and as they decomposed into letters the long-forgotten stones were drenched with meaning and one day they grew and collided mighty steeples rending desert plains discovering their unsilenced voices singing the new-remembered hymns echo unto echo
"You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. 'Floods' is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever… Continue reading “Flooding.”
Hello, Wanderers. So, for those of you who don't know already, here are some major life updates--I quit student teaching. I temporarily withdrew from Northwestern. And on Sunday, I moved back home for the rest of winter quarter. All of this has been a pretty big shock to my system, and I've been trying to… Continue reading Finding words. (A series of poems.)
You are all things. All grace. All holy wrath, all fire. All lovely, all pure, expanding into the infinite, the roaring waters that flood and feed my soul. You are the Maker of clay pots, broken vessels, mute and thoughtless. You are the answer. You are treasure poured out into my spirit, with Your Spirit… Continue reading Yahweh.