Here's the Dealio.

I went on a forum for ataxia sufferers. I thought they'd be better able to relate to me, and to give me comfort in my sufferings. I figured they'd understand me better since they suffer in the same way I do. Thing is, they don't suffer in the same way I do. Many on the forum are suffering without Christ, suffering with no hope. I tried to encourage a few, but I left the forum very discouraged by the negative and defeatist attitudes. No, they don't understand me at all, or offer any comfort. My Christian friends who suffer in ways not at all similar to me, but who share in the same hope I have, are the ones who truly understand me and can comfort me with divine comfort.
Also, I noticed many ataxia sufferers refer to themselves as "ataxians". I don't want to put any label on myself, least of all that one. I don't want to be defined by what I CAN'T do, or defined by a disease. I have a good life, a blessed life. Why would I want to focus on the negative?

We laughed and played.
We had days in the sun
and days in the shade.

Between a Couch and a Loveseat: a poll

Today I got my biography of America's first published poet in the mail. The book (a beautiful hardcover), boasts that the biography contains the story of the subject's life, and also her religious and political views, and the joys and triumphs of being among the first to live and raise a family in the New World. The simple title is Mistriss Bradstreet. This would be pure bliss for me were it not for one thing; I also recently got a biography of Florence Nightingale in the mail. This book also tells of Miss Nightingale's religious and political views, and sheds much light on the family dynamic of Victorian England. The Florence Nightingale book tells about Miss Nightingale's self-imposed isolation at the age of 37, and her refusal to accept visitors without an appointment.
Mr. M. and I are going to Las Vegas soon, and I will have 3 days to read to my heart's content. I am in quite a quandary, though, as to what to read, and I'd appreciate your input. I already have a few books going now (The Godly Man's Picture, The Writing Life, and a small book on prayer edited by The Layman's Theological Library), but I'm pretty sure I'll be done with those by the time the trip comes up. Any thoughts?

A Post by Rufus

Hello, all. I have a bit of a headache today, and some sore ribs, so please excuse any grumpiness that may come across in my writing. You see, Mrs. M. was using me as a conga last night. Mr. M. was using a real conga to practice his percussive techniques, (specifically, the heel-toe hit), and Mrs. M. wanted to join in. Unfortunately for me, I was right there sitting on her lap, so she used me as her conga. AY!

Writing Preferences and Our Personal Dust Bowl

Annie Dillard prefers to write in a dark and unattractive room. It is a room like this, she says, where memory and imagination meet. Once again, I find myself at odds with Ms. Dillard. I like to write in my insanely bright and festive orange and yellow room with the huge window that lets me look into the back yard and gives me a great view of what my friend calls "the cactus that ate L.A." Ms. Dillard prefers to shut the world out. I prefer to let it in.

An example: Had I stayed in my writing room today, and not taken Rufus for a walk, I wouldn't have noticed the light haze on the surrounding hilltops. Seeing that hilltop haze reminded me of how hazy it was in our living room last night. Mr. M., finding the can of Dust Off inadequate for his dusting needs, went into the tool shed and got the leaf blower . . . to dust . . . IN OUR HOUSE.

On the Similarites and Differences Between Writing and Storytelling.

Teaching a writing class would be my worst nightmare. I'd have no idea where to begin. I think I would just sit down and tell my students to go find a teacher, maybe Mr. D. How do you write? I don't know. I think you just tell a story or share a thought on paper, just the way you would say it. Assuming that is true, then, what an aspiring writer really needs is to learn to speak. Put their thoughts into words and tell a story. To tell a story (or, for that matter, to have thoughts worth sharing), one first needs to learn to observe. So, how would you teach people how to observe well? I have no earthly idea. I guess that's why we have writing teachers.

On Writing, Living, and Translating

I was so happy to find a book in my mailbox today! It was The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. She writes in the beginning of her disdain for writers who refer to their writings as works in progress. Ms. Dillard, I thought, would not like my blog. It is forever and always a work in progress. After writing one post, I always plan to write another within the week. Maybe I am not really a writer. But, then again, I write. I see the writing I do as translating-trying to put my thoughts and my circumstances into words so that the reader won't have to be with me to be familiar with my thoughts and my surroundings. Blogging is its own kind of writing. It is similar to writing an autobiography, except there is an urgency. I don't want to wait years and years to gather my writings from each day and collect them into a book. I'd rather write like this, for an audience I know, an audience that can respond immediately.

Our Life Boat, an allegory

It was a pleasant cruise. We were mostly strangers on the ship, walking around and occasionally crossing paths on the deck. In a great storm, the ship capsized, and the passengers were left to fend for ourselves. It was immediately clear that we would have to work together if we wanted to get back to the shore safely. So, we did. A group of us climbed into an inflatable life boat with oars, and we worked as a team to keep the boat moving in the right direction. Whenever one of us would faint with weakness, the others would row harder so the weak one could rest. I'm so thankful for this group I've come to love and rely on. I can't believe we were little more than casual acquaintances on the ship. The tragedy affected us all in different ways, and to different degrees. Some lost more than others, but we are all of one mind now, and we all have the same goal. We will continue to hold each other up and help each other until we reach the blessed shore.

The Quiet Little Woman Formerly Known as Mrs. M

I went dancing last night. (The Artist Formerly Known as Prince came,-hence the title of this post- and had no qualms about kicking my friends and I out of our booth so he could sit there, and then he wouldn't even let us take a picture of him! "Unfair!!", cried my friend L as she advised me to point out this example of gross negligence and unkindness on my blog.) As I was saying, I went dancing last night, and I have plans later this week to help my friend out with her kids at a play date. A duality of personality. So, which is the real me? Is it the trendy party girl, or the assistant soccer mom? It's good to have choices, and it's fun living this dual life of mine, trying to keep balance and sanity in the one personality I have. Neither here nor there, "here I am, stuck in the middle with you."

Happy Day

When my friend was in the hospital for the last time, her cousin asked me how I felt about their having been at my house just a week earlier. I still ponder that question, and tears come to my eyes each time I do . . . tears of joy. My friend came to my house, and that makes me so happy. While her cousin was swimming, my friend was sleeping in the sun. It makes me more happy than I can express that my friend felt safe enough at my house to go to sleep. She felt comfortable enough with me to just enjoy the sun in silence. My friend knew me well enough to know a lack of words spoken between us would not be awkward. I am so very glad for that memory, and I will do my best to preserve it.

Public Journalling

Why do I do what I do? Why do I keep up this blog? Why write? I can't help but write. (I've often noticed that I can think much more clearly when there's a pen in my hand.) Having my journal, if you will, open to the public, vulnerable to scrutiny and criticism, forces me to choose my words more carefully, and try to write in a universal way-a way that a reader in Africa would understand. I also appreciate this public medium as it is a way to share my most personal beliefs, joys, and struggles, in the hopes that my readers will be provoked to thought, encouraged, inspired and/or made to laugh.

The posts I've written this past month have probably been the most personal posts I've written, as I've been reflecting on one very dear friend and all I learned from her life. There is much to share, as I learned so much, and I think of my friend every day. It is because of her influence that I expand my literary repertoire to include theologians from centuries past. As always, I will share what I learn from my reading.

Thoughts Brought on by a Beautiful Day

Today is a day my friend would have loved-blue skies with fluffy white clouds, chirping birds. I will take Rufus for a walk later and, as I have done so many times before, look to the north-eastern sky over the desert town where my friend lived, and smile because the warm sun is shining down on the town and its residents. My friend's husband asked me a couple of weeks ago (on our way to the wonderful hike I spoke of earlier), how I was handling the grief, whether I found myself crying at times. The answer has been a long time coming, it's taken a while to put it into words, but the answer is yes. Yes, I do find myself crying. There are so many things I wish I could say to her, but I think I did say all of the important things while we were together.

In our first face-to-face adult conversation, my friend spoke of how important she felt it was to be honest, especially with her high school students; not to put on a happy face and pretend she was fine with having cancer. She wasn't. She was scared, and it hurt. I am emboldened to be honest by my friend's honesty. I don't like being sick. I live with it, and I can see some benefit to this trial, but I don't like it. I really didn't like it when Mr. M said that we should do things "while we still can." I was angry, and I reacted as if he'd called me a name. He did. He called me "mortal." The most realistic and factual name one can be called. Mortal. That's me. That's you. We are all mortal, and have a limited number of days, so I do my very best not to waste one of the days God's given me.

My Prayer Window

I have a large window facing east that lets the warm sunshine come streaming in every morning. I sit with my back against this window every day to read and to pray. This morning as I sat, I remembered how much my friend loved to sit in the sunshine. She is now in that blessed place where "the sun never sets." I do my best thinking here, and this morning I was thinking about God's will, and about the book I am reading, The Godly Man's Picture by Thomas Watson. He writes at length on patience, specifically in regard to God's will. I have said I don't like being sick. That's true. I would like to be healthy, and to be a mommy. However, that obviously is not God's will for my life. I am called to trust Him and His will; so I patiently bear this set of circumstances. I look for the benefit in His will, knowing His will to be "good and perfect." I see many benefits. Nevertheless, I still sometimes wish things were different-but they aren't-and so I will trust Him and bear His will patiently.

A Funny Bit

We are getting new sod. The old grass was ripped up and hauled off earlier this week. We were expecting to have new grass by now, but the rain delayed things. Today our regular gardener came to mow the grass, but found only a whole lot of dirt in the yard. The look on his face was something more than just being puzzled.

My Second Family

We probably all know that suffering draws us together. Biblically, we have fellowship in the sufferings of Christ. In our families, a shared sorrow or loss draws us closer. In the Body of Christ, too, a loss or a shared sorrow causes us to cling to one another as we together look to Christ for comfort. I have seen many evidences of this amongst Nichole's friends, the strong bonds we have all formed as we are together praying for her and serving her however we can. Most recently, I have seen this bond, this fellowship of suffering, forming in my second family. There was a great loss. A precious daughter, sister, wife, cousin, friend. I feel the loss, and I am greatly comforted by the love and friendship I have found in others who feel the loss and sorrow with me. We all, the parents, sister, husband, cousin and some friends went to the Long Beach Aquarium this weekend. We marvelled and rejoiced together over God's amazing creations. The day was a birthday celebration for my new 35-year-old cousin. We had a great dinner at the marina, right in front of a beautiful sunset. I am so glad I have the pictures to remind me of the amazing day, and the goodness of God in giving me this second family.

The pictures are on my Flickr page.