On Whether God Cares What I Think

I've always been taught that God listens to my prayers, and that the purpose of prayer (primarily) is to worship Him.  I use the male gender here to refer to that God because He is the God I was raised with.  However, I now believe that the gender of God, and the very idea of gender in terms of God, is arguable.  I will leave that discussion for another day.  Anyway, I am aware of other purposes for prayer, including (without cracking open my Bible, the following):  intercession (prayer of behalf of others), supplication (a request that a need be supplied), confession (the admission of sin and request for forgiveness), fortification (a request for strength to face certain circumstances), and rededication (a renewal of one's spiritual commitment).  I can think of other reasons but I'm not sure which "-ion" word would work here:  a request for blessings on an event or union, for example, or a request for healing.  My point in making this list is to show that God wants and expects my prayers.  The least he expects is my praise.  I have been taught, however, that he does not need my prayers.  He wants a relationship, but he does not need one.  Alternatively, I find that Christians often emphasize that salvation (a prayer for which I left off my earlier list) is about a relationship with Jesus Christ.  Doesn't a relationship imply that two partners relate to each other?  Even assuming that one party is superior to the other --- that one is subordinate, surely the greater one is aware that the lesser one has the same feelings, aspirations, sufferings, etc. that the other has faced.  (Does God suffer?)  Christ did. 

I am making my way, slowly, to my main point, which is that I don't agree with everything God is supposed to have done and said (according to the Bible).  I think some of those Old Testament acts apparently ordered by God were evil, (example: the destruction of entire cities, including women and children) and it is this that gives me pause.  I will come back to this.  My time for writing is up. 

On Biting My Nails, and Other Bad Habits

I'm 44 years old. Seriously --- it's so past time for me to stop chewing on my fingernails and cuticles. It's got me thinking about how hard it can be to stop any bad but persistent habit. We actually talked about this today in my College Skills class, along with a discussion of how our core beliefs contribute to our thinking patterns, which then contribute to our emotional patterns, which then contribute to our behavior patterns. Now I'm wondering what core beliefs it is that I keep going back to that keep me thinking and feeling in the same old ways, that then keep me doing my old nail-biting behavior. I'm going to try to see if I can trace the causal chain here, going backwards.

When I bite my nails, I'm using feeling anxious and/or irritated and embarrassed by the appearance of my nails (which, ironically, leads me to make them look worse by biting on them) --- so there we have the behavior and the feeling(s). My thoughts at those times usually go something like this: "I've got to stop biting my nails. They look terrible, and my cuticles are sore. Why do I do this? God, I am so anxious, and this is ridiculous. There's nothing to be anxious about (or, alternatively, there is something to be anxious about, and I'm dwelling on that.) Now, the big question is what are the core beliefs that keep me starting the cycle all over again and lead to the thinking and feeling patterns in the first place?

One of them must be, "I am an anxious person; I'm neurotic, that's just the way I am, and I will never be able to stop biting my nails."

There may be others, but this one is apparently relentless. I've got to target it and replace it with a new core belief, which I understand is possible. I've told my students it is, so it better be.

I'm considering some of the advice offered at a website on Changing Core Beliefs. I've provided the link in this post, in case somebody else wants to try it out.

I see that the first step is to "simply stop believing" in the false belief. Really? Can I do that? In order to do this, I have to make a shift in my point of view about the belief and, more importantly, stop judging the belief." This is what I'm going to start with. Join me if you have a bad habit to break and want to get to the heart of it and finally make a change. Let me know what you think.

Splendid Isolation

http://blip.fm/Deesound

Who Will Sing Me Lullabies?

http://blip.fm/Lunaladee

Who Were You Before You Were You? | Care2 Healthy & Green Living

Who Were You Before You Were You? | Care2 Healthy & Green Living

Wow. I like this concept.

When Love is Alchemy | Care2 Healthy & Green Living

When Love is Alchemy | Care2 Healthy & Green Living

Am I a chalice of love? I like the metaphor.

I Waited for You Winter-Long

http://blip.fm/profile/tmilesgantt/blip/34832525/Neil+Young–Winterlong

Thinking about all the waiting we do. We wait to say what's on our minds, we wait to open presents, wait on somebody to open the door for us, wait to hear from him or her, wait to see what happens, wait until tomorrow, wait before making a promise, wait downstairs or upstairs, wait every day by the mailbox, wait for another chance, wait hand-in-hand for the news, wait just in case, wait on kings, wait on losers, wait for the money, wait for the opportunity, wait for the party, wait for the question we know is coming, wait for reality to set in, wait for the sensation, wait for the truth to be revealed, for the ushering in of spring, for the welcome hug, for the yearly vacation, for the chance to take a snoozzzzzzzz.

http://beta.blip.fm/home?reblipId=30551148

What's all this blipping about? It's a music site. I wanted to share an Irish version of Silent Night, performed by Enya, but it didn't work, and you've ended up with the Bee Gees singing "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?" Maybe it was meant to be, for somebody. My mama loved this song, anyway.

http://beta.blip.fm/home?reblipId=30551148

New Poem for Christmas 09

Martha Stewart Says This is the Year for Homemade Ornaments

So, five days before Christmas, our cat, Belle,
in her carpet tower
Cleans herself, occasionally pauses to stare
At the crackling flames in the fireplace
That the chimney sweep has said we “almost use
Too much.” We ignore that advice, my husband and I,
know our stockings
Are hung with care and the bright sun promises
Yet another day of doing whatever we want, since
He is unemployed and I am on vacation, and we
Will buy more firewood with our savings. Kitchen
Timer lies unused, I make homemade ornaments
From decorative paper, old magazines, the wine catalog,
Even Rorschach images we made with my daughter,
from small tubes of oil paints I found lying around,
on notebook paper unprepared as canvas. We see the psycho clown,
Witch’s hat, woman with barbells, pirouetting couple,
Note how well they fit with origami animals stored long away
In a box but brought out to shine on this our Christmas present,
Christmas past, Christmas future.

Spin the Wheel

What do I want to do with my life?
I want to bring happiness to others.
I want to create memorable art (but I don't know what kind of art --- will it be photography? collage? poetry? a collection of essays?
I want to appreciate the gifts that others bring into my life on a daily basis --- to be able to recognize and name those gifts and then to express my gratitude in a clear, concrete, and vivid way.
I want to be lean and mean --- strong physically, full of energy but able to relax when I want to.
I want to go to law school.
I want to make amends for hurts and repay debts.
I guess I need to get to work on this list.

Notetaking: Top 5 Tips

Notetaking: Top 5 Tips

I just discovered this blog post today; it is very useful for college students.

Letters to My Daughter

Of all the things to have on my mind today, at the end of the semester, when I probably should be grading something, I'm surprised that it is this: my daughter is going to college, and I want to be sure to write regular letters. I'm wondering what I could find to write about on a regular basis that might be interesting. I can send poetry, of course --- the good stuff --- James Weldon Johnson, "The Creation: a Negro Sermon"

And God stepped out on space,
and He looked around and said,
"I'm lonely, ---
I'll make me world."

And far as the eye of God could see
Darkness covered everything,
Blacker than a hundred midnights
Down in a cypress swamp."

I could write about the excellence of that imagery --- the completeness of it, the depth. I could remind her of the time we went to Congaree National Park and saw the magical cypress swamp forest. It was like Lord of the Rings, I said, and it was, with all the cypress knees that looked like gnomes. That will make me think of the Congaree Indians, and the fact that I don't know much about them, which will make me want to look them up in a good book --- and then I guess I can write something about that. In fact, I want to look it up now. So here's a related website:

http://www.accessgenealogy.com/native/tribes/siouan/congareehist.htm

One provocative thing I've already learned about the Congaree:

"In 1693 the Cherokee complained that the Shawnee, Catawba, and Congaree took prisoners from among them and sold them as slaves in Charleston."

Okay, got to take a break and will think and write more about this later.

Fire Escape

What a great July 4th --- family and friends, good food, laughter, fireworks, and great music.

"Love makes the price good enough to want to pay --- don't make the hurt go away ---- fire escape ---- all that I can do is ache ---- you've gone away."

Third Shift Blues

Third Shift Blues (poem I wrote this morning)

She was smoking a Black and Mild at 4:30 a.m. at Waffle House
When I spotted her and thought she was absolutely perfect
For a photo, black and white --- coffee skin, tattoo above breast, resigned.
Standing to go, she raised her arms, the shirt slid up, and I saw
That her jeans were unfastened and unzipped for comfort;
She fastened them to complete the dining experience,
coming full circle like a smoke ring leaving the full lips
Like a prayer to the god of crispy bacon and coffee, straight up.

StumbleUpon WebToolbar - Other Paths

StumbleUpon WebToolbar - Other Paths

Covers

Mothers provide soft beds for us, with clean sheets,
fluffy pillows, and piles of blankets. When we fall
asleep somewhere else, they cover us with afghans
(afrikans, my stepmother pronounces it).
If it is winter, or there is a chill from a nearby window,
they choose heavier weight, that warm brown chenille piece
their mother-in-law gave them for Christmas; if April, it
is the middle weight one, hand-stitched, with birdhouses.
They are pleased to see that the family cat has covered our feet.
Braver, more confident ones will steal a kiss; timid ones,
fearing to wake us, will resist. Either way, the kissing is
accomplished.

Sometimes they cover us with lies, if necessary,
and with opportunities, better education, Van Gogh, music
(I hear the cottonwoods whispering above, Tammy, Tammy, Tammy's in Love)
with umbrellas, hairspray, Easter dresses.
They cover us with Bibles, whole pages, from memory. Crosses
around our necks, prayers over us all the day long and night too.
Scarves (Amanda Wingfield, Tom, take your muffler.
Will you, oh, will you? Laura, you went out, every day,
in that thin coat, courtin pnemonia? Why, Laura, Why?)

Mothers cover us with praise and worry, with furious and relieved tears.
Remember the worst day of my life, when I couldn't find you
and you were playing with Summer at the graveyard, and then you came back
and I couldn't stop shaking and crying?

When we lie uncovered, go about exposed, vulnerable,
well, they must have been busy or unaware of our potential suffering
because the hall closet is bursting with blankets of various sizes
just waiting to cover us, and our mothers' hands reach for them of their
own accord as they pass (isn't there someone who needs to be covered at this
very moment, let me do it?)

They cover us as surely as the night does, and as the promise of morning.
I get drowsy just thinking about it, and now that my mother is gone,
I have to cover myself with her blankets. It works, but not quite as well.
I can't get comfortable, thoughts slip in or out of the spaces not tucked in.
Mama, can you bring another blanket? It's a two-dog night, you used to say.

Interesting Music for Sunday Contemplation

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8sdo9_fever-ray-when-i-grow-up_music

Fever Ray - When I Grow Up
Uploaded by MuteRecords

My Mother's Ring

I just discovered this sad but beautiful poem and wanted to post it here for reflection. I have some of my mother's rings: her engagement ring to my father, which I have worn since I was 16 -- though I haven't been wearing it as much since her death (think I'll put it back on tomorrow) --- and her high school class ring, which speaks to me of her accomplishments and how smart she was and how she wanted to be a teacher but never did do it.

The poet is Lyn Lifsin, whose work I am teaching tomorrow in Eng 102.


MY MOTHER'S RING

Once too tight
now it swivels on
her bony finger.
Only her knuckles
bulge. I can't
do it, my mother
says, a shriveled
bird in the stark
hospital bed. When
I saw the dead bird
in Morristown I
felt it was a sign.
In two weeks my
mother's mouth
is so dry it curls
as if full of wild
feathers. The ring
glitters, spits
out a yellow light,
not anywhere near
as pure as the
myth of its per-
fection my mother
spun of it like
whatever else
pleased her,
like me

Celebrate Earth Hour Tonight

http://www.earthhour.org/home/

Practing Podcast

Trying out podcasting today. Don't know what I'm doing. I just recorded Steve Straight's poem "Punctuation" as a practice session. I guess it's okay. Let's see if I can get it to actually play.