#WhimWord: Meal

The collapse of Faith didn’t start where you might expect. As the Book tells us, Faith needs belief and action and all that, but the crumbling corner was not a lazy apathy or seed of doubt. Faith withered from a point of weakness overlooked not only by pessimists and optimists, ministers and theologians, conservatives and liberals.

The people stopped having meals.

They ate, regularly, three times a day plus snacks, but the hurried distracted routine of quelling stomach pangs does not constitute a meal.

“Do this in remembrance of me” — most think “this” is about stale crackers and plastic shots of juice as a metaphorical (or not) recreation of the Crucifixion and Resurrection. But what if it was more? Not just the end of the meal, but the whole thing.

What if it was not about a few minutes closing service, but a few hours around a table, laughing at bad jokes, spilling food on the table cloth, and drinking more generous amounts of wine?

Sure, “humanity does not live by bread alone but by the Word of God,” but that Word of God as Flesh sure liked bread. He constantly invited himself to people’s homes for meals, provided extra wine at weddings, and even hosted (possibly) the world’s largest picnic.

Too many see it as coincidental that his first and last act of ministry involved handing out wine to his friends, and that his last command asked for them to follow suit.

So, they all carved out time for service, and for the soup kitchen, but they missed communing with others over bread and wine and enchiladas and hamburgers and pizzas and bowls of gumbo and all the other infinitely creative and collaborative meals humanity designed.

Not only sharing table space, but memories, joys, griefs, fears, doubts, dreams, hopes–the aspects of being in His image.

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#WhimWord: Leaf

Her friends complained. Her parents nagged. But she did keep a job, if nothing else. She was fine, and she said it frequently enough to convince herself, if not others. No veiled recommendations or blatant admonishments penetrated her fog of routine.

But one evening, retracing the daily path, she heard the leaves crunch.

Beneath her feet, obscuring the concrete, was a blanket of gold, cadmium, and vermilion that taunted the limitations of language. The crisp air stung her lungs. Her knit scarf soothed the wind’s bite.

She hadn’t noticed, but something broke her, to let such miracles go unnoticed.

#WhimWord: Glow

After three hours of driving on the snaking mountain highways–away from the responsibilities and expectations and noise that crowded life on the plains in the city–the air became thinner, cleaner, and clearer.

The final length tested the limits of the town car; roads were pockmarked with the scars of winters past; slopes were steeper and longer than seemed reasonable; towns were gone in the blink of an eye. Continue reading #WhimWord: Glow

#WhimWord: Anachorism

Recognizing Anachoristic Identity Confusion (AIC): A Case Study by Dr. Fisch

Patients with AIC often present a pervasive indifference to life making it difficult to differentiate from other depressive disorders. Since AIC is unrelated to hormone levels, prescribing anti-depressants does not relieve the symptoms, and frequently exacerbates them.

To accurately diagnose AIC, patients should be interviewed extensively about their emotional responses to different aspects of their life in order to determine the root of a patients depressive moods.

AIC most commonly presents in patients who have been stationary their entire life.

Case Study: M. Tilney Continue reading #WhimWord: Anachorism

#WhimWord: Bustle

Marching Orders for CHIRM

Mission Class: H – F.C.R.

Littleton Colorado, Annual Summer Festival of the Arts, 16 September 1997, 13:28

Subject: 2′ 9” Female, curly reddish hair, flowered shirt, affinity for pinwheels. 

No wings or halos–that’s C and above stuff. That day it got sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt–much more comfortable for observing. Continue reading #WhimWord: Bustle

#SmallTales: Play

3 months of anxiety, 2 weeks of nightmares, 3 days of nausea, 2 sleepless nights, and 6 hours of hyperventilating.

Now, she lies on the floor as deep husky voice tells her to feel her muscles lengthen and loosen and fall  through the floor for the last 15 minutes before she must abandon her sanctuary. But instead of dropping through the floor, images of dropped lines flood her mind bringing a tide of anxiety and nausea and nightmares and hyperventilating.

Trying to regain composure, her roommate’s question rings in her ears: Don’t you find it ironic that something called a “play” is ruining your life?

#SmallTales: Desechos

“Escuchame–don’t you dare waste this. Your papi and I didn’t travel this far for you to daydream and throw this away. Ya?”

Claro, Mami.”

“English!”

“Of course, Mother.”

“That’s my Mira.”

But she was afraid, so during recess, while the gringos played and chatted, Mira hid in the book alcove, listening to her teacher make a phone call.

“So, I’ve got an illegal immigrant to deal with… I know! I’m not an a language teacher and I have 24 students already… It absolutely will end in disaster. She’ll fall behind, act out, drop out… Integrating these kids, it’s just a waste.”

#SmallTales: Derelict

She estimated she had thirty minutes before heat and laziness pushed her back inside, but that would be enough to cure her stir craziness.

After scrawling “Going on a bike ride. Be back soon” to ease excitable minds, she set off.

The cacophony of cicadas provided the sound track, and she followed her gut, passing construction sites and summer condos and gated communities.

Her instinct led to a dead end. Turning to retrace her tracks, she stopped; peaking through the forest, the ghost of a house caught her eye. Maybe she could last more than half-an-hour.

#SmallTales: Candle

The worst part wasn’t the nudity, or costly refurnishing. The worst part was the constant retelling…

During a tour of the house: Our bathroom is the most recently updated, because one time Edmund was doing his business…

While looking at photo albums: … and he brought a book to pass the time…

Or randomly at meals: He didn’t realize Dad lit a candle on the back of the toilet. When he put his reading behind him to finish up, it caught and he screamed and ran out with his trousers around his ankles and a trail of burning toilet paper!