The Beat Goes On

Okay, so it's actually a constant vibration and not so much of a beat, but nevertheless, I'm ready for it to stop. Nick and I have managed to plop ourselves in a home surrounded by four separate construction sites, and the nearby heavy bull-dozing vehicles are about to drive me up the wall. (Unfortunately, my walls are just as unsteady as my shaking floors.) I'm not entirely sure which site is responsible for the vibration of our block, but the disturbance occurs most afternoons and evenings. In a way, it's almost amusing to walk into the kitchen and hear all your dishes rattling. It reminds me of the scene from Mary Poppins where the Banks family must, at certain times of the day, hold onto everything that could topple in their house when the crazy old navy captain on their roof fires the cannon up there. (Or something like that -- it's been a while since I've seen it.) The family is so used the ordeal that they hardly even acknowledge the occurrence and just go on with normal conversation with one hand on a vase and the other holding the hutch closed. In my home, nothing is actually in danger, and there's no exploding noise to damage my ears. It is a little wearisome, however, trying eat dinner with a quivering stomach.
Annoyances aside, I am thankful for the construction, honest! Some of the work is widening a much-used road to eliminate the constant clogged backup. Another site is constructing the annex to the sport center on campus. This exciting addition will provide for our students rock-climbing, a flow rider, and other nifty things I don't remember at the moment. So the rumbling beneath my feet is beneficiary. I just need to remember that. And thank my God for all the blessings I do have, instead of complaining about petty grievances.
A while back I was enjoying the blossoming trees outside my office building as I walked up to the back entrance. The wind was blowing gently, causing both blooming petals and aroma to waft my way. I ask you, who wouldn't be swept with glee to stroll beneath a fragrant blossoming tree with petals swirling around you on a lovely spring morning with blue sky above and -- Then I spied the construction on the roof of the building over to my left. I was tempted for a slight moment to roll my eyes in disgust of the noise and grime and all, but the ugliness somehow seemed unimportant in light of the beauty above me. Returning my thoughts to the trees, I simply reminded myself to "look up, Teri. Keep your focus up!"

"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth." Psalm 121:1,2

How Happy is Spring

In honor of this lovely month, I wanted to share a poem that I enjoy. I often perform this playful lyric for Freshman Speech Lecture or my Oral Interpretation of Poetry class as an example of proper delivery. Those of you who read my April 11 post will understand why I like it.


April
by Marcia Masters


It's Lemonade, it's lemonade, it's daisy,
It's a roller-skating, scissor-grinding day;
It's gingham-waisted, chocolate flavored,lazy,
With the children flower-scattered at their play.

It's the sun like watermelon,
And the sidewalks overlaid
With a glaze of yellow yellow
Like a jar of marmalade.

It's the mower gently mowing,
And the stars like startled glass,
While the mower keeps on going
Through a waterfall of grass.

Then the rich magenta evening
Like a sauce upon the walk,
And the porches softly swinging
With a hammockful of talk.

It's the hobo at the corner
With his lilac-sniffing gait,
And the shy departing thunder
Of the fast departing skate.

It's lemonade, it's lemonade, it's April!
A water sprinkler, puddle winking time,
When a boy who peddles slowly, with a smile remote and holy,
Sells you April chocolate flavored for a dime.

Teri

"Of Whom the World Was Not Worthy"

Guest preacher Bill Fennell delivered a convicting message tonight about faith. He defined faith as "obeying God even when it isn't logical, comfortable, or desirable." He spoke out of Hebrews 11, and touching on the second part of verse six, told a story about his young son, Trevor.
His family was at the dinner table and Trevor asked "Daddy, may I have some potato chips please?" Pastor Fennell responded, "Yes, you may." But Trevor didn't take any. Then he asked again, "Daddy, may I please have some potato chips?" "Absolutely, Trevor, take some chips." Trevor responded, "No Daddy, I want you to give them to me, you have bigger hands."
Oh, how wise and happy the Christian who will cease from trying to attain the things he wants and just obey God and let Him do the blessing. He's better at it anyway.

Teri

A Few of My Favorite Things

I (Teri) was walking home today, when I was arrested by one of my favorite spring/summer-time aromas -- that of freshly cut grass. It came so suddenly, I had to stop right where I was when I caught the first whiff and just savor the moment. I like earthy smells. Always have. Tilled sod for gardening, rain-soaked ground, pine needles, hay bales, etc. They're among my favorites in a world of colorful fragrances.
Somewhere between 4th and 8th grade, I studied the art of creative writing. My mom had to practically pull teeth to get me to reproduce thoughts on paper, and to this day, writing is not an activity I enjoy. However, I love to READ most types of literature, poetry or prose, and I thoroughly enjoyed some of the exercises from my textbook used to stimulate the writer's awareness of sensory images. Exercises included thinking of all the sounds your hear in a season, or associated with a particular holiday.(go ahead, try it, it's fun! example: summer= lawnmower, lawn sprinklers, fireworks, swimming pool splashes, children shouting "ready or not, here I come!", wind rushing through leaf-laden aspens, the trilling ominousness of rumbling thunder, etc.) Another was to use sensory images in poetic form to describe an emotion. (I think I tried to depict sadness as a slowly melting ice cream cone... or something) Sights, sounds, textures, and tastes are all glorious blessings, but there's nothing quite like smells to really communicate an image. To me, a smell is not just a smell, it's an experience. The heady sweetness of lilacs, husky campfire woodsmoke, sharp Christmas pine, comfortable fresh-baked bread, country breeze-dried laundry, musty wisdom of old books, the crisp excitement of new ones -- I could go on and on. All of these smells are associated with an experience. When I enjoy a fragrance, it is not an isolated incident, it brings me somewhere. This is one reason why I like poetry so much; a great deal of imagery contained in a small space.
When I smell mown grass I can't help but remember my childhood summertime revelries when my dad mowed our lawn. Sometimes he would mow it in a triangular pattern which, when he first began, created a labyrinth of mown strips. Through the pathways of cut lawn, I chased or was chased by my older sister. Or we would invent some adventurous story wherein our characters had to courageously find our way through the maze without being overcome by the lawnmower.... Our shrieking and giggling continued tirelessly until dusk had settled or so much of the lawn was mowed that pathways no longer existed. Then, contentedly weary, we would tumble into the bath to wash away the itchy grass and green-stained feet.
I once read in a science book that of all our senses, the sense of smell was most closely linked to our memories. I believe it.
How marvelous it is to be blessed with all my senses! These abilities make life so much more livable.
Now I can smell dinner in the oven, which reminds me of... my need to set the table. ;)

God bless!
Teri