What's Wrong with This Picture?

First impressions carry a lot of weight. Although we warn against making hasty judgments ("Don't judge a book by its cover"), the truth is that we do tend to judge things—and people—based on our first impressions of them.

Take this movie I was watching on Netflix, for example: Snow White, a Tale of Terror.  I was in the mood for something unusual, and the evil stepmother was played by Sigourney Weaver (who was admirably creepy in an unorthodox depiction of the most beautiful witch of them all). But any lack of bias I might have had toward the movie itself was destroyed in one of the opening scenes, in which a young Snow White hides from her nursemaid in a graveyard. I do not want to debate the choice of playground locale, which was actually excellent for the genre and tone of the film. But look at this picture and ask why it inspired me to take an hour from my busy day to write this blog:

What the Blazes? Reflections on my TAG, part 4

So there I was, hiking the Paisley Trail through the Ocala National Forest, about four miles from Lake Clearwater and not a soul around. Only an inch or two of water still sloshed in the bottom of my bottle, the windbreaker tied around my waist was covered with sandspurs, and my back had begun to throb with each step I took through the loose sand of the elusive path. Nevertheless, my spirits were high, as was my voice: inspired by the tracks of a large carnivore, I'd been singing at the top of my lungs for about half an hour, mostly in Hebrew.

What the Blazes? Reflections on my TAG, part 3

After two hours of climbing through burned-out longleaf pine uplands, I was covered in burrs and sandspurs, had consumed half of my water, and was no longer appreciating the lesson in path-finding. So I decided to take a mental break. Translation: I worked on my latest novel, the sequel to Brothers.

Last summer, I hit a snag in the plot about the same time school started; the only writing I've done on the book since August is the "frame story" (prologue, interludes, and epilogue), which you can find published elsewhere in this blog under the title "Temptation." But the novel's main plot line stalled out completely while Yisu was dragging one of his brothers across Samaria,

What the Blazes? Reflections on My TAG, part 2

So there I was, hiking the Paisley Woods Bicycle Trail, which had ceased to be a broad, friendly road and had become a (potentially) snake-infested, elusive, uphill-through-tick-country line in the grass. Here's that photo again in case you've forgotten:

What the Blazes? Reflections on My TAG, part 1

Last week I went off on my semi-annual TAG Retreat. (TAG stands for "Time Alone with God." For a while I was calling it "Get Away with God" but that acronym really didn't have the same connotation.) I chose Lake Clearwater in the Ocala National Forest for this year's excursion into creation because we nature-people feel closest to God in the great outdoors...the outer, the better. But my roommate worries if I go too far into the wilderness all by myself (and since watching 127 Hours, I've been more sympathetic to her concerns), so I compromise by choosing the most remote campsite in a regularly-patrolled campground and then making day-long forays into the woods on clearly marked, well-traveled hiking trails and kayak runs.

A Totally Disgusting Mouse Story

WARNING: Those hearing this story have either laughed very hard or gotten totally disgusted. Proceed at your own risk.

Over the years, I have had to deal with mice on several occasions and in several different contexts. One of my professors is fond of reminding us of the importance of context, so permit me to elaborate: there is a huge difference between a mouse in the wild, a mouse in a laboratory, a mouse in a pet store, and a mouse running wild through my house. The first three I leave alone . . . the last is an open declaration of war.

all the reason

my struggles with sin
begin
whenever i let the loneliness in

to keep it out
i tell myself
i sell myself
a load of doubt
create a story all about
a lonely man
create a friend
for him and then
voila!
he is alone no more

miraculously
i too am free
at least
as long as i can be
alone
with just the two of them
the man, his friend
who live and love alone inside of me
we three
together symbiosis prove
without me they die

without them . . .
. . . just i

ironically
though i know them
they always are
and always shall remain
completely unaware that i exist
a voyeur to their bliss
nor do they know
that they are really . . .
well . . .
unreal

they're real to me
and that's enough
or is it?

can it be
that this is all the reason that i write?
that others who are real to God
(and not to me alone)
might know the man, his friend,
and then
corroborate my lonely love?
for real to me
is not enough
it seems
i must have someone real to love
outside my dreams

this then is fear:
for am i even able
to love someone who's real?
i can't replay rewind rewrite revise undo delete
the words that fail to come out right
i can't control create commit compose correct command
the people of this world
and so i fail
and so begin
my struggles
with sin

whenever i let the loneliness in.