Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Freeways, Expressways, Highways

Cee threw out another of her Photo Challenges this week, the topic being: Freeways, Expressways, Highways – in another words, roads where you can travel fast on.

She left me thinking of how very many places I’ve gotten to travel this past year, and how very different those places often were. I thought I’d put a couple of high contrast images on here as examples (contrast of places and temperatures, not necessarily photo technique).

The first was taken on my iPhone-5 (yes, I still have a 5 & would have my 4 if I hadn’t fallen on it while crossing a creek – what’s your point?)… while traveling on I-70, I believe, on my way toward Idaho Springs. It was last late July; but as we went up into those mountains on the Guanella Pass, the temperature dropped quickly from 80-something degrees to 40 degrees at the top.

Contrast that with the second image from the first of March this year in the Yei, South Sudan area (in which I dug quickly for my Nikon and stuck it against a dusted plane window around the propeller). I believe this should be the Kaya Highway down below (the large dirt road in front of the mountain range). You might also imagine the contrast in temperature, which was around 105 degrees when we flew out that day (and felt like 140 degrees on the plane), with temperatures that didn’t dip below 90 degrees even in the middle of the nights. I also don’t have to point out the contrast in the types of roadways.

As for speed…were you to see the ruts on the Kaya Highway, you would think, “that doesn’t meet Cee’s criterion of roads you can travel fast on.” True…unless you put it into perspective compared to the roads back in the gaba (the bush)…or unless you’re a UN truck on Kaya Hwy. You should see those convoys barreling down that road while waving all pedestrians, livestock, boda-bodas, and four-wheel vehicles out of their way (as if we’re not already wanting to give right of way of our own accord). “What ruts, they say? Only you, if you don’t get out of the way!” (Besides that, I was in a plane when I took this picture – okay, a puddle-jumper, to be exact – but I figure that added some extra speed when my photo was taken!)

Happy trails (and byways) to you!

-jody

An Open Letter to the Unnamed Trucker on Amnicola Hwy Today

Dear Trucker in the Rain on Amnicola Hwy today –

I really feel like I need to have a word with you. In retrospect, I really should have turned my car around today and tracked you down. Had I done so, I probably couldn’t have been held responsible for my actions, though. You see, if you had pulled that truck over, parked, and stepped out, I likely would’ve tackled you right there on the spot. And then possibly laid a big kiss on you. Adrenaline’s like that. It sometimes causes your emotions to get all confused where you do inappropriate things. Or maybe that’s just me and my emotions. As it turns out, you were safe from being assaulted in this manner only because I was shaking so badly from head to toe, the only thing I could think to do was remain on auto-pilot and head back in the direction of my work.

You and I are one of a few select people who know what you did today. Yet, you’ll never receive a commendation for it. I’ll never even know your name. Heck, I don’t even know what kind of truck it was you were driving, besides a pretty one. Let me take that back. It may have been the most beautiful truck I’ve ever seen before in my life – which I still have today (my life, I mean), thanks to you.

As I was sitting there on Amnicola around 2:00, hemmed in by thick traffic at the stop light in the rain, I saw you in my side mirror as you pulled out of the fast lane and started to come up the wet turn lane. I didn’t think too much about it. But just before you came up beside me, something else caught my eye. A little white car came flying out across the two lanes of traffic from my side – and right into your path. As it darted out from behind the black SUV, an old memory flashed through my mind. I thought of a time I saw a German Shepherd dart across a few lanes of traffic when a small pick-up truck hit him. Emphasis on small truck and big dog. Nevertheless, I won’t describe what I saw happen to that dog; it’s too gruesome. I will say it made me cry hysterically for the next two hours. So it didn’t take too much imagination for me to realize that, when your big truck t-boned that little compact car today, I was about to see something much worse.

When you laid down on those brakes and your truck began to bounce, I knew you could see the worst of the possibilities too, despite the fact you were already jack-knifing while sliding down that lane. I sucked in a breath and held it, praying for you and whoever was in that little car, thinking there was no physical way you’d be able to stop in time. I could already hear and see the future debris flying. That’s when I realized there would be another consequence to your decision. That debris wasn’t going to come my way as quickly as your trailer, which was about to take out the entire driver’s side of my own little compact car. I believe I understand enough physics to know that, even after that, that trailer wouldn’t have stayed upright. I’m guessing it likely would’ve toppled onto me and/or the someone else in front of me. I really don’t know how you did the next thing you did, but I watched you pull your wheels the other direction and somehow straighten out your load – while still managing to avoid a certain death about to take place in front of you. Your truck may have bounced and skidded back and forth, but in a gentlemanly fashion, you made sure it kept all of its body parts to itself.

Sir, I commend you on your lightning-fast reflexes. I realize that the person in the little white car had absolutely zero chance of living beyond you stopping in time. I also realize that my only fighting chance would’ve been increased had I been able to get out of my seatbelt, climb over to the passenger side of my vehicle, and dive into the floorboard had that trailer continued coming my way. We both know that Mission Impossible scenario still has a lot of holes in it. Thank God your real reflexes were much faster than my make-believe ones could’ve ever been.

I also commend you on whatever expert driving skills those were that you displayed today. That being said, please don’t take offense to my next words. This event somehow reminded me of watching one of my boys when he was little, playing in the living room with his Tonka truck, picking it up and setting it down exactly in the spot he deemed it should be. You’ll have to forgive me if this example seems too simplistic for the actions you took, but from my point of view, it was like watching the hand of God reach down and do the same with you. I take comfort in that.

Most of all, I commend you on your heart of gold. It was obvious that you were aware of and concerned about not only yourself, but all of those around you on that road today. Because of your quick, alert and clear-headed actions, one or more of us went home to families who would’ve otherwise missed us this evening. When I told my teenage son our story, I can assure you that he expressed his gratitude to you. So please believe me when I tell you that – even though I may never know your name and even though you probably heard no gratitude beyond the gratefulness you had over the silence when you stopped – your actions didn’t go unnoticed. Today, I feel the need to let others know – you truly are my hero.

God bless you.

-jody

Weekly Photo Challenge: Half-Light

The  PHOTO CHALLENGE for this week is:

Half-Light

Share a photo inspired by a poem, verse, song lyric or story.

I took this photo while in the Holy Land a few years ago with an early version pocket digital camera and added a little editing effect.

For my poetry, I’m selecting a couple of excerpts from Joseph Brodsky’s reflective piece, “I Sit by the Window.”

I sit by the window.
 And while I sit
my youth comes back.
 Sometimes I'd smile.
 Or spit.

I sit in the dark.
 And it would be hard to figure out
which is worse; the dark inside, or the darkness out.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Harmony

Even though I’ve learned a little Juba Arabic for communication purposes in South Sudan, these little ones don’t speak either that or English. They speak Kakwa. Regardless, that didn’t keep us from our own universal communication –

Living, laughing, and loving harmoniously…

(Nor did it keep me from learning to mingle the posho!)

(In response to the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge on Harmony)

Be a blessing & be blessed!

-jody

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: State of Mind

As I walked through the bush in an unforgiving heat during the end of the dry season in South Sudan this past week, the scorched brush bristled beneath my feet. Yet, I was reminded of how, even in the harshest of environments, beauty will always struggle to come forth and be seen.

Take notice around yourself today and see what hidden beauty can spring forth!

This photo is in response to the DailyPost Weekly Photo Challenge on State of Mind.

Be blessed!

-jody

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Optimism

In the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge, we were challenged to reflect on Optimism.
Specifically, “How do you fuel the fires of optimism?”

The other night, as the winter day seemed particularly short and dreary, I climbed atop my bicycle in the warm indoors, attached to a trainer that allows me to travel no further than my imagination can take me this time of year. About 35 minutes into my ride, my brain became more complacent than my legs. I reached over to grab my iPhone, switched from the MapMyRide app that was faithfully ticking away with nothing more than time, likely anxious as to why it wasn’t being allowed to log a more interesting route of progress. After thumbing myself into boredom with a few other apps, I noticed a new email had popped up a few hours earlier in my special email account – the one that has, as of late, been reserved for receiving polite rejection letters on my finished novel, Rolling River. (Granted, I’m convinced there’s a steeper learning curve to writing query letters than the actual book, itself. Yet, I’m also determined to woman-up and keep at it for the sake of all my wonderful friends who continually encourage me to persist.)

Lo and behold, I had something completely unexpected and earth-shattering happen! I opened an email response to my query that began with, “Sounds intriguing!  Please send the full manuscript + synopsis as attachments to my direct email.  I look forward to reading your material.” By the second reading (the one where I realized this wasn’t just an encouraging “this isn’t quite right for me, but best wishes” response), I nearly toppled off my trainer! Seriously. I forgot I was clipped in, as I tried to climb off to greedily gobble up those delicious words again.

Let’s be clear. I understand that, as of this moment, this doesn’t mean my book will be published. But this event is still magnanimous, as I won’t ever forget the literary agent who gave me that gift of optimism. (I may surely share her name at some point in the future, but I won’t put that pressure on her today.) She will always be my first non-rejection hopeful response – the person (beyond those who already loved me) to say that my project had enough value to earn her attention. It was a mountain-top experience, to be certain!

And I surely yearn for mountain-top experiences. Admittedly, I’ve had some colder-weather ones lately; but this photo from Grandfather Mountain this past July (in near 100-degree heat) best brings the appropriate words to mind when it comes to climbing on toward your challenge:

So how have your fires of optimism been fueled lately?

Weekly Photo Challenge: Cover Art

Here’s a shot that I got on my hike this past weekend up to Laurel Falls in Hampton, TN.

Thought it would go perfectly with this week’s Photo Challenge, even if it doesn’t yet fit where I am in life.

Sorry I’ve been MIA

Yes, I’m leaving this one for the grammar freaks to fret about, punctual on punctuation as they may be.

“What ever on earth does she mean here?”

Sorry.

I’ve been MIA to MIA (as was marked on my luggage this past week).

You see, before last week, my brain was burnt. I decided maybe it was time to let my body get that way, instead.

Miami made for a nice brain-break.

The waters looked like the blue and green of the Caribbean this past week, and the sand looked like it was shipped down from the Gulf. (My little iPhone probably doesn’t do either of them justice.)

I actually had no plans to see those wavy waters. As it was, I received a last-minute invitation, based on bumming a portion of a hotel room from my sister, along with the use of her frequent-flyer miles. As awesome as that sounds, I still had to convince myself that our plane rides would allow for the final polishing edits of my dissertation. After much arm-twisting, I decided that was a small price to pay.

After 4 nights and 3 days:

• I accomplished the best tan I’ve had in the past 2 decades (all in the 1st day, thereafter having to hide beneath the beach umbrella each time I heard my skin sizzling like bacon);
• I unintentionally swam with 2 sharks (after which my oldest son informed me that it’s never a good idea to follow a school of interesting-looking fish who have been chased into the shallows); and
• I unabashedly looked forward to a small, delicious piece of dark chocolate snuggled up on my pillow every evening (thereafter being tucked safely in my warm tummy).

Within a couple of days of being home, I managed to:

• scrape off one side of my tan in a road rash cycling incident,
• splash around at our waterfront while cheering T as he did a triathlon (thinking maybe I could get some of my tan to come back through the scabs),
• wave goodbye to T as he hit the road for his big move, and
• finally submit my (typed) final edits to my committee.

I should mention that I only shed tears on one of those aforementioned occasions, but will leave it to you to decide upon which.

Maybe a surprise vacate does clear the mind for taking on the world once again.

Guess I’m truly not sorry I’ve been MIA.

 

The Great Physician’s Hearing Aid Prescription for the Church

Matthew 13 (NIV)

The Parable of the Sower

That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat by the lake. ² Such large crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat in it, while all the people stood on the shore. ³ Then he told them many things in parables, saying: “A farmer went out to sow his seed. ⁴ As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. ⁵ Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. ⁶ But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. ⁷ Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. ⁸ Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. ⁹ Whoever has ears, let them hear.”

Whoever has ears, let them hear.

That line was never more meaningful to me than it became at our Church’s Annual Conference on Tuesday night, when I found myself in need of a hearing aid from God.

We had gathered to celebrate God’s presence in mission work, with seeds being cast over soil across the world through our conference. It included a processional of flags from across the world, of which I was privileged enough to get to lead in one side of the flag-bearers. As I carried the Afghanistan flag, I prayed the whole while for all of those in that country – our military men and women as well – to feel the power of God’s loving presence in their lives. No sooner did those many country’s flags spread out across the front of the auditorium than a tremendous storm began to blow in from the west.

The assembly of people were standing, singing ‘How Great is our God.’

The sky went black with an ominous cloud. The wind was rattling the wall of windows behind me. Large trees were bending. One loud thunder clap, and we lost all power, with nighttime settling on top of us early.

Immediate removal of musical accompaniment did not stop the crowd from standing resolute and continuing to sing of the greatness of our Lord. Soon, we had gone into “…then sings my soul, my Savior, God, to Thee. How great Thou art, How great Thou art.”

The challenge came more to the speakers, working to bring thunderous voices from their diaphragms, than it did to our color guard trying to orderly dismiss ourselves, or to ushers working to provide a candlelit nuance, or to workers rushing to open windows and doors for some air flow. The storm at our conference had subsided, but its passing over us wasn’t going to bring instant repair to a blown transformer outside.

As I stood in the auditorium, straining to hear, I began to see a parable unfold.

Jesus explained the meaning of his parable to his followers in this way:

¹⁸ “Listen then to what the parable of the sower means: ¹⁹ When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in their heart. This is the seed sown along the path. ²⁰ The seed falling on rocky ground refers to someone who hears the word and at once receives it with joy. ²¹ But since they have no root, they last only a short time. When trouble or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away. ²² The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful. ²³ But the seed falling on good soil refers to someone who hears the word and understands it. This is the one who produces a crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”

Often times, we ‘churchy-folk’ like to think Jesus was talking about ‘unchurched-folk’ hearing the Word for the first time, but my ears heard it differently this time around; my eyes saw it in a new light (albeit dimly lit).

As the storm came up, many of the people who were in the auditorium were glancing around nervously, peering out at the scary-look cloud, unable to sing. Frozen in fear. I’m not suggesting that it wasn’t worth giving some attention (and will admit that I did). But, truthfully, there was no additional cover to seek. Praising God in the storm was the very best action to be taken in this case. That seed of praise had been”[snatched] away” from some of the hearts there, though (vs. 19). They could no longer hear the praise over the storm or see God at work because they were blinded by their fear. A few exited immediately upon the storm blowing over.

Within minutes, many of those same ‘churchy-folk’ who hadn’t left, proclaiming God’s greatness only minutes earlier, became frustrated with the darkness surrounding them, the stillness of the warming air, the inability to hear all that was being said in the natural. They began to slip out, little by little, until the auditorium was about three-fourths its capacity. As Jesus said, “they [lasted] only a short time…they quickly [fell] away” (vs. 20-21).

The thorny hearts (vs. 22) became of greatest concern to me personally, to be honest (because, as thorns tend to do, they also reached out to choke out the life – or at least the ears – of those around them). I stood in the back with some friends and fellow flag bearers. If we had strained to hear before, we were surely straining by then. A brother in Christ from South Sudan had taken the stage to thank our conference for the hope we were providing to his people. He had grown up as a child who was taken to carry a weapon of war in the country of Sudan. Yet, he had escaped that life. He had wanted a new life for the generations to follow his, a life that brought hope and peace. He and others had suffered much, but trusted God much, for such a new beginning as that – a beginning that was symbolized in the natural when South Sudan became its own country. Despite the positive word this messenger brought, I also knew what had been encountered for the past year by this brother and another pastor brother in South Sudan with Visa problems to be able to bring it. After much disappointment and even greater patience, our South Sudanese brother had finally been able to come to the states, just so we could be blessed with this encounter. Let me reiterate that his presence among us was special – as though we were personally being thanked by God’s very own messenger. Yet, this messenger was a man from another place than ours, with a different accent than ours, with a low, humble voice that didn’t boom like some of the other speakers. He was working to convey God’s gratitude to straining human ears.

The thorniness didn’t allow some hearts to offer the respect our messenger-brother deserved. Some of those who had earlier exited stood outside the outer open doors, chatting and laughing about earthly “worries” (things that were apparently of greater interest than kingdom issues). After some time, realizing that many on the back rows had one straining ear on the stage and another ear being disrupted by these competing exchanges, a man I know in local missions respectfully closed the outer door. Not only did this act not serve to send a gentle message to the boisterous men outside, but it seemed to encourage the young ladies who were working the desk behind us to become louder, talking between themselves and bursting out in laughter over one of their cell phones ringing during the service. After several ‘teacher glances’ behind me that served to be absolutely ineffective, I closed the set of inner doors in front of the immature offenders. Almost immediately, the doors slung back open, with one of the young ladies slamming down the door stops without concern for the noise it created. She snapped at me, “We’re watching this. The doors need to stay open.” To this, the mother in me kicked in. Without taking the time to explain to her the gravity of our guest’s presence with us, instead, I replied, “Then watch with your eyes, not your mouths, so others can hear.” The seed was not going to be fruitful among the thorns, who deceitfully claimed to want to hear the word, but in essence, served to choke it out from others. I hate that I got snagged by them – as did many others who continued to slip out, leaving less than one-half of our original assembly.

An offering was taken, in which conference envelopes had already been prepared from churches. Many more left during that time, staying only to the point at which they felt their obligation to be there (to turn in their envelopes) had been fulfilled. (I’ve attended worship out of obligation before, too. What about you?)

Jesus said:

¹³ This is why I speak to them in parables:

“Though seeing, they do not see;
though hearing, they do not hear or understand.

¹⁴ In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah:

“‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding;
you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.
¹⁵ For this people’s heart has become calloused;
they hardly hear with their ears,
and they have closed their eyes.
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
hear with their ears,
understand with their hearts
and turn, and I would heal them.’^[a]

I pray that Jesus can heal my heart where my soul can learn to better receive His Word – that I can learn to discern with my heart, to see through spirit-filled eyes.

It’s interesting to me that those standing and praising until the very end of that celebration service – despite the darkness, despite the lack of sound equipment, despite the lack of many conveniences of our modern American day – appeared to be approximately one-fourth of the original group. This was the soil who heard the word through their hearts more than their ears (the same as 1/4 of Jesus’ 4 groups). Seeing how this service was about the mission field (which comes with many similar circumstances), I’m going to be bold enough to proclaim that I believe them to be the seed who will “[produce] crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown” (vs. 23).

Because Jesus also said:

¹⁶ But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear.

¹⁷ For truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.

Oh, LORD, let me be a seer, a hearer, and a doer of Your Word.

Ligo-Haibun Challenge: Mud-luscious & puddle-wonderful

The PROMPT:- The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful  – E.E. Cummings

I’m not sure when it happened. Somewhere, somehow, I forgot I had the gift. Early on, I was certain I was a gourmet chef when my father allowed me to graduate from heating hot tamales in a can for dinner to making scrambled eggs for the first time. At 7, these became my specialty, oozing with cheese.

So gone were the days of lesser dishes now, such as the reheating of frozen sausage and biscuits for breakfast, or the stirring of my father’s favorite delicacy – crunched saltine crackers in ice-cold milk, a side of salty sardines with the lid already peeled back.

One day, in a lightening’s flash, it all came back to me though. I walked outside, beckoned by bass drummers playing my song. My skin felt tingly to the invitation to join in, to dance and sing, to play to this tune. Within minutes, my feet stomped and splashed and squished to the rhythm, laughter erupting as my best friend joined me there.

In that moment, my memory was fully restored. My hands dug into soft dough, confidently mixing selected ingredients around. Within mere seconds, my masterpiece was completed for the offering.

taste buds never lie /
I present you my earth pie /
chocolate, I’d say

***