Thursday, June 7, 2007
A Blog that Tells a (Tattle) Tale...
THIS BLOG ACCEPTS POSTS (anonymously or otherwise) by Athens-area journalists, government or UGA employees, and other TATTLE-telling insiders. Post your Blog as a "comment" and the moderator will (in his or her Own Good Tyme) reposition your comment as part of the Blog Itselfe. Tattlers from outside our area may be divided into a second Blog, and direct libels will not be allowed.
But Hey, THE TRUTH ISN'T LIBELOUS (ask a lawyer, altho he may want cash upfront). So Go Ye now to Towne....
.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
The Miracle
We forget about the magic in this world, the blooming flowers,
As we tread upon dirt that once was stars…
Our very eyes are miracles—never mind the things we see:
Burials, lightning on the beach, the age of trees,
the thought that comes to me from you, the sparks that fly, the lies in the newspaper, careful work, prayer, good cooking, songs discerned at a distance, made by nature or man….
What is not a miracle? Tell me something that is not a miracle and I will say, no, your are tired, take a break.
But you are right: I did not mention our meanness and broken hearts, nor the stagnant eddies outside the river’s flow in which a soul can waste or wallow, or take a rest.
I will tell you my own story: how badly I began, how naivety led to despair, how stoically my futility begat a slow determination. (Do you want to hear about tediousness, or following the germ of faith, or tearing off my skin of bitterness leaving only this smoldering patient resolve like the carving of stones by the pattering raindrops?
Cry out…and I did, cried and prayed and shouted out that anger until I became,,,,myself—much sooner than I expected—the work of only decades, not lifetimes, much sooner than I expected —and still not finished, but only better-equipped.
Now God, like a fairy story, has granted me one wish: to have your heart next to mine. Am I joyed beyond words, or the confines of this life? Our team has pulled off an impossible victory. I weep as I write this. The sky has opened up, and God has come down and kissed me on top my head. Job’s latter days were better than his first. There is no God but God.
Post a Comment