who's who?

i saw a vulture in the field today.
he walked with a limp.
i could hear him thinking
'i'm a loner and i get all this bovine afterbirth for myself'

my friend came over today.
her sister took all her mother's antiques
and kept them for herself.
her sister must walk with a limp.

the Mercy Seat

i real-ized something this morning!

when i pray, i say 'Lord, your will be done" but
without knowing it, i'm trying to come up with an answer for the person i'm praying for.

unintentionally, i try to assess their situation and when i can't come up with an answer,
i 'give it to the Lord.'

meanwhile, back at the ranch,
i'm still judging who i'm praying for!

i am nOt coming in all humility.

i look at their sins and see what they should and shouldn't
be doing
or saying
or how they are living.

i'm not laying my life down.

now, i don't verbalize all of this while i pray.
i've not even been conscious of it,
until this morning.

the Lord lives in me.
He dwells on the mercy seat of my heart.
but do i acknowledge Him there?

 i seem to be able to stay outside the Holy of Holies,
avoiding the fear and trembling and humility,
by leaning on my own understanding and experience.

i grieve, i cry, i beg for mercy for those i love,
but am i dying for them?

'no greater gift , than that we lay our life down for a friend'

can i get myself out of the way long enough to truly
bring them to the feet of Christ in all humility?

can i,
will i ,
do i ,
say "Lord, but for your grace O God, go i ?"

the truth is,
i am nO better off than aNyone.
the LORD is my righteousness,
but how easily i  fall into my own
web of pride and self righteousness and self-deception.

please,
forgive me.

            james 2:13 ~ Mercy Triumphs  Over Judgement !

happy birthday cindy belle

colorful orbs dance along the ceiling

above streams of salty crepe.

wraps and greetings a-glitter

confettii

crystal pond of fruity sweetness

icy fish and flowers swim

cups and chairs and dolls with lacy

undergarments

shiny shoes, curled hair

coloring books and crayons

blowing bubbles and

paper tubes that go

weeeeeeeeee

soft white cake

buttery pink frosting

tiny flame tipped candles

ribbons of smoke disappearing like

the years

my favorite pet

i was raised and lived

in the midwest

as a child

the nights were hot and sticky

my little sisters and i

stayed out late

past the mosquitos

when the cool came into

the backyard

and the lightning bugs would lift

from their underground dens

magically throbbing

yellow glows of love

all through the night air.

with a peanut butter jar we'd run

and jump and catch them

in our pudgy bare feet

we pulled fragrant grass with our little fists

for our new found pets

to make them feel at home

in their  glass houses.

when we caught 4 or 5 or 6 of them

we would sit

on  warm concrete steps

of the stoop

and watch

as they filled the jar with light

and crawled desperately

over the grass

and each other

their wee red heads and

gray striped wings whirring

their little legs trying

to climb the slippery glass

our cold sweaty hands

held over the top

feeling the tickle of their

great attempts to escape

with a piece of granite and a nail

holes would be punched into

the jar's lid

and screwed on tight

for the night

time for bed

in the morning

they were dead

the first time

i cried

but then

 i got used to it.

billy and earl

billy bluejay stellar

and earl squirrel brown

lived in murphy's walnut trees

far above the ground

earl was a workaholic,

gathering night and day

while billy was a lazy cuss 

stealing where he may

                                                              earl squirrel found each nut

and buried them for later

but jay would follow, dig them up

and take them,  leaving craters

jay'd drop the nuts from way  up high

and listen to them crack!
then fly down to the open nut
 and eat them with a grrack!         chkchkchkchkchkchkchk.

                                                      earl squirrel ran in the road

(poor thing was such a clutz)
he died that day and mean old jay

cried 'blast! i'm outta nuts!"

i wish i could fly . . .

           



        

  i miss my mom

w i n d 's s t o r m

i felt a rush in my head as

the barometric pressure

dropped rapidly.

it'd been warm for a few days in

 february.

the groundhog month.

the shortest month.

the love month.

the month of betrayal.

every february i am beguiled

as her cold grey churlish character turns docile and

sunny days move through

beckoning  me to clean garden beds,

plumping buds and forcing bulbs to emerge

from the comfort of their sleepy little burrows.

the  siren song of a warm friendly south wind

changed the tune of the chimes hangin on my porch.

and with rake in one hand and trowel in the other

i stand fighting my urge to make plans,

and get busy.

until this day,

again this day

when february laughs at me,

turns round once more and with a playful BITE

comes rushing back from the
West NorthWest

crashing into the warm south visitor
and pushes 'er OUT!

i heard her comin.

it was dusk when i heard her

blustering through the cedars,

whipping rain and snow in furious spits.

as we went to bed that evening, i opened the sash just a whisp

to hear her moan and whistle as she blasted by

slapping the tin on the roof of the barn

clangin all the chimes and threatening

to push down a tree or knock out the electricity

i snuggled under the down and smiled.

she didn't get me. 

nope.

i got a lot done while she was gone, and now i need a nice little break

to plan for the real spring

comin right behind her.

mulch

yesterday was a perfect  day for working outside. the sky was blue, the breeze was very light, and the robins were doing their canned laughter imitations.

i had had a wonderful valentines day and aside from the flowers and chocolate, he gave me a yard of fine bark mulch.
***the perfect thing for a serious case of spring fever.

so after we had eaten our morning oats (which i hate, but he loves, so i eat them) and i had made his everyday lunch and got him out the door to work, i got on my mudders and florescent green gloves and headed out to the utility trailer where the steaming mulch huddled from the frost.

retrieving the wheel barrow, shovels, rake and broom, i began scooping up the rich black mulch and wheeling it over to blanket my naked gardens. ahhh. it felt so good to use muscles that had been left to sleep, while crochet muscles took over for the winter. it felt so good to feel the fresh air, fart out loud, wipe my nose on my sleeve and feel my hat fall down around my eyes.
the mulch was damp and because there was barely a breeze, it went onto the beds with ease.
every now and then i'd take a break and look into the sky, get the binoculars and check out the neighbors, and let the chickens out who were tangoing by the gate.
they love being free like me.

i had hung sheets on the line and they were so crisp and fragrant!
and after a nice long day in the sun and with aching musckles, i climbed into our bed with sweet memories and the feeling of a job well done.
i slept like a log.

i resolve

i resolve to revolve in revolution to my resolution by

reconstructing reconciliations with reassuring realizations of regenerated redemption.

i am resigned to a reformed refined reflective regiment to rehabilitate, renovate, and repudiate 

the restrictive  result of retentive and repressing replenishment remisses.

with reflux reducing redundancy, i shall refrain rebellious reaction, and republish  reasonable recommpense

with recollections of  recipes recommended to reconcile this receptacle with it's rectum.

if i should regress regretfully and return like a retriever to  it's regurgitation,  i will retaliate with reticence against this recidivism and

refuse to reverberate or revivify the resonance of this resolution, regardless. . .

until
next monday

blood moon

i don't sleep that well anymore anway, but when ever there's going to be  a total lunar eclipse or some other night sky event, i get kinda weird.
i wake up every half hour to see what time it is. this time i finally woke up at 3:30 am., when the moon was supposed to be fully eclipsed.
i pulled on my shoes,  grabbed a coat from the closet and ran outside. i stood there in the pale night searching, searching the sky for the blood moon, when i realized, there were no stars. the fog was very high, and i knew if the moon weren't eclipsed, i would be able to see it through the heavenly mist. but it was hiding behind the earth's shadow, so i couldn't find it. even eclipsed, the moon combined with the fog made the night not dark. it was gray. void gray. dark shadows of trees, farm lamps piercing their surroundings with long needles of light. cold silence. i stood there taking it in, as i rarley go outside at 3:30 am.
the donkey in the barnyard snuffed. i felt like the moon was laughing at me. i imagined where it was. i thought i saw a whisp of it for a fleeting second and i determined it was right above me. i gave up. i yawned, and walked back into my warm house. i hung my coat in the closet, kicked off my shoes, and climbed into bed.
me and the moon had a thing.

meet joe fox

yesterday morning i decided to make a pot of vegetable soup.

it was a snowy morning and that just sounded like the right thing to do.

i went out to the frig that's in the garage.

up top in it's freezer, i keep frozen berries, apples, pumpkin and cherries and in the lower part i keep potatoes, onions, drinks and carrots.

my carrots from the garden.

i gathered a few assorted shapes n sizes and brought them on into the kitchen.

i peeled them carefully and then went to slice them.
my knife crunched through the first giant orange thumb and woah! the aroma was so powerful!

it was SO powerful , it transported me back in time. back to 1975- i think.

i lived and worked in kalispell montana. i got a job at a healthy food deli.

joe fox

we served everything with alfalfa sprouts. the soups were artisan, the sandwiches were mountain high and ya know, everyone who worked there had long hair.

kila

one of the gentlemen who worked there was joe fox. i quiet man from vermont who was quick of wit and loved to laugh. he lived in kila. a little settlement in a beautiful valley just 10 mi? outside kalispell.

he invited us to his house one day and we rode on out there in our 48 willys wagon.

his house was an old old house, and we were surprised to see, when we went inside, he had insulated the entire house with stacks of newspaper tied in bundles. it was a bit dangerous, but we were young and didn't really think about those kind of things. it seemed like an excellent idea!

he heated and cooked with wood. it was snowy outside and  it gets very cold in montana.  it was getting near dinner time so  he said, 'lets go out to the garden and get us some veggies'.  we got our coats on and went out to the snowy covered patch.

dead remnants of herbs and marigolds, tansy and sunflowers stood like three dimentional shadows drooping toward the earth.

he got a shovel, and low! and behold! he started digging up carrots and turnips ! (this was before i had ever grown a serious garden so this was really something!)

eureka! we hit gold! i think we even had to pump our own water but in the end, i cooked us up a stew i'll never forget. nothing like a cast iron dutchoven simmering a home grown stew on a wood cookstove.

i had many little adventures in montana. such hard working idealistic folks there. you had to have some kinda fire in your own belly to make it through those 20-40 below winters. but there never was anything more beautiful than the stars that hung above the rockies. i can see why they stay.

those montana rockies

the subject was wrinkles

allegory

 

 

i wadded up a new fresh stiff piece of paper

and then i unwadded it.

it was all wrinkly but it was a little softer.

i wadded it up again and then i unwadded it.

i smoothed it out. it's wrinkles made it pliable.

i wadded it up again and again and it started to take on a different color.

it reflected light differently.

and it was so much more interesting

than the fresh stiff piece it had been.

the fresh stiff paper could take on someone elses rendering.

it could be what someone else thought it should be

but the wadded paper had it's own character.

 

a regular person came in the room.

they wanted the fresh white paper

so they could draw themselves on it

or turn it into a hat or a plane.

if they made a mistake, they would tear it up and throw it away.

they didn't want to have anything to do with the wadded paper,

because it was old and used.

but then

a remarkable person came into the room.

they looked at the stiff new paper and the old soft wadded paper.

and said, 'well, what have we here'?

the remarkable person picked up the wrinkled paper and held it to the light.

the remarkable person stroked the soft used paper and decided

this would be much better to wrap his precious gift in.

the end.

 

october's hope

 last life most bright

showing all 

 the best of what it has been

resonating joy against

impending finality

fruit and seed, color and golden light

all defy it's ominous promise.

proof that

death is not the end

but a silent timeless sleep

while the earth is prepared

for new life

more glorious than the last.

by gigi murphy

writer's guild  #3

i n e r t i a

i am experiencing a powerful sense of inertia today.

the sky is moody cloudy breezy with drizzle.

the house is cool but not cool enough for an added heat source.

i have been moving randomly from room to room, putzing mostly.

my thoughts wander.

my prayers seem futile.

i wanted to find a picture of inertia to insert into this blog.
i realized, while i am experiencing inertia,
i don't know the math of it.
i would be posing to put some sort of physics equation in here,
and then, i realized that even that decision is inertia.
i opened my 1925 'winston simplified
(intermediate edition) dictionary
and looked up the word 'inertia'
defined here as 'sluggishness; lack of activity; that property by virtue of which matter tends to remain
at rest...
the word directly across from inertia in the left hand column is 'industry'.

i also notice on the same page, the words ineffectual, inefficient, inelastic, inelegance, inexcusable, inexpedience and finally, inexorable.

> all leading to inexperience.
i once read the first part of a book called 'the war of art'
the author described in detail, the force of 'resistance' that comes when ever a person is about to do what he or she was intended to do.
whether it be creating, singing, going for a walk, reading the Bible, praying, giving, sacrificing time for someone, or anything that would be good for you and others.

you know the feeling.

i think what i need right now, is a friend with a very large leash. anyone wanna take me for a walk?
you pull.

Love and Learn

well, our annual cornathon went off without a hitch. . . except maybe for the corn.

it was not so good this year, but the celebration was, i have to say,

the best one ever. i wish i could invite the whole world!

i think there were 56 people all total if my memory serves me,
and each person had their own gift, their own character, their own blessing.

when i recollect each beautiful face, i think of the particular light that they brought to the event.

we have a policy that all doctrine and politics be left at the end of the driveway.
in a way, that's our doctrine so i don't know if it's fair, but again,

'little children, love one another'

i find that while doctrine and politics are neccesary to the human species' intellect,

i also find that it causes division and predjudice.

judge ye not lest ye be judged.
these two powerful energies can cause a person to 'unlove' someone.

i think it's great to learn and listen and find out about a persons opinions and feelings,

but often (in politics or religion) we come to a point of, 'if you don't believe the way i believe,

you're wrong and quite frankly you suck.'

i think the apostle paul made it perfectly clear in his first letter to the corinthians- 1:11. . .there are quarrels among you. . . ie: "i follow chuck smith, well , i follow the pope, well, i follow orson bean!" (paraphrased)

vs.13:   IS CHRIST DIVIDED? were these other guys crucified for you? 

vs.18 states-  for the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
for it is written; "i will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent i will frustrate"

where is the wise man?
where is the scholar?
where is the philosopher of this age?

learning is a good thing. i hope i will always be teachable.

but i also don't want to be swayed by every wind of doctrine

that would separate me from the LOVE of Christ, or 

the LOVE in me, that keeps my eyes on the prize!

we need to be able to except one another for the people that God purposed  us to be.

the different colors that make the full picture.

if a certain doctrine is the way you sway-great!
we will all learn from you, but let us be who God intended us to be.

if you have a calling in politics, so be it.  let us learn from you, but let God do the moving.

if you have a 'mission field', hurray! teach us about it but don't judge me if it's not MY calling.

let God be the judge of a heart.

some of us need to go OUT.
some of us need to STAY HOME.

everyone of us is a facet of God's plan.
we don't need to judge or manipulate or generalize or divide.

it's all good when we learn to love one another.
through Christ our Lord.


photo by  talia filipek



mistake? who says?

i wanna start by saying: 'please give me the benefit of the doubt'. thanks.

okay so-
i was writing a card to a new friend and i made a mistake.
a bad mistake.
the kind that could ruin a card.
the kind that makes you feel stupid.
 i was writing in pen of course.
trouble is, is that it was a vintage card.
no replacing it.
so- ya know what i did?

i scribbled over my mistake and put little twinkle stars around it.

i wrote 'i like mistakes'

it was a real epifany for me.

i mean, there are mistakes we make that hurt people. things that can't be undone.

but for the most part, mistakes always lead to learning,
if we let them.    i mean really!

look at what we have to work with.

by our very nature we are

'off the mark'

shouldn't we embrace our mistakes as guiding stones to the right and level path?

even if the mistakes are huge, in time, something always comes round to good.

that's how it is for believers anyway. if i am free to make mistakes, will they really be mistakes?.

perfection is the end of all things.

we will be made perfect in the end. but for now, mistakes are the things we do on the way there.

sanctification, is something only Christ can do in me. i can't do it myself.

i come before him and lay my mistakes at His feet. if i didn't make mistakes, i wouldn't need Him.

so i'm glad i make mistakes. they bring me to the Rock that is higher than i.

if i quit requiring perfection in my own life and in others, i can rest in the knowledge that He who has begun a good work in me will finish it and that relieves me of putting unreasonable expectations on myself and others.

hurray! mercy triumphs over judgement.

ya know
i really do think it's why people like my paintings.
they look like happy mistakes.
i don't know about you, but for right now, i'm feeling pretty good about this and very free.