Beauty in the Desert

I feel uniquely qualified to write a post with this title. I spent my formative years living in the High Desert of Central Oregon, surrounded by pine and juniper trees, bitterbrush and sagebrush, yellow bunch grasses and gnarled lava rock. The color palette of my childhood was tan, muted green, and gray. The soil was dusty. The air was bone-dry.

It was beautiful.

The skies were perpetually blue. The freezing lakes and rivers were clear. And the isolated, glaciered peaks of dead and dormant volcanic mountains dominated the eye from every meadow. I loved the tiny, anemic-green leaves of the bitterbrush and the smell in the air produced by its equally small, pale yellow flowers in the spring. Orange, fallen pine needles crunched under foot in the summer; dry, white powder muted the world in winter. In the fall, a drive to the mountains might reveal the brilliant red of a lone deciduous bush farewelling its leaves against the black of an endless ancient lava flow.

There is beauty in the desert, not just in spite of its desertness, but because of it.

COVID-19 Poetry

Hello, everyone!

I thought it would be nice, since I'm all alone and since a lot of people are flocking to the internet while they're holed up in their houses, apartments, Hobbit holes and  the like, to perhaps post some entertaining fluff poems.

Fluff poems are what I call poetry that I dash off quickly, without too much thought beyond making sure it's coherent and structured. It's poetry for fun, and it's for your fun, too! So I hope you enjoy my very first COVID-19 poem, creatively titled "COVID-19."  :)


COVID-19


There was a lone poet who lived abroad
In an ancient, Slavic land;
She came to teach and live the life,
Then things got out of hand.
A bat and pangolin, they say,
May have made the brand new strand
Of virus which was spread abroad -
Now travel's mostly banned.

The poet hunkered down inside
Her dorm room all alone,
And thought she'd take a little time
To write this little poem.
And so, to all of you, she says,
"Take heart - we're not alone;
Our God still watches over us
In this strange, new war-zone."


Happy hunkering!

-RL

The Great Devotional Poetry Project

You know that thing called New Year’s Resolutions? I normally don’t make them, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. However, back in December I had an idea for something like a resolution. I’d written a few poems based closely on scripture over the years,* and I always really enjoy those poems when I’m done with them. I have scripture references or quotes in most of my poems, so I’m not talking about that, exactly. I’m talking about something rooted a bit more deeply in the text over the course of the whole poem, as in my Isaiah 65 poem. 

Confessions of a Nagging Secretary

Howdy, Campers!

Don't forget to submit your bulletin updates before you leave today! You can still get the EarlyBird rate if you submit your updates before 9:00 tomorrow morning; anything after that costs the full rate.

Thanks!

Rachel Lulich

Activities Director
Bulletin Dictator
Receptionist Extraordinaire

And that's how it all started. An simple attempt to make the weekly reminders I sent to the church staff feel a little less ... naggy ... and a little more fun. But it didn't stop there. Oh, no.

Spoken Word

A while back, I was introduced to spoken word poetry. I'd heard of it before, but I'd never actually heard the poetry.

The basic idea (from my perspective as a written word poet, if you will), is poetry that is meant to be presented verbally; it's meant to be heard, not in addition to being read, but instead of being read. So if you'd like to buy a spoken word poet's work, you'll get a CD (or audio files) instead of a book.

Art and the Gospel

The arts ministry at my church seems to move in lurches; prolonged periods of little to no activity or apparent interest in the ministry are punctuated by Grand Events, as I like to call them, that I never could’ve dreamed up on my own. Thus, after two or three false starts (planned events that almost nobody – or actually nobody - attended), we hosted Ginny Owens for a concert like it was no big deal. This was back in September of 2016.

Shortly after the concert, I sat down with Brian, my Staff Overlord, and John (another staff member who has been enthusiastic about the art ministry) to discuss how we might expand the ministry. I knew of a man in the church named Olando, who is a professional graphic designer and artist from China. I’d seen some of his paintings, and really enjoyed them, so we decided to approach him to see if he might be interested in creating a series of paintings based around the pastor’s sermon series at the time – the book of Hebrews. He graciously agreed.

Wonder - A Poem

I wrote this poem while sitting in a hotel bistro one day, eating lunch and reading a book. Tired out by my work in the Air Force, I had decided a weekend getaway was in order, so I drove to Atlanta for a couple days' rest. I had been writing quite a lot of poetry during that season, most of which ended up in my book, To Do This Right.

This poem turned out to be one of those rare one-draft poems; I think I changed maybe one word during edits. And I still like it.


Wonder

I cannot hide and cannot tell,
Though I have tried them both.
Once the blessings that I sought;
Once me, now him alone.

A burning bush or blackberries?
The distinction can’t be made.
Scaffolds of truth surround the lies
He already forgave.

How to give back the life I owe
And spurn blind unbelief?
How to meet Agape’s love
With Phileo, causing grief?

God is his own interpreter –
Objective truth in Word.
His wonder colors all I’ve seen
And everything I’ve heard.

Isaiah 65 Poem

I really like the book of Isaiah, and certain chapters in particular. One of those chapters is number 65. Some of the word pictures are very striking, like those first few verses: "I was ready to be sought by those who did not ask for me; I was ready to be found by those who did not seek me. I said, 'Here I am, here I am,' to a nation that was not called by my name. I spread out my hands all the day to a rebellious people," (v 1-2a).* The descriptive language in this whole chapter is very effective in creating a sort of cinematic presentation of the broken relationship between God and his people, followed by its eventual repair.

There are also some wonderful repetitions. In verse 12 for example, God, speaking of his rebellious people, says: "when I called, you did not answer; when I spoke, you did not listen." This is juxtaposed beautifully (and doubly)** in the promise of the new heavens and new earth, as God says: "Before they call I will answer; while they are yet speaking I will hear" (v 24).

I encourage you to read Isaiah 65 for yourself; there's so much more to it than what I've briefly mentioned here. I like it so much, it inspired a poem:

Priorities

Kids think the darndest things.

When I was very small, my parents used to tuck me in every night with a prayer. When it was time to settle down and get into bed, they would say, "It's time to P - R - A - Y." I'm embarrassed to think how long it took after learning to spell, to realize that wasn't a word, but rather, the spelling out of another word I knew: "Pray."

When I wrote my poem about being nearsighted, the subject made me remember a long-forgotten childhood concern about my eyesight, years before I ever needed glasses. I jotted down a not very well-done poem about it, which I have now revised.

Sound in Afghanistan

I decided to post a short script exercise (and a drawing!) focusing on sound, which I set in Afghanistan, and then I realized this Saturday is Veterans Day - how perfect!

I was deployed to Afghanistan from February 3 to September 10, 2012. I had a pretty cushy job, all things considered, but that doesn't mean certain aspects of life over there weren't an adventure.

This short piece of dramatic writing is based on real events. The loudspeaker dialogue is accurate according to my journal from that time - I heard it so often, I had it memorized, so I'm glad I thought to write it down - and for a while I had a neighbor who hit the snooze button on her alarm clock instead of turning it off, then left it in her bed and went to the showers. We were on different shifts, and this occurred basically in the middle of my sleep cycle.

Good times. :)

Fishing in Sunriver - A Poem

When I was six years old, we moved to Central Oregon. I know Disneyland claims to be "the happiest place on earth," but their marketing team has clearly never been to Sunriver. We lived there for about four years, maybe five. I have so many memories of being a kid there. What a place to grow up! Plenty of wilderness to explore, 33.5 miles of bike paths, and on and on. I remember standing on 5-foot high snow piles from the plows as we waited for the school bus in winter. I remember running through the woods in the summer. It was the kind of magical childhood you see in movies.

One place we used to go from time to time was the marina, a nice spot for a family of five to go fishing and swim a little. It seemed like a good subject for a poem:

Hashtag: Writing Goals

Five-and-a-half years ago, I was in Afghanistan. The base I was stationed at was divided into sections, and my unit was housed in a small rectangular yard. The space was enclosed with chain-link fencing, which was covered in fibrous green, tarp-like material. There was an opening near the street to allow access to the yard.

In the back of this rectangular, gravel-filled space we called home, the wall of green was interrupted by an incongruously wooded door.

Poetry Isn't Always So Serious

I was looking through my files today and I realized: I've written a lot of poetry! Much of that is serious stuff - about God, or about life. But there's a lot of lighter fare too; simple, fun poems that make me smile when I read them. The serious poems take me ages to write, and they don't come every day. Often, they don't turn out well. But for some reason, I can almost always write the fun stuff.

For instance, earlier this year, I went to a coffee shop for the sole purpose of writing serious poetry. As I sat there thinking, I decided a warm-up poem might be in order. Now, I didn't end up writing anything profound that evening, but the warm-up poem turned out pretty fun! Here it is:

Interview With Ginny Owens - Part Three

This is the third and final installment of my interview with Ginny Owens on the intersection of art and faith. Click to read Part One or Part Two.

Most of your music is overtly Christian, but you’ve also released a few songs that are not. Do you write many of those?

I do. This past weekend I wrote a Country song with a couple other writers. I also have a song in a new movie about human trafficking. I'd even say that, while many of my songs are explicitly Christian if you are a Christian, listeners who don't share Christian beliefs might not hear them that way. In the future, I plan to release more of both.

Faithfulness

Well, Saturday was The Gray Havens concert. It was wonderful. Dave and Licia are really lovely, and of course the music was phenomenal. We got to chat a little here and there, and they wanted to know about my own writing. This, naturally, resulted in further thoughts about how I really don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going as a writer. So when I was trying to decide what to post today, I started looking through the poetry folders on my computer. This one caught my eye.

Misplaced Glory

Heresy

I am afflicted in my soul for the sins of the people.

I am disheartened in the house of the Lord –

in the very house of God they deny you

in affirmation of their own goodness

and justice and mercy and lovingkindness –

distorted mirrors, waving as they flex.

The Gray Havens

                               This Saturday, we're hosting The Gray Havens at our church.

                                     It's free, so click the link to reserve a seat and join us!

Last year in September, Lake Bible Arts hosted its first ever special music concert. We brought Ginny Owens out, and she was fantastic, personally and professionally. It was a really wonderful evening, and everyone who went loved it. My pastor even motioned for me to come sit next to him midway through the concert and asked, “Are they leading worship tomorrow?” At my affirmative response he said “Good” rather emphatically. I knew then that the concert was a success.

A few months went by, and I decided I’d better start looking into setting up a concert for this year. There was no guarantee we would do another one, but I’d never dreamed we would do the first one, so I figured I’d poke around and see what happened. That’s how I found The Gray Havens.

My First Bible

There are lots of children’s Bibles out there. Some of them are basically large picture books of key Bible stories. Others are more complete, but in kid-friendly language. Then there are plain old ordinary Bibles, with some illustrations. I had the latter.

Long before I could read, I had my illustrated King James Bible. My brothers each had one, too, but theirs had built-in zippers to keep the book closed when not in use. I was very jealous. I still don’t know why theirs had zippers and mine didn’t. Maybe there were only two of the zippered Bibles at the store when my parents bought them. Maybe I was too little to use a zipper. No matter. I eventually decided mine was better because it was easier to flip the pages without that extra cloth in the way.

Customer Service Micro-Play

A lot of the micro-plays I've written are a little abstract. That might not be the right word... I think non-realism might be more correct. At any rate, such is the case with the third in my series of seven plays in seven days.* (You can read my first effort here.) In class, I definitely felt more comfortable with non-realism, so imagine my surprise when the first full-length, 2-act, 90-minute play I wrote was pretty much realism!

Anyway, here's a non-realism micro-play for your enjoyment:

Nearsighted

I'm nearsighted enough that it's illegal for me to drive without my glasses. I can't make out the titles on my bookshelves from more than about a foot away.

At Christmas, though, I like to take the glasses off for a minute while looking at a decorated tree; the little light bulbs become indistinct rounds of fuzzy color, bleeding into the blurred mass of what used to be individual green needles. In a way, it’s far more beautiful than the crisp, clear image I see when I put my glasses back on; it has an air of magic. It’s the same with stars. With glasses, they appear to be the tiny pinpricks of light that they are, but if I take my glasses off, they appear bigger as each bit of light expands in blurriness.