THE FRENCH FRY AND THE PLATYPIE

Kait, this is for you. Everything that happens has a purpose, and nothing is unknown to God’s eyes. There’s a will and a purpose for it beyond what you could imagine, and so all you’ve got to do is keep trusting in God. Sometimes, being certain of God means being uncertain with the way the world is, but trust me, you are a beautiful daughter of his, and he’s got incredible places for you to go. I love you chickadee. :)
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A blank sheet of paper is daunting. I love to write, but I fear the words I have to say are not enough. Not well enough put, not fancy enough, not elaborate enough. I worry no one will know what I’m talking about. That my words will simply fill a void. Take up a space that no one notice. And sit in a dull, lifeless existence for all the time they grace this world. And it makes you wonder, is this how I see my own place in the world? Because my words, are very much me. I put my soul into my poetry, and I feel free to say things in a way I never could out loud. But I’m not fading as person, and as long as my words are mind, they aren’t fading either. Whether they ever become well known, or adored, or even if another human being never see’s them, that doesn’t diminish their value. There’s a simple invisibility in nearly everything we do.
Now, I haven’t a clue how those thought relate to these, but I figure as I write, it’ll come to fruition. I’ve been avoiding writing this blog for some reason I don’t even know. But everytime I’ve started, I’ve given up and turned away. The topic? “French Fry’s and Platypies”. Thank you Kait. You see the whole idea started at Dairy Queen. Kait and I went out for lunch, and we were talking about everything under the sun, plus some. At one point, Kait told me a BRILLIANT saying she’d heard, “If you ever doubt God has a sense of humor, look at a platypus”. It was great, funny, not to mention really actually true. As the conversation went on, we somehow got on the topic of how God works little things that seem unnoticed into big things.
I mean hey, the “big thing” here was that we both had food, in front of us, to eat. I went off on some tangent as I often do. I said, you know, think about where this food came from. I mean check it out right, you’re eating French fries (so am I). Those had to be cooked. Someone here cooked them. But you know, to cook, they had to be delivered, so someone brought them here. But they had to be packed to be delivered, so someone had to do that. But I mean, they had to be cut up to be made fries. So you know you had to have someone slicing potatoes. But the potatoes had to come from somewhere. And you know, we haven’t got a CLUE who EVER planted these potatoes, I mean if you wanted to you could maybe trace it back, but nobody ever would. But I mean knows, that person, who planted the potato to be cut to be packaged to be shipped to be cooked for us to eat could have been walking down the street by those platypie (yes, we made up the plural version) that God made, and heck, our French fries are connected to it.
So. What’s the point of all this humble jumble? I’m pretty sure my first concept has nothing to do with my second one. But you know, if you searched hard enough, you could find the connection (besides the fact that I wrote them both). Because isn’t that the point? That everything is related and interconnected. Maybe the French fries are not REALLY kin to any platypus down the road (though I like to think they were), God is sovereign over all of that. If he wanted them to be, they could and would be connected. There is no detail - no matter how insignificant it may seem - that God hasn’t accounted for LONG before it ever happened. My writing is no mistake. It’s not a secret. God knew what I had to say long before I even existed to think to say it. And that is pretty, freaking, amazing. Look for the little things God does in your life, that you might not notice. You could be amazed when you realize how well worked and intricate something so simple as a French fry could be.

Seperation Equals Enhanced Communication.

You know, God's been on my mind. I know what you're thinking, isn't he always? But not really. I am a typical human being, and tend to only really think about God when I need him the most. You see, God has always, always been in my life. I grew up learning about God, and I am so undeniably blessed to have that experience. As I was talking to a friend over lunch today, we were talking about how people who grow up with God seem to think that they don't have a testimony. But, as my wonderful friend put it, "God has no grandchildren, he only has children". At one point or another, your relationship with Christ has to move past what you were raised with, and become personal. You have to accept God as YOUR father, YOUR savior, YOUR truth. You can't completely rely on your parents or families experience with God, YOU must experience God.

Another wise young woman I know wrote recently about her realization that being a follower of Jesus means LITERALLY following Jesus, not just believing in him. Action is key in our relationship with Christ, and you must seek him out. So when I say God is on my mind, I mean I feel the desire to continually seek him out, to search for God, not to just let him be a viewer in my life...not that God would content himself to sit on the sidelines anyways.

I began to understand this difference in London. It was the first time I have truly been on my own with God. My roommate was not a churchgoer, and I couldn't go home on the weekends to go to church with mom and dad. If I didn't seek out a church, or seek out Christ, it wasn't happening. Period. So the first week I didn't go to church, I didn't really even think about God come Sunday. I just let things be what they were. Luckily God was smart enough to nudge me in the right direction, and my host mom asked me if I wanted to attend church here because I mentioned it in my letter to them, so she told me about all the different churches and this and that. So the next Sunday I went, mostly because I was afraid of what my host parents would think if I didn't. It was scary to go to a church where I knew no one, alone, in a foreign country. But I did, and instantly felt a desire to keep going.

And as life kept going, the little tiny flame for Christ started to blaze in a way I hadn't really experienced before. I hadn't brought a bible with me, so I started a search for one (side note, the new international version is not very big internationally, haha). This lead me to talk to other people in the group, and realize there were other believers with me. I remember feeling an unquenchable thirst to read 1 Corinthians so I borrowed a girls bible while she was in class, and just soaked in the glorious work of God. I then felt a need to read the Shack, so my search continued. Eventually I found both a bible and the book, and read through them in a short period of time.

I have never felt so full of God. Being separated from my comfort zone gave me the chance to see just how much I need and want him in my life. To see just how much my relationship with him is about him and I, not the church and him. I need to be included in it. I need to be in constant communication. I need to surrender to God. I need to pray to God. Church is a fabulous, wondrous thing, but it's not everything. I still gladly attend church on Sundays, and I commune with other believers, and I learn about God. But in London my relationship transformed from secondary to personal. And it's so much the better for it.

God is all about love.


And I am in love with God.

The Ending of an Epic Journey

I leave London tomorrow. It's truly a bittersweet thought. I am so incredibly thrilled to come home and see my family and friends and all of that, but. You know, London has become a home. And Tina, Stefan, Caspar, and Katie have become family. I have grown inexplicably in the time that I've been here, in terms of education, personality, and faith. I've learned a good deal more than the program sought to teach, and I've had the experience of a lifetime. I will take every person and every moment that I have encountered here back to the US with me, and I will have a broader perspective of the world.

Thank God for foreign study.


If God calls you too, GO.

Entertaining Kafka's Waiting

It's a combination of idea's from three plays..."Entertainng Mr.Sloane", "Kafka's Monkey", and "Waiting for Godot". Work in progress, but I'm posting what I have....enjoy.


Entertainng Kafka's Waiting
"Ladies and gentlemen of the academy",
three voices create one sound.
Different, yet connected.
"All I know is that the hours are long",
can one entertain my wait?
"he loves me", she says,
but do they know that is not true?
they entertain my wait.
As "I account my former life, as an ape"
"I don't seem to be able to...depart"
I guess I wait for a newer life to start
but "we're waiting" always always.
"you wouldn't put me away, would you"?
you wouldn't let my stories go to waste.
"I'm impressionable"
so entertain me
let me speak my story so long
because we wait, we wait.
and you entertain my wait.
"saved from what?"
"we are all born mad, and we remain so"

The Other Conversation

When class discussions get boring, I listen for things that people say without saying. Here is a combination poem of about 10 minutes of conversation. It's all taken completely out of context, but funny how you can make a poem out of it none the less.


The Other Conversation
Language substituting for props.
"I bite my thumb at you, sir"
Remember? Yeah, it's coming back.

It's especially her field.
It depends, says she.
Does that make sense to you?
Can you make a connection of that?
Well, yeah. A little confusion of absence,
they may be in the same time of creation...
but that's not.

It's written in more of a tradition,
this is teetering on the grounds,
it's more simple stories.

Buckle up, she says,
there were two takes of the play.

They were featured so heavily,
that gives you a sense of the reverence.
He had a circle of people around him,
at the time called a work in progress.
The afternoon would go on.

No, no, leave it in.
He had an embrace of chance.
Demanding, in terms of demands.

I think definitely the language,
this is an old for of new.
The simplicity of it, the everyday of it,
I think that's modern.

Is every edition just like this?
He wants the text to speak for itself.
They are all kind of sparse...
apparently.

He hung onto the script,
one of the interesting things.
Historically, he was blocked.

They're fabulous,
it's doodling.

Language is one of the modern things,
the poetic language and philosophical scpiel.

Not just the very man.
Nothing happens twice.

Just going with that...
that's it.
Sarrah Loyce, 26 May 2009

JoAnne

JOANNE
1 Corinthians 4: 10-13
“We are fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are so strong! You are honored, we are dishonored! To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty. We are in rags, we are brutally treated, we are homeless. We work hard with our own hands. When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it: when we are slandered, we answer kindly. Up to this moment we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world.”

Today, I met a woman named JoAnne. To most, she is an invisible woman, but too me, she is a person who represents something I would like to be. You see, JoAnne is homeless. She sleeps in the fire exit of a Tesco, she sells “The Big Issue” at Euston square, and she occasionally visits classrooms to share her experience. Though she looks tired, and cold, and though most days I might walk past her without a second glance, today JoAnne was an inspiration in a dim world, and I long to have some of the faith she lives on every day. JoAnne said nothing to me or my class of God, or having any faith in him, but she served as an example of unspoken strength. Though her situation may only relate to mine in a spiritual sense, I admire her. And so, I will tell you about JoAnne, and what a daughter of God she is.
A typical day for JoAnne goes a little like this. She gets up before 7am. If she doesn’t, the managers of Tesco will come make her move out of the emergency exit. She packs up what little she has – a sleeping bag, and a couple quilts – and is maybe given a bagel by the man who works in the pub across the way. She goes to the nearest tube stop and waits until she can hop behind someone swiping their oyster card and get through the gates. She takes the tube to Euston square, where she spends most of her day. She sells “The Big Issue” (the only legitimate way of making money if you are homeless) and hopes that people will donate food or money. She can’t have a sign, or cup, or bowl – begging is illegal in London. She might make between 8 and 15 pounds, depending on the day.
She has to use all of this money on food, so it’s impossible to save any money. Eating out in London is expensive, but it’s JoAnne’s only means of eating. She has no way to cook or keep any food, no kitchen, nothing. So if she’s lucky, she might get a meal or two for the day. From here, she typically heads back to the Tesco, again, having to use someone else to get onto the tube. She puts out cardboard to stay warm, gets in her sleeping bag, and covers herself with her blankets. She can’t sleep until 2 or 3 am, because the people in the Pub across the way are noisy and obnoxious. At 7am, her day begins again.
JoAnne spends most of these days unnoticed. “Regular” people pass her by without a second glance. They offer her little money or food, and when they do, they forget she’s a person. It’s easy as people with oodles to think, “well you don’t like what I give you, fine then, I won’t give you anything”. But JoAnne is still human. She doesn’t like bananas in the same way you or I don’t like hotdogs, or tomatoes, or pea’s. Why is it that because she lacks possessions, she loses her right to humanity?
It’s not a safe world JoAnne lives in. She’s been raped, beaten, and attacked before. She lives on the streets with no protection, and she finds it practically impossible to trust another person. But what kind of faith must she have to keep going, to make it through every day in such dismal circumstances. If you ask her, she will tell you her hope is her children. She has three, whom have all been taken from her life. She recently became able to see the eldest, and must wait until the other two are eighteen to see them. I find JoAnne to possess a faith that I lack, and I long for the spiritual homelessness that creates such unfathomed faith.
I guess what really struck me about JoAnne is that she didn’t seem to see herself as lacking in anything. She might be without food, she might be without appreciation, she might go unnoticed by the world, but she still had a purpose, something worth getting up every day, something making living worthwhile. And I wish that I could be homeless in that sense. That I could see beyond my material desires, and just live on the faith that Christ gives me. In that bit of 1 Corinthians I have above, Paul is talking about how the apostles are the scum of the earth, the homeless. Yet despite the trials, they bless, and they have grace, and they live knowing that this world isn’t it. I long to be that kind of homeless in this world, and long to live for the home Christ gives me in him. I long to become the “scum of the earth”, and to live for something different then the plastic people of the world, to have faith in what’s real, and to be able to show undying faith to others spiritually as JoAnne did to me literally.

1 Corinthians 4: 3-5
“I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of people’s hearts. At the time each will receive their praise from God.”

An Epic Amount of Poems

Okay, here goes. I couldn't imagine sleeping, so I thought I may as well type these up. Enjoy, hate, love, learn, what have you.

Challenge #2 - Use only song lyrics/titles.
And So We Shuffle
Measure your life in love,
time after time,
don’t forget.
It just takes a little faith,
and when the music starts,
I search for life.
Our shadows grow,
speak from my heart,
pretend that you’re feeling.
The time has come,
one single drop of rain,
and it’s crazy.
Possibilities,
like the stars,
guitar packed in the truck.
To run ‘round the wind,
what’s next,
once in love?
Surprise surprise,
turn your fear,
keep on thinking.
Looks like another silent night,
where did we go wrong,
when are you going to rhyme again?
Wake up sleeper,
you don’t have to do that,
it was so unique.
Sunrise,
makes her fly,
and I know I’m making something.
-Sarrah Loyce




Challenge #3 - my least favorite challenge which turned into my favorite poem (maybe). Challenge was to write a poem regarding your emotions that alludes to a minimum of seven literary/biblical people/places/events.
Untitled
overwhelming discontent
running, but I cannot hide
reality swallows me like the whale
and like Jonah, I still cower,
facing the sea is easier,
than acknowledging what faces me.

I find myself at a crossroads,
like Alice, with two bottle from which to choose.
a choice must be made,
it's a fact I can't avoid,
so I close my eyes, and I drink.

Am I David or Goliath?
Do I fight or am I fought?
Do I conquer, or do I fail?

I return to the road again.
the road less traveled, the long road home
I fall before him and confess
denying my denial, I am Peter
I beg to return, and I am forgiven.

So I start back on my way.
I fight like a Spartan,
long and hard, to the death.
but can I conquer?
will I defeat this fear?

How do I prevail
What is winning in this world?
Is winning containing my Pandora?
or being wholly known?
Am I an Eddie, or shall I settle for half?

No matter the case, life's a riddle
told by a Centaur who knows more than I.
all that can be done is to choose a way,
and wholeheartedly run for the gate.
pray to my God, ask for forgiveness.
scribe my name in the book, please God,
'Cause I'm coming home one day.
-Sarrah Loyce




Challenge #4: Write a dark poem, only talking about how love sucks. (Katie, my challenger, was asked to do the opposite.) Nyst be dark, angry, and/or depressing. (I don't make the rules :P)
Ugly Love
Love
is repulsive
a vulgar lie
it's a mutual misguidance
where two people think they've got it right
it starts out as a spark
and turn into a lustful lying flame
contently they lie, hoping that together they'll die.
I hope so too, please, see it through
and remove your idiocy from my life
"true love waits", no, true love hates
and it's truly a work of your mind.
it must take such imagination
to believe a thing like love could exist.
it must be a fanciful indignation, how dare you call love wise.
philosophers may fall, and lovers call out each others praise
but love will always fail, and fall under my scornful gaze.
-Sarrah Loyce




Challenge #5 - what about next Tuesday
What About Next Tuesday
today I sit, and I write
I listen, and I contemplate.
It's Friday, I know, but what
what about next Tuesday?
Something important comes that day
I don't yet know what is, maybe
So I sit, and I stand
I draw, and I meditate
on things I may already know. but what
what about next Tuesday?
what is it that calls my attention so?
it's just another day, the weather
will be what it may, so why?
why next Tuesday? why won't
it leave my head? I'll wait until
next Tuesday. and I'll hope for the best
instead. of. dwelling
on next Tuesday. but what
what about the next, next Tuesday?
another fixation that may come into my head?
It's not that it's next Tuesday.
it's the wonder and the want. but what
what is it about next Tuesday's?
why much some question always be in my mind?
curse you! Curse you Tuesday!
and next Tuesday, an all Tuesdays
after that, Good day, next Tuesday,
I'll think of Monday instead.
-Sarrah Loyce



Challenge #6 was the Attraction of Insanity...which I wonder if people will hate.




This last one is not a challenge, just a poem I wrote on my way home. (and yes, I know it changes tense)
Man on the Tube
You can see it in his face
he's remembering
it's a good memory, an old one
he relives it as I watch him,
he just looks off into space
and he smiles, a secret smile
as if he knows something you don't
and he does.
and you wonder what good memory it could possibly be
is it triggered by his music?
or is it something about the tube?
content to wonder, you write
and he dreams of that mysterious night
and you both just go on your way.
-Sarrah Loyce