Wednesday, December 17, 2014

A Place to Play - Publishing a Book Series

As writers, we usually don’t get to see into each other’s creative process. We see the final product or perhaps a semi-polished version read aloud in a writer’s group, but rarely do we get a peek at the raw material.

My rough drafts come out of my writing notebook. To make it, I decorated a composition book with a collage of pictures meaningful to me and covered it all with contact paper to protect it. There are pictures of the Eiffel Tower, Amsterdam, an elephant, and a forest covered in snow. They remind me of places I’ve been and things I’ve seen. There are also words pasted on: “Places to play,” “Let your voice be heard,” and “Forever Art” to inspire me.

Ever since I made it, it’s been the notebook I pick up whenever I want to write a new poem or when I long to explore an idea. The edges are now dog-eared and worn. The notebook has gone wherever I’ve traveled and is often in my workbag when I go about my day. Many of the poems from my third poetry book can be found here as well as many going into the fourth. Some of them are easy to read while others are covered with arrows, words crossed out, and writing on the side to the point only I can decipher the final lines. My editors, when looking at the notebook, commented on how my writing is shockingly small. There are bits of phrases scattered here and there in the margins – phrases I heard on the radio, read in a book, or thought of myself that I wanted to use as ideas for later. It’s my continual source of inspiration.

I love this notebook. I can pour into it my thoughts and feelings and only type out on my computer what is worth developing. As a writer, this notebook is where my heart is. It’s become like a highly valued friend and I know when I open it, I am completely free to be myself. I can experiment, try new ideas, and write about whatever themes I want.

This raw creativity is where a writer should start: a place where you are free to be yourself and express what is inside. Jack London once said: “Keep a notebook. Travel with it, eat with it, sleep with it. Slap into it every stray thought that flutters up into your brain. Cheap paper is less perishable than gray matter, and lead pencil markings endure longer than memory.”

For some reason, writing a poem in my notebook is easier than on a computer. I love refining a poem as I type it up in Word but the raw material always feels better to me written in pencil between my mosaic of pictures. Every writer has their own way of doing things. They find what works for them. Having a notebook in which to spill it all out as if to a friend is mine.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Lessons Learned from Printing My Books - Publishing a Book Series

As great an experience as publishing is, I learn a lot every time I go to print, lessons I put into practice with subsequent books. I thought these lessons would be for myself alone until a high school student approached me asking if I would mentor her for her senior project. She reminded me a bit of myself at that age except even brighter and more put together. So I took what I learned and shared those lessons with her. It was a gift to pass them on to such a gifted artist in her own right and her book came out beautifully. Here is some of what I told her in relation to the physical printing of books:

  • Find  a good printer specializing in books. For my first and second printings of my first book, I used a local print shop that specialized in making copies. I did this because it’s what a fellow author did and I was so green behind the ears, I didn’t think to look at my options. This shop, not being very familiar with books, put the first page as the last page and though they gave me a discount for the mistake, I was quite disappointed. Not quite learning this lesson, I used a different print shop for the second title but wasn’t really satisfied with that resulting book either. Though it was an improvement with a color cover, I realized later they hadn’t told me about some of the other printing options – options I would have gone with had I known. By the time I was working on redesigning the first two books, I knew I needed something far better than what I’d found thus far. That is how I came across Gorham Printing and I’ve loved their company every since. They are small, family run, relatively local, and they have gone out of their way to help me out time and time again. I really appreciate the quality of their work, they know the business, and so I recommended them to the young woman I mentored. They have handled all my printing since. They key here is to shop around and find a company you like – not just the product but the people as well.

  • Design a full color cover. My first cover was a cardstock cover with black ink. Though self-publishing was still very much on the sidelines at the time, I could have done a lot better than that. Again, I just didn’t question what else could be done. I made that change with the second book and couldn’t wait to go back and redesign a new cover for the first. I would now recommend having a cover professionally designed because I’ve seen so many unprofessional covers that just look awful. Though I now have some of the needed skills to design a cover myself, I hire a graphic designer as she comes up with ideas I would have never thought of that look fantastic.

  • Always check the final proofs. I know first-hand how tired you are of looking at your book by the time it’s ready to go to the printer. You have to look at it again anyway with a detached eye. In my first book’s first printing, there were some lines of a poem missing because I only saw what I expected to see or I didn’t look closely enough. You have to check it again. You will regret it if you don’t. Doing this before the book was reprinted the second time, I caught the same printer’s mistake. Thinking I had made a mistake, they put that first page in the back of the book again. To this day, I do not know why they thought a title page should be in the back but I am sure glad I checked. Gorham has done this right every time.

  • Leave room in your deadlines. I know it’s tempting to work down to the very last possible moment but I urge you not to do it. Gorham has been great when I’ve designed a book for someone who needs it back fast but, in general, leave lots of time. When I printed In His Eyes, the local print shop’s copier for the covers had broken down and they had already put off the job to the last moment. I was supposed to have a book release party either that night or the next day and I had no books. Being stubborn and determined, I drove the paper to another location of theirs forty-five minutes away, had them print the covers there, and drove them back to have everything bound. I still shake my head at this experience and will never repeat it. Now, when I’m getting a book ready to go to print, I call Gorham and ask them about their current lead time so I can add some extra time just in case.

  • Always get printed proofs from the printer. Whether or not you have artwork in the book, this is a vital step. You will notice things you did not see before and if you have pictures in grayscale or color, this is especially important. The original proofs for my third poetry book were too dark and I was glad I saw those proofs before they were all printed. You also want to take a look at color to make sure you like how the ink turns out on the printed page.

  • Always be gracious and polite with whomever you’re working. Yes, that first printer made a mistake but I still needed to be kind – yet firm. More people will want to help you when you’re nice to them. Once you find a printer you like, value the relationship. It will pay dividends down the road.

I haven’t yet made the printing decisions for this book. Those choices will be made later on after I figure out what this book needs. As the first three poetry books were a trilogy, I stayed with the same style and printing choices. This next one, though, stands on it’s own and so it can look different from the others. I’m excited to see what that look will be.

Check out the first two posts in this series:
Behind the Scenes
Delving into Publishing
These posts can be originally found at Stories to Tell.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Diving Into Publishing - Publishing a Book Series

You’ve been working on some writing and are considering the possibility of self-publishing down the road, but it looks like a large, unmanageable jungle. You’re not sure where to even start and thus ask a question I often hear, “How did you start publishing?”

This is a story that goes back to when I started writing in junior high school as a way to express the feelings I didn’t have the courage to say aloud. I wrote pages to God to share all the angst in my heart and poems about the world and those I loved within it. It was a way to get things out and to process my thoughts. These habits of journaling and writing poetry stayed with me through high school and on into college. When I was particularly proud of a poem I wrote, I would share it with those around me.

After graduation, friends told me they wanted to read more of my poetry so I collected it all and made three copies to circulate around. It was not enough and I was looking for a solution when I met another poet at the Salem, Oregon Art Fair’s Author Table. We hit it off and she extended an invitation to visit her and find out more about self-publishing. At her house, she told me about ISBN numbers, editing, illustrators, copyright, and obtaining a Library of Congress Number. She told me where she had her books printed and showed me more of her own work.

Being poor, I didn’t have much money to pay for such a project so I asked the people who wanted me to publish if they would be willing to buy the book before it was printed. They were. I added some of my own money, hired an artist friend for the illustrations, and recruited another friend who designed a church newsletter to help me layout the pages. We spent hours and hours in a small room figuring out all the little and not so little problems of laying out a book and when we were finally done, I took the files to a copy shop to have the books printed.

It was a fantastic feeling to hold a book in my hands that I wrote and I am still immensely proud of my much younger self for opening up her writing to the world and for having the courage and determination to see the project through at a remarkably young age. People liked the book and with the extra copies I sold, I had enough money to reprint a second edition. With the money earned from that printing, I printed the second book and so on. Each time I print a new book, whether it’s one I wrote or someone else’s work, I learn something new. I would, of course, make some different choices if I went back to do it again, but I would never tell myself not to publish the book. Even as amateurish as that first book looked, I would still give myself the go ahead for it has meant something to the people who read it – far more than I would have ever thought possible when I first wrote it.

Friday, November 28, 2014

Behind the Scenes - Publishing a Book Series

Note: As part of my work with Stories to Tell, I'm starting a series of blog posts about the writing and publishing of my next book. I'll still be posting about other topics as well, but this will be an ongoing story over the next year. This is a new kind of writing for me as writing and publishing is usually a behind-the-scenes effort but here I'll be bringing it out to center stage. You will be able to find all the posts under the label "Publishing a Book Series." If you have any questions, leave them in the comments and I will respond to them. I'm looking forward to sharing this with you!

The original blog post can be found here on the Stories to Tell website.
 
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It’s the question so many people ask. As writers, I’m sure you know what it is. It’s the question that brings both great delight and great discomfort. It’s the question that makes us smile with pride yet also makes us suddenly shy. It’s the coaxing out of information we tend to clutch tightly to our chests. The one we are secretly longing to be asked.

“So how’s the book going?”

There it is. What do we say? Do we tell them what we’re writing about, what stage the book is in, what we want it to become? I’ve been asked this question recently by my editors, by the baristas at my favorite coffee shop, and by a friend while I was visiting her house. I actually love to be asked this question as it keeps me accountable to keep writing and it gives me opportunity to share about a topic I love.

Here at “Stories to Tell,” we know many of you are going through the same process of writing, editing, and publishing your book so we thought it would be fun and informative if we created a blog series around the process of me putting my book together. You’ll get to come along on the journey as I figure out what writing I want to include, what to do about illustrations, printing, working with editors, and just how this thing is going to come together. As this is my fifth book, I’ll also be going back and talking about other things I’ve learned while publishing the first four.

Please feel free to ask questions in the comments and I’ll respond to them in the next post!

Welcome aboard!

Friday, October 31, 2014

Better in Person


Sue and I on a hike at Silvercreek Falls
 
I sat across from Sue at one of my favorite places to eat breakfast – the meal I most enjoy sharing with a friend. Though a work day, Sue had the day off (mostly) and I enjoy a flexible work schedule. As the woman I work for had commented to me just that morning, it was great to be able to shift my work around for such things – a perk I know not everyone has. Still, I was deeply grateful for the gift of time with my friend as we had both been going through very hands-on lessons of how short life can be and we appreciated having each other there. 
 
In the last two and a half years, I have lost four grandparents, a great-great aunt and a great-uncle who was very much a part of our family. Death has come intimately close. A month ago, I was also helping friends who are very much family cope with my two year-old niece’s frequent hospital stays to treat a newly-discovered heart condition. Just two weeks before my niece’s first hospital stay, Sue’s parents-in-law were involved in a head-on crash when another car crossed into their lane, likely due to the other driver suffering a stroke. Her mother-in-law, also named Sue, is also a friend of mine and is sunshine and love itself. Both her and her husband suffered grave injuries and I cried for those first few days until we knew Sue especially was going to pull through. My friend and her husband traveled for weeks between hospitals in two different cities while living in a third. Pretty soon after both parents were finally back at home, Sue was told her dad has cancer and is going through a dangerous surgery in a few days. (Please join us in praying for him.) 

So there we sat looking at each other, knowing full well what a gift breakfast between two friends can be and how quickly we can lose those we love. Going through such times, you learn to take a different perspective on life, conflicts, and the petty squabbles and differences that can so plague our lives. We both knew it. We both share it. We’ve both had recent conflicts with people that upset us but we now look at those issues and shake our heads for we’ve seen what’s precious and taking time to engage in those conflicts is not it. Working things out with those we love is one thing, arguing over inconsequential issues never is. 

What we told each other we do want to invest our time in, is love. While fully acknowledging we both have jobs and responsibilities, we talked about how we also have to make time to be with those we love no matter how busy we are. We have to make time for what is truly important or we will forever be chasing after busy nothings letting life dictate to us what we need to be doing instead of us deciding what to do with our lives. Sue told me the lists will always be there. There will always be more things to do, more work to complete. But the people who are important to us can be gone at any time. Each moment with them is a gift and it goes all too soon.  

I look at those I love and am constantly in awe of how beautiful they are. It’s extraordinary – like lifting a flap, as pretty as it is, and seeing this breathtaking soul underneath. It amazes me every time and inside, I just fall to my knees in gratitude for getting to walk with them here. Every minute I get to spend with them is the best of my life. When I think of what I’m grateful for, it’s nearly all faces. No matter what else I have, it is absolutely incomparable with the worth of another person and getting to share love with them? Wow. I am so humbled by the friendships God has given me.  

I know many of you while reading this will wonder how in the world I make time for people as, at least on Facebook, I always seem so busy. It’s not true. Yes, I have activities I go to for part of an evening, but you don’t see the other twenty-two hours of my day. There is always time for people. It’s one of my life rules. If my hobbies or my job interferes with my relationships, then it’s time for a change. No matter how busy I am, I strive to keep God and my friends as my #1 and #2 priorities. I may have to schedule out a little bit but even while juggling multiple jobs and hobbies, I know what is precious and those people come first.  

And here is something also incredibly important: Facebook doesn’t count. It’s nice to keep up with people I normally wouldn’t see as they are acquaintances or those people who live in other parts of the country or the world. It takes more planning to visit them. By all means, like their posts and comment on their photos. But if that person is important to you, you need to pick up the phone and call them. Texting doesn’t count either. Arrange a time to see them face-to-face! Hold them in a hug. You have little to no idea what is really going on in their lives unless you sit down with them. I never posted about any one of my six family members dying. I only shared that with close friends in person. Don’t think because you’ve seen photos from their vacation or texted them hello that you are investing in the friendship. Relationships, just like plants, need time and attention to grow. In person. 

We are heading into the time of year that most aggravates me as far as this topic is concerned. Culturally, this time of year has a special emphasis on spending time with those we value but we rarely actually do it. We are so busy doing things for people, we forget to be with people. I listen to friends say how they’ll have so much more time to get together this next month or next season, once “this” is over, but I hear you say this every month, every season, for every event. It will never happen - you will always have something more to do and will never have that time for those you love, friends especially since they are often left out, unless you choose it and make time for them. If you really value them, you will make time for them. It’s that simple.

To my friends who know me as more than a writer – I love you. I really hope you know it already. I hope I’ve had the courage to tell you out loud. I hope you can feel it when I’m with you and I hope you can feel it when I’m not for in my heart, I often think of you, hold your face in my hands, and wrap you in love. You are the best of my life.

Let’s get together soon and often, for I love you and love is always better in person.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

The Wolf Howl of God





This is the assignment for the Spirituality and the Senses class I'm auditing at George Fox Evangelical Seminary: Where is God in Our Sense of Hearing.
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The river was quiet and the night cool. From my vantage point standing in the back of the boat, I peered through the darkness trying to spot any trees or rocks poking above the surface — clues there was far more hazardous material lurking underneath needing to be avoided. During a night practice, it is not an easy task. Though the lights of the city illuminate the slough to some degree, it’s not enough to make the dangers obvious. But that is my job, my sole responsibility: to keep the twenty paddlers and caller safe. Though for this reason the authority on the boat is ultimately mine, I only give commands when I have to. Most of the time, I watch and listen. Some people may wonder why I largely gave up paddling to till but the truth is, looking around at the river and the sky, hearing the birds and the breeze, I have the best seat in the house. During this particular night, we were paddling in the slough and my ears were tuned to the noises of the night. That’s when I heard the owls. They were soft and gentle and hearing them “whooo” from the trees was magical for me. I asked the paddlers in front of me if they had heard the owls’ call but they had not. I was the only person who heard them because I was the only person who was listening. Hearing the owls has since been a living reminder to me to listen deeply, to appreciate what may not be heard right away.

When choosing what kind of hearing experience to try, I decided to focus on what would be the most stretching for me and what I finally came up with was to sit quietly for a long period of time. As ironic as I know this is being part of the Friends’ church, I have a horrible time sitting quietly. When traveling around among unprogrammed Friends, I can only be quiet for so long before silently writing in my journal. I would much rather move and discuss than sit in a silent room — too polite to leave yet not polite enough to leave my journal in my bag. Even on the boat I have a job to do, a till to guide through the water. Knowing how busy my life is, I do take at least fifteen minutes in the morning to sit silently with God in my favorite chair. There’s no music, no journal — just God and I having a talk or sitting in each other’s company. It’s a needed time to just be. For this experience, I decided to stretch the fifteen minutes to an hour and to try it two ways: once with music and once without. Both were hard.

The first night I tried it with music. Knowing intuitively I needed something more meditative, I used a CD from the library called “Wolf Song”. It starts out with forest sounds — birds, a river, trees creaking, and wolves howling. Having just gone backpacking at an open sided shelter deep in the wilderness the weekend before, the sound of the wolves sent shivers up my chest. The thought of having such power so nearby and me being so vulnerable was frightening and thrilling at the same time. Wolves are humbling. Such intelligent creatures and yet so fearsome. This is how God also is – immensely powerful, uncontrollable, ready to strike in ways we may not like and this scares us.

Along with the wolves’ howl, the sounds were interspersed with musical interludes laid over the forest sounds. First there was a focus on the wolves, then the music, then the wolves again. I tend to focus on the musical side of God – thrilling and heart-soaring, enriching and beautiful, full of color and life, comforting to the soul. But there is also this other side to God – this wolf howling at the moon side I too often neglect to see. This haunting illustration of the fearsome dominance of God chills the heart in its tracks and makes one forget all shallow pretensions before God’s awesome show of power. Staring into the eyes of a wolf, one is both caught in the wonder of the moment so rare and yet also scared out of their mind at what the wolf could do. The angels in the Bible had to keep telling people to “Fear not!” Encounters with the true God, not an image, leave people trembling from head to toe.

One of my favorite books on the images of God is Imaginary Jesus by Matt Mikalatos. In the book, the main character interacts with a wide variety of Jesus images until finally in the end, he meets the real Jesus but instead of being face-to-face with “I AM,” he is kneeling and Jesus comes up behind him and lays his hands on his head. He never sees Jesus’s face. He never captures a new image – it’s the silent power and the lack of an image that finally speaks the truth of who Jesus is. I’ve had so many images of God in my faith journey and they have each been valuable and taught me something in turn. They’ve been the musical interludes to my relationship with God, the comforting moments, the healing hands, the loving words. They’ve all been immensely valuable yet it’s been the times when God has stepped in without my asking – speaking my name, coming to me in a dream or reminding me how un-knowable he/she is, the times when God has howled like a wolf in the night that I tremble before this God I cannot control or truly begin to comprehend.

The question I come to is, “Can I truly trust God if I am constantly making up who he is?” Yes, it’s comforting to imagine God sitting up in a tree beside me talking things out or just enjoying the moment, but if I stay up in the tree with him/her, I’ll have missed much of the point of who God is. We can’t ultimately name God nor is an image of God ever going to be complete. I am slowly learning to let there be space between the images, to stop in the silences and hear the wolves howling in the shadows, feel the trembling vibrations in the blowing breeze and to go further inside myself past blood and bone into my soul where my deeper wisdom tells me I have knelt in the woods myself and howled along. This is the God I want to know – the one I can’t direct, can’t grasp, can’t begin to draw or paint. Yet, at the same time, I am driven to try. As a writer and artist, I am drawn to the musical interludes, the beautiful expanses of song coloring in who God is and I long to take up my own watercolor pencil set and sketch out a few pictures of my own. Perhaps we are allowed to do this as long as we respect the silences and know we must ultimately lay our pictures down to hear who God really is.

Laying the music down and embracing the silence was difficult in its own right. Instead of the music being a bit distracting, my thoughts stepped in with the grace of an orangutan playing a drum solo. Trying to calm and quiet myself in the midst of all this noise was slippery at best and downright impossible at worst. The waiting I have endured for several months is playing at a fevered pitch for two to three more weeks and I’m now having a hard time breathing. I know this is a time when I most need to sit quietly with God and, in fact, when I wrote about my struggles breathing as a conversation with God, they did ease a bit for a day. Even so, I laid down in God’s arms and got to talk with him about my fears and concerns about all these changes going on in my life. I told him I feel like I am suspended in mid-air unable to get down and unable to move on. I’m just hanging there. It was also hard to put down the to-do list yet a relief at the same time. I have often thought in the mornings that fifteen minutes is just not enough time with God and our time often does go over. I’m hoping with a different work schedule I can take more time in the mornings to sit with God.

Out of all five senses, hearing seems to me to be the most direct to God. Though I know God is closer to me than I am to myself, I have to remind myself everything I know with my other four senses is, in fact, God present. But with hearing, whether inwardly or outwardly, I hear God and I know it’s him. You can’t mistake that voice – not when you’re standing on a beach and hear your name or you’re standing on the back of a boat gliding through the dark and hear a whisper. There are times I question if it was God and there are other times I just know. It’s at those times my body shivers for I’ve come face to face with a power unfathomably beyond myself, a love far more ferocious than I’ve ever felt, and a voice far more addicting than any other I’ve ever heard. Though I cannot tell from whence it comes, it speaks, and it speaks to me. This wild wolf howl of God echoing in the woods comes from somewhere and everywhere and invites us to set aside our preconceived notions and listen anew. 

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Where is God: Looking for God in the Hood

This summer I'm auditing a class at the seminary I graduated from - "Spirituality and the Senses", a course I've been wanting to take for a long time. I'm loving the class. A part of our coursework is looking for God through five experiences focusing on our different senses. For my sight experience, I decided to look for God in my own neighborhood. This is what I found.


I have gazed on the enormity of the bells in Saint Paul’s Cathedral, looked down from the top of Multnomah Falls, and climbed every step in the Eiffel Tower. I’ve seen God in the performances of Cirque du Soleil, in the saunter of the giraffes across the African savannah, and in the juxtaposition of death and life on the island of Alcatraz. Around the world, there are amazing places where you can walk up to the face of God, sit down, and gawk at the vastness of his wonder. In my life, I have been very lucky to have traveled, tasted these experiences for myself, and to know they are, indeed, good. Within the beautiful scene of deer grazing in a sun-drenched meadow where the wildflowers sing in chorus, it’s hard not to notice God. But I wonder — what about in the unlovely? What about in the unpleasant places, the old and the abandoned? Is God in the dirt, in the garbage, in the scenes where hope seemingly has no place to go? I’ve seen so many beautiful places but have never stopped to look in the grime of the gutter. Can God be just as present and noticeable where we never stop to look? This is the question I set out to answer.

When thinking about where to go on this search, the image of a nearly empty lot a block away from where I live came to mind. I live on the north side of downtown Salem in a neighborhood with a reputation for poverty, crime, and overgrown yards surrounding falling apart houses. Though the neighborhood has improved a great deal with the building of an independent movie theater, a large building known as Broadway Commons which includes a jewel of a coffee shop, the “hood” still has many rough edges, broken sidewalks, and the occasional gun shots, or so I've heard. Personally, I love it. I love my apartment (most of the time), my neighbors have good hearts, and it’s within biking distance to so many of the places I love to go. Yet there is so much along my route that is not pretty which I never look at and I wanted to know if God lives in the Highland and Grant neighborhood as well as the African savanna and the grand cathedrals of the world.

In search of my answer, I started at the nearby abandoned lot and then worked my way to downtown. Wanting to cover ground but also wanting to be close to the world, I took my bike, a notebook, and my camera so I could take pictures of what I found.

To imagine this lot where I started, picture a rather large rectangle of ground covered in grass, weeds, and blackberry bushes, with a little cement walk leading from the sidewalk to front steps which are guarded by two green bushes on either side. That’s it. Just the steps and the bushes. There’s no house, just the remnants of a cement foundation under the weeds and the cracked front steps leading off into the broken dreams of someone who once lived there. I pass it nearly every day and it is an eerie sight. To the left of the steps is the old driveway with weeds growing in the cracks which are as plentiful as the garbage littering the ground. Leaving my bike laying in the grass as the kickstand wouldn't work on the uneven mounds of dirt, I explored what was once a tiny house and an even smaller garage. Then I noticed the tree. In all the times I have ridden by, how could I have missed it? This tree, this incredible tree, is growing between what was once the cement floor of the garage and the six inch wall of cement surrounding it. Coming through a gap about an inch in width, the trunk is squeezed into an oblong shape but then reinstates its round nature for the rest of the trunk. 

What intrigues me most about this tree is its sheer determination to grow. Not only did it find one of the most unlikely places to sprout, but it managed to go through great adversity and remember its true nature. In similar manner, God’s power shines through no matter the struggle and difficulty. We can be going through the toughest of circumstances and it in no way impedes God’s ability to be the gardener in our growth. Even if we are squeezed to our breaking point, the true nature of our souls as beings of light always wins out and we will always ultimately remember our true nature as God’s image. The tree also reminded me that God’s miracles are everywhere and there is beauty and amazement in something old and abandoned just as there is in the largest church. Just because we can’t see all the wonders of God doesn't mean they aren't there. Perhaps we are too busy to look or we don’t expect to see God in that place, that theology, or that person, but there God is extending life through the cracks of our awareness.

The other thing that intrigued me about the abandoned lot is when I looked around in the weeds, it was the garbage and not the green growing plants reflecting the light. We are too quick to dismiss what we deem to be unimportant, trivial, mundane. God looks at the small, the throwaway, the things we pass by on our way to find religion and uses those things to make the Divine presence known. Some of my “mistakes” in life have led me to the greatest gifts, my pain, struggles, and questions transformed into healing balm for others. At one house I passed by later on, they had turned broken pieces of granite into a mosaic in their yard. They saw the beauty in what otherwise would have been thrown away. It is only when we stop concentrating on our destination and pause to look along the road, perhaps even leaving the trail and wandering through the field, we become aware of the eternal wildness of God in everything we see. 

To put into practice this new awareness of stopping to see what I normally pass by, I stopped on the sidewalk along my route on Broadway Street to look at a creek. As I was leaning my head on my arms watching the water flow below, a voice spoke up behind me, “It’s flowing faster today than yesterday. Yesterday it was only flowing two to three miles an hour. Today it’s probably about five.” I looked behind me to see a teenage boy with blond hair wearing a black shirt and white shorts with an ipod in his ears walking along the sidewalk. I commented back to him it was probably due to the rain we had the night before and he replied while still walking, “Yeah, and it’s also getting warmer and the snow in the mountains is melting.” I looked after him for a few seconds as he walked away and got the sense I was watching the back of God. After all, how many teenagers with an ipod notice and can measure the speed of a creek? It was as if God decided to take a form to talk to me like in the old show “Joan of Arcadia” to tell me about the creek I was looking at, how he noticed it intimately every day and wanted to point it out to me. Even now, the experience has stayed with me. I think God likes showing up like that with a “Here I am!” under the words. God likes to walk past and leave us with puzzled looks on our faces wondering “Did God just do that?” Whoever it was, God was still there and was also in the yellow dragon fly that flew in front of me when I turned back to look at the trees.

Looking down into the waters, I realized I didn’t even know the name of this creek flowing through my neighborhood. I later went online to Mapquest to look it up and found it is the last portion of Mill Creek before it empties into the Willamette River. I knew Mill Creek wound through Salem but didn’t realize this was the same body of water. Wondering where the water came from, I followed it on the map but there were so many bodies of water coming off of it along the way and it spread out to so many other towns, fields, and forests, you can’t actually tell where it comes from as it comes from everywhere and touches so many places and people. Isn’t that just like God? We as churches camp out on the banks of God Creek and tell each other that only this view of the creek is the correct one. Only a creek going through a city or farmland if we’re in the country is the right one; perhaps we only believe a creek watering a forest is the real creek. But wherever we’re at, however we relate to God, we as a church tend to stay in our theological box. I bet God laughs at our attempts to contain him/her. I bet God is there inviting us into a boat to try the creek for ourselves and to take a look at all the different places God inhabits. I wonder, what do the places look like I have not yet seen? Where do I refuse to see God? Where have I not yet found her?

Just past where I stood looking at the creek is a short dead end road with a few small houses and postage stamp yards. Though I have never visited him, I know a fellow dragon boater lives on this street and since I had never taken a closer look, I decided to check it out and planned on turning around where the road ended to resume my route. Along my way, there were lovely crimson flowers and a few kids playing in front of one house. Arriving at the end of the road, I was surprised to see that instead of the dead end I expected, underneath an arch of trees was the opening of a bridge beckoning me on. Through the trees, the bridge arced over the creek below and I stopped halfway along to gaze down into the water. A duck played along the left bank, it’s emerald green head shimmering in the dappled sunlight. Not only was there no dead end, but there was life, abundant life! In my explorations of God, a year ago I was on an interesting but relatively predictable road of knowing God, as predictable as such a road can be, when a friend made an observation about me which lead me in a whole new direction of how I saw myself, what I considered my soul to be, and a great deal about how I saw God. I initially thought to just check things out, see what was there, but at the end of the road, God gave me a bridge to walk over and there around me, just when I thought I was playing out of bounds of mainstream orthodoxy, I found abundant life. I came to value who I am as a soul, to bless the mystery of myself, and to see things from a larger perspective. Respecting my own power and decision making abilities, I now have greater respect for God’s power. There is a peace now knowing God will make a way for me when I don’t see it from this human perspective though there are many times I need to be reminded of this truth again and again. Still, I have learned to see beyond the apparent limits yet with greater understanding of how much I do not know about God—and myself—and because I’ve been given this gift of not knowing, I have greater trust in God to be whatever he/she is. Taking that bridge changed the entire course of my explorations in my neighborhood and I saw many beautiful things on the other side of the bridge I had never seen before.

Exploring my neighborhood, I discovered things are never truly abandoned. There is never a place without God shining through. Even if we choose to leave and not see it, even when it seems to be a dead end, God’s truth remains and hope dwells within. Besides all the seemingly beautiful places I’ve seen, I’ve also seen God in the depths of the Kibera slum, in the rotting carcasses of the buffalo left on the savannah, and now in the garbage and rundown places of my own neighborhood. God’s light is not dependent on our presence or our awareness. But when we stop to look, stop to really see, God likes to show up at a creek we’ve never really seen to remind us she sees its beauty, knows it most intimately, and to encourage us to keep on looking.