Tear the Curtain

Summer Reading: 12-year-old edition

Tue, 20 Jul 2010 15:35:32 -0700

The following is a guest post by my son, Daniel, who, like the rest of the Wilsons, reads rather voraciously. His taste in books ranges from the historical/biographical to the scientific--although he ventures into the realm of fiction quite often these days as well.

A Man on the Moon By Andrew Chaikin
This is a great book about the Apollo missions. I would say that after reading this you could give lectures on the content. Andrew in writing this book interviewed the surviving 23 astronauts that were involved in Apollo. He also interviewed Gene Kranz, one of the flight directors in Apollo and coincidentally the one who said the final go to land a man on the moon. Caution: this is not a light read. It is 670 pages.

Failure is Not an Option By Eugene Kranz
Here is an excerpt from The Kranz Dictum, the speech he wrote to talk about Apollo 1. "Space flight will never tolerate carelessness, incapacity, and neglect. Somewhere, somehow, we screwed up. It could have been in design, build, or test. Whatever it was, we should have caught it. We were too gung ho about the schedule and we locked out all of the problems we saw each day in our work. Every element of the program was in trouble and so were we.” His book is all about the space program from Mercery to Gemini Through Apollo. This an amazing book by an amazing person.

The Last Holiday Concert By Andrew Clements
Hart Evans is this middle school kid who decides to shoot a rubber band and unfortunately hits his chorus director Mr. Meinert in the face. So eventually Mr. M. just says that this concert is the kids’ deal. And what can I say; “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” This is a very good book as a light and easy read for any age kids or adults..

My Side of the Mountain Trilogy By Jean Craighead George
This trilogy is a very good thing to read at some point in your life. You have San Gribley, who is your average 14 year old, who decides to run away to a very old farmland in the forest. The farmland is his Great-Great-Grandfather’s. Nobody has been out there since. He then trains a falcon, lives in a tree and eats rabbits.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows By J. K. Rowling
First of all read books 1-6 before attempting to read this book. The Deathly Hallows is all about Harry, Ron and Hermione’s hunt for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Voldemort, in an effort to escape mortality, created 7 Horcruxes. In the end the final battle of Hogwarts takes place along with the battle between Harry Potter and Voldemort. Voldemort’s real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, as you may know from book 2. It is very worthwhile to read the series. As a bonus the first part of the Deathly Hallows movie comes out in theaters in November.

Pendragon series
There are ten books in all. This is a great series of books. Bobby Pendragon is this normal kid, that is until now. Right after he kisses his crush since fourth grade, Courtney Chetwynde, his Uncle Press shows up and takes him to a flume. The flume transports him to a territory called “Denduron” and he has to save it. The series is about him, all the other territories and HALLIA.

Superbug By Maryn McKenna
In this book it is all about MRSA. MRSA is Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus (staph). The author is a journalist and a great writer too. I got to hear her speak because at the Dawson Summer Program, we studied epidemics and MRSA is one of the epidemic topics we looked at. I will warn you that this book will make you paranoid and a Germaphobe about Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus.

Guest posting is fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
-Daniel

Summer Reading: 8-year-old edition

Sat, 17 Jul 2010 14:22:39 -0700

The following is a guest post by my daughter, Katie. She, too, is an avid reader, and has a few recommendations you might pass along to the young readers in your life.

The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan
It’s fun and it’s funny, and it’s a kid and young adult novel. This is the first book in a series about a half-blood named Perseus Jackson, who goes by Percy. In this series, Percy gets caught up in an adventure where it turns out the ancient Greek gods are real. Percy Jackson is the son of Poseidon, god of the sea. I read this book because I knew I couldn’t watch the movie until I read the book. I loved the book so much, I read the whole series of novels. Now I’m reading them for the second time. They’re really good.

American Girl books
The stars of these books are fictional characters who lived in different points of history in America. They are girls that are the same age as me who live in history periods a long time ago. They have all sorts of fun adventures. Currently, I also own an American Girl doll (Kit Kittredge). There is an American Girl store 45 minutes from my house. I like that in the books the girls have fun adventures that I get sucked into. They are so good, I never want the American Girl books to stop coming.

Summer Reading

Tue, 13 Jul 2010 14:37:21 -0700

Here’s what I’ve been reading this summer (Pinky and the Brain reference coming soon...):

Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir by Frank McCourt.

Frank McCourt burst onto the literary scene with this wonder of a book in 1996, when he was 66 years old. He won the Pulitzer for it, and now that I’ve read it, I understand why. If it meant that I’d be able to string words together with that kind of painful clarity and piercing beauty--I’d be willing to write in literary obscurity till I turn 66, too.

’Tis: A Memoir by Frank McCourt

Once I finished Angela’s Ashes, I couldn’t not read ’Tis, which continues the story. The two books read as one, and I am richer for having read the pair.

Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky But Authentic Spiritual Memoir by Susan Isaacs.

In her memoir, Susan Isaacs delivers a dramatically fresh take on walking out a relationship with God. I was hooked from the moment I heard the concept: a frustrated Christian takes God to marriage counseling. Loved it. (I must admit, however, to a vague sense of guilt when I read that Susan’s childhood nemesis was named Kirsten. I wondered if I ought to write and apologize, despite the fact that--I swear!--it wasn’t me.) I appreciated Isaacs’ account of her journey through the wild and oft-confusing Christian culture of the last few decades--I could relate to many of her stops along the way.

A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future by Daniel Pink.

I have no desire to take over the world (despite my love for the animated antics of Pinky and the Brain back in the 90’s). However, I do believe that the people with the most influence in our world are increasingly those competent in a variety of “right-brain” aptitudes in addition to the “left-brain” aptitudes that have been most highly valued in the last century. This is a good read, whether you’re a left-brainer who wants to stretch your creative side, or a right-brainer who could use some affirmation (and some ideas on how to communicate your value to a lefty).

Outliers: the Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell.

I think this might just be my next read. It’s been on our shelf for a while now, but I’ve not yet picked it up. Today, while reading a blog post by literary agent Wendy Lawton, I was challenged by a quotation from Outliers, and realized that perhaps now would be a good time to give it a read. I’ll let you know...

Meanwhile, what books have you read this summer? What book do you plan to read next? Any recommendations? (I’m always looking for a good read!)

Pretend

Thu, 1 Jul 2010 16:08:30 -0700

Sitting: By the pool, watching my eight-year-old daughter swim and play with a friend.

Noticing: So many of their sentences start with these words:

“Pretend that...”
“What if...”

The girls are having such fun.
Creating such wondrous worlds.

Thinking: So many adults start sentences with these words:

“Realistically...”
“Practically speaking...”
“The way things stand...”

We don’t always have so much fun.
And the worlds we create are not always so wondrous.

Wondering: What would happen if we mixed a strong dose of “pretend” and “what if” into our conversations?

Sun-Smacked

Tue, 29 Jun 2010 11:53:41 -0700

Mistake # 1: Severely underestimate how long daughter will play at park and therefore do not apply sunscreen to your skin.

Mistake # 2: While daughter plays, sit on unshaded park bench, hunched over a very good book. Lose track of time because book is so engrossing.

Result: Painfully sunburnt neck.

Coping Mechanism # 1: Apply lotion. Lots of lotion. For days. And wear shirts that don’t touch back of neck.

Coping Mechanism # 2: Write a poem about the sunburn. Ha. Art out of pain, people! Art out of pain!

So, here you go. In honor of summer days--and last week’s sunburn--I give you “Sun-Smacked.”

Sun-Smacked
© Kirsten Wilson
6/17/10

forget sun-kissed
i’m sun-smacked
mama sun bent down
whacked me
back of the neck
fiery red
slapmark yet to fade

yesterday
she catches me
sitting on park bench
hunched down over a book
reading so hard
i don’t hear her
hands on hips yelling
what are you doing
reading
day like this
girl get out there
and play

that mama sun
she don’t cotton to her children
giving her the cold shoulder
so she slaps me
hard
and today all day
i feel the sting

[clip art of angry sun courtesy of Designed to a T.]

Pillow Fight with God, Part 3

Sun, 27 Jun 2010 11:31:32 -0700

Okay, your turn.

Have you ever been in a situation where God asks you to let go of something or someone you love? I’m not talking the give-up-chocolate-for-Lent kind of level. I’m talking the intense, rip-your-heart-out-of-your-body kind of level.

The thing/person God asks you to let go of needs to fit many/most/all of these criteria:

You love it intensely.
❤
You view it as a gift from God--as part of your calling, even.
❤
You have trouble imagining life without it.
❤
You’ve pinned all manner of future hopes on it.
❤
You can’t imagine anyone else
caring for it more than you do.
❤
Killing it feels like killing you.

The “it” could be a person, a job, a home, a thing....

For Abraham, it was Isaac.

For me, it was leaving Nevada.

Maybe you haven’t experienced something like this yet. But if you have, what was it for you?

Maybe you’re in that place right now. (If so, I’m sorry.) You’ve heard a bit of what my pillow fight with God looked like. What might yours look like? (Feel free to get creative.)

Pillow Fight with God, Part 2

Fri, 25 Jun 2010 11:34:24 -0700

I stood in front of God, holding a throw pillow.

(If you have no idea why I would be doing that, you might want to go back and read Pillow Fight with God, Part 1. Then come back here--you will likely feel less disoriented.)

In this particular counseling session, God (role played by my intrepid counselor) was asking me to hand over yet another thing (role played by the throw pillow) that I would have to leave when I moved from Nevada to Colorado. In this case, the throw pillow represented a team of people I’d worked with for the good part of a decade.

For years I’d been part of the arts team at the church where I was on staff. I’d brainstormed with these people, staged productions with them, created element after element with them. I’d laughed with these people, argued with them, eaten with them, blown things up with them. (Sometime I will tell you about the great pyro experiment of Easter 2003.) I loved the people on this team. I loved the work we did. I would miss all that.

But that’s not why I was having trouble releasing my death-grip on the throw pillow.

I felt sick at the thought of letting God have that pillow. I was close to tears at the mere suggestion that I hand the team over to him. Also, I was angry that he was asking it of me.

But he was. “Can you give the arts team over to me?” God asked.

I hugged the pillow and stared at God’s feet and shook my head no.

“What’s holding you back?”

There were all kinds of thoughts running through my head. And eventually, they coalesced into words. Words that I had to speak out loud to God if we were going to fight our way through this pillow.

I won’t take you through the whole conversation. But I’ll tell you what it boiled down to:

It felt like death.
Like God was now killing something
he himself had given life to.

It felt like quitting.
Like I was leaving things undone.

It felt like betrayal.
Like I was handing over something I loved
to someone who loved it less.

God started speaking into all that mess inside of me. Reminding me that I was not the one who brought life to the team; he was. That he was more than capable of speaking into that team through people other than myself.

God reminded me that yes, there were things left undone. There is always more to do. The battle I’d been fighting was not yet won. But my part in it--here, in this place--was complete. And he was pleased with what the work I’d done, and the heart with which I’d done it.

As God spoke, my death grip on the throw pillow loosened a bit.

I took a step forward, still looking down. I pushed the pillow toward God, pushed it against his chest. He took hold of it with his hands, but I found I couldn’t let go, couldn’t step back from the pillow. I still loved it too much, was still so concerned for its safety. I was still unconvinced that God loved this team, these people, more than I did--that he could be trusted to take care of them.

I leaned my head against the pillow, against God. I rested there. Actually, “rested” is probably the wrong word. It’s more that I was immobilized--unable to move. I’d been able to put the pillow in God’s hands. But I suddenly found myself physically unable to let go, to step back and away.

So I waited, standing there with my head against the pillow, the pillow against the heart of God. I knew what needed to be done, but I could not for the life of me do it. So I waited, and I wept. And my mascara, which claimed to be waterproof, showed that it wasn’t, and it got all mixed up with my tears and my pain and stained the pillow.

I waited, immobile, my tears imploring the God on the other side of the pillow to somehow do what I could not do.

And this is what he did: God’s heart worked its way through the miles of pillow and found me. I caught a glimpse of his love for the arts team, for these people. And it was so big. So strong. Stronger by far than mine--and mine was strong. God’s love moving through the pillow enveloped the team, and me at the same time, big enough to hold us both.

It was this awareness of God’s love, in the end, that enabled me to do what I needed to do: to let go the pillow, leaving it in God’s hands, and to step back and collapse, exhausted, on the couch in the counseling room. To watch and see what life God might bring out of this death.

***

Soon after that, I wrote the poem, “Moriah.” Go back and read it if you’d like; see if the backstory brings anything new to your experience of the poem.

Pillow Fight with God, Part 1

Thu, 17 Jun 2010 22:36:48 -0700

We figured it out after a while, my counselor and I: for the truly important stuff, we made little progress when I sat on the couch trying to find the answers to his questions. Which is not to say that my counselor didn’t ask good questions, because he did. He asked wonderfully insightful questions as a matter of fact.

It’s just that sitting on the couch in a calm and sedate posture did not in any way match up with the intensity of what I felt on the inside. And somehow, that dissonance kept me from finding the answers to those questions.

If, however, we were able to create something that felt like a drama exercise--something that got me off the couch and gave my body something to do with the emotion--ah, then we started to discover some stuff. Somehow that cut through the dissonance and helped me connect with myself.

There was a time a couple years ago when my counselor was helping me walk through a giant life transition. I was going to move in a few months to Colorado after having lived in the same Nevada community for ten years. That was known; the countdown had begun.

What I wanted to do was work through the various things I’d need to let go of in the move. To look at each of the things I’d be leaving behind and see if there was anything I needed to resolve in order to leave well. I wanted to be able to hand these things over to God gracefully rather than feeling that he was vengefully ripping them out of my hands. (Okay, yes, I have a few God issues--but that’s not the point right now.)

This was not couch material. So we developed a sort of drama exercise using one of the throw pillows from the couch. I’d stand up, holding the pillow. The pillow would represent whatever piece of the transition we were dealing with that day--a particular thing (relationship/place/object/ministry) I’d be leaving. My counselor would stand in front of me. He’d play the role of God, and he’d describe all that was wrapped up in that pillow. Then, he’d ask if I was ready to give that to him.

If yes, I’d hand God the pillow. If not, that’s when things got interesting.

I’d start to hand the pillow over and realize I couldn’t (or didn’t want to) because... I’d start to fill in that blank. Cry maybe. Talk with God about it until my death grip on the pillow began to soften. And eventually, God and I would work it through to the point where I could give him the pillow.

And then, generally, I would collapse on the couch exhausted.

[to be continued...and yes, part two will circle back to the Moriah poem from the last post...]

Moriah

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 18:59:23 -0700

I heard a (powerful) teaching last night at church on one of the most unimaginable stories in the Bible. In it, God tells Abraham to go to a mountain in the region of Moriah and sacrifice his son, Isaac. If you’re unfamiliar with the story--or haven’t read it for a while--you can find it in Genesis 22:1-19.

Wrestling with that story again reminded me of a poem I wrote a couple years ago in which I tried to enter into Abraham’s sandals as he walked through this event. What in the world would enable him to contemplate, let alone actually raise his knife, to carry out that kind of sacrifice?

Read through the poem and see what it evokes in you. I’d love to hear some of your feelings and thoughts--or situations it brings to mind from your own life. I’ll tell you some of mine next time I post.

Moriah
© Kirsten Wilson
April 6, 2008

I’ve heard the voice of God more times than most.
And most of those times the word from heaven
has been wondrous news. Announcing blessing.
Hope to barren age. Life. Laughter even.
I know His voice. And how He speaks. And now—
now once again the air grow charged and taut—
like the strong cords I use to pitch my tent.
(So tightly pegged they sing when they are caught
by walking stick or swinging arm. Stop then
and watch the cord. It vibrates. Hear it hum.
That. That’s what happens to the air when God
speaks. All other movement stills.) Only some
have heard this sound. And I am one. And so
when the cloudless air turns fierce, commanding
hairs on head and beard and arms to leap up
and notice, I drop where I am standing
and hug the earth. I breathe the dust. Tremble.
But still I smile. To hear His voice. To hear
Him. God who carried me to promised lands.
God in heaven but also somehow near.

Take your son, your only son, Isaac.

Him.
My boy. My smile spreads wider through my beard.
Son of God’s promise. Son of our old age.
The one whose name means laughter. Joy from tears.

Take Isaac, whom you love.

My heart, it grows
large within my chest. My son. Strong young man,
my Isaac—now surpassing me in height—
peaceful one who walks the land this promised land
which God will grant to Isaac’s future sons.

Take Isaac. Sacrifice him.

And the song
of heaven’s voice—with those few words, it turns
painful in my ears, hurtful, throbbing, wrong.

Now, walking with Isaac to Moriah,
the words throb still, and set my steady pace
toward the mountains. I cannot turn to look
at my son, at his eyes, his form, his face,
the sticks he carries on his back. I long
for God to speak again to stop to take
back the command to kill the gift he gave.
I cry. I pray. I groan. Inside I quake—
and quaking still from fear much more than age
I pile the rocks. The altar takes its form.
I place the sticks. I bind my son on top—
(Racing through my heart, the day he was born,
the laughter breaking forth, my Sarah’s eyes—
so much like my son’s)—him, our only son,
lying here, gazing upward at the sky—
sky hard and silent now. No voice breaks through.

I lay my head on Isaac’s chest. I beg
for another word. But no. All I hear:
Isaac’s pounding heart. And down at my leg
I feel the sudden weight of sharpened knife.
I can’t begin to lift it. Nor my head.
Can’t stop listening to Isaac’s beating heart
his breath. Can’t lift the knife. Can’t make him dead.
And so I wait. I listen.

Then I hear
whisper rise up through earth and altar stones
not charged air or lightning but even so
the voice of God, His voice—the voice I’ve known—
it rises up through marrow of my bones
wends its way to the place of my heart’s cry
and the God I serve—this is what He says:

You treasure this your son and so do I.

I tremble now. Wonder at surging waves
of love for Isaac greater than my own—
crying gasping waves of love not from me
but God, love rising through the soil, the stone,
through years of promise and of pain, rising
through Isaac’s chest and wood of sacrifice.
This. This alone. This knowing lends me strength
To release my only son. To raise the knife.

[photo above: detail from painting The Sacrifice of Abraham, 1957, by William L’Engle.]

Beatitudes

Sun, 6 Jun 2010 18:18:30 -0700

As I focused on the idea of being seen, I realized I was looking at the Beatitudes in a different way. (The Beatitudes are Jesus’ “Blessed are the...” statements in the Sermon on the Mount [Matthew 5:1-10].) Our natural bent, it seems, is to cover our fears, our grief, our need. The beatitudes fly in the face of that. Here’s my attempt to write out what Jesus said--from the standpoint of covering versus being seen. I paired the words with photographs taken on a recent hike. Notice how the photos progress from a sense of most covered to least covered.

This piece was part of my One Word art exhibit, SEEN.

Beatitudes
Kirsten Wilson
2010
photographs, paraphrase of Matthew 5:1-10

beatitudes

stop covering the poverty of your spirit.
let your need be seen.
you will find the kingdom of heaven.

stop covering the brokenness of your heart.
let your grief be seen.
you will be comforted.

stop covering your insecurity.
let the true size of your weakness and your strength
be seen.
you will inherit the earth.

stop covering the intensity of your hunger for total righteousness.
let your desperation for God be seen.
you will be filled.

stop covering your tenderness.
let your compassion be seen.
you will be shown mercy.

stop covering your eyes to the mixed motives of your heart. let your commitment to purity triumph and be seen.
you will see God.

stop covering your love of peace.
let your pursuit of reconciliation be seen.
you will be called God’s child.

stop covering your friendship with Jesus, though it makes you vulnerable to attack.
let your love for him be seen.
you will find the kingdom of heaven.

be seen.
be blessed.