Hutchmoot

What is Hutchmoot?
If you like art (in the broad sense of the term) and creating, then this Hutchmoot thing has probably grabbed your attention. And if, after visiting the site and watching the video, you still find yourself asking the question, what is Hutchmoot?, I want you to be assured, you are not alone. Most Hutchmoot attendees have asked it themselves. I was asking that question up until the day after I left Hutchmoot.
So, if your ear's been pricked and you want to know what it's like to be at Hutchmoot, I'll tell you. Being there has a certain atmosphere about it, an ambiance, as if creativity were a thing that you could touch. It fills the air like a thick morning fog...

Syke.

Wind

Wind is a funny thing.

It whips around us, indifferent to the changes it causes. It may bring relief from oppressive heat, or it may tear down a house, but whip along it does. We are left to interpret the "goodness" of its actions (or perhaps the results).

Sometimes life happens and there is nothing we could have done to control it one way or the other. We acquire a job and call it good; or are met with the death of a friend and call it, at best, a catalyst. And so life's wind whips around us and we're left to our interpretive systems.

But we're never left alone.

Hallelujah!

Dengue Remembered

At this time last year, I was recovering from a tropical, mosquito-borne disease on the opposite side of the world. It was not a pretty or fun couple weeks of being sick, but God's grace was all over it. I've never wanted to complain about this experience, and I am not starting now. I was, however, compelled to document it as I recalled the experience in recent days. I was inspired to write a bit of unconventional poetry...well, I think it explains itself.
 

 

Dengue Remembered

              Nausea
              get sick
                rest
              get sick
           head imploding                
                                                          eyes stab like a shish-ka-bob
    joints aching             
                  bones breaking     
                                              heat rises
                   sweat falls
                                      delirium
                     “HAVE FAITH IN GOD” sticks                             
                                                                              like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth.
                                                           arrozcaldo
                                       in the cauldron
             liquids in, liquids out                         
         pills popping
                                            friends stopping
                                                  faces like a whack-a-mole
                                                                         cool rag to the skin
                      and muscle-kneading
(needed more than they know)
           a rocky road to become the specimen.                                                   

Sit.
Up.
short, small breaths
heart racing in my chest
room spins
head hangs, light
try to force a little bite
Open.Wide.
Swallow.
Hard.
‘nother ride, to the ward.
                                                  needles pricking, sticking
                                           into my veins
                  chair glides
    I slide
 in and out of sleep                               
pills popping                                                                 
friends stopping                                                                                       
faces like a whack-a-mole                                         
joints aching                         
bones breaking   
thirst-slaking all day long.
Night has come.
Rear is numb
from bed-inhabiting.
strange sounds from the tube invade my ears;
Attempt to prevent my brain to hear.
awake once again--                                                                     
what hour on the clock?
                                                                                      a pump, a prick, bandage applied.
     always waking,
waking to a nurse by my side.                                                           

--a surge of angst whirls—PEOPLE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD.
daylight comes; type out an email.
sleep
stir
turn
gaze
out my window, a beautiful day.
Forced nutrition:
crackers,
soup;
Sip and nibble
just to please...
liquids in, liquids out.
Rising is slow; steady now, steady.
for all I’m not eating, my body is heavy.
friends become family--measuring liquid gold.
measure, discard.
measure, discard.
days and nights
meld together;
stream of people,
ebb and flow.


moment of calm--
Jesus speaks through a father’s placid voice
He walks on the water, He calms the sea.
tears escape, push their way through
the veil that’s been closed too tight to undo.


Pills still popping
friends still stopping in to say hi,
raise a prayer.
Joints release aching
fever breaking
spots appear
claw at the surface
for what’s deep within;
looks like the circus
is under my skin.

Platelets dropped; need some extra.
people talk
come and go;
faces like a whack-a-mole
here’s the bag
white liquid first.
feels cold;
--my wrist could burst!
long smooth strokes
repeat and knead.
drifting off--
what slurred speech??

Another sun
cold food on a tray.
Red meat I can’t eat
nor do I want.
doc says good, it’s going up.
I’m ready to bathe
it’s been ten days.
I’m flaky
shaky
as we ride,                 
I’ll close my eyes.                                                
sun burns bright                                                                                     
steps falter, I grasp any arm I can find.                                                                                     

Weeks pass and hours are filled with words on pages,
shows on TV I haven’t seen for ages.
coffee-smoothies, mango, ice cream.
second family was formed, thankful prayers are said.
Savory dishes, dogs, bed.
Rest and repeat.


but please,
don’t repeat.

What do you want me to do for you?

"We are not the initiators of our experience of God, we are the responders."

It's a Wednesday morning at our women's study on prayer. We're looking at stories of how God had answered specific people's prayers in the past, when it hits me--

1 Kings 3:5 "At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night, and God said, 'Ask what I shall give you.'"

--Boom. the Lord appeared to Solomon. I just have to stop right there. Don't we go to God because there's something we already want or feel we need? I thought that's what prayer was--us approaching God, asking for the things we think we need. Is this telling me that God comes to us and asks us what we want?? Could this really be the case? If so, why?