Here’s another Amy poem for children everywhere. Especially, but not only young children in unsafe situations. Amy Carmichael spent most of her life in South India living with and for young Indian children.
Most were girls; some were boys. Many were temple children, Read the rest of this entry »
Self-contempt has been my primary issue for years. Until I learned to have compassion on myself, it was almost impossible not to have contempt for others. Here’s what self-contempt has looked like Read the rest of this entry »
Nearly 30 years later, my heart still pounds loudly when I relive this event. It’s early fall 1985. I’ve been teaching theology to seminarians since fall 1983. I’ve agreed to make a presentation at an informal faculty gathering. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s summer, 2012.
I’m speaking in public
about things I’ve never described
to a live audience. Read the rest of this entry »
Diane’s opening lines in Part 1 are loaded: “I am dying. Sooner rather than later.” Her entire piece is available here. The following letter is my response to her.
Dear Diane,
Your question and opening lines get right to the point.
I’ve been thinking about our family of origin and your immediate family. From my perspective, they’re light-years apart when it comes to talking in general.
For example, I can’t imagine us as children sitting around the kitchen or dinner table, chomping down food, elbows on the table, Read the rest of this entry »
Houston, March 1999. A small family gathering in memory of Mother’s death in February. Several next-generation cousins are there. We watch a video of the memorial service for Mother. Death is in the air and on my mind. Not simply Mother’s death, but Diane’s and mine. Did Diane’s ALS break Mother’s heart? Read the rest of this entry »
I agonized about whether to begin this blog. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I was terrified. Of what? I’m not sure. Probably the concreteness of truth. Even though I lived with it all my life, putting truth out there in concrete words is different.
The words below are from my journal. I made the entry on 19 July 2012, about 18 months before I published my first post, Dear Dad. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s the 1990s. I’m teaching a seminar on spirituality. At the beginning of the class I hand out to each participant, including me, a blank piece of paper and crayons. The assignment is simple: draw and color your childhood image of God. You have 5 minutes.
I drew and still have my image: Read the rest of this entry »
Until the last two weeks, this question never crossed my mind. Now I can’t leave it alone. If the answer is Yes, how can that be? As noted in Unpacking My Suitcase, I’m not yet sexually aware. But I’m carrying an unwelcome load of something in my female body and spirit. Read the rest of this entry »
winter sun pierces
my paralyzed heart waking
frozen grief at will
* * * * *
Buried deep, forgotten
Denied, minimized, ignored
Silenced, unexamined
Held at bay
‘It wasn’t that bad’
‘Others had it worse’
Ashamed of my own story
Just another privileged woman
Who doesn’t get it
Afraid to shine a light
On darkness that seems
To have overpowered me
You mean you’re this old and
You still haven’t gotten over it
Beyond it, done already?
Normal
We want normal
How much longer will this take. . . ?
Winter sun does its work
In the fullness of God’s time
Not one moment sooner
Haiku written 25 February 2014
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 February 2014
Telling the Truth 