Rain drops
on drenched ground
eyeglasses, face
and heart
Cracks loom
in un-even pavement
Tears spring unbidden
Artesian wells overflow
Unnoticed
I walk through this cold front
of memories, grief and healing
***
This morning I walked as usual Read the rest of this entry »
It’s late summer, 1951. We just moved from El Monte, California, to a house near Savannah, Georgia. The front yard faces the river you see in the photo above. I’m 7 ½ years old. I don’t know how to swim; a half-mile wide river flows in front of our house.
Not long after we move in, Read the rest of this entry »
~~~Islands of Palau in the South Pacific
In 1984, one year after I began teaching, I attended a gathering of faculty from 6 or 7 sister seminaries. We were together for one weekend. There weren’t many women professors in the group.
Because I was the newest female professor Read the rest of this entry »
Am I lost? Wandering? Emily Dickinson’s poem has been on my mind for the last two months. Here it is, with my interpretive comments.
Faith – is the Pierless Bridge
Supporting what We see
Unto the Scene that We do not –
Too slender for the eyeIt bears the Soul as bold
As it were rocked in Steel
With Arms of Steel at either side –
It joins – behind the VeilTo what, could We presume
The Bridge would cease to be
To Our far, vacillating Feet
A first Necessity.c. 1864
Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995
I remember a song we used to sing in church, always with gusto and certainty. It was about impossibilities. With confident voices, we sang about faith laughing at impossibilities and crying out (on faith’s behalf), ‘It shall be done!’ No shrinking violets need apply.
Emily’s poem seems on the far side of that song. Is it? I don’t think so. Both are about faith. Yet Emily’s rendition comes closer to my lived experience.
Emily paints a moving picture of an impossible Pierless Bridge stretching out, with no horizon in sight but the sky and water. It doesn’t seem to have visible supports or buttresses. Instead, it seems to stretch out not in front of me, but with me, step by step, as I make my pierless way across the water.
Here faith is like the invisible thread in The Princess and the Goblin. It supports my way across the water toward an invisible goal. My feet vacillate, uncertain where to go. I’m far out from the shore, maybe not far to go. But I don’t know how much farther, or what I’ll find when I reach the goal.
Boldness and courage seem paramount. Closing my eyes, I feel my way along. Not with my hands, but through the bare soles of my feet connecting with what must surely be a mammoth construction of steel, boulders and cement. How could there not be a pier?
I open my eyes, hoping for a glimpse of the goal, but see nothing ahead and nothing behind. Even more distressing, what’s supporting me is no larger and no more visible than one slender, fragile thread of a spider web.
Closing my eyes, I grope along, too far out to turn back. I don’t feel bold or courageous. The way is precarious. I’m full of questions and more than a bit of doubt.
I don’t have a map or a friendly GPS system to let me know when to leave one foot behind and shift my weight onto the other foot. I just know I’m being drawn and supported by something or someone greater than myself.
Perhaps this journey is about strengthening my vacillating faith. Then again, the point may not be my faith, whether weak or bold. In fact, I can’t believe that by the time I’ve arrived at the goal, my faith will be strong.
It seems this journey isn’t all about me.
Before my faith and before my birth there was something else. I imagine the Source of my life greeting me from within the Veil to which Faith leads me. Here is the One who birthed me. The One who boldly and courageously watches for me from the other side of my human life, spinning out as needed a fragile yet steel-buttressed thread of Faith—my Creator’s Faith in me. Faith that leads me home, just as I am and yet will be.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 June 2016
Image found at pinterest.com
Van Cliburn performing in the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory during the First Tchaikovsky International Competition in 1958
I’m out with D, my temporary chauffeur, for a quick trip to *Raider Joe’s, aka Trader Joe’s. On our way home, heavenly music begins pouring out of the car radio. When I get into the house I turn on the radio to listen to the entire piece….
#3
Music from heaven
Washes over my soul and body
Soothing beauty from angelic fingers
It’s Van Cliburn playing Tchaikowsky’s Piano Concerto #1. Read the rest of this entry »
Dad on the right with his older brother, farming in the Midwest, 1920s or 30s.
they journeyed
by rugged road signs
each with its distinct
look and character
weather-beaten
numbered and lettered
pointing the way
luring them on
from here to there
over miles of unexplored
wilderness and wasteland Read the rest of this entry »
before my eyes
they swim
in salt water
old photos
fresh with memories
I blink
reluctant to move
my eyes
tears water
my face
***
Christmas stockings in Altadena Read the rest of this entry »
Florida vacation in 1974 to visit D’s family, following our first year in seminary
Finally! Back to seminary days! This post is about the most important skill I learned at Fuller Seminary. I didn’t expect it to be life-changing. But first, an important digression.
Several years ago Read the rest of this entry »
During the last three months I’ve become hooked on Emily Dickinson’s enigmatic poetry. Today I’m trying my hand at personal reflections on one of my favorites. It’s from a collection of just over 100 of her poems. The editor has restored the author’s own vocabulary and punctuation, using original, sometimes difficult to decipher manuscripts as her guide.
Fortunately, the editor’s pointers for reading the poems included reading them often and reading them out loud. Since then I’ve Read the rest of this entry »
Mom and Sisters #1, 2 and 3, Easter Sunday 1952 in Savannah. I’m on the right.
Dear Mom,
I miss you today. When I was growing up, I was pretty tight-lipped. I think it was my way of having some privacy. Still, there are things we never talked about that are on my mind today. Probably because I’ve been writing about going to seminary, and what Dad seemed to think about my decision.
Even though you didn’t say much about this, I knew you were proud of me and I never wondered whether I had your blessing. From the beginning you wanted to know about what I was studying, even though I didn’t always want to talk about it.
I can’t thank you enough for showing an interest in my studies and writing, even though you may not have agreed with everything I wrote. I often wonder whether you wanted to go back for more education. You would have been an outstanding student.
As a child and teenager I was proud that you and Dad each had the equivalent of college degrees. Most of my friends’ parents did not. I also knew, though I never said so, that you had a different kind of intelligence and creativity than Dad had. You were quick, eager to learn, and appreciative of help.
I still remember your interest in the music I practised for Mrs. Hanks. Especially the more advanced pieces. You commented about several of them, and suggested you might someday learn to play them. After I left for college, you bought a few classical music books and started working on your favorite pieces.
When I came home to visit I often heard you playing ‘my’ pieces on the piano. I was proud of the way you played the piano. Still, I resented hearing you play ‘my’ pieces. It felt intrusive, and a bit like you were being a copy-cat.
I know that’s neither fair nor kind. It was how I felt back then. Today I believe you were looking for something missing in your life. It couldn’t have been easy to stop and play the piano just for yourself when we all needed attention.
I wonder what you wanted from me that I could have given you. I also wonder what dreams you gave up when you married Dad. Was one of them a dream about studying music or art?
As for sewing, you were the best! I never felt ashamed of anything you made for me. I was always proud to say my Mom made this dress or that skirt. I think Dad took the photo at the top on Easter Sunday. Possibly 1952? Sister #4 hadn’t yet arrived.
Here another favorite photo. It’s a bit grainy, but I still love it. Is this also an Easter dress? I’m pretty sure you made it. In any case, I felt totally feminine wearing it! I like seeing Sister #4 looking up at me. I think this was in 1956/57. I was 13 or 14; Sister #4 was 3 or 4.
If you’d been living in California with me in the 1970s, I’d like to think you would have gone to seminary, too. And maybe even joined the women’s movement! I can dream, can’t I? Actually, I don’t think that’s a far-fetched dream at all.
Love and hugs,
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 January 2016
Photo credit: JERenich
Photos taken in the front yard of our first home in Savannah
Telling the Truth 