Summer 2010 DreamSeeker Magazine

8/9/2019 Summer 2010 DreamSeeker Magazine

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Your Life in a Four-Hour Road TripBrenda Hartman-Souder

The Turquoise PenDreams

Nol R. King

Learning My Mothers LanguageLee Snyder

Beneath the SkylineThe Ennobling of Busy

Deborah Good

Three ParablesJohn Janzen

Ink AriaSmall Moment Stories

Renee Gehman

KingsviewHome After the Nest

Michael A. King

and much more

DDreamSeekreamSeeker Magazineer MagazineVoices from the Soul

Summer 2010Volume 10, Number 3; ISSN 1546-4172


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Your Life in a Four-Hour Road Trip

Brenda Hartman-Souder

Drive as Though YourFamily Were in the Other Car

You wish drivers would heed this sign, but youknow they wont. You think Nigerias and all worldsproblems might start to resolve if all of you honoredthis advice.

You head out of Abuja after the x-rays are taken;Nigerias capital has the consulates, the embassies, thebusinessmen, the rich politicians, and the orthodon-tists. Your son needs a jaw expander.

Youd like to believe your fervent silent prayers:Please, please, please let us stay safewill go answered butyou also think, This road is one giant crap shoot.Youthink of this road trip as jumping unknown but cer-tain-to-be-there hurdles. Your husband deftly man-ages rush-hour traffic, swerving around cars thatabruptly brake or turn with no signal, ignoring carsthat pass at crazy speeds or honk impatiently if youslow down. You look like a normal, sane, and safe fam-ily of four in your litt le royal-blue Toyota mini-vancapsule.

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Letters to DreamSeeker Magazine are encouraged. We also welcome and when possi-ble publish extended responses (max. 400 words).

Flu Dot Gov

Hmmm . . . my head nodding, "Yes I agree." I say"must have theState and locals. . . ." She wonks policy to theOther one leaning toward her, and I cannot look at either, both

earnestIn their worlds and for good reason, for people will surelyDie, one has already even this week. I amMyself near expiration, floating as I am above the conversationIn the courtyard of the plaza, and wondering how long we

Will be apart in the service of the country, remembering when you

Slipped in beside me and I awoke just enough, andThen fell back to sleep. . . . "Lets tier the calls with the WhiteHouse" and death draws closer. This ploy ofQuietude as Wisdom with well-placed, timely agreeable wordsInserted in the conversation with a thread of comprehension, butDelivered with just enough conviction, a dilettante in fullBloom, to get me byor so I believe, or do not believe. Put your palmOn my cheek and understand me with your eyes, as you do when ICannot speak of this. I will call you tomorrow.

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David L. Myers lives in Arlington, Virginia. In May 2009, Presi-dent Obama appointed him director of the Center for Faith Basedand Community Initiatives at the U.S. Department of HomelandSecurity. His home and his fiance are in Evanston, Illinois.


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Dreams

Nol R. King

One night at the rivers edge, I paused andlooked at the sky. It was blank, just like my mind. I waslost in a dream, and I couldnt find my way back out.My dreams often ended this way, my soul a scarce, dimshadow barely lived inside of them.

I tired of this; last night I changed it all.Last night I filled my dreams with graciousness

and space, the brilliant scent of clarity a richness in theair, the Truth of life green-weaving through theseashine sands and palms.

I dashed my skies in pinks and storm-thick graysand every regretful hue that I could find. I mademousselike mud and frenetic tadpoles, and I ateFrench toast that made me weep with joy.

I invited all who appeared in my dreams to live therainbow arcs of sunshine in their eyes and to sing thesongs of words they longed to hear. I sang them, too,because I knew exactly what they were.

I met some curiously familiar strangers (I hadbrought them here for just this purpose) and theyshone at me, their eyes lit up, their hair on fire. They

were thrilled to see me here and wished me well. Wesparkled as we passed on crunching stones along the

way.I walked along a stream that led to water falling far

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THE TURQUOISE PENbelowcliffs and then the distantechoing of every lovely life,once lived, now passed. Ismelled the honeysuckle.

So did bees, all buzzy withtheir smiley businesses:We have our work, youknow!

I breathed the air; itreached my heart and thenmy head. I felt the light rise up in allmy cells. They laughed with sheergood will. Lets go live some more!

they cried, and danced in sing-songcircles there beside the tree that I hadmade.

A tree with all the wisdom of theage, and all the power, therefore, too.

A tree that I had made before indreams but had nevergot this close to yet. I feltit reaching out to me,

and then, with all the airbetween us, was em-braced by it forever-more.

When I awoke toface my day today, I

found that dreams flow forth regard-less of ones state of waking or of sleep.

As circumstances warrant, throughher Turquoise Pen column Nol R.King, Scottsville, Virginia, reports onstrange things, including dreams that

flow continuously forth.

D R E A M S E E K E R M A G A Z I N E / 9

So far youre safe.. . . Neither you

nor God can guar-antee that for the

future but safety isrelative, and whatbetter place to be


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Three Parables

John Janzen

Constantines Conversion

The Emperor Constantine, facing the biggest bat-tle of his reign, looked into the setting sun at the Lil-vian Bridge and saw a vision of the cross of Christ. Ashe gazed at the cross he heard a voice say By this sign,conquer.

The next day he gave up his reign as Emperor, sur-rendered all his many possessions, and went to live and

work among the poor.And forever after he was known as one of the great-

est heroes of the faith for his obedience to the voice ofGod.

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the golf balls. They agree again thatthe jar is full. Next he repeats the drill

with sand. By this point, the studentsare laughing.

Now, said the professor, I wantyou to recognize that this jar repre-sents your life. He explains that thegolf balls are the important things(the category A things)your health,your family and friends, your pas-sions. The pebbles are other thingsthat matter. And the sand, he said, iseverything elsethe small stuff.

If you put the sand into the jarfirst, he continued, there is no roomfor the pebbles or the golf balls.

Two weeks ago, I wrote a letter to mysupervisor and last week sat down

with the executive director of thesmall nonprofit where I work. To mysurprise and what actually feels like

great relief, she approved my request

for four-fifths time. The new schedulewill come with some consequencescutting my salary and benefits by 20-percent, for twobut I stand solidly

by my decision.This is my newest experiment in

making my life more sane and bal-anced. By working at this now-full-time job only four days a week, I hopeto have more time left in my mayon-naise jar for the golf balls.

Deborah Good, Philadelphia, Penn-

sylvania, is a research assistant at Re-search for Action(www.researchforaction.org) andauthor, with Nelson Good, ofLongAfter Im Gone: A Father Daugh-ter Memoir (DreamSeekerBooks/Cascadia, 2009). Send yourstrategies for composing a sane andbalanced life to

[email protected].

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Three Problems,Three BooksReviews of John D. Roths Beliefs,ofStories, and ofPractices

Daniel Hertzler

Beliefs: Mennonite Faith and Practice, by John D.

Roth. Herald Press, 2005.

Stories: How Mennonites Came to Be, by John D. Roth.Herald Press, 2006.

Practices: Mennonite Worship and Witness, by John D.Roth. Herald Press, 2009.

John D. Roth is professor of history at Goshen Col-lege and editor ofThe Mennonite Quarterly Review, ascholarly journal established by H. S. Bender in 1927.It is described as A Journal Devoted to Anabaptist-Mennonite History, Thought, Life, and Affairs.

The January 2010 issue includes five articles onBalthasar Hubmaier, an Anabaptist leader who is un-der a cloud for Mennonites because he did not affirmpacifism. The editorial notes that This issue of M Q.R. will not resolve the hotly debated question of Hub-maiers credentials as a normative Anabaptist theolo-gian. But it does confirm that interest in Hubmaiers

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BOOKS, FAITH, WORLD & MOREher. In the end she comes across inpart as an opportunistic, privilegedmafia wifewillfully ignorant of herhusbands world and ways. Melanie

Lynskey plays Ginger with just theright mix of ditz and duplicity.The FBI agents are interesting,

too. Soderbergh has fun portrayingthem as well-meaning dim bulbs whonever can manage to place the listen-ing device or camera in the rightplace, and always seem a step behindthe thoughts and actions of their tar-

gets.The Informant has its flaws.Some will find the technique of theunreliable narrator confusingI, onthe other hand, found it a deft touch.By making a comedy about corporatecrime, Soderbergh gets laughs butsacrifices moral punch in the process.

At times the film seems unsurewhich tone to adoptironic or seri-ous. Half a dozen smaller parts in thefilm are played by stand-up comedi-

ans, rather than actors. Viewers aged50 and above should look for a coupleof cameos by Tom and Dick Smoth-ers. Its fun to see these people, but alittle distracting. Also distracting isthe jazzy, late 60s game show soundtrack. (Hint to directors: if we keepnoticing the soundtrack of the movie,its probably too intrusive!)

I watched The InformantonDVD because it had only a short runin the theater. Rent it or blu-ray it

when you can.

Dave Greiser, Baltimore, Maryland,is pastor of North Baltimore Men-nonite Church.

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most personal angst on the authorspart and speaks more directly to ourown: How may we do church today ina manner which is relevant to our con-

text? How can a two-thousand-year-old tradition provide life for us andothers?

The editor of The Mennonite

Quarterly Reviewhas bared his soul.We are invited to do likewise.

Daniel Hertzler, Scottdale, Pennsyl-

vania, is an editor, writer, and chairof the elders, Scottdale MennoniteChurch.

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After Happy Hour in Our Nations Capitol

Leave the bar. Walk toward the car. Lean against the unlitPole in the late Friday afternoon withNowhere to go. Still, stand there. Wait for theEvening rush to thin. Let the intersectionMove. Stop. Remove yourself. A woman walks a dog. ACar turns full circle. A pigeon flies above a roof line. AMan combs his pony tail. A mother takes her childrensHands. A beggar calls for change. You areSix hundred miles west. The corner storeCloses. Is the traffic still jammed? A convertible passes.My meter is running out. Theres a bench in thePark. Walk to it. No. Wait a little longer. A woman walks aPuppy. A pigeon flies between the buildings. AMan with a pony tail yells at his son.

An old man shuffles across the street. You pass inFront of me a a days travel away. I feelMy keys against my leg. There is a vibration against my

Waist. All stops as I move toward my car.

David L. Myers


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Frontier

Pity has no place in loveor so I thought,till Pity cameand staked a claimon our land.

Pity had no place in love

till you convulsedfrom the effort of lying down,and our land fellstunned, mute, emptya sudden desertwhere our homestead once stood.

and Pitys claim?

a humble springa quiet wateringat homein this wasteland.

Julie Cadwallader-Staub lives near Burlington, Vermont,and currently serves as the Grants Director for the Burling-ton School District. Her poems have been published in sev-eral journals, featured on Garrison Keillors "The Writers

Almanac," and included in anthologies. She was awarded aVermont Council on the Arts grant for poetry in 2001. Sheand her husband, Warren, were married for 23 years untilhis death from multiple myeloma at age 49. This poem is ex-cerpted from her first collection of poems, Face to Face (Cas-cadia/DreamSeeker Books, 2010).

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Summer 2010 DreamSeeker Magazine