(not) so ordinary

26 07 2010

Tall.  Gande.  Venti.  Super-size.  Grande Supremo.  Caf-Pow.  Ginormous.

Superlative is in.  Understatement is out.

American consumers have given up small for tall, and large for the latest compound maximum.

The Gong Show super-sized into American Idol.  The GMC Jimmy was upgraded to a leather interior SUV.  My 1-pound walkman has been dwarfed by a 1.28-ounce 16GB iPod nano.

Faster.  Bigger.  Better.  Smaller.  Newer.


My life is overly endowed with super-caffeinated over-the-tallest-top.  I don’t want more.  I want less.  More time to do nothing.  More opportunity to sit and wonder.  More ordinariness.

Dictionary.com defines ordinary as: commonplace, plain, customary, regular, usual, and simple.  In a word:  Ahhh.

The Middle English ordinarie literally meant: regular, of the usual order, and was used to delineate special readings from the ordinary daily parts of the Christian liturgy.

The ordinary was the unchangeable dependableness between festivals and celebrations.  The Valley Ahhh between the twin peaks Christmas Craziness and Mardi Gras.

While my life has lots of crazy high peaks accompanied by a fair amount of stress, in all but the extreme-crazies, the overwhelming majority of my days would be considered ordinary and business-as-usual.  An occasional GNO (Girls’ Night Out) and coffeehouse performance punctuate the vast fields of routine email, laundry, general conversation, and running errands.  Although the super-sized parts of life rise from the horizon overshadowing the common, ordinary Plains of Everyday in the Valley of Ahhh, the lowland makes up for its lack of altitude in square miles.

So, at the risk of talking in circles, I want to maximize the everyday moments.  Not super-size them.  Just value, and even revel in them instead of marking life by its peaks and living for the mountaintop high.  I won’t pretend that seeing each of my sons for the first time immediately after his birth compares to watching a common chickadee on the bird feeder outside my window or noticing the happy colors of a row of condos during a commute.  But I am making the case for embracing the usual, enjoying the little events, and savoring the moments embedded in the ordinariness of life.

I wonder.  Is this some of what is meant in Isaiah 40:4-5?

Every valley shall be raised up,
every mountain and hill made low;
the rough ground shall become level,
the rugged places a plain.
And the glory of the LORD will be revealed,
and all mankind together will see it.
For the mouth of the LORD has spoken. (NIV)



19 07 2010


.   Speaking into being


.   Daily wonder seeing

.      Fresh beauty springing up



.   Word transforming


.   Begins morning

.      And evening every day



.   New day born from night


.   Sky above in light

.      Land rising washed in dew


Green growing

.   Trees, seed-bearing

Life flowing

.   Fruit-laden, sharing

.      Cherry, lemon, tangerine



.   Separating

Days and times

.   Delineating

.      Cycled order into years



.   Lavish beauty springing


.   Falling, goodness singing

.      Every rock and stone cries out


(The dots are my way of formatting the poem without having to know HTML.  If you know a better way to indent text and skip lines, let me know!)

Juneteenth, Part the Second

10 07 2010

(See the previous post for Part the First)

Curious and clueless, I looked up “Juneteenth”.

Thank-you Wikipedia!

On June 18th, 1865, General Gordon Granger and 2000 Union troops entered Galveston, Texas and took possession of the state.  The next day, General Order No. 3 was read to the people in the last state to officially abolish slavery and recognize Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation made almost three years earlier:

“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor.”

The next year, jubilant public celebrations marked the anniversary of freedom, and the holiday became shortened to “Juneteenth”.

I am as Caucasian as the snow that falls in Northern Michigan.  I haven’t really experienced racial prejudice, and I’ve certainly never been a slave.  Yet, even when I was young, photos and stories of people enslaved caused a visceral response in my gut.  And recently, without any conscious intent, my hatred of slavery showed up in a song I wrote.

Way past midnight as I alternately sang and wrote, the beginning of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address forced its way into the lyric because I needed a rhyme.  Not knowing why it was in the song, I read and re-read the short speech that he gave in 1863 to dedicate the Gettysburg cemetery during the Civil War on the site of the bloodiest battlefield in our nation’s history.  Around 2:00 AM I understood.  Lincoln wasn’t giving a history lesson in the opening sentence.  “Four score (a score is 20 years) and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”  His last phrase was an indictment against the people of the United States for giving lip service to freedom for the past 87 years while brutally enslaving hundreds of thousands of fellow human beings.  The issue had been settled in 1776 in the Declaration of Independence, which he quoted at the end of his opening sentence.

Those 87 years (and many more before 1776) of slavery should never have happened.  Juneteenth should not be a holiday.  All Americans should celebrate Independence on July 4th.  Stupidity, arrogance, and mismanaged power, however, made a second Independence Day necessary.

A couple of months ago I heard Efrem Smith*, the African American pastor of Hip Hop Church, speak on the freeing power of the arts.  He asked himself as he was wedding the arts with worship in his new church, why music, storytelling, and other arts were so important for his enslaved ancestors.  What was it like for a slave to connect his artistic gifts and his devotion to Jesus?

“Their identities were totally transformed as they went into the back woods under threat of being beaten after working a 15-hour day.  In the darkness, broken people, through song and dance, through art and storytelling, became the Beloved of God!  Worship wasn’t about a performance; it was about freedom.  It was saying, ‘I’m not a slave, the oppressed and broken, I am THE BELOVED OF GOD!'”

That is the story of the day on which I was born.

I gladly give up my claim on June 19th to celebrate freedom.  An ordinary girl fades into the background to become part of something far more important.

*http://www.efremsmith.com/ (his blog)

*http://www.towardwonder.com/prodsb.asp?invtid=PR34350 (download the mp3 or DVD)

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