Birds of Paradise

Today is Saturday. A week ago I was at a renewal center is Scottsdale taking in the opulent but natural environment of the west. I felt hopeful for the future, that something would happen to our nation and our meager little existence. I was made for big dreaming, none of this small time stuff for me. But El Paso is a country under the spirit of apathy and tradition. We are in a rut, and need a powerhouse leader to take us out of this, to wake us up out of our million year sleep. We need a messiah to transform our place of residence. We have no vision and without it we perish. 

I know of no other city like this. A city recently voted the most dangerous border town in the USA. Can you beat that? How can we be the beautiful in the midst of this pool of criminals and hotheads? This should be our joint prayer. "God, turn us into the springs of hope and make us birds of paradise."

EJPieker, Nature Photographer

I remember coming home from Pasadena in 1992 fresh from seminary. I was pumped with ideas. But withn a year I was the same lethargic soul I had encountered in every place along the road. What is it about the desert landscape that scorches life. The sun becomes our enemy, its blazing arms preventing us from creating anything, except on an individual level—each man doing what is right in his own eyes.

Three years ago, I had a vision of the El Paso valley. It was scorched black, nary a tree was standing, but charred broken limbs. The spirit of God asked, "So do you really think that the seed you've sown can grow here?" I feel mildly rebuked. It would take a miracle to grow this seed. It would also take on the attributes of its soil and become another individualistic tree in the desert of limbo. I wondered what had scorched the land? Violence? Abortion? Some kind of darkness had come over the land and had burned it beyond recognition.

This is where I live. Live? This is where I exist from day to day, fighting off this spirit of malaise. The oppostite spirit is hope, renewal and prophecy. This is what the weapons of our warfare are in this desert nightmare.

I sound pessimistic, but I am not. I am committed to this battle of discipling the nations. We must know our enemy and he is death, loss and fatalism, brought in by the immigrants of a war torn nation beside us. It will cause us to be stronger in the end.

Friday I went to the cemetery and we had lunch with Hans—peanut butter sandwiches and grapes. Emmie wanted to know if Grandpa eats in heaven. How can one eat when one is full? Not possible. We are the only hungry ones. I find that I am hungry all the time since Hans died. I am not eating at all, my appetite has vanished. But internally there is a deep emptiness that feels like an unbearable monster...(that's the wound). I wasn't very good with heartbreak as a young woman, I am even worse now that I am old. The young have the future, we have only the now. Of course these are just "feelings" and must still be judged by the light of day, which is coming soon.

On a different note, I am looking for a movie called "Pope Joan". Has anyone access to this movie or know of its whereabouts? It is a remarkable movie about a brilliant young scholar born in the wrong time in the wrong gender. Please let me know.

Have a good hot day and for all you "foreigners" who live in the forest, pray for us.