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My daughter Lucy pulls herself up into the top bunk in the hallway of the bus and pulls the shade. Later, I peek my face in and ask her what she’s up to. But at first she doesn’t hear me – her face is intent on her next drawing. In the corner of her bunk I see Madeleine L’Engle’s A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Lucy is smart, and she is kind especially to her smaller brother and sister. She is brave. And there is a strength in her that she inherited, not from me, but from her mother.

* * * * *

At the beach, Abra immediately drops to play in the sand. Then she rolls over on to her back and makes a sand angel. Then she lifts handfuls of the stuff and pours it into piles. Abra is our beaming child, so full of energy and smiles and messy life that she will not be constrained. She is so unlike me, and I love that about her.

* * * * *

Having two daughters, then, it is no wonder that this verse in Psalms reached out to me a few days ago. I can’t stop thinking about it:

May our sons in their youth
be like plants full grown,
our daughters like corner pillars
cut for the structure of a palace. (Psalms 144:12 NAS)

Wow. Corner pillars. That struck me as a particularly strong image, one that reverberated in my mind. In this verse, the sons are portrayed as plants, while the daughters are corner pillars. Which sounds stronger to you in this instance? Which is supporting the weight of a massive structure?

I wondered to myself: Am I giving my daughters the support they need to become, not the pretty little things our culture so often encourages, but the strong “corner pillars” the psalmist envisioned?

* * * * *

I tremble as I write this post, not knowing why.

I wanted to find out more about this verse, so I checked it out on an online resource, looking into the various translations. Here is the New Living translation:

May our sons flourish in their youth like well-nurtured plants. May our daughters be like graceful pillars, carved to beautify a palace.

Interesting. The image of strength that rose my mind in the other translation is here slightly overshadowed by the words “graceful” and “beautify.” Appearance takes precedence over the characteristics of strength and structural support. Perhaps a one-off, I thought to myself, moving into other translations. How about the New King James Version?

That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; That our daughters may be as pillars, Sculptured in palace style.

Closer to the NAS, but “sculptured in palace style” still left me with the feeling that looks trumped strength. Finally, I turned to The Message. I love The Message. I love the freshness of its present-day language and creativity.

Make our sons in their prime like sturdy oak trees, Our daughters as shapely and bright as fields of wildflowers.

The Message completely reversed the original intent of the older translations, placing the image of strength and sturdiness into the blessing granted to the sons, while blessing the daughters with the image of flowers and shapeliness. It seems the more recent the translation, the more appearance-based the blessing.

What?

* * * * *

I’m not a Hebrew scholar. Please feel free to point out in the comments any mistakes I’ve made. Seriously. But I turned to a few tools online to aid in breaking this verse down:

Apparently the word “corner” in that verse comes from the Hebrew word we write as Zaviyth meaning “corner.” Duh. Interesting though, that it may come from the same root as the masculine Ziv, meaning “brightness or prominent.” Prominent corner?

The word “cut” in that verse comes from the Hebrew Chatab, meaning “to cut or carve.”

Stay with me, because most interesting of all, the word palace comes from the Hebrew Heykal. In the NAS, this word appears 80 times. In 14 of those cases (including this verse), the English word used in its place is “palace.” But in fifty instances, the English word is “temple.”

Temple.

The place of worship.

What if this verse had been translated as

our daughters like corner pillars
cut for the structure of the temple

How would that impact our view of our daughters, or of the role they play in our lives and our churches as they enter womanhood? What if we saw them as structural necessities, and not peripheral contributors? Maybe you already do.

I hope you already do.

* * * * *

Although I am constantly awestruck by the physical beauty of my daughters, I will not encourage them to find their value in it. The years will tear at it. Others will objectify it. An accident could alter it. And in the end, death will destroy it.

I want to be part of a community that places an importance on our daughters, not because of their fleeting physical beauty, but because of their importance, their strength, and the absolute necessity of their presence.

May our sons in their youth
be like plants full grown,
our daughters like corner pillars
cut for the structure of a palace.

Facebookthreadinfluentiosis:
n.

1. the sickness/delusional belief that one can affect meaningful change in another human in the course of a Facebook thread, either by superior logic, snarky comments, demeaning attacks, or linking to a particularly life-changing recipe on Pinterest

a. characterized by self-righteousness, argumentativeness, or the lack of understanding that Facebook users:
1. inextricably link their profiles to their own persons (ie “Look at me! This is who I am! This is what I do!”)
2. are legally bound NOT to ever use the phrases, “Good point,” “I was wrong,” or “I take it back”
3. think cheesy pictures with slightly altered cliches constitute a well-formed argument

b. usually also accompanied by a lack of awareness that Facebook itself:
1. is set up in a way that escalates conflict through the use of notifications of ongoing comments
2. draws others to the fray by use of the newsfeed (ie Jane commented on Sam’s status: “You’re an idiot”)
3. discourages people from unfriending because if they do, the person they want to unfriend will no longer see the spiteful comments meant for them to see.

Side effects include: high blood pressure, hatred towards high school friends who hold different political views, excessive time spent on the internet, the feeling that the world is “going to hell in a handbasket,” broken computer mouses, carpal tunnel syndrome, fingernails bitten down to the quick.

Related diseases:
– Argumentitis
– Blogpostinfluentosis (the likes of which the writer of this post may or may not be suffering from)

The Redwood trees stood massive and solemn, some close to 300 feet tall, some over 500 years old. I felt small and insignificant under their kind shadows. Like an ant. Or a long-forgotten worry.

They once stood silently while the first Europeans docked their ships and slid small boats up on to the sand of East Coast beaches. They grew slowly, ring outside of ring, oblivious to the world tightening around them.

* * * * *

“I have to go potty!” Abra exclaimed somewhere deep in the Redwood forest.

We had left the last “potty” about a mile behind us. I looked at Mai and shrugged.

“I’ll take her back if you can herd these three,” I suggested, motioning towards the other kids.

So Abra and I walked back the way we had come. She occasionally darted ahead to show how fast she could run, her long blond hair waving back at me. Just as quickly she stopped, her butterfly-like attention grabbing fully on to anything that interested her.

“The letter ‘A’!”

“Look at that little bird!”

“I want to kiss that lady!”

Almost at the restrooms, she ran over to one of those small podiums with some information about an interesting something or other.

“I want to read this,” she said.

“What about the potty?” I asked.

“No! I want to read this!”

So I lifted her up so she could see the words (she can’t read yet, but she pretends that she can – usually her pretend reading is way more interesting than what the words actually say). The display explained the strange grove of trees right in front of us.

* * * * *

A huge grove of six or seven Redwood trees gathered, each one three to five feet in diameter. They had grown in an almost perfect ring. In their midst stood the charred remains of an old Redwood. Before some ancient fire it had reached up higher than a fifteen-story building. Now it was barely fifteen feet tall. The outside of it was black, the hollow inside crumbling.

The old blackened Redwood must have died in a forest fire. But its roots had survived, and out of that underground life sprang the circular grove of Redwoods in front of us. The fire could only kill what was above ground, and after a time the new trees grew up out of the old roots.

* * * * *

I so badly want my here-and-now to be the thing that survives. I work so hard to protect it, to nourish it, to save it from the fire.

But what if my “today” must die in order for such prolific life to rise? What if the destruction of this current beauty must take place so that the root of something even more glorious can push up new shoots through the darkness?

The following is a guest post by my friend Kevin Haggerty. He and his wife recently bought a house and made a baby, just before the school where he worked decided to let him go. Now he’s in transition. Check it out.

A couple of weeks ago, Shawn published a great post about his trepidation over advising someone to follow their dreams.

He talked about “a guy named Kevin.” I’m “that guy.”

Nice to meet you.

As Shawn disclosed in his post, I’m currently in a difficult situation in my life. I was recently given the news that my teaching contract would not be renewed for the approaching Fall, due to budget cuts being made by the school where I’ve taught for six years.

Additionally, I have a very pregnant wife and a house payment. Things are not neat and organized right now. In fact, they’re the furthest thing from that.

In all of this, it probably makes little to no sense to consider doing something dangerous. I should probably forward my resume to as many schools as possible and try to find another teaching job. That would be safe, right?

Only, that isn’t right.

I always thought that was safe, but as soon as enrollment went down, my job went away. It makes me ask: “Was my job ever really safe? And what does safe really mean?”

The two major points I’m currently weighing are:

1)    I don’t want to entrust my financial salvation to another person or committee again. That is only as stable as this moment, which isn’t really all that stable at all. I want to work for myself. I’m sure of that.

and

2)    There will never be a time in my life where following a dream won’t be dangerous. There will always be something to lose, people to disappoint and the possibility of failing.

It’s taken me my whole life to come to the conclusion that I am a writer. It’s as much a part of who I am as my height, my eye color and my Irish temper. I can’t divorce myself from that, and I won’t.

So now comes the scary part: How do I take a dream and a passion and turn that into something that pays my bills?

The truth is that I’m not sure yet.

I know. You probably were expecting something grander and more inspiring, but I’m still figuring it out. In the meantime, I’m reading at every opportunity. I’m talking to awesome friends like Shawn, Chad Gibbs and Leanne Shirtliffe, who have all been very gracious in giving up their time to be resources of wisdom for me.

I listen to podcasts. I continue to seek God’s answers and also the wisdom of those around me, like my parents and friends.

Most importantly of all, I keep writing. It’s the only way to get better. I write at my little blog. I’ve finished one book, and now I’m about to start another.

I’m trying to learn everything I can about working as a freelance writer. None of that is “safe,” but if I can make it work, it means I’ll have a freedom that I’ve long desired.

It’s a trade-off, but I think it will be worth it in the long run.

That’s really it. That’s where I am in my journey. I will still get paychecks from the school through the end of August. I have a retirement fund that should buy me two or three more months after that point.

It’s frightening. The worst case scenario is that the money will run out in a few months. I’ll have a wife, a newborn son and my house will be taken away.

So why post about that? That’s not encouraging at all, right?

First off, I just wanted to be honest. If you’re going through a similar situation, or you may be in the future, I’m doing you no favors by dressing it up. This is my burden. This is real.

Second, and more importantly, I’m sharing because I’ve come to an important realization that I hope will be helpful. Here it is:

My worst case scenario isn’t something I can’t come back from.

Do you get that? If I don’t find my dream source of income by the time the money runs out, I’ll do something. I’ll deliver pizza. I’ll rake leaves. I’ll do whatever I have to, and, you know what? I’ll survive.

If I lose my house, it will be heartrending, but there are other houses. If I have to sell things, I’ll have money again one day and can buy new things.

At the end of the day, we have family who will always take us in. It isn’t my preference, and we will do all we can to avoid that scenario, but this is the secret:

I’ve come face to face with my nightmare, looked it in the eye…and I didn’t blink. I didn’t wince. I didn’t run away.

I’m going to pursue my dream. I’m still figuring out what that means and how I’m going to do it. But I owe it to myself to at least try.

What’s standing in the way of YOU pursuing YOUR dream?

Answer the question, folks. Then head over to Kevin’s blog and take a look around. While you’re there, pick up a free copy of his E-book, The Idiot’s Guide to the Galaxy.

to my aunt, whose strength and resolve in her battle against cancer gives all of us hope and courage

when hair falls into a pile it does not fall straight
the way it hung from your head
just moments before

the muggy May night hangs from
the streetlights      leans around corners     taps
on the large glass window with nail-bitten fingers soft

and uncertain then looks away

the group gathers inside while passers-by
brisk and late and biting their nails check their watches
check the crossing lights      check for keys

the group gathers inside      champagne glasses
raised to life      the muggy May night taps on the glass
then looks away      when your hair falls into a pile

it is so much more than hair falling into a pile

i brush my daughter’s blond-almost-white hair
and i think of yours (brown-almost-black)
piled up on that barber’s floor      she cries

as i untangle the knots pieces cling to the brush
wisps of it fall into my lap      i hold her hair tight trying
to protect her from the pain      impossible

when things are so tangled      so knotted

there is bravery there but it is not on the floor
hidden under your pile of hair      the buzzing shears
could not slice it away

you are no Samson      you do not hand over
your strength or blindly push down
the pillars      you are so much stronger than that

the courage has not left along with your hair
the courage is in you     shining
so that sometimes i must look away

We made a last minute decision to park Willie at a truck stop and take the minivan on a mini-adventure on a short stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway (the minivan feels like a sports car after driving the bus – it shall henceforth be referred to as The Silver Bullet).

Being in Salinas, we drove about thirty minutes west and encountered the Pacific Ocean just south of Monterey. I’m sorry, northern New Mexico – my heart has found a new home. The beauty of this stretch of coast is simply unbelievable.