Telling the truth…

This morning, a white pick-up truck traveling in my direction on a four-lane road, pulled out in front of the car directly in front of me. That car swerved skillfully into the other lane, leaving me to slow down to avoid hitting the truck. The driver of the pick-up started to weave in and out of his lane. I started to pass him, but decided I was safer behind him.

I called the police to report a possible drunk driver as he continued to swerve in and out of his lane, onto the shoulder, etc.

The police asked me all sorts of questions, mostly about my identity. I continued to follow the truck which was taking my usual route to work. By the time we’d traveled five miles, I’d told the police dispatcher the truck’s license plate, the nature of the driving pattern, how the truck had just missed hitting a vehicle passing it on the right. The truck lurched into that car’s lane, then lurched back into mine. I continued to follow at a safe distance.

Then, the police dispatcher thanked me and said she’d send a police cruiser out as soon as feasible. I gathered that would be a while. Then, she asked if I’d like to make a formal complaint against the driver. I said, “Sure.”

Turns out I’d have to come to the police station to do that.

“I’m on my way to work.”

“We can’t come to you.”

“Oh, okay.”

I let it go, although I did consider stopping at a police station I sometimes pass on my way to work. I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop because soon after the truck turned off the main road onto a side street where no policeman would likely locate him, I slowed to allow a pedestrian to cross in front of my car. Instead of continuing at his rapid clip, the man SLOWED down as he strolled across a six lane highway! I started to cry.

I realized that – at that moment anyway – I hated all of humanity.

Some Christians find those big sins most horrid, but I find being irresponsible (drunk driver!) and inconsiderate (rude pedestrian!) abhorrent and damn depressing.


The Belle Jar

I don’t have to tell you that Steubenville is all over the news.

I don’t have to tell you that it’s a fucking joke that Trent Mays and Ma’lik Richmond, the two teenagers convicted of raping a sixteen year old girl, were only sentenced to a combined three years in juvenile prison. Each will serve a year for the rape itself; Mays will serve an additional year for “illegal use of a minor in nudity-oriented material.”

I probably don’t even have to tell you that the media treatment of this trial has been a perfect, if utterly sickening, example of rape culture, with its focus on how difficult and painful this event has been for the rapists who raped a sixteen year old girl then bragged about it on social media.

And I almost certainly don’t have to tell you that the world is full of seemingly nice, normal…

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Resting in His Grace

Matt and the family have now made their way into Diouloulou. He posts these words at his site, All Senegal for Christ.

P1130411“I met Keba a few years ago when I was on a trip to Diouloulou. He is from a village called Karongue about 12 kilometers south east of Diouloulou. Both Keba’s parents died when he was a child and he ended up living with a family in Diouloulou so that he could attend school. 

Keba walks with a severe limp as a result of having polio as a five-year-old child. As Keba recounts the story, he contracted polio when he was five and was taken to the village “hospital” to receive a shot. The “doctors” in the village treated him for the wrong type of polio and gave him the wrong shot which caused him to lose the ability to walk properly. As a result, Keba today…

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Grace Partakers

What does it mean to “share the divine nature?” How is that possible? The author of Hebrews writes of Jesus calling us brothers. Paul writes of us becoming sons of God – and if sons, then heirs of all God possesses, including the divine nature. (No wonder Jesus warns against spiritual pride! No wonder Paul tells us not to be “puffed up!”)

Through him God has bestowed on us high and treasured promises; you are to share the divine nature, with the world’s corruption, the world’s passions, left behind.

The part that throws us is the truth that somehow – while we remain locked in these shells we call bodies – we are to leave behind “the world’s corruption, the world’s passions.” Just as having the divine nature seems wild to our imaginations, so does leaving behind “the world’s passions.”

For what is the world passionate? Money? Power? Fame? Sex?

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Looking for a good read? Try METAL MAN WALKING and ANNIE DREAMING…

DooRFrame Books

Yesterday while paying for a pair of battleship grey – ugh – scrubs ( the color is required in the hospital where I work as a medical speech language pathologist ), the clerk mentioned the beautiful day – oh, it was! – and to enjoy it. I said that no, I was spending the afternoon writing and rewriting a chapter in my most recent novel. ( Yes, I write inside on beautiful days. )

I mentioned that my other novel, METAL MAN WALKING is featured ( as a blurb ) in the most recent issue of AZALEA magazine.

“Oh, you mean that one?” asked the clerk.

I turned. AZALEA magazines rested in a small stack on the other counter.

“Yes, that one!”

And I opened the magazine to show him, then practically begged him ( and the gal who waited on me and another woman who may own the store…

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Word Dance

Word Dance

Carley Eason Evans


Did you know you can

tell yourself “I want to

write a poem;”

and then, you can sit down

at a blank page to write?

What happens at that

moment? Do you know?

I’m not certain but seems

to me words crawl out 

of my fingers to dance 

across a white field. The word

dance is not under my control, 

not exactly. Little black letters

squirm in the snow, and make 

something new, something dark — 

always mysterious, never completely 



2013 March 2