When We Speak

I wrote this hymn as a response to the sermon from a couple weeks ago which focused on a reading from James 3.

Tune: The Sacred Harp, see The Lutheran Service Book 848

Lord, our tongues are quick to evil
Lord, our words we use to harm
Lord, our thoughts are full of poison
And we spread them without care
We cut down our friends and neighbors
With no thought of how they'll feel
Our communion suffers greatly
When we don't use words to heal.

We forget our words have power
Sharper than the weapon's edge
We are careless when we use them
Between friends we drive a wedge
Lord, our comments hurt you also
With one tongue we curse and bless
It cannot serve different masters
Keep it tame to serve the best

Tales from the Waiting Room II

The computer consumes my attention and I do not look up for a few minutes, forgetting that the biggest part of my job is to greet people with a smile before burying them in a mountain of paperwork they must conquer before seeing the doctor. I hear a small rustle and look up. His wrinkles multiply as the corners of his mouth turn up. I apologize and frantically click at the computer, trying to find the right screen. I begin the dance; the man and his wife know their steps well. I ask; they answer. “Yes, we live there. That’s our number.” Ah, we can end early; their insurance cards have already been added to the computer. The man still reaches for his wallet, either deaf (I assume he did not hear my cue to skip a step) or unwilling to deviate from the well-known choreography. All right I can do the whole routine. I stomp on the feet of my impatience.

It is not his insurance cards that appear from the creases of his faded brown billfold. A picture, edges worn, emerges from the leather pocket. The church backdrop gives more insight into the color of the smiling girl’s dress than the ink’s sepia hue. Her eyes match those of the woman before me. “That picture was taken 60 year ago.” His face radiates the same happiness and love as the younger version’s captured on the paper, but his voice adds an edge of pride that can’t be caught by film. “Happy Anniversary.” I add a line to my usual song as I hand them their paperwork. He gently returns his memory to his pocket and takes his wife’s hand. “I should write this moment down” flits through my mind before the computer claims my attention once more.

Tales from the Waiting Room I

He saunters down the hall

White fabric clings to his muscular frame

Ink sprawls across his exposed arms

I hope he doesn’t trip over his shorts…

She rides in her chair

Encased in a rosy cocoon

Her memories etched across her face

She hopes the doctor’s news is good

He pauses

She stops

He skirts her chair

And tucks her blanket closer round her body

The Next Several Weeks

Dear Readers,

I have recently been cast in a local stage production. Because of the extra time I will need to devote to the play, I will be posting only on Fridays for the next several weeks.

Thanks,

Hanna 

Invisible Man I and II

Invisible Man: Original Version

Quiet, invisible man waits

Dark, silent night creeps

Large, old clock chimes.

Quiet, invisible man stands.

Big, wooden door creaks.

Night air is warm.

Invisible, quiet man walks.

Black, square payphone sits.

Invisible, quiet man stops.

Bright, little key turns.

Shiny, silver coins clang.

Brown, cloth bags bulges.

Brown bag is heavy.

Strong, invisible man grunts.

Quiet, invisible man runs.

Big, wooden door opens.

Brown, cloth bag drops

Soft, warm bed groans.

Quiet, invisible man sleeps.

Looking back, I am thankful my teacher didn’t take off points because I used several of the adjectives more than once. And recounting now after 10 years, I’ve noticed I only wrote 19 lines. Whoops… 

I edited it a bit.

Invisible Man: The Thesaurus Edition

Quiet, invisible man waits.

Dark, long night creeps.

Large, old clock chimes.

Silent, unseen man stands.

Big, wooden door creaks.

Night air is warm.

Imperceptible, soundless man walks.

Black, square payphone sits.

Indiscernible, inaudible man stops.

Bright, little key turns.

Shiny, silver coins clang.

Brown, cloth bags bulges.

Canvas bag is heavy.

Strong, unobservable man grunts.

Stealthy, covert man runs.

Large, carved door opens.

Brown, cloth bag drops.

Soft, warm bed groans.

Exhausted working man sleeps.

Hot, yellow ball rises.

Freshman English

Once upon a time I was in English IA. My teacher was under the impression that my classmates and I were interested in becoming better writers. To help us in that endeavor, he assigned “weekly writings,” a short, creative writing assignment that was due at the end of each week. These weren’t free-for-all assignments; he would give us a topic and occasionally other parameters for our work.

One week (far enough into the year that he was aware that I was smart, and that I knew I was smart, but that I was not smart enough to know when to keep my smartness to myself) our class was discussing payphones. Mr K’s* gave us this assignment for the week: Explain how money is emptied from payphones when no one ever sees anyone emptying them. We were learning about adjectives that day so there was an addendum: we had to use at least 40 adjectives, but we could only use 2 adjectives per sentence. “What is the minimum number of words you can use?”

I raced the numbers through my head and my hand shot up almost before his question finished. “Yes, Miss Hartman?” He was not surprised.

“Eighty.”

Delight illuminated his face. “No,” the emphatic reply shot out of his mouth before he had a chance to think. I sat forward, looked at him, my brow furrowed, and thought back over my answer. Surely my math and grammar were correct. 40 adjectives at 2 adjectives per sentence would mean 20 sentences. Each of those sentences would need a verb and a noun. 20 sentences at 4 words per sentence equals 80 words.

Mr. K stared into the air in front of him, contemplating his response. “Wait a minute,” he pressed his finger to his lips as he thought. He looked back at me. “You’re right.” His crestfallen face displayed his disappointment in my correctness.

I leaned back and relaxed. Challenge accepted.

Tune in Friday to read the resulting product!

*Initial changed