Angela At-Large

Blog

  • to rest

    Today, like all days
    there’s a hundred thousand things to do…
    but my body, mind, and soul are desperate
    for a day of respite
    in the arms of a perfect God–
    sufficient in Himself
    with no need for me
      to fill Him
      complete Him
      satisfy or
      cater to Him;
    Who only says //Come, rest awhile with Me.//

    This hammock the cradle
    of His arms around me
    letting me
    just be me–
       not trying, not striving
       not hustling, nor denying
    the needed time to lie down
    in green pastures
    for the very Maker of my bones
      to restore my soul.

  • pancakes and bacon

    pancakes and bacon

    My mom poked her head out the back door this morning to see the sunrise while I was sitting on the porch with my coffee, trying to be a Foreboding Presence to the robins who keep wanting to build a nest over the barbecue grill. Today is the weekend for her, and she likes to make big breakfasts on days like today but I at least got the coffee started since I was up first.

    It’s little moments like these that make me grateful to live with my parents. No one I’ve met personally has ever given me grief for this, but you see a lot of disparaging things online about my generation and how we have no work ethic and eat too much avocado toast and need to move back home so mommy and daddy can support us.

    But I wonder if the people who say those belittling things aren’t actually envious of those of us who have found and re-formed community with our families of origin. Of the support we offer one another, not transactionally but from a place of love and care and mutual respect. Of the healing we have found because we’ve all grown as people in the years we’ve been apart, and in the new years we now have together. Of the years ahead that I get to spend with them before they go Home.

    So write your articles, make your jokes. I’m gonna go inside and see if there’s pancakes and bacon.
    .
    .
    .
    Accessibility description: The sun shines brightly behind an apple tree several hours after climbing over the Midwestern horizon. A red brick porch column lines the right side of the frame, connecting to a brick wall lining the bottom of the frame. The author’s camper van sits in the grass glistening with dew. There’s actually a gravel driveway under there but nature got ahead of them last year and it’s overgrown. Add that to the list of neverending spring chores.

  • Some Words about HopeWords

    Some Words about HopeWords

    This is my second HopeWords conference. It’s significance in my life didn’t sink in right away, but over the past year as I put myself out there more and with the anticipation of this year’s conference, I have found that this annual gathering has become deeply meaningful to me.

    I first heard about HopeWords last year when Esau MacCaulley posted about being a speaker. He was one of my seminary professors before he landed his position at Wheaton. I got the chance to reconnect with him, and as usual he gave me a hard time about not being traditionally published 🙃(All in good time, prof.)

    When I saw that Ann Voskamp was in the lineup, I knew I HAD to go. Her book “A Thousand Gifts” was instrumental in helping me walk through the culture shock of my first year living overseas. To hear her in person would mean the world. I dragged along my copy in hope of getting it signed; I was the last one in line and before I could even say hello, the conference organizer whisked her away so she wouldn’t miss Katherine Paterson’s session. I don’t blame him; who wouldn’t want to sit at the feet of the author of “Bridge to Terebithia”? Ann gave me an apologetic look and a quick hug, which I’m more than content with. Maybe in heaven I will find her sitting on a front porch somewhere, and we’ll share a glass of lemonade and talk for a thousand years about all the wonderful gifts God has given us.

    I met so many wonderful people, all at different places in their writing journeys and from all over the country. I got to sit and have lunch with Michelle van Loon, an author whose work I found through a mutual friend. I ran into a woman who went to seminary with the author of a book I referenced heavily in my master’s thesis on the Church and the #MeToo movement. Even the small conversations with a mother who brought her teenage daughter to encourage and inspire her writing gift encouraged and inspired me.

    I came into the conference feeling so uncertain of myself–even though writing has been the one thing in my life I have ever been confident about, I overflowed with imposter syndrome. “Everyone else here is a REAL author. I’ve only ever blogged and written academic papers. I shouldn’t self-publish, it won’t make me a REAL writer. I can’t pitch my ideas to the agents who came specifically to hear pitches; no one wants what I have to say. Why am I even here?”

    But what’s unique about this conference is that it’s not about the business of publishing. It’s about *being* a writer; about wearing that badge with honor and growing into this important and beautiful work that God has given us to do. It’s about being encouraged to not become weary in doing good.

    By the end of the conference on Saturday evening, that uncertainty and doubt had washed away. I knew I needed to keep moving forward with launching my book, self-published as it is. To keep looking for places to share about the work I had done in seminary. To buy the domain name and create the Instagram account and make the business cards. To go ahead and call myself an author.

    That same Saturday evening, the host announced the preliminary lineup of authors and speakers for the 2024 conference. I signed up right then and there, still in my seat. Now I’m back in the parking lot outside the Granada Theater, sitting in my camper van reflecting on last year’s conference and all that has happened since. It’s rainy and cold this afternoon and there’s no heat in my van, so the minute check-in opens I’m heading indoors, where it will be warm and full of life. And coffee. ❤

  • beans

    beans

      the field mice 
    came into the house this winter
          (as they do every winter)
     and they got into a bag of beans.

        mom said to spread them 
                                   in the garden
    so maybe they'll sprout
                   and put nutrients 
            in the soil.

    but the spring birds migrated early this year
          and based on the size of the flock,
      we have no more beans--

    but there are hundreds of birds somewhere
          who flew away 
    with laughter in their songs

       and full bellies.
  • taking winter

    taking winter

    taking winter
 like taking medicine--
 a bitter herb that goes down rough
like the bare branches scraping against each other in the icy winds outside.

taking winter, taking time
 in these still-long post-solstice nights
 to keep the inner life alive
in the leaves of books and journals until the branches burst with spring buds.

taking winter
 like taking part
 in the breaking of bread with beloved souls
or in the dance of the earth around the sun, slowly tilting back toward new life.
  • waiting for winter

    waiting for winter

    The fields are bare now, ready to sleep for the long winter. We cook more soups as temperatures drop, watch more tv as the nights take up more hours of the earth’s rotation. I knit stitches on a sweater here, a hat there; pick up my phone to tap out thoughts to copy into a draft later. The work of life continues, but indoors and inwardly. It is a soft work, in which repentance and rest will be our salvation; in quietness and trust will be our strength (Isa. 30:15).