I'm new on the block here. Several of you have waved, rather neighborly of you I must say. Jordan Green even brought over a plate of snickerdoodles and a faded copy of a book, something about Jazz. He said "welcome" and then rode away on his fixie. Nice fella. I do look forward to meeting the vast menagerie of people who live in Burnside. Menagerie. Isn't that a lovely word to say?
A part of me really does want to fit in, be accepted and all. But I don't know. I'm not very hip; in fact, my right one hurts when it rains. I listen to AM radio quite a bit - Glen Campbell and Johnny Mathis. I've never owned a hoodie. And I do hope you'll forgive the green lawn chair by the curb. You see, I like to sit and watch things. I'm not really sure what prayer is, but I am learning to pay attention. I do have an extra chair if you'd like to sit sometime. I could brew some chicory coffee, only take a minute.
There appears to be an interest in God on these streets. I like that. I've noticed a couple of fish decals, been dazzled by some N.T. Wright lawn art, and overheard a few conversations with phrases like "my church" in them. I like that. And there also appear to be some storytellers on these streets. I like that too. My favorite poet, Jim Harrison, writes "death steals everything except our stories." I intend to give Jordan a copy of Harrison; it just seems the christian thing to do after the gift of that Blue book. I did see that Pattison fella out on his lawn quoting some passages from the right reverend Wendell Berry. I like that. I could see us being friends. I may invite him over for Scrabble on Tuesday. I'm trying to be more missional.
I do use the words damn and helluva from time to time. It's just the way it is. My neighbor over the fence, somebody-Ivey I believe, had his screen door open the other night and belted out the word flarkhead. I like that alot.
And there also seems to be a mercy in the air around here, an effort to bring some heaven to earth. I really like that. A lot of this world is pretty hellish. Folks in the Middle Ages described hell as a place with no birds. I wouldn't want to live in a place like that; I don't believe anyone should. So maybe we can collectively (slight wink) write words not interested in subjugation but bent on genuflection. And a sky full of birds. We must try, right neighbors?
Well, see you around.