July 8: Woe for Months, Poet Friend, Sophia

Merton deals with heartbreak and despair . . .

However, I could not sleep for long.  At five o'clock I was up again, and walking restlessly around the deck.  It was hot.  A grey mist lay on the Narrows.  But when it became light, other anchored ships began to appear as shapes in the mist.  One of them was a Red Star liner on which, as I learned from the papers when I got on shore, a passenger was at that precise moment engaged in hanging himself.

At the last minute before landing I took a snapshot of her which, to my intense sorrow, came out blurred.  I was so avid for a picture of her that I got too close with the camera and it was out of focus.  It was a piece of poetic justice that filled me with woe for months.

The source of Merton's despair is, of course, a teenage first love gone bad.  All he has to show for his ten-day affair is a blurry photo and months of ennui.  Throw into that mix a distant suicide, and this little passage from The Seven-Storey Mountain has the makings of a pretty decent John Green novel. 

Tonight, I want to write about Lisa, a poet friend of mine, who experienced some tragedy of her own this past weekend.  Her granddaughter and her granddaughter's mother lost their home and all of their belongings in a house fire.  It happened on a night where both of them were away from the house, so no one was hurt.  Thank goodness.

My friend has set up an account to accept for donations for them.  Here is her Facebook post:

In response to those wishing to help I have opened an account at the U.P. State Credit Union . They by the way were amazing to work with! Thank you Renee & Brad! The account is for Darci Blanton & Sophia Fosmo / fire relief fund. Checks can be sent or money dropped off. Thank you all for the outpouring of prayers love and help . It is all so greatly appreciated. As you know just days ago they lost everything in a fire, we are grateful for their lives. We know things can be replaced and memories are are always with us. Thank you all so very much for your kindness!

The address to send any donations:

          U. P. State Credit Union
          2501 First Avenue North
          Escanaba, MI 49829
          906-786-1146

I've been writing a lot about miracles in these last few weeks of the pandemic.  Now is your chance to be a miracle in a little girl's life.  Please consider sending a donation to help out Sophia and her mother.  All of us have spent these past months feeling sorry for ourselves for not being able to get our hair done or gather with friends at bars and restaurants.  I know my little losses pale in comparison to what this little girl has lost.

So, let's send some miracles to Sophia.

And for all of you miracle-givers out there, Saint Marty thanks you!

August 18: Gray Dark Morning, Loss, "Thoughts of Light and Darkness on the Winter Solstice"

A gray, dark morning after a day of sun and warmth and celebration.

I know that life is about seasons.  Seasons of joy followed by seasons of sorrow.  Seasons of peace followed by seasons of conflict.  Seasons of plenty followed by seasons of loss.  I get that.

But God sometimes seems to throw road blocks in the way happiness.  Things that make no sense whatsoever.  When that happens, I have to ask myself, "Where is God in this moment?"  It feels as though God takes a step back, turns off His phone, doesn't answer our texts on purpose.  (Of course, I know that God doesn't cause tragedy.  He doesn't work that way.  God takes human tragedy and transforms it, if we let Him.  Yet, in my limited human understanding, I sometimes still feel abandoned in a crisis.  Even Christ felt this in His most human moments.  "My God, my God!  Why have you abandoned me?"  Sound familiar?)

Today is one of those days.  A season of joy followed by sorrow.  I am at a loss for words this afternoon, so I turn to poetry, as I always do.  A poem I wrote about two years ago for a person I love who was struggling with grief.

Saint Marty sends healing thoughts out into the universe this rainy day.

Thoughts of Darkness and Light

on the Winter Solstice

by:  Martin Achatz

The night, as long as Cecil B. Demille’s

The Ten Commandments, starts with baby

wail in bulrushes, stones the size

of elephants, plagues of blood and darkness.

Ribs of light crack off, disappear

into the belly of star and cloud and cold.

No moon, just endless moments of ash,

smolder, embers of everything day.

I sit in the lobby of a hotel in a city

at the edge of polar night, think of you,

the eclipse of your life, how light

stays in the corners where you still find

pieces of paper with her handwriting,

books dogeared by her fingers,

presents purchased, waiting

for the bright wrap of morning.

Darkness can be a friend, hold you

when bright grief batters your heart, sneaks

into those fissures, cracks,

like light seeping under a door frame

into a lightless room.  Darkness holds

the possibility that you might see her again,

her shadow fingers in your hair,

rearranging gray locks, shadow

palms on your cheeks,

warming paper skin, shadow

words in your ears, whispering

about the resurrection of Christmas,

how you will find her in an evergreen

bush, burning with mountain fire.

She will carve her name in the stone

tablets of your heart.

November 13: Bewildered Expression, Paris, D. H. Melhem, "41," Off the Top of My Head

And then Ives blinked and found himself standing on the sidewalk beside his wife, across the street from the Church of the Ascension.  On the pavement, just by his feet, was a large piece of canvas, and under it a body, stretched out.  Then the officer lifted off the canvas and shined a flashlight onto the face to reveal the shocked and bewildered expression of his son.

This is the moment when Ives' entire life shifts.  The police officer lifts that piece of canvas, and Ives stares down at his new life.  A life defined by tragedy and loss.  He's no longer going to be the father of a future priest.  Forever more, Ives will be a grieving parent, victim of violence, symbol of tragedy.

This evening. I spend almost two hours watching the news reports about the terrorist attacks in Paris.  So much confusion and fear.  Over 140 people killed in six separate attacks.  The entire country of France shut down as the police and military try to restore peace.

As I sat watching the same images over and over, listening to the news anchors saying the same things over and over, I couldn't help but remember September 11.  How I spent the day glued to the television, watching the World Trade Center towers fall again and again.  And the panic.  Cars lined up at the gas stations because of a rumor about skyrocketing prices.  All airplanes grounded.  Everyone was waiting for the next tragedy to happen.

I'm sure, in the coming days, the networks are going to be full of stories about the victims and survivors.  There will be wild speculation over who is responsible.  Tomorrow, I'm sure, names will start coming out.  A long ticker tape of the innocent.

In light of these events, I find myself struggling to find something about which to be thankful tonight.  I am thankful that my wife and kids are safe.  I'm thankful that I live in a place that's remote, protected.  Not that I think that I'm immune to tragedy in the Upper Peninsula.  I'm not.  But I don't have to worry about soldiers patrolling the streets of my hometown, toting automatic weapons.  My kids don't have to walk through metal detectors at school.  Most of my neighbors don't even lock their front doors at night.

Tomorrow, I will go to McDonald's for breakfast with my family.  In the afternoon, I will put up my Christmas tree with my daughter.  I will attend church in the afternoon and get pizza for dinner afterward.  Tomorrow night, I may watch It's a Wonderful Life.  My life is not a fairy tale, but I am, for the most part, happy.  Safe.

Saint Marty is living happily ever after.

41. (from Country:  an Organic Poem)

by:  D. H. Melhem

Education is out there,
                                        in the street, man--

I told you of the Beast, and Beauty, and that the Beast was how he saw himself, and was treated, although the handsome Prince within his skin was the virtue of his soul, and how Beauty approached with a single candle flickering away the dark to disclose the perfection of his blackness, and the drops of white tallow that burned him awake to his death by the stream where Beauty followed, and her tears upon him as she cried, "Ma Bete!"  And beneath those tears the loving Prince of his desire rose to embrace her as they were received by the stream that grew everywhere into its pervasive tributaries, nourishing the dessicated land.  And I wept, that the joyful Prince could not speak in you, that you feared and raged along the banks of your spirit, that you could feel upon your skin, as yet, only the tallow . . .

Off the Top of My Head

August 19: Be on the Watch, Tragedy, Prayer for Ferguson

On Sunday, the church was full.  The minister explained the miracle.  He said that the words on the spider's web proved the human beings must always be on the watch for the coming of wonders.

I've written about this subject before.  Everyday wonders.  The minister is right.  Human beings should walk around with their eyes open, on the lookout for miracles in things like spider webs or rain storms or foggy mornings.  Charlotte's trick reminds the readers that small things can be extraordinary.


There's been a lot of tragedy in the past ten days in Ferguson, Missouri, starting with the shooting death of Michael Brown by police officer Darren Wilson.  Tragic.  There have been demonstrations, peaceful and fiery.  People are angry.  People are sad.  People want justice.  All of it started with horrifying bloodshed.  It continues with nightly gunfire and looting.  Violence begetting violence, if you'll excuse the Biblical language.

I'm wondering where the meaning is.  I'm waiting for some kind of miracle to come out of all this tragedy.  I've seen news reports of police officers walking with protestors, expressing the same horror and sorrow.  This morning, I saw Michael Brown's parents interviewed.  They looked frozen with grief and anger, but they've called for peace, an end to violence, despite their loss.

I discussed the whole situation with my friend, Matt, last night.  He is rightfully outraged.  When I expressed my reservation at condemning the police officer, Darren Williams, Matt called him a murderer.  Matt said Officer Wilson forfeited any chance of compassion when he fired six bullets into Michael Brown's body (two into his head).  "I don't care if his father abused him or he grew up in a slum," Matt said.  "He's a fucking killer."

That's the dilemma.  Tempering outrage with understanding.  Moving past violence toward harmony.  Martin Luther King marched for peace and equality.  Violence ended his life.  Yet, it's not his death we focus on.  We focus on the change he wrought in the United States.  The fact that, in Ferguson, it's not just African Americans who are raising their voices in protest.  It's people of all races and genders.  That's Martin Luther King's legacy.

So, let's all pray for the people of Ferguson, Missouri, tonight and this week.  For Michael Brown's family.  And, yes, for Darren Wilson and his family.  For the protestors.  For the police officers.  For peace and justice.  Let's pray for the miracle.

Saint Marty believes that Martin Luther King's dream is still alive.

Let's keep our eyes open for the miracle, folks

July 18: Postive Again

I was told that I've been cheating during my week of positivity because I've been saying things like, "I could say that the world is a stinking cesspool of injustice, but I'm not going to."

I don't think I'm cheating.  If I wanted to cheat, I could talk about the unrest in Gaza, the Malaysian passenger jetliner that was shot down over Ukraine, or the wildfires in the Pacific Northwest.  And then I could say something like, "The world is a really shitty place, but thank God my life is so wonderful."

That would be cheating, and I'm not a cheater.

Saint Marty is simply a man trying to remain positive in a world full of tragedy, war, violence, and Sarah Palin.

Even she can't suck the joy out of my life right now