Morning Rounds and Evening Musings

Changes

2009-05-22T12:29:00.002-04:00

When mom was here visiting for graduation, she asked me if I was going to start blogging again. I honestly hadn't really given the blog much thought lately. By the last semester of school, I felt I had nothing left to write on here. School sapped most of my creative energy, and more writing sounded like the last thing I wanted to do.

I'm two weeks past my last final, last paper and last class, and I still don't know the long term plans for this blog, but today I woke up with something to say, so here ya go, mom!

* * *

We recently moved into a lovely little house, and I am still exploring our new surroundings--finding the nearest grocery store, gas station, and the quickest routes around town.

For the first time in my life, I live in a mixed neighborhood. I'm sitting on the couch in front of the living room window, and I just watched a young white mom with 3 kids walk by with her jogger stroller. Not 5 minutes behind her were two young black men who looked about as far away from the definition of 'yuppy' as possible. It's not news to me that both of these groups share the city of Atlanta. But it is surprising to me that they both live in the same neighborhood.

Throughout my runs (ok, mostly walks) around the neighborhood, I've seen this over and over. Big, renovated houses next to small, dated ranch-style homes. SUVs sharing the rode with bass-thumping low riders. Black families living next to white ones, poor people next door to rich ones.

I'm excited to see what this neighborhood has to offer, but I also have to admit that living here thus far has presented its personal challenges. Though we've only moved about 2 miles from where we used to live, the history and racial dynamics of this neighborhood couldn't be more different. At Decatur Station (the rail station on ATL's public transit that closest to both our new home and our old apartment), there are 2 bus options. The #19 goes north from the station to our old neighborhood. That bus is usually almost empty, and mostly white. The #15, my new bus that heads south from the station to our new neighborhood is always packed, and I've always been among less than 5 white people on the bus.

I know that this dichotomy has lots to do with zoning laws and civil rights and segregation that still run so deep in the south. And to be honest, I always knew that it existed--I noticed the differences in the 15 and the 19 busses when we first moved here. But now I am a rider on the 15. And that feels very different.

I have been forced to come face to face with my own prejudices. I angered myself the other day when I parked my scooter in the Kroger down on Memorial (which is now the closest one to our house) and worried for a second about whether or not it would get stolen. I wondered whether I should wear my purse around my shoulder instead of putting it in the cart. I eye the black walkers in the neighborhood with more suspicion than the white ones. For the first time ever, I worry our house my get broken into, or our scooter might get stolen out of the driveway.

I should say here that during the entire 3 years that we lived near Emory, we never locked our doors. Wes didn't even lock up his bike most days unless we were leaving town. Friends made fun of us for this choice, and warned us that we were asking for it. Maybe they were right. But I think the reason we chose to risk it was because we deeply want to trust people. We felt like the fact that we knew our neighbors made us safe--not the locks on the doors. And we felt like leaving our house unlocked made a statement--if only to ourselves--that people are basically trustworthy, and that locking our doors every time we stepped out of the house was a false reminder that our haven was always threatened by attack from the "outsiders."

Our new house has an alarm system (and a surround sound system that is our landlord's and I would feel awful if it got stolen because of our stubbornness). I hate using it, which is no surprise. And it does make me realize that part of what goes into making us "feel" safe is how we choose to think about our possessions, and our neighbors. Why do I feel less safe with an alarm system than I did leaving the door to our crappy apartment unlocked?

Or maybe it's not the alarm system. Maybe it's that my new neighborhood contains lots of people who don't look like me. I don't know why, and I can't explain the prejudices that I see in myself, but for some reason, humans seem to see difference as threatening. I perceive difference as threatening.

I hope that living here will teach me that different is just different.

Lent 2009

2009-03-14T10:14:00.001-04:00

I have a confession to make. I hate fasting. I do it rarely, but when I do fast, I find myself miserable all day long. I get headaches. I feel crabby and tired. I always begin the day excited for what spiritual epiphanies might result from my sacrifice. But by the end of the day I always feel disappointed. What purpose does fasting serve? What am I supposed to be learning? Why isn’t God paying attention?

Last week I was discussing Lenten disciplines with a friend of mine. During the course of that conversation she told me that for five years of her life, she fasted every Monday. Wide-eyed, I asked her, “Why? What did you learn?” She sort of shrugged and said that she did it because Christians throughout the ages have fasted and prayed, and because she felt it was a small, doable sacrifice to make. She always came away from those Mondays feeling solidarity with those millions around the world who survive on one meal a day or less, those who know the feeling of hunger intimately. She felt keenly aware of her own humanity and fragility, and a desire to find out what it means that we do not live on bread alone.

Maybe fasting isn’t the problem. My problem is that I expect spiritual disciplines to yield results. I want to control the outcome. I want God to work on my terms, and according to my needs.

The lessons of fasting may not be mind-blowing or even very rewarding sometimes. But training myself to go without, to experience the feelings many around the world feel every day, and to make an offering to God, however small, are the lessons that really matter. And so with the Ash Wednesday refrain still fresh in my mind—You are dust, and to dust you shall return—I continue my journey toward God with no expectations, only renewed knowledge that I am so human and yet God speaks to me quietly and gently, one fast at a time.

Hope I Don't Fart In Your Face!

2009-02-10T20:10:00.002-05:00

I can't fathom the ability of people to make awkward situations awkward-er. A girl yesterday, while i was in the midst of the noble duty of burning a wart off of her 'hoo-ha', says to me: "I bet you hope I don't fart in your face!". I was not amused. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? "Gosh, I hope I don't slip with this thermos full of liquid nitrogen I'm holding"?

Posted with LifeCast

Back at It...kind of

2009-01-06T21:56:00.004-05:00

"Use your money, every dollar, every penny, every purchase, every stock and every bond, to voice transformation. Use the money that flows through your life--and it does through all of our lives--to express the truth and context of sufficiency. Move the resources that flow thrugh your life toward your highest commitments and ideals, those things you stand for. Hold money as a common trust that we're all responsible for using in ways that nurture and empower us, and all life, our planet and all future generations. Imbue your money with soul--your soul--and let it stand for who you are, your love, your heart, your word and your humanity" ~Lynne Twist "The Soul of Money"

Hiatus

2008-11-06T14:51:00.002-05:00

I'm weary of all the election banter, and it has put me off of blogging or reading others' blogs for the time being. I won't go into details, other than to say this:

I am a Christian. And because of my faith, my values and morals and my politics, I voted for Obama. That does not mean I am not a Christian, or that I made a decision not to vote for 'God's candidate.' And it also does not mean that I am waiting for government to solve all my problems, or that I think Obama is the savior of the world and the best president ever.

Obama is neither the antichrist nor the messiah. The kingdom of God will not be ushered in through the Whitehouse under either a Democratic or a Republican Administration. It will be ushered in through the church. And the sooner the church can learn to love each other despite disagreements, the more we model and live out God's kingdom right here on earth.

Throughout the last few weeks and months, I have been offended by people on both sides of the political spectrum--from die-hard democrats who demean republicans and from die-hard republicans who think I'm un-Christian or unintelligent for making the choice I did.

Basically, I'm tired of defending myself. And I'm sad that politics drives families and friends to say mean things to each other. And I'm going to keep my thoughts and opinions to myself for a little while.

Breaks your heart

2008-10-29T22:17:00.002-04:00

This was on Oprah today. I didn't see it, but a friend passed it on to me today. It's both beautiful and tragic, as so many things in this world are.

Surprises

2008-10-22T18:59:00.002-04:00

Today was a good day because:

I got a surprise call from Wes (who I haven't seen since Monday) saying he was at Emory, and had time for a quick dinner before he headed to Grady for another overnight shift! That meant I got to see him a whole day earlier than I was planning!

And, I haven't had any panicked calls from volunteers waiting or confused about their transportation. This is the first time in 2 1/2 weeks that I haven't had my evening interrupted by transportation hassles.

The house is clean, I'm ahead of a deadline for an article I'm writing for Refugee Family Services, and my Anglican Theology prof gave us a two week extension on a doctrine paper we have due soon.

All in all, a good day. Now, time for some reading for class, a glass of wine, and a hot bath!

Advent Conspiracy

2008-10-21T11:31:00.003-04:00

Dan and Erin Holcomb just posted this video about Advent Conspiracy, a movement I'm trying to get my church and Candler to join. I have done a lot of thinking (and not enough action) about simplicity and generosity, and there's no better time to put both of those into practice then at Christmas when Americans--Christian Americans-- are their most consumeristic.

Beyond the potential for giving and generosity for communities that don't enjoy the most basic resources for their survival and the fact that giving of ourselves--our time, our energy, ourselves--is MORE rewarding than giving or receiving stuff, why simplicity?

I would like to elaborate on this at some point, for now, I can think of several additional reasons, even though investing in our relationships and spending more money on others seems like reason enough:

1. It's better for the environment. A big part of the reduce, reuse and recycle equation is reducing and reusing. I know I'm far to quick to use as much as I ever have and toss it in the recycle bin rather than find ways to reuse or better yet--don't buy and consume so much crap in the first place!

2. The less money I need for stuff, the time I need to spend working to earn money to buy stuff. And that means more family time, more investment in the community and in my church. More rewarding relationships.

I don't think seeking simplicity in our lives has to be in response to guilt about having too much. I want to seek simplicity because it's a more attractive option than having too much--because relationships are more important, more rewarding and what Christ was certainly all about. So it's not in a spirit of self-sacrifice or deprivation or even about voluntary poverty as much as it is about choosing a better way, making a more rewarding choice--not a less rewarding one. For example, I truly, truly would rather have your stories and have you share a piece of my history with me and yours than I would new clothes. Really and truly.

I'd love to hear your thoughts! And thanks to Erin and Dan for reminding me about this issue, especially as Christmas shopping and gift giving is just over the horizon.

You can find out more about Advent Conspiracy at: www.adventconspiracy.org.

Ten Harmsel History

2008-10-17T21:56:00.008-04:00

Dad apparently did his homework and sent my plea for stories to his family. My uncle Tom emailed me with week with a photo of my grandpa and his siblings 8 years after they came to America from the Netherlands. He also included the following from his cousin Larry (Not sure what that makes Larry to me...2nd cousin?). I tried to identify the relationship of each of these people to me in parentheses:

The Ten Harmsel clan came to America in 1920 when a whole bunch of brothers, including our grandpa (my great-grandpa), Herman, left the small town of Nijverdal and got on a boat to come across the Atlantic. They left tow sisters in the Netherlands--both of them single--Tante Dena and one other sister whose name I don't know. The sisters lived into their nineties, and I know that Grandpa Herman visited them when he went back to the Netherlands in the late sixties.

The brothers came with their aged parents. I think their mother died on the boat on the way over (although I"m not sure about that--she may have died just before they left). Their father (my great-great-grandpa) died shortly after they arrived in Iowa, and is buried there. The six or so brothers, with their wives and kids, all settled in northwest Iowa, around Hull (Perkins Corners, Doon, some other small towns in the vicinity).

After they were in this country nine years, when they were just starting to get on their feet, the Depression hit, and devastated all of them. Some were able to go on making a living, but Grandpa (my great-grandpa) was thrown out of work and plunged into terrible poverty. My dad (my great-uncle, I think) still remembers as clear as a bell the time in 1936 when the family had to auction off everything they owned in the world, and take what little money they could get for it and come to Zeeland, Michigan where Grandpa had found work. It was a very dark time for them, although it began getting a little better after 7 or 8 years in Zeeland.

But then World War II came along. The Ten Harmsel family had three sons in the army at the same time, and the whole gang was worried about their safety. As it turned out, my dad (great uncle again) didn't go overseas, but you dad (my grandpa) and Tony (another great uncle) did. And they were part of some of the worst action of the war--both on D-Day and, in the case of your dad, in the Battle of the Bulge, too.

As you may not know, I (dad's cousin) worked with your dad at De Leeuw Lumber Company from 1959 until '62 or '63. I rode with him from Zeeland every morning of the summer in those years. He was driving a '57 Chevy with a straight stick--a cool car as far as I was concerned. He never talked much about the war--said a few things, but the general impression I got was that he didn't care to linger too much on that experience. He came unwounded, while a lot of guys he knew didn't come back at all. And it was a sobering experience, not the sort of thing you take lightly or discuss much. (that car is not the actual car, but I wanted to see what a '57 chevy looked like).

He (my grandpa) was always cheerful, full of jokes (some of them off-color) and he was far and away the strongest guy at the lumberyard--a place where everybody was fairly tough. Herm could haul lumber off the boxcars with his bare hands (which were like leather) while everybody else wore gloves. He would handle 2x12's two or three at a time, while I had to grunt with just one. Yes, back in those days we unloaded boxcars full of lumber by hand. Nowadays it's all containerized and mechanized. We used to have little contests at the yard, where people would make guesses about, say, the length of a 2x4 laying on the ground a hundred yards way. Herm always won those bets. I remember one time when people were betting the 2x4 was either 14 or 16 feet long, but your dad said it wasn't either--he thought it looked like about 15' 3''. We sent a guy over with a tape measure and sure enough--it was a sixteen footer that had had 9" cut off. I was always amazed at the accuracy of his eye.

I don't think the De Leeuw brothers ever paid your dad all that well, but he really seemed to enjoy the work, and I never once heard him complain. He was, all in all, a real pleasure to work with, and to get to know in that way.

I think I know someone else with leathery hands who would probably put everyone in a lumberyard to shame. Hmmm. Wonder where he gets it? Also, I went online to see if DeLeeuw Lumber still existed. And they do! And they had a little history section on their page that talked about them starting up 1947 and being the first ones to use some kind of dump-truck technology or something. So, I swiped some pictures from their site.

This story makes me curious about even more, though, I must say!

-What was the town of Nijverdal like and what's it like now? Why did the Ten Harmsels leave the Netherlands? And why did the two sisters (my great-great aunts?) stay behind?

-Why Iowa?

-What happened to the other brothers who came over on the boat?

-Who are all the people in the photo and which one is my grandpa?

Also, just as an interesting and terrifying side note--please notice that the photo above has two sets of twins in it! None of my Grandma and Grandpa's kids (my uncles) were twins, but isn't there some idea that twins skip a generation? Oh crap! Hopefully, Grandma's genes and the Van Goor and Henricksen genes are dominant!

Fall is Here

2008-10-12T16:35:00.007-04:00

Wes had a day off for one, so we headed to Springer Mountain with some friends to do a hike on Saturday. The fall colors are coming out, so the Appalachians were beautiful!

Rest

2008-10-09T15:38:00.002-04:00

This week has been absolutely crazy. Not overly busy, but incredibly stressful. I had an exam on Tuesday, I'm teaching Sunday School on Sunday, and I've got two more reflections to write for our church's Advent devotional (and the readings for one of them is filled with judgment and God killing children--I'm not sure quite what to do with it!). On top of that, I've spent the last month trying to arrange transportation for all my volunteers who are traveling around Atlanta to volunteer. I finally found a taxi company to contract with, but every day there has been another disaster--volunteers are stranded out in Doraville with no clue where their taxi is, volunteers getting charged for their taxi when I've made it clear that our account should be charged instead. It's insane. And interfering with my school work, and with my general mental health!

While I wish I was back at our B & B on Amelia Island with a Corona in one hand and a good book in the other while dolphins go swimming by, there's no escaping school, work and everything else life throws at me for now. And I'm realizing I'm not the best at coping with these things! My perfectionism comes to a head and I find myself obsessing over 'getting it right' and feeling terrible when it doesn't. I have to fight the urge to constantly check up on everyone in my office and with those working in the taxi company. I hate being out of control.

What's more, having all these different things on my plate makes life feel really compartmentalized. I jump from class to work to the gym to homework to church work to trying to relax with Wes with hardly a moment's breath in between. My brain feels frazzled and pulled in a million directions. I feel tired and worn out from trying to be perfect and avoid mistakes. And I feel anxious when facing the fallout from my own mistakes or those of others.

So, I'm trying to breath. I'm trying to sit on the couch without music or tv or the email open or the phone.

Just sit. And breath. And pray. And relax.

Even if just for ten minutes in between these weird transitions my days bring.

Storytelling

2008-10-08T13:44:00.002-04:00

Our church has been doing a Sunday School series about stories. Obviously, our Bible is full of them, and as a way of building community at church, we've been telling each other stories as well.

It has got me thinking about how embedded we are in story--how our brains organize information into stories, we remember things better when stories are attached and the whole history of our faith and what we know about God is through story. Even my anxiety-ridden dreams display the things that stress me out in complex story forms.

Just like the story of Israel tells us not only where we come from, but who we are right now, the story of our families tell us much more than history. I know some stories from both sides of my family, and from Wes' family too. But there are so many more I would like to know. And with both my grandpas gone, and all Wes' grandparents gone, I guess I'm feeling acutely aware that when someone dies, they take all those stories with them--some never to be recovered.

So, to the Henricksens and Ten Harmsels: instead of traditional gift-giving this season (as much as I love it!), tell me a story. Write it down. I would love to see the Van Goors and Ten Harmsels, the Henricksens and the Morks make this a family-wide effort for Christmas. To have everyone write down a significant story from their life, or a memory of someone else in the family would be invaluable. I know so very little about Grandpa Ten Harmsel, who died when I was a baby. And even though I know Grandpa Van Goor much better, to hear first-hand accounts or perspectives from Grandma is totally different. And while we know mom and dad, Scott and Karen much better than our grandparents in many ways, there is so much of your lives I wasn't around for or don't remember the same way or simply don't know about.

Here's some ideas of things I'd love to hear:

Your wedding day
The day you met your spouse
Your biggest mistake
Most embarrassing moment
the birth of a child
your first apartment
A holiday gathering
the day Grandpa and Grandma met my dad (or the day Grandma TH met mom)
Your 16th birthday
Your earliest memory
Dad--write down that story about the chicks from the hatchery. I've heard it a hundred times, but having it on paper would be great!And tell me more about Grandpa.
Your college roommate
A crazy thing you did
A prank you played on someone
A trip you took
Mom-tell me about the days at the cottage growing up. I have my own memories, but I'm sure they're much different.
your first job

I would love to have a collection of stories to pass down to my kids (should there by any...ahem!) and to have for myself. With our family scattered all across this nation, roots are important. And I want to discover those roots in the stories that have made me who I am, whether I know it right now or not.

Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton

2008-10-01T08:37:00.001-04:00

This Saturday Night Live sketch is one of my favorites. It's been making the rounds for quite some time yet, but I know a few of you out there haven't seen it yet. SNL brought back Tina Fey just for the election season for obvious reasons.

Enjoy!

I need to whine...

2008-09-29T22:16:00.002-04:00

because surgery sucks. Wes had his orientation today (which was ridiculous in itself because it was 12 hours) where he learned that he needs to be on the surgery floor by 5am, and will be off around 6pm every night. That means he has a 3:45 wake up call. And that means a 9:00pm bedtime.

Because my schedule on Tuesday means I don't get home until 10pm, I won't see Wes between Monday and Wednesday nights, every week for the next 2 months. Not to mention that the people on his same team last month worked 14 days straight with NO days off. We live in the same house, but you probably wouldn't know it!

Ok, whining done for tonight.

The Price is Right

2008-09-29T20:26:00.002-04:00

In college, some friends and I made semi-frequent trips to give plasma in exchange for cash. That lasted until I nearly passed out after seeing a big blob of my own blood in a bubble on my arm after the nurse took out the needle. Eck!

Last year, I participated in a study to test a new HIV vaccine/contraceptive for women (imagine if women in Africa had means to protect themselves against cheating husbands and the stds and diseases they so often bring home with them!) . The procedures involved were quite unpleasant--I won't illuminate the details, but let's just say routine gynecological visits now qualify as 'no big deal.'

Today, I enrolled in a study testing a new vaccine against the Vietnamese strain of Avian flu. I was thrilled when the doctor announced that I was in group 9--the most complicated study group therefore requiring the most number of visits. Between now and Thanksgiving, I'll make 9 visits to the Hope Clinic. At $50 a pop, that's $450!!

For a blood draw, a needle stick, some vital signs, and some of my time, I'd say the price is right. An extra bonus was that I found out I'm not pregnant, and my blood pressure and pulse have gone significantly down since my last physical in January 08. Guess those trips to the gym are paying off!

Sometimes, homework is cool

2008-09-22T11:31:00.002-04:00

My Contemporary Anglican Theology class is reading Rowan Williams' Resurrection. It's a book about, um, the resurrection. And why it's important.

I was preparing to write my paper on one of the chapters this morning (which requires reading PAINSTAKINGLY slow!) and came across these thoughts:

"Confession is at once the acknowledgment of sin, the proclamation of faith and the praise of God...it is not needed by God (who knows the secrets of the heart), but it is offered as a witness and exhortation to the world. Confession displays the memory of sin as an occasion for the glorifying of God...to know oneself as a reconciled sinner is to know God as a reconciling savior."

I've never thought of confession in quite that way before--the asking for grace and forgiveness is itself the proclamation of God's grace, not just a device to make God happy and make ourselves feel guilty.

Veggies!

2008-09-17T08:49:00.002-04:00

Wes and I have been trying to eat less meat and more vegetables, both in order to be more environmentally conscious and to be healthier and more creative in our cooking.

One of our favorites has been to make a "Southern Vegetable Plate" for dinner. We have grilled squash, gingered beets, pole beans (cooked southern style, with bacon!), corn and basil salad, and fresh tomatoes. It not only tastes great, but it looks beautiful! Below is the recipe we use for gingered beets. It takes a little while, but they are delicious!

Gingered Beets

Preparation Time: 15 minutes
Cooking Time: 50 minutes

Serves: 4

Ingredients

2-3 large beets
1 Tbsp. butter
1 Tbsp. unbleached bread flour
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
1 - 2 Tbsp. rapadura sugar
1/4 tsp. sea salt
1 1/2 tsp. ginger, minced
1/4 tsp. dry mustard

Instructions

Scrub beets and place them, whole and unpeeled, in a kettle with salted water to cover. Boil for about 45 minutes until beets can be easily pierced with a knife. Drain cooked beets, reserving 1/2 cup liquid. When beets are cool enough to handle, slip off the skins and cut away the stems and roots. Slice beets into 1/4-inch rounds and then cut into strips.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter. Whisk in the flour and brown lightly, stirring often. Add 1/2 cup of beet liquid and whisk until smooth. Stir in the other ingredients and the beet strips. Heat through on low heat for 3 to 5 minutes. Serves 4.

Source: Moosewood Collective, Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant.

Also, Wes' dad sent along a recipe we were skeptical of--Tofu Asian Salad--but it is also delicious. I made this for dinner one night and thought it would not be enough to fill us up, but we couldn't eat it all!

1 block soft tofu
1-2 cucumbers
2 tomatoes
garlic

Dice tofu, cucumbers and tomatoes and mix together in a bowl. Fry a couple of TBs of garlic and add to the top.

Dressing:
3 TB soy sauce
1 TB Mirin (I didn't have this, so used 4 TB soy sauce)
1 TB rice vinegar
1 TB sesame oil

Mix together, pour over top the salad and toss!

Calling Northwest

2008-09-10T22:50:00.002-04:00

It's not as if I need a whole lot to remind me that I don't want to live in Atlanta forever, but just in case I do someday...:

1. Wes and I are crossing the street AT A CROSSWALK, ON A GREEN LIGHT on the way home from the grocery store when a cop who is trying to turn left at said green light practically runs us over--but not before shaking his fist and pointing at the blinking 'don't walk' sign.

I don't know what kind of morphed driver's ed I took, but last time I checked, pedestrians ALWAYS get the right of way--and doubly so when walking across the street at a crosswalk, at a green light.

Question: If the cop not only won't enforce laws protecting pedestrians, but violates them himself...uuhhhh, shouldn't we move (especially since we are pedestrians quite often)?

2. This is not my story, but I think I can still do it justice. Wes is riding his bike home from the hospital like he does every day--on the street, heaven forbid, when an ambulance driving behind him gets on the loudspeaker and announces to Wes and everyone in a 5 mile radius that he should be riding on the sidewalk.

Several things seem pretty backwards about this scenario including an inappropriate use of hospital equipment, the rudeness of the drivers of the ambulance and the fact that they shouted at Wes to perform an action that is actually AGAINST THE LAW! Bikers are not only entitled to be on the roads, but it is illegal for them to ride on sidewalks. Way to call it, genius!

See, Wes? I even told it without expletives.

Backpacking 101

2008-09-06T10:55:00.006-04:00

Rule #1: Always travel with more water than you think you'll need. For example (hypothetical, of course), if there is an abundance of water at the trail head, you should drink up! And then filter more so that BOTH of you are carrying full water bottles. Don't begin a hike without being fully hydrated, and never, NEVER assume there will be plenty of water!

Because sometimes there isn't any water and after you've hiked six miles, your tongue begins to stick to the roof of your mouth, every hill looks like it's Everest, and you begin to go a little crazy imagining that you might have to turn around and go six miles more back to the beginning of the trail head, except that it's already 4:30 and that will mean not only another long six miles with no water, but a hike in the dark--and all for nothing because you're right back where you've started!

So if you come six miles, and feel you can't go any further and you just might die of dehydration (though your doctorish husband assures you that since you're still sweating and your skin is not 'tenting' you're fine) send your much stronger companion ahead to search for water. But when he comes back with an empty water bottle, resist the urge to cry (you'll lose what little water you have left!) and get a little creative!

Maybe there's a forest service road that intersects with your trail, and after hiking down it for a mile or so (much shorter than the six it would take if you turned around) there will be the tiniest stream--your survival! There you can drink gallons and gallons of water and all will be well with the world again.

Not that this very important rule is something we learned from personal experience last weekend in North Carolina. No, we are far too experienced to make such an elementary mistake.

We did not look this happy on the hike up. But we were smarter on the way back, and thus could produce such a happy-looking photograph!

Appalachian wildlife

Our campsite, on an abandoned logging road off of the forest service road that saved our life!

Warning: Liberal Ranting Below!!!

2008-09-02T22:14:00.005-04:00

So, I don't usually blog about politics, but I am taking a Religion and Politics class at Candler this year, and it's election year, so that might be about to change. Watch the video below, and come to your own conclusions about it before reading (or not reading) my own, slightly opinionated ones below it.

Barack Obama and John McCain were interviewed by Rick Warren--pastor of Saddleback mega-church in California. The question they are responding to in this clip is, "Does evil exist? And if it does, do we ignore it, negotiate with it, confront it or defeat it?'

Ok, and now you should stop reading, unless you're a sucker for inflammatory ranting.

Regardless of the fact that the question was actually a thinly-veiled question about terrorism (notice the vocabulary of negotiation, confrontation, defeat, etc.), and that McCain understood that the question was about terrorism and that Obama answered the question at its face value...

Is this what we've become? A nation who is more satisfied with spoon-fed pithy soundbites that oversimplify really complex issues that theologians and ethicists have worked on for millennia than with honest, non-partisan answers? I, for one, cannot handle 4 more years of the same rhetoric--rhetoric that paints evil as being 'out there' in those 'radical Islamic nations' that hate our freedom. Isn't the more Christian conception of evil that it does indeed abide in our hearts, in our homes and that while we will by no means ever 'defeat' it, it is nonetheless the Christian responsibility that calls us to 'confront' it? Not confront it only by hunting Osama bin Laden to the gates of hell, but to confront it by addressing the poverty in our own streets, the societal factors that leave us with broken homes? Aren't we all sinful (not just Osama bin Laden and all those residing in Islamic nations)?

Not only is the response to the question deeply troubling to me, but it is almost more frustrating and disheartening that the very thing that appeals to me about Barack--the honest, less-polished, more authentic and less-political nature of his responses--is the thing that might end up kicking him in the ass come November 4th!! Not once did he use an answer to the question to assert what he would do should he become the next president. Instead, he engaged with Warren, looking him in the eye, answering the questions in a painstaking manner that acknowledged not only the complexity of the issues, but the diversity of respectable opinions on them. But does he receive the applause? No! Because he acknowledges that not only does each of us experience evil in the world, but that our imperfections sometimes mean that we commit evil in our attempts to overcome it!!

Because Americans are apparently more interested in electing someone who knows how to play the game--knows how to turn a question about where evil is in the world and what our role is as humans in confronting it to a question about terrorism and all the evil that exists 'out there' in those nations not abiding by God's law, and not chosen by the Almighty--than they are to elect someone who could care less about obtaining the right political resume that enables him to turn legitimate questions into opportunities for furthering his party's rhetoric about national security.

I'm frustrated. Frustrated that according to the polls, McCain and Obama are neck and neck. Seriously? Have we learned nothing over the last 8 years? Frustrated that I (a pro-life, anti-war but pro-rebuilding in a responsible way, pro-healthcare, mostly-democrat) see in Obama a candidate willing to talk about religion and politics in a way that makes sense (and that is constitutional!!), and speaks in a way that at least suggests that he is not skilled in the GAME of political ridiculousness and might STILL LOSE the election.

End of rant. And sorry for any who are offended by the above comments. But this is my blog--my outlet. And tonight, I needed an outlet and a glass of red wine. And come November 4th, I may also need a one-way ticket to Canada, where civilized, rational people must exist along with universal healthcare.

Lunch Lessons

2008-08-27T10:26:00.002-04:00

I had lunch with a wonderfully irreverent Episcopal priest yesterday. She was the designated chaplain for me and my fellow discernment team as we went through DYVE this last year. Of course, I never really took advantage of her presence. But, she emailed us last week to hear what the decision with DYVE had been, and when I told her I had been recommended to the priesthood, but would most likely turn it down and was exploring non-profit, she got really excited.

This is big, because most people get really confused, or look like they're taking pity on me when I tell them I could be a priest, but don't know if I want to. Granted, it's sort of ridiculous to go through a year of a very trying discernment process only to turn down their recommendation--especially when most people are pining for that yes all the way through discernment.

Anyway, we went to lunch so that I could hear her story. Turns out, she also went through the ordination process all wrong, and didn't even start discernment until after she finished seminary. She went to an ecumenical seminary (not an Episcopal one like you're supposed to) and doesn't really care one bit about what the bishop thinks of her (church hierarchy is not my favorite thing, either...) Now, she works part-time at a non-profit, and is an associate priest at a parish.

I get so tired of hearing that I've done it wrong, that I'm crazy to say no to the priesthood, that I need to go to a school where I can get Episcopal formation, and that I need to fill the bishop in on my plans (like he even knows who I am). I'm tired of church people's idea that non-profit is a lesser calling (because it IS a calling!)

Also, I'm tired of worrying about this whole vocational question. I'm tired of feeling like I might not be in the center of God's will if I say no, or if I say yes. As if God's will is a like a straight and narrow road that it's far to easy to step off of. I hope God's will is more all-encompassing than that, and that God can accomplish whatever it is God wills no matter what desk I'm behind. I know God cares about me and about this vocational struggle, but I am not so arrogant as to think that God's will depends on me making a right decision (at least not when I'm being rational). Wouldn't we all be in trouble if that were the case?

Mostly, it's just nice to know I'm not alone.

Remembrance

2008-08-26T17:33:00.003-04:00

I ran across this blog today--it was a link on a friend's blog page. It chronicles the life of another 3rd year medical student. I don't know what it's actually like to be a third year medical student (this is Lauren writing, obviously) but it was interesting to read about this person's experience and think about it in comparison to Wes' and the conversations we've been having lately.

During his break between boards and 3rd year clinicals, he writes:

"Since being alone and back home, I've been doing a lot of remembering. Remembering who I am, who I have been and who I've wanted to grow into. It involved some checking in with myself to see if I'm living up to the man that I was hoping to be at this point. In some ways, yes, in some ways, no. I believe that God is steering me down the right paths right now and that His grace is enough to get me through the rough patches."

It seems that the feeling of medicine being all-encompassing is universal! And that time-off is critical for remembering, as it was for us during Wes' month off. Just thought it was an interesting perspective...

Ends and Beginnings

2008-08-26T11:02:00.003-04:00

I figure if I say this on my blog, it will mean that I'll have to do it. So, consider this my formal announcement, and commitment to do the Mistletoe State Park Triathlon in July 2009!

This triathlon is called a sprint--it's the shortest distance triathlon there is with a 600m swim, a 12 mile bike ride and a 3 mile run. I can do each of those things separately, so we'll see if I can build my endurance enough to do them each back to back!

This decision came partly from the peer pressure of friends who did the race this last July, and partly as a recognition that the fitness goals I set for myself are finally coming to fruition, and I want to continue to improve endurance and overall health. Having a goal will hopefully help me do that, once my schedule gets way busier!

As for those other goals I wrote about at the beginning of the summer:

1. Pray. Still have a ways to go on this one, surprise, surprise! But, I will say that meeting with my spiritual director has been really helpful, and freeing. The poem she gave me, 'falling in the grass' allowed me to connect with God in an authentic way like I haven't in awhile. so that is a definite signal to me about new ways to pray.

2. Reading was really fun this summer. It was the summer of Barbara Kingsolver, Ann Patchet, Jhumpa Lahiri, and Cormac McCarthy. I joined another book club, and hope to continue reading one novel per month for fun. We'll see!

3. Exercise has been the most rewarding in terms of attaining goals. I was frustrated in June after I had been working out 6 days per week with almost nothing to show for it. But now that it's August, I'm seeing some of the rewards of my labor. I provided myself incentives for meeting my weekly goals (mostly pedicures!) which were instrumental to my motivation. I'm now lowering my weekly goals to exercising 5 days per week (instead of 6). I find that when I have two days off, my workouts are more successful and I perform much better. We'll see how I do with school!

4. Our house is so much more organized. We have yet to tackle the shed, which is a disaster but may have to wait until there are no more mosquitoes. But the spice drawer is now usable, the closets cleaned out, clothes are purged, garden is growing and looking much better than our pile of weeds and dirt, and our Russia photo album is done! Yeah!

And, as school is starting again on Tuesday, it's time for a re-evaluation of goals.

1. First, I want to continue exercising.

2. Praying, too.

3. Good time management. I know by Spring of last year, I was not the most efficient studier. This year, with a relatively demanding job and a demanding course schedule as well, there will be no room for time-wasting. I need to be better about setting aside time for studying and not letting distractions like email, facebook, work and phone calls interfere. I am not a very disciplined person!! I need to get better about that.

Late Beginnings

2008-08-24T22:24:00.002-04:00

Lauren added me on as an official contributor to this blog about a month ago now, when I told her that I wanted to start blogging as a way to keep track of my thoughts this year.

That was a month ago, and now, I lumber on to post my first.

I wanted to do this this year because I still feel a bit like I'm standing on the outside of being a doctor, or medical person, or whatever, and looking in. When we were going through orientation for beginning our clinical years of med school a few weeks ago, a recurrent theme sounding from nearly everyone was: "this marks the end of you as a student, as a normal person, and the beginning of you as a doctor. You will always go the extra mile, being the first to be rounding on your patients in the morning, the last to leave. You will live and breathe medicine, love hearing the sound of your own footsteps walking empty hospital hallways at 3am, and marry a gastroenterologist who is as intense, focused, and driven as you are so that you can one day become the ultimate doctor."

Well, I'm a sinner, and have a lot of improving to do, but I'm pretty happy overall with who I am. I don't really want to be transformed into someone else--I don't want to BE a doctor. I just want to be me, but be able to take care of people, too. I like that I have interests outside of medicine, like that I can talk somewhat intelligently with Lauren about theology, like that I have non-medical friends, like that I like Russian literature, and like that I'm not "the ultimate doctor".

So, hopefully, I and whoever else reads this (Lauren) will be able to keep track of what I'm thinking this year, this year that I'm supposed to leave the old behind, and become a new medical creation.

Pictures!

2008-08-19T21:00:00.008-04:00

Finally found the camera cord, so here are some pictures of the hummingbirds that have finally found our feeder (there are tons!) and our hike to the tallest mountain in Georgia last weekend.

Wes and I enjoying the view at the top of Blood Mountain.

Ok, granted, Georgia's tallest mountain is only 4600 feet tall. These mountains look more like rolling hills when compared to the Rockies or the Cascades. And it was only a 4 mile trek (one-way) to get there. Nonetheless, now we can say we've been to the top of Georgia. And, we're growing in appreciation for the Appalachian Mtns--their mysterious mist, beautiful colors and diversity of species.

Willpower

2008-08-19T20:32:00.002-04:00

Wes and I both just got a craving for brownies! cookies! anything sweet! But instead of doing an emergency sweet tooth grocery store run, I cut up two giant pieces of honeydew melon, squeezed some lime juice on top, and I'm pleased to say it did the trick! After all, with HONEY in the name, how could we go wrong?

All in a Day's Work

2008-08-16T08:59:00.003-04:00

Lately, my job has actually felt like a real job. I've been working 40+ hours in an attempt to get things all lined up before the undergrads come back to school at the end of next week. Then, the recruiting, training and coordinating of my volunteers begins.

I still love my job, but the pressure of getting these projects done has so far been a good lesson in what it might be like to work in the non-profit field. A few examples:

- I've spent the last two months working with a graphic designer to roll out new publicity for ProjectSHINE (Students Helping in Naturalization and English). We now have posters, programs, and a fancy tri-fold brochure that has been redone and revised lots of times. There's quite a price tag to all this, but I felt it was worth our money and time. The biggest issue I had was with our logo, which is a silly, little curly-cue sun. But, what can you do? That's our logo. So we went with it. Not two hours after I sent our finalized brochure to the printer, I received an email from someone at the national ProjectSHINE office notifying me that there was a new website. I went to check it out, and low and behold! A NEW, and much improved LOGO was all over the new website, essentially making my brochure and all our hard work out-of-date before it's even off the press!!

- Since a large part of job is recruiting volunteers, one would think that we would have pretty comprehensive lists of those who have volunteered in previous years as they are most likely to come and volunteer again. Makes sense, right? WRONG. The list serv for previous volunteers has not been updated for two years. And, I found at least 25 excel spreadsheets with lists of names and emails, some hand written pieces of paper with scribbled email addresses. Mind you, none of these were labeled, and could have been years old. Or not. It took me six hours to cross check all those lists, make sure those who graduated were taken off and those who wanted to volunteer were included on our email list. Something that would have been nice to know in June, when I was looking for projects to fill my time....

Good lessons! And fairly typical snafus in a line of work where people are overworked, underpaid, and asked to do lots of jobs unrelated to training and experience (hello? Me doing marketing?).

Broken

2008-08-10T11:14:00.003-04:00

I remember hearing that seminary is hard on marriages and that I could expect to see divorces before I came to Candler. I didn't think much of it. But now only weeks before entering my third year, I have watched two of my friends' new and fragile marriages fall apart.

One of them is only now officially over, after a year and half long saga of one spouse simply opting out, leaving the country and refusing reconciliation. The other saga has just begun--and will hopefully end in healing rather than separation, but only time will tell.

It makes me sad. There's no more complex way to explain it. We make these incredible promises to each other joyfully, and with great hope only to break them over and over again, sometimes so grievously it seems irreparable.

If anything, these broken relationships are a wake up call for Wes and I. We have done extraordinarily well balancing our promises to each other with the other demands on our time and attention. But with rather separate and independent lives for the time being, it's easy to become roommates instead of lovers. It's easy for resentment to brood, and for tired minds and bodies to yield to conflict.

My friend finds herself surprised that her marriage has come to this. Discord is one thing, but sitting on the brink of separation is quite another. And that is almost the scariest thing of all--the way separation can creep in before we even realize the direness of the situation.

Last year, when friend's marriage #1 fell apart, I succumbed to great fear about my own marriage. If it can happen to them?!.... But now, I feel confidant and peaceful about Wes and I. We have proven resilient to difficulties that arise again and again, aware and honest of times when those time of some dissatisfaction arise leaving us more open to creeping separation, and constantly working toward making 'us' better and choosing to love despite our circumstances or frustrations. If anything, our shortcomings--though leaving the other unfulfilled at times--hopefully continually point us to the One who has no shortcomings, and who fulfills completely and perfectly.

" But in the books again, great joy through love seemed always to go hand in hand with frightful pain. still, he thought, looking out across the meadow, still, the joy would be worth the pain--if, indedd they went together. If there were a choice between, on the one hand, the heights and the depths and, on the other hand, some sort of safe, cautious middle way, he, for one, here and now chose the heights and the depths." ~ A Severe Mercy

Cumberland Island

2008-08-04T10:45:00.003-04:00

Cumberland Island is one of those regional legends. Cumberland Island is to Georgia what Yellowstone or Glacier National Park is to Montana. It's what Mt. Ranier and the Space Needle are to Seattle. Just of the coast of Georgia, Cumberland Island is a preserved wilderness area with no roads, empty beaches and wild horses. Sometimes you can see manatees, and armadillos. There are hiking trails draped with spanish moss, and ruins of mansions from the Carnegie's and Kennedys. It's one of a kind. A must see, our friends said.

And so, when Wes' parents very graciously put us up in a B&B of our choice for one of Wes' weekends off in July, we chose to go to the coast to explore Cumberland (and the other enticing barrier islands). After an hour drive, and a 45 minute ferry ride, we stepped off the boat determined to escape the other 50 tourists who had made the trip with us. We rented bikes, and sped off up the road for 5 or 7 miles before we found a trail that headed to the beach.

Despite the fact that Cumberland Island is an island, it does not have those island breezes or mild temperatures like Hawaii. And the humidity? Definitely twice as bad as on the mainland. So, our little bike excursion left us looking like someone had hosed us down. Wes kept asking if I was crying, when really it was the sweat dripping down my face. I'm not exaggerating. We were ready to hit that beach.

So we ditched our bikes, and headed down what turned out to be the buggiest marsh EVER. By the end of the 1 1/2 mile trek, I had 27 mosquito bites on my left arm. That's only one arm. So then I start running, but quickly remember my legs are stuck together by unceasing humidity. We finally made it to the beach, pulled out a mango from our pack and headed into the water. But not before Wes found a tick on his foot, and I found another on my thigh.

These discoveries forced a thorough inspection hoping there weren't more ticks to discover. Thankfully, there were no more ticks. Instead, I had about 100 chiggers crawling and burrowing all over my body. Somewhere along the way, I must have stepped in a nest of them, because there was a huge patch on my foot, and they had made their way up my legs. They were gross. And they left me with blistery, itchy red dots all over myself. I look like I have scabies.

But the beach was nice. And if it wasn't for the fact there there was an equally beautiful beach oh, about 2 feet from our B&B we might have appreciated it more. But even the little appreciation we had for the cool water occured before we remembered that we needed to get back before the ferry left, unless we wanted to spend the night on this gem of an island.

But I was not about to get another 100 chiggers all over me by going back on the same trail.

So we headed down the beach for 2 miles, cut inland 2 miles and went back up the main road another couple of miles for our bikes we left at the trailhead. We had to run part of it (do I need to remind again of the INCESSANT heat and humidity?). And low and behold, at the trailhead we saw an armadillo rumaging through the leaves, and we were like,

"oh look! An armadillo!"

"Cool! Um, we have like 2o minutes before our boat leaves without us..."

And we sped off on our bikes, going as fast as our legs would take us with no water and a ridiculous amount of sweat drenching us.

We made it. Just barely. And we traveled home with a extra large Sprite and exhausted expressions on our faces as we tried to decide what exactly the appeal of Cumberland Island had been.

We saw wild horses. And how many people can say that? Except that wild horses are just like regular, domesticated horses. They stand there and eat and swat flies with their tails. If we had seen them fending off other wild horses from their territory or galloping down the beach in a herd, maybe wild horses would be cool. But don't hold your breath. And never, EVER go to Cumberland Island in July.

Metamorphosis

2008-07-31T23:19:00.002-04:00

Daily Bread is no longer. But now it is new, and better. Wes has decided he wants to start blogging. And what's more, he's going to do it here. So, faithful few, be prepared for thoughts from a 3rd year medical student about being a doctor, working a ton, and a more well-rounded Henricksen perspective. Welcome Wes!

By the Way...

2008-07-31T12:51:00.004-04:00

This article has been promoting some thought-provoking discussions around our house lately. I'd be interested to know what any of you (if there are any of you :) think.

A New Day

2008-07-30T14:18:00.002-04:00

I still haven't decided whether to keep the blog (or at least whether to keep it public), but I have stuff to say. So for now, it stays too.

Wes started his 3rd year of medical school today. Let it suffice to say the next 4 months (notice I didn't say 'year'--this is a good thing) are going to be pretty awful around here. Two months of internal medicine, and then on to surgery.

Needless to say I couldn't sleep last night, in large part because it feels to me like we had a couple months of 'not great' 6 weeks of 'absolutely terrible' and just finished a month of 'fantastic!' What was the key factor? TIME. That's all we really need, and yet, in the months to come, it will once again be in scarce supply.

I wrote a frantic letter to my best college girlfriends last night, "Help! I'm despairing!" was the gist of it. I hate that I sound like a broken record, but I do have some incredible latent fears about what the future holds. Wes and I are committed to sharing life--sharing parenting, cooking, cleaning, friends, church. Marriage is a commitment to share in common life, and we want to do just that. But each of our career ambitions pose challenges to that vision. Wes is more committed to making shared life possible than I've ever seen him. I'm guessing that months like the last one (though very idealistic when compared to actual life which doesn't usually involve 2 week vacations, a weekend on the coast, and the amount of free time Wes has had the last two weeks) make us remember why that vision is so important, and remind us why we want it.

Wes is looking for ways to 'push back against the institution' as we've been calling it. Medical schools are pretty sure they own people's lives, and that every decision a med student makes will be determined by how successful a doctor it makes him or her. And to Medical School, we shake our fists and say, 'not so!'

Because so much of my anxiety about our future is wrapped up in this thing called domesticity, Wes is thinking about how he can contribute more around the house. Up until now, I've pretty much done all the work around the house--cooking, cleaning, shopping, paying bills, etc.--at least during the really, really busy times (like the last 6 months). I've done this hoping that if all that stuff was done, Wes and I would have more time just to be together. But it does end up backfiring sometimes because I get pretty resentful about doing all that work, making the time we do get together, ummm, not as nice. As crazy as it sounds, Wes cleaning the bathroom or cooking twice a week makes me feel exponentially better about our life together, and my life in general. If I see him making those contributions now, I don't worry that he'll forget to make them later in life, and that I'll be the one exclusively stuck with late night baby feedings, and other kid-related duties. I guess I'm actually quite easy to please.

But in the spirit of trying to make these next 4 difficult months a new beginning rather than a return to the yuckiness of the last several, I'm going to try and embrace this time in the following ways:

1. I have noticed that I have been less productive with Wes around. This has been great because I've gotten to hang out with him (which is more important than productivity). But I am missing my work-out routine, reading books, etc. I hope for the rest of the summer, at least, to return to those routines.

2. Girl friends are great. And I get to see them more when Wes is busy. I will look forward to catching up by the pool with Lauren, sharing a bottle of wine and great conversation with Becca, and watching movies with Stephanie. In fact, the first girls night is already planned.

3. Work. While work has been delightfully flexible and low-key this summer, it is going to pick up very soon. And with it comes a lot more responsibility, and a lot more hours. September and October will be crazy with work. And I am glad I'll have the freedom to do my job well, without worrying that I'm letting Wes down.

4. School. Need I say more? Fall will be busy for me too. And it's a privilege to be able to structure my own studying time and commit the necessary hours my studies require.

These four things will take daily commitment not to do them necessarily, but to remember that I am able to do them well largely because I have a busy husband. They are lessons in attitude adjustment and attempts to embrace a difficult time, but one that comes with the advantages more independence brings.

The Last Frontier

2008-07-26T15:40:00.011-04:00

We're back from the McSparran wedding in Denver, 2 week vacation in Alaska and a weekend on the GA coast. Blogging has been scarce the last month (although I doubt it's disappointed my tens of readers :) I'm actually trying to decide if I want to continue blogging or not. I think it's been a good outlet for me, but at times I wonder if it acts as a substitute for actual, person-to-person contact. I know I write things I might hesitate to say to certain readers in person sometimes--is that good or bad?

Another aside is that it does make me feel a little self-centered. Overall, our life is pretty normal and the things I write about are either updating people (who usually already know) about the goings on in Henricksen land, or are theological musings that perhaps would be better off in my journal and shared in person where appropriate.

Anyway, no final decisions there, just thoughts. So forgive me if I take a hiatus for a bit to think it over.

In the meantime, here's some photos from our spoiled month of vacation!

Megan and I enjoy Ryan and Kelly's beautiful wedding in Denver. Below is a view of Denali from the Cesugi Ridge trail we did a 4-day, 28 mile stretch of.

Because blogger is being really stupid, this picture isn't in the right place. This is Seward's marina. Not a backpacking stop :) Oh well

Mom and I doing morning yoga. Our muscles needed it! And below is Wes and my parents trying to get the tents set up before the worst thunderstorm of our lives descended on us. Lightening probably merely feet from us! Scary!

And at the end of those 28 miles, we were DIRTY! And blistered.

The second half of our trip, we went to Seward, AK on the coast. We camped, hiked and SAW WHALES! on our boat tour around the bay.

Pillow Talk

2008-06-23T13:24:00.002-04:00

Don't worry, nothing explicit. Pillow talk these days consists of catching up on the day's business in the 10 minutes we have together between when our heads hit the pillow and we fall asleep :)

Lauren: I went thrifting today and bought my first tube top. I've never owned one before!

Wes: Heeey! (which is the Wes equivalent of 'wow! cool!')

Pause

Wes: What is a tube top for?

Lauren: For wearing.

Pause

Lauren: Do you even know what a tube top is?

Wes: Does it like, show your midriff or something?

Well, I'm glad he can show excitement for the mundane activities of my day, even if he doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about!

Take this Bread

2008-06-22T11:30:00.002-04:00

I took my first communion when I was 13. It was preceded by a class on basics of the faith taught by my pastor, and an interview with the elders of the church to make sure I understood the significance of communion. Taking communion required maturity, soundness of doctrine, right belief and confirmation of all these by the community of faith. "Public Profession of Faith" we called it. It was the day Christ became mine, when I decided for myself what to believe. Participating in the sacrament was a sign of that decision, because I believed that Christ died for me.

It wasn't until I started going to the Orthodox Church with Wes is college that I encountered another view of communion. There, we both sat on the sidelines while those who were official members of the Orthodox Church partook of the sacrament. We received the 'blessed' bread that people passed us as they left the communion line. It wasn't consecrated, but was given to us as a sign of hospitality.

I hated being excluded from communion. Even when I visited other churches, I had always taken communion. It was my understanding that we were all part of one big family who, despite disagreement and schism, were fundamentally united in our belief in Christ. But to the Orthodox Church, it wasn't enough to be a Christian. Taking communion was a communal act. It sanctified the whole community and to be a part of that process, a level of commitment to that particular group was required. I understood the concept (and Wes found particular resonance with this eucharistic theology), but I couldn't help my dislike for the feeling of being an outsider. And I missed communion.

Now an Episcopalian, none of that 'public profession' language really matters. Baptism is what 'qualifies' a person for participation in the Eucharist. And we baptize babies. But in typical Episcopal laissez faire theology, Eucharist is virtually un-regulated. Half of our liturgy is done in preparation for the Eucharist. The first half of our service is the 'Service of the Word' when Scripture is read, the sermon is given, the creed recited. The second half is 'Service of the Table' which culminates in the Eucharist. But in the whole second half of the service, never have I heard a priest say, "We welcome all baptized Christians to this table." I'm sure there are many unbaptized people taking Eucharist on any given Sunday at St. Luke's.

The weirdest thing about these differences (to me) is that the Episcopal church has a much higher view of the sacrament than Presbyterians. Growing up, communion was an act of remembrance. It was intended to remind us that Christ's body was given for us, and in light of that sacrifice, to confess and accept it. But at the Episcopal church, the sacrament is much more than remembrance. It actually does something. Exactly what that 'something' is is, of course, hotly debated by theological junkies like myself. But somehow, in some mysterious way, that bread and that wine actually become the body and blood of Christ. And they sanctify, purify and sustain Christians. So while the Presbyterian church guards the table carefully for what they see as essentially a memorial service for Christ, the Episcopal church doesn't guard the table at all (in practice, at least) for what they see as partaking of Christ's body and blood inside a person! Ironic, anyone?

A couple of months back, St. Luke's hosted a speaker about this very subject. Sara Miles became a Christian (she was an Atheist) after partaking in communion at an Episcopal church in San Francisco. This church has as its practice before communion the announcement, "Because Christ's body was broken for all, this bread and this wine is given to all. All are welcome at this table. No exceptions." Now, besides the fact that this is inconsistent with 'official' Episcopal doctrine (and the Presbyterians would have issues with this on a number of levels, as would the Orthodox) this idea has been really appealing to me.

It's called 'open communion' and every Episcopal church does this is practice, though not usually in doctrine. Sara says that something happened to her when she took communion that first Sunday. That she knew she was eating Christ, and that he was inside her. And she was baptized. And then she started this crazy ministry all based on this principle. Once a week, her church feeds people from the alter. Stacked on every side of it is fresh veggies, canned goods, fruit, bread--anything you can think of. And everyone is welcome. There are no questions, no forms to fill out, no conversion statement to be signed, no chapel service to sit through first. Everyone is welcome. Because that's what Jesus did--he healed, and fed and gave himself to everyone.

So I am left slightly confused about where I fall on this communion thing. On the one hand, I value the idea that sacraments are holy and as such, do require a certain amount of understanding, and a commitment to what they represent (or what they are). What good is receiving the body and blood of Christ if you don't believe in either? On the other hand, if communion really is the body and blood of Christ and therefore has the power to transform people's lives, why withhold it from anyone? None of us really understands what communion is, how it works or what actually happens. None of us has right belief, right action, true confession or anything else lots of churches require before partaking. Would fencing the table from people like Sara Miles, unbaptized, non-believing persons limit the power of the gospel? Could the Eucharist be the best form of evangelization there is?

Two More Winners

2008-06-20T09:20:00.004-04:00

Chipotle Chicken Taco Salad

Dressing:
1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
2/3 cup light sour cream
1 tablespoon minced chipotle chile, canned in adobo sauce
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
4 teaspoons fresh lime juice
1/4 teaspoon salt

Salad:
4 cups shredded romaine lettuce
2 cups chopped roasted skinless, boneless chicken breasts (about 2 breasts)
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 cup diced peeled avocado
1/3 cup thinly vertically sliced red onion
1 (15-ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 (8 3/4-ounce) can no-salt-added whole-kernel corn, rinsed and drained

To prepare dressing, combine first 7 ingredients, stirring well.

To prepare salad, combine lettuce and remaining ingredients in a large bowl. Drizzle dressing over salad; toss gently to coat. Serve immediately.

Tip: Add a spoonful of adobo sauce for a spicier salad. Kidney or pinto beans also taste great in this dish.

Grilled Shrimp Pizza
(this is easy, but the dough takes some time...)

Dough:
2 teaspoons honey
1 package active dry yeast (about 2 1/4 teaspoons)
1 cup warm water (100° to 110°)
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (about 10 ounces), divided
6 tablespoons stone-ground yellow cornmeal, divided
1/2 teaspoon salt
Cooking spray
2 teaspoons olive oil, divided

Remaining ingredients:
36 large shrimp, peeled and deveined (about 1 pound)
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 cups (8 ounces) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese
2 cups (8 ounces) queso fresco, crumbled
6 tablespoons green salsa, divided
1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves, divided

To prepare dough, dissolve honey and yeast in 1 cup warm water in a large bowl; let stand 5 minutes. Lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Add 2 cups flour, 2 tablespoons cornmeal, and 1/2 teaspoon salt to yeast mixture; stir until a soft dough forms. Turn dough out onto a floured surface. Knead until smooth and elastic (about 6 minutes); add enough of remaining flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, to prevent dough from sticking to hands (dough will feel slightly sticky).

Place dough in a large bowl coated with cooking spray, turning to coat top. Cover and let rise in a warm place (85°), free from drafts, 45 minutes or until doubled in size. (Gently press two fingers into dough. If indentation remains, dough has risen enough.)

Divide dough into 2 equal portions. Working with one portion at a time (cover remaining dough), roll each into a 10-inch circle on a floured surface. Place dough on 2 rimless baking sheets, each sprinkled with 2 tablespoons cornmeal. Brush each portion with 1 teaspoon oil; coat lightly with cooking spray. Cover with plastic wrap; chill.

Prepare grill.

Thread 6 shrimp onto each of 6 (12-inch) wooden skewers. Sprinkle shrimp with 1/8 teaspoon salt. Place skewers on grill rack coated with cooking spray, and grill for 2 minutes on each side or until shrimp are done. Cool slightly, and coarsely chop. Combine cheeses.

Remove plastic wrap from 1 dough portion; discard plastic. Slide dough onto grill rack coated with cooking spray, using a spatula as a guide. Grill 3 minutes or until lightly browned; turn. Spread 3 tablespoons salsa over crust, leaving a 1/4-inch border. Top with half of the shrimp and 2 cups cheese mixture. Grill an additional 3 minutes or until crust is golden brown and cheese melts. Remove and keep warm. Repeat procedure with remaining dough, salsa, shrimp, and cheese mixture. Sprinkle each pizza with 1/4 cup cilantro. Cut each pizza into 6 wedges.

East Meets West

2008-06-19T11:03:00.003-04:00

I spent a lovely weekend in Seattle with my in-laws. Away from the heat, away from a study-crazed husband, away from work. This was the only picture I took--the sunset view from the front stoop of my in-laws new home. How I miss the water! I got to re visit some of my favorite neighborhoods, and even ran into Connor and Don Low--the little boy I used to nanny for.

Now I'm back at work with killer allergies--but only for week until Wes takes his test and we're off to Denver, and then to Alaska!

I'm also back to sharing our house with a semi-wacko. I found someone looking for temporary housing on Craigslist (Wes and I rent out our guest room sometimes for extra cash). Little did I know she was coming to Atlanta to do some intensive raw-food detox program. One that involves twice daily enemas is OUR BATHROOM! So far, she's managed to use 3 rolls of toilet paper in her mere days here, and everyday when Wes comes home, he crinkles his nose as if the smell of poop never really leaves our house ( it does. I promise). Next time I might use some more discretion when choosing roommates.

In other news, my Russia photo album is finally finished. Now I'm only three years behind!

High Strung

2008-06-11T15:52:00.003-04:00

I know from first-hand experience that (with the exception of my husband, and maybe Jesse, too) med students are the highest strung people you will ever meet. They will often talk for several minutes at a time about the strategies for guessing on multiple choice tests. They will agonize about a non-mandatory class they're missing and what the possible consequences are for their future in neurosurgery (I don't even know how to spell that word). They will write compelling evites when inviting friends to parties, knowing they have to make a pretty darn good argument to convince their friends to be NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS and take a study break to eat a hot dog and drink a beer. Trust me. I know these people. They are a rare breed.

So, you want to know the best way to totally freak out 93 med students who are currently studying their asses off for the most important test of their career?

I know! Close down the testing center where they're scheduled to take said exam without telling them. And then, when they find out from another classmate (a fluke!) leave them to fend for themselves to find another testing center in Somewhere, America with an open test date that doesn't cost a million dollars to get to. HA!

Wanna know how I know this splendid trick? Because it happened. Today. And Wes is one of the lucky ones who only has to drive 2 1/2 hours to Montgomery, Alabama to take his test, and even on the original day he was scheduled.

I knew it was bad when I got three emails and 2 text messages and a voicemail from Wes simultaneously with the message, "Call me. Urgent. Test related." I called him back when I got out of my meeting only to hear half-formed sentences mumbled across the line and something about "do you have the ticket info for our Denver trip? I think I might need to take my test there because they closed our testing center. I can't talk. I need to call them. right now." click. And he was gone.

About 20 minutes later, I heard a much more relieved voice across the line, telling me that he was one of the lucky ones--oh, and would I mind taking the day off work to drive him to Montgomery so he could study on the car ride over? :)

You know it's summer in the South...

2008-06-07T15:24:00.002-04:00

When you can't keep your ice cube trays full

When you turn off your water heater

When the entire top shelf of your fridge is filled with cold drinks and there are 4 boxes of popsicles in the freezer

When the only way you can fall asleep is to take a freezing cold shower 10 minutes before bed.

When you get used to that shiny, slightly damp feeling on your skin all day

When even the pool water is too warm

When a hair dryer is completely out of the question

When you choose your outfit based on the thickness of fabric (Wes has resorted to wearing his thrift store, vintage shirts with no undershirt...sexy, huh?)

When running after 8 am is impossible

and ohhh, the cockroaches...

I remember why Atlanta can be a terribly, awful, swampy, disgusting, life-killing place to live. Every year it seems that just when Atlanta is growing on me because of it's incredible Spring weather, flowers, and thunderstorms, Summer comes and makes me want to move away and never look back. I'm a whiner who doesn't like the heat, but for gosh sakes, it's only JUNE! Wes and I have never weathered an entire summer here yet, and I am scared!! Hopefully the window fans I bought today will allow us to sleep and live comfortable without paying hundreds of dollars a month in utilities!

Leaving Church

2008-06-04T11:57:00.004-04:00

I'm reading Barbara Brown Taylor's Leaving Church right now, and am finding so many points of resonance between her story and my own. She studied religion and went to seminary because that's what you do when you're "drawn to God"--you go where other people feel like that too. With no intention of being ordained, she went to Yale, and after church-hopping, was confirmed in the Episcopal church. She did her field work at St. Luke's, which is where she thought of being a priest for the first time as she walked the processional each Sunday, and mingled with priests in the vesting room. Of course, there were people who warned her against it:

"Think hard before you do this," one said to me when I told him I wanted to be ordained. "Right now, you have the broadest ministry imaginable. As a layperson, you cna serve God no matter what you do for a living, and you cna reach out to people who will never set foot inside a church. Once you are ordained, that is going to change. Every layer of responsibility you add is going to narrow your ministry, so think hard before you choose a smaller box"

But none of that deterred her because she felt such a strong draw to be the hands behind the altar rail, not in front of it, and to do her part to patch the brokenness she saw around her. Her reflections of her 20 plus years of ministry as a priest, both in a large, urban downtown church with which I am very familiar, and a small, rural one in N. Georgia are beautiful and captivating and make the priesthood seem romantic and unique even in the mundane tasks of sending out the bulletin and receiving an angry phone call from a parishioner whose name she spelled wrong:

"The ancient word priest cpatures the risk of this vocation as well as any word I know. In my lexicon at least, a priest is someone willing to to stand between a God and a people who are longing for one another's love, turning back and forth between them with no hope of tending either as well as each deserves. To be a priest is to serve a God who never stops calling people to do more justice and love more mercy, and simultaneously to serve people who nine times out of then are just looking for a safe place to rest. To be a priest is to know that things are not as they should be and yet to care for them the way they are. To be a priest is to suspect there is always something more urgent that you should be doing, no matter what you are doing, and to make peace with the fact that the work will never get done."

Ultimately, the priesthood wore her out, and she went back to teaching theology. I haven't gotten to that part of the book yet, so I don't know her thoughts on it, but I think I have much to learn from her journey.

"When my friend Matilda lay dying of Lou Gehrig's disease, she said that she had been prepared all her life to choose between good and evil. What no one had prepared her for, she lamented, was to choose between the good, the better and teh best--and yet this capacity turned out to be the one she most needed as she watched the sands of her life run out. I thought of her often as my time ran out each day. I spent a great deal of time trying to be good, but was good the same as whole? I never lay in the grass anymore..."

I had lunch with my two supervisors from St. Luke's yesterday, and they said that discernment is not choosing between this option and that one. It is looking at one option, saying yes or no before moving to another. A list of pros or cons ultimately falls flat when it comes to decisions like these. The question is not, "should I be a priest or teach or work in non-profit?" the question is "Should I be a priest, yes or no?" And then move on from there. I thought that was helpful, because at some level this is a choice between good, better or best--and knowing that I can serve God anywhere means there is no 'wrong' decision. God calls me to be his. That is all.

This and That

2008-06-03T15:51:00.006-04:00

Welcome to the new look! I was getting bored with my other blog, and let me tell you, getting a new template turned out to be more challenging than I thought originally. I'm still looking for the perfect 'look.' Don't hold your breath!

It's funny, not being in school makes me feel like I don't have anything interesting to say anymore:) But the last couple of weeks have held lots of fun and exciting things...

Wes and I went strawberry picking and picked 3 gallons of the lovely, sweet berries. Strawberry jam, strawberry pie and strawberry shortcake, milkshakes and just plain ole' berries were in abundance last week! Yum!

Speaking of food, my new favorite breakfast is this lovely green concoction. Wes and I have been making smoothies in the morning for some time now--our recipe usually consists of plain yogurt, fruit, tofu, almonds, oats, and flax meal. They're supposed to be good for lowering cholesterol (high fiber) and they keep me full until well into lunch time. Lately, I've been adding lots of greens--spinach, kale, etc. along with the fruit and everything else. I put in a couple of handfuls and it still tastes great! A great way to make sure I'm getting all my vitamins while maintaining the yummy, filling fruit smoothie taste!

A month of summer has past, and my job is now finally starting to make sense. It's great to have something so flexible. I go in when I want, leave when I want. Hit the pool when I want :) It's great. I've read three books so far, my Russia photo album is about 2 pages from being finished, my windows are washed, closet is cleaned out and linen closets are organized. New recipes are always on the menu...what a difference having time makes!

My biggest accomplishment thus far has been my workout routine. I've been working out (running, pilates, lap swimming) 6 days a week. And my generous husband is allowing me to reward myself with 10$ of spending money for every week I work out 6 days. I will use it on the things I never spend money on--clothes, pedicures, stuff for the house, etc. I must say, there have been a few days when I was not excited to get up and go, but that money kept me going! It doesn't take much!

Still, it's frustrating how slowly physical change is coming around. I notice that I now have more endurance, and I definitely feel better, but those little chunky places around my thighs and pudges on my tummy are slow to come off. Dang!

Recipes!

2008-05-30T09:30:00.005-04:00

I have tried several new recipes this summer, and here are a couple of the winners so far. Enjoy! And share your own yummy recipes in the comments section, please!

Soft Black Bean Tostadas

Salsa:
1/2 cup chopped peeled avocado
1/2 cup chopped seeded tomato
1/4 cup thinly sliced green onions
2 teaspoons fresh lime juice
1/4 teaspoon salt

Remaining ingredients:
2 tablespoons water
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground red pepper
1 (15-ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained
4 (8-inch) flour tortillas
1 cup shredded roasted skinless, boneless chicken breast
3/4 cup (3 ounces) preshredded Monterey Jack cheese
1 cup shredded iceberg lettuce
1/2 cup fat-free sour cream

Preheat broiler.

To prepare salsa, combine first 5 ingredients in a small bowl. Toss gently, and set aside.

Combine 2 tablespoons water, lime juice, cumin, salt, ground red pepper, and black beans in a blender; process until smooth.

Place tortillas on a baking sheet, and spread about 1/4 cup black bean mixture evenly over each tortilla. Top each evenly with 1/4 cup chicken and 3 tablespoons cheese. Broil 2 minutes or until cheese melts and tortilla edges are just beginning to brown.

Top each tortilla with 1/4 cup lettuce, 1/4 cup salsa, and 2 tablespoons sour cream. Cut each tortilla into 4 wedges.

I like the shells a little crispy, so I broil them for a couple minutes on each side before topping them with the black beans, chicken and cheese and then stick them under the broiler again.

Chicken Orzo Salad with Goat Cheese

1 1/4 cups uncooked orzo (rice-shaped pasta)
3 cups chopped grilled chicken breast strips (such as Tyson)
1 1/2 cups trimmed arugula
1 cup grape tomatoes, halved
1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper
1/4 cup prechopped red onion
2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
1 teaspoon chopped fresh oregano
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon extravirgin olive oil
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
6 tablespoons (1 1/2 ounces) crumbled goat cheese

1. Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting salt and fat; drain well.

2. Combine pasta, chicken, and the next 6 ingredients (through oregano) in a large bowl; toss well.

3. Combine vinegar, oil, salt, and black pepper in a small bowl, stirring with a whisk. Drizzle vinegar mixture over pasta mixture; toss well to coat. Sprinkle with cheese.

Falling in the Grass

2008-05-26T08:55:00.002-04:00

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass.
The one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention,
how to fall down into the grass,
how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed,
how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
~Mary Oliver

My spiritual director gave me this poem on Friday. I usually hate poetry, but I LOVE this one. There were so many points of identification for me. "I do not know how to pray..." Amen, sister! And what if prayer IS paying attention? Listening for God, noticing where God shows up, looking for God's hand all around us--in the complicated eye of a grasshopper, even. I hope I can learn to pay attention. A huge piece of this whole discernment process will be learning to do just that--to notice how I feel doing certain things, to listen to my gut. Sounds so easy as I write this, but I have a terrible time listening to anything but the mind games and rationalization that swirl around in my head.

Also, I spend way too much time listening to the voices around me. I was leaning toward not being a priest before I got the 'yes' from my discernment committee. Then, when I read that 'yes' at the bottom of the page, I suddenly felt like I could really, truly consider the priesthood for the very first time. Perhaps all my negativity and the reason upon reason I piled up in my head trying to talk myself out of the priesthood were all just a smoke screen, a vain attempt to protect myself from possible rejection. Now the door is wide open, and the choice really is mine.

I desperately want to fall in the grass. And I have this vision of me standing in a field and falling straight down, arms outstretched. And as I fall, everyone else--the discernment committee, my friends and parents, Pat and Dan (my supervisors at St. Luke's)--everyone else stays above me. And their opinions and advice stay up there with them, and I am left to fall. All alone I fall in the grass and then, I can truly know what I think about being a priest. The layers of resistance, and the layers of opinions and recommendations are stripped away leaving me with my own, more important, gut feeling about being a priest. That is my hope.

It doesn't feel like it should be this hard to know the answer to the question, "What do you want?" Knowing that I can serve God in whatever I do, that God's will is that I belong to him in whatever capacity I work, what do I want? But for some unknown reason, this question feels impossible right now. Some days I think "just go for it!" And others I feel so clearly that it would be a huge mistake. But I am learning to pay attention.

Prodigal Summer

2008-05-25T14:09:00.011-04:00

Wes and I hiked in the Joyce-Kilmer Wilderness Area a couple of weekends ago for 4 days. It was the best hike we've done since moving to Atlanta. We sat by the waterfalls, hiked a lot, got rained on a bit, enjoyed the vistas, and read Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer (about the Appalachians). I finally got the pics uploaded to my computer, and here they are:

Fording the Slickrock River--one of the twelve times the shoes came off and we waded in!

The third day, we hiked straight up a mountain that was this steep or worse the entire way!

But the views were worth it!

The view from our camp the third night.

On the way back, we did a short hike in an old growth virgin forest. Beautiful!

And the decision is...

2008-05-18T17:06:00.001-04:00

YES!

translation: I am recommended to the bishop and the commission on ministry for ordination in the Episcopal church. The door is open. Now, should I walk through it?

It is Finished

2008-05-16T15:35:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow is my last day of the 8 month discernment program for the priesthood I've been involved in. Tomorrow the three priests running the program will either recommend me to the priesthood or they won't. We were asked to write a final reflection paper about the process to present tomorrow. This is mine:

After reading my mid-point reflection, the one aspect I found conspicuously missing was the question, “Where has God been in this process?” I decided I needed to do some thinking on that before today, and I feel like God has been elusive—not just in DYVE, but in the process of my vocational discernment in general. But I don’t believe in an elusive God, but a present one, who works through people and processes like DYVE, not to mention my own heart. Perhaps God has seemed elusive because I expected God to show up in ways that God refuses—a burning bush, please! I wanted a clear answer, I wanted DYVE to work like a magic potion that, when over, I could know with certainly the vocational path before me. I think I have seen glimpses of God and heard whispers in the things I’ve read and the words I’ve heard from you all throughout DYVE. I think God is telling me that I belong to God, that my path is safe, whichever way it goes, that God is reliable. I am learning that hearing God often takes new ears and new perspectives rather than refusing to hear anything other than what I wanted.

On Good Friday, I listened to a sermon on the words of Jesus, “It is finished.” The preacher talked about her own struggles and fears of failure and inadequacy she felt through her graduate program. As she floundered in writing her papers, continually seeking expert advice from outside herself, her supervisor finally asked her, “when are you going to believe that you have within you enough to write good papers?” She ended her sermon saying, “That’s the message that I think His words convey. There’s nothing more for Him to give us – it is enough, you have all you need, it is finished.” As I listened to her sermon, I found myself crying. Those are the words I have needed to hear because they let me know first that I am not alone in my feelings of insecurity and fear, and secondly, that God is enough, that God has equipped me, that I have everything I need to be faithful, and therefore, to be successful. I think that sermon, and the reflection that has ensued has enabled me to approach today with confidence and peace, not trepidation.

Vocationally I can say that the past 8 months have been rewarding. I have actually figured some stuff out! There is much more I’m still discovering about what I want my life to look like, where God is calling me and for what I am equipped. Since school ended over a week ago, I have felt such a huge sense of relief—the stress has lifted, I spent a few days at the beach and a few days in the mountains and throughout the week have had to remind myself that this day was coming, lest I forget to spend the needed time reflecting and writing. Friends have called asking, “When’s decision day?” and “How are you feeling?” and “What do you think they’ll say?” But to me, today’s decision, regardless of what it is, does not feel like an earth shattering one. I feel centered.

If anything, DYVE has brought me to a place of feeling somewhat comfortable with vocational uncertainty and I have found myself approaching this day with some ambivalence. I think this is because I know that regardless of the word I get today, I am not finished discerning. If I get a yes, I have a lot of work to do before I can think about accepting that yes. If I get a no, I have a lot of work to do to figure out what’s next. Neither option feels ‘right’ and my hopes are not set on either; both will require further exploration. I think my biggest fear, and the thing that will sting, are the reasons behind your no, if there is one. If your no comes on the heels of judgments against my character, and personality traits that make me ‘unfit’ for ministry, it will hurt. If you say no because you think ministry would make me unhappy, because you see God working in a different direction, I think I will feel grateful, and affirmed, though rejection is hard for overachievers like myself, regardless of whether it’s best or not. Though I am leaning more toward not being a priest and hope that my instincts are confirmed today, if I get a positive recommendation from you all today, I will take that very seriously.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to be part of a discernment program like DYVE. Tracy, Sierra and Dan, you have taught me that I am not alone in the uncertainty I feel about my vocation, in the inability to know myself fully, in the fears I carry with me, in the hard work of overcoming my past and my present demons. I feel privileged to know the things I know about each of you and to share in some small way in the life experiences that have brought you here. I found myself feeling excited to share this day with you all.

Without DYVE, I’m not sure that I would have discovered the barriers I face in knowing myself and being able to discern my vocation more fully. It would be dishonest to say that it has been ‘fun’ or that I have always felt grateful. Some Saturdays I came home angry and more confused than ever. Some Saturdays I came home and found myself unable to function—exhausted and in a heap on the couch for the afternoon. I did not always welcome your words and probing, the advice and observations. Sometimes I thought you were plain wrong, other times I thought could not be more right. Sometimes I couldn’t make heads or tails of it—and often I thought the Spirit must be working because it didn’t seem possible that three people who barely knew me could know me better than I know myself, even if I was unwilling to admit it at times. DYVE has been difficult, but rewarding. I am glad it’s over, and I am even more glad I did it, stuck with it and made the most of it.

The Heat is On

2008-05-15T09:07:00.002-04:00

Summer has arrived! I've spent the last week after finishing finals on a 3-day camping trip at the beach and a 4 day backpack trip in the Appalachians with Wes. Both were fantastic. Wes and I realized that we have not been backpacking since the summer we left Seattle 2 years ago!! Pathetic. This trip certainly renewed our passion for hiking, mountains and getting 'away from it all'--we didn't even bring a watch!

Wes is once again in the throes of studying for his medical board exam at the end of June. I'm not looking forward to the next 41 days, to say the least. And he isn't either :) But it was delightful to have a little respite from the storm last weekend.

I know most people don't have the luxury of living by the academic year, but these transitions between semesters and years of school always provide nice avenues for reflection and incorporating changes into the structure of life. I was telling my friends I went camping with that I have a vision of this summer as being one for regaining my 'true self.' I'm either setting myself up for disappointment, or it's going to be a great summer! :)

Really though, I think school, stress and laziness has caused the things I want to do in my daily life fall by the wayside. So my summer goals are:

1. Pray. I've found a spiritual director/mentor who I really like and I think she will go a long way in helping me learn to practice prayer in a way that works for me. I don't want to revert back to the daily bible reading/prayer journal model I have always done. There's nothing wrong with that, it just doesn't feed me. I need to get more creative and look for different ways to listen to God. But this one is at the top of my list.

2. Read. I have a huge list of novels to read this summer. Wes and I started Prodigal Summer, by Barbara Kingsolver while we were hiking (it's about the Appalachians). Others include Bel Canto, Run, East of Eden, The Glass Castle, 100 Years of Solitude, Thousand Splendid Suns (yes, I'm behind...), The Color Purple, Suite Francoise, maybe some Hemingway, Chekhov and Ann Lamott. Any other suggestions?

3. Exercise. I've got a pilates partner, and the pool is open. Time for lap swimming, running and toning. Too much time sitting at a desk does not do wonders for the physique. And with Alaskan backpacking and hiking coming up, this girl needs to build some muscles. That was utterly apparent as I stumbled my way up a (very steep!) trail last weekend at a much lower elevation:)

4. Organize. It is the summer of being domestic! I have a huge list of household organizational projects to do, which include such exciting things as organizing the spice drawer, cleaning closets, getting rid of clothes and some gardening. Also, I've been trying to expand my recipes and we have three new ones on the menu this week. I'm not crazy about cooking, but I love variety and eating new things, and can actually enjoy it when I have the time to do it.

So, I think I should write a book. Maybe I'll call it Sweat, Pray, Read. Or something.

Preacher Woman

2008-04-27T19:48:00.005-04:00

"‘If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

‘I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. ¹⁹In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. ²⁰On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. ²¹They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them."

John 14:15-21

Here we are. The fasting has ended, the sugar highs from jelly beans and chocolate eggs have worn off. No doubt there are empty Easter baskets scattered around your house, and that green plastic grass can still be found between the couch cushions. Christ has risen! Christ has risen indeed! But as we round the corner from Easter to Pentecost to that not-so-nearly exciting Ordinary time, Easter seems less and less relevant.

Six short weeks after Easter—and how many years after the actual event? It’s no wonder the high is wearing off. It’s a good thing we commemorate that long-ago resurrection once a year or else we’d really be in trouble. But what does resurrection mean for us six weeks after Easter? Six months? Two thousand years after Easter?

It means that Jesus is still with us. I’ve seen him. And so have you.

The gospel reading for today takes place before Jesus trial, death and resurrection, but hints of our story’s ending—an ending we celebrate this season—are everywhere here. It’s Passover dinner and after a few formative years of following Jesus--of eating, traveling, evangelizing, preaching and learning together-- Jesus drops a bombshell on the disciples: “Little children, I am with you only a little longer…where I am going, you cannot come.” (Jn. 13:33) Jesus says he’s leaving, and then in the passage we read for today, reassures the disciples that he’ll be with them—that they will not be orphaned, that they will in fact still see him. A paradoxical promise, to say the least and not the most upbeat way to start off the most important Jewish holiday of the year: “Boys, it’s been great, but I’m going to die and you can’t come.” Of course, this was confusing for the disciples and we hear their angst in the questions that follow his announcement: “but where are you going? Why can’t I come, I’d do anything for you, Lord? How will we know the way without you? What do you mean you and Father are the same? How will we follow you if we cannot see you?”

This is a critical moment for the disciples, who being so spoiled by the living, breathing Jesus can’t imagine being a community of believers any other way. How will they see and experience Jesus—like he promised if he’s leaving? That’s the same question we often ask, isn’t it? Not only are we millennia removed from being physically present with Jesus at a Passover feast— sometimes the evidence that Jesus was ever here, or that he continues to work in our world seems missing. Even in our churches--even in this church-- in our families and our workplaces there is conflict and disappointment, and brokenness. Wouldn’t it be easier to deal with that brokenness if we could be with Jesus—if we could ask questions and he could answer, in flesh and blood? Sure, there was that Easter thing awhile back. Thank God for that! Now we can look ahead to the future kingdom where all this stuff will be made right, where we can experience Jesus like the disciples did in this passage, only clearer. Thank goodness we can cling to the resurrection of Christ as assurance of our future in heaven where brokenness will be healed. But what about today? What about next month or next year? Isn’t there a way to experience Jesus now, despite the muck and mayhem of our lives? Don’t we ask the same question the disciples asked Jesus: Can we go with you? Can we continue without you? You say you will be with us but how will we know?

Of course we already know Jesus’ answer. We can go with Jesus. We can see him, right here and right now. And the key to understanding how is on both ends of this passage, where we hear Jesus talking about commandments? “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” and again in verse 21, “they who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me…”

I puzzled over these statements as I was preparing my sermon this morning. They seemed out of place, like Jesus was just throwing out some handy catch-phrases the disciples could pull out on a rainy day. What could following the law, doing the right thing have to do with Jesus being with us after the resurrection?

But I think what these bookends imply that it is in loving each other that we see Jesus. What are the most important commandments Jesus gave us? Love God and love your neighbor. When we love each other we participate in Jesus’ work, we continue it. When we love each other, we see the resurrected Christ.

Love is a sticky word, I know. It’s far too easy to think of love as all about flowers and bunnies and saying nice things to each other, but I don’t think that’s what Jesus was talking about. Love is an act of the will—it’s an active, self-giving discipline that requires imagining the world as God intends it, and working toward that end. Resting on the foundation of Jesus’ resurrection, his presence becomes a daily reality—we see him when we welcome visitors to this place, even if they walk in off the street. We taste him at the altar, sustaining us with his very self—we know him when we provide for each other—a meal, a ride, a listening ear.

I know when I hear the word ‘commandments’ my skin crawls a little bit. I know what’s coming—a guilt trip about all the ways I’ve fallen short. Christianity and its obsession with keeping commandments takes all the fun out of life, right? Rules, rules, rules. I get so tired of being told (and trying my darnedest) to be good. To do the right thing.

But these ‘rules’ Jesus is talking—love God and love each other-- are about much more than being good. They are part of Jesus’ promise. They are the means through which Jesus will continue to be with us. Can the we continue to see Jesus after the resurrection, after the ascension, when there are no more dinners with Jesus or Sermons on the Mount? Jesus gives us a resounding ‘yes’—love each other. The Easter message is that the one who died is alive, and that our life is grounded in Jesus’ resurrection. We live—and this means really live not in a bodily, biological sense, but in an abundant realization of being with God—We live because Christ lives.

My most powerful experience witnessing people living into that abundant realization of Christ’s ongoing presence occurred in El Salvador where I lived last summer. I worked in an Anglican church there and I was all too ready to be a part of this resurrection life, ready to single-handedly continue the work of Jesus in the world. I worked at The Church of the Holy Trinity, which sat on the outskirts of the capital city with about 25 members—all of whom are displaced refugees from El Salvador’s brutal, 10-year long civil war. All of the parishioners had lost husbands, sons and brothers to the fighting and were relocated to this housing project when the conflict in their hometowns became too severe.

But as I sat bumbling through bible study lessons, teaching the kids duck, duck goose, serving communion and visiting parishioners in their homes a funny thing happened. I saw Jesus everywhere, and he was serving me. I tasted him in the meals offered to me—meals that cost only a fraction of an hour’s work for me, but equaled a day’s labor to the people who served me. I saw him in the tears of women still mourning their husbands’ death. I touched him in the wrinkled hands of the church maintenance employee, who also happened to be the oldest woman in the parish. I knew him—the resurrected Jesus, alive and well-- when I saw joy in the midst of violence, when I experienced acceptance amidst my awkward language skills and strange culture. I experienced the power of the resurrection, not because of what I was doing, but because they loved one another, and I got to see it.

It is the resurrection that gave these people, my teachers, a hopeful vision of the world, a community that declared abiding love in everything they did. If anyone is familiar with brokenness, it is them. And if anyone knows what it means to experience new life, it’s them. How did they experience the resurrected Jesus in their community? Well, I can tell you how I did—they loved. They loved me, an outsider, they loved each other. They broke bread together, they ate together, they prayed together. And through all that, they remained poignantly aware of Jesus’ victorious resurrection—a resurrection that conquered the death and brokenness of their lives. Resurrection means Christ lives, with us every day.

I have seen Jesus. And I know you have too—seen evidences of the resurrection all around you, in the faces of each other, in the loving actions of your family members, friends and neighbors.
So what does resurrection mean 6 weeks after Easter? 6 months? 2000 years after Easter? Resurrection life means loving and living because Jesus lives, it means being who we already are—people in the presence of God. Easter people.

Here I am--exhausted--with my two supervisors, Pat Grace and Dan Matthews.

Learning what I DON'T want in a job...

2008-04-21T13:51:00.003-04:00

Today was my last day at work for CARE Int'l. Know what I did? Sat on my couch. Did my dishes. Wrote a sermon. Edited another sermon. Shopped for shorts online. Went for a run.

Oh yeah, and didn't get PAID. I haven't worked in a month anyway because my supervisor was in Istanbul for work. Her job rocks. Mine--when I actually get to do it--sucks.

So, sayonara CARE! Thanks for nothing (except a great resume pad and a few hundred bucks)

To Have and to Hold...

2008-04-16T18:51:00.008-04:00

I have to write a sermon for a wedding tonight. What I want to write is two sentences: "Get ready. This will be the hardest thing you've ever done." I probably won't end up writing exactly that, but I might try to slip it in there somewhere.

Wes and I celebrated 2 years of marital bliss last week. And I can honestly say that our celebration followed the hardest month of the 24 we've experienced as husband and wife. I'm not sure exactly why, only that two weeks being separated while on our respective Spring Breaks, sandwiched by two terribly busy weeks for both of us left us individually frazzled and scattered, and made us both feel rejected and unaffirmed by the other person.

I knew marriage would be hard. I'm a realist. I was ready. I knew there would be days where you would wake up and not feel so in love with the person you promised "to love and to cherish...until death." I just didn't know that those times would come only a few short months after we were no longer officially newlyweds. Don't get me wrong, I love Wes and I am so glad I married him. But there are days, O my are there days, when marriage is just. plain. hard.

Wes and I have unusual circumstances that contribute to these waves of difficulty--unmanageable schedules, difficult finances, limited time, and heightened stress levels. Most of the time we manage it just fine. But last month, something went wrong. It began with one disappointing conversation after Wes discovered he wouldn't be able to come to service where I was the officiant for the first time. That must have unearthed some serious fears about my future life with Wes (fears I didn't realize were surfacing until a couple weeks after the fact). Fears that I had married someone different than the person I found myself waking up to two years later, married someone who was committed to being home, committed to making professional sacrifices to be a dad to his kids, and a husband to his wife. I married a man who wanted to see me succeed, who wanted a partnership in the true sense of the word--a partnership that meant both of us did the laundry and cleaning, the parenting and cooking, the working and playing.

I couldn't find that man for the month of March. He was there, for sure, trying the best he could within the confines of the work he had to do and the requirements being made of him. But's what's worse, I was afraid he wasn't there anymore. Third year of medical school will be the worst yet, and then another year, and another and residency and bye-bye all those dreams of a happy egalitarian household! During Holy Week and the week after Easter, as we focused on the sacrifice Jesus made for us, I felt like I was making too many sacrifices of my own and I didn't think I was a good enough person to continue making them for the next six years. But in the midst of my self-centered focus on my own needs, I learned that marriage isn't always partnership, that sometimes you give and give and sometimes you feel crappy about it. Sometimes you fight and sometimes you wonder "what the hell did I get myself into?" Sometimes the negativity feeds itself and it takes a vulnerable conversation on a bench in the Springtime to say "I don't feel loved. I'm not having fun. And I want to. I love you, but I want to be in love with you" and to realize that all either of you needed was to hear that you mattered to the other, that you were loved, that your life together is worthwhile, and life-giving and joyful.

One of my professors who is also a therapist said in class the other day, "when the !@#% hits the fan, that's when couples are married. Not on the wedding day. It takes hard stuff for a couple to learn what it means to be a 'we'. Far too many marriages fall apart because they've said 'I Do' to a marriage of cake, rings and dancing. But that's not what marriage is about."

I realized last month that breaking my vow "to love and to cherish" really didn't take too long. I'll break my vows again, and so will Wes as we learn more about being a 'we'. And that's really the whole point of the wedding ceremony, isnt' it? The language we use describes a Utopian marriage. Kind of like the language of heaven, of God's eternal kingdom. This act of human promise making is incredibly bold--to make claims about our life that we'll never be able to keep. Kind of like the covenant we make with God to love and to serve, the covenant made at our baptism to renounce sin and seek our Savior. None of our vows--to God, to each other--none of them will we keep completely. But the language of covenant, and the utopic, eschatological (sorry for the seminary word!) language of the wedding ceremony draws us to the One who always keeps promises. Our failures remind us of our mortality and simultaneously, at God's fidelity.

And so, as Wes and I continue to work together (and it is work!) to keep our marriage vows, to love each other the best we can, it is my prayer that on year three and year ten and year forty, that we will know God better because of our marriage. That our failures and our success, our highs and lows, our difficulties and our joys will draw us ever closer to the One who holds us together.

I think I've written my sermon.

Savannah in the Spring

2008-04-13T17:42:00.010-04:00

Steven and Dora came down to Atlanta for the weekend. We spent Thursday night on the town--eating Flying Biscuit at Piedmont Park and drinking the best beer in the city at Brickstore.

Friday morning, we headed to Savannah where it was gorgeous. We walked the city's tree-lined streets, draped with Spanish moss. Enjoyed the river, the squares, the restaurants and the architecture.
Wes and I at Sunset in one of the city's square's

Saturday, my cousin Mark and his wife Thea took us out kayaking around the salt marshes.
Along with the fish, birds and Georgia rednecks, we saw dolphins that swam right by our boat. Not as cool in this picture as in real life!!
How many kayaks fit in an Explorer? A lot.
We enjoyed some post-kayaking beers at Mark and Thea's. And so did their cow. I wish I had more time to write on here. After finals at the beginning of May, life will be a bit easier. But, in other news--I was accepted for a 12 month fellowship in the Office of University-Community Partnerships! I only applied for a 3 month summer fellowship, but they offered me a full year which means not only that I have summer employment, but work through the school year (and a butt-load of money, too) as well. What a blessing!

It Runs Deep

2008-04-04T17:29:00.003-04:00

I had dinner with a good friend last night, and she was telling me that her husband was getting on her case, asking her to put her laundry away sooner instead of leaving in the basket all week. She said she realized that the reason she doesn't put her laundry away sooner is because she hates being faced with shoving clothes into overflowing drawers and jamming hangers into her closet. "There's just no space for all these clothes," she said. My response was "hmmm. It sounds like you need another dresser or something." "No, Lauren," she said, "what I need is to get rid of stuff!"

We then joked for awhile about becoming so attached to our stuff that we needed a storage locker, a bigger house, etc. instead of taking that as a sign that it was time to purge. But I've been thinking about that conversation a lot since last night, and have been struck with how difficult this whole simplicity thing really is. Accumulating (even when it begins to drive you crazy!) is so natural, so easy! So, I'm thankful for the reminder--my closet could probably use some purging as well. Clothing swap, here we come!

Lately...

2008-03-27T19:22:00.002-04:00

It's been busy, folks. As usual. And I have several things swimming around in my ahead that I plan on writing about soon, but in the meantime, here's a few of the things that I've been up to while not blogging:

An incredibly weekend with former college roommates in Denver where we talked, walked, ate, slept a little, nursed Erin back to health (well, not all the way) drank delicious wine, talked, laughed, talked--you get the picture. These relationships are so restorative for me, and also leave me with the feeling that such community and intimacy should be possible here in ATL too. More on that later...
Preached my first sermon! (for real, that is:)
As a result of that sermon, was invited to speak to Daughters of the King, a women's group of the diocese. Crazy!
Pulled every item of clothing off the shelf in my closet, in an effort to find a decent pair of jeans, yet again. My favorite ones (that I've owned for three months thanks to Christmas money) somehow got a hole in the butt. Nice. My biggest frustration with being poor? Not a big house or a car or nice furniture. JEANS. Why can't I have decent jeans?
Hosted a couple I knew from Nicaragua who are checking out Candler.
Found a work-out partner to get me going to the gym again. The pool may not be opening due to water restrictions, which totally bums me out and ruins not only my summer work-out plans, but my ability to escape the relentless Atlanta summer. Awesome.
Got rejected for one of the summer fellowships I applied to
Made an appointment with a) a therapist to work through some vocational discernment/insecurity issues and b) a spiritual director to learn how to pray again.
Wrote two sermons, took a Hebrew exam, read 4 books, wrote 4 reflection papers, translated 8 chapters of the Bible from Hebrew...
Spent a delightful weekend with Wes on the coast of FL, getting ridiculously sunburned and enjoying the water and sand.
Worked 20 hours at CARE International. Love the organization. HATE the job. My supervisor is a genius who decided--after I spent a whole day putting together a document for her--that it was all wrong and made me re-do it, making me spend an additional two hours in the office. Brilliant.
Officiated at my first service.
Sang happy birthday to my brother-in-law on the wrong day, and then completely forgot to say or sing anything on the right day.
Spent an inordinate amount of time frustrated at our current lifestyle--Wes is busy. I'm busy. And it seems it's just going to worse as board exams, and then clinical rotations gear up this summer. Joy.
Hosted friends for Easter
Hung out with our some-times roommate Emily, who we love having around.
Celebrated the Resurrection!

That snapshot of my life may explain why there's been no snapshot into my thoughts. Coming soon, though. Coming soon.

Sermonizing again!

2008-03-26T21:50:00.002-04:00

I apologize that all that's going on here lately is sermons--that seems to be all I'm doing these days! More to come soon, though! Hope you enjoy....

Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Moses thought, "I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up."When the LORD saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And Moses said, "Here I am." "Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground." Then he said, "I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob." At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God. The LORD said, "I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey—the home of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites. And now the cry of the Israelites has reached me, and I have seen the way the Egyptians are oppressing them. So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt." But Moses said to God, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?" And God said, "I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain." Moses said to God, "Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is his name?' Then what shall I tell them? God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: 'I AM has sent me to you.' " God also said to Moses, "Say to the Israelites, 'The LORD, the God of your fathers—the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob—has sent me to you.'

"This is my name forever,
the name you shall call me
from generation to generation.

~Exodus 3:1-15

It would be nice, wouldn’t it? A burning bush, I mean. With God in it. Telling you exactly what to do. In a world where God so often seems hidden, so absent, so far away, a burning bush might be just the thing the world needs—let’s be honest, just the thing I need—to be convinced. Convinced that there really is a God. Convinced that God really has something for me to do. Convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could know what God is up to, who God is, and what to do with my life.

It was enough for Moses. It was enough to bring liberation to the Israelites from slavery. What could be better than hearing God tell you in plain words the task that lay ahead? What could be clearer than traveling through the wilderness with God guiding in the fire and the cloud? It would be kind of hard to miss God at that point, right? It seems that the Israelites, and Moses, had it easy.

What I would give for a burning bush right now as I’m bumbling my way through seminary, without a clue as to what comes next. It would be nice to have a cloud guiding me down the path, a voice out of the fire, a miraculous natural phenomenon to get my attention and erase my doubts about my uncertain vocational path.

And beyond the personal, vocational level, it would be nice to have a burning bush to consult in matters of morality, when taking sides on a controversial issue. Wouldn’t it be easier to act, easier to make decisions if only God would show up, trumping the confusion? Surely Moses’ brave confrontation with Pharaoh would have been impossible without the burning bush—who would attempt such a thing by their own initiative? How else could Moses and the Israelites know that what they were doing was God’s work and God’s will?

Clearly I was born in the wrong generation, in a time when burning bushes and clouds of fire and smoke no longer appear. A time when God prefers to keep hidden—and to keep the plans God has in store for me, for you and for our world clouded with mystery, not clarity.

With a call as clear as Moses’ surely none of us could go wrong. Moses didn’t go wrong. He heard God say “I’m your God! Go!” And he went, right?

Well, maybe not quite.

There were a couple of objections and a little bit of confusion. It seems that seeing a bush full of fire and not burning, and then hearing a voice come out of it is harder to discern as God than one might think. Or at least it was for Moses, who decided to go a little closer to figure out what was going on only to hear a voice call his name. Of course, it doesn’t take long before the sandals come off and Moses, being a pretty observant kid, figures out who’s talking to him. Suddenly he feels less curious about being called to by a very intelligent and miraculous bush and a little more…terrified.

And then, even once he gets his wits about him, and gets that clear and direct word from God about what he is to do, where he is to go and the task that lay before him, there are the objections. “But, who am I?” “But they’ll think I’m crazy and won’t know that you’re the one involved in all this—what am I supposed to tell them?” “Besides, I’m not a good speaker.”

Over and over again, God endures these objections, and even answers them. God goes with Moses, sends him along with the power of God’s name—the “I AM” will go with him. God will do through Moses what God intends to do for Israel—liberate and free them from oppression and slavery. But not without a fair amount of risk on Moses’ part.

All of this makes me think that maybe following God wasn’t as easy for Moses as I would like to think. And let’s not even talk about the Israelites after their liberation, complaining that it was better before God intervened, unable to be satisfied with manna from heaven even though God was with them the whole way in a cloud and in fire.

But, of course, none of this—none of our doubt or objection or weakness in the face of what God calls us to do—none of it is news to God. And that’s why we have the story of the burning bush in the first place. See, this story wasn’t written for Moses, to help him interpret his experience with God in the bush. And it wasn’t written for the generation of Israelites that were liberated from the oppressive powers in Egypt. This story was written much later, as a documentation of the stories of the burning bush and the exodus, the plagues and the Hebrew boy found among the reeds—the stories passed down by Moses and the Israelites to their children and their children’s children. It was written for the generations after these miraculous experiences. It was written for us.

In fact, it was not just written to be read as a friendly reminder of our history with God, or of the miraculous things that are a part of that history—though it does tell us that. This text was recited in Israel’s Passover celebration—part of the liturgy, part of what they practiced together as a community not to remember those miraculous events of the past or to get nostalgic about the days when God appeared in burning bushes and when the waters of the sea parted before them. No, this text is about the future. It’s about the possibilities of God’s redemptive purposes for the generations after Moses. It’s about the creative imagination it takes to see God when there is no burning bush. This text is subversive, one of our dangerous stories about confronting the powers that be when they go against the freedom and justice our God intends.

I wonder what kind of imagination it took for Martin Luther King to see God calling a nation toward civil rights for all people.

I wonder what objections Ghandi before he followed his call to liberate India.

I wonder what kind of fear the bishop of Philadelphia felt when he ordained the first eleven female priests to the Episcopal Church in the 70s, when everyone else was against it.

I wonder how hard it was for Nelson Mandela to see where God was in the midst of apartheid

I wonder about the doubts Rosa Parks had when she took that seat in the front of the bus

And I wonder what Moses thought to himself on the way home from that strange encounter. And I suspect the same doubts, fears, objections and difficulty in seeing what God was doing through him for Israel plagued his thoughts as he approach Pharaoh’s palace to demand the Israelites’ freedom.

Burning bush or not, it’s never easy to follow God. It’s always ripe with fear, scary. Because God’s purposes are always big. And because God refuses to take care of things alone—enlisting Moses in God’s service was surely a dangerous and risky thing for God too! For God to partner with us requires patience and courage from God’s end as well. For we all have a capacity for failure, fear, confusion—and great courage, imagination and faith knowing that God of the burning bush, God of the exodus and God of manna from heaven goes with us as God went with Moses.

Moses’ burning bush experience is ours too. From it we hear God’s voice to us—calling us to confront all that opposes God’s redemptive work in our world.

Burning bush or not, the question for us is the same as the question God posed to Moses: “Will you go?” “Will you follow me?” “Will you join me in what I am doing—will you be a part of my plan for redemption and liberation?” “Will you confront the evil regimes—the pharaohs of our own day:

The pharaoh in the healthcare and environmental policy system

The pharaoh of societal acceptability that keeps us from noticing the stranger in our midst—the immigrant, the homeless person with a sign on the corner.

The pharaoh of consumerism and of complacency

The pharaoh of violence and war.

The pharaoh of our declining education system

The pharaoh of our economic system

Can you see it? Can you see what God is up to? Will you respond to the voice from the fire and the presence in the cloud?

Addressing these systemic, huge problems seems crazy, I know. And dangerous. And maybe a little analogous to a shepherd in Midion approaching the king of Egypt with a word from the Lord.

Now go! For the God of your ancestors, the great I AM, will be with you.

A Good Friday Sermon

2008-03-19T22:10:00.002-04:00

“When they came to place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” ~ Luke 23:33-34

May the words of my mouth, and the meditation of our hearts be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer.

Sometimes Good Friday feels anything but good. The tenor of Holy Week with its darkness, solemnity and contemplation are difficult to face—all culminating in a day devoted to the crucifixion, an unimaginable death full of unjust suffering. But however much discomfort we feel coming face to face with the cross and with death, we cannot help but see it all around us.

A seemingly never ending war in Iraq, where thousands of soldiers’ and innocent victims’ lives have been lost.

Random acts of school violence—Virginia Tech, University of North Carolina—claiming the lives of students at their prime.

Corrupt politicians caught who use money and power to buy sex.

Whole species going extinct as forests fall and oceans are polluted—all in the name of economic growth.

Broken marriages

The death of our parents and friends—however slow, sudden, or premature.

Single parents working several jobs to pay the medical and grocery bills.

Depression.

Addiction.

We are all too aware that our world is a Good Friday world.

This is not only a day for sentimental remembrances of our Savior’s great sacrifice. This day embodies the truth we know about the world—it is broken, fallen, prone to sin. Today we are given space to sit in this Good Friday world, space to acknowledge the world as we sometimes cannot help but see it—filled with destruction and death.

But Good Friday is about more than the brokenness of the world out there and the systemic violence, corruption and sin we see in it. It hits a cord deep within us as we relive the shouts of ‘crucify him’ ‘crucify him’ and as we sit in disbelief at the turn of events on that day so long ago—a betrayal, an unjust trial, mockery, the pain and the horrible, undeserved death of Jesus—all at the hands of humans just like us. Of course it’s easier to deal with Christ’s death and with our Good Friday world if evil exists out there; if violence, and greed and corruption are done by those people. So maybe Good Friday hits a little too close to home, the drama is too real not because of what we know about ‘those people’ but because of what we know about ourselves. Good Friday acknowledges humanity at its worst. We know that we are not different from the betrayer, Judas, or the complicit Pilate or the criminals crucified next to Jesus, or the crowds exchanging the life of a murderer for the life of their Savior. Good Friday forces the question: Where do I fit in this horrific story? Would I have recognized Jesus as Savior and Lord? Would I have stood by? Would I have been the Roman centurions or the disciples? Would I have been ignorant of the significance of Christ’s death?

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

My own sin seems manageable if I can conceive of sin as the things I do wrong. But if I acknowledge that there is much I do wrong without knowing it, sin suddenly seems dauntingly scary. But of course, we all know that there is plenty we do out of ignorance. In fact, we acknowledge our ignorance and failures every week in the confession we repeat together Sunday after Sunday “Forgive us for what we have done, and for what we have left undone.” Implicit in the confession is our potential for ignorance—there are things we do not do right, there are things we should do and we don’t and there are things we do wrong we don’t even know we are doing wrong. However much we may struggle with confronting the image of a man on a cross, dying a horrible death made all the more horrible and ironic because he was perfect, we cannot help but acknowledge this crucifixion as “an enactment of the worst that we are.” In it we see the potential for our own ignorance, and we know that it is not enough to blame the brokenness of the world on those people out there. Of course we want to move past Good Friday, to deny it and get on to Easter. But it is into this realization of our brokenness that Jesus’ words from the cross speak:

Father forgive us, for we do not know what we are doing.

We are just like all those who truly didn’t know what they were doing that day—mocking the identity of Jesus as the Messiah, not understanding the truth of the words they said in cruelty: are you the messiah?’ ‘let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God’, the crown of thorns, the sign above his head making a mockery of this backwards ‘king of the Jews.’ 2,000 years ago humanity was no different than it is today. And still Jesus’ words of forgiveness cover them.

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

In those words we see Jesus as Savior and Messiah. In those words we hear a proclamation of forgiveness for all who were involved in his death, and we hear Jesus embodying the words he has spoken for the last three years—love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you, forgive 70 times 7 times. The words Jesus spoke throughout his life echo in his plea for forgiveness from the cross—and in them we hear the affirmation of everything we know about this upside-down victory achieved through death and forgiveness rather than conquest and punishment. Just like his life, Jesus’ death tells us exactly who he was. His identity as Savior of the world—Savior of those who resist him or those who simply don’t know who he is—this identity is confirmed at the cross, confirmed in words of forgiveness to everyone who watched his trial and crucifixion as bystanders, or who actively participated in it.

Father forgive them, for they do not know not what they are doing.

We find ourselves able to cope with our own ignorance, able to cope with the brokenness we see everywhere. We hear ourselves being forgiven—and forgiven not just for the things we are aware enough to ask forgiveness for, but forgiven for the things we do without even knowing it. Our transformation starts on Good Friday. Jesus’ words mark more than incredible forgiveness of the unspeakable evil that occurred that day. They cover each of us who has sinned in any way, and they speak to power of the cross, where ignorance and evil are met with forgiveness and grace even in the face of the world at its darkest. When Jesus forgave Pilate and the criminals at his side, when he spoke words meant for Judas and the jeering crowd, for those who rejected him without knowing the gravity of their action—in all these people we find comfort knowing that Jesus came face to face with the worst of me and you and instead of punishment or anger we hear sweet words of forgiveness and we see the mightiest of all being brought low, making a bridge between himself and a broken world. We are included in Christ’s absolution. We are made members of a kingdom hidden in death and suffering, initiated from the most unlikely place—hanging on a cross, beside common thieves`.

In our Good Friday world full of death and pain, words of forgiveness don’t negate the cross. Christ suffered and died. We are sinful, the world is broken. As much as we endure this day only because it leads us to Easter, deep down we know that we never really leave Good Friday because it is the world we live in. But it is in these words from Jesus that we begin to see some of the goodness of Good Friday. I for one, take comfort in the fact that in the midst of my compulsion to get it right, in the face of my difficulty in seeing myself as I really am—so often ignorant of the ways I separate myself from God—stands Jesus, his words from the cross encompassing my ignorance and yours, the criminals at his side, the centurions with nails in hand, Pilate the unjust judger—none of us understands who Jesus is fully, but we can see him as Savior through this short phrase:

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

Thanks be to God.

An Unwelcome Predator

2008-03-12T16:36:00.004-04:00

Wes and I have been trying to outsmart this squirrel all day, but he is mightily determined. I've been writing at our dining room table and since we've removed the screen, he still managed to get on top of the feeder for a split second, only to go tumbling off. Hopefully, we've won.

Oh, and a parental advisory--please excuse the language :)

God who stands trial

2008-03-10T13:00:00.004-04:00

God who stood trial under Pilate

God who let Job put you to the test

God who endured the murmuring in the desert, the complaining of Jeremiah, the cries of the Psalmist

Stand trial before me

God who allowed the shouts of 'crucify him, crucify him'

God who subjected your son to human doubt, accusation and anger--even to the cross

God who does not squelch my anger or deny it, but answers it with reminders of your death and resurrection, your provision and your good creation

Answer me now, oh God who stands trial

In the face of the persecuting crowds, you brought water from the rock, manna from heaven, restoration to Judah, comfort to the Psalmist, forgiveness from the cross

God of all patience, goodness and faithfulness, be patient with my prosecution and forgetfulness, be good in spite of my doubts and prove your faithfulness to me once more

~~~~~~

This prayer came to me while listening to a sermon yesterday. The sermon was about the Israelites in the desert, who were constantly challenging God's character with their complaining. That got me thinking about all the times in Scripture in which God is put to the test, and all the times that God allows humanity to come before him with accusations and disbelief--Job, Psalmist, many of the prophets, disciples, the trial before Pilate, etc. etc. And isn't that what we all do? When I am afraid, when I worry about my future, when I can't predict the outcome, when I don't know where I'll be in a year, when I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my life, when I don't believe we have enough stuff--all of these struggles are really struggles against God. God I don't think you provide, I don't think you're guiding me, I think you're silent, I think you're going to leave me alone.

And maybe that's ok. It was ok for Job. It was ok for the Israelites. It was ok for Jeremiah, for the Psalmist. Of course, God made certain their complaints did not go unanswered--"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundations?" "For I know the plans I have for you" "Remember I am with you always, to the end of the age"

It is not a good thing for me to question God's goodness when God has always been good to me. But I am upset that God does not show up more often, I am worried and I do question where God is in all this vocational discernment, in the anxious questions of everyday life. I do wish it were easier to see God, even if it is only because of my own blindness that I don't. But isn't it amazing that God is willing to stand up under my trials? That God listens to me? That God proves Godself time and time again in the face of human doubt and accusation? What a God we serve! I for one, need to put God on trial sometimes, and I am thankful my God is willing to oblige.

Please excuse my continued whining...

2008-02-23T17:14:00.004-05:00

The last two weeks have been exhausting in so many ways. It all started with the anxiety attack I described two posts down. From then on, I feel like it's been one thing after another. My first sermon, an application for a summer fellowship, a paper, a Hebrew exam and a history exam--mix into the bunch some houseguests and a new roommate, bills, groceries and all the things normal lives contain, along with discernment today and you get a picture of the hectic nature of the last couple weeks. It has left me feeling down, depressed and just plain tired.

All of this stress has caused considerable reflection on my perfectionism. I've been waking in the early mornings, creating imaginary scenarios for myself in my half-asleep, half-awake state. The other morning I 'dreamed' or 'thought' I had received work back from one of the summer programs I applied for telling me that they were granting me an interview, but that it would be with Carol Newsom. Of course, this makes no sense on a number of levels--my Old Testament prof is not likely to be interviewing for community-partnership fellows. That didn't stop me from an intense feeling of needing to prepare for this imaginary interview right then, and taking the next couple hours of precious sleep time concocting and answering the kind of questions only dreams can write. Or the other time I woke up at 3pm, convinced that it was time to start studying for my exam at 9:30 the next morning. Turns out sleep-studying is about as effective as eating sticks of butter in order to lose weight.

Today was mid-point reflection day in discernment. I presented my reflection, saying essentially that I was feeling more and more convinced that I was not called to the priesthood. I listed reasons like the work schedule, the constant complaints from parishioners, the long hours, not particularly enjoying the administrative aspects, etc. etc. I also said that even the language of 'call' has become problematic for me. What do we imply with the notion of being called to this or that--that God has one, particular, specific calling in mind for me and if I miss it, I'm screwed? In a book I'm reading for preaching class, Barbara Brown Taylor talks about her own discernment for the priesthood. One frustrated night, she commanded God to tell her in plain terms what she should do. The answer she received was "do anything that pleases you, and belong to me." What a liberating version of call! Maybe it's not important what I end up doing between the hours of 9-5. My vocation began at my baptism: to be God's person in the world.

But of course that doesn't answer the question of what I will do to earn money come May 2009. And while the discernment committee reminded me today that I do not have to decide today, I do have to decide. In fact, I'm probably waaaay behind the deciding curve. 26, married, soon to be MDiv with no clue about what comes next. But it seems so simple for most. Wes has always known he wanted to be a doctor. People graduate at 22, get jobs and have good lives all the time. What is my problem?

The discernment committee didn't buy my conclusive, final 'no' to the priesthood today. Whether they're right or wrong I have no idea, but they feel as though much of these vocational issues are getting muddled in what is really a quest to find whatever it is I can do most perfectly. PhD will be grueling and hard and I might get rejected? Oh, I'm not called. The priesthood is difficult, demanding and I will never make anyone happy? Nope, not called there either. They think it's my fear of failure, my fear of not being the best that has given me an easy, but disingenuous 'no.' Maybe they're right, but what really troubles me is how I'm supposed to figure out if they're right. The whole reason I entered discernment in the first place was to distinguish between my fears about being ordained from legitimate reasons for passing it over. Every month, things are brought to my attention that I already knew were there--"you're insecurity is going to be detrimental to parish ministry", "you're need for approval is not going to be fulfilled by whatever church you work in", "your perfectionism is hindering you from answering vocational questions honestly." Well no shit! The real question is what do I do about it?

And if I feel a sense of dread when I imagine myself as a priest, why waste my time pursuing it? If my vocation is to be God's person, why not find an easier road, one where psychological issues are not so directly related to my job, and where there are not a million hoops to jump through? And then I read this, and I think maybe this is just how it goes. Meg feels absolutely confidant about her calling and she is still often frustrated and afraid. I'm complicated. Life is complicated. I'm a perfectionist, so what? I'm also a child of God, a child who is waiting for a word from her Father, clear and plain. And the word I got today was 'grace.' There is grace here, even if I can't see it. God is here, working and moving in ways I don't know yet. I may be a wandering 45 year old still searching for a job she loves, but there is grace in that my vocation is sealed: I am God's.

Round One

2008-02-12T21:16:00.000-05:00

Ok folks, here it is--my first sermon! And it wasn't as painful as I was expecting. This first sermon is only 5 minutes long, and I wrote it with the Candler community in mind with their (wonderful) social activism and social justice mindset. Perhaps more than anything, I am preaching to myself. I don't know if that is good or bad, but it is what it is. Thoughts welcome!

Luke 19:1-10
"He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

I want to begin with a story; the story of a blind beggar. The story of a man who forsakes all civility and cries out to Jesus for mercy and healing, ignoring the crowd’s urgent pleas for quiet and their ‘shushes’ betraying their embarrassment at the sight of their prophet stooping to heal a disabled beggar. This is the story of a man whose faith led to not only the restoration of his sight, but to his salvation. This story contains the heart of the truth we know about Jesus: In Christ’s reign the blind beggars are valued and the scoffers are brought low. Jesus makes time for the poor and needy, silencing those who would turn them away. It’s not hard to imagine this man with faith beyond measure sitting at the table in Christ’s upside-down Kingdom. We’re familiar with the way God works through Christ: shaking up societal norms, welcoming strangers and shaming the corrupt systems that stand in opposition to God’s kingdom of sacrificial service and love. The story of the blind beggar is the story we love to hear, it’s a story where the lowly are made high and the scoffers are shamed.

But that’s not our text for today. Our text for today is the story directly after the miraculous, scandalous healing of the poor, blind, beggar. In today’s story, the blind beggar is nowhere to be found. Quite the opposite, in fact. Today’s story revolves around Jesus’ encounter with Zaccheaus, a chief tax collector. And we all know what happens to tax collectors. Because of their corruption and greed, the gospels portray their fate as no different from the Pharisees and sinners accused of missing the mark. Surely the kingdom does not belong to them. Surely this story has the familiar ending of the parable of the rich young ruler who goes away sad, unable to fulfill Jesus’ final commandment for him—“sell all you have and give it to the poor.”

Or maybe the lives of the blind beggar and Zaccheaus are not so different as they seem. Imagine with me for a minute, what it might be like to see one of society’s most respected members—a lawyer or perhaps one of our beloved professors—dashing down the street in their nicest suit and scampering up a tree to catch a glimpse of some famed celebrity. Such desperation might seem silly, or it might be analogous to the embarrassment we feel watching panhandlers ask for money, or thinking about a blind beggar neglecting self-dignity in a cry for healing. Perhaps the crowd’s dismay when Jesus wants to stay with the equivalent of a slimy politician depicts Zacchaeus as more of an outsider than we think. Ridiculed by others, condemned by those who cannot see beyond his association with the epitome of societal corruption, Zacchaeus is not a welcome Jesus-follower. Despite his defense of his innocence (after all his name, translated means ‘innocent’), the crowd is incapable of seeing beyond the categories they know: tax collectors are sinners. Both Zaccheaus and the beggar are outsiders for opposite reasons. And both receive more than just an opportunity to see Jesus--they receive nothing less than salvation.

In the story I want to tell, there is not room enough for both these men in Christ’s kingdom. My version of Christ’s reign elevates the lowly and brings down the powerful and wealthy. And it is that kingdom, my kingdom, in which I am willing to participate. In this version, I can feel good about bringing good news, healing and restoration to those society unjustly condemns. But what about Zacchaeus? How can I tell this story? Wasn’t it just two stories ago when Jesus explained that it would be harder for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle? And then, just like that that, Zaccheaus welcomes Jesus for lunch and so moved by the miniscule encounter, gives away half his possessions to the poor he has wronged and bam, he too is a Son of Abraham? One of us?

But nothing is impossible with God.

Zacchaeus' story collapses my image of Christ and tells me that God is not just on ‘the side’ of the poor, Jesus of the gospel is beyond all sides. If that’s true, Zaccheaus’ salvation is the scandalous one. Through it we learn that Christ’s kingdom is not only upside down in its acceptance of the people society condemns, it defies all boundaries by embracing the condemners themselves, placing Zaccheaus and a blind beggar side by side at Christ’s table. Would that we, the church, the hands and feet of Jesus called to live into this radical, wide reign of God would welcome everyone who is looking for Jesus.

Consider the Lilies

2008-02-09T18:41:00.000-05:00

It's hard to believe that with only three weeks of the semester under my belt, I am feeling as stressed as I am. This does not bode well for the weeks to come when midterms, papers and finals take what precious little free time I have now.

But, the stress I feel seems to have less to do with the quantity of work I need to do and more with a frustrating inability to do it. Wednesday night, I budgeted an hour of time to finish my preaching assignment. I had done my biblical exegesis, consulted the commentaries, drawn some conclusions and all I had left was to add footnotes and 'state the claim' of my sermon. This little, one-sentence thesis statement should not have taken me three hours and many, many tears to complete. But it did.

I woke up at 5am the next morning with intense muscle cramps in my legs. I managed to get another hour or so of sleep before attending my 8am class and heading to preaching at 9:30, only to find out, we have two assignments due next week, one of which includes actually preaching the sermon I should be writing at this very moment. I left preaching feeling anxious and before I knew it, my legs were cramping up again, my hands were shaking and as I sat on a couch at school trying to study, I found myself completely unable to focus. I wanted to run away-hide in a cave for a few days and blow off everything that would be required of me in the next week.

Now, this is problematic on several levels. First, it is ridiculous for my anxiety levels to manifest themselves in physical ways. I have juggled much more than my workload now in the past without any severe symptoms of abnormal anxiety. Secondly, I felt unsure of what to do to make it better. Should I push through it, steadily marking off my to-do list in hopes that the anxiety decreases as I accomplish more? Or should I forget trying to be productive, and take some time off, neglecting my to-dos for the sake of my health? I think I did a little of both. I went for a walk, I had myself a good cry (about what, who knows?) and then I did a ton of homework.

But the deeper issue remains: what the heck was that about? Are my insecurities about academic performance getting so severe that I can't write a simple focus statement without a mental breakdown? Or is it something about preaching--a very public determination of my abilities--that has me scared? Of course, the irony of all this is that the more anxious I am, the less I am likely to do a good job at anything. The more I can feel aloof and ambivalent about an assignment or class, the better I end up doing on assignments. But where does this pressure to be the best come from? I struggled writing a theme for my sermon because I knew that all the stuff I was coming up with was just not creative enough, not compelling enough, not impressive enough. Mind you, this first sermon isn't even graded!

I feel like I'm broken. I can rationalize away at all the potential reasons for this recurring paralysis; I can rationally say that it really doesn't matter what my sermon is about as long as I write and preach it well! But at the end of the day, whatever I think rationally doesn't transfer to wherever it needs to go to take root. I do know that 1) I don't have time for this and 2) I am ready to move on. But how?

A Journey to New Life

2008-02-03T15:46:00.001-05:00

With Lent approaching quickly, I have been doing some thinking about what I'd like to do as part of the season. Doing anything for Lent is a pretty new thing for me, and what I'm realizing is that I'm not sure I understand why it's important to do the things typically done in Lent. Wes and I haven't totally decided what we're doing yet, but we're getting close!

I spent part of the day Saturday at a Pre-Lenten quiet day retreat at my Church. Dr. Westerhoff led the retreat and framed Lent as did the early Church--preparation for baptism. Lent was the final period of catechesis (which literally means 'to echo' as in 'to echo the Word'=Jesus) before they were baptized at the Easter vigil. Therefore, Lent is not only the season leading up to Christ's crucifixion, death and resurrection, it's not just a way to identify with Jesus' sufferings or his 40 days in the desert, it's a time for renewing our own baptismal covenant. It's a season for evaluating how well we are doing at being Christian, not just being a Christian, but being Christian.

In the Episcopal Church, the baptismal covenant is as follows:

Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?
Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?
Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?
Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?
Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?
Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?

Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

A pretty tall order indeed! Know wonder we need to devote a special season to working on these things! I usually conceive of baptism as a sign or seal of God's promise to us--a promise to bring us into God's fold. But I rarely think of my baptism as an initiation into Christian living. In that mode, baptism is an ongoing process of making people more like Jesus.

We spent a lot of time yesterday meditating on the various spiritual disciplines of Lent, and trying to discern which of them were most appropriate for us this Lent. In other words, which of those promises I made all those years ago (or that my parent's made for me) would I like to focus on and which discipline will help me to do that?

Lent is so often conceived of as a penitential time to give something, anything up--so long as it makes you miserable so you can be more like Jesus. That's why I've never understood fasting. At the end of the day, I feel terrible, I have a headache, and I've come to realize how human I am and how crazy it is that I'm so dependent on food, oh if only I could be that dependent on Jesus. Well, I only need to do that once to learn that lesson, however good and true it might be. And I failed to see how me being cranky and miserable glorifies God.

Westerhoff said that fasting was traditionally done from sundown to sunset, the day before the Sabbath. You would go to church starving, and the Eucharistic meal would take on entirely new significance. Fasting should not deprive us of sugar or chocolate which we have longed to give up anyways because it's generally bad for us--we should give up something that is basic to our nourishment. That way, we can be nourished by that which we need most; in being deprived of what we need, we can receive something we need more. Perhaps that's part of the misunderstanding between me and fasting. I've never seen fasting as integral to what I do at church on Sunday. It might give new meaning to the Eucharistic Invitation: "The Gifts of God for the people of God, take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving."

In reflecting on those promises that are supposed to reflect me as a new creation resulting from my baptism, the one I am choosing to focus on this Lent is, "Will you continue in the apostle's teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?" A few years ago, I decided that doing 'devotions' every day was becoming a destructive legalistic practice that was creating for me an image of a God who was perpetually angry at me for my inconsistent devotional life. I couldn't approach God without guilt and remorse that I had failed to live up to what it meant to be a Christian. Of course, being a Christian means much more than daily bible study and prayer--and I've gotten better at those other things. Meanwhile, prayer has slipped away, and the Bible is more an object to be studied rather than a subject that engages me. I'd like to get back to prayer, back to the bible (hopefully without the same negative experience) and I hope that this Lent will help me to dwell with the 'apostles teaching' and 'the prayers.'

Eternal God, heavenly Father, you have graciously accepted us as living members of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ, and you have fed us with spiritual food in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood. Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart; through Christ our Lord. Amen

Food for Thought

2008-01-22T13:44:00.000-05:00

My missions professor showed us this video today in class. Check it out!

Diffcult Lessons

2008-01-08T23:00:00.000-05:00

"You lack humility." Those words have been replaying in my mind since the day Rev. Lowe said them to me during our last discernment for ordination meeting in November. Harsh words, and all because I ranted for a bit after she recommended I read Eat, Pray, Love, a book I despise (though I haven't read it). It's about a woman who divorces her husband and subsequently finds spiritual enlightenment gorging herself on pasta in Italy, and having lots of sex with her Hindu guru. Or so I gather from the interviews of the author, Elizabeth Gilbert, on NPR and Oprah. I'm sorry, but I have no interest in reading about some narrow, new age view of spiritual fulfillment for divorced, rich, suburban white women with money to burn. And that's exactly what I told Rev. Lowe when she implied that Gilbert might have something to teach an insecure, highly-driven academic like myself. Looking back, I might have come off as a tad bit arrogant. Just a bit.

The comment stemmed from my revelation that I had never received a C in class, hated B+s and read classics for fun. Rev. Lowe concluded that I don't know how to relax (not true--just because I read Crime and Punishment in my free time rather than murder mysteries, Rev. Lowe's standard of entertainment, doesn't mean that I'm a boring, high-strung weirdo). What I was hoping to get some help with was the paralyzing insecurities I face when writing Old Testament papers and reasoning through my vocational options post-May 2009. I didn't make much progress as far as that goes, other than the catharsis that came with revealing the truth of the matter I work hard to conceal to someone besides Wes and my closest friends.

Still, I found it hard to see why a discussion about my insecurity lead Rev. Lowe to say that I was prideful. It seems my problem is usually the opposite. But whether her comment stemmed from a reactionary response to my statement about phony authors or from something else, I haven't been able to get her words out of my head during the last month. And, more often than not, they've rung true. I do lack humility. And that's hard to say, especially because it's a lesson learned from a woman I don't particularly care for.

I am a person who needs to ask questions and needs to dabble in the controversial before I can reach conclusions. But often those questions and convictions gradually begin to serve as simply another way to exercise my holier-than-thou attitude, rather than the way they might have begun--as a truthful quest for what's right.

So my question is, how can I be honest about my distaste for Eat, Pray, Love and its message, how can I have a true conviction about wealth and its potential for sinfulness and express my belief that our economic life is totally wrapped up in what it means to be followers of Christ, how can I say that Jesus would want women to preach and teach and that he would be disgusted at much of George Bush's policies and the American (and my own) complacency in the face of poverty and that he might be more concerned with what we do with our money than whether a gay man is a bishop...how can I ask these questions, express my belief, struggle with such controversial issues in an authentic way? How can I have a conviction, try to live by it and orient my thinking and life around it without feeling the need to inflict that conviction on others? After all, that's sort of the point of all this moral and theological exploration, right? Finding truth to the best I can and seeking to live by it? So if I really think what I'm doing is right, how can I share that belief without using it to posit my righteousness over and against the one who disagrees?

After all, Jesus gives us a model of rather undomesticated zeal and tactlessness. Turning over tables and calling people a 'brood of vipers' doesn't exactly reek of humility either.

Of course, my life doesn't look like Jesus'. Maybe you have to actually be poor, and work for justice, and oh yeah, sacrifice your life to atone for guilty in order to do stuff like that. And ultimately, most of my interactions involving politics or money or women or theology or anything controversial involve me asserting my opinion in order to prove another wrong. Oh, I like to frame it as virtuousness-- "I think doing such and such with money is wrong..."--but really it serves to highlight my virtue, my righteousness, my infinite knowledge of what it means to be a real Christian. In other words, I lack humility.

But I still want to be able to think about these issues, to ask the question, "Is homosexuality a sin?" and "What does the parable of the rich young servant mean for us today?" without arousing arguments, without questions of my eternal salvation, without heated debates and the shouts of 'fem-nazi!' I heard throughout college. I need to be able to ask questions, to struggle authentically, and to make conclusions about morality insofar as I am able. And I need to be able to be myself--a self who has opinions, and will never be a 'super sweet', as my friend Megan and I always called those girls boys always liked in college. Wes says I need to give others more credit and that my expectation of judgment and accusation is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope he's right. And I hope and pray for patience from those around me as I learn the difficult balance of being myself--the good part of myself that is as God intended me to be when God created me--and undergoing the difficult transformation of the self that disembarked from God's created intentions that day.

Home Again

2008-01-04T11:31:00.001-05:00

2,000 miles, 4 cities and three visits with family later, Wes and I are back home, and back in the swing of things. We had lots of fun, and here are some of the highlights, along with some of the cool stuff I enjoyed doing and learning about during the trip.

1. Family History: We had dad take us on a tour of Holland, Michigan. This was the old furniture store my grandpa ran, and the house where my dad spent a few years. It's now a Mexican grocery store, but it was cool to be connected to a part of our history. I also learned that twins run on dad's side of the family--my grandpa was one twin out of two sets my great-grandmother had. Yikes! I also rekindled some Dutchness when mom taught me how to make banket--a traditional Dutch pastry we've always had at Christmas, but I've never learned to make. It was a success!

Grandma and Grandpa Don at our Christmas Eve gathering with the Ten Harmsel's.

2. Fun! After a grueling semester, Wes and I had a great time sleeping in, watching movies, going out, and taking a hike to lake Michigan along the dunes. It was cold on the beach, but beautiful and well worth it.

3. Grandma Van Goor. One of my big reasons for wanting to spend Christmas in Michigan this year was to spend time with Grandma as I haven't seen her in awhile, and as her health continues to deteriorate and I am reminded how fragile life is. It was good to see her, and at the same time difficult. She's not the same Grandma I remember, and I missed hearing her laugh. I think growing old sucks, and living without Grandpa makes it suck all the more. Grandma taught me a lesson in growing old, and the importance of community, reaching out and living honestly regardless of your stage in life. Still, it was good to reconnect with her, and have her be a part of Christmas like she always used to be.

Me and Emma, my cousin who is adorable and cute and who likes me. Kids aren't so bad. Sometimes. :)

4. Chicago! Wes and I had never been, and spent three days enjoying the cold, windy city. I could definitely live there--and it was great to spend some time in a place with much more to offer than Atlanta. We stayed right on Michigan Avenue, ate Chicago pizza, walked a lot, spent Christmas money and enjoyed eachother's company. I love traveling, and especially with Wes!

5. Dora and Steven. Wes and I ended our trip with 2 days with Wes' sister and brother-in-law. It was great fun, lots of Yahtzee and beer and jokes. It was fun for me to get to spend time with Dora and Steven on their turf, and I loved our time together with them. They are delightful folks who I am lucky to be related to. Thanks guys!

Whaa?!

2008-01-04T11:02:00.000-05:00

This is a snapshot of a conversation between a student at a beauty school giving me a pedicure after Christmas:

Pedicurist (that's a word, right?): What do you do?

Me: I'm in graduate school. (hoping the conversation ends there)

Pedicurist: oh. What are you studying?

Me: Well, I'm in seminary.

Pedicurist: Oh, so you're like, studying history and stuff then?

Me: No, not really. I study theology, Christianity and the church.

Pedicurist: Oh, so you're going to be like an anthropologist then?

Me: No, not really. Seminary trains church leaders and things like that.

Pedicurist: oh.

Advent Waiting

2007-12-20T12:30:00.001-05:00

I am done! And halfway through seminary! Looking at that last post, I feel like a whiny, spoiled little girl and I'm tempted to delete it. But I suppose this blog should display the real me, not just the sides of myself I feel ok about. To be honest, it probably wasn't the worst week of my life, but the mental tricks my brain played on me that week made me think it was. It's amazing what 13 hours a day in a cold, stark library does for one's psyche. Yuck. I have a new appreciation for Wes, who endures an incapacitating week like that once a month (and who is studying with Jesse at our dining room table for the 4th day in a row as I write this). I could never do it. Never, never.

The busyness of the last couple weeks have kept me from reflecting on Advent as much as I would have liked. Wes and I are still learning how to live in this whole church calendar business, and are excited and unsure about forming our own holiday traditions. This year brought more progress than last--we have a Christmas tree, an Advent calendar and have been reading Advent reflections (sporadically) and lighting our Advent candles each week.

I am reminded that our little traditions and my desire to do all the right things--attend lessons and carols, light the candle, etc.--are no substitute for the work of actually contemplating the coming of Christ. Ultimately, while my Christmas tree reminds me it's Christmastime, it doesn't point to Jesus. Of course, not much in this world does point to Jesus and that's really the point, isn't it? How am I supposed to celebrate the arrival of Christ whose incarnation made salvation possible and inaugurated the kingdom of God when the world is so &%@! up?! That is the question I've been asking myself this Advent. Not that I have an answer, other than to say that Advent is about just that--the waiting. We wait like an expectant mother anticipating her baby, wanting it right now and at the same time not wanting to interrupt her body's perfect timing. I am not good at waiting. But then again, I bet God's tired of waiting for us too:

"If it is true that God in Jesus Christ is waiting for our response to divine love, then we can discover a whole new perspective on how to wait in life. We can learn to be obedient people who do not always try to go back to the action but who recognize fulfillment of our deepest humanity in passion, in waiting. If we can do this, I am convinced that we will come in touch with the glory of God and our own new life." ~ Henri Nouwen, "The Spirituality of Waiting" (thanks Marcus!)

Yep, those are our Advent candles :)

Woes

2007-12-12T00:06:00.000-05:00

I am in the middle of quite possibly the most stressful week of my entire life. That might be a little melodramatic, but if it is, it really is only a slight exaggeration.

I have written 19 pages so far, and I have 23 to go. Plus a Hebrew exam, plus an all-day discernment meeting on Saturday. Blech. Working 10 hours at CARE, teaching two Sunday School classes, writing 40+pages, studying for an exam, doing vocational discernment and oh, yeah, remembering to eat, get dressed and maintain some personal hygiene is proving to be almost more than I can handle. I hope that it is only lack of sleep talking, and that tomorrow I will feel refreshed and rested and not sick and ready to pump out a Sunday School lesson and 10 or so pages. That would be awesome.

I have never asked for an extension before, and this may be a first. We'll see how I feel Thursday night. It's quite a humbling thing. And also, it makes me into a crazy woman who feels like anything unexpected could send me over the edge.

So what am I doing writing on my blog in the middle of this crazy week, you ask? Well, I am coming down with a cold, or am having a terrible allergy attack or both and cannot fall asleep because every time I get close, I start sneezing. Plus, the end of the day puts me in this weird place of being totally exhausted and completely buzzed and jittery at the same time. Not a good combo for sleep. It's like with little kids when they get to the point of being too tired, bedtime becomes not so easy.

Need sleep, send prayers! (that's better than need help, send money, right?)

Our First Christmas Tree!

2007-12-04T20:14:00.001-05:00

On This Day

2007-12-02T20:26:00.000-05:00

"All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah 'Here is your God!' See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep."

Isaiah 40

Wes' Grandma Beverly died today. She went somewhat unexpectedly, but seemingly peacefully, for which we are thankful. Also, the last 6 months of her health issues and various health crises that each seemed to bring her to the brink of death have made me realize how much better it is to process death and say goodbyes while our loved ones are still living. I'm so thankful for the last two times we (and especially Wes) got to spend with Grandma Beverly; they were times of joy and laughter, and tears and sadness both. We will miss her.

Beverly's death today, on this first Sunday of Advent reminds me yet again that we perpetually sit in this season of expectation--this tension between the 'already' and the 'not yet.' This world is messy and broken. It's a world where old women have to struggle for each breath, where daughters say goodbye to their mothers, and where death seems permanent. And then there is a baby, an unassuming infant, whose birth shattered our world. What can the arrival of this Emmanual--God with us--mean for us on this day? As we wait for and remember Christ's birth, we also wait for him to come back again to make everything right. I'm so thankful for the breakthrough of our of Savior who's birth turned the world upside down and conquered death for us all. Advent reminds me that things are not as they will be and that God's work through Jesus isn't finished.

Roots

2007-12-02T15:48:00.001-05:00

This post is more than a little overdue, but I suppose communicating our thankfulness is a practice that can and should be appropriate at other time besides those the holiday dictates. In thinking about all the things I have been thankful for throughout the past year--international travel, financial provision, family, school (most of the time) and a great husband--the thing I have felt most poignantly thankful for this fall has been a feeling of rootedness.

The last three years since graduation from SPU have each been exciting and fulfilling in very different ways. They have also been full of transition. First a year in Russia, then a strange year of odd jobs, the smallest apartment on the planet, and a wedding. And the next filled with learning how to be married, a cross-country move and graduate school. Whew! Those years were hard, but fun, and it's only when looking back that I realize how much those transitions became tedious. I grew used to looking for new churches, making new friends, moving a lot, ad getting lost in new cities. The weirdest thing was that transition began to feel normal. And as much as I wouldn't have traded any of those adventures for anything, it feels good be here in Atlanta for the second year in a row, knowing there are several more to come.

For the first time since graduation, I feel like this place could be home. We have made good friends, we know the city, we're delighted with our church, making professional and personal connections, and exploring the area. Last year I remember feeling frustrated at my difficulty in making friends, while this year has yielded great new friends in unexpected places.

One of the things I realized I missed the most were girlfriends. I have always had close girlfriends in every stage of life, many of whom I still consider my best friends who remain a part of my journey despite the distance. But sometimes a girl needs physical, tangible friends, too. Friday night drinks with Becca and Ingrid, coffee with Lauren, and a book club with several great women have reminded me how important those relationships are, and how much I have missed them in recent years.

So this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for roots, however shallow.

PS. If anyone has any idea as to why my blog posts switch from double to single spaced at completely random times, please let me know. Exasperating!!

All Saints made Manifest

2007-11-10T16:56:00.000-05:00

I attended Diocesan Council, the annual business meeting of the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, yesterday and today. I was expecting to be bored out of my mind, evinced by the fact my purse contained a Newsweek, a book and my Hebrew flashcards, just in case. Much to my surprise, there was enough entertainment that my Newsweek remains unread.

It was exciting to sit in a room with over 600 priests and laypeople (and the Bishop, of course) from all over Atlanta and the region. There's something special that happens when every priest from the diocese comes together in one place to worship, pray and look ahead to our 101st Diocesan year. Judging by the news stories of past few months regarding the Episcopal Church, I expected uncomfortable debates about homosexuality to prevail. It shouldn't have surprised me that the media presented a rather skewed perspective about the work of the church. We actually have missions, ministries and business to attend to that has nothing do with with homosexuality. Of the five foci the Bishop outlined for the upcoming year ranging from fighting poverty to being on the forefront of environmental conservation, not one included anything about sex. Can you imagine?! In a church? It was refreshingly reassuring. We deliberated on everything from making buildings conducive to those people with disabilities, to environmental initiatives, to the budget. And, it was a great networking opportunity--I was offered 2 jobs!!

I almost left early Friday night and skipped out on the Friday night Eucharist. I'm glad I didn't. Despite my drowsiness, it was a powerful experience to sit in the Cathedral of St. Phillip (pictured above), whose interior rivals that of many of the Cathedrals I've seen in Europe, surrounded by so many people who came together with singular vocations and purpose. Bishops present and past attended, and we renewed our baptismal vows together--a pivotal statement following disagreements and varied opinions about almost every resolution that hit the floor this weekend. Diocesan Council provides a great lesson in peacemaking--we've all got to get along somehow. The fractures in our church the media portrays are, of course, not complete fairytales. I have been fearful of a split on the horizon, despite the Episcopal Church USA's decision to halt gay ordination in the U.S. in order to repair relations with the worldwide communion. Bishop Allen was an encouraging voice to that fear: "I have one message. I am here. We are here. And we are not going anywhere."

Diocesan Council came on the heels of All Saint's Day in the Church Calendar. This is the Sunday when we celebrate the communion of Saints--the greater church consisting of the living and the dead. It is these high holy days that make me love the Episcopal Church. I remember the first time I celebrated All Saints. It was a Wednesday night, a week before the anniversary of my Grandpa's death. There were about 12 of us gathered in the small chapel at my seminary. At the litany of the dead, we spoke aloud the names of all those we knew who had died in the past year. We brought them into worship with us, and acknowledged our continued connection with the dead--through the church instead of through their physical presence. In that moment, I felt the church to be about more than me and Jesus. It was about more than the differences that define denominations and even the bickering within denominations. Rather, we affirmed our belief in the great communion of people who read the same stories, said the same creed, preached the same gospel. A communion beyond all physical, temporal and spiritual boundaries that has given us the church we inhabit that we have today, for better or worse. It is that community with whom and through whom we see Jesus and without whom, we might not see him as we should.

Like any family, there are not just heroes and brave patriarchs. The church has their fair share, to be sure, but we also had crusaders and racists. Still, the saints are our companions and teachers. They stand with us in the same way I felt Grandpa with us that All Saints night last year, a vital part not just of our church's past, but of its present.

Diocesan Council had a similar effect for me. Surrounded by these wise men and women, committed to the church's gospel mission and furthering God's kingdom, I said "Thanks be to God" in unison with those 600 others in a new way. And I was thankful--thankful for newfound love of liturgy, unity and a church family.

More and Better

2007-11-04T00:45:00.000-04:00

'Take Care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.' The he told them a parable: 'The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, "What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?" Then he said, "I will do this, I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry." But God said to him, "You fool!" Luke 12: 15-20

Money has been on the brain lately. This is the time in the semester when financial aid money runs thin, and Wes and I have discussions about our financial situation every other day or so. This is also the time in the semester where we start to eat at home before we go out for dinner with friends, where we split an appetizer instead of two entrees, and when the new pair of jeans I was eying online become January's dream, after next semester's check comes in and we feel secure again.

When I'm rational and able to think intellectually about money, I find myself convinced that this time of life is formative, good and spiritually enlightening. I fight to get to a place where I can embrace life below the poverty line, and the sacrifices and commitment it takes to 'make it' on so little. I remind myself when I'm tempted to bemoan our financial shortcomings that a) we made our own decisions. It was our choice to go to school at the same time and to take out the least amount of loans possible and b) we're much better off than most of the world living below the poverty line because we have a system of family and friends whose support, both monetary and otherwise, will get us through these slim years. We are very wealthy.

November and December are also good months because they force me to remember the commitments Wes and I made about the way we want to live our lives. Living simply, giving generously and rejecting the culture's nagging voice that tells us more is better are lifelong goals--forced poverty right now makes them a reality, but what happens when, several years down the road after the loans are paid off, we get a paycheck that provides a surplus? The reality of our chosen professions (ok, Wes' profession. Who am I kidding?) is that we will soon be making more money than 95% of the world's population. That's both comforting as we sit 2 years into medical school and seminary with more debt than the money I've earned over my entire life combined, and scary as I realize how challenging it will be to live like we do now when our situation will permit much more indulgence. It's one thing to live simply when you have no other options; it's quite another beast when you're making more money than any family of 10 needs to get by for a year. I'm convinced it will take the support of a similarly committed group of friends to hold us to that one, and a firm commitment to using the portion of our income we need to meet basic needs, and letting the rest go.

After all, we're all taught that money can't buy happiness, right? But, from the looks of the households all across America, no one really believes that. I don't know if I believe that. I often find myself thinking, "you know, if we just had 5,000 more dollars a year, this cloud of anxiety would be gone, and I would be much happier." But I know were that 5,000 to be dropped in our lap, I would crave just that one other little thing. The myth of a person's wealth being found in a bigger salary or in having more stuff is so seductive. The message is everywhere, saturating our TVs, computers and cities. It creeps into my brain trying to make me believe that I would be better looking, have more friends, and be an all around happier human being if I would just buy those designer jeans.

I'm reading a book right now called Deep Economy, by Bill McKibben. He is an environmentalist and economist who argues in this, his latest book, that economic growth at its current pace is not only environmentally unsustainable, but it doesn't make us happier. A homeless person on the streets of Calcutta is rated the least happy in all the world. But once he moves to a shack in the slums, his happiness doubles. Forbes magazine's richest Americans have happiness scores identical with those of the Pennsylvania Amish, and only slightly above those of the Masai tribesman. That person living in the slums of Calcutta is about as satisfied with his life as the average college student. The point is that money only makes us happy to a point. Once basic needs are met, money's ability to bring happiness goes down exponentially.

This should be enough evidence for me to squelch the irrational desire for more, more, more that creeps into my head every so often. I wish it were enough. But that's just more proof that I need to be intentional about who I surround myself with--people who don't make me feel inferior because of my stained, used, $50 couch and whose activities revolve around good times with good people, not good times playing with nice stuff. Luckily, I'm married to one such person who is not nearly as easily seduced by money's false promises.

Wealth is isolating. With it we can buy enough stuff that we're no longer dependent on anyone else. But that too is a lie. Right now, as I'm staring at rent payments, bills, Christmas presents that need buying and grocery shopping in light of a dwindling bank account, I'm calling Wealth on its bluff. Whenever I hear its lies in the future I will say to my soul, Soul, you have an ample wealth of friends, love and happiness in Christ who gives you all good things.

Next to Godliness

2007-10-24T15:04:00.000-04:00

If the state of one's house is any indicator of the state of one's life, well....yikes!

Midterms for me + a big test for Wes = complete chaos. Hopefully that old adage about cleanliness being next to godliness doesn't apply anymore...

Hopefully by the end of next week I'll be recovered enough from writing that I have to do that I can engage in some more fun, reflective blog writing soon!

Burning Bushes and Seraphim

2007-10-17T20:27:00.000-04:00

Vocational discernment has been a constant struggle for me in my short-lived life. I resigned myself to a communication major for the first two years of school, feeling frustratingly dispassionate. I was an aimless until I found theology. I love theology; I love school. Seminary was the logical next step, right? If I keep studying what I love to study, eventually it will lead me to job I love. This has always been my mantra. But it is backfiring. I am realizing that I cannot be a passive onlooker in this whole quest for discernment. I actually have to make strategic decisions; I need to choose from many interests and possibilities, a job that will be fulfilling and meaningful.

Those Bible folks had it so easy. Moses gets God in a burning bush, Isaiah gets a seraph searing his mouth to enable prophecy, Ezekiel gets a crazy vision of God sitting above the dome calling him to go pronounce destruction, Jeremiah gets a word from the Lord, audible and clear, Paul gets knocked of his horse, the disciples get miracles of fish...the stories go on and on.

The astounding thing is, all these prophets had something to say about their call from God. Moses doesn't speak well, Jeremiah is too young, Paul was an enemy of God, Amos was a herdsmen and a dresser of sycamore trees--hardly a prophet's resume. Despite their objections, the call was loud and clear and God was never one to let them off the hook.

The past week has brought on something of a vocational crisis. Here are the things brewing on my horizon and in my tiny mind:

* Non-profit. This has always been something I could see myself getting into. But after applying to about a gizillion non-profit jobs upon returning from Russia and getting rejected from all of them, I feel demoralized about my prospects. This week, however, an opportunity to intern for CARE International was unexpectedly dropped in my lap. This could mean an even crazier year with more work than I can handle, but it could also mean a really great opportunity to break into a field that is hard to crack.

* Education. I love to teach. I especially like to teach theology. This year, I will get to try my luck at Christian Education at St. Luke's, where I am interning. My supervisory priest is an incredible teacher herself, so this is a fantastic opportunity. Of course, the question becomes 'in what capacity?' Christian Ed in a church? In a private school? On a purely volunteer basis in my spare time while I get paid to do something else?

* Old Testament Scholar. Even acknowledging this as a possibility cracks me up. I LOVE the Old Testament. I love school, and I like college kids more than the younger varieties. But, PhD programs are practically impossible to get into. Once I'm in, teaching jobs are hard to come by. I would probably end up teaching in some school in Iowa or Kansas or something when all I really want to do is teach at SPU. Alas! Plus, any Bs in any of my O.T. classes throughout seminary mean that I can basically kiss this dream goodbye--seriously! To add to the confusion, I got the highest grade in the class on my last Hebrew exam, but I am almost surely to get a B on a very demanding midterm in Exile and Restoration--taught by one of the world's leading O.T. scholars whose recommendation I would surely need for PhD applications, but am unlikely to get without a stellar performance in her class.

* Ordination. Save the most confusing for last! I do not want to be a parish priest. But, in talking with my site supervisors at St. Luke's recently, I have been reexamining the reasons for my aversion. Mostly, they involve fear--the same kind of fear experienced by Jeremiah (I'm too young!) Moses (I'm unskilled!) and the disciples (I'm not sure want this lifestyle...). I'm not sure I'm comfortable shutting this door out of fear. So, the first step toward figuring this out in the Episcopal Church is a process called...drum roll...discernment. I have been toying with the idea of entering discernment as a way to explore these issues further with a board of priests and lay people who are all excited to help me figure out these questions. While I thought I might possibly enter discernment next fall, I was invited today to enter into this year's cycle, which starts Saturday!!

You might get the picture that I am highly confused and you would be right about that. There are so many open doors right now and there is no clear word from God. Where is my burning bush? I could use a lightening bolt, a vision, a voice from heaven, whatever. I'm not picky, really. Just something besides the same objections, doubts and options circling round and round in my head. I am not good at this. I want so desperately to do God's will to be right where God wants me that I find myself nowhere. At some point, a leap of faith will be required, I have no doubt, I'm just having this sense that this leap might be coming sooner than I was expecting.

I may not have burning bushes, but I do believe that God still speaks. And the primary way God has spoken to me in the past has been through the people around me. So people, speak up!

Christ Crucified

2007-10-06T21:04:00.000-04:00

The chapel at the University of Central America in El Salvador looks like any other Latin American worship space...at first. We visited the university because it is the home of the Oscar Romero museum and the site where 9 Jesuit priests were assassinated by the government in 1989 for their outspoken resistance to the Salvadoran military in its human rights abuses during the civil war. The picture to the left is of Wes standing in front of the monument dedicated to the remembrance of the Jesuit martyrs.

The effects of the civil war on the Salvadoran psyche cannot be underestimated. 75,000 people were killed by death squads or assassinations for their resistance to the right-wing (US funded) oppressive government policies. Everyone in San Martin-- the housing project that hosts Santisima Trinidad (the parish where I worked) in the outskirts of San Salvador--was displaced by the war and had lost family members and friends. The husband of our host mother, Irma, was killed by a stray bullet only a few blocks from their house during one of the final conflicts between the FLMN and government military. The stories go on and on.

One cannot help but wonder what how a recent history of tremendous violence has influenced the liturgical life of the church. It was in the little chapel of the UCA where we found our answer. There we found a memorial to the priests assassinated in the parish they served, and a disturbing picture depicting Oscar Romero and the other outspoken bishops of the Catholic Church in heaven as the military leaders and soldiers are essentially burning in hell. But the most striking, disturbing, amazing and thought provoking evidence of the pervasive effects of such violence were the stations of the cross hanging on the back wall of the chapel.

The stations of the cross are designed to facilitate a pilgrimage of sorts for Roman Catholics (and now Anglicans, Lutherans and others) during Lent. Typically, stations of the cross consist of 14 images or sculptures from the final hours of Christ's life. The depictions help the believer to focus their prayers and to experience in a deeper way, the sufferings of Christ. Usually, the stations begin with Jesus' condemnation by Pontius Pilate, the receiving of the cross, his first fall and on up to Jesus being stripped, nailed to the cross, dying and finally, being laid in the tomb. Obviously, it's a solemn Good Friday (as opposed to Easter Sunday) kind of discipline that's been around for centuries.

But, in this particular chapel that has seen so much violence, all the stations of the cross are a depiction of Christ crucified. And they are not idealized, pastel, clean, or pretty pictures either. Instead, they are drawings of real people--kidnapped, tortured, murdered and left in a killing field outside of San Salvador. The charcoal drawings were done by a friend of the chapel during the civil war. He would travel to the known killing fields every day, looking for his sister who had gone missing several months before. He didn't find her, but in order to deal with the trauma of witnessing such violence on a day to day basis, he started drawing the victims there.
It is these horrific drawings that now hang in the chapel of all places--not an art gallery or a museum, but a house of worship. We heard that there were many requests for the pictures to be taken down, especially for events like weddings and other happy occasions. After all, who wants to remember the realities of living under an oppressive, killing regime when they're at church?! Isn't church the place we preach a different gospel, one that declares Christ victor, where death has no sting and where the kingdom of peace and reconciliation is coming soon? Of course. But in El Salvador, none of those truths allow us to escape this world and cease to embrace our responsibilities to be Jesus in this world and take part in ushering in the Kingdom of God. Oscar Romero, El Salvador's contemporary martyr whose marks are everywhere clearly understood that.

These drawings bring new meaning to religious art, iconography and the liturgical function of art in church. I remember Wes telling me about a church he visited in South Africa where Desmond Tutu served as a priest during apartheid. The church harbored apartheid protesters and stood up against the police regularly. Inside, however, hung several banners left over from the English colonizers--a mark of their not-so-honorable past. Every tradition can no doubt boast merits and embarrassments alike, but more often than not we like to play up the good stuff and forget the bad. Crusades...shhh. Civil Rights....woohoo, Church! But for St. George's it is not alright to forget the past and the events that, for better or worse, have shaped them.

The same is true, I think, for the UCA's chapel. Jesus' life, death and resurrection take on a different meaning in a society struggling to recover from indiscriminate violence and corruption. Jesus' death is not simply a theological doctrine, but a point of contact between the death they have seen from all sides since 1979. What does it mean to turn the mangled bodies from a killing field from meaningless slaughter to opportunities for religious and devotional contemplation? What does it mean for someone who saw their brother or husband murdered before their eyes to look upon the bloody bodies of similar victims and see Jesus there? What does it mean to be reminded of the atrocities of the past as you return to your pew after receiving communion and upon walking out the door into the world that continues to breed corruption and violence on every corner? It is these questions that have rattled around in my mind since that Saturday. I cannot imagine a church in the States being willing to display such violence on its walls. Then again, we've never lived in a place where such scenes occupied a space in everyone's mind.

The UCA stands, for me, as a stark reminder of the church's mission in a world that is so resistant to the gospel and despite our hopes, will never participate in bringing about the kingdom of heaven. Those drawings are disturbing and horrific. And so sometimes, is this life. And yet, there is Jesus; our savior who was crucified, died and raised again to new life.

Jesus is Two Old Women

2007-10-01T17:18:00.000-04:00

I saw Jesus at church Sunday. He always shows up in the most unlikely places. On Sunday, Jesus was two old women, one black, one white. They sat next to each other two pews in front of me. I watched people scurry to the altar for communion, and I watched as Jesus slowly stood. Ever so slowly, leaning on each other for support, they hobbled up the stairs to the altar.

Together.

Jesus was the white woman, holding the hand of someone her upbringing and culture forbid her to know. Jesus was the black woman, holding out a supportive hand to an image of her oppression. Jesus was there, his body the food for the white and black woman alike. His blood the cup of salvation for two weary souls. His sacrifice, the possibility for reconciliation, unity and life.

On Sunday, heaven happened at St. Luke's. Heaven looked like two old women, determined to meet Jesus at the altar rail. They fed on him even as their bodies withered away. Heaven--the place where there truly is no Jew or Gentile, no black or white and where wrinkled, dysfunctional bodies become new--that place took form at the altar rail as two old women lowered themselves to their knees and stretched out their tired hands.

Together.

I saw heaven there. Just a glimpse. Jesus sat at the table, welcoming us all to join in the great feast.

To Scott, From Wes

2007-09-29T14:45:00.001-04:00

Wes was asked to speak at Scott's memorial service today. Here's what he had to say:

I first got to know Scott through health problems: my dad, his regular racquetball partner, had hurt his ankle, and I took his place. Scott was a better player than I was, and was typically able to beat me. He has better control of the ball, and could serve much better than I could. But, I had a trick up my sleeve as well. He had a pacemaker, and as long as we both kept running on the court, he would eventually have to slow down to keep his heart rate in check. Those key moments of incapacitation were where I scored most of my points.

My wife, Lauren, told me last week that she doesn't think that she would have fallen in love with me if it weren't for Scott, and I think that she is right. Scott was one of my best friends, and I enjoyed our times together getting breakfast at the Blue Star Cafe, playing racquetball, and talking after church more than almost any other time during the week. He was one of the first people who knew that I was interested in dating, and then marrying, Lauren, and the person who "got" more of my Simpsons' quotes than anyone else. He got me interested in reading John Howard Yoder, and in watching Quentin Tarentino movies.

But, Scott was also the closest person who I have ever had to a mentor, and has shaped me in more profound ways than I will ever fully realize. And I think that that is what Lauren was referring to last week. We would talk over bowls of oatmeal with raisins about church history, about theology, about why being a Christian means that I can't ever be completely comfortable with myself living as a priviliged American. He introduced me to the concept of Christian Social Ethics, helping me to see that living as a follower of Jesus means working constantly and tirelessly for social justice, means more and requires more than living with personal piety. He helped me to understand that loving other people means that I should care that they don't have money for food or for medicine, and that I and other Christians should oppose systems that keep them from getting it. He is in many ways the reason that I am in medical school right now, and the reason why I want to be a doctor who serves and advocates for the poor.

So, thank you Scott for being my friend, and asking me questions that I will continue to wrestle with for the rest of my life. Thank you for helping to make me into the person I am today, and for showing me who my neighbor really is.

Tidbits

2007-09-27T17:47:00.000-04:00

Check out this site that my friend at seminary, Karl Kroger just told me about. Apparently, you can be involved in micro-lending by donating money to an individual who will use it for a small business venture or to buy a cow, goat, etc. that will yield some profit for them. The best part is, you get your money back as the individual's project brings money in. You can help people collectively or as an individual. What a great idea!

WWW.KIVA.ORG

* * * *

In other exciting tidbits, I learned some interesting stuff while reading for my Exile and Restoration class the other day. Ezekiel is a fascinating (while nevertheless quite disturbing) book. Most of you have probably heard of the Ezekiel 4:9 bread that is in all the organic stores and is actually quite tasty. Its ingredients come from Ezekiel 4:9 (surprise!) where God tells Ezekiel to "take wheat and barley, beans and lentils, millet and spelt; put them into one vessel, and make bread for yourself." Sounds pretty good right? That's what I thought until I read the rest of the chapter. "You shall eat it as a barley cake, baking it in their sight on human dung" (4:12). Mmmm, good. Ezekiel quite naturally objects to God on this point on the basis that eating bread on poop would defile himself (I would have gone for the "No way! That's disgusting! But Ezekiel, being much holier than me is concerned for ritual uncleanliness alone). So God has second thoughts about that and says "alright, fine"..."I will let you have cow's dung instead of human dung, on which you may prepare your bread" (4:15). Phew! For a minute there that mental picture was really grossing me out. Thanks goodness God came around! I think I should make a recommendation to the Ezekiel 4:9 company that they alter their serving recommendations--the current package says nothing about that!

Goodbye Too Soon

2007-09-20T19:57:00.000-04:00

" Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?" Jeremiah 8:22

The world lost a great man, a great mind and a great follower of Christ last week. Scott Becker, Wes' long time mentor, and the pastor who officiated at our wedding, died last week after battling cancer for the last year. Though we knew his time was limited, his death still came as a surprise, as death always does, I suppose. At 47, Scott's life had so much promise. He was in process of writing his dissertation on Christian peacemaking. In many ways, it seemed like his influence for good in this world was just beginning, though those who were blessed to know him well have always known and experienced the depth of his goodness.

Scott's death seems more unfair than most. A man with so much promise ripped from the world...for what? Why now? Why him? There seems no good answer. There is only consolation in knowing that there is no cancer in heaven and in realizing that God is enjoying some pretty good company these days. But for us who are left, there is sadness and despair in a world in which death does not discriminate.

Of course, the Christian tradition has much to say about suffering and evil; we are in the company of many saints before us! The Israelites were no strangers to the horrors of this world. Under siege, starving, attacked and exiled to Babylon or left in poverty, Judeans in Jeremiah's day had much about which to lament. And God laments with them--sorry that their sin has left the world in such a sorry state, frustrated that their promise to keep the covenant went so far wrong:

"My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick. Hark, the cry of my poor people from far and wide in the land: 'Is the Lord not in Zion? Is her King not in her? The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.' For the hurt of my poor people I am hurt, I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me. " Jeremiah 8:18-21

It's no wonder they thought God was no where to be found--everywhere they looked, the promised land was now ravaged, their enemies on either side quickly closing in on them. But God was hurt too. God mourns with them. God is dismayed. And then God asks what I want to shout right back in God's face:

"Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?"

Why hasn't the health of the people been restored?!? Dude! (or dudette, but that's another post) You're God! Why don't you restore it? Why wasn't Scott's health restored? You want to ask me that? "No God," I want to say, "clearly, you don't understand the way this whole humanity thing works. See, we're incapable of things like healing and restoration. That's your department. And this time, you failed to show up."

But the answer to God's question remains a disappointing 'no.' There is no balm in Gilead this time. There are no physicians capable of performing the restoration Israel required to become whole again. There were no doctors with answers for Scott. This world has no magic balm. It is too far gone. Israel was too far gone, too. Exile, famine, loss of the temple--these were the prices they paid for mucking up their relationship with God. Death and disease are evidences of a relationship gone awry.

Thankfully, our story doesn't end in exile. It ends where it began, in the promised land with a new temple a new king and a new covenant. The promise of restoration for a world gone all wrong. Scott's exile is over, his restoration is complete. The day is coming when death and disease will be over for all of us. And for that, and for Scott's life, I am thankful.

Goodbye Scott. We will miss you here!

" See, I am going to gather them from all the lands to which I drove them in my anger and my wrath and in great indignation; They shall be my people, and I will be their God. I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me for all time, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make an everlasting covenant with them, never to draw back from doing good to them..." Jeremiah 32:37-40

A Whole New World

2007-09-15T11:02:00.000-04:00

This blog has been a long time in coming. The catalyst that finally got me going was my feeling that I had not put in the work of adequately reflecting on my time in El Salvador and Nicaragua this summer. Journaling and talking to people are some of the only ways I can do that successfully, and I felt I didn't get enough of either. Besides, journaling with pen and paper just takes so long!

I hope this will be a place where the thoughts in my head can mull about in the real world, where otherwise fleeting ideas become somewhat more crystalized, and that in so doing, I come to know myself more fully. In seminary (or in life!) there are so many threads left hanging, so many new ideas thrown at me that I want to reflect on but can't find the space to do so honestly and intentionally. Welcome to my new space!