Thursday

And then there's this amazing thing where each day I awake and look into the eyes of someone who knows my soul, and who greets me with a joyful kiss. Every time he walks out the door he calls "I love you" and every night in the stillness he reminds me again. I am cared for. And I sleep in peace.

~balance~

i am easily overwhelmed. i tend, in innocent excitement, to sign up for too much, then panic when i think i can't do it all. or at least, can't do it all perfectly -- my first choice, or even very well -- my second choice. i am frequently tempted to quit everything; and yet i hate the thought of quitting anything. thus: lots of inner turmoil.
one strategy that i'm attempting to use in order to have more balance in my life (and in my mind), is to just give full attention to what i am doing at the moment and do the best i can... even if what i'm doing is not what i wish i could be doing, even if my best doesn't match my ideals. i am specifically trying to focus more on enjoying, and less on evaluating whatever i am doing. that's all.

"Money, You, and a Simpler Life"

An excerpt from a book I borrowed from the Quaker library:

"Money -- at least as we deal with it as individuals -- is not brain surgery. True, the issues get more complicated if you want to make more and more and more money -- clearly not a great idea if you're really trying to simplify your life. And for making more and more money, the woods are full of experts fairly roaring with advice! They... tell us how to be 'secure' by being wealthier. They pursue -- by methods that are often more complicated than they are telling us -- an illusory, money0based happiness that both recent scientific research and many centuries of common experience reveal has no basis in reality.
"But with personal finances, let there be no mistake: The basics really are the basics. An older generation that lived through the Depression learned those basics: Know what your resources are; stick to your budget; be frugal; always look for bargains; save as much money as you can; borrow as little as you can; get out debt as fast as you can."

(From "Nothing's Too Small to Make a Difference" by Wanda Urbanska and Frank Levering)

Maybe tomorrow I'll post another excerpt, from the part about HOW to stick to those basics!

annapolis: our new home

our neighborhood consists of an illegal garbage dump, 5 deer - one with small antlers, and one fawn with no more spots, woods with a creek and a path that leads to a quaker meeting house, a prayer labryinth, and a praying mantis.

our household includes dozens of fruit flies, a part-time papillon puppy, and new ivy that is beginning to root. 

our window overlooks a parking lot, and the sill is decorated with a happy candle that reminds us of a sad break-up of friends. 

our bed is book-ended by the coolest little nightstands i've ever seen (they each have their own pull-out trays, perfect for a laptop or whatever else can't be crowded on the top), and in the bottom cubby of seth's nightstand the 4th harry potter book awaits the arrival of the 5th (which we are waiting to buy until seth completes and submits his paperwork for the ministerial fellowship committee!)

our fridge has plenty of adele-art, chicago magnets, and a silly chinese take-out menu that says things like "gift certificafe" and "food panty available". oh, and much more important than that, our fridge is stocked with enough, but not too many, groceries. although, the cheese drawer seems to empty so much quicker than it ought...

my family...

is so darn photogenic:

*drew, getting ready for the mud run with team Y (these are much prettier than the "after" pics)*

*margot (3) and adele (7) holding logan and jackson (4 mos.)*

...and i miss them all (including those not pictured)!

~

seth is my "new" family, and as much as i love him, there's no way he can fill all those shoes. and the uuca is quickly becoming my new church family, which is a little weird since we are only going to be here for a year. but i'm thankful for them all the same.

PS:

I also went for a walk in the rain last night, and decided I want to do that more often. I spent some time at the prayer labyrinth here at the church. And I saw several toads hopping around in the rain, right after it got dark.

Poems

This poem was very timely for Seth and me last night, after a long day of struggling with the difficulty of being newly-married, and in a new place, and he being an introvert starting a new job and me being without a job as of yet....

Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)

The spirit

  likes to dress up like this:

   ten fingers, 

   ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest

  at night

   in the black branches,

     in the morning

in the blue branches

  of the world.

   It could float, of course,

     but would rather

plumb rough matter.

  Airy and shapeless thing,

   it needs 

     the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,

  the oceanic fluids;

   it needs the body's world,

     instinct

and imagination

  and the dark hug of time,

   sweetness

     and tangibility,

to be understood,

  to be more than pure light

   that burns

     where no one is --

so it enters us --

  in the morning

   shines from brute comfort

     like a stitch of lightning;

and at night

  lights up the deep and wondrous

   drownings of the body

     like a star.

And this one, for first thing this morning:

Morning Poem

Every morning

the world

is created. 

Under the orange 

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again 

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands 

of summer lilies. 

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails 

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere. 

And if your spirit

carries within it 

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging --- 

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted --- 

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly, 

every morning, 

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy, 

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray. 

from Dream Work (1986) by Mary Oliver 

© Mary Oliver

Thanks, Mary Oliver, for writing these. And whoever's behind this for sharing them.

Don't be fooled into thinking that the gift you bear is a burden. Though the blessing you have may at times feel like a curse, that doesn't mean it isn't meant to be given, to be shared.

Your gift doesn't look like what's popular? Like what's sensible, or proper morals, or a smart investment, or enticing to a world that judges by appearances and seeks to silence the dissenting voice, to suppress the truly creative act? 

The dreamers who dared to speak, dared to live, may have fought hard battles, may have faced unjust deaths. But is that worse than living in the realm of the unreal, enduring the torture of insincerity, submitting to fear, perfecting conformity, perpetuating numbness, forgetting who we are? 

And what is the way? What is the way to open the treasure chest of the true self, to nurture the soul of a blossoming child, to honor the wisdom of eternity, to uncover and see again -- or for the first time -- who it is behind the façade of the enemy? The way is love. The way is acting in mercy, withholding judgement, relinquishing control... the way is bending low to serve, choosing forgiveness, practicing hospitality... the way is extending a hand of help, a gaze of wonder, a word of praise... and it is called love. 

Forgiveness as an act of worship

Forgiveness can be seen in different ways, as having different functions. One function of forgiveness is to pardon the offender. Another is to provide release/healing for the injured party. But recently I've been caught by the idea that forgiveness is essentially an act of worship toward God. Like any act of worship, it helps us gain the right perspective, and put/keep ourselves in our rightful place... a position of humility, love, and dependence on grace.

Worship, I learned in a class once upon a time, is ascribing worth. We can ascribe worth to - worship - God, others, self. Oh yeah, or stuff (a.k.a. 'idols'). False worship happens when we ascribe worth inaccurately, or inappropriately.... or in more christianese language, 'idolatry' happens when we love and place our trust in something/one that cannot/should not be the object of such love and trust. Well geez, when I put it that way, idolatry is such a huge problem in life! It happens all the time. I won't speak for anyone else at this point, but I know for me, the most common misplaced worship is probably of myself. Which is why thinking about forgiveness as worship (of God) has challenged and helped me in this area.

One more quick note on worship as ascribing worth to God/self/others/objects/ideas/whatever else... these are all about relationships. How we worship tells us a lot about our relationships with God/self/others/etc... (yes, even stuff).

And it's always in the context of relationships that forgiveness needs to and does take place. So, worship and forgiveness are both relational.

Going back to the idea that true worship is about accurately ascribing worth... this implies that worship requires humility. And guess what. Forgiveness definitely requires humility. (If you've ever tried forgiving, you know this already.) In forgiveness, as in true worship, we are choosing to have an accurate view of self, others, & God. Because in the act of forgiveness (and I think this is why it sometimes takes me so long to get there), I have to admit that the person who wronged me is no worse than I am, that I am no better than s/he. We both are human. We both are flawed. We both have the capacity to harm others, and we both do, albeit perhaps in different ways. And we both are dependent creatures, needing the love & grace of God. And (good news!) we both are able and free to access and further God's grace and love.

From my journal reflections on forgiveness and what I've learned:
~Forgiveness means letting go... of control, of excuses, of the need to be right, of rights, of self-justification, of anger, hatred, holding grudges, judging, and condemning.
~Forgiveness means trusting God... for justice, for mercy, for convicting, for healing, for holding everything together when I'm completely powerless and out of control.
~Forgiveness means acknowledging... God as God; myself as human; myself and other humans as limited and imperfect and sinful, but also as needy, conditioned to act certain ways, yet with potential to change and act differently.

A violation in relationship is also an opportunity - forgiveness allows one person to give grace and another to receive it. And Jesus's teachings (e.g. Mt. 18:21-35) make clear that in order to give grace you have to have received it, and in order to truly receive grace you have to give it.

Thoughts?

I'm guessing someone who reads this might have a question about evil, unforgivable people/acts/situations. Or maybe other more challenging aspects of forgiveness. If you do have ideas about this or any other aspect of forgiveness, please share.

we justice-loving types can have a hard time letting things go. if there's a point to be proven, we're probably the first to sign up. if there's a wrong to be righted, we can't imagine not trying everything in our power to do so. personally, i have a hard time giving an apology without also giving a self-defense. (conversely, sometimes it's tempting to apologize when someone else has wronged me - just for the sake of reconciliation.)
fighting for justice is well and good. but what about when we can't? or, is it possible there are times when we simply shouldn't? where is the line between putting into action the justice we know to be of God... and stepping aside and letting God enact God's own justice?
the words recorded by the prophet are wise, pairing together the imperatives "do justice" and "love mercy." oh yeah, and the third one: "walk humbly with your God." i guess maybe that's the how-to part.

What if I wasn't white?

Did you ever get on a bus and realize you're the only person on it who would be called "caucasian"? That happened to me this morning, which was kind of a surprise because it was the bus stop right by my house. Then I realized that it was a bit after the morning rush, so it made a little more sense why all the "normal, white" city people were absent, and instead there were mothers with babies, some elderly, and various other people, all of other ethnicities, who maybe don't work 9 to 5.  That got me thinking about how I much prefer this kind of setting, as opposed to the business-suit-wearing, all-made-up with dyed hair, downtown-working type of people I sometimes sit among on public transportation. Times like that make me feel some kind of foreign (to me), Type A pressure, and induce in me disgust at the materialistic life I imagine them all to be pursuing. I'd sooo rather be here with people who don't operate on business hours and standards. Times like today's bus ride are highlights, to me, of living in the city. They make me jealous of my new sister, who spent last weekend with me and whom I followed around shopping in stores where she smiled and chattered in Arabic with the women who worked there (who in turn showered her with fashion advice and discounts). I'd barely have the guts to enter some of those stores alone. (I'm working on it, though, because I saw some really affordable clothes in one of them that I want to go back for!:)
Race is a tricky topic. Some may argue that race is not even real, because it's not biologically founded. But even though it's socially constructed, we must not and cannot truly deny that it's real. It affects all of our lives whether we like it or not. However, I still struggle sometimes to talk about issues pertaining to race. Don't want to offend anyone! (Or contribute to problems that already exist.) Even rereading the paragraph above, I feel uneasy about my choices of wording. Reflection on that actually reminds me of another difficulty with the concept of race: In all practicality, when we talk about race/racism - we're really talking about class/classism. Certain people with certain shades of skin color are more often located in certain classes. (For clarification: I'm talking about "socio-economic" class, a.k.a. the classes of our society marked by varying degrees of wealth and poverty.*) But there don't seem to be clear lines connecting race/ethnicity to "racism" (the discrimination, oppression, etc, that people experience). So work toward "undoing racism" is also tricky, because in addition to people's personal experiences of racism based on their physical appearance, other deeply rooted problems must be addressed. For example, the generational-cyclical nature of poverty. Or the ridiculous gap between rich and poor as exemplified by the wages of average company workers versus their CEOs (brought to my attention again recently by this short video).
*If you don't believe in or don't understand the class system in our society, a good starting place is a book called "A Framework for Understanding Poverty," by an educator named Ruby Payne.
And lastly (if you're still reading, bless you)... trying to figure this whole race thing out can be exhausting. I personally have not tried so hard that it's exhausted me, but I've witnessed some people who have. My fiancé is wrestling with the issue in educational settings (like CPE - training that hospital chaplains and other ministerial types go through), as well as within his religious denomination's well-intentioned but discombobulated attempts at racial equality. Sometimes at the end of the day I gotta feel sorry for the guy who has a heart of love for all kinds of people, but carries a huge burden of racism and oppression, in that un-envied position of "white, middle-class male." I've also witnessed students at my internship site face the issue of race from multiple angles - being black but not black enough, being white but too rich, growing up in poverty and being misunderstood, being born in the wrong region of the country and being stereotyped, being biracial or being someone that people just don't understand and therefore not belonging anywhere. The one thing I keep learning is that racism hurts all of us. And it is sad to me. Even as I sit here and wonder what good my own efforts and words can do, and worry about the probably hundred times in this post that I've said something so white or implied something so white or ignored or denied something important simply because I am white. Today, I don't like being white.

"White is the color of fresh milk and snow. It contains all the wavelengths of visible light without absorption, has maximum brightness, and does not have any hue. It is the opposite of black.

According to surveys in Europe and the United States, white is the color most often associated with innocence, perfection, the good, honesty, cleanliness, the beginning, the new, neutrality, lightness, and exactitude."

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White)

Psalm 60

O God, You have rejected us. You have broken us;
You have been angry; O, restore us.
² You have made the land quake, You have split it open;
Heal its breaches, for it totters.
³ You have made Your people experience hardship;
You have given us wine to drink that makes us stagger.
⁴ You have given a banner to those who fear You,
That it may be displayed because of the truth. Selah.
⁵ That Your beloved may be delivered,
Save with Your right hand, and answer us!


God doesn't make sense. Well, life doesn't make sense, and as so many of us believe God is the source of all things, then for us it follows that God doesn't make sense.
God doesn't make sense but God is the only place to turn when life doesn't make sense. (After reading the rest of the Psalm, that's my basic conclusion.)
God is completely outside of our control and God is our only hope.
God doesn't promise anything other than faithfulness, and we don't get to decide what faithfulness is. 
 

(with an "e", of course)

Anne, as in Anne of Green Gables, once said something to one of her pals – Diana, Ruby, I don’t know, someone – about a tree being a poem. What?!? Anne, usually you are pretty entertaining and endearing, but at this point (to my twelve-year-old literary self) you sound just plain crazy. (By the way, I have this theory about people named Anne: They are essential to my life. My mother, for one. My roommate/bridesmaid/gluten-free-baking/ever-sarcastically-teasing friend, for another. Then there was the nurse practitioner who got me Kleenex while I sobbed in the exam room at Loyola’s Wellness Center, and then very kindly and gently led me through the initial diagnosis and treatment of mono. Pretty much, they’re all Saints. Except Anne of Green Gables – she, L.M. Montgomery made clear, is pretty devilish.) But now, years later, recalling that snippet of the amazing, imaginary world that I spent lots of time in with the red-haired romantic Anne, I am kind of starting to “get” what she meant. Because now in my own mind I’m saying that things are other things. That living is a prayer. That forgiveness is an act of worship*. That hospitality is grace. That witnessing and sharing someone’s suffering is holy. So, ok Anne, I guess a tree can be a poem. You stick with sweet, dramatic, poetic things. I’ll dig into more theological things. And we can continue to be friends.

*more to come on this, in a future post

From Christian Peacemaker Teams' "Prayers for Peacemakers" - November 21, 2012
God, be a pillar of nonviolent defense against occupation, apartheid, domination, theft, bombardment, phosphorus chemical weapons, missiles, drones, assassination of journalists, propaganda, home demolition, sexism, racism and despair. Let offenses yield to nationhood, dignity and zealous compliance with the Geneva Conventions in Gaza and everywhere.

Hospitality

I think I've blogged about hospitality before, but the idea came up again recently in a specific way, which I've often thought about but maybe not often articulated: That is, the kind of hospitality that is not reciprocated; it perhaps is not even possible to be reciprocated. I believe this is the kind of hospitality Jesus teaches, saying things like "When you throw a party, don't invite your friends, but invite people who would never be able to throw a party and invite you in return." When I consider my own life in light of this, it challenges me. How much true hospitality do I show, without expecting some kind of return? Sometimes I might do things for others simply out of a generous spirit, but the fact remains that they are able in some way to reciprocate. But how often do I give to those who are not able to do anything at all for me?
Another challenge: How often do I receive such hospitality?
In one of my pastoral counseling classes, a classmate leading a centering exercise instructed us to think of a positive, peaceful memory - a memory of a time we sensed God's presence. Into my mind flashed a picture: A small lake in the middle of a forest, a wooden dock, and me. I remembered with pleasure a time when I dipped my hands into the water of that lake, and some little fish came up to nibble on my skin. More memories of that dear place came to mind, and I was filled with gratitude for the hospitality shown to my family and me when I was a child, by a distant relative who let us vacation at her lake house for many summers. A few days later I wrote her a thank-you note, and it was a note of pure gratitude. I knew there is nothing I can say or do that will ever repay the gift she had given. For a single mom with three kids and a tiny budget, the gift of a place to stay, rest and recreation, and the enjoyment of nature, all of which were formational in my life... that is true hospitality. And it is humbling to receive.
If I draw a connection, and of course I do, between this kind of hospitality and the grace of God, then it is pretty easy to see that grace is effective in us not only when we receive what we don't deserve and can't repay, but also when we allow ourselves to be moved enough by the needs of others that we share our  resources freely. As Henri Nouwen puts it:
"Hospitality is the virtue which allows us to break through the narrowness of our fears and to open our houses to the stranger, with the intuition that salvation comes to us in the form of a tired traveler." 
To be on the receiving end of true hospitality causes me to face the reality of my own needs and confront my own limitations to what I can do for myself or earn from others. It leaves me with a choice to accept and receive, without self-justification or self-condemnation, or to be proud and falsely deny my need and the other's gift.
Likewise, to be open to another's need and to give, with no guarantee of "getting back," requires letting go of a self-reliant security and control, and putting my trust in this very process of giving and receiving - this hospitality without reciprocity, this grace.

"It is time pounding at you, time. Knowing you are alive is watching on every side your generation's short time falling away as fast as rivers drop through air, and feeling it hit.
Who turned on the lights? You did, by waking up: you flipped the light switch, started up the wind machine, kicked on the flywheel that spins the years. Can you catch hold of a treetop, or will you fly off the diving planet as she rolls?
...Knowing you are alive is feeling the planet buck under you, rear, kick, and try to throw you; you hang on to the ring. It is riding the planet like a log downstream, whooping. Or, conversely, you step aside from the dreaming fast loud routine and feel time as a stillness about you, and hear the silent air asking in so thin a voice, Have you noticed yet that you will die? Do you remember, remember, remember? Then you feel your life as a weekend, a weekend you cannot extend, a weekend in the country.
O Augenblick verweile."

-From "An American Childhood" by Annie Dillard

"What does it feel like to be alive?
Living, you stand under a waterfall. You leave the sleeping shore deliberately; you shed your dusty clothes, pick your barefoot way over the high, slippery rocks, hold your breath, choose your footing, and step into the waterfall. The hard water pelts your skull, bangs in bits on your shoulders and arms. The strong water dashes down beside you and you feel it along your calves and thighs rising roughly back up, up to the roiling surface, full of bubbles that slide up your skin or break on you at full speed. Can you breathe here? Here where the force is greatest and only the strength of your neck holds the river out of your face? Yes, you can breathe even here. You could learn to live like this. And you can, if you concentrate, even look out at the peaceful far bank where maples grow straight and their leaves lean down."


-From "An American Childhood" by Annie Dillard

I started (and never finished) writing this back in May. Our beloved sister Ora has since passed away.

There's something humbling about sitting with an older Christian woman who is suffering from cancer (and the horrible effects of cancer treatment), in severe pain, looking back on her life of over 70 years, and looking ahead to an unknown number of days on this earth.
Ora is one of those people that, when you spend time with her, you can tell has seen a lot, been through a lot and just keeps going. She maybe even has a lot she could complain about - but she doesn't. I don't know the details of her story very well - exactly how many children she raised, or grandchildren she guided and guarded, with her prayers and stubborn love - or exactly what types of jobs she worked before I met her, past retirement age, in a volunteer capacity. But I have come to appreciate her in whatever moments we share together, which have mostly been in the day to day tasks of running a food pantry, serving food and dignity to poor families of all kinds.
When I think of Ora, I think of strength, and power, and unfailing persistence in doing right and good. I'm sure many, if not all, who know her would call her a saint, an excellent model of what a woman can be, of who a follower of Christ ought to be. My own saintly mother has expressed how she is inspired by Ora. We laugh about the time a few of us took a prayer retreat, and meek Ora was so overwhelmed with gratitude and honor that we "let" her join us - while we all looked up to her and felt honored that she came! We had so much to learn from her. I still do.
That simple, pure, servant-like spirit still pervades Ora's life. Saturday when I saw her in her home, though saddened to see her weakened body, I was filled with joy just to be in her presence. I felt refreshed by her softly spoken words of welcome, and the thoughtful look in her eyes as she talked about her current situation. She amazed me when she said things like, "Well, here I am. I'm alive another day. I woke up this morning and said Thank you."
After reminiscing about the past 10 years of the Center of Hope's ministry, we prayed together. I'll never forget the words she spoke through her tears: "Thank you, Jesus, for letting me be a part of it."

Dreams and Nightmares

I've had some pretty crazy, unusually vivid and emotionally-compelling dreams lately. I definitely think dreams are connected to "real" life. Dreams are real. Are part of life. Anyway... Pastor Ryan read this prayer by Walter Brueggemann in church a couple Sundays ago and it really resonated with me. It's called "Dreams and Nightmares", from Prayers for a Privileged People.

Last night as I lay sleeping,
I had a dream so fair . . .
I dreamed of the Holy City, well ordered and just.
I dreamed of a garden of paradise, well-being all around and a good water supply.
I dreamed of disarmament and forgiveness, and caring embrace for all those in need.
I dreamed of a coming time when death is no more.

Last night as I lay sleeping . . .
I had a nightmare of sins unforgiven.
I had a nightmare of land mines still exploding and maimed children.
I had a nightmare of the poor left unloved,
of the homeless left unnoticed,
of the dead left ungrieved.
I had a nightmare of quarrels and rages and wars great and small.

When I awoke, I found you still to be God,
presiding over the day and night
with serene sovereignty,
for dark and light are both alike to you.

At the break of day we submit to you
our best dreams
and our worst nightmares,
asking that your healing mercy should override threats,
that your goodness will make our
nightmares less toxic
and our dreams more real.

Thank you for visiting us with newness
that overrides what is old and deathly among us.
Come among us this day; dream us toward
health and peace,
we pray in the real name of Jesus
who exposes our fantasies.

Celebrating St. Thomas, "The Doubter"

Adapted from William Bright, in The Divine Hours: Prayers for Autumn and Wintertime (Phyllis Tickle)

How often, Lord, your face has shone

On doubting souls whose wills were true!

You Christ of Peter and of John

You are the Christ of Thomas too.

He loved you well, and firmly said,

"Come, let us go, and die with him";

Yet when your Easter news was spread,

Mid all its light his faith was dim.

His brethren's word he would not take,

But craved to touch those hands of thine;

When you did your appearance make,

He saw, and hailed his Lord Divine.

He saw you risen; at once he rose

To full belief's unclouded height,

And still through his confession flows

To Christian souls your life and light.

O Savior, make your presence known

To all who doubt your Word and thee,

And teach us in that Word alone

To find the truth that sets us free.