pensieve

there are about 5 things...

2012-01-24T17:15:00.004-06:00

... bumping around up there in my head that I wish I could take the time to work through in the form of a blog. but to pick up last semester's tune, I'm running on about 5 hours of sleep and before tomorrow I'm supposed to have memorized somewhere around 50 Hebrew roots, a handful of verb paradigms, and a hundred cities in the Mediterranean basin and Palestine, read the books of Matthew, Jonah, and accompanying readings (and written some sort of clear and concise summary that thoughtfully engages a central question of the texts), and ... well, no one really cares about all that. you get the idea: the blogging just ain't gonna happen.

but there are a couple of thoughts I can throw out there - (interesting side note, by the way: the Hebrew root yara can be inflected to mean either "throw; shoot" or "teach, instruct" - it's the root that torah, meaning "teaching, law, instruction" comes from. just throwin' some ideas around...)

first, I'm deeply grateful for my instructors this semester. I have an entire crew of thoughtful, caring, and brilliant professors, preceptors, and advisors who are willing to share their time and experience and wisdom with me. I wish I could expound on how and why this has become so meaningful to me, but it's enough to say that their wisdom and knowledge is an incredible gift.

second, I've been doing a lot of thinking about service and belonging as I've been in the process of finding a new church home. is there a place for the church-goer who doesn't know what their gifts are, or what their place in the body is? how do we welcome them and draw them out without defining them by what they can offer? what about those who are too broken and screwed up to be of any use to anyone - for an indefinite period of time? all of these questions, of course, spring from my personal experience and are related to my own sense of belonging and identity - I know that I could make a place for myself almost anywhere if I wanted to be identified by my experience and ability as a musician and worship leader; I could be known and welcomed and accepted and respected. but what if I don't? what if I don't want to be defined and known by my skills/gifts/whatever-you-want-to-call-it? is it enough to just be without doing?

third, I had a conversation with one of the above-mentioned professors this morning that has me ruminating about the ways that the Spirit guides us, and how we often blithely continue to follow whatever we've punched into the GPS instead of allowing the wind to change our course (to use a fairly weak metaphor). what I mean is that I think that God uses our curiosity and interests and the things we're inexplicably drawn to, to guide us - and for me right this moment, that means taking classes and spending my time studying things that I'm completely enthralled with but that I have absolutely no idea how to connect with what I think my life is like, or that, in fact, seem incompatible with my life. I don't have a plan for it. I can't see around the corner, or through the veil, or over the hill, or whatever the metaphor is supposed to be - but that's not a new story, anyway. I do feel the Wind blowing, though, and I'm both terrified and delighted to get caught up in it, and grateful for the council of people who have been charting the waters for longer than I have.

first, let me preface...

2012-01-13T22:01:00.001-06:00

...this by saying that I'm ashamed of myself for this. But I really couldn't resist. In equal proportion to the embarrassment I feel about what is probably a poor decision, every one of these pictures cracks me up every time I look at them, and I couldn't keep it to myself.

Allow me to introduce to you my professors for the semester:

And last but not least,

*every one of these pictures was, of course, obtained illegally. I hope you can forgive me.

rumblings

2012-01-10T07:42:00.000-06:00

Just when you think you can relax in the immediate future being settled upon, comes

shifting
shaking
rattling

or like when the GPS annoyingly says, "Recalculating: ...

or when you suddenly realize that the way you had been thinking just a few short months ago seems inconceivable from your current perspective.

I feel like there are huge tectonic plates shifting in my heart and spirit, and my mind doesn't know what to do with them.

give it time...
time to pray and think...
time to listen...

but it's not time that is peaceful. More like squeezed and heavy and gnawing. Neither thinking or listening seems to be working very well.

I would be so grateful to know that I wasn't praying alone.

to become aware

2011-12-12T21:48:00.001-06:00

... of the ineffable is to part company with words ... The tangent to the curve of human experience lies beyond the limits of language. The world of things we perceive is but a veil. Its flutter is music, its ornament science, but what it conceals is inscrutable. Its silence remains unbroken; no words can carry it away.

Sometimes we wish the world could cry and tell us about that which made it pregnant with fear-filling grandeur.

Sometimes we wish our own heart would speak of that which made it heavy with wonder.

--- Abraham Joshua Heschel

Into Great Silence

2011-11-18T23:15:00.002-06:00

Last week I watched a film titled Into Great Silence, a 3-hour documentary of monastic life in the Grand Chartreuse monastery located high in the French Alps. There is no dialogue, no music, no plot. There are occasional scriptures that quickly appear on the screen, but other than that it is 3 hours of watching monks go about their daily rhythms of work and prayer and sometimes falling asleep at prayer. Part of the assignment was to write a paper reflecting upon my experience of watching the film, an experience that I found particularly difficult to reflect upon. Were there elements of how I experienced the film that are worth taking the time to probe more deeply into? Yes. Were there also things about that experience that are just simply trivial and unremarkable? Absolutely. But while my mostly uninspired experience may make it difficult to write an enlightening reflection paper, I have an inkling that becoming aware of this very ordinariness of the experience may, in fact, be the point.

For about the first forty-five minutes or so of watching the film, I was just annoyed. I was annoyed by all the noises my dear classmates were making – coming in and out (and in and out!) of the equally annoying squeaky door, rattling food wrappers and opening soda bottles and crunching and swallowing and shifting in their chairs. For heaven’s sake, we were watching a silent movie and a room full of adults couldn’t manage to sit quietly?? I was also annoyed that the lights were on (we weren't allowed to turn them off. Something about sleep-deprived graduate students sitting in a dark room watching a silent movie). I didn’t want to be able to see the tattoo on the person’s foot next to me and wonder what her story was, or be unable to ignore the distracting reactions of the people three rows in front of me or the two people nodding off to sleep within my line of sight when I, too, was fighting off sleep. I wanted to sit quietly and be absorbed in the experience of silently watching monks go about their daily business. My own experience, mind you, not the experiences of the chip-crunchers or the power-nappers or the soda-sippers who consequently became the door-squeakers.

Yet it is not lost to me that perhaps communal life in a monastery is one of many of those same sorts of experiences. Mandatory silence and individual cells notwithstanding, the fact of the matter is that this is a community of men living together. They are dependent upon each other to maintain and guard that space of silence. They are dependent upon each other for faithful observance of the communal prayer that is the backbone of their life together. They are even dependent upon each other for the daily necessities of eating and sleeping and woodcutting. This is not a community of anchorites or eremites, and I’m fairly certain that they would be able to find just as many reasons to be annoyed with one another as I could find in sitting in a room with twenty other people for a measly three hours.

Either everyone else gradually settled down or I simply lost interest in my annoyance, because the next thing that I became fixated on was the noises in the actual film itself. I don’t know if this was an intentional production element or not, but it seemed like the noises made as the monks went about their everyday tasks were jarringly resonant – the wheels of the heavy wooden food cart, the slamming of the little doors that food was placed in, the chopping of wood and shoveling of snow and cutting of fabric. There was also a clock ticking in several scenes, which was of great curiosity to me – why are there even clocks in a monastery? The rhythm of a monastery is set by the hours of prayer and marked by the call of the bells, and the insistent ticking of the clock somehow seems like an invasion of the silence - as if exaggerating the passage of time. All of this made me realize how not-silent the film actually was, in contrast to what the title might suggest. I was very aware that the absence of speech does not equal silence, which I suppose says something about the intent of the discipline of refraining from speech – instead of our own voices, we become aware of the sounds of life around us, and perhaps we may eventually even be able to hear the voice of God.

I was also keenly aware of the long shots of individual monks reading and close ups of their ears. I realize this is comical, but it was really a very prominent theme to me as I watched the film. I thought the ears were creepy, and I was annoyed by the fact that silently watching someone else read is a very different experience than being the reader – why did he get to have all these active and interesting thoughts while I was watching this boring movie? It’s possible that this is an absurd conclusion to draw, but I wonder if those ear shots weren’t intended to say something about the relationship between silence and listening. What was he hearing as he read or prayed? What do I hear?

Somewhere around two hours into the film I realized that I had simply stopped thinking about my experience of it. I wasn’t wondering why there were certain elements present in the filming, such as ticking clocks and close-ups of ears. I wasn’t analyzing the way the shots were filmed and what part of monastic life was being portrayed and what that was supposed to mean. I was definitely still aware of the passage of time – it was becoming increasingly more difficult to stay awake and I had to psych myself up to make it through. I don’t know if it was because my mind was getting sleepy or if it was the effect of the film, but the inner voice just gradually faded out and I suddenly realized I had really been experiencing the film, not just thinking about it. I was just sitting and taking it in, and I wonder if this, too, is part of the point of silence within the monastery. Eventually our minds grow weary of the monologue when not given any encouragement, and we might be able to really and truly encounter silence – not only outwardly, but also inwardly. For those of us who don’t find it difficult to refrain from talking, this inward monologue is the great challenge. I can keep myself entertained for a good long time without uttering or hearing or reading a single word, and it was a welcome relief to have a period of silence that was long enough for the chatter to cease and allow me to sink into this deep mental silence.

Finally, back to the ordinariness of my experience of watching the film. I’m not sure what I expected, but it had something to do with insightful observations or revelatory moments or at least a sense of having gained something in the watching. There was none of this. I showed up, I was annoyed, I got over my annoyance, I managed to stay awake, and I went home. And all of those things lead me to think that perhaps this is some small insight into the reality of monastic life. There is prayer, and there is work, and there is sleep, and there might not actually be very many moments of numinous enlightenment or feeling close to God.

But there is faithfulness. You have to show up, and you have to do the work, even if the outcome turns out to be different than what you expected before you began. And maybe on the other side of the ordinariness, carried along by that “long obedience in the same direction” as Nietzsche called it, we will also find that what we didn’t expect is much more extraordinary than what we set out for in the beginning. You just have to show up.

my day started

2011-10-28T15:37:00.000-05:00

at 7:30 this morning with Murphy's Oil Soap and latex gloves, scrubbing down pews and woodwork with 46 other people in Duke chapel.

something like 12 hours later I was there again, this time with over a thousand other people, letting the waves of some of the most transcendent music I've ever heard roll over me and drench that space, soaking into all the crevices of those pews and that stone and my own weariness. I thought about all the voices and sounds that those walls have heard, sound huge enough to fill the vastness of this chapel but not to crush the people making it.

And it was at that point that I realized that the very pew I was sitting in - that I'd squeaked into with a dozen other people who made room for one more - was one that I had cleaned that morning, cleaned with my own hands and my warm soapy rag before all the tuxes and heels made their appearance.

majesty and Murphy's oil.

"come, ye children,

2011-10-25T21:14:00.000-05:00

and hearken unto me//I will teach you the fear of the Lord..."

As he that is fallen into the king's hand for debt to him is safe from other creditors, so is he that fears the Lord [safe] from other fears. He that loves the Lord, loves him with all his love; he that fears the Lord fears him with all his fear too; God takes no half affections ...

Build thy assurance upon the testimony of a good conscience, that thou mayest continue in God's favor, and fearest to lose it. For he that hath no fear of losing hath no care of keeping. Accustom thyself to these fears, and these fears will flow into a love. As love and jealousy may be the same thing, so the fear and love of God will be all one; for jealousy is but a fear of losing ... If there were not a jealousy, a fear of losing God, we could not love him; nor can we fear to lose him, except we do love him ... the love of God begins in fear, and the fear of God ends in love; and that love can never end, for God is love.

- John Donne, "Sermon on Psalm 34:11," 1624

oh well.

2011-10-21T14:42:00.000-05:00

I desperately want to blog.
I also desperately want to go for a run on this beautiful fall afternoon, but we'll stick with talking about blogging for now.

in the first place, it's a great way to process what's been going on in my life, an activity that gets far too little attention other than during the few moments of coherence I can wrangle in the shower (it's the only place I'm unable to be either listening to or reading something, but after a measly few hours of sleep, sometimes even that doesn't work).

it's also a way to chronicle this journey in little cameos of my experiences, of setting up my own little signposts to help me remember how I got here.

unfortunately, it may be Thanksgiving before the time for this illustrious activity can be found. This weekend will find me, instead, writing a paper on Athanasius, spending Saturday morning at the synagogue, and translating fifty Hebrew sentences. and when I get that done, there's next week's homework to start on.

oh well.

today,

2011-09-29T21:26:00.002-05:00

it's enough to say: God bless my Hebrew tutor.

inexplicably,

2011-09-22T15:54:00.000-05:00

today was a great day.

it started out that way, when I woke up at 6:00 feeling fully refreshed with only 6 hours of sleep. this has never happened before.

it continued through my 2 and half hour class, during which we discussed the absurdity of Julian of Norwich and other Christian mystics, including feminist perspectives of them with which I'm terrified. Somehow, I never quite lost sight of the fact that disliking a particular lecture does not mean that the entire graduate school pursuit should be abandoned (this happens to me frequently).

it continued through coffee with the InterVarsity Graduate Christian Fellowship director, which took the place of my usual pre-Hebrew prep time and magically didn't stress me out. it lasted through Hebrew, during which we were all so frustrated that we finally just laughed - out loud. it even lasted through a lecture on Origen's exegetical approach, which I (again, inexplicably) actually understood.

and it continued right through my meeting with the director of the writing center, who reaffirmed my confidence that I can, in fact, put more than three words together at something beyond a 2nd-grade level.

some days are just a pleasant surprise, for no apparent reason. someone must have been praying.

a few things I'm learning...

2011-09-20T20:47:00.000-05:00

...about myself.

as it turns out, this is going to be a pretty integral part of this whole branching out business. I've always known that, really, but I push it to the periphery as often as I can.

anyway, back to what I'm being forced to learn about myself.

- there is nothing glamorous about growth - spiritual, emotional, or intellectual. It's frustrating and painful and when you fight it like I tend to, it can get ugly.

- work is hard. a lot of laziness has crept in to my little life over the last few years, and I have welcomed it with open arms, invited it to stay for dinner, called it endearing things like "rest," and "sabbath," and "intentional." Now, don't misunderstand me - there is a definite time for those things, and the boundaries around them need to be fiercely defended - but you can't declare a Sabbath 8 days out of 7. I've mostly worked at things that I wanted to, for as long as I wanted to, and now that I can make neither of those choices, I resent it. It's hard.

- you know those kinds of people who still believe the truest thing about themselves to be that they were the homecoming queen or the high school quarterback, even though they haven't done anything cool since then? Mhmm. Maybe that's a little dramatic, but there is definitely a little bit of that goin' on here, too.

- you also know those kinds of people who would never admit it, least of all to themselves, but deep down they truly believe that they are as smart as anyone else - well, except for the geniuses? That can become a problem when you find that you've snuck into a school for geniuses. Actually, I also secretly believe most people think they're pretty darn clever.

well, that's enough for now. I'm sure we haven't seen the end of it though, so you'll have something to look forward to...

whew.

2011-09-17T11:01:00.002-05:00

Let me first just say, I'm sorry it's been so long. Truly sorry. I've thought about blogging, wishing I could keep you updated on the mundane details of my new life so we could all keep in touch at least a wee bit, and then when I turned around we were three weeks into the semester! Oh my word.

If I could sum up the past three weeks, one word would suffice: hazing.

It's really the only way I can put into words, any number of words, the incredible amount of work that's been piled onto our heads, truckload after truckload, since before the first day of class (it would seem). Syllabus shock is a mild phrase for the panic that we all felt when, upon receiving our syllabi, we suddenly felt as though we were already behind.

and yes, I say we. For a few days I cultivated the terrible belief that I was the only one stupid enough to presume I was smart enough to be here when I, in fact, was not - those few days were enough to divest me of any sense of pride that would make it necessary to keep pretending that "we're all fine here," so I started to give voice to my panic - tentatively, at first, but it was so well received that I now freely and frequently participate in this cathartic sort of confession. And, of course, I found that my classmates are in the same boat (except for the few that are still pretending. Whatever).

Let me give you just a little picture of what I'm talking about - the past 2 lectures from Old Testament have covered the book of Exodus, which means that we were to have read 20 chapters before each lecture (note that I said we "were to have read"), in addition to the corresponding articles and commentaries assigned to go with them, also in addition to the separate readings and corresponding response paper due each Friday for the precept. This is our normal weekly work, and does not include quizzes, papers, and such.

Hebrew is charging along at a pace that makes me feel that I'm just barely escaping drowning but still as though I constantly have water up my nose, demanding at least a couple of hours every day and extra on Thursday night before the weekly epic of quiz and test taking (I did succumb to taking it pass-fail, which is marginally comforting, but the "fail" element is still a stark reality).

and I have two other classes.

all that is not to complain - truly - because this is work that I enjoy and it is why I'm here. I just didn't expect to feel like I'm not doing my work well so early on, and that is hugely frustrating. I want to read Exodus deeply and carefully, but it can't happen 20 chapters at a time at 11 p.m. I want there to be time to ask questions and follow rabbit trails and dig depth into the breadth, but there is none. I hate that I have to choose between sleeping and getting my work done.

and that is what it looks like when I'm not working and have no family or pets to work into my daily schedule - I'm truly amazed by my classmates who are moms and dads and newlyweds and pastors and soldiers.

speaking of work, though, I need some. I'll be starting a tutoring job one day a week in October, but I'm desperately in need of the Lord to provide me with enough music students to stay afloat; I have a start with one, but it's slow going. and did I mention the part about being desperate?

there is a rumor wafting around the halls of the divinity school that the first-year hazing is an intentional reality, and it will get better next year - we can only hope!

in other news, North Carolina is a lovely place to live. My house feels like I'm in the woods, and I'm less than a mile away from a state park and trails into Duke Forest. For a university city of this size, Durham actually feels relatively peaceful and relaxed, which is good for this country-girl. The friend-making and church-hunting is slow going, but I can be patient for those things to develop. There are many people here who know how difficult it is to be an overwhelmed student in a new city far away from home, so while they may be strangers to me they're not strangers to the challenges of my life, and that is a comfort.

that's some of the news from the east... this weekend will see me attempting to resolve the death of my phone, reading hundreds of pages of Exodus and Leviticus, and writing a paper on Justin Martyr's Dialogue with Trypho. I'd love your help in praying for strength, for a sharp mind and peaceful heart, and new students - lots of students :)

peace.

the first day...

2011-08-30T20:51:00.000-05:00

...is always the true test of whether or not orientation was sufficiently orienting, and I have to say - it was! Here's a quick recap of Day One:

- we're assigned to a spiritual formation group that we will meet with once a week throughout the semester, and that was the first thing on the day's agenda. I'm actually kind of excited that it's the way I'll start out each week, but the jury is still out for me on how this particular group is going to turn out... it felt vaguely like an AA meeting today. Not that I've been to an AA meeting to know what they feel like, but we've all seen them on TV, right? "Hi, my name is Allison, and I'm not a Methodist...."

- next we were required to attend an opening convocation for graduate and professional students, that was really quite a let-down after all the huzzah of orientation. It was fun to watch the professors parade in and out to all seven verses of "All Creatures of Our God and King," though. Did you know there were seven verses to that?!?

- I won't go so far as to tell you what I had for lunch, but suffice it to say that I sat by myself eavesdropping on the returning students' conversations, and came to the conclusion that there are many arrogant students in seminaries. It's really a shame.

- "Introduction to Biblical Hebrew" was fun. There's a good chance it may ruin my academic career, but at least our teacher's fun to look at.

- "Early and Medieval Christianity" is a ginormous class that everyone is required to take, but 1) I love church history, and 2) our teacher is charming. Resolved to get there earlier and sit closer to the front so I can pretend there aren't 150 other students behind me.

I came home to find a mountain of books waiting for me on the front porch, which was by far the most exciting part of the day. Now it's off to read the 27-page syllabus for Old Testament before class tomorrow.... (27 pages?? is that really necessary?!?)

3 thoughts on denominationalism.

2011-08-28T20:22:00.003-05:00

I am about to embark on a course of study at a Methodist seminary. I am not a Methodist. Amazingly, neither of those facts seem to be a problem to me.

it does, however, provide a source of interest as I puzzle over this strange phenomenon known as denominationalism. Identifying myself with a particular denomination is mostly foreign to me, although I could technically be slapped with the label "Evangelical Free." Maybe it's the labeling that I disdain most of all, but I like to think it's a stubborn resistance to parceling off the church into neat packages of who's who and what's what. I don't identify myself as a Methodist or an Episcopal or a Quaker any more than I identify myself as a Republican or a Caucasian or - single. Descriptors can be terribly limiting.

so my first thought, as I find myself among many proud and confident Methodists (and Episcopalians, and Presbyterians, and Quakers... ooh, and there's even a loopy Unitarian - *read* polite nods as smiles fade and everyone wonders, "How did she sneak in?!?" and "I sure hope my face doesn't say what I'm thinking...") is, is there something amiss in just being identified as - a Christian? a follower of Jesus? I'd like to be able to visit any church and feel like an insider because we all came through the water and we all gather at the table. It should be enough.

my advisor is a tall, elegant man with bushy eye-brows and an English accent, somewhere between an ent and an Oxford don. actually, he's much quicker-witted than an ent, now that I think about it. over a group meet-and-greet lunch, he asked us to introduce ourselves and our denominational affiliations/church backgrounds. being about the fourth person to announce that I was non-denominational, he cattily quipped "What, exactly, is the point of being non-denominational? As far as I'm concerned, you're all not-yet-Catholics." (he's a Catholic)

I suppose this could have been offensive, but I thought it was funny. it's true that non-denominational has almost become a denomination, to the point of being ridiculous. it's also true that identifying as non-denominational could be a way of just being non-committal. and I sympathize with him in feeling that we should, really, all be catholics. (small c. but close enough) and I was a little sheepish to have to admit that saying I'm non-denominational is just the easy way out of explaining that there are many streams of faith in my background and in my sympathies, and I'd like to include them all and be limited to none. this was the second thought.

finally, in yet another meet-and-greet in which we were asked to introduce ourselves by denomination, a young Chinese woman who will be a part of our incoming class answered the question by telling us a story. she just arrived here from China 7 days ago, and is living in an entirely new country, with strangers, in order to embark on a journey of theological education with people who - in more than one way - speak an entirely different language than she does. she said that just the day before she had asked her housemate, an upper-classman from the Div school, what all the denominations mean. "In China, we are just Christian. And we stick together." she must have been feeling some of the same oddness of it as I am.

her housemate responded with something or other about how it would make more sense after taking Church History this year, yada, yada, yada.... but then Cho had her own 2 cents to add. in her broken English and through her wide smile, she said that from hearing all of us talk she's beginning to see that our denominations are like our home-towns. it's true that there may be times when we move away from there and take up residence somewhere completely different, but those home-towns have shaped who we are in ways that we can't just move away from. it's a way of saying, "This is how I see the world." it's a way of helping others - because for most of us, everyone is the other right now - understand who we are and where we've come from.

being the sneaky person that I am, I'm still not going to jump on the denominational-identification-bandwagon. but I can be patient with the labeling, because it's not always the limiter I assume that it is. sometimes it might just be someone trying to tell me who they are.

get excited.

2011-08-24T17:16:00.000-05:00

yep. your burning questions about why I chose this particular background are soon to be answered.

first though, Day #1 of Orientation = success! I haven't yet found anything not to like about Duke (well, except for the parking situation - we have trees instead of parking lots, which is beautiful but terribly inconvenient), and finding things not to like is one of my gifts. here are just a few highlights:

- we spent almost the whole day in the chapel, which has vaulted ceilings, beautiful art, and soaring arched windows. I stared at the trees and was entertained by the hourly change in lighting.
- there's lots of free stuff. free jump drives, free tote bags, up to 3,200 pages of printing from free kiosks all over campus (and if you use all 3,200? you ask for more. for free), free software downloads (as in Office 2012 - free), AND free lifetime transcripts. well, unless you need more than 500 in one year. did I mention that it's all free?
- the dean of Duke chapel is from England, and sounds like Colin Firth.
- our spiritual formation director is an Episcopal priest named Liz. she wears a collar.
- last but not least, the food is healthy and delicious. it won't always be free, but at least it is for this week :)

and now, the moment you've been waiting for...

my new bike! with much anticipation and not a little trepidation, this is the year when I am going to attempt to become a bicycle commuter. It's true. I'll let you know how it goes.

writing a non-inspiring post...

2011-08-22T23:04:00.003-05:00

is a very difficult thing for me to do. I've solidly been an epiphany-blogging kind of girl since, well, ever, but with all the branching out these days I'm going to try my hand at a few purely chatty *gasp* posts. There are 2 reasons for this bold, daring venture, at least that I know of:

1) it creates the illusion that after moving 16 hours away from every significant person in my life, I still have friends to talk to
and 2) I like to read other people's chatty blogs. I figure there might be a chance that other people also do.

and oh, I just thought of a third reason:
3) ingratiating myself in your memory :)

all this is to say that I need some outlet for communicating how the past few days have been completely surreal, as though every little step of the move - packing the cars, patting my Jack for the last time, driving away and driving and driving and driving, arriving in North Carolina and taking up residence in a stranger's house - was somehow not completely real, or permanent. the life you leave behind, after living it for so many years, seems as though it will just keep going on forever, and be there for me to come back to when I wake up - as though there isn't someone else living in my house, doing my job, or teaching my students. you don't realize how deeply you've identified yourself with those things until they're all... gone. and you don't know what to do with yourself.

the drive and past couple of days with mom and dad were fantastic, if you don't count the part about me being an emotional basketcase - too much stress and too little sleep is an unfortunate combination in any case, I'm afraid. but my parents?! I've gotta tell ya, they are good ones. I don't remember there ever being another time when I was the only child for them to look after, but besides just being the good protective parents that they are, they are really remarkable people. It was fun to see them in a new environment, where the people that they really are is easier to see through the farmer and school-teacher and overworked-cabin-cleaners that are often more visible... they're amazing. Really.

they headed out this morning, after a fun day and a half of exploring Durham together and doing the parent-required errands. the rest of my day was a solo errand-running, unpacking, organizing, kind of day, with enough triumphant bright spots to almost trump the trauma of being left completely alone in a new city. the Lord has indeed been good to provide a lovely place to live and a gracious housemate/landlady who is a walking encyclopedia of all things Durham. I wish that she knew Jesus though, so pray with me and for me in that.

last but not least, I know you've all been wondering at my choice of new blog template... so stay tuned! the best is yet to come ;)

roots

2011-08-18T12:53:00.004-05:00

root 1 |roōt; roŏt|

the part of a thing attaching it to a greater or more fundamental whole;

family, ethnic, or cultural origins, esp. as the reasons for one's long-standing

emotional attachment to a place or community;

the essential substance or nature of something;

the fundamental note of a chord.

I have decided that there is nothing normal about moving.

I didn't know I assumed it was normal, but since people do it all the time it seems like it shouldn't really be that big of a deal apart from being a way of marking time - you know, as in "We moved here for so-and-so's job," or "We moved out here in the summer of '86," or "My family moved here when I was 12." I guess I thought my extreme aversion to moving was unique or infantile or... I don't know, not normal.

but really. you tear apart your perfectly appointed home to squeeze it into more boxes than you thought you'd need, inevitably damaging or losing some of the things that you carefully wrapped and padded and cushioned, haul it out and in - and in my case out and in and out and in - to a new place, where your familiar things are no longer perfectly appointed and now bearing the evidence of all that out an in-ing. all of this takes time, costs money, and is insufferably exhausting.

not normal.

so, in the natural course of my localized, bucolic mind, I've been thinking about roots. I like them. I like the cool, dark earth that they sink down into to anchor and breathe and exchange life with. I like that the strongest ones grow slowly, in no hurry and with no concern for the progress they make. I like to think of myself as being rooted, deeply, into the community and land and culture that is my home.

but I should back up a bit to tell you that before I started thinking about roots, I'd been avoiding thinking about being rooted. I guess that, along with my assumption about moving being normal, I assumed that my roots had to be chopped up and squeezed into those damn boxes along with everything else, and that was unspeakably depressing. roots die when you do that.

fortunately, a split-second after I reached the point where I could no longer avoid thinking about being rooted, I remembered what roots are for. stability. life. growth. and...

branches. leaves. fruit.

all of these things are free to tower above the cool, dark, earth because of those roots. because of those roots, they can sway in the breeze and shelter birds and turn transparent, flaming oranges and bright spring greens. they can withstand pummeling rain and whipping winds and heavy, wet snows, anchored firmly in place by those roots that will never see the light of day.

I think I'll leave my roots where they are, but maybe it's time to venture up into the branches for a while.

and the winner...

2011-06-10T15:22:00.007-05:00

of this season's favorite

vegetable is: Kale!! hands down.

this is the first season I've tried growing it, and it it truly a marvel... no bugs, no diseases, has withstood temperatures from the 30's to 90's and a spring with more rain than it took to float Noah's ark, and it still looks gorgeous.

even better than in the garden, these hardy little dudes are packed with vitamins and minerals - beta carotene, vitamins K and C, lutein, and calcium, to name a few. and it's sturdy enough that baking, steaming, or sauteing it has little effect on the nutrient value.

try these:

Kale Chips

Wash and tear several leaves of kale into bit-sized pieces, removing stems. Toss in a ziploc bag with a few teaspoons of olive oil, squishing it around to coat evenly. Spread in a single layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet, sprinkle with sea salt, and bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes, or until dry.

the collards are holding their own, too, but I'll refrain from commenting until they make it to tonight's dinner table.

it's officially summer...

2011-06-07T21:53:00.004-05:00

...in my book, that is.

first sunburn: check

feeling as though an afternoon nap and ice cream are more needs than wants: check

almost as many out-of-state license plates as there are cicadas: check

by the way, do you know what the deal is with those noisy little buggers? apparently they only come out every 13 years, and they're certainly making the most of it.

in other news, here's my first little harvest of early things! well, except for the asparagus, which has been putting forth a fantastic effort since mid March. Jack seems to think he's responsible for this crop, but he did nothing to help except bring back the rocks that I threw out of the beds. some help.

on being a courteous shopper...

2011-06-01T00:05:00.004-05:00

since I know many of you are concerned about how best to represent your impeccable manners and consideration of others when shopping in public places, I thought I'd share a few tips I've picked up as the girl behind the counter.

- the merchandise on display is a representation of other identical items to be found in other parts of the store and shelved for your convenience. please make an effort to at least look for those other items before dismantling the display.

- windows, through which you may behold those magical visions of the goods within, are for looking through. they need not be touched, leaned upon, knocked on, or submitted to any other creative form of physical contact. any of these activities may impede the actual function of the window, as stated above.

- if you cannot see the trash can, it is not intended for your use.

- if you cannot see the restroom, it is not intended for your use.

- no, we do not have "heaven is for real." no, I have not read it. no, I do not intend to. and no, this does not reflect upon my view of heaven.

Finally, and most importantly,

- if you cannot read the signs, you should not be patronizing a bookstore.

you have an idea

2011-03-08T22:02:00.004-06:00

...of what the new country looks like. Still, you are very much at home, although not truly at peace, in the old country. You know the ways of the old country, its joys and pains, its happy and sad moments. You have spent most of your days there. Even though you know that you have not found there what your heart most desires, you remain quite attached to it. It has become part of your very bones.

Now you have come to realize that you must leave it and enter the new country, where your Beloved dwells. You know that what helped and guided you in the old country no longer works, but what else do you have to go by? You are being asked to trust that you will find what you need in the new country. That requires the death of what has become so precious to you: influence, success, yes, even affection and praise.

Trust is so hard, since you have nothing to fall back on. Still, trust is what is essential. The new country is where you are called to go, and the only way to go there is naked and vulnerable.

It seems that you keep crossing and recrossing the border. For a while you experience a real joy in the new country. But then you feel afraid and start longing again for all you left behind, so you go back to the old country. To your dismay, you discover that the old country has lost its charm. Risk a few more steps into the new country, trusting that each time you enter it, you will feel more comfortable and be able to stay longer...

- Henri Nouwen, "The Inner Voice of Love"

one foggy night...

2011-01-30T16:32:00.002-06:00

...I was walking the dogs down the lane and heard the geese, very close overhead, calling, calling, their marvelous strange cry, as they flew by. I think that is what our own best prayer must sound like when we send it up to heaven.

And indeed prayers continue and will continue. Mostly my prayers are almost wordless, just a holding out to God of your names, and then I can call on the Spirit, like the geese.

- madeleine l'engle

the women of kenya

2010-12-02T11:32:00.004-06:00

...are planting trees.

Today I learned about a modern-day prophet named Wangari Maatthai, the first woman to receive a doctorate in Kenya, and the shape that justice, truth, and mercy have taken in her life.

After teaching for a while, she began to focus on the actions of the corrupt government, particularly in its alliance with American industries to clear-cut much of Kenya and overwhelm the people with "cash" crops instead of food crops... all of which caused massive soil erosion and even more hunger and poverty. Wangari s one of the wonderful rare folks who doesn't know you can't do the impossible. She hit upon a plan to encourage Kenyan women to plant trees. By now, she has 80,000 women involved in a very strong organization called the Green Belt Movement and together they have planted 20 million trees throughout the land on private property. They are now taking on the government itself. Wangari was herself a candidate for the Kenyan election in 2000 that re-elected the current president Moi, and is also a nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize.

if you have two minutes to click on this link, please do so. It's a happy thing to be reminded that there really are thousands of people working for justice and truth and healing in this world, and especially to be reminded during this season of Advent and the bombardment of commercialization that we face.

it would be even happier if you could somehow get involved.

there's a story told

2010-11-28T23:23:00.003-06:00

...by Madeleine L'Engle that helps to remind me of the beauty of faithfulness.

There's a story of a small village... where there lived an old clock maker and repairer. When anything was wrong with any of the clocks or watches in the village, he was able to fix them, to get them working properly again. When he died, leaving no children and no apprentices, there was no one left in the village who could fix clocks. Soon various watches began to break down. Those whose continued to run often lost or gained time, so they were of little use. A clock might strike midnight or three in the afternoon. So many of the villagers abandoned their timepieces.

One day a renowned clockmaker and repairer came through that village and the people crowded around him and begged him to fix their broken clocks and watches. He spent many hours looking at all the faulty time pieces and at last announced that he could repair only those whose owners had kept them wound, because they were the only ones which would be able to remember how to keep time.

So we must keep things wound: that is, we must pray when prayer seems dry as dust; we must write when we are physically tired, when our bodies are in pain. We may not always be able to make our clock run correctly, but at least we can keep it wound, so that it will not forget.

- from "Walking on Water"

This is one of the things that the liturgy offers to us, if we would accept the gift.

all of my creative energy

2010-11-05T08:23:00.005-05:00

...has been sucked up into this last - and final! - class that I've recently completed. they say, you know, that women can only really do one creative thing at a time (debatable, but I'll let it go for now) - but while my creativity has been unavailable for my own ends, I've been reading the words of another woman whose depth and vision and creativity far exceeds mine. just trying to level it out a bit, you know?

our little $5 bookstore was lucky enough to get one copy of "Send My Roots Rain: a Spirituality of Justice and Mercy," and I was the lucky one to get that one copy. I mostly bought it because there are beautiful tree roots on the cover, in shades of blue and gray. I still don't really know what I'm getting myself into when I pick it up, but let me tell you - every time I sit down with this book it is an epic experience. this morning I was just trying to eat my applesauce and ended up with tears streaming down my face, which should be shocking if you know me at all.

Please. allow me to introduce you to Megan McKenna.

Desperate Countermeasures

talk of war, dropping bombs

nationalistic swords raised and rattling.

a million or more on each side

eyeballing one another through gun sights.

and all caught in between, living on a line

are now running, pursued by terror

leaving all behind.

I rant and rage. Fidget, and am frustrated.

I would fling flowers wet with dew

into the world's tense faces.

I would haunt their dreams with images

and wild yearnings for peace

so that they'd wake weeping in their need.

I would send birds from exotic shores

mad with colored feathers.

and drop notes of paper that when touched

exude a perfume that stunned into stillness.

I'd find a million or more sets of childrens' eyes

to stare wide open into each face

that wielded a gun.

they'd have to yield

or I'd pray they would forget

everything but their first loves,

and off they'd go searching,

dropping their defenses

their arms open wide.

and then they'd only tell of wonder

and of making love

and all the borders and lines

would blur leaving only vague traces

as birds flying across the ordinary blue sky

pursued only by the clouds.

failing all this

I'd rouse the old magic

and turn them all to trees.

two forests facing each other

soon, soon becoming one great green wood.

with a bent branch I trace the old script on the ground,

willing the words back into the world.

THERE SHALL BE PEACE

ONLY PEACE

PEACE.