Falling Short

Wiser? Or just older?

2008-08-16T22:55:00.001-07:00

I've been writing blog entries a lot in my mind lately. I didn't realize until I finally logged in tonight, that I haven't actually published one for over a year. It is cliche to ask where the time has gone, but I really can't say. I know from looking back on past entries that I'm still much in the same place, treading water I suppose. Still reeling a bit from God, living at arm's length for fear some action of His "goodness" may actually wipe me out. But still not ready to let go of Him. Of the possibility of a close relationship again. Of the possibility that I might really come to trust and depend on Him and give Him my heart without reservation, and in spite of the very likely reality that, in the process, I will hurt and even feel the loss of some of my more cherished idols. And even possibly be sent to Africa as a missionary.

I am still single. The last thought in my mind every night as I go to sleep is inevitably, "I can't believe I live in this house all alone." I'm still hoping my singleness might change, but then again, it's hard to hope. I had a conversation with a dear and saintly friend tonight who basically believes I am the one putting up the walls that keep me alone. I can't say she's wrong, but I'm not sure how to stop doing it. It's something to think and pray on, at least.

I am changing jobs, but still in teaching. I'll be at a new high school and starting a new program. I'm excited in the sick sort of way you get when something has a lot of potential and you are afraid you may be the only pitfall.

The biggest change for me lately is that I seem to have become a very active and fervent agnostic when it comes to church-going. I don't have a church and am really tired of looking for one. I can't seem to find a place that can really compete with staying home in my jammies and watching "Sunday Morning" with Charles Kerault. (Yes, I know, I'm OLD!) I keep hoping to find a church that really communicates joy and authenticity. And if they happen to be Christian, that would be a bonus at this point....

So why am I writing tonight? Especially in light of the fact that I'm pretty sure no one is out there to read this? I guess it's a good question. I could certainly journal privately. That probably even makes more sense. But I guess there is a part of me that hopes for connection through writing. Even the mostly self-indulgent type of writing this is. So I thought I'd start again.

I first called this blog "300 words," from Anne Lamott's idea that a writer should do at least three hundred words a day. I think the current title is far more accurate. I am falling short - in the writing department and pretty much every other one I can think of, at least at some point in my life. And even though I am holding Him at bay, and even though I am a disobedient, mopey, and selfish child, I'm thankful still that God chose to substitute His holy life for mine.

Walking on Cannon Beach

2007-08-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

Last month, a friend and I took a trip to Oregon. I've been wanting to visit for a long time. Seems like I keep reading about it and meeting people from the area. So finally I found a willing traveling companion and we took off.

I quickly learned that a week is not nearly enough time to spend in this beautiful area. I think I need at least a week more in Portland and a couple of more exploring Oregon and maybe heading down to Northern California. Maybe next summer. While on the beach in a lovely little town called Cannon Beach, however, I got to live out one of my adolescent fantasies. If you're of a similar age, you probably know the one. It's born of one of those "Love Songs of the Seventies" compilation album commercials. In it, a lovely woman (with long blond hair, of course), walks along a windy beach. She's wearing jeans and one of those nubby white fishermen's sweaters - probably her boyfriends. The commercial cuts between scenes of her walking and looking into the surf to shots of her sitting on rocky outcroppings staring out into the surf. Depending on the commercial, she may even ride a white horse bareback at sundown as she stares off into the surf. Her true love, of course, is not present, but in his absence, he is palpable. As our heroine stares into the surf, she remembers his strong arms and tender caresses and.... oh, where was I?

Well, this particular commercial image somehow implanted itself in my prepubescent brain as the epitome of romance. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention to the fact that the woman is ALONE. Might have changed my whole life. But still.

My situation wasn't a complete mirror of my beach fantasy stroll. I don't have long blond hair. I was wearing a blue polka dot sweater instead of the cool fisherman's one. And there is no strong-armed, tender-kissing man I was missing (well, not a specific one anyway.) But the longer I live, the more and more I see God redeem dreams and desires long forgotten and pushed aside.

I set out that morning on a walk to the iconic Haystack Rock, which was up the beach a ways. I was lucky enough to get there at the end of high tide. I got to walk around among the tide pools and look at sea anemones and starfish. The sun was high, but it was still a misty, cold day and the rays through the clouds were golden. I poked around for a while and decided to head back to the hotel for breakfast.

As I walked along the beach, the wind was blowing in off the surf, the mist and breeze tangling up my hair. As I looked out at the waves rolling in, the sudden thought of the compilation album commercial played in my head. All I needed was a Leo Sayers song to start playing somewhere. Unfortunately, I can't remember any of Mr. Sayers many hits, however, so I substituted an Air Supply medley instead. I started to laugh as I realized that even this silly little fantasy I had when I was nine or ten mattered to God. He brought it into being and then brought it back to my mind to remind me that he cares. Nothing, no desire, no prayer, no tear is wasted on our loving God.

Catching Up

2007-01-29T18:51:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling excited a lot these days! (You know, it's funny just how unnatural that exclamation mark felt). Lots of things playing zing with my heart. Some deep stuff that God finally seems to be getting into my head and heart, like just how much stress it saves me when I don't just say every little thing that comes into my head. Or that waiting for the right time is better than forcing the issue. Or that being single may just be the thing I should be most thankful for since it gives me lots of freedom and the ability to engage in things I'm passionate about without having to stop and make somebody dinner.

I'm also happy about some upcoming times. A birthday party for one year old Joachin Perez, a little boy who I joined my friends Kara and Ram in praying for last year at this time, little knowing his birth and adoption were right around the corner. My friend Pammy is having a b-day, and I'll finally get to meet her new friend Sergio. There's a Todd Snider concert next week (actually three, but I've determined that one late night school night is about all I should reasonably attempt). There just seem to be lots of reasons to be thankful these days.

I was listening to a Don Miller message the other day. My former future husband was talking about how our lives are like stories. We need to see ourselves as the characters in our own lives and ask what God would have us do. We should live with grand purpose in mind and understand that conflict is what a good story is all about. We shouldn't be surprised when our lives wander off in a different direction than we had thought they were going - interesting and compelling characters do that.

I feel like I'm largely still trying to figure out what my story is about. I realized recently that I've spent most of my past years trying really hard to please the "authority" figures in my life, from Dad on down. After a year or so of a break from the last place this was largely in play, my old church, I'm finally less of a pretzel and more of a, well, pretzel stick, I suppose. In other words, although I'm no longer bent out of shape, I'm still not sure that I'm fundamentally any different. I keep trying to remember my dreams from long ago, but I can't. The only thing that I can vividly remember is how I wanted to be a lawyer and judge after reading back-to-back biographies of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Richard Nixon. OK, it was pre-Watergate, so cut me a little slack!

I don't know what dreams God has put inside of me, but I want to find out. I want to listen to my heart in a way that I haven't before and be willing to risk disappointment and hurt to pursue them. I want to build my hope muscle and my faith muscle and learn to trust God - not that he will act as I want him to, but that what he does is Good, so I'm OK no matter what the outcome. I ask God to grow the hunger inside of me to know him and help me not be able to ignore his voice when I hear it.

Beginning a new year...

2007-01-01T09:42:00.000-08:00

I woke up to the alarm this morning at 6 AM. Nina Totenberg was telling me that twelve people have died in the past weekend due to ice and snow in Colorado. I quickly turned off the radio alarm and went back to sleep. The perfect beginning to a new year?

Last year, I promised myself no more New Year's parties until I had someone to kiss at midnight. Otherwise, it just feels so forced and fake. Actually, in this past year, I've come to realize that I'm the one who felt forced and fake - because I've been lying to myself and so many others for so many years about what I really wanted, I suppose. I'm reading a book with an embarrassing title right now (no, I won't say what it is, but the subtitle is "Trusting God with a Hope Deferred"), and the writer talks about how we sometimes we start in a place of honesty with God, asking for a desire we have. That desire is almost always good and created by Him, but somehow, along the way, we become convinced that it needs to be fulfilled in a certain way. And then we close our hands over it and make a fist - holding tight to our own vision of fulfillment and alternately begging and blaming God for not fulfilling it. We become the bridezilla of Christ.

That picture certainly describes me during 2006. In a lot of ways, it was a tough year. I spent time learning to cope with Carie's loss, with the loss of my grandmother and with the loss of my church and so many relationships there. This past summer, during which I'd hoped to do and see so much, ended up with me sidelined with an injury to my foot, physical therapy and instructions to stay inert. I got digital cable and spent a month or so in a haze of home improvement and cooking shows, which really wasn't what I'd hoped for. Then, this fall, with all of the tragedy at our school, a lot of tension and pressure on the job, my mother's health crisis - well, it's just been downright eventful. In the middle of this, I've felt incredibly alone. I've really begun to feel the loss of my old church. Not that I feel like I should go back there, but more the sense that I lost a part of my identity when I left there. I thought I knew where God had called me and what I was supposed to be doing in ministry. I'd even hoped to be working in ministry full-time by now. Now, I feel at a loss. The passions I'd been able to engage in at that church are pretty much unheard of elsewhere. I haven't found a creative community with which to engage. And I miss it far more than I ever thought I would.

I miss wanting to go to church. I miss having a sense of purpose and direction. I miss feeling like I had a calling on my life from God. I suppose I still do. I guess we all have a calling of some sort, but I feel like that is one of the things I lost this past year and I don't know how to find it again. And tied into all of this is unhappiness at being single at my age. I've approached God, especially this last year, with a combination of incredulous entitlement and wounded uncertainty. One of the things I realized in 2006 is that God's goodness and my perception of goodness don't necessarily match up. Sometimes the good things that God does feel painful to me. Seem senseless to me. It is a matter of faith to continue believing God is really good and in control, but I haven't always approached it that way. As I look back, I realize this last year has involved a lot of lip service on my part as I said, "Yes, God. You're good and in control," while I very carefully protected my heart from Him. I acknowledged His goodness without believing in it, and the past year of anger, frustration, and distance from God have resulted.

This year needs to be different. I need to open my heart to God in a new way. I know that it may be good for me to live as a single woman. I know it may be right for me to stay in a job that is difficult, in a church that is unfulfilling, in a life that falls short of my dreams. Because it may be that in the midst of the pain and frustration and downright boredom, God can shape me into his own image in ways I would never allow him to if I came into possession of all of my dreams. It may be my role to stand by and watch others receive or achieve the things I've dreamed of. And if it is my role, it will not feel good, but it will be Good, because God will have his way with me. But I cannot go into that prospect in anyway other than abandon. I know now, that resignation is a spiritual death sentence. I need to go in to everything, even disappointment, with a full heart and honesty. I need to be willing to cry before God, to wail and scream if necessary. To beg and plead and cajole and even bargain, knowing full well that the Almighty will have his way, and whatever it is, it is Good. And in that more honest place with God, as I open my fist over the dreams and desires I've been strangling, I think I'll find God's goodness in a very real way. In a deeper and more lasting joy than I would have felt over the satisfaction of what is ultimately a momentary desire.

I enjoyed my new year's eve last night, which was just a low-key celebration with a friend. Maybe next year or in years to come, though, I'll enjoy going to a New Year's party because I'll be able to accept it for what it is, not place my own fisted expectations on it. I'll not feel like it is a celebration of my own failures because I am not kissing anyone at midnight, but instead I'll be able to enjoy the company of those around me. And maybe even help someone else who is feeling alone and unloved know the truth. Know that, in all things, God does work for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

Lobotomy & the Social History of Food

2006-10-22T19:19:00.000-07:00

Well, I finished The Lobotomist. One bad thing about reading a book about drilling into people's brains is that it is difficult to find people who are willing to talk about the topic with you. Especially when you get to the transorbital part - that's the entering through the eye socket with a pick part. It did lead to an odd discussion with my mother and sister-in-law about trepanation, the practice of drilling through the skull to "free" your mind. By the way, the International Trepanation Advocacy Group (http://www.trepan.com/) is looking for some folk who'd like to undergo voluntary trepanation as a way of "evolving." Hope that works out for them.

So, having poorly followed the suggestion of Don Miller, too-cool-for-church writer dude, into the muddy waters of brain surgery, I have found my next book to read. First, I've been on something of a book-buying binge of late. I'm thinking I may need a voluntary fast from Amazon for a while. I have numerous options at my fingertips. I have several more books DM suggested - books I accurately remembered and purchased, mind you. I have several books that promise to tell me how to be a completely fulfilled single person, which is a topic I desperately need sound advice on. It's been a tough few weeks of feeling very lonely. But somehow, I'm pretty sure these books are really going to either tell me nothing or tell me everything I've been doing wrong. I'm feeling a little fragile for that right now. I started reading Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire. I have thoroughly enjoyed his other fairy tale offerings, especially Wicked, but I'm feeling like I need to reread it before I'm really ready to read the sequel.

So what has finally made the bedside table? A book I've been dying to read: The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Last summer, I read The Botany of Desire during a family trip to the beach, which completely mystified my family. ("You're reading a book on potatoes and tulips? Why?") I found it completely fascinating. His thesis is essentially that these particular plants (potatoes, tulips, apples, and marijuana) have tapped into particular desires in people that have allowed them to propagate beyond what they naturally would have done on their own. Pollan's latest book is a social history of several meals. I've only read through the introduction so far, but the book appears to take the growing of corn through its eventual fate as part of a Happy Meal in its first section. Later sections examine "organic" farming and what that really means and a kind of "back-to-nature" approach in which Pollan makes his own meal only from food he has found or killed himself.

In the introduction, Pollan asserts that we Americans have a national eating disorder. He cites the bread-phobia of recent Atkins persuasion and the wild swings we seem to go through as we label certain foods "bad" or "unacceptable." As a current (and probably forever) dieter, I'm fascinated by this idea. I know that I don't do myself any good when I decide that some foods are bad and rule them out completely. I'm setting myself up for a fall. But there are foods that are just a bad idea pretty much all the time. And foods I know I can't eat- I can't even have in the house. For some reason, one of those foods for me is the Pop-Tart. Iced brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts, to be specific. For some reason, pop tarts are a total trigger for me. I'll eat a box in two days. I've had to come to the conclusion that they simply can't be in the house.

I know moderation is the key in all things. Unfortunately, I've been rather "moderate" about staying on Weight Watchers this weekend. I decided I didn't want to "count" this weekend. But I know I've got to get with it again this week. I also haven't been to the gym in two weeks. It's just been so stressful with so many hours needed at school of late, but things finally seem to be settling down, so maybe this week will be better. At least, according to Pollan, I'm in good company with my "issues."

I've been promoted!! And demoted!!

2006-10-11T19:39:00.000-07:00

I got to play at being a school administrator this evening. Our school has two open "principal" positions and our head principal asked if a few people could help cover some of the after school activities. So I got to be one of the "administrators on duty" at our 7th grade football game tonight. What does that entail? Mostly walking around with a walkie talkie and occasionally saying things like, "Toni, what's your location? I copy that" to the other admin on duty. FUN!

Still, after getting home at 9pm, it makes me even more amazed at all our administrators do for us. I can't imagine doing that week in and week out! And I'm glad I don't have to.

Oh, and we lost. Really badly. No glory for the 7th grade tonight.

Why I am reading "The Lobotomist"

2006-10-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

What I'm Reading Now...

2006-10-08T21:34:00.000-07:00

How I came to read The Lobotomist by Jack El-Hai is a classic story, really. It basically goes like this:

Girl meets intellectual idol (also a total hottie). II recommends girl read about brain theory. Girl scours bookstore for book on brain. Girl finds finds book on Walter Freeman, creator of the lobotomy. Girl somehow thinks this book will shed light on II's theory that human brain structure mirrors the holy trinity. Girl was wrong. Furthermore, girl buys book and risks chasing away even more future relationships by being seen reading book on lobotomy at Starbucks. Things not turning out as girl hoped, but she now knows about a medical procedure that may help her if things keep going in this direction.

So, I'm about a hundred pages into this book about the man who created the lobotomy. I'm just getting to the drill-right-through-to-the-brain good part. It is amazing to me, however, just how cavalier these early researchers were about chopping up the gray matter. I suppose I ought to be grateful that they learned all they could from these horrifying experiments, but reading about doctors randomly removing parts of the brain just to see what would happen is truly frightening. Somehow, so far, the stories that have bothered me most are about the medical experimentation on chimpanzees. That may be a sign of my own bias toward the furry and cuddly, but it just seems so wrong to experiment on truly innocent beings. I guess that's my post-modern sensibilities being applied to an earlier time and place, however.

The descriptions of various mental deficiencies and brain injuries don't explain, however, what possessed me to purchase AND read Mitch Albom's For One More Day. I bought it at WalMart, no less. How suburban can I be? Well, apparently quite suburban. At least I didn't cry as I read it, though. This book is very much in the style of his other tear-jerkers Tuesdays with Morrie and The Five People You Meet in Heaven. I think the fact that Albom is a sports writer should have been a signal to me that the emotions might be a tad heavy-handed. And I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to get from this book, since much of the main character's sense of peace came from a revelation about his father that would never have happened during life. It took a day of hanging out with his long-passed mom to finally gather the clues that made him a better person ever after. I know I'm sounding pretty harsh on the book. Of course, that won't keep him from selling millions, nor should it. I bet lots of people will read One More Day and immediately go tell someone they love them. The afterglow will last for literally minutes. Sorry, I'm in that kind of mood. (Mad over the success of people who actually work for it, I guess.) At any rate, I'll put it in my classroom library. My eighth graders will love it.

Back to the lobotomy factory...

Thinking of Grass

2006-10-08T16:41:00.000-07:00

This weekend has been a schizophrenic one. After a week of what I call "extreme reality," I ended up doing something uncharacteristically spontaneous and meeting me own personal idol, Donald Miller. I'll post the evidence later. It was fun and exciting to meet him, even though, or maybe especially because, we had to "crash" a conference for Christian youth group leaders to do it.

The whole thing felt strange because, usually, I'm such a rule follower that I never would have just walked into a conference without registering or at least seeing if it was OK for me to come. But when my friends Laurie and Judy proposed going, I knew I wanted to. I've wanted to meet Miller for a long time and had even prayed about it, knowing that he would be in town this weekend. I even got to ask him a question at a Q&A and get my book signed. A nice payment for my lawless behavior!

The "extreme reality" I referred to earlier has me thinking about the way I'm living life. It's been all over the news that an assistant principal at my school died in a mysterious fire this week after some allegations were made that he had been inappropriate with a student. This situation has been and will continue to be really hard on the students, teachers and especially the admin staff at my school. The kids are sad and angry, too, that the reputation of someone they loved and respected is being attacked. I feel the same way. In the middle of the afternoon on Friday, though, my attention was diverted elsewhere, as I received a call that my mother had been taken to the hospital with heart problems. She's doing OK and will likely recover just fine, but the prospect of her being seriously sick on top of all I've been dealing with with my kids just about put me over the edge.

As I sat in the convention center last night, a fraud among a group of ministers, one of the worship songs and some recent studies in Daniel came together. The song was "Arise" by a Christian due called Shane & Shane. The lyrics go like this:

arise and awaken
He is king
He is king
arise, my soul awaken
all flesh is grass
surely fading (fast)

oh soon, it's all gone, we'll fly away
oh soon, it's gone, it's gone

You are the maker, life sustainer
everything comes and everything goes
when you give the word of mercy, oh lord
satisfy, You and i

arise my soul awaken
that i might see
and be happy all my days
how long will there be mourning?
return to us
return to us

As I sang these words, I kept being reminded of Daniel in exile - watching leaders rise and fall; watching his own personal fortunes change with the winds as one empire tumbled and another came in, and his personal faith in the midst of it all as he understood that God was in control. Not Nebuchadnezzar or Balshazzar or Darius or any other leader of any other empire.

My thoughts inevitably drifted to our principal, Mr. Ramirez. In a space of less than twenty-four hours, he went from a position of irrefutable respect as an educator of honor and compassion to a man under suspicion of a horrible crime. In a space of a few mintues, he was lost to us in this world, gone and never coming back. His horrifying situation reminded me that my life is like grass - transitory and short-lived. At any moment, I could lose all that I hold dear - family, friends, my job, my reputation, my life - and there's nothing I can do about it. And yet...

What is the "and yet"? What is the answer that makes this situation bearable? Or even better, what was it that caused my heart to worship in the midst of this realization as I haven't for many months. The answer is, of course, in the Bible. Psalm 103:15-18 says:

15 As for man, his days are like grass,
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
16 the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more.
17 But from everlasting to everlasting
the LORD's love is with those who fear him,
and his righteousness with their children's children-
18 with those who keep his covenant
and remember to obey his precepts.

What can make me worship in the face of the tenuous nature of life? That God isn't. That God is eternal and loving and most amazing, that He loves us and takes care of us no matter what. It is the realization that I am created for that relationship and no other that makes me happy to be living like the grass, green and free and, yes, very temporary in this world. Walt Whitman wrote this about grass:

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

It is a truth worth remembering: to die is different from whan any one supposed, and luckier. And I am more grateful than my control-freak heart had imagined that all is within my Lord's hands.

Life Change, Week 1

2006-09-11T16:12:00.000-07:00

I had a doctor's appointment recently that I'd been dreading. I know he'd comment on my weight. I knew he'd ask me what I'd been doing to exercise and get healthy. I knew I didn't have any kind of good answer.

So after the gruesome tete-a-tete, I made a vow to change my life! Seriously, to make those kinds of small changes that add up over time to make you into a marathon-running Heidi Klum look-a-like. So last Thursday I joined Weight Watchers. Nothing like weighing yourself in front of total strangers. Well, actually there's something better. Weighing yourself in front of a co-worker you see everyday.

Then today, I joined the Ladies Workout Express. It's an institution apparently founded and quite stuck in the eighties, down to my hot pink and turqoise logo'ed t-shirt. But it has the advantage of being right next to work, cheap and chicks only. My friend from work, Amber, and I joined together and endured our first workout together. It wasn't easy for me, but I made it and I'm only slightly in pain. Right now at least. But I did find something even more embarassing than weighing in with a co-worker. Yes, that would be exercising with some of my students and their moms. Yikes. I left the stretch room a little early rather than continue to "hang" with a student in my 7/10th period block.

So far, life change has been OK. I'm on plan and even avoided eating yummy muffins today. Hopefully, I'll be seeing a little more Heidi in myself soon.

Settled, unsettled

2006-09-10T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today it occured to me that I finally feel settled after a few months of not really having my bearings. I found a church I am beginning to love, and this morning found a Sunday morning class that really felt like home. I suppose it's mighty subjective of me, but what I've been looking and hoping for as I've been searching for a new church is a place that felt like home. There's some sort of feeling I get sometimes - it's not really familiarity or comfort. More like a feeling of acceptance and hopefulness. It's usually a very good sign when I feel it. I knew as soon as I walked into Grace Covenant Church that it was home, but I was eager to find a smaller group that I could connect with, and this morning I think I found that. The class is diverse and loving and seems to have a lot of fun. I'm looking forward to getting to know everyone there.

I keep praying that God will finally finish these "unsettled" feelings I have - all associated with my old church. All the scraps and leftovers of hurt, frustration, and anger. An unresolved relationship that will probably remain that way. Confusion over how very differently we can each see the world and still be brothers and sisters in Christ. It's the same old stuff I've been writing about for over a year. I'm tired of it. I want it to be over. I want to move on. But finding a new church that I really love seems to bring a lot of it up to the surface again. I spent almost a year at a different church and honestly looked at it like a job. I never gave my heart to it. Now that I want to again, I can't help but remember just how badly it can hurt when things go wrong, when relationships go bad. It hurts to care again.

The body of Christ is the most beautiful institution ever made. It is other-worldly and supernatural. It is the bride of Christ. It is also an imperfect institution, full of sinners, full of the hurting, full of agendas and power plays. It can be so ugly and unspeakably beautiful. And the truth of it is, if I don't accept the ugliness--and my part in making it ugly--I can't know the beauty either. The words of Christ are full of paradoxes. Perhaps my feelings of being home and being on edge are another paradox in the reality of walking Christ's path.

Out of It

2006-08-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

Out of steam.... out of commission.... out of the groove...

It's been months since I've written, and even that was "forced" out of me in a writing seminar I was taking. Today I started back to school and realized that the summer is truly over, with very little to show for it. I joke with friends that I spent this summer perfecting my cat impersonation - napping daily in warm, sunny spots - but its kind of depressing to get to the end of two months off and not really have gotten much out of it.

I'm excited about the upcoming school year, and scared at the same time. Seems like every year, I start off with this kind of double-sided excitement/terror. Lots has changed this year, but then how much can really change in one year in a middle school classroom? Middle school is still and always a study in contradictions. Maybe that's why I like it so much.

Well, I don't have much to say right now. I'm doing some studying for my final seminary course and want to share some of that soon. But not right now. It's still percolating. And I've got nothing profound to say, tonight. I guess I just thought I'd better check-in with my blog - and anybody else out there....

Oasis

2006-06-06T17:06:00.000-07:00

Oasis

She was the only one who kept notes
As if this was a normal meeting.
Always efficient,
Always the assistant.
Did the waiter think he was taking a tourist picture,
or just some random, nameless celebration?
Gay's homemade blackberry cobbler fought
for space on the table with nachos and Oasis cups.
Someone had a margarita. Note: make sure it's not on
the church's tab.
Looking at the camera, Carie's lips smiled,
if not her eyes.
Did anyone else realize, she wondered, that their smiles
were for memories, not for blue skies outside the window?

A Path of False Promise

2006-04-30T16:43:00.000-07:00

I set off down a promising path with a light breeze blowing the sunshine around and through my hair. Although another group at the retreat had headed off for a hike, I chose a more solitary ramble instead. Hikes are sweaty and strenuous and you never know if rock climbing may be involved. They are sport. They are exercise.

Rambles are slow, gentle and completely without physical challenge. They involve butterflies and flowers and frequent stops in the shade to study a peculiar rock or the pattern of bark on a tree. They do not involve sweat, heavy breathing, or anything remotely close to exercise. They are useless and glorious all at once.

Rambles most often involve paths of some sort. I like paths. There are few surprises on a path. Paths are even and well-maintained, leading from point A to point B, or at least a planned meander. Paths have edges and sometimes actual curbs to keep you from straying off into "nature" and to keep nature from imposing itself on you. Paths represent order and comfort - a sense of purpose and clear, concise direction.

As I took off on my path, I was enjoying the effects of the previous night's rain. A cactus had a beautiful purple blossom opening on it. Down a hill, away from my line of vision, I could hear a creek rushing. Everything felt fresh and new, and the path I had chosen had a lot going for it. It was not too rocky, but not muddy either. There was a broad curb along the edge that kept cedar trees from venturing out and getting in the way. But as the path went on, it turned rocky and uneven. There were pieces of PVC pipe and glass from beer bottles littering the ground. Finally, the path stopped altogether at the edge of a rocky outcropping. No view. No bench. The path simply stopped, short of its promise. I'd picked a path to nowhere.

I was thinking about heading back and looking for another path when the sound of the stream stopped me. If I looked, beyond the branches of several cedar trees, I could just a make out a small view of the little river. I pushed in a little farther, hesitating with my toes at the edge of the curb and I saw, halfway down the gentle slope, a large flat rock - a perfect place to sit and write. Carefully, I pushed between the branches and found my footing down the hill side. Once I had to grab onto a branch as the rocks underneath me started to roll. When I reached my rock, I suddenly remembered that rattlesnakes like to lurk near shady rocks like this one. I checked thoroughly and sat down. My willingness to get off the path gave me a seat on a damp rock with a couple of tree branches persistently sticking in my side. And I must admit that thoughts of the camouflage capabilities of snakes kept coming to mind.

After I settled my perhaps realistic fears, though, I took some time to look around. The stream was rushing, with impromptu waterfalls in several places. Across the stream, some tall green grass looked like rushes. Sitting in the dappled sunlight, I felt at peace and happy. I wrote for a while, and actually felt my anger and frustration over a long-nursed wound begin to evaporate. For the first time in a long time, I felt like myself, no longer striving or grieving. Contentedness. What a wonderful trade off for leaving the comfort and false promise of my chosen path.

The Power of Fortune Cookies

2006-04-18T15:51:00.001-07:00

In the interest of full disclosure, I'm writing this as I'm waiting for Chinese food. With the MooShu Pork and dumplings will be an oracle - yes, a fortune cookie. I somehow have become captivated by these little messengers from the unknown and distant future. As I break open the bland, crispy outer shell, I feel a little tingle of hope. What will this one say? Will it promise me wealth? Health? A new job or a cutie-patootie husband and 1.5 perfect little kids?

Well, on March 30, I got one that promised me that, "The coming month will bring winds of change to your life." Cool! I've always felt a special affinity for April, no matter what T.S. Eliot says, so this fortune seemed especially auspicious. I was excited to have a happy memory of change to overwrite a blow up that happened at my former church last year, starting on April 1st. I've spent most of the last year trying to get over that and find my way within the world of church. My relationship with Christ was never threatened, but after all that happened, it left me wondering about the purpose and need for church. And I've been trying to recover from anger, hurt, and the loneliness of losing a group of people I'd been connected to for ten years.

Unfortunately, my fortune seems to have actually been referring to something way too familiar. Last week, completely out of the blue, the pastor of my new church announced he was resigning. The church has been limping for a while and, under his leadership, has begun to come around again. I respect and love him and was truly looking forward to building our arts team and the church up again. It seemed like things were looking up.

Apparently, they weren't for him, though. The pressure must have just been too much, and he made the decision to leave - very suddenly and without giving our church many options. In the position our church is in, all bets are pretty much off. If it survives, it will be a radically different church. And being in the emotional place I've been in all this year, I'm honestly not up for the extraordinary efforts it will take to keep things going. So now, I'm looking for a new church, too.

Well, at least I know I "should" look for a new church. The truth is, I now understand why so many people are interested in God, but not in church. It's a rather trite but true saying that churches are organizations filled with imperfect people, but I'm wondering these days if it goes much further than that. I guess I'm wondering if churches aren't more disproportionately filled with hurt and damaged people - people with agendas - people who want to control and dominate - or be controlled. And somehow, it feels right to me that they should be filled with hurt and hurting people. But when do we get healed? And when do we stop hurting each other and messing up each other's lives?

To be honest, this whole church explosion, while really destructive, hasn't really touched me emotionally. I do not kid to say that my heart was crushed at my last church and it wasn't truly together enough for me to give it again. Maybe I shouldn't be giving my heart to an organization like a church anyway. I don't know. I do know that if I do go back to church, I'm not going to jump in. I'll wade around the edges until the water seems to be safe. I probably won't get as much out of it, but I'm not up for risking so much again so soon.

My Chinese food is here. And I couldn't wait to see. My newest fortune is: Prosperity makes friends; adversity tries them. Wow, that really sucks.

Purple Haze

2006-03-25T21:11:00.000-08:00

It's been a little over a month since I last wrote. I haven't even had the urge to, for the most part. I've found myself lately in a very particular type of funk. The fantasy kind. For most of my life, I've hit patches, sometimes long patches, in which I feel pretty dissatified with what is going on in my life and instead of addressing it, I find it easier to live in my imagination. I can spend hours daydreaming of exciting and fulfilling variations on the basic facts of my life. Invariably, this fantasy "me" is thinner, funnier, smarter and far more righteous than I am. She has it together, knows all the right people, and is endlessly fascinating. I really wish I knew her.

I heard once that the Dead Sea is so full of salt and minerals that nothing can live there because it is below sea level. That rivers flow in, but nothing flows out. I think my "fantasy" focus might be the same kind of mind pollution. It seems to happen when I'm spending a lot of time alone. When I'm watching a lot of television. When I'm running and the meter is getting close to empty, but I am not slowing down. Well, slowing down in the spiritual sense and taking time to refresh. I have been spending a lot of time sleeping and being pretty doggone lazy.

I recently signed up for the last of my classes at DTS and one of them is "Evangelism." To be honest, I'd really wanted to avoid that one. I'm ashamed to admit that, but not actually so ashamed that I wouldn't drop it if another class was available. I'm all talk, no action when it comes to sharing my faith. Well, "talk" if that means with other believers in a sheltered environement where no one will make fun of me or challenge me or actually care if I live what I say I believe. But I find myself lately so disgusted with my own apathy and laziness that I am actually somewhat timidly praying for a change. My prayer goes something like "change me but let it not hurt." A silly prayer, no? I think God likes silly prayers, though.

One thing that has broken through my haze this past month or so is a better and more full undertstanding of walking by faith. My dear friends who have wanted a baby for so long finally received one through adoption. Not a week before their baby made his appearance, we had dinner and talked about disappointments in life and not being able to understand just how God works. Why some receive certain blessings so freely, while others don't. And then, God so miraculously gave them this perfect baby boy. Just getting to hold him, I couldn't stop crying at how perfect and lovely a gift he was.

I look back even over the past year, which has truly been a traumatic and changing one for me, and I am astonished by my prayers. By the things I've asked for, the ways I've tried to bargain with God, the "deals" I've tried to make. Truly, all in the name of getting what I wanted, not in the name of getting to know God better. And even over this past month when several big prayers were answered, for me and for others, when I've seen God's provision and loving care, my heart still just wants more. Wants more things and feelings and people and emotions. Wants its own satisfaction.

Antoher silly prayer I've found myself praying of late is that God not give me what I want, but somehow, to change me so that I want him. To change this stubborn, bitter heart to passionately love the one who saved her and who is walking with her even now. Who knows all things, holds all things and is perfect. Whose timing is perfect. Whose decisions are perfect. Whose gifts are as perfect as a newborn baby's sweet sleeping face.

There is a sense in which my heart and spirit have been clamoring --I've been trying to fill myself with whatever would fill the enormous hole we all nurse in our hearts. I've been spiritually binging, I suppose, hoping that something I could find would satsify me. It's control - it's being able to find satisfaction myself and on my own so that I don't have to depend on God to do it - so that I don't have to depend on someone who might not show up, or at least show up in the way I want him to. God, give me the strength to be still, to know you are God, and to wait for whatever you want to give and trust it is enough. My mind knows it is more than enough. My mind knows that you are more than enough - and you are all I need. Please, Lord, teach my heart.

A Goodbye Finally Said

2006-02-13T17:45:00.000-08:00

When the phone rang at two in the morning, I knew exactly what it was. My grandmother, who had been gradually wearing down over the weight of Alzheimer's, Crohn's disease, strokes, high blood pressure, and eighty-nine years of living was finally going home. The person on the phone was my mother. "Your grandmother's not doing so well," she said. That was most certainly an understatement.

It seems like people in my grandmother's family simply don't know when to let go, physically, I mean. My grandmother was tired, especially of living in a body that hurt and didn't do what she asked of it. Of seeing the world through eyes that were blurry. Of hearing through ears that didn't work well anymore. Of trying to get up, only to realize how weak, weary, and wobbly she was. In many ways, I've found myself over the past few weeks in particular asking God for his will to be done in the situation, and secretly hoping that she wouldn't have to live much longer in such a miserable state. If my grandmother had been happy, that would have been one thing; but she wasn't. She longed for perfect rest, for the opportunity to be at home and see her husband and family once more.

I have often felt that there is too much emphasis on us regaining relationships we've lost to death in the afterlife. After all, the Bible doesn't say we'll be excited to see each other. It actually says we won't be given in marriage in heaven. It does say we will be incredibly excited to see God - to see his son ruling on the throne - and to finally understand what this life was all about. But for my grandmother, this would not be heaven. Please don't hear me to say that she wasn't a believer. She was, absolutely. But the best kind of love she could have ever imagined she got to share for sixty-two years with my grandfather. He died seven years ago tomorrow, and I know with everything in me, that his face is the one she looked for first, and I hope, saw.

My grandmother and grandfather were so good to my brother and I. They always made the routine fun and exciting. We had camp-outs on their living room floor, suspending sheets over tables to make tents. They had box turtles in their back yard. It was so much fun as a child to go out with little balls of ground meat and see this 1/4 of a mile per hour rush of turtles come creeping up to get dinner. My grandparents both loved to garden, and we spent many hours with them, digging and planting and raking leaves. We went out to dinner a lot, or would get Kentucky Fried Chicken and head over to Zilker Park right near their house for a picnic. And every Friday night, I would think of some new way to "fool" my grandmother. I'd call her, pretending to be a salesman or an announcer for some contest or sweepstakes and "convince" her that she'd won a fabulous prize. She never once failed to go along with it, even when we both knew that she wasn't fooled.

When the phone call came Sunday morning, in some ways it was a relief. In many ways, I've been saying this goodbye to my grandmother for years. And tonight I realize that I'm still not quite ready to say it. The only thing I can say is that I hope you and Grandaddy Melton are having a good time, and I hope that when you got there, you finally understood how perfectly God loves you. And I hope you know that I love you too, albeit very, very imperfectly.

Intimidation

2006-02-07T18:55:00.000-08:00

I felt pressed down into my chair under his stare. It was Sunday morning. People were milling around, hello-ing and how are you-ing as they filed in to cushioned stacking chairs and found a place for the upcoming service. I was in place, myself, at the front; thinking through the upcoming service, checking the clock every few minutes. Three minutes until service was supposed to start. Where is the band? There's Nic, there's the bass player, lead guitar, keyboards. Where's the multimedia guy? Make a mental note to check again in a minute or so.

I play the role of "director" at my church on Sunday mornings. You see, we program each service with music, videos, and dramas that connect to the topic of the sermon for that morning. To make our services run as smoothly as possible, we have a run-through beforehand - a sort of dress rehearsal to make sure everyone knows where he or she should be. We work on details like lighting transitions, timing, and how to work elements in and out of the service most effectively.

To assist with the process, we have a director. In essence, the director is in charge on Sunday mornings. As director, I run the rehearsal, decide if elements need to be changed or cut, and am generally the decision-maker for the morning. It's a role I'm comfortable with from a standpoint of ability. I know how to program. I know how to manage a group of "creative" types while keeping an eye on the clock. Years in middle school have taught me that much. Unfortunately, though, directors are a new idea to the church I am a part of, and we all know how strongly new ideas can be resisted. While most of the folks who are active parts of the ministry are strong supporters of the new ideas, others are definitely not.

It started simply enough and didn't even directly concern me at first. The head of a ministry approached our pastor who was standing near me, asking him if he could get an announcement in that morning. My pastor referred the man to me and I found myself in an incredibly uncomfortable situation that keeps replaying in my mind.

The guy was standing over me, mind you. There wasn't room for me to stand up. We've never met and he didn't introduce himself. He just repeated his rather insistent request that his announcement be made. I told him I'd talk to the person who was doing announcements for us that morning and see if he was comfortable adding it. I also mentioned that all announcements are supposed to come in by Thursday to me so that we don't put people on the spot like this.

The guy leaned over me more and asked who was doing announcements, no doubt so he could press his case himself. I repeated that I would take care of it. That's when this guy actually yelled at me, "Who is it?" His body language was threatening. His eyes were downright mean. I told him I'd take care of it again and he repeated his demand, so against my better judgment, I told him and repeated again that I would take care of it. He straightened up and said, "Oh yeah, (name) will do it. He's a good guy," and walked off.

So what's the big deal? It's no big surprise to find you're dealing with jerks at church. After all, church is just made up of people, a surprising percentage of which are just not very nice when they don't get what they want. I guess what has me feeling unnerved is the fact that this guy felt it was OK to treat a woman this way, even more so, at church. I know that probably seems sexist. I can't have my cake and be equal too. Or can I? I guess what I'm saying is that I've seen guys clash heads before, even in ministry situations. And usually, they can do the pat each other on the back thing and get over it pretty quickly. It's like a guy shortcut.

But that doesn't exist between men and women. And when a man feels it appropriate to stand, speak, and act in a physically intimidating way just because he wants an announcement made and isn't instantly getting his way, it concerns me. It lets me know that I need to stay away from him. And it makes me wonder if I should talk to someone on staff about it.

So is there some moral to be gleaned from all this? Some universal truth that can be learned? I think there is, but it's not really a comforting one. We all seek out sanctuary somewhere. For some of us it's church. For others, it's friends or family. I guess the moral is that our sanctuary is only as safe and sure as the other people who share it with us. Part of the process of maturing is, I think, is learning to keep our eyes open and know when our place of sanctuary needs to be readjusted or made smaller. Just calling ourselves by the same name doesn't really make us family.

Brokeback Mountain

2006-01-29T18:37:00.000-08:00

I went to see Brokeback Mountain with a friend tonight. The issues of the particular relationship depicted aside, it's a beautiful story of a complicated and loving relationship. It also seemed to me to be a touching depiction of that universal need we all feel to be loved and touched, as well as the compulsion that drives us to find the satisfaction of that need wherever we can. The characters in the story both were stunted men in some ways, gnarled by their experiences with loss and abandonment and unable to find the caring tenderness that they have denied they need.

The movie touched off all sorts of emotions in me. I identified more than I'd ever expected with these characters. And given my previous posting of the day, I found myself weeping on a friend's shoulder tonight.

She reminded me of something very, very important. Pain screams. Truth whispers.

Thank you, Laurie!

Hanging on, hanging in.... maybe hanging up?

2006-01-29T12:25:00.000-08:00

That's about where I find myself these days. Just trying to hang on. My work at school is going at a pace that I have no hope of actually mastering, but for the most part I still love it. I'm not sure I'm really teaching that well this year, but I joked with a friend that as long as I "first do no harm," I think the kids are flexible enough to rebound.

My personal life is, well, probably more a matter of hanging up. Still not much time with friends. Still alone most of the time. I have come to some important decisions. One has to do with seminary. I've decided to quit, sort of. I was working on a masters. This is my fifth year and I'm not even halfway through. I'm supposed to graduate this year. Oops.

Ever since I started the program, I've encountered tons of problems, mostly in the form of the lack of financial provision. I went heavily into debt to take classes until I realized that wasn't OK spiritually, either. A dear friend solicited supporters for me to take the classes I was taking until Thursday, but ultimately, the schedule was killing me. The stress was truly taking me out. I woke up every day this week crying because I was so tired and had so much to do. As I've looked back over my blogs for the past few months, I've seen statement after statement of being utterly exhausted.

This week, I finally got to the point of really crying out to God about it. It wasn't pretty. And I heard a very tiny voice inside that has been trying to be heard for a long time. It told me to quit seminary. It didn't matter how much I wanted a seminary degree. It didn't matter how many great reasons I could make up to get it. It's not God's plan for right now. It's simply not.

Here's the thing: I knew that. I just didn't want to hear it. The justifications in my own mind and heart have gone something like this: You've taken everything else, Lord. I'm not married. I don't have children. I don't have a close set of friends. I haven't been able to work full-time in ministry like I desire. I'm not beautiful. I'm not a great writer. You've taken everything else I ever wanted. This is mine.

Not exactly a holy attitude, is it?

The truth is that I've been holding a giant pity party for myself for years, and showing how very little I trust God in the process. As I've realized this over the past couple of weeks in particular, I'm pretty disgusted with myself, but I also have found a place of honesty that I don't think I've ever been at with God. One in which I've said, "God I know you are good, in theory. And I know you love me, in theory. I wish I knew it in experience, in life. But the truth is, it's hard to remember when I see my life so empty."

I'm no example to follow, obviously. I'm sorry if this is disturbing to those of you with more faith than I have. I truly and deeply admire you. I'm just not there right now.

I think I will be someday, though. It's analogous to allowing a wound to heal. Sometimes, after scar tissue and infection have seized the area, you have to open it up and expose it all to the light and air. You have to be vulnerable and just let it hurt for a while before it truly begins to heal the right way.

In this whole process, I was brought back again to the very first lesson I ever learned as a Christian. In my newest days of believing, my dear friend Kara told me repeatedly about the "blessedness of obedience." When I called the seminary to withdraw this week, some pretty amazing things happened. First, the seminary showed me a way to take two more classes over the summer and get some sort of degree. Not the one I wanted, but nothing to sneeze at. Secondly, I got almost all of my money back for this semester. Another friend has volunteered to help me raise whatever I need to finish those two classes. And the biggest thing was the total sense of relief and peace I felt as I was finally obedient. I was happier, had more energy, and felt lighter than I've felt in months. Maybe even all this year.

I realized that this was really the lesson God was trying to teach me when I read Jeremiah 29 this week. That's where that most over-claimed of promises is: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future." I don't know how many times I've prayed this verse, or recited it like a money-back guarantee. This time, I read it in context and it hit me right between the eyes. The chapter is in the midst of God telling the Israelites something along these lines: You are going into exile. I'm not going to preserve you from it. And once you're there, it's going to last for over a generation. Settle down. Plant crops. Get married. Live your life. You're not coming back to the promised land for seventy years. And don't believe anyone who says they are a prophet and says differently. You're going into exile and it won't be a short one."

Wow. What harshness this seems. And in the midst of it, God reminds them that he can tell them this news they don't want to hear because he knows the plans he has for them, and these plans are not for their harm, but for their good. That he has a future planned for them and hasn't forsaken them. In the middle of pain, heartache, frustration and barrenness, he is still God.

God, please plant this lesson deep down in my soul.

Real Community

2006-01-08T18:11:00.000-08:00

I've been kind of bummed today. It wasn't a "good" church day. There was a lot of tension in the air. A member meeting after church with some not-so-pleasant financial news. Overall, there is resistance and criticism pretty much running rampant over some of the changes we've started to make in programming, as well as a few folks who think we haven't done enough and wonder why. I left thinking about how nice it would be to sleep in on a Sunday morning.

As thoughts are wont to do, mine wandered for a while. I thought about other churches I've visited recently and wondered if they might be a better "fit." Then, when I realized they weren't, I started to feel a bit lost and alone. Isn't there any church out there that is tailor-made for me?

As I filled up my gas tank at Exxon, I was starting to feel defeated. Started thinking that maybe I just shouldn't think about it. And I definitely should figure out how I could talk myself out of some of the committments I've made. I mean, I don't want to be in a church with people who are critical, do I? I especially don't want to deal with some of the downright insensitivity and meanness I saw today on a long term, right?

Wrong, oh so wrong, I realized. Maybe it was the gas fumes, but I realized that this is it - this is community. You know, I think most of us have this idea that living together in community is some sort of permanent DisneyLand. We never hurt or bleed. Our houses are always clean, and we always have a friend's shoulder to cry on. OK, I'm overexaggerating. But I do have a very rosy picture of what "community" should look like.

But then I look in the mirror, spiritually speaking, and realize that I don't qualify to live in this wonderful fantasy land. Or do I get the right to be the only sinful human being hanging around the community? Do I get to be the only selfish one? The only one who analyzes everyone and everything and isn't hesitant to give you her opinion? Oh, wait, didn't I just call that "being critical" when I was on the receiving end?

More than conviction, I felt some encouragement at this thought. Maybe, the fact that I'm starting to see people at my church with warts and all actually means that this is a functioning community. Lord knows I've been in enough churches in my life where people were these smiling plastic puppets spouting back the rhetoric they'd heard across the pulpit but never really embraced. Where people would serve until they bled, not because they loved Jesus but because they wanted someone to love them. Who's to say that my church is more disfunctional just because I got to see the less flattering side that we all have, no matter what we say?

Next week, my pastor is preaching on what a fully functioning Biblical community is. It will be interesting to see what he says. And this week I'll pray for my church. In particular that it might be saved from sinners like me.

Béseme

2006-01-01T16:29:00.000-08:00

I survived another annual terrorism incident/tradition. I described it to a friend this morning at church and she told me I should put aside my horror and, yes, disappointment, to write about it. You see, she told me, she got married too early (by that she meant her twenties) to know about that.

What am I talking about? The annual seemingly compulsory midnight kiss on New Year's Eve and the terror it inspires in the hearts of long-time singles like me. Every year, as the clock ticks away December, one thought is on the minds of singles: that moment when the entire world will be slapping a wet one on each other and whether, this year, you'll be a part of them. If you're not dating anyone, you furtively begin to imagine all of your New Year's possibilities: a bar and lots of liquor, a family gathering (shades of "Deliverance"), a low key party with friends, or one of those frenetically-paced, expensive, you'd-better-enjoy-yourself professional productions such as a benefit or dinner/dance.

At which event do you have the chance of finding some random, not-too-random stranger to kiss? Definitely the event with the most liquor.

At which event will you feel the most comfortable? Any one that allows you to wear pajamas. (That better be family.)

Where will you have fun, but really, really hope NOT to end up in "to kiss or not to kiss" limbo? That would be the low key party with friends.

I admit to taking the last option over the past few years. The few folks who are dating in the group snatch a quick midnight smooch (some with a little too much showiness, thank you very much), while the rest of us look at the TV screen filled with thousands of lip-lockers in Times Square and pretend we aren't wishing it were us. Of course, the more frightening option occurs when, on a rare occasion, one of the guys decides to take "pity" on all us hapless females and pass out kisses for free. Umm... let's just say as little as possible about that.

So last night, I weenied out. I went out, I talked and gnoshed, I even swung by a second party. And then I went home at about 11:30. I watched Times Square all on my lonesome, in my nightgown and fuzzy slippers with a Coca-Cola Zero in hand. I'm definitely getting old. And maybe I'm just giving up hope. But next year, if there's not at least a 95% chance of getting a kiss from someone I want to kiss (who, of course, returns that interest), I'm foregoing all the other options in favor of a movie and soda in my jammies all night long. I may even protest and go to bed at 11:45, just to be persnickety.

So now, with the holiday season behind us, I've only got six weeks to begin thinking about the next big event: Valentine's Day. I think I'll just recycle that "jammies" and movies idea. Ooh... with chocolate!

The Horror! The Horror!

2005-12-31T07:11:00.000-08:00

It happened last night in a rather unassuming Chinese restaurant. I had gone out with a friend to see a movie and we were catching dinner afterwards. My friend lives in China most of the year, so we were joking about the fact that I'm the only person brave (or dense) enough to ask her to go get Chinese food on her brief trip back to the states.

I met this person when we were both teaching at my middle school. She's 26 and about six to eight inches taller than I am. She has dark brown hair and eyes and a pale complexion. We look nothing alike.

So anyway, we're talking about the differences between American and authentic Chinese food, which interests our waitress. She confessed that she would like to travel around, but her parents are hesitant about letting her, for safety reasons. My friend smiled and laughed, kind of gesturing to me as she said her parents had the same reaction. We'd been talking about it earlier in the conversation.

That's when the frightening thing happened. The waitress looked at me and said, "Oh, so this is Mom." Mom? Mom.... MOM! To a full-grown, 26 year old woman! She blew her tip.

Certainly, this girl had very much misjudged things, probably mostly because of my friend's body language that she didn't understand. But still, to be mistaken for someone old enough to have an adult child, even for a minute, shocked me.

Still, it's something I'm getting used to gradually at my school. My students will tell me what fuddy-duddy's their parents are (no, they don't use that word. I'm old, remember). As we talk, they'll tell me things like the fact that their parents are 34, so how could they understand anything that's really important? That's when I have to let them in on the secret that I'm.... 38. I'm older than most of their parents, but I can't even think of what my life would be like with a teenaged son or daughter. I can barely handle the cats.

Age is such a funny thing. You're supposedly only as old as you feel, but that must only be true within degrees or maybe within certain decades. I can definitely say that I've learned to be more comfortable with who I am in my thirties than I was in my twenties. And according to Oprah, 40 is the best age for a woman to be. Hmmm.... I'm going to have to take that idea on slowly.

We judge and measure ourselves by what we have accomplished at various age milestones. I have a career and a house. Good. I'm not married and don't have children. Bad. I have a few loving relationships of long standing. Good. I'm still slowly plugging away at that master's degree. Bad.

I don't want to jump into this evaluation mode. I judge myself enough on all sorts of different criteria, thank you. But at some point, you realize that you're there. You've gotten to retirement age or past the age you can have children. Suddenly, you age has closed options that you were most happy leaving open. Then, there are some painful realitities to face.

I'm probably just mulling melancholy because it's the end of the year. Who knows? For today, I'll try to focus on the present. I'm certainly not promised a future, so it is kind of silly to worry too much about it. And tonight, with my friends, I'll bid a new year and all of its possibilities a cheery, if wary, hello.

Better to give?

2005-12-27T20:42:00.000-08:00

I have to confess to something pretty sad and shameful. My family decided this year not to give gifts to each other - only the kids. After all, Christmas isn't supposed to be about the stress and strain of finding the right present, going into debt to buy people things they don't really need, or spending time shopping instead of together. So we decided together to call a halt to the madness and not give each other gifts.

It seemed like a great idea at the time. I actually felt more like a mature adult making this decision. My credit card debt would certainly thank me. And maybe I'd even spend a little more time on the spiritual reasons for the season.

So, it was with some dismay that, earlier today, I finally gave voice to what I'd been secretly feeling for the last few days. I've been gyped! Robbed! This sucks! OK - at least I didn't scream it out during our family gathering (we kind of stretch things out in my fam). At least I passed it off as a joke about the tragedy of being single when I realized that, of course, my parents had given gifts to each other, as had my brother and sister-in-law. I'm surprised at how much it really bugged me not to get gifts from my immediate family, especially since, for the past few years, I can remember coming home about this time wondering where I can possibly put all of the stuff I received that I didn't want and didn't need.

I'm not sure why it surprised me, though. I know it definitely points out that I'm way more superficial than I want people to know. (Hence it will come as no surprise that I, the whiner, am the one who actually suggested the present moratorium when talking to my stressed out family). I think I also feel loved by getting stuff. That's kind of sad, I guess. But I love opening presents. I love seeing a brightly wrapped box with a bow and getting to rip through the paper and see what's inside. And I did get that moment this year. We exchanged gifts within other segments of the family, so it's not like I went completely without participating in the annual exchange. I just wanted more, to be honest. Not more stuff necessarily, but more presents, if that makes any sense. Never mind, I know it doesn't.

Wanting more is the opposite of gratitude, isn't it? Hmm... that's something to think about. Especially as I vault myself back into the attempt to lose weight and get into shape this year. I did a fairly strict diet plan last year for about six to nine months and lost a lot of weight. I've gained some back now and finally realized that the problem really isn't something that dieting can fix. It is, in some respects, a lack of gratitude. I eat for lots of reasons that have nothing to do with being hungry, and as a result, I am never full. I always want more. Whether I'm eating because I'm happy or sad or just because I feel guilty for eating too much, I'm definitely abusing the whole notion of food and what it was meant for. I'm starting a new plan with a friend that is actually more a Bible study than a diet plan. Hopefully I'll learn a little more about how I'm eating and why and be able to honor God with that area of my life more honestly.

Overall, I feel like this next year is going to be about not living in fear as much. We all let our fears limit and hold us back. I've been surprised over the past month or so how my attention keeps getting called back to the fears that rule my daily life. From simple things like not speaking to a stranger because I fear I'll say the wrong thing to much more serious spiritual issues. Lately, everytime I've spoken to my friend Phillip he says something that causes me to realize that he lives a life that trusts God at his word. That he doesn't have all the answers, but that he really lives in the full-hearted belief that God is good and out for his best. That God is in control. I want to live that way and trust that way. I want to love God that way.

It probably sounds goofy to be determining what the upcoming year is going to be like. Yes, it's the "year of no fear!" You know, I would think it was silly too, but last year about this time, every time I prayed my mind kept going back to a couple of things that I really didn't want to hear from God. Basically, that the year was going to hold some events and situations that I really hoped it wouldn't. Not Jeanne Dixon prediction type stuff. More just the idea that the year in general was going to be about my learning to depend on God more in several very specific ways. A year later, I can look back and say that those lessons were, indeed, the focus of the year, although they played out in ways I had never anticipated. Perhaps it's just a matter of my own thoughts and focus causing me to see those situations more. I don't know. If I have a say in the matter, though, I'd like for this year to be a year of courage. There are so many things I want to try and so many things I'd love to do if I just had the courage to try. Maybe this year, maybe by learning more about who God really is, I'll find that courage.

And maybe I'll even have the courage to admit next Christmas that I'd really like to exchange gifts. Small things, homemade even. And if that makes me selfish, then so be it. I love thinking of others and trying to find something that they would appreciate. And I enjoy knowing that they did the same for me. That and tearing into all that wrapping paper. What is the difference between childish and child-like, after all?

Healing in His Wings

2005-12-18T15:25:00.000-08:00

I've always loved the imagery of us nestling up under the wings of God, finding ourselves in a close and intimate and protected place with Him. This morning, I felt myself right there, under his wings and so close to his beating heart. It started as a typical Sunday morning. I was helping out at church as we practiced the service. The exact situation doesn't matter, but basically, my dear pastor said something that stung. He never, in a million years intended it to, but it hit home and brought tears to my eyes.

This is, unfortunately, not a completely uncommon occurrence, and I don't mean with my pastor. I am sensitive. I've always felt and been told, oversensitive. I think in the past ten years, in particular, I've felt that my oversensitivity has been at the root of pretty much every relational problem I've had. It's a big part of my insecurity and the nagging feeling that if I could just get over it, that people would like me more, maybe even love me more, and I'd just overall be a more deserving person. There you go, my neurosis in a nutshell.

So I told my pastor his comment stung and he apologized. Usually that's the end of things. Actually, the end is where the other person typically either rolls his eyes, or tells me I'm too sensitive, or just starts to walk on eggshells around me. This didn't go there, though.

Instead, after giving me a chance to cool down for a second, my pastor walked up and asked me if we were OK. I told him we were (even though I didn't really feel it yet), and then went into apology mode. (I'm sorry I'm so oversensitive. It's not you. It's my fault. etc.) Over the past, this has been my only recourse - to go on the defensive immediately and acknowledge that I'm the problem.

What my pastor said next floored me. And as I heard him say it, I knew it was directly from God. They were words I've longed to hear my whole life. Mark said that I shouldn't apologize for being sensitive. That I was a sensitive person and that he wanted me to feel free to be myself around him. And that he wasn't afraid of my sensitivity.

I cannot tell you how deeply those words touched me. They were like manna. Like a quenching rain on a dry and dusty land. Please know this: I know I can be oversensitive. I know that can be a pain and definitely a sin at times. But never in my life have I had anyone say what my pastor, Mark Adams, said to me. That I am welcome to be myself, warts and all, and that he doesn't need me to change to be acceptable. My entire past life with the church (not just my previous church, but all of them since I was a child) has consisted of me hearing the message at different levels and in different ways that I am not good enough to be there, to serve there, to be loved there. There was always something more I needed to do and someone more I needed to be before I could be really accepted.

I'm willing to own that most of that was a message I was sending myself. But you know what? I think most of our churches prey on that mentality. We've stopped, a long time ago, really extending the kind of radical grace we see in the Bible. I know I did. I'm not blaming. I'm a part of it, too. A part of the sinful, imperfect mess we people tend to make of just about everything God gives us.

What I heard today was my pastor saying what God really wanted me to hear: that I've got to get over this and accept myself as I am and then extend that acceptance to others. And here's the amazing thing. As I accept myself for being a sensitive, perhaps oversensitive person, I actually want to change. My heart opens up to God and asks him, "How Lord, how can you change this in me? What do you want to do?" I no longer have to defend myself and push up walls. Instead, my heart begins to open like a flower in the Son's presence.

I am thankful today that I have a godly and gifted pastor like Mark Adams. I'm grateful for his obedience to and dependence on God. I am thankful that God led me to Bridgeway, a church in which I've known more healing and grace in seven months than in the past seven years. Most of all, I'm thankful for the gift God gave me, so perfect and perfectly for me. And for the times like these, when I know I'm hidden beneath his wings.

Malachi 4:2 But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings. And you will go out and leap like calves released from the stall.

A Bad Kid...

2005-12-14T15:47:00.000-08:00

I was reminded today what a very bad kid I used to be. I was talking with some teachers after school and absolutely shocked them with some of what I got up to when I was in middle school (junior high, back then).

In Mr. Collins' seventh grade Texas history class, we used to climb out the windows while he wasn't looking. Sometimes we went to the store and bought candy. Once, we all climbed out while his back was turned (it should give you some clue about his general abilities that a whole class was able to climb out a window while he wasn't looking), and were sitting under the tree outside when he finally noticed. Then, later in the year, he made the rookie mistake of telling us, when we were being typically disrespectful, that he would at least have some respect for us if we had the guts to tell him what we really thought of him to his face. Boy, he really shouldn't have said that to me. My ability to restrain myself and show respect for a position if not a person were far exceeded by my verbal abilities. After I finished telling him exactly what I thought of him, he simply said, "I respect you," and turned away. I heard he quit at the end of the year. (Actually, I heard he was fired, but maybe not).

The other teacher I remember being so rotten to was my eighth grade Pre-Algebra teacher, Mrs. Coors. She was so sweet and helpful. Such a good teacher. I loved her! And I was rotten! Way, way rotten. We used to wait for a signal from one kid and all, simulataneously drop our textbooks on the wooden portable floor. Once, she got so mad at us that she threw down a pencil or a pen or something, so we all just smiled back and threw our own pencils down. I remember them bouncing around the room. We never, ever stopped talking and I think once, we made her cry.

My twelve years teaching in a middle school must surely be penance for this behavior. It makes me realize that my kids aren't so much different than I. Most of them are much better than I was. Wow. I wish I could find Mrs. Coors today and tell her how sorry I am.

The Awkward Hug

2005-12-13T17:33:00.000-08:00

It's almost Christmas. No, I don't mean December 25th. I mean the real Christmas for a teacher - that wonderful two week break that comes along right when you have begun to wonder if anyone, placed in the right circumstances, could become a murderer. Three more days of school and I'm outta there! Of course, the kids are excited. Exuberant. Very, very loud. But there are also some sweet moments too.

One of those happened today. One of my girls, my "reading buddy" gave me a present. This girl is cute and totally cool. She's a cheerleader but doesn't want to be, so she does things like put neon green paint in streaks through her hair on picture day. She showed up wearing SpongeBob pajama pants under her uniform last week. When she cheers, she looks kind of like a newborn colt, a little uncertain and unsteady, but full of enthusiasm that catches her up in spite of herself.

She's smart, too. And a much better writer than I'll ever be. An alliterative phrase she wrote in her beginning of year essay actually brought tears to my eyes. (Of course, I'd been reading a bunch of other, shall we say, underwhelming essays before that.) I call her my reading buddy because we share books back and forth. I'm not used to doing that with an eighth grader. She's reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez these days.

So she comes walking down the hallway and hands me a little present. Wrapped, with a bow and my name written on it. Again, not so common for an eighth grader. Of course, she got presents for all of her teachers. It was very sweet. I thanked her and noticed she just kind of stood there, hesitating for a minute. I knew she was waiting for, wanting, but not wanting to ask for, a hug.

I'm not one who hugs my students much. It's kind of drilled into you not to in these days of sexual harassment law suits and so many different cultures. I'm just not really "huggy" either. I prefer to maintain a bemused detachment. But come on, she brought me a present.

So I gave her a hug. An awkward hug. And she smiled big and went off to class.

I'm so glad I get to be a teacher.

...and of course, for those two weeks off...

A Heart Two Sizes Too Small

2005-12-08T10:22:00.000-08:00

That's my Christmas confession. Like the grinch, I think my heart is several sizes too small. I just got off the phone with a friend from my former church. He has taken a major role in keeping the arts going there. I called him, wanting to talk, wanting to keep in touch and wanting to let him know I support and love him.

So why, when we were talking, did I get so frustrated hearing how certain things that I and my friend Phillip had tried to get changed for years have now been changed with the senior pastor's blessing? Why did I want to say that all this isn't fair and that I should still be there? Phillip should still be there. We should all still be getting to work together and see each other every week and do the incredible things we used to get to do. Why do I feel so grinchy and selfish and still angry after months?

I'm not a good person. I hold grudges like you wouldn't believe. Or maybe you would if you've been on the receiving end. I'm intensely selfish - and so much of the time with this situation, I've only been thinking of what I lost, how it all affected me in the nice little world I tried to set up for myself. I'm still angry and I still want to know why it all had to happen like it did. I've started to see some answers, but I don't feel them in my heart yet. I lost my church home of ten years. I lost the relationships I'd built and feel so damn alone now. And again, it comes back to me - what I wanted and didn't get, what I tried to get for myself and had to watch God say "no."

I don't have any nice and tidy little endings for this one. No Bible verses to sum it all up. Just frustration. I'm so disgusted with myself and tired of not letting this go and trusting God with it. Really tired of living with a heart so small.

The Running River

2005-12-01T21:38:00.000-08:00

I'm brain-fried at the moment. I've finished with a position paper for my eschatology class (how time texts in Matthew 24 & Revelation can be read literally and still be consistent with a futurist interpretation), finished a quiz - or at least attempted it. I've been catching up on grading for my students and trying to teach them to write a five paragraph essay. Another class has been finishing A Separate Peace. We're about fifteen pages from the end and one of my girls announced to the class today that Finny dies. Yup. And Rosebud was his sled. In addition (could there be more?) I'm trying to find a way to live on my budget (I really, really need a roommate - please pray), and trying to figure out where that spare time is that I really want to devote to ministry. Oh and I'd like to have a social life. A social life that doesn't involve watching some form of "The Apprentice" with two furry cats.

I'm griping. Sorry. The truth is, there has been plenty of room in my life for all of these things for months now. And the fact that I'm feeling toasted has a lot less to do with my busy schedule and more to do with the grieving process that is going on just below the surface. As I continue to realize that my friend Carie isn't going to be around any more (as I did when I found myself writing her an email earlier this week asking if she wanted to go to a movie), I find there's a whole level of sadness and grief running like a river through my soul. When I stop for a minute to catch my breath, I feel it begin to fill and overwhelm me. When I'm scrambling to get everything done that I need to get done, I find that it has washed away all the emotional reserves I'd built up.

So tonight, it was a great privilege and gift to open an email from a friend from my former church. We'd seen each other at Carie's funeral. More than that, when I found myself so overcome at the end of the service that I had to sit down and cry for a minute, this man and his sweet wife came over and just held me and cried with me. That meant more to me than words could say, or so I thought. But tonight he sent me words; kind words telling me what my friendship had meant to him and that he and his wife want me to know they are praying for me as I learn to accept the loss of my friend. His kindness filled me in the way that only a gift from God can.

There are still lots of things to do. Another paper to write. Another quiz to take. More assignments to grade. Don't remind me of Christmas coming up. And the river will keep running for quite a while, I know. But it is true that God sweetly loves on each of us in just the way we can receive best. What a gift it is to be allowed to serve this God, and what an astounding thing that he could love a wretch like me. Tonight, I'll join my friend Carie in singing praises to him. He truly is the giver of all good things.

Blindsided by God's Goodness

2005-11-24T07:30:00.000-08:00

It's Thanksgiving today, so it's appropriate to be feeling thankful. It's also rather unexpected. I'm still right in the middle of the transition from shock to grief over the death of my friend. I want to sleep all the time, but I can't seem to once I close my eyes. And I have so many things to get done this weekend, but I just don't seem to be capable of any of them. So it seems weird to be sitting here this morning feeling so consumed with thankfulness

In my eschatology class this year, my prof Dr. Holsteen started off his lecture on why the subject is important by saying "Life is hard. But God is good." A very simple statement. But profound if you truly believe it. This week, I've seen that so much. The loss of Carie in our lives is huge. But truly God is good. In just the past few days, I've reconnected with friends I haven't seen in months. I've talked to one and realized that we've been given a very precious gift in the years of close relationship we shared in the past - a gift we've neglected in past years and can't afford to neglect any more. I've seen the beginnings of reconciliation with someone I had unresolved conflict with. And I spent time with some of the most important people in the world to me. Although we haven't been together like that in close to six months and it was a little awkward trying to find our relational footing, it's a meeting that I'm so grateful for.

Life is hard. But God is so amazingly good. And the thing I realize now is that you can't say that and really mean it on your own. Even the ability to believe that statement comes from God himself. I don't know why, so many times in my life, I've struggled to believe God's actions were good when they so apparently don't seem to be on the surface. I know that earlier this year, in the midst of so much distress and fear, I felt like someone or something was telling me that even though I didn't really believe it, I needed to say that God was good and in control. And I tried to do that, at least as well as I could. Perhaps that act of obedience opened something in my heart or mind to be able to receive God's peace and assurance. I think C. S. Lewis compared it to trying to save a drowning man. As long as he's still trying to save himself, he'll probably take both of you down. Once he has given up, though, the rescuer can truly and effectively save him. Maybe that's what it took for me - giving up on insisting on my own way, getting my own answers -- before God could come in and give me the assurance that even in really difficult times, he is trustworthy.

That makes it sound like I did something to "deserve" this gift, and I can hear my reformed friend JR preparing to fuss. I don't think that, though. It's not as if obedience is a decision I ever come to naturally and on my own. Even that is prompted and encouraged in me by a gracious God. This morning, on a beautiful Thanksgiving Day, the only proper response seems to be:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly host
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Amen

In Memory

2005-11-21T00:15:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Carie Fontenot died last night. To even say that now seems crazy. She was healthy and active and shouldn't have been in a hospital room looking so utterly broken, but the circumstances are exactly that. It couldn't have been more shocking or more utterly unbelievable.

Carie and I went to church together until recently, but that really says nothing about the depth of our friendship and relationship. She was on our church staff and together we worked in the creative arts ministry and formed the singles ministry. She was passionate, funny, wise, and met every challenge she faced, and there were many, with true grace and submission to Christ. We worked together through up's and down's. As I tried to learn how to lead in a ministry, I always knew I could find sound counsel and support in my friend. I never really doubted we could overcome any obstacle as long as we worked together on it.

My friend had lot of dreams and most of them never came true. She longed to be a wife and mother but instead, threw herself heart and soul into developing a ministry to other singles who felt lost and alone. She had an amazing voice and loved to act more than anything, but she focused on using her gifts to bring the message of Jesus Christ to people through our church services and creative arts ministry. She was gifted to lead and develop organizations and their communication and administrative processes, but she stayed in the background as an administrative assistant at our church. There were so many times she thought about striking out and trying to pursue her dreams, but she always put them on hold for the sake of others.

Ultimately, she found herself in a place where pursuing those dreams was no longer simply an act of bravery and will. She developed rheumatoid arthritis a few years ago, about a year after I did also. I think sharing that disorder brought us closer as we walked together through what it feels like to be a young woman, feeling like you have your whole life ahead of you one minute, and then finding out you will be living with contant pain and fatigue the next. Carie tried so hard to find a cure to her RA. She stuck with a homeopathic treatment hoping for true remission until it was hard for her to walk anymore. We both finally both found a medicine that changed our lives in several ways. First, it offered more relief from pain and fatigue than we'd known in years. Second, it was so prohibitively expensive that all of those fantasies of taking off and following our dreams faded, replaced by the need for a steady income and medical insurance. Broadway would have to wait. And ultimately, they would end up losing out on someone who was a true star.

This last year was one in which we were closer than ever, although it was not a happy year. But our friendship was deep. Carie was someone I always looked to for wisdom and a steady, level-headed approach to everything. Oh, and she loved to laugh more than anyone I know. I treasure every memory of her. I still can't believe I'm not going to see her again. I know, though, somehow with a depth that surpasses intellectual or experiential knowledge, that she has found the fulfillment of every dream and desire she ever had as she entered heaven and looked into Christ's face. Those of you who aren't believers may find that hard to believe, or think that I'm simply deluded in the face of my friend's shocking demise. You're welcome to think that. I even understand why you think that. And I also know that Carie has gone to her true home and was received with a party the likes of which I don't think I'll ever see. Every act done that was never seen or appreciated by any one here on earth is being recited, and what a long list of them there are. Every time she put aside her own wants and hopes and worked at what God had put at hand is being celebrated and sung about as if they were heroic deeds. And in the sight of heaven, I believe they are.

On November 20, 2005, God called home one of his heavy-hitters - a tiny little girl named Carie Fontenot. In her few years here on earth, she ministered more for Jesus Christ than most of us could do in two lifetimes. She was a true friend to me. I love her and will miss her terribly.

A few years ago, when my grandfather died, I saw this poem. I think it shows well the limited perspective we have on death. I hope to keep a broader perspective of my friend always.

I am standing on the sea shore,
A ship sails in the morning breeze and starts for the ocean.
She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her
Till at last she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says:
"She is gone."

Gone! Where?
Gone from my sight - that is all.
She is just as large in the masts, hull and spars as she was when I saw her
And just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination.
The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me,
not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"She is gone",
There are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout:
"There she comes"
- and that is dying. An horizon and just the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, Oh Lord, that we may see further.

Bishop Brent
1862 - 1926

Sound the Retreat!

2005-11-04T12:22:00.000-08:00

I'm off to a women's retreat in a few hours. Yikes! These things scare me! I'm going with folks from my new church, which is always a little nerve-wracking for an introvert like me. Nothing like forcing intimacy by rooming together with people you've only just met! We're also car pooling to the site, which I appreciate but also am a little nervous about.

Then, once we get there, it's a weekend full of teaching about being godly women (ugh), massages (double ugh), horseback riding (not), and coercion to play trust games so that we'll all "bond" (don't get me started). So, given my general dread, why am I going? Why did I sacrifice a significant percentage of my monthly budget to go? It's a good question, and one I'm not quite sure I can answer yet.

I think part of it has to do with a change that has been coming on over the years. I used to be able to say that all of my closest friendships were with guys. As I've gotten older, they've gotten married, and I've found myself needing to establish closer friendships with other women. Being a woman myself, you'd think this would be relatively easy, but somehow, I always feel like an imposter when I'm at a "women's" gathering. I'm not sure if it has to do with being single, not having kids, or just the fact that I've never really thought of myself as a "woman." Look at that -- I even put it in quotes.

I find myself lately wanting to know more what it really means to be a woman, especially when you aren't part of a couple. I've read books - sad, but true. I've been inching my way through Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge. I've read others, too. The general gist seems to be that a woman is one who wants to be thought beautiful and lovely - and be valued for that. Not just external beauty, but it's a part of the equation. That a woman is one who should be soft and encouraging, demure and inviting. That her strength comes from inviting a man to be all he is supposed to be.

Part of me wants to cry out that this is rank and utter bunk, but I'm not quite ready to do that. Trying to be strong and independent and capable hasn't gotten me any closer to feeling like I know what it is to be a woman. Lots of friends have told me it's off-putting and intimidating to men as well, although I'm sure it's not the main reason I'm not married. Still, I don't want to be a "reactionary" woman - a woman only in respect to what I can be to a man. That whole concept just confuses me. If I am only a woman because of who I am in relation to a man, then as a single woman I must necessarily be "less than." That can't be right.

I'm not sure how my gender plays in when I talk about having a relationship with Christ, either. So many books and teachers encourage us single gals to think of Jesus as our husband. That can be inviting during a lonely season, but it presents certain questions. Does he stop being my husband should I ever "e-harmonize" with someone else? How is this not just essentially an emotional manipulation to keep myself from feeling alone? It's sort of a spiritual fantasy that keeps that side of the bed warm until there's a physical body in it. I know that Jesus loves me and the Holy Spirit resides in me and comforts and guides me, but my husband? I've never heard men encouraged to think of God as their wife. And I know Jesus is the bridegroom of the church, but that seems a much different thing theologically than one person thinking of him as her husband.

So, well, hmm... oh yeah, the question was "why am I going on this retreat"? I'd love to think I'll find the answers to all of my questions and come home permanently fixed. Some combination of Martha Stewart, Julia Roberts, and Dorothy Sayers would be nice. Maybe throw in a little Dorothy Parker for spice. I doubt it will happen. But maybe I will make some friends. And maybe get to feeling a little more comfortable in my own skin. I hope to feel more relaxed, and if I can get past my phobia of massages, I may even get a masseure to take a crack at this knot I've had in my shoulders for the past couple of months. But who knows? If I come back and find I've developed a stunning smile, captivating hair flip, amazing theological insights and the ability to make the perfect brined turkey, I'll let you know.

Feelin' thankful

2005-10-29T20:45:00.000-07:00

I know - it's not even close to Thanksgiving. But sue me. I'm feeling thankful.

I had class all weekend! My Eschatology class. And I finished my paper and quiz early. And the reading. And I finally understand what the heck "amillennial" means. Not bad for a weekend's work!
I got an anonymous donation to my seminary fund. It's hard for me to fathom that someone would send a donation out of the blue. And, their financial aid department gave me a grant. Once everything totaled up, I can take two classes next semester. "Old Testament Prophets" and "Life of Jesus on Earth" here I come!
I almost got invited to an 8th grader's Halloween party. She decided at the last minute that I might "grade" my students (fellow partiers) on their performance. But she's keeping me on the short list for the Christmas party.
We had our first programming meeting at my new church. Yippee! We're starting slow, but with God's grace....
I'm finally feeling over the "aches" that have been plaguing me for a few weeks. And my hip doesn't hurt much anymore! (Sorry - I know I sound really really old, but anytime my arthritis flairs up, it's such a blessing when it stops.)
I don't have to come up with any kind of costume for Halloween (or a non-scary fall festival that is somehow supposed to be less blasphemous than Halloween. Ghost, goblins, harvest gods. Not much diff to me!). And I think I'll actually be at home handing out candy. This will be the first time in my house (although it's actually my fourth Halloween here!)
I've actually stuck to my new budget for a week now. That's a record!

Well, that's about it, I guess. I'd better go get productive. Or maybe I'll just surf a little. My cat Gideon has just wedged himself between my back and the back of my computer chair. I'll either have to show complete disregard for his comfort and let him fall as I get up, or sit here for a few more minutes so he can snooze. Actually, that's not a hard decision.

Mental Health Day

2005-10-26T20:53:00.000-07:00

I stayed home today. I didn't really feel well, but truth be told, I've felt worse and made it through the day. Mostly, I needed the rest and mental space that only a day in p.j.'s can allow. As I wandered around the house in sweat pants, a thermal tee and my pink feathered slippers, I did find myself wondering how men have been resisting me for so many years. Some mysteries are unfathomable.

Lately, things have been frustrating at work. Obviously, the incident I last wrote about took some wind out of my sails. But good things have happened, too. A friend heard about the incident and took the time to write me a kind note, encouraging me to focus on what is most important - the students. And I realized that this situation is somewhat simiilar to another I recently went through and didn't handle so well. It seems that another "redemption" opportunity is presenting itself as I deal with someone who is clearly leading from an agenda, not necessarily from principle. One thing I've already realized is how I've only been focused on how this all has affected me. Little ol' me -- the center of the universe.

One thing I did today was finish my first paper for my seminary class. It was a position paper on some topic in eschatology. I've been dragging my feet writing it because I feel so completely unqualified to have a position. Everyone I know disagrees about this stuff. There aren't any "Oh, and by the way, the rapture is before the millenium" kind of verses in the Bible. Still, I took a position and defended it. Unremarkably, it was the position my seminary holds with a ferocity normally reserved for college football.

What was somewhat remarkable is where this exercise took me spiritually.
Here's what I wrote in the final paragraph of my paper:

One of the frustrating things about studying eschatology is that answers to
important questions are not clearly and definitively stated within
Scripture. If you think of the Bible as a book of theology, or even an
instruction manual for life, it seems to come up lacking in clear answers to
questions of our future. Seen, however, as a love letter from a God
intent on wooing a frequently faithless people, the Bible’s lack of
definitive statements on eschatology actually cause us to lean in closer
to know the God who holds the future. If we are willing, our
questions can lead us closer to the heart of true love than answers ever
will.

I found myself at the end of this paper realizing that my frustration with the lack of easy, definitive answers is actually more a symptom of the state of my spiritual life than any true deficiency with the subject. I heard Donald Miller speak at the University of Texas last spring and one of the biggest take-aways I had was that too often, I treat God like a gigantic and benevolent vending machine. I put in - in prayer, in service, in number of consecutive quiet times, and he gives out - friends, finances, romances, happiness.

I think, if I am honest, I often treat my other relationships the same, self-serving way. I love to be loved and care to be cared for. Had I been married by now, we would probably both be miserable - or more likely, divorced. Perhaps if I'd had children, I would begin to understand selflessness. But then the shattered lives of so many of my students serve as testimony that procreation doesn't make you a better person.

I sometimes wonder how to really love God. He's so big, seems to be so far away. How do I love someone who is invisible and immaterial? How do I get to know him when our relationship is necessarily mediated by a collection of writings in another language from another culture and another time? But then I think about phone conversations with friends and long nights spent talking and realize the gulf is no smaller between our hearts, even though we are flesh and blood and often in the same room.

So as I've been studying and trying desperately to care about a pretribulational view of the rapture, I realized that maybe one of the reasons things are so unclear when it comes to the future is what I would do if I knew. If God gave me a blueprint of the future, I probably would thank him nicely and move on with my life. Notice, that's my life. I'd give glory to God for his wisdom and steadfastly live a life without him.

Not knowing keeps me. Just as in an intimate relationship, you want promises that you know you can't really make with any degree of certainty. I can't take God for granted, at least not when I'm up to my ears in questions. I need to keep going back to him daily. I need to listen and read and rely on him daily, sometimes more. I need to realize that he wants me, not my assent, not my service, not my prayers or pathetic attempts at devotion. He wants me.

That is overwhelming and amazing. My deepest dream come true and a little frightening too. It's a good thing to remember...

Say what you mean!

2005-10-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

Aaargh! I'm not sure if I'm simply the most gullible person in the world, but I'm fed up with being around people who simply won't say what they mean. Had a situation at my school today where someone has been begging for feedback, trying to reassure constantly that it won't be taken wrong, etc. So when I gave feedback it all erupted. Anger, hostility, treating me like I'm not an equal and professional. I basically got a thirty-minute lecture on why I'm wrong to feel less than supported by her. Gee, I feel so freaking supported now. Thank God the bell rang and I had to go to class.

It's got me wondering why it's so hard to really say what we want. You know what? If this person had never asked for feedback, we wouldn't have thought any less of her. We would have gone on our merry way, knowing she's got shortcomings just like us, but not thinking ill of her. Now there's massive amounts of distrust and frustration.

Well, I'm going to say what I want:

I want to feel useful and productive at what I do.
I want to know that someone among the many who are over me actually take notice when we're doing things RIGHT!
I want to have at least one kid a day smile at me, and mean it
I want to really know that my colleagues are my family, not just say it because that's how you're supposed to feel.
I want to make a small difference, no, a bunch of small differences in kid's lives that some day may add up to a bunch.
I want to see those kids that drive me to distraction in ten years and find out how they turned out.
I want a highlighter that really WON'T bleed through the page
I want my hip to stop hurting
I want a good night's sleep

OK - some are more realistic than others. But tomorrow, I'll go into work, at least furnished with the knowledge that this particular person, to quote a legend, "can't handle the truth." Unfortunately, I think we're all too used to dealing with this type of hypocrisy.

Either-or Eeyore

2005-10-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

Well, a day after my latest "bleeding blog" entry, I'm feeling slightly sheepish. I've been forgetting that I need to rest, to have down time, to sleep and to have time alone with God. Not just shouted prayers as I head off to work or church or a thousand other "useful" things, but real time to sit still and be quiet (for a change!) and just be. I spent some time like that this afternoon and realized that I've been engaging in a lot of either-or thinking. Things like, if God really loved me he'd do "x", since I see "y", he must not love me. And before you whammy me with Bible verses, I know that's not true. I haven't been as much thinking these things as feeling them. And feelings are part of the problem.

I've made it clear here and elsewhere that I'd love to be married some day. Well lately, I'd begun to wonder if being single was my "thorn in the flesh." You know the passage - where Paul talks about how he had a thorn in the flesh and he prayed three times for God to take it away, but God wouldn't because in the weakness that the thorn produced in Paul, God could be glorified. I wondered if I was supposed to be alone as a way to keep me dependent on God, and to be honest, that idea just totally sucks.

I realized earlier today that I do have a thorn in the flesh - my emotional makeup. The fact that I'm sooooo emotional, that I feel much more deeply than I think, and that what I feel is infinitely more real to me than what I know intellectually. When I'm depending on God daily and spending time with him, those emotions can glorify him. When I'm not, I'm an out of control mess - running around trying to gauge reality by my ever changing moods.

I'm still feeling a little tired and frazzled, and I have a million things to do, but tonight I sense God telling me to take it easy. Maybe even that if I take this time, my other time can be so much more productive. So I'm going to have a bowl of strawberries and yes, watch another episode of "Star Trek." Laugh if you must. Strange that my favorite indulgence has to do with a group of scientifically-minded explorers who seldom if ever let feelings get in their way. There's no doubt, I'd make a lousy member of Starfleet.

Achiness

2005-10-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with an all too familiar visitor. Stiffness, aching joints, pain. It seems my rheumatoid arthritis wants to act up again, and even as I type this, my knuckles are starting to twinge. I've found myself making "old people noises" as I get into my car and bend all those joints that just got used to being straight as I walked. I'm needing to take pain medicine to keep going. Not, mind you, out of some huge and horrible agony, but more from the stubborn, persistent aches that wear me down until I realize I'm not moving, I'm not sleeping well. I'm just existing.

Even as I write that, tears have welled up again. I'm struggling now. Not just with my physical condition. With my heart condition. Is it better to hope for what you don't have, realizing you may never have it and may feel a raw red pain everyday? Or is it better to resign yourself, to let that hope go, and to only feel the dull ache that may keep you from reaching your potential, but will still let you exist from day to day without too much effort? I don't know. I've tried both routes. I can't recommend either of them.

I'm thirty-eight and very tired of being alone. Due to changes in circumstances and probably my own laziness, I've lost the kind of closeness I had with a group of folks only a few months ago. I know we're still friends, and truth be told, I should reach out more, but I find myself at the end of each day, coming home from school exhausted and overwhelmed with demands. On top of that, I've chosen to take on some projects that I probably shouldn't, but they are the kinds of things that actually make me want to get up every morning. So I find myself at the end of each day, praying and asking God when things will change, or if they will. And trying to decide whether I should nurse hope or anesthetize fear.

I know in my heart the answer is hope. I'm just not sure that I'm brave enough to embrace it.

November 1st - A Day that Will Live in Infamy

2005-10-11T06:21:00.000-07:00

Yikes! I just learned yesterday that all of the teachers at my school are supposed to "perform" at our middle school pep rally on November 1st. What will we be doing? A modified version of the dance from Napoleon Dynamite. And yes, we are all supposed to be wearing "Vote for Pedro" t-shirts.

Pray for me....

Redemption Center

2005-10-09T14:38:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've noticed a pattern in my life. Or actually, it's more correct to say I've noticed patterns or situations recurring in my life with slight variations. For example, about fifteen years ago I used to babysit for a group of families that were all friends. One night, my first time to babysit for a particular family, the five year old boy was absolutely out of control. None of my usual sitter tricks worked and he was getting more and more difficult. Finally, as he did something that was truly gross and potentially dangerous, I told him "no" and lightly tapped him on his diapered bottom (yes, he was five and in diapers still). I'm not proud of it. I've never really approved of spanking and this was a bit too close for comfort, but I was at the end of my rope and didn't know what to do. When the parents got home, they were very upset. I'd violated their values as parents. They then proceeded to tell any of their friends who would listen that I had spanked their child. Although I didn't end up losing any of my babysitting jobs (I think the other families were pretty fed up with the five year old, themselves), it did cause me to reconsider whether I wanted to put myself in this position again, and shortly thereafter, I stopped babysitting.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I was hanging out with my nieces, and the same situation played itself out again. My five year old niece ignored my requests not to stand in her chair and I found myself almost unconsciously tapping her bottom to let her know I really, really meant what I was saying. That night, as I waited for my brother and sister-in-law to come in, I was nervous that they would be upset, maybe even not want me to babysit anymore. As I told them what had happened, I felt myself bracing for the worst, but it didn't happen. If anything, they approved of my actions. They saw that I was trying to keep her safe and that, after words hadn't worked, I needed to get her attention before she got hurt.

Regardless of your position on spanking, it's the bigger picture I'm trying to look at. Several times over the past few months, I've seen situations that were difficult or painful or that I'd handled poorly in the past replay themselves in some way in my life. At my high school reunion, I got the opportunity that I largely missed out on in high school to meet some great people. I realized that had I not been so insecure back then, I might have seen some of these folks for the friendly, caring people I know them to be today.

Each time this "replay" has happened, it's like a little buzzer goes off in my brain. I suddenly have seen that this situation is the same as the one I'd been through before. It's not as though I feel like I have a second chance not to mess up again. It's more as though I sense that the God that I serve is intentionally trying to show me that he can redeem anything. Even the difficult times. Even the things I've messed up in the past. Even my biggest failures. And if he can redeem them, most certainly, he can redeem a sinner like me.

That "buzzer" I talked about went off again today. My friends and maybe even some of you who only know me through these entries know that the past six months have been super difficult for me. I left a church and most of my relationships that I'd had there for ten years. I left behind two ministries that I felt firmly were God's purpose for my life - they were the work I thought he made me to do. I walked, or maybe just limped, through a season of conflict with my former pastor and ultimately had to make the call that we weren't going to fully resolve it, or at least that I wasn't going to be able to stop feeling hurt before I moved on, which had been one of my goals.

Now I'm at a new church, trying to learn the ropes and figure out what is next for me. I'm trying to hear God's voice and find the way he wants me to serve him now. And I'm trying to stop hurting from all that has gone on. So this morning, I headed off to church with all that in my brain as well as the knowledge that my former pastor was our guest speaker this morning. And I was introducing him. Talk about feeling like you're in a minefield.

Well, I don't need to dwell on specifics, but it was awkward for me. And, unfortunately, I think my feeling awkward and unsettled made things less comfortable for my pastor. Ultimately, I did realize something important, though. As I transitioned out of my old church and old roles of responsiblity, I tried to put on a brave and "together" face. I pretended that nothing was really wrong. I did this because I wanted the change to be easy and I didn't want to create a ruckus anywhere in the church. I assumed that my pastor knew how incredibly hard this was and how hurt I felt.

There's the problem. I assumed. My assumptions of his feelings and thoughts and likely actions were one of the biggest roots of all the conflict that went on. And today I saw that. I saw that because I'd pretended to be in an OK-place emotionally, he had believed I was and was genuinely surprised to find out the truth. It's as if a voice was telling me through this situation to be honest with those you care about. Be honest if you're hurt or if you're happy. Be honest and open enough to tell someone if you're upset about what they've done or haven't done. Honesty isn't the root of confict. Insecurity may be. Need for control may be. Living under assumptions about someone else almost always is. But honesty, spoken in love, never is.

I think the Holy Spirit was beginning a work of redemption in this situation. I hope so at least. And not just for me, but for my friend and former pastor and all my friends who have been so affected by the events of the past six months. I will pray and will look with expectation for the work of a Sovereign God, showing us all that even when we've sinned and fallen short, sat down in the mud and made mud pies, no matter what, He can redeem that which has gone wrong and make it into a situation that glorifies him.

Joel 2:25-26 "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten— the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm - my great army that I sent among you. You will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the LORD your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed.

I Love Technology...

2005-10-04T20:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'll join the rest of the just-a-shade-past-hip world and make a Napoleon Dynamite reference (although if I show up in a "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt, you have permission to put me out of your misery). But I do love technology. Actually, to be more specific, I love what it's doing for me right now. Writing this blog is not only helping me to feel a slightly inflated sense of importance (which is sad), but it is also helping me avoid reading "An Argument for the Post-Tribulational Rapture" by Douglas J. Moo. Yes - Moo. I think with a last name like Moo you have to join the church, if for no other reason than at least church-going folks won't make fun of your name to your face.

I'm reading this wonderful article by Dr. Moo for my Eschatology class taught by, and I'm not making this up, Dr. Holsteen. (Gives the phrase "Holy Cow" a whole new ring, huh?) I'm one of those school geeks who loves to study more than anything. Well, not more than anything, but more than lots of things. Yet, this class is driving me nuts. I'm having to drag myself through the reading. Not only do I have to finish this book, but by Friday I have to read Four Views on Revelation as well as the book of Revelation. Oh, and I have a quiz to take. And for the first time in a long time, I'm not looking forward to it.

One reason may be the subject matter. Don't tell Dr. Holsteen, but I just don't like eschatology - the study of end times. I spent eight hours or so a few weeks ago listening to him try to explain why eschatology is so vitally important to my spiritual life, but I'm not sure I'm buying it. Here's the thing: there are so many different views on this stuff. Premillenial, Amillenial, Postmillenial, Pretrib, Midtrib, Posttrib - it makes me a little crazy. It's not like other areas of scripture where you can really strongly make a statement and support it with verse after verse. It's confusing and strange and causes lots of Christians to act either like conspiracy nuts or cut-throat gatekeepers. I don't want to be either. And I'm not sure how to figure out what I really think about the subject since so many people with bigger brains than I have continue to disagree over it.

Of course, I do have two papers and a project to do on these topics, so maybe that will provide some clarification. At least I hope it will. And if anyone can help me find my own way in this theological morass, it's Dr. Holsteen. The man is brilliant as well as completely committed to his student's learning. He's undoubtedly the best teacher I've ever had.

Speaking of good teachers, I'm afraid I can't count myself in the ranks these days. I'm trying to pull my students kicking and screaming through the revision process on one of their essays. One of my classes was so resistant, reluctant, frustrated, incalcitrant (is that a word?) that I actually found myself saying those immortal words, "We're going to work on your introductions until they are better or until we are all dead. Whichever comes first." I'm not sure I was joking. I get a little, well, involved when it comes to writing. I did have one of those magical teacher moments earlier in the day, though, when kids were reading each other's writing and encouraging each other. I heard comments like "That's so good," and "Wow! I'd never thought of that before." For one brief shining moment, class was good and the writing was good and I was a good teacher. Then the bell rang and first period was over. Oh well.

OK - this was fun. The eighteen games of Bejeweled were fun. Catching up on my email, including re-reading emails for the last three weeks was fun. Now I'd better brew some coffee and join Dr. Moo for a little theology. Wish me luck. Moooooooo.....

Catching Up...

2005-10-02T22:58:00.000-07:00

I've been knocked off my blog throne! My friend Jim has surpassed me in number of blog entries. Over the summer, my group of inspirations (otherwise known as my closest friends) all started blogs. I was apparently the most prolific until now, when Jim has taken the lead. It's OK. I'll get over it. (Or maybe I won't... it did inspire me to log on again, now didn't it? I'm way too competitive. It's a problem I intend to work on as soon as I'm firmly in the lead again.)

I had a really wonderful weekend. It was my 20 year high school reunion, which was much more fun than I had anticipated. Then, today, the inspirations joined me for lunch to note my birthday. Yippee! I had hoped to drag at least one of them through mini-golf but that no-goodskie Lance Armstrong had to go and sponsor a free concert downtown today. Whatever!

OK - the reunion. I will be honest - I was petrified to go. My sister-in-law went with me and I tried to talk her into going home about eighteen times in the twenty-five minutes it took us to get there. Somehow, I was still afraid of being judged or laughed at by the perfect people. Not that that ever really happened in high school much. Actually, I remember most of the people I knew being pretty nice. I think I was the one who was angry, cranky, insecure and lived with a huge chip on my shoulder. At least I think so. To be honest, most of high school is a blur for me.

This became apparent as I was greeted by several people right off the bat whom I did not remember at all. One told me she came to a slumber party at my house. How could I forget that? Whoa! Maybe I ought to look into memory regression therapy. Everywhere, there were people coming up and grabbing me in big hugs while I frantically tried to get a look at their name tags. Who were these thirty-somethings and why did they keep acting like we knew each other? Oh yeah, we did.

One former classmate now a plastic surgeon told me I looked exactly the same. Given my many frightening fashion mistakes in high school, I'm not sure how to take that comment. One thing that was readily apparent is that my high school class was full of freakishly tall people. Really! I live every day as a short person in a world of tall people. I frequently try to meet men by asking them to get cans off the top shelf for me at the grocery store. But this was insane! Everywhere I looked, everyone was a giant. It seemed like all of the women were 5' 11" blond beauties. And the guys were even taller. One friend even commented that I couldn't consider teaching high school because I needed to be taller than my students. How did I shrink into this pip squeak between the time I left my house and the time I arrived at the reunion? It's got to be some sort of phenomena worthy of scientific study.

At first, when I walked into the room, I felt so out of place. Seeing old names and faces brought back all of the politics and cliques I remembered so well. Should I go and say "hi" to that person? She and I were never really friends. I suddenly felt that old sense of having been measured and come up short (there's that "short" thing again!) that I remembered so well from high school. But gradually, an amazing thing happened. The guy who had snubbed me so long ago now greeted me with a huge smile and remembered some conversation I'd long ago forgotten. Another classmade I'd never known well and had judged to be stuck up (that measuring thing went both ways, unfortunately), sat and talked to me for twenty minutes about his disabled son and how it had affected his marriage and other relationships. I overheard two former cheerleaders talking about a parent's battle with Alzheimer's. The guy who I always thought was the epitome of coolness was the first person to greet me - and made me feel like I was the person he'd been waiting to see all night.

I wrote in a previous entry that twenty years was a leveler. It is much more than that. We've all been through pain and struggle, happiness, failure, and success. We've learned, I think, to be a little more forgiving, a little more tolerant, and I think a lot more loving towards each other. Only one person acted at all stand-offish to me, but now that I think about it, maybe she was as nervous as I was.

I'm glad I went to the reunion. One of the things I learned about myself is that I'm really much more connected with a smaller group of people. Most of the memories I still have were with people who didn't come to the festivities. Ellen, Treave, and Lilly were really my high school experience. I wish there were a chance for a reunion with them. Actually, I think that's a great thing to pray about. Maybe we'll get thrown together again. If so, I'd welcome it. Although all of the memories aren't good, most were truly amazing.

peace....

The place of prayer

2005-09-11T21:30:00.000-07:00

I just read a blog by a friend of mine (you can read it at http://www.jr-taylor.com/blog). My friend and I love to argue points of Calvinism, which I'm sure is a symptom of some psychological condition that can't be good. I call myself a moderate Calvinist. I think he calls me an Arminian heathen, but oh well. Anyway, JR wrote today about believing that his prayers are preordained -- that is, that God doesn't act on behalf of someone because JR prayed, but that God preordained that JR would pray and chose to work through him in that way. Or I think that's what JR is saying. To be honest, strict Calvinism often makes me feel like I'm in one of those Star Trek space/time conundrums that befuddle Captain Picard so much. You know the riddles: if you traveled to the past and accidentally killed a butterfly, Saddam Hussein would be president of the United States today.

Anyway, it has me thinking about the place of prayer. Prayer is one of those things that confuses me as a believer. Not the aspect of communicating with God. That makes sense. If God is real and truly does love and care for me and want to be in a relationship, it makes all the sense in the world that I should pour out my heart to him, try to listen to his voice, and meditate on his Scripture. After all, how do you get to know someone unless you talk and listen and spend time with them?

What confuses me, though, is intercessory prayer, or praying for other people. I ask people to pray for me, although I admit I sometimes feel a bit like a sham doing it. Honestly, sometimes I ask someone to pray for me simply because it's more "Christian" sounding than simply telling them what's bugging, bothering, or worrying me. Here's where the problem comes in: I believe that God is sovereign, meaning that he's large and in charge and does as he sees fit. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to think of anything he hasn't already, and I'm absolutely positive that I can't love anyone more than he does already.

So if God loves everyone, knows what is best from a huge-picture perspective, and has the where-withal to do any and everything necessary, why do I need to ask him to do a particular thing? What does it matter if I ask him to heal my friend's arthritis or take care of my nieces? He's good, right? And he's going to do what's good and right anyway.

There are a few reasons I can think of to pray for others. First, at least in theory, it should make me less selfish, and anything that can make me less selfish is a wonderful thing. By remembering the problems and pains of my friends and family or strangers across the country, I should (and I emphasize should) remember the many, many blessings God has given me. It may also make me more mindful of practical ways I can help and encourage others. James 2:14-15 says

What use is it, my brethren, if someone says he has faith but he has no works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace, be warmed and filled," and yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that?

That's how I sometimes think about praying for others. To be sure, there are lots of times when all I can do is pray, but if my prayers don't move me to act when I can to help or love another person, what good are they really?

My other terribly astute observation about prayer comes from... a movie. OK. A good movie, but still. In Shadowlands, C.S. Lewis is quoted as saying that he doesn't pray to change God's mind, he prays so that God will change him. I'm pretty sure Lewis never said this, but it still seems incredibly true, especially in light of so many prayers that seem so hopeless and go unanswered. Or seem to be unanswered. When I pray for a friend with a terminal illness or for the people in the overwhelming misery of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, I'm not praying, begging God to change his mind and make everything better. Instead, I'm praying, hoping that God will give me and others eyes to see him in the midst of so much pain and anger. I'm not holding out hope that if some mystical critical mass of people pray in exactly the right way and time that he'll relent, change his mind and decide not to afflict people with all of that destruction. God is good, right?

I used to have a pastor who would run around all the time talking about how prayer worked. When something good happened, it was due to prayer. When something bad happened, we just needed to pray harder. I respect this man and his Biblical knowledge, but at least right now in my life and experience, I can't believe that way. I know I need to pray and to pray for others. I know it can be encouraging and can teach me more about God's heart when I do. But I can't view prayer as a magic potion of sorts, where if you pour enough on, you can get what you want.

All this started off with JR's comment about prayer being preordained. I'm to the end of all I can write right now and realize I never even got to that. Oh well, it will have to wait for another time. And a few more brain cells. In the meantime, I'll go watch another episode of Star Trek.

Alone again... naturally

2005-08-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

First off, I hate that song. I'm just feeling maudlin tonight, so I thought I'd use the title. And I am alone again. Seems like I'm alone most of the time these days. I am an introvert by nature, so much of the time, I actually enjoy alone time. The only problem is that I'm a verbal processor. That is, I need to talk to be able to process out my feelings and thoughts. And when I say "talk," I don't mean to myself. I'm a riddle wrapped in a conundrum, sitting in a purple nightgown in front of her computer. Oh well.

I am single and without a roommate. I had a friend stay with me on and off this summer, so most of the time it didn't seem too bad. Just when I'd start feeling a little cramped, she'd be off for a week or so. When I'd start feeling isolated, she'd be back. Now she's in China, though, so she's not likely to drop in any time soon.

I'd like to have a roommate, but truth be told, I just don't think I can share my house with someone I don't know. I keep praying for someone I do know to need a place to stay, but providence has seemed to bless all my friends with a home. A home or an allergy to my two cats.

I'm not sure what to do when I feel so alone. Honestly, I usually try to keep busy so I don't notice. But ultimately, when there is down time, when I want to go to a movie or shopping, I need to face the fact that much of the time, I have to do these things alone, and they don't seem as fun.

I wish it was easy for me to meet people. I have trouble getting to know them. And I think my extended periods of solitude only make me more intense and perhaps strange when I am in a position to meet people. I'm not sure what the solution is. There must be one. I'll keep looking - keep my ears open and my heart ready for what may come.

School Days

2005-08-15T20:24:00.000-07:00

School starts back tomorrow. I'm headed back to the classroom after five years of acting as support staff for a school. To say I'm nervous is more than a little inaccuate. I'm petrified. I'm not sure why, but I am. Five years seems like a very, very long time suddenly.

I'm also going back to school myself - attending seminary classes. I must admit, I love, love, love being a student. I think I became a teacher because it at least allowed me to hang out in schools all day long. Here's what kind of geek I am: I put together my binder and read the syllabus for my theology course last night even though my first class isn't for a month! I probably need help. I'm just so excited.

I've had trouble writing lately - mostly because I'm insanely busy and tired and distracted all at the same time. I'll try to get back in the swing. I hope that the school year will bring with it a hidden reserve of discipline - perhaps activated by extreme desperation.

For now, I'd better work on my lesson plans. (I love saying that!! Almost as much as I love doing it!) Dear old golden rule days to come.....

If you love me...

2005-08-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

John 14:15 - If you love me, you will obey what I command.

Yesterday in church service, this verse blew me away. The speaker referred to it in passing. He never explained it, and it certainly wasn't at the core of his message. But somehow, I heard this verse as I'd never heard it before.

It's from the gospel of John and is at the end of Jesus' life, just before he is arrested and crucified. In his divinity, he knows what is going to happen and he spends some time with his disciples - his closest friends - trying to prepare them for something they can't even imagine.

Here's what blew me away. As the speaker said these words, I suddenly realized that I've misheard them all my life. Now, I've heard them preached and recited and I've read them myself. I've even seen them in movie form. But last night I realized that somehow, mentally I've translated this sentence from "If you love me, you will obey what I command" to "I you loved me, you would have obeyed what I commanded."

Seems like a small change, doesn't it? But in that change of tense, the verse becomes a divine guilt trip. I almost hear it in my mother's most disappointed voice, saying something like, "Dear, if you really loved me, you wouldn't be saying those mean, hurtful things you do. You wouldn't be letting your mind and your eyes go to places they shouldn't go. You wouldn't be so insensitive and selfish. I just wish you loved me more."

And that's the place I've lived from in this heart of mine for many years. Whenever I sin, which, sadly, is often, I hear that voice reminding me that if I really loved God more, like Suzy Christian with the Sunday School answers... if I really loved him like I say I do when I'm singing praise songs at church... if I really loved him even just a smidgen more than I actually do, I wouldn't have sinned against him. Then, of course, there's not only the consequences of sin to deal with in my own psyche, but the dread of coming back to a God who will accept me back, somewhat grudgingly, willing to forgive me but knowing, all the time, that I'm not really worth it. Eventually, thoughts like these can wear me down and I find myself in the stubborness of my own heart not even wanting to repent.

But last night, I head the truth, and it really does set us free. The verse is spoken in the context of Jesus telling the disciples that he is sending the Holy Spirit to live with them as a helper. When I read this verse the way it was written it tells me something amazing. It says that if I do what Jesus commands, it's for one reason and one reason only: that I love him. It's not a divine guilt trip. It's Jesus telling his disciples that even though his commands are hard and frightening, they will be able to do them because they live in relationship with him... because they are friends and because he's sending them the Holy Spirit to live in them and help them.

So when I find myself not doing what Jesus commands, I'm not supposed to feel guilty or ashamed. Do I need forgiveness? Absolutely. Should I feel sorrow for not following my Lord? You bet. Am I supposed to feel ashamed? No. I need to understand that I sin because I'm not focused on Jesus. I fail to obey his commands because I get my focus off of Jesus and the fact that I love him and focus on myself, my fears, my wants and desires instead. When I find myself feeling like I can't keep his commandments, I'm not supposed to just try harder. I'm supposed to fall at Jesus' feet and ask him to help me love him more. Ask him to help me know him better and trust him with more of my life. It's not a guilt trip at all. It's a pathway back to my first love and an even deeper relationship in the future.

Rainy Days and... Fridays

2005-08-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to the relaxing and comforting sound of rain and gentle thunder outside my window. Actually, that's not true. I woke up to the metallic crash of a hammer and box of nails falling from my dresser as my cat Gideon tried to get to my knitting. He's not so good with estimating his weight in relation to, say, a hammer or flimsy piece of cardboard. We need to have a talk about some of the elements of physics very, very soon.

At any rate, once I woke up, I realized that there was a lovely storm going on outside. A little lightening, a nice shower and some crackling thunder. Not enough to rattle the windows or make me think I'd better start unplugging things, but not just a drippy little shower, either. I've never been one of those people who gets scared by storms. At least when I'm safely inside, that is. I even enjoyed last year's hail storm that cost me a new roof. It was percussive, I guess you'd say. And definitely out of control.

I think my love for storms is rooted in two causes. First, I have wonderful memories of my father sitting out on our front porch everytime it rained or stormed. He would just sit and look at the storm: the water pouring off the roof in torrents, the lightening providing sudden, ghostly peeks at the trees in our front yard waving frantically in the wind, the clouds moving and changing across the sky. My brother and I would occasionally go outside and sit with him and he would tell us stories about growing up with his grandparents and working in their various stores and businesses. Eventually the rain would end, and we'd all head back in, back to the television and our typical daily lives.

Another reason I think I love storms is that they are so large and out of my control. I feel this same way whenever I go to the ocean, too. My family thinks I'm strange (for many reasons, but especially) because I laugh uncontrollably whenever a wave crashes over me or pushes me around. I'm not used to feeling out of control (although I most definitely am in reality), so being in the middle of something so much bigger than me that doesn't have any kind of escape clause and that I can't affect at all - I guess it forces me to recognize the reality of being out of control. I think, somehow, I'd probably learn more from this lesson, however, if I did two things. First, I need to realize that pretty much everything that matters is, truly, not mine to control. Especially relationships and the time in which things happen. Second, I'm sure I'd be the better if I tried to "enjoy" this storm outside, in a place with no shelter or warmth. Being out of control is only something to laugh at when your feet can touch the ocean floor or when you've got a comfy arm chair from which to view the storm. I know my perspective on the storm would change dramatically if I were ever really caught out in it.

Useless Desires

2005-08-02T18:45:00.000-07:00

It's been a couple of weeks since I last posted. I went on a few days of vacation to visit some friends and spend time with family. But more than that, I simply haven't had the motivation to write. I haven't quite known what to write about. I realized recently that being so open and honest in a public forum may not be the wisest thing, emotionally speaking. In the big picture, I feel it's important. Not only might someone else identify with what I'm feeling or thinking and feel a little less alone, but I think it also helps me live a life of freedom.

That may confuse you. How does it make me free to be extremely vulnerable to people who might misunderstand or just not even care? It makes me free because it forces me to be in touch with who I really am, not just who I'd like people to think I am. I've realized over the past few months that when I pretend to be nicer and more spiritual or more together than I really am, I start to believe that lie, too. Not only am I in for a fall, but I forget who I really am - good and bad points alike. I don't want to do that.

Still, I should probably realize that my people pleasing ways won't end overnight, so it still feels scary to know that friends and family might read some things about me that are less than flattering. Things they probably don't want to know. Things that may seem overly emotional or pedantic or maybe even childish. I don't know. But I do know that even when it's hard, I need to be honest. I don't think I'll grow until I can be honest even in the face of disapproval.

The topic of disapproval brings me to another reason I haven't wanted to write. I've got some goodbyes to say this week and they are harder than I thought. One is to someone from whom I've felt tremendous amounts of disapproval over the past few years. The goodbye in this case is because I've chosen to leave the relationship. I've finally recognized that it isn't healthy for me, or probably, for him either. Either way, I'm just tired of feeling so damn bad about myself whenever I'm around him. The funny thing is that I've bent myself in a pretzel trying to get this man's approval, probably more than I ever did with my own father. But ultimately, it seemed like he only found more and more things to find fault with and I've just had to say I'm through. It's costing me a lot in terms of friendships and dreams that can no longer live in quite the same way, but I know it's necessary.

I find myself in the odd position of having already told this person that I'm moving on, but still owing him the opportunity for a further, deeper explanation. I can hear someone out there saying that's just my pesky need for approval again. I don't think it is. There's a verse in Romans 13 that tells us to pay what we owe - whether it's a debt of money or respect. Because of this man's position, I owe him the respect of a face-to-face conversation, no matter how uncomfortable it is for me. My sincere hope is that he feels no need for deep explanations or for a post-mortem of our somewhat rocky friendship. I hope he'll just say goodbye and good luck. We'll see.

The other goodbye is somehow both sadder and happier. It's to someone who is a close and treasured friend who is moving out of state. It makes me sadder than I want to think about that he won't be around for casual chats or coffee anymore. But at the same time, I know our friendship will continue on some level. And I know this move is absolutely for his family's best.

I called this piece "Useless Desires" because that Patty Griffin song has seemed to call my name over the past week. Whether I'm saying goodbye because I'm leaving or because I'm being left, there's a sense of loss, a feeling of sadness over the dreams and desires that have to die, whether at my own hand or another's. And looking back at some of the hopes I had for both friendships, it really does seem right now like they were useless desires. A lot of time and energy was spent. I'm spent. And like the song says, somewhere beyond the bitter end is where I want to be. And I hope I will be, very soon.

Soap bubbles, soap bubbles, all is soap bubbles!

2005-07-18T09:45:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend with some friends in Medina, Texas. They have a wonderful little house out in the middle of the hill country with a huge bay window and back porch that looks out on a little valley that runs up to another hill. It's green and peaceful and a wonderful place to relax. We spent part of the day Saturday watching a rain storm come across several hills and up the valley to the house. That may sound boring to you, but that's a pretty sure sign you've never done it.

On Friday, I took a little excursion into Kerrville to do some grocery shopping. On the way back, I saw mother and baby deer wading and drinking in the newly swollen creekbeds. There were several groups of vultures out getting a meal and cleaning up the roadsides. And every low water crossing I passed had at least one family, fishing and wading and splashing in it. And there are a LOT of low water crossings from Kerrville to Medina. I even caught myself laughing outloud as I tried to follow the winding, hilly two-lane country road that seemed determined to throw me off course. It was a rare day: sunny but not too hot, lazy and perfectly peaceful.

It reminded me of the passages in Ecclesiastes which talk about trying to find meaning in life. Over and over again, you find the following idea which is here expressed in chapter 2, verse 24: "A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is fromt he hand of God." On a day like last Friday, I can see the sense of this verse. There is nothing more satisfying than to enjoy being right where you are and having just what you have. Contentment is the word, I suppose.

At the same time, however, this type of satisfaction is fragile. It is easily lost as our minds drift to thoughts of things we want that we don't have. We might think, "This would be perfect if..." and the sense of contentment is marred. Even trying to hold on to it too hard can cause us to lose it, as the fear that this time will end is the very thing that brings it to an end.

Ecclesiastes addresses this, too. The book begins with the pronouncement:
"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher,
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."

As the teacher, Solomon, goes on, he explores every realm of human life and ultimately comes to believe they are all meaningless. Work, pleasure, relationships - none of them can truly satisfy the desires of a man or woman's heart. As they key to life, they fall conspicuously short. In one of my seminary classes, my prof told us that another way to translate the word "meaningless" is something along the lines of "soap bubbles"! In other words: insubstantial, easily broken, here today and gone in a few moments - nothing has permanence in this world. Like our feeling of contentment in a perfect summer day, everything in life will pop and disappear if held too tightly. We will find we are holding on to a lot of nothing if we try to hold too tightly to those things we love.

The challenge is: how can we live fully and completely, being in and savoring each moment without trying to hold on to it and make it something it was never designed to be: permanent.

Barricades

2005-07-11T14:07:00.000-07:00

I've seemed to be in the mode of self-examination lately, haven't I? Today, the topic seems to be barricades. There are so many defense mechanisms I put up to keep others from my heart. I know I'm no different from most in this regard. Let's face it: we live in a world that doesn't really value the deeper, gentler things of the heart. Out of envy or fear, anger and past hurts, we often seem to face the world with our hands up in boxing mode, with our words razor sharp and our eyes flinted. And of course, we get as good as we give. We can feel the barrage coming on daily, from every avenue, even those we most trust and love. So we put up the barricades.

The thing is, though, that these barricades become insidious. They are well camouflaged and eventually I forget they are there. I just know that there are parts of my heart that used to feel that don't any more. There are parts of my mind that once could explore universes but now only walk, or sometimes limp.

This morning, by God's grace, he showed me one of the barricades I have been hiding behind. It's rather personal, but probably not so uncommon. A few years back, I fell in love with someone who was utterly unavailable to me. Of course, that's probably why I fell in love with him, at least on some level. Although nothing ever came of this other than a rather intense friendship, I saw today for the first time how that relationship gave me control. I could love and receive a form of love from this person all on my own terms. Because he was unavailable, I didn't have to worry about the realities of a true relationship coming to pass. He was always, predictably and honorably, going to choose his family over me. I knew where I stood and I could deal with that and not expect something more. Our relationship was a threadbare coat I could wear and congratulate myself that at least I had some warmth. At least I was warmer than I would have been without it.

It was a barricade to put distance between my own hurting heart and the God who could heal it, but also, I feared, might choose not to. It was an attempt to provide for myself, and what a shabby, cheap thing I proved to be satisfied with. I think that control must be the central issue of most women's lives. We feel so out of it and long to be firmly in it. The bare naked truth is that I long to be loved and cared for and am truly afraid of admitting that. I'm afraid it won't happen, or that all those voices that tell me it's not possible may be true. And I'm desperately afraid of truly abandoning that desire to God. Of course, my head tells my heart, the loving God I know from the Bible is the only one who ever can truly satisfy these desires I have. Still, that type of dependence makes me feel incredibly vulnerable and frightened. So, too often, I find lesser lovers who can appease my soul temporarily, even though the price is the cost of an altar, built to a false god.

I pray that this barricade will stay down. That now that I have given it a name, I will find it has crumbled like clay. And I pray that as I live and breathe and learn to love my God, I will remember his words:

"Therefore I am now going to allure her;
I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her.
There I will give her back her vineyards,
and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.
There she will sing as in the days of her youth,
as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

"In that day," declares the LORD,
"you will call me 'my husband';
you will no longer call me 'my master.'
I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips;
no longer will their names be invoked,
In that day I will make a covenant for them
with the beasts of the field and the birds of the air
and the creatures that move along the ground.
Bow and sword and battle
I will abolish from the land,
so that all may lie down in safety.
I will betroth you to me forever;
I will betroth you in righteousness and justice,
in love and compassion.
I will betroth you in faithfulness,
and you will acknowledge the LORD.

"In that day I will respond," declares the LORD--
"I will respond to the skies, and they will respond to the earth;
and the earth will respond to the grain,
the new wine and oil,
and they will respond to Jezreel.
I will plant her for myself in the land;
I will show my love to the one I called 'Not my loved one,'
I will say to those called 'Not my people' 'You are my people';
and they will say 'You are my God.' "

Hosea 2:14-23

Finding out who I am

2005-07-08T14:57:00.000-07:00

Is it too early to have an identity crisis? I'm only 37. I guess that is officially mid-life, although sometimes it feels like life has just begun. I guess never having a husband and kids has allowed me to feel like an adolescent for longer than I should have. Don't get me wrong; I think I'm a pretty responsible person. I own my own home and have a career. I've even been known to keep houseplants alive for more than a month at a time. I'm not exactly carefree and crazy.

I guess the area I need to grow up in has to do with knowing myself well. Was it Socrates who advised his students to "Know thyself"? I'm not sure. But as I go through a series of changes, I realize how much I define myself by my roles. It's not so much who I am, but what I do. And as those roles have been stripped away, I often find myself feeling adrift and confused.

Not too long ago, I had a major realization of how convoluted my sense of self actually is when I signed up for Netflix. With thousands of DVD's at my fingertips, I felt overwhelmed. I began wondering why I was selecting the movies that I was. Did I really like artsy foreign films, or had I somewhere along the way convinced myself that they were more sophisticated and therefore, better. Am I a person who wants to spend an evening in subtitles, or do I just think that's the kind of person I am supposed to be? I admit that I actually felt a bit ashamed at putting the entire Star Trek Voyager series in my queue. I don't really want to be known as a person who watches Star Trek. I found myself a bit embarassed as I watched an episode with a friend last night and realized that I was explaining the history of the Kazan Nistrum to her, as if they were a real culture somewhere in the universe. Although I'd never go so far as to attend a Trekkie convention, I still feel that the energy I devote to this sort of thing is ultimately such a waste of time. But truth be told, I like it. I am a person who likes science fiction, who loves the internal logic of other worlds and times and places. It is who I am.

I have had friends in the past who accuse me of thinking too much. They are probably right. But I have to admit, that I am looking forward to this next chapter of life and getting reaquainted with the real me, not the performance-based me. I hope with all of my heart that one thing I will come to better know is truly what it means to know that my life is hidden in Christ. Colossians 3:3 says "For you died and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appeaer with him in glory." This statement is so profound, and yet stated so simply. It is easy for me to feel alone and cut off from others. It's not so easy to remember that as a Christian, Christ lives in me and I live in him. We aren't one, but we are united in an intimate, strong way. I want to come to know that - not as a Bible verse, but as the central truth of my life. I want to know Christ the way I know my friends and family, for him to be a real and tangible presence in my life. I want to know myself in Him, not as a separate entity, a character in a book, or a holy and distant God on a cross.

As always, the answers for all of these desires and questions comes from the Bible. As I reread Colossians 3:3, I notice it begins with the word "for." An old preacher comment is that whenever you come to a sentence beginning with "for" or "therefore," you need to look at the verses ahead of it to see what it's there for. Verse 3:2 says "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things." The next verse is the justification for this command: I should think of heavenly things - the things God thinks of, his kingdom and his way of seeing the world - because I have died with Christ and now live hidden in him. It doesn't come naturally to think heavenly thoughts. Not to me, anyway. But perhaps the only way I can get to know Christ more, and ultimately myself as I am in Him, is to train myself to think like him. To practice what I know of him. My friend Jimmy would say "to fake it til I make it." Sounds a bit flip, but maybe it's true. The Bible does value obedience over and over again.

So I will start today by asking God to show me the world around me as he sees it. And I'll remember as I do that, to try to see myself as he sees me, too.

Out of touch!

2005-07-07T14:23:00.000-07:00

Well, I lost my internet connectivity for a little over a day. I can't believe how disconnected I felt. Just the idea that I couldn't communicate over email - that I actually had to use the phone! - left me feeling a bit bereft. It wasn't only me, though. My houseguest is actually gone right now. She went to the library because the idea of not getting at her email until later tonight was driving her nuts, too.

Of course, most of my messages were junk mail. There were a couple of cute email forwarded by family. You'd think the fact that I never, EVER return one of these "email four people and tell them you love them" messages would sink in and I'd stop getting poems and jokes and other cutesy emails. But no. I suppose they will continue coming en masse until the postal service figures out a way to make us pay for the privilege of sending our email.

Feeling so disconnected was a bit disconcerting, perhaps because it hit too close to home. As I've written about before, I decided to leave my church recently. As I predicted, I haven't heard from many folks wondering where I am, etc. And the one person I'm hoping most to hear from, my pastor, is somewhat conspicuously silent.

I don't handle silence well. I make many assumptions and suffer the piercing of a thousand arrows as each barbed thought makes its way through my brain. Even though I know I make assumptions and I do try to give others the benefit of the doubt, it is often painful waiting for someone else to be ready to communicate. It hurts wondering if they ever will decide to, or if they have perhaps, already moved on without you.

Disconnected is how I have felt from my community of faith for quite a while. Not on the same page. Different. Out of place. Yet, the decision to make that official and to tell these people I care about so much that I have decided to leave has been much more painful than I thought it would be. I've found myself even today wondering if I was making a big mistake. Wondering if I'm just being selfish and only thinking about me. After all, this is a family. I can't imagine just deciding to separate myself from my biological family because of differences of opinion or even that my needs aren't being met. Maybe I'm just supposed to be quiet and serve others, as one of my friends has told me repeatedly. The Purpose Driven Life starts with the sentence, "It's not about you." Today, as I prayed and cried again, it seemed very much like my decision was all about me and very little about what was right for my church family.

God very graciously took me to a passage in a book I've been inching my way through. It's called Buck Naked Faith by Eric Sandras. In a section on the culture of conformity that exists in most churches (or other organizations, for that matter), Sandras asks the following:
"Regarding your house of worship, ask yourself, Does my community provide an atmosphere of freedom that allows each person to be honest, give them permission to stumble, and even lets them ask hard questions without the fear of punishment, shame, or rejection? Is it just as okay to say "I doubt," as it is to say, "I believe," in my house of worship?"

As I read this, I felt like a voice was speaking these words directly to me. The answer, for many or most in my church, is probably yes. Perhaps an unequivocal loudly-shouted yes. For me, the answer has become no. Perhaps I am too brash or too quick with my opinions. Maybe I'm just too immature for the level of leadership that was entrusted to me. I'm open to every possibility that the problem is 100% me and not them. I don't want to make that assumption, obviously, but it is something I'm praying about and asking God to show me. I most desperately want to grow from this and learn all the lessons God has for me. It has been too painful to shy away and end up having to go through it again unnecessarily. But, ultimately, the fact remains that my church is no longer the place where I can go and be the unvarnished and unpolished "me" and feel OK and accepted. God has graciously done enough work in my heart that I realize that I am sinful and imperfect, but no more so than other people out there. And we all need a place where we can be ourselves, warts and all, and still be loved. I firmly believe there's no place that should be more true than the church of Jesus Christ.

Please don't hear me slam my former church. I know it is a lifeline to many. It was to me for many years and I am grateful and humbled when I think of all of the time and effort different individuals were willing to pour into my life when they certainly didn't need to. Perhaps I have just grown in a different direction. Or maybe I need to go away for a while to appreciate what I was given. Maybe, like someone growing up, I need to go out on my own for a while to know who I am and what I am supposed to do. I'm not saying that I won't join another church. I will. I've already found one that seems a likely candidate. Still, it won't be the same. It won't be the place I've found both comfortable and challenging over the past ten years. I'll continue to pray for them. I hope they will wish me well, and I hope to stay somewhat connected with those I love and those who have so kindly loved me.

Heat

2005-07-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year in Texas - the heat season. Although it hasn't broken double-digits yet, with the humidity and unrelenting streaming sunshine, no one wants to stay outdoors very long. Although our humidity is nothing compared with other regions, it is just enough to make what should be a sunny, cheery day feel oppressive and stifling. The air outside settles thickly about your shoulders and it actually feels like walking and moving is more difficult. Imagine doing all of your errands in warm, rapidly setting Jello and you can imagine what more than ten minutes outside feels like right about now.

This barrage of heat inspires an equal but opposite reaction as well: the wall o'airconditioning. Walk into any store and you hit a paralyzing wall of frigid air. It quickly closes in about you, running down your neck and back and settles in all the damp parts of your shirt or the waistband of your pants. I find myself walking around stores, shivering a little, but delaying over the most inane displays to preserve this frosty few minutes. Eventually, however, you have to make that trip back out, under the unforgiving sun and into the broiler you used to call your car.

This time of year, everyone has "sunglasses" on their car dashboards to help reflect as many evil rays as they can. Our news stations each year do comparisons to show how much heat you can actually reflect using these handy devices. And almost everyone leaves the windows cracked. With such increased access, you'd think there would be more auto burglaries occurring in the summer months, but I've never heard anything about that. I wonder if there's a pact among car burglars concerning the "summer crack." Or perhaps, they just don't want to be out in the sun any more than I do.

Eventually, it's time to go home, where a combination of air conditioning, ceiling fans, and cold water make the environment comfortable. Comfortable, of course, is a relative term, and I think about those who don't have the luxury of air conditioning or the money to install a fan in their homes. I'm thankful for organizations that hold fan drives throughout the summer. And I'm mindful of using the amazing plenty that I've been given in a responsible way.

Out of the waiting room...sort of

2005-07-03T17:06:00.000-07:00

I got the answer on seminary. Even better, I got the answer I was hoping and praying for. I've been accepted for the fall. Yippee. And my favorite prof of all time is teaching a course here in Austin for the fall. Double yippee! So much good news, I should be walking on air, no?

Well, no. I've been told that all people can be broken down into personality types using characters from Winnie the Pooh. Know-it-all Rabbit's, simple but loving Pooh's, personal authority Owl's, etc. If this highly scientific notion is true, then I am Eeyore. Perpetually expecting the worst and looking for the cloud in every silver lining.

I'm not proud of this, mind you. It's a fairly disturbing character trait. I long to be naturally upbeat and always see the positive. I just don' t think it's in my DNA. So about three minutes after getting the happy news that I can again take classes this fall, I immediately started wondering where I would get the money to pay for them. Although I've seen mountains move in order to get to this stage, I find myself feeling like I'm in the waiting room wondering when (or if, if I'm honest) God will provide.

OK - it's time for a change. Or at least a change in this particular situation. Please understand. In order to get this application in, I needed a particular recommendation from a certain person. That person declined at first to give me that recommendation. About a month and a half later, for no reason that I understood, he agreed to give me the recommendation and promised me that it would be positive. Apparently, it was.

I also needed to gain the goodwill of some other people my decision would affect. These particular folks have been against me attending seminary in the past. But this time, they agreed that it was a good thing for me to do. I sent off my paperwork and was accepted back into the program. So why am I fretting and worrying? Why is my first reaction the belief that God probably won't come through this time? Or worse yet, that he may have been setting me up for a fall here. You know - say yes early on, but then slam the door shut in her face. What is it in me that makes me think this way?

I'm sure there are lots of reasons why. The short-sightedness with which we lead our lives comes to mind. After all, as I wrote in a previous entry, we don't get the benefit of hindsight much in this life. We can't always see what God is up to and sometimes the events of our lives can seem arbitrary and cruel. I'm sure there are also lots of personal reasons: disappointments I've not fully dealt with, relationship conflict that I've left simmering too long, desires that haven't been fulfilled in my 37 years. However, a book I've been inching my way through lately (Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge) points out that the same feelings I have go all the way back to Eve. After all, in the garden of Eden, Eve was deceived by the snake into believing that God didn't really want the best for her. The lie she bought was that God was holding out - he couldn't really be trusted, especially if what he asked seemed to go against her own serpent-aided logic.

For many of us, faith doesn't come easily. I recall hearing once that faith was a gift - the gift of God to us. I've been looking for that verse. The closest I can get is Romans 12:3. But what I am struck by in my quick survey through the New Testament is how much Jesus' actions are contingent on faith. And how many times he is grieved by people's lack of faith. When the disciples ask him to increase their faith, even then, Jesus doesn't agree to! He tells them that they don't need much, just as much as a very small seed. But they have to use what they have. It has to be active faith, not fearful, hesitant, maybe-kind of faith. Not to get sacrilegious, but it has to be Tigger-faith, not Eeyore-faith.

I don't think I'll ever be bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. But I need to remember what I've read in the Bible today. God has taken me this far. I don't know for sure that the next door will open in the way I hope it will, but I need to actively believe that God is doing what is best for me. So I guess until then, I'll keep asking and believing and waiting for the next door to open.

Waiting Room

2005-06-29T15:00:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting right now. Waiting to find out if I get back into seminary for the fall. And when you're in waiting mode, it's sometimes hard to focus on much else. There's really no reason to think I won't be readmitted to seminary. I voluntarily withdrew. My accounts were current. My GPA was good. I sent in the required information and a letter catching them up on my life for the past year. But I haven't heard yet, and it's making me a little crazy.

When they received my reapplication, they sent me a note saying I should have my answer within three weeks. It's right in the middle of the second week, and I keep thinking that there must be something wrong. I wonder if they will notify me via email, or if they only give out bad news in snail mail, like the UT Admissions office where I used to work. I keep thinking that no news is bad news and wonder if my somewhat stormy relationship with my former senior pastor led him to write something negative on my recommendation, even though he promised he didn't. I wonder if they somehow got a bad report about me, from a former teacher or classmate, or even from an alumnus at my former church who hasn't been my biggest fan. Waiting definitely brings out the worst, most paranoid side of my personality.

There's a tension here, a vulnerability that is definitely uncomfortable, but that is one that I think God wants me in. It's the place of saying to Him that I really, really want something. That I'll be crushed if he doesn't have it in His plans for me. And that, despite all of that, I want His will. I want Him to open the doors or I want them slammed shut, even if it feels like my toe was in it at the time. It's a place of naked dependence, which is not easy for a control-freak like me. When I want something, I'm used to going and getting it. I can often make it happen for myself. This place is one in which I sit and wait and remind myself daily, sometimes hourly, that God's ways are better, even when I don't understand them. A long time ago, I found a verse that gave me great comfort in times of distress. It's Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Like it has to many other believers, this verse has been a beacon of hope to me at uncertain times in my life.

It was only recently I noticed what the verse doesn't say, though. It doesn't say that I get to know God's plans. It says that he has them and that he knows them. I'm supposed to be content in that and that alone. That God has plans and that they are good plans. I'm left feeling a bit out of the loop, to be honest. But certainly this is the essence of faith. To believe that God means me good, even when circumstances in my life say otherwise. To believe that his ways are higher than mine and that he is trustworthy even when I feel alone or hurt or angry. To believe that no news can be good news. To believe that even if it's bad news, that will work out OK, too.

There's another verse that I don't think I believe fully. It's from the book of Romans, chapter 8, verse 28: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." It's an amazing idea. We know that in all things: in happiness, in sadness, with the new job, with the lay off, in cancer, in perfect health, in marriage and family, in a life of singleness, in acceptance, in rejection - in all things God works for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose. By his grace I know him and love him. In his grace I am called to his purpose. Therefore, I hold on to the hope that all things will work together for my good. Maybe not my pleasure or satisfaction. Maybe not my temporary happiness. But ultimately, for my good.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2005-06-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

I broke off a long-standing relationship this weekend. As a matter of fact, it was a relationship of about nine or ten years. Neither one of us can remember exactly how long. Like so many relationships, we've had ups and downs, times of intense committment, times when we just co-existed together. Of late, the relationship had been strained, painful, and often frustrating. Still, leaving my church was hard to do.

Yes, I'm talking about a relationship with a church, not a boyfriend or companion. But I believe as the Bible teaches that churches are the visible representation of the Body of Christ on earth. And as such, I found the most intimate, caring and important relationships of my life at what is now my former church. There are people there who know me better than my family. There are relationships there that cannot possibly match any other friendships I've ever had. As I left Sunday, I thought about all that I'm leaving behind and it makes me incredibly sad. There are so many people I haven't told, haven't talked to yet, and it just seems wrong that I will simply slip away, until it's been a month or two and people wonder where I've gone, but may never reach out to find out. Churches are funny that way. The relationships can be so intense and honest and yet so... polite. I wouldn't be surprised if I don't hear from many that I've considered close friends, if only because they don't want to pry into what is an intensely personal decision.

You may be wondering why I'm leaving if my church is such a place of close relationships. I guess the short answer is that they aren't enough. I know I need to be in a church in which I am spiritually fed (non-Christianese version: where I'm learning more about my faith and the Bible). I also need to be in a church where I can serve. Until recently, I could serve at a high level in my church. Unfortunately, for various reasons, that has changed for me. And I truly can't think of having a long-term relationship with a church in which I sit back and am a spectator. I don't think that's the way it's supposed to go.

So, I start the process now. Auditions, I guess. You go to a church, check out its music, service, liturgy, message. Do I feel comfortable? Too comfortable? Welcomed without being pressured? Worshipful but still able to learn? Interested but not merely entertained? And I guess, more importantly, do I sense God's Spirit leading there? Both leading me and leading the church. To be honest, I hate church shopping. I hate not having a spiritual home. I hate getting up on a Sunday and trying to figure out where I should go and, literally, being a spectator as I try to check things out. But then I remind myself that this place, too, is part of the same Body of Christ as the place I have left. We're all supposed to be family. I hope to find a new branch that I can "hang" with soon.

Girl friends

2005-06-25T21:14:00.000-07:00

At my writer's group last night, one of the members shared a touching piece she had written about showing her two little girls how to put on makeup and the conflicting feelings she had doing it. We got into a discussion of how we learned to put on makeup and the different reasons we wear it. We pretty much befuddled the male in our midst.

It made me think, however, of my own general uneasiness with "girly" things. You know: hair, nails, make up, etc. I've never been a tomboy, per se, but I also never really knew how to use these things that seemed to come so naturally for other girls. My eyeliner was always crooked, my part askew. I'd do my complete face and forget the lipstick. I would spend hours (it seemed like) twisting my curling iron only to have my hair defiantly flop in the opposite direction. To this day, I still can't figure out how to use the eyelash curler. (More complete confession: I just bought my first one a couple of months ago).

When I confessed this to the group, I told them that this feeling of incompetence seems to be perpetually underscored by my friends. Or I guess it is only certain friends. There is one person I know who, should she see me for the first time in eighteen years, would remark on the slight blob on my mascara before saying anything else. Other friends have asked, tactfully and not so tactfully, if I didn't really want to have a particular hair style. Even the stylist I go to, when she was last shampooing my hair, made a somewhat back-handed observation on my poor job of plucking my eyebrows and offered to "straighten things out" for me.

To be honest, I've always accepted these comments as valid, and although they may have hurt, I've tried to see the positive side of them. After all, wouldn't I want to know I have lipstick on my teeth BEFORE I talk to Mr. Wonderful? Surely my friends mean well, I've always tried to think. And as for my hair stylist, well, maybe she was just bucking for the extra income she'd get from an eyebrow wax.

The past few months have been difficult and exhilarating for me and I find myself looking at things differently now. I still don't want to ascribe malevolent tendencies to those friends with comments, but I guess I now find myself asking why I would have friends like that. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't want anyone to ever criticize me or tell me I have spinach in my teeth. It's more the way the comment is delivered. In these instances, it seems, or rather feels, designed to set the tone for the interaction: "Don't forget that I am more womanly than you," the comments seems to convey-- "Don't mistake that we are on equal footing."

It is insecurity, to be sure. A pre-emptive strike designed to rebalance things, in some way. I just don't understand what is being rebalanced or why it needs to be. And what kind of vibes I am sending off that would threaten someone like that. I wonder, if my friends were writing this instead of me, would they have some comment, behavior or idiosyncrasy to expose in me? Realtionships with other women are amazing. They can be closer than any sister or brother. They can also be a minefield of expectations, frustrations, and retaliations.

Procrastination

2005-06-24T08:48:00.000-07:00

So you create a forum and state that every day you are going to write. Every day. And of course, a day comes along when, as you climb into bed, you realize that you didn't write that day. You feel guilty. You've broken a promise to yourself. And somehow, that guilt, instead of motivating you to get up the next day extra early to write, works as a barrier. The previous day is gone. There's no way you can make up for it. And somehow that paralyzes you from going on today. After all, if you've failed once, you'll just keep failing, right? I know. It's called a perfectionistic tendency. In some people, (present company excluded, I hope), it can be an obsessive disorder.

Well, I sat down to write this morning, knowing that my five-year-old niece is only minutes away. We will be watching Veggie Tales, painting and making cookies in a jam-packed 3 hours or so. When she blows in, there certainly won't be any mental room to write. Also, I have my first writer's group meeting tonight. I'm supposed to bring something I wrote in the past month. OK. I guess if I write something this afternoon, that counts, huh?

The truth is, it takes simple ruthless discipline to write. You can look at my waistline or my bedroom closet or my messy car to see that's not my specialty. But at some point, it's time to grow up, isn't it?

I'll get back to you.

Outside Looking In

2005-06-19T18:49:00.000-07:00

I attended a different church this morning. By way of background, I've been at the same church for about ten years now. During those ten years, I've rarely missed a Sunday or Wednesday or visited other churches. This summer, I'm taking a break from serving and have decided to see what other churches in the Austin area are doing.

It's a strange feeling, walking into a church you don't know. I had forgotten how strange it can be. You don't know the drill. Do you stand or sit when you sing? Raise hands? Dance a little? A lot? Or do you stand board straight eyes-front and hold a hymnal as your shield? I soon realized that even in a church that is very similar to my own, I was lost. I didn't know the songs they sang. I didn't understand what the catchy names of their programs really represented. I found myself thinking, "Why, yes, I'd love to join you for 'One Life,' but I have no clue what it is. A building program? A discipleship group? A support circle for soap opera addicts?" It was tough to feel like I was worshipping in any way, since I felt so disconnected and even branded as "other." The church's website didn't tell me that even my blue jeans would be over-dressed for a summer service and that a Bible wasn't needed. Fortunately, mine is small enough to fit in my purse, so I didn't stick out too much.

Please don't get me wrong. I enjoyed church overall this morning. The sermon was relevant and well-delivered. It was fairly well Biblically-grounded and, yes, that buzz word of all buzz words, "authentic." All who were on stage leading worship or announcements seemed sincere. But still, the experience has me wondering. If I am a Christ-follower, used to the ways of the typical evangelical church and versed in its postmodern sacraments and I felt this uncomfortable and disconnected, why would I even come if I didn't believe in Christianity? I could find better music at a club. The sermon was funny and insightful, but pretty long at 40 minutes. I certainly have found more friendly people other places. As a matter of fact, I had a more meaningful conversation with my check-out clerk at Target than I did at church this morning. So what would it be? Why would I want to go to church?

I guess the typical answer is that we are seeking. I think most of us look for answers to the "big" questions at some point in life. And certainly, religions purport to have the market cornered in that respect. Also, of course, I believe in the mysterious calling of the Holy Spirit. I believe that God wants to know us, so much so that he went to pretty drastic lengths to make it possible. I'm sure using the elements at a typical church service isn't so difficult to him.

It just makes me realize, though, that those of us in the evangelical world who say that we "do" church for folks who are seeking need to be overly sensitive to how Church-World may appear them.

Bliss

2005-06-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

This Saturday, I feel something I can only think of as bliss - a transcendent combination of peace, happiness, and a grateful spirit. I cannot remember the last time I felt this way, or spent a day silently thanking God for the many big and small blessings he sends my way. There are so many little things to be thankful for: bright pink Gerbera daisies smiling at me from my mantlepiece; a sunny, sunny day outside; and upcoming plans for vacation and relaxation.

I also have so many big, important things to be thankful for. Today we held a bridal shower for a friend in my home. Seeing her and her fiance, their family, their friends, all gathered to wish them love in the life they are about to embark on, felt so beautifully hopeful. Seeing my friends who are older, perhaps more settled in their lives, find a like-minded soul and set out to create a new life together touches me profoundly. We are at the age where we could so easily let our dreams stall and die. We could choose to settle for relationships of convenience or the kinds of lives we can create for ourselves in volunteer work, hobbies, and our jobs. I'm 37 years old. I have a great job and a home of my own. I have true and deep friendships and nearby family. There is no reason to rock the boat by hoping for more -- no reason to risk feeling discontented by wanting the fairy tale. Yet seeing my friend and her fiance, I realize that not letting the desire for a husband and family of my own die is actually not living a discontented life. It's living a life in hope that the desires of my heart are the very things that God longs to bring to life in and for me. We will see. In the meantime, I'll be thankful for a respite like today. For the many, many gifts I see around me. And for the possibilities that my Creator may choose to bring to pass.

Stained glass Jesus

2005-06-17T17:19:00.000-07:00

Sitting in a pool of blue light, I recall looking up at the image of Christ, white-robed, golden-haired and newly resurrected, walking out from cave-like tomb to a group of frightened followers. The stained glass window is one that lined the sides of the church I grew up in. Six windows in all told the story from nativity to resurrection. The Jesus of the early windows showed a tall, handsome man with brown hair, typically raising his hands in a blessing or, ultimately nailed in place on a cross. The resurrection window Jesus was different looking. He was paler, sterner; a Jesus who'd seen it all, a Jesus who meant business.

This wasn't my favorite window. I preferred the right side of the church with baby Jesus, little boy Jesus, and teaching the children Jesus. He seemed much nicer, much more approachable. He looked like the dad on "Family Ties" with longer hair, with large brown eyes that seemed liquid with sympathy. This was the side of the church my family typically sat on, and I always felt comforted by the caress of blue light as we walked down the outside aisle next to these beautiful windows. I was amazed that they would put something so beautiful right there where I could touch it, and I did so as often as I could, running my fingers along the window sill and the cold colored glass as we left every Sunday after church.

I know that early stained glass windows and other church art were created to preach the gospel to illiterate church-goers. Certainly these great works were created to celebrate and honor Christ. Today, though, we seem so much more casual, or perhaps disconnected from our faith, even in the most avid churches. We embrace symbols such as a dove or a sanitized cross, but I can't think of one evangelical church where you'll find actual images of the life of Christ or the early church. Instead of sitting in the quiet multi-hued light filtering through the windows, we sit under professional lighting systems looking at screens of flashing images. The few times I've tried to pray before service at my own church, I've been interrupted by people bidding me good morning or wondering if something is wrong. It seems the cardinal crime we can commit in churches today is unfriendliness. Unmindful worship doesn't even rank as a misdemeanor anymore. I enjoy the moments I can spend, though, sitting in someone else's church next to stained glass and paintings, letting my mind wander through the images, quiet and still. It makes me realize why icons have such a central place in so many forms of worship. What we can see we often feel far more connected with than what we cannot.

Bette Davis Eyes

2005-06-16T21:27:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching "Now Voyager," a 1942 pic featuring Bette Davis as a young woman who comes through a nervous breakdown to find love and save another girl with emotional problems. Altogether, it's one of the sappier movies ever made (meaning: I loved it). It features the last line, "Let's not hope for the moon, Jerry. We already have the stars..." Yes, I know. It's rather over the top. Throughout the movie, the leading man also holds two cigarettes in his mouth and lights them and then then hands her one, and it comes to represent the forbidden kisses he wishes he could give her. Overall, I think I should be checking my insulin level. But of course, I simply sighed happily as the ending music played and wondered why some handsome man with an accent hasn't handed me a lit cigarette lately.

Bette Davis is undoubtedly one of my favorite actresses. Her mannerisms are always so clearly her own, no matter what character she plays. She's always "Bette Davis as..." never completely disappearing into a role. You'd think that would be a bad thing. After all, isn't an actor supposed to not call attention to his or herself and cause us to suspend disbelief? I guess they are, but somehow, that doesn't matter to me when it comes to Bette Davis. I love the strength of her character that shines through every role. I love the determined, self-possessed person who speaks through another woman's words, written in a script.

I especially love the way she looks. I don't think anyone could ever call Bette Davis a beauty queen. Her eyes are too large, her chin too pointy. Throughout most of her movies, she seems to have bags under her eyes and pasty skin. Her teeth are far from Hollywood white. Still, I can't seem to take my eyes off of her when she's on the screen. Her features telegraph her emotions more than any actor I can think of. Probably, this is why we remember her for playing such emotionally overwrought characters. It's not so much that the characters are overwrought, but her performance is. Isn't that what they refer to as "chewing the scenery"?

But again, it works. In "Now, Voyager," Davis tells an insecure young girl that she may never be thought pretty, but if she grows in confidence she may one day have a certain sort of beauty. I think that's what I see in Bette Davis: a woman with an unconventional if unspectacular face and a mannered, almost labored style of acting, but a confidence and voice that gives her a certain beauty. Truly, she doesn't have the reflected beauty of the moon, shining back our expectations and values. Bette Davis shined in her own way and according to her own rules. I don't really know anything about the real woman behind the actress, but I'm glad to know all that she showed us across her career.

Stairway to Heaven

2005-06-15T19:50:00.000-07:00

My 20 year high school reunion is coming up and I spent some time this afternoon looking at the reunion website, checking out pictures of my friends and classmates in all of our mid-eighties glory. I was never popular in high school, but I found my niche with a group of other outcasts. Together we sneered at life, cheerleaders, and the razor-sharp politics of high school. So it is with great surprise that I realized how much I am looking forward to this reunion. Twenty years is a great leveler, smoothing out the have's and have-not's, the popular and beautiful from the hopeless and nerdy. I'm eager to see how we all turned out.

One high school memory stuck out among others this afternoon. I played in the band in high school, at first out of a love of the saxophone and later out of a fear of P.E. At the end of my senior year, at the very last band dance, on the very last song (which was always "Stairway to Heaven,") I danced with Kevin. Kevin and I were friends. We enjoyed talking, making fun of our teachers and generally acting the obnoxious teens we were. Kevin was good-looking, clean cut and an eagle scout. He resembled a young JFK and seemed to me to be a golden boy of sorts.

I, on the other hand, was a new wave mess. I've always been overweight and somehow, in my high school years, I realized that if not calling attention to myself didn't keep me from suffering the comments and cruelties of my classmates, perhaps making myself a spectacle would. I cut my hair short, dyed it various shades and wore black clothes accented with neon accessories. My earrings were complex and sparkly. My makeup shot across my face in many different directions, with no color off limits. I had a particular affection for a pair of gold lame house slippers. I was not a person who should be dancing with a Young Republican.

Yet on the last song of the last dance of our last year in high school, I found myself with my friend, moving around the floor of a Lutheran church fellowship hall to the music of Led Zeppelin. Why, years later, is this memory the one that comes to mind? I think it's because I remember this as one of the only times I felt true acceptance in my life. There was nothing romantic about the dance. No expectation that Kevin would suddenly decide I was the girl for him hid in my heart. But here we were, two very different people, who were friends and who chose to mark that moment by enjoying the memorable last dance together. Kevin didn't seem embarassed by my weight or frightening fashion choices. I wasn't put off by his boy-next-door squeaky-cleanness that typically sent me over the edge with other people. It was a moment, perfect in its way, at least for me. A moment I remember with gratitude and maybe a little envy. Twenty years is a long time to go without feeling that at home in your own skin. It's a long time to wait for the feeling of peace and contentedness that happens when you're in the right place with the right person at the right time.

And yet, I wonder how many of us never feel it even once in our lives? Perhaps a random survey of hearts would find that twenty years is well above average.

Writing Three Hundred Words

2005-06-14T18:19:00.000-07:00

A friend said recently that he is a writer who doesn't write. It sounded at first like a non sequitur. Then, as the phrase rolled around in my brain for a while, it sounded like an accurate description of me, too. I am a writer. I love words and the way they go together. I get giddy over vivid descriptions, particularly those that evoke long-buried memories of the past or the thickness of an atmosphere and culture I have known. Too often, though, I do not write. I'm not sure if it is because writing is such a solitary activity and often such a frustrating one. Or perhaps it is simply a lack of discipline to do something that can be difficult and time-consuming and never actually pay off in any visible way. I'm sure laziness is at least part of the reason.

Still, there are times when phrases climb through my brain and won't seem to let go. My daydreams succumb to byzantine plots and various replayings as I revise and revisit them, trying to find the most suitably dramatic way for them to end before I go back to the beginning and stary them all over again. Stories and characters come along, sometimes fully formed and sit patiently, waiting their turn. Waiting to be important enough for me to spend my valuable "reality show" viewing time on. Sometimes they grow impatient and demand to be let out, loosed back into the world where they belong. So I sit and I write in a short burst, cathartic and satisfying to me, if not to these sketches who move from brain to notebook and sit, again abandoned and unnoticed.

It's time to become a writer who writes, and one who writes for others to read. This blog won't contain profound thoughts. It may contain some very bad writing. What I hope it will become, though, is a chronicle of my attempts at taking Anne Lamott's advice and writing short assignments, every day. Three hundred words, give or take. Three hundred words, with the hope that they give more than they take