Sometimes, we forget. Forget the fear and the unknown. Sometimes, like today, we feel normal. A normal couple doing normal things. Making fun of our favorite basketball coaches and eating bad arena food.
Today we went to the Vanderbilt women’s game. It was awful. We lost to ODU by 15. Pitiful really. But we did make fun of Wendy Larry, the ODU coach. And the lady who sat behind her who wore stretch leggings and high heels and could jump up on those high heels like nobody’s business. Wendy and her crying towel. Wendy and her close to but not quite inappropriate touching.
Yesterday we drove home from Wisconsin. It was cold there but we returned to 50 degree weather. We each played DJ on the way home. It is a surprise game where whoever is not driving gets control of the iPod. One minute may be Brooks and Dunn and the next be AC/DC. Well, on my iPod anyway. Heidi’s would include some Diana Krall. We had a mini dance party in the Expedition.
We play and then we remember who we are again. We remember what it is to be happy. Really happy. Laughing, making up dance moves (all while driving). Contorting poor Summitt into a break dancer. We remember what it is to live. To laugh and love. To be content. To look toward a future.
For a few hours.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Let It Snow...
We spent Christmas in Wisconsin visiting Heidi’s mother in Waunakee, a suburb of Madison. This was my fourth or fifth visit but my first when there was snow on the ground. Now, I have been when it was cold as a witches titty, but not snowy.
There were at least 22 inches on the ground when we got there.
There were at least 22 inches on the ground when we got there.
Seriously.
Folks up there are used to it. I, however, am not. I still act as though I am 10 years old and out for school on a snow day. I was chastised because I got my pants wet making snow angels and I insisted on traipsing through snow banks instead of walking to the house on the sidewalks which were cleared of snow. It just made more sense that way.
But some things I had forgotten. Like how quiet snow is. It muffles any sound and seems to absorb even the slightest noise. I forget this as I live in an inner city neighborhood and even as I write this the sound of the interstate intrudes into an otherwise quiet night. Summitt and I ventured out each morning at 4:00 am. Her idea, not mine but despite the un Christian hour, I am grateful for the reminder. On our first night we were greeted with a full moon shining just above a neighbor’s blue Christmas lights. The silver and blue hue was beautiful. Even to my sleepy eyes. Summitt had to tug on me to go back in.
Friday morning brought another 5 inches. I ate breakfast in the sun room that looked into the backyard. I was mesmerized by the snowfall. Not heavy at all but it was enough for me who thinks 2 inches is a big storm.
Friday was a gift. I was reminded all day of my mom’s tense relationship with the weather. She lived in snow in upstate New York, yet dreaded it immensely here in the south. Not that I blame her. But on this day, I remembered what she did love about it… to lay on the couch with a book and a cup of hot chocolate, letting the dog settle in at her feet, and watching out the window. So I spent some time doing just that. It was good.
Yeah. I could get used to it.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Groovyness in a Conference Room
We are gathered in a library conference room. 5 of us. All women who have a desire to serve and to even save perhaps. An Episcopalian, two Disciples of Christ, a Presbyterian, and me… a mish mash of traditions.
It is this that keeps me hopeful. This community of faithful who want to DO and not just be. This community of the holy “together”.
As we struggle to find our voices, they become clear in our presence, the presence of each other. The struggle is not so much how to get our voices heard, but what they will say to a world broken and bruised. One in our midst is gifted in economic justice. She has traveled the world and made inroads into communities that are hopeful. She is graceful in her presence. And gifted in her ministry. And makes a great Pumpkin something or other one of her culinary treats she obtained from India.
Another is a former teacher who sees the world as a place to teach but better yet allows it to teach her. Although she will say she it only tells her she doesn’t “know shit.” Which isn’t true. She calls it like it is and that in itself is necessary and needed. And “groovy on the ground.” I think she is fearless.
The third is a woman from Ohio who has the heart of an angel. Who feels the depth of the hurt in this world. She too has interest in economic justice but also has a love for the community of the church she serves. She encourages me and loves me as the others here do in their own ways.
Our resident Presbyterian struggles with how to use her intellect in a world of congregations that appear to not care. She is a gifted analyst of how things work and how things are. She is not afraid to critique her own journey of faith, although I think she needs to give herself some grace. It is what got her to where she is.
And then me, who is basking in the cloudy day outside. Fearful of many big life challenges at the moment, but privileged to be able to share this journey … all of it... with people such as these.
If our laptops hold out, we might make a difference. As if we haven’t already.
It is this that keeps me hopeful. This community of faithful who want to DO and not just be. This community of the holy “together”.
As we struggle to find our voices, they become clear in our presence, the presence of each other. The struggle is not so much how to get our voices heard, but what they will say to a world broken and bruised. One in our midst is gifted in economic justice. She has traveled the world and made inroads into communities that are hopeful. She is graceful in her presence. And gifted in her ministry. And makes a great Pumpkin something or other one of her culinary treats she obtained from India.
Another is a former teacher who sees the world as a place to teach but better yet allows it to teach her. Although she will say she it only tells her she doesn’t “know shit.” Which isn’t true. She calls it like it is and that in itself is necessary and needed. And “groovy on the ground.” I think she is fearless.
The third is a woman from Ohio who has the heart of an angel. Who feels the depth of the hurt in this world. She too has interest in economic justice but also has a love for the community of the church she serves. She encourages me and loves me as the others here do in their own ways.
Our resident Presbyterian struggles with how to use her intellect in a world of congregations that appear to not care. She is a gifted analyst of how things work and how things are. She is not afraid to critique her own journey of faith, although I think she needs to give herself some grace. It is what got her to where she is.
And then me, who is basking in the cloudy day outside. Fearful of many big life challenges at the moment, but privileged to be able to share this journey … all of it... with people such as these.
If our laptops hold out, we might make a difference. As if we haven’t already.
An Advent Sermon
In the spring of 1983, my mother and I took a trip. It was a trip many of you have made yourselves or with your children. We went off in search of colleges. Our search took us up interstate 81 north. This particular stretch of road runs from just outside of Greeneville, TN all the way up to upstate New York. My parents drove this stretch of highway for many years when they came home for Christmas. They lived in Cortland New York and their trips home to Tennessee were always fraught with long drives through snow and rain, up hill both ways, with driving wind and darkness.But this trip was much different. This was my trip not my mother’s and I had never been that far up the road much less that far from home. It was an anxious trip for both of us into the “wilderness” of Southwest Virginia of all places.
For those of you geographically challenged, contrary to popular belief there is a whole host of land between Knoxville and Roanoke Virginia. Rolling hills and tobacco farms for certain but beautiful country that I came to call home for a good portion of my adult life.
But as we took the Meadowview, Virginia exit, my mother looked around and said, “Are you sure we can get there from here?”
We may wonder much the same about our texts today. Isaiah’s description of the Peaceable Kingdom and John’s wilderness path. Both are troubling in their own way, requiring some thought and a good deal of action on our part.
The text from Isaiah, on the surface at least, is a beautiful passage of peace in the world… the whole world of all God’s creatures. This is not just any peace, but "shalom." "Shalom," Walter Brueggemann says, "is creation time, when all God's creation eases up on hostility and destruction and finds another way of relating." So it is easy to see lions and lambs lie together and the fatted calf sitting with the bear in this Shalom.
The poet Les Murray once called this time, the time when the apple was put back on the tree.
But the poetry of these verses is written at a time much like our own. There was war with Assyria and the capital city of Samaria, in Israel would fall in 722. What followed was a siege on Jerusalem.
As my friend Tom Warren says, “Israel’s time was indeed a time of wars and rumors of wars. It was a time when real leaders spoke only of national defense, homeland security and God’s favoritism. It was a time when only fools spoke of peace.”
So who is this fool that Isaiah envisions?
It is doubtful that this describes any one of our candidates for president this election season.
Instead the description of this leadership is rooted in the spirit of the Holy. This spirit is the same spirit the “ruah” we hear about in the creation story. It is the creative active powerful breath of life. Not the winds of war so often felt in much of our world.
A spirit of wisdom rendering decisions based on fairness and equity with decrees that enable and affirm the poor and oppressed. A spirit of understanding that declares a community just and faithful and one that does not uphold the way things are but up-ends the status quo to create a society the way things should be.
This leadership establishes a reign of justice and concerns for the least of these. Isaiah describes the poor and the meek of this recreated world.
Oh if it were that easy!!
How do we get there from here???
My mother’s question came to me as our directions took us to the Meadowview VA exit. Now Meadowview has a bank, a mercantile – and yes it was a mercantile with chicken feed, farm equipment, work boots and maybe a jug of milk in the back – and a little Methodist church at the corner of the exit ramp.
The directions said to take a right so we did. The road we were on, better known by locals as “old number 11” paralleled the railroad tracks. In my 17 year old mind I thought ok, so if we follow the tracks we will surely get somewhere. After a seemingly endless 5 miles of clapboard houses and tobacco farms and more cows than I could count much less than I had ever seen, my mother and I exchanged looks that could only be described as wide eyed.
How do we get there from here?
And then there was John! John the Baptist scares me and I often wonder if he is merely a plot character or a real wild and crazy guy. I have struggled with John in my life of faith. Not because of who he is or what he does but what he asks us to do.
REPENT!!
I can still here a preacher from my past speaking that word. In his imposing stance and booming voice -- Repent and be saved. Repent and turn away from your sin. Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.
This word has been so loaded with baggage that our caricatures of the phrase say “Jesus is coming, look busy!” And so we do.
John’s world was one where the oppression was prevalent in the ordinariness of their life, religious and otherwise. The power wielded by the Jerusalem elite and their Roman patrons was experienced in exorbitant taxes, confiscation of ancestral property, and chronic shortages of food, among other things. This contributed too much social unrest and desire for change. Unlike the Old Testament prophets or the annunciation story that we shall read on the last Sunday of Advent, the Baptist does not point toward the nativity of Jesus, but rather to his ministry, life, and death
This is John the Baptist, the crazy separatist who speaks of the eschatological renewal to come.
This is John the Baptist, the crazy prophet who knows there is more to life than what is before us.
This is John the Baptist who gets his name from what he DOES, baptizing not in the way the ritual immersions were modeled but in a way that sealed the deal for those who came to be baptized
No John’s Baptism was a once and for all thing. John’s repent is the stop sign at the crossroads.
We cannot ignore his calls for repentance.
John does indeed ask us to repent then we need prepare a road in the wilderness. Finally he asks us to look into the waters of the river and see our reflection. The reflections of who we are. The reflection of people who have fallen short of expectations. To look at the reflection of a people who have failed at being the people of God. And who are facing the reality that maybe our ways won’t bring about this society of peace of which Isaiah speaks.
But within those waters we also see a reflection of the children of God. Who are claimed as God’s own.
If we can imagine ourselves loved so much that we can be called children of God, then we can take a step toward the vision Isaiah so clearly describes. A place where we sit together. Where we sit across the table from those who are also loved.
A place where we do indeed eat together in a peace that passes all understanding.
My mother and were at a crossroads. As we looked past our stop sign we saw the gates to Emory and Henry College. The place where I would spend years learning and growing in a community that nurtured me, a place that has ultimately led me here.
John asks those at the river to stop and look into the future. A future that comes from out of the wilderness and into the peaceable vision of Isaiah.
How do we get there from here?
We are told to PREPARE. Prepare the way of the Lord, makes his paths straight.
If Isaiah’s words can be any encouragement, this leader, this Lord’s path goes straight from John to the peaceable kingdom. I don’t know about you but I can’t imagine this world from Isaiah. I can almost see the wolf and the lamb, the cow and the bear, the leopard and the kid, but I can’t quite get the children and the snake pit. I am sorry. That one is beyond me and is as disturbing of an image as I can conjure up.
Our poet writes
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod
The path we have taken to this point is soiled with too much. Is covered with too much mud and muck and blood and sweat and yes tears.
We have worn this path out. A path that places the fast lane over the slow lane. We have worn out the paths that are strewn with twisted guardrails and broken glass on the cement. We have worn out the express lane at the grocery because it means I get to get out faster than you do. It means I never look in your grocery cart to see if you are buying steak or noodles. I never see if you are paying by cash or food stamps. I never see if you drive or walk home. Or if you even have a place to call home.
The old roads won’t get us there.
We can’t arrive at this peaceable place without going through John’s stop sign. I don’t think we can blow through this one as if it doesn’t matter. As if we can keep doing things as we have always done and expect to get there.
After his conversion, St. Francis saw the world in a new way. A theologian at Claremont College “He saw everything upside down. He was not enamored at the strength and security of well-grounded towers, walled city states and impressive cathedrals. Rather, he saw everything hanging over nothing. And he was astonished, but grateful, that everything did not fall down.”
We must stop and reflect and look both ways before we cross at the crossroads.
John’s requirements are difficult not because he asks us to turn from our ways but he asks us to look at our ways. To look at what these actions do to the world around us. Maybe they are crooked. Maybe our roads need to be straightened. Straightened to lead to the reign of a God who can bring a Peaceable kingdom. It is John the Baptist, that scary guy who scares us not because of his less than conventional ways, but scares us because of who he points us to.
A God who loves us enough to let us dream about peaceable kingdoms and hopes with us as we prepare a new way.
A God who loves us enough to send peace on the wings of a promise and hope that comes like morning’s first call, and joy that comes on the winds of a Spirit.
Come, Lord, Jesus Come
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Decorations of Blue
So it is Christmas. I think there is a song title there by some one I have heard. One of those Rosie’s Christmas things or some melody sung by pop singers who are past their prime.
I sit at the moment with Summit’s ear flopped over my computer. She is helping me type at least two papers. She has been a good helper girl. Heidi is on her way in from Chicago where it was 18 degrees and snowy. It is far from that here. This time last year I was in the midst of the first year franticness. I do not miss that. I don’t have exams but I do have enough papers for a small book. And that is fine. I prefer it that way. AR and Lyndsey promised me it would be this way but I didn’t believe them. I need to stop that cause they haven’t led me astray as yet.
The tree is up and Heidi is planning on baking cookies this Saturday. That will be a fete considering our world’s smallest kitchen. It got done last year but not without great consternation and gnashing of teeth. Soon enough we will reconfigure it, we hope. It is a little different this year. We are without Casey. It has been a full year now since he died. We still think of him in his fuzzy glory. And the sweetest kisses ever. I think he has re-incarnated himself in Summit at times as she has adapted (quite well actually) to life without him. She misses her buddy and still perks up a bit if she hears us mention his name.
And Heidi truly misses her boy. He was there at every turn during the last round of cancer. Always present and always knowing the best thing for the best momma. We are about to begin chemotherapy. A long course but one that promises to be a bit less intense with regard to side effects. We are taking a wait and see attitude on that one. There are a lot of miles to go before we sleep. But we have put up the tree and decorated the house albeit with a little less enthusiasm than previous years. The hope remains. The lights were a little brighter as we talked our way through the various travel ornaments as we decorated.
“Remember when we didn’t take snacks on the trip to Dahlonega?! Never doing that again!” (Dahlonega, GA Fall of 2004)
“How was it that the Apollo spacecraft landed again? Won’t it fit in our living room?” (Washington DC 1999)
“We never really went into the White House you know!” (ditto)
“But there is only one Mickey Mouse..well two really.” (Disney World, FL May 2005)
“Ah, the margaritas on the beach! YES!” (Cabo San Lucas, Mexico March 2004)
“MIND THE GAP… and which way do I look again?” (London, England May 2007)
“They were just socks!” (The Hermitage Nashville, TN December 2005)
“The BARN!! Where are the barns!” (See Rock City, Chattanooga, TN March 1998)
And there are others. And there will be more.
I hope.
I sit at the moment with Summit’s ear flopped over my computer. She is helping me type at least two papers. She has been a good helper girl. Heidi is on her way in from Chicago where it was 18 degrees and snowy. It is far from that here. This time last year I was in the midst of the first year franticness. I do not miss that. I don’t have exams but I do have enough papers for a small book. And that is fine. I prefer it that way. AR and Lyndsey promised me it would be this way but I didn’t believe them. I need to stop that cause they haven’t led me astray as yet.
The tree is up and Heidi is planning on baking cookies this Saturday. That will be a fete considering our world’s smallest kitchen. It got done last year but not without great consternation and gnashing of teeth. Soon enough we will reconfigure it, we hope. It is a little different this year. We are without Casey. It has been a full year now since he died. We still think of him in his fuzzy glory. And the sweetest kisses ever. I think he has re-incarnated himself in Summit at times as she has adapted (quite well actually) to life without him. She misses her buddy and still perks up a bit if she hears us mention his name.
And Heidi truly misses her boy. He was there at every turn during the last round of cancer. Always present and always knowing the best thing for the best momma. We are about to begin chemotherapy. A long course but one that promises to be a bit less intense with regard to side effects. We are taking a wait and see attitude on that one. There are a lot of miles to go before we sleep. But we have put up the tree and decorated the house albeit with a little less enthusiasm than previous years. The hope remains. The lights were a little brighter as we talked our way through the various travel ornaments as we decorated.
“Remember when we didn’t take snacks on the trip to Dahlonega?! Never doing that again!” (Dahlonega, GA Fall of 2004)
“How was it that the Apollo spacecraft landed again? Won’t it fit in our living room?” (Washington DC 1999)
“We never really went into the White House you know!” (ditto)
“But there is only one Mickey Mouse..well two really.” (Disney World, FL May 2005)
“Ah, the margaritas on the beach! YES!” (Cabo San Lucas, Mexico March 2004)
“MIND THE GAP… and which way do I look again?” (London, England May 2007)
“They were just socks!” (The Hermitage Nashville, TN December 2005)
“The BARN!! Where are the barns!” (See Rock City, Chattanooga, TN March 1998)
And there are others. And there will be more.
I hope.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Basketball time and the Living is Easy
Ok, it has been awhile and I left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Not that the taste is gone but life has moved forward. Heidi is through radiation and surgery and we are on toward chemo. Not sure what that will hold but it is a long and arduous road that will be chronicled I am certain.
But it is also basketball season. A season of therapy and one we enjoy beyond all measure.
I am a Lady Vols fan. Let that be known. Most who read this know this already. But I do like women's basketball in general. I am known to criticize anyone and everyone from their shooting style to their hair. I am petty. I am poetic. I am a fan.
And I have a pretty good Basketball Theology. More on that at a later date.
So today the Lady Vols are playing the University of Texas. At Knoxville, where they have hung the 7th...SEVENTH... National Championship banner. It is only halftime but here I go.....
1) I wish I were there but I forgot to look at the schedule! Yet if I had been there in person, I would have missed seeing Carolyn Peck on television. Carolyn as you may know is a Vandy grad, UT Assistant, Head Coach at Purdue, Miami Heat and Florida. And was my nemesis in the 10 and under breaststroke in the Knox County Swim Association. We went back and forth year to year winning the City Championship. Both of our parents had to take our birth certificates with them at the regional meets because I was the height I am now and well she was taller. But we were indeed both 10. And the there was the time my dad was the finish judge at the Jefferson County Flying Fish vs the Holston Hurricanes at Jefferson County. Carolyn and I were in lanes next to each other and she out touched me by literally a fingertip (as hers were longer). My dad called her the winner and I didn't speak to him for a week. And yes Carolyn remembers this as evidenced by a conversation several years ago at West Town Mall.
2) Second, Pam Ward needs to stop flirting so blatantly with her Tennessee girls. She called Carolyn the "pride of east Tennessee" and whenever Kara Lawson is on she continuously flirts about how smart Kara is. Which she is but she needs to find her own woman.
3) Mickie DeMoss looks old and haggard and her hair is too long. I love Mickie dearly and she can talk the ears off of an elephant but maybe she came out of retirement too soon.
4) Gail G is still dreamy and looks much healthier, certainly from the Texas air...oh wait she got divorced last year. Must be in the water.
5) Last year's Sydney Spencer is this year's Ashley Bjorkland. From Washington State. Think way back to Abby Conklin that lovable goof ball from UT who could slink up to the top of the key and land a three. Or think Katie Douglas doe eyes. Either way the girl can shoot. She is a freshman. I love her.
But it is also basketball season. A season of therapy and one we enjoy beyond all measure.
I am a Lady Vols fan. Let that be known. Most who read this know this already. But I do like women's basketball in general. I am known to criticize anyone and everyone from their shooting style to their hair. I am petty. I am poetic. I am a fan.
And I have a pretty good Basketball Theology. More on that at a later date.
So today the Lady Vols are playing the University of Texas. At Knoxville, where they have hung the 7th...SEVENTH... National Championship banner. It is only halftime but here I go.....
1) I wish I were there but I forgot to look at the schedule! Yet if I had been there in person, I would have missed seeing Carolyn Peck on television. Carolyn as you may know is a Vandy grad, UT Assistant, Head Coach at Purdue, Miami Heat and Florida. And was my nemesis in the 10 and under breaststroke in the Knox County Swim Association. We went back and forth year to year winning the City Championship. Both of our parents had to take our birth certificates with them at the regional meets because I was the height I am now and well she was taller. But we were indeed both 10. And the there was the time my dad was the finish judge at the Jefferson County Flying Fish vs the Holston Hurricanes at Jefferson County. Carolyn and I were in lanes next to each other and she out touched me by literally a fingertip (as hers were longer). My dad called her the winner and I didn't speak to him for a week. And yes Carolyn remembers this as evidenced by a conversation several years ago at West Town Mall.
2) Second, Pam Ward needs to stop flirting so blatantly with her Tennessee girls. She called Carolyn the "pride of east Tennessee" and whenever Kara Lawson is on she continuously flirts about how smart Kara is. Which she is but she needs to find her own woman.
3) Mickie DeMoss looks old and haggard and her hair is too long. I love Mickie dearly and she can talk the ears off of an elephant but maybe she came out of retirement too soon.
4) Gail G is still dreamy and looks much healthier, certainly from the Texas air...oh wait she got divorced last year. Must be in the water.
5) Last year's Sydney Spencer is this year's Ashley Bjorkland. From Washington State. Think way back to Abby Conklin that lovable goof ball from UT who could slink up to the top of the key and land a three. Or think Katie Douglas doe eyes. Either way the girl can shoot. She is a freshman. I love her.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
If you can't stand the heat
I would assume the news is out now. Heidi’s colon cancer has re appeared. The technical term is “recurred” although I wonder if statistically they would term it a new case since the 5 year mark is considered “cured”. So much for that.
I always thought it would come back. That some little cell was out there lurking in the darkness waiting for it’s time. I have to give it some human characteristics because otherwise I can’t hate it as much. Biblically if you name something, it gives it power. I am willing cede power to cancer. It has it. It wields it in curious and uncontrolled ways. It lurks in blood cells in the kids in the hospital. My little friends and I have had a tough time with it. It makes us cry and cry out. It brings 40 year olds to their knees in their dining rooms.
I hate it. With every fiber of my being, I hate it.
But the news isn’t always so grim. I have been amazed, shocked, and downright appalled at the reactions we have gotten. I understand folks react in different ways. I really do understand. It is scary and people care. And we appreciate that. Those of you who may read this I apologize ahead of time. You may be offended but this is my blog and you need to work with that.
There are those who have indeed felt the shit hit the fan with us. Who have called it like it is. The unfairness of it and the anger we have felt. Alongside the hope we have. Thank you for standing in the line of fire.
There are those who seem to see nothing but pity. And don’t think we can’t hear it or see it in your eyes. The eyes that seem to have us six feet under before we get started. And I know the look because I have had it too. But I am done with that now. That is not to say I won’t cry. That is not to say I won’t be afraid. But as a wise woman once told me (last week!), fearing something will happen does not make it a forgone conclusion. We will get through this. We were never promised a rose garden in the first place. I don’t know why it happened. So don’t ask me again.
The funniest name I have heard it called is a “colon problem”. Well, yeah it is that. Just a slight one. I think that statement was followed by a plea for a miracle. That was helpful let me tell you. There are miracles everyday. And we are one whether we have colon CANCER or not.
So don’t go freaking out on us. Don’t go selling us down the river. Just stand in there with us and if it gets too hot, then get the hell out of the kitchen.
It’s small in there anyway.
I always thought it would come back. That some little cell was out there lurking in the darkness waiting for it’s time. I have to give it some human characteristics because otherwise I can’t hate it as much. Biblically if you name something, it gives it power. I am willing cede power to cancer. It has it. It wields it in curious and uncontrolled ways. It lurks in blood cells in the kids in the hospital. My little friends and I have had a tough time with it. It makes us cry and cry out. It brings 40 year olds to their knees in their dining rooms.
I hate it. With every fiber of my being, I hate it.
But the news isn’t always so grim. I have been amazed, shocked, and downright appalled at the reactions we have gotten. I understand folks react in different ways. I really do understand. It is scary and people care. And we appreciate that. Those of you who may read this I apologize ahead of time. You may be offended but this is my blog and you need to work with that.
There are those who have indeed felt the shit hit the fan with us. Who have called it like it is. The unfairness of it and the anger we have felt. Alongside the hope we have. Thank you for standing in the line of fire.
There are those who seem to see nothing but pity. And don’t think we can’t hear it or see it in your eyes. The eyes that seem to have us six feet under before we get started. And I know the look because I have had it too. But I am done with that now. That is not to say I won’t cry. That is not to say I won’t be afraid. But as a wise woman once told me (last week!), fearing something will happen does not make it a forgone conclusion. We will get through this. We were never promised a rose garden in the first place. I don’t know why it happened. So don’t ask me again.
The funniest name I have heard it called is a “colon problem”. Well, yeah it is that. Just a slight one. I think that statement was followed by a plea for a miracle. That was helpful let me tell you. There are miracles everyday. And we are one whether we have colon CANCER or not.
So don’t go freaking out on us. Don’t go selling us down the river. Just stand in there with us and if it gets too hot, then get the hell out of the kitchen.
It’s small in there anyway.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Enough Already
She had had enough already.
I stepped into a little friend’s room today after hearing her cry. I thought it was another little friend but it wasn’t.
My little buddy isn’t one to cry. Or at least that I have seen. She was to have a CAT scan of her chest and stomach. I don’t know if it was scheduled or not. I asked her if she was scared and she said she was. I asked her what she was afraid of and she said she has to have a shot to make her go to sleep so they can do the test. She has had enough of those already too. She wants to go home.
I stepped into a little friend’s room today after hearing her cry. I thought it was another little friend but it wasn’t.
My little buddy isn’t one to cry. Or at least that I have seen. She was to have a CAT scan of her chest and stomach. I don’t know if it was scheduled or not. I asked her if she was scared and she said she was. I asked her what she was afraid of and she said she has to have a shot to make her go to sleep so they can do the test. She has had enough of those already too. She wants to go home.
My little friend has cancer. I am not sure what kind and it really doesn’t matter much. There are so damn many these days. They can name it whatever they want to, ALL, AML, MLL; all sorts of alphabet names that designate the types and the cells that keep dividing and conquering. The treatment is the same no matter what. A body is betrayed by whatever is in it and so we invade the same body with stuff that requires a shot or a port or an IV. As if that makes it all better. It may make it better. Or it may not.
So we cry because sometimes, there is nothing else to do.
So we cry because sometimes, there is nothing else to do.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
CPE and Me
My summer “job” has been something called CPE. CPE is Clinical Pastoral Education. Perhaps I should have mentioned this at the beginning of the summer, thus preventing a ton of questions and odd looks from people who have no clue. For many of us who are seeking a career in ministry, CPE is a requirement. This requirement is often done for one unit of credit although if one wants to go on and do chaplaincy as a career then one has to do upwards of 4 units of credit.
There are 4 hospitals that support this program. Common knowledge seems to say that these hospitals (Baptist, St. Thomas, Vanderbilt, and McKendree Village) fight like cats and dogs. Apparently they seem to see the need for pastoral care in “clinical” settings. Clinical meaning hospital or nursing home/assisted living settings.
There are 7 of us who participate in this summer program. We meet every Monday and Wednesday from 8-12 and the rest of the time we are working in our clinical settings. 5 of us are from Vanderbilt Divinity School and 2 fellas (and they are fellas) are from New Orleans attending a Catholic Seminary there. We get along pretty well and it has been good to see each other in “work” situations and not just in class. We struggle with our theology and how to best discuss how suffering affects the people we see every day. We struggle with our own “stuff”. I seem to be continuing to fight with my mother this summer. She has been dead now for 6 years. I love her but I am tired of her. : ) My classmates have been incredible. Some of us knew each other before. Now we know each other a lot. And we are safe with each other. There is a sense of having been through the fire. We have watched folks die before us. We have held people in their grief and we have laughed (really hard) at our incredible ability to step back and analyze what in the world we are doing.
I don’t want to go back to school. I have found what I want to do. But in usual catch 22 fashion, I have to go to school to do this. So I will. But I am not sure I will see things the same way now. I already hear scripture read (the Good Samaritan for instance) differently. The beatitudes have faces now. Mercy seems to have a name. I have enough fodder for a few sermons or more. And I have 4 more weeks to squeeze the life out of a program that I hope to be able to do more of…..although it will certainly be in a different setting.
We talked about the meaning of “shibboleth” in the office on Friday. Where else can I do that?! Or have a nurse cuss at you because you ASK them to do so.
Maybe one of these days.
There are 4 hospitals that support this program. Common knowledge seems to say that these hospitals (Baptist, St. Thomas, Vanderbilt, and McKendree Village) fight like cats and dogs. Apparently they seem to see the need for pastoral care in “clinical” settings. Clinical meaning hospital or nursing home/assisted living settings.
There are 7 of us who participate in this summer program. We meet every Monday and Wednesday from 8-12 and the rest of the time we are working in our clinical settings. 5 of us are from Vanderbilt Divinity School and 2 fellas (and they are fellas) are from New Orleans attending a Catholic Seminary there. We get along pretty well and it has been good to see each other in “work” situations and not just in class. We struggle with our theology and how to best discuss how suffering affects the people we see every day. We struggle with our own “stuff”. I seem to be continuing to fight with my mother this summer. She has been dead now for 6 years. I love her but I am tired of her. : ) My classmates have been incredible. Some of us knew each other before. Now we know each other a lot. And we are safe with each other. There is a sense of having been through the fire. We have watched folks die before us. We have held people in their grief and we have laughed (really hard) at our incredible ability to step back and analyze what in the world we are doing.
I don’t want to go back to school. I have found what I want to do. But in usual catch 22 fashion, I have to go to school to do this. So I will. But I am not sure I will see things the same way now. I already hear scripture read (the Good Samaritan for instance) differently. The beatitudes have faces now. Mercy seems to have a name. I have enough fodder for a few sermons or more. And I have 4 more weeks to squeeze the life out of a program that I hope to be able to do more of…..although it will certainly be in a different setting.
We talked about the meaning of “shibboleth” in the office on Friday. Where else can I do that?! Or have a nurse cuss at you because you ASK them to do so.
Maybe one of these days.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
I am sitting here awaiting Heidi’s arrival from Omaha (yes!) Nebraska. She is traveling quite a bit this week and next and I still don’t like it. I can’t do anything about it but I can at least state that much. Summitt is asleep in the chair beside me. I have had coffee and now couldn’t sleep anyway.
Fun fact of the day: nerves grow one inch a month. One never knows what you will hear in a hospital elevator. Who knew?! I had to laugh as the resident who was privy to this factoid as she looked at the neurosurgeon with this “oh yeah, I knew that” look. Knowing full well of course that she had NO clue of such things.
There are residents all over the hospital these days. Nurse residents, doctor residents, CPE residents (that is me!). All very wide eyed and trying to do the cool doc thing. Or whatever it is that they do. I forget sometimes that the docs are real people. To stand behind one in the lunch line or the conveyor belt hallway to Children’s is amusing to say the least. They have to pay bills, break up with boyfriends or girlfriends, fix their cars, or make plans to hang out after work. I forget that.
Maybe that is a good thing. I would want them to know nerves grew an inch a month.
Fun fact of the day: nerves grow one inch a month. One never knows what you will hear in a hospital elevator. Who knew?! I had to laugh as the resident who was privy to this factoid as she looked at the neurosurgeon with this “oh yeah, I knew that” look. Knowing full well of course that she had NO clue of such things.
There are residents all over the hospital these days. Nurse residents, doctor residents, CPE residents (that is me!). All very wide eyed and trying to do the cool doc thing. Or whatever it is that they do. I forget sometimes that the docs are real people. To stand behind one in the lunch line or the conveyor belt hallway to Children’s is amusing to say the least. They have to pay bills, break up with boyfriends or girlfriends, fix their cars, or make plans to hang out after work. I forget that.
Maybe that is a good thing. I would want them to know nerves grew an inch a month.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Monday After
Ok, so CPE is turning me into an amatuer poet. Which I am not. Some things can't really be told in prose. I am amazed and blessed to be part of this hospital, if only for a while. It will be a lifetime of reflection I am certain. And hard to leave. What I haven't said is that I am responsible (assigned to really) for 2 main parts of the hospital: the children's oncology floor and the emergency department. I have manged to tentatively name a place for myself on the oncology floor. I am unable to describe my experience there but I am working on it. To say it is amazing is impossibly difficult. Words can't describe the spirit there..the "ethos" if you will. Words like "brave" and "courageous" just don't cut it. It is so much more than that. This 6th floor. The work done there is nothing short of a miracle each day. Difficult work to be sure, but oh such incredibly gentle work.
So for today, here is the latest post. This one is a bit cheesy (I think) to begin but it will get worked over I am sure. Just bear with me. Something else will come out for certain. Heaven help us when it does but...
Monday
A fortress against fear
Never far away
A mission sometimes impossible to know
Hearts strong in faith
Spirits rail against the sure foe
The bustle of morning gives way to quieter times
Laughter breaking over bacon
Care in confusion and chaos
Steady hand and hearts
That break sometimes
When they come in.
The little ones and their smiles and their pink rides in the hall
Stopping to “honk”
Echoing each other in chorus
Necessary laughter
Naming, life claiming, love
So for today, here is the latest post. This one is a bit cheesy (I think) to begin but it will get worked over I am sure. Just bear with me. Something else will come out for certain. Heaven help us when it does but...
Monday
A fortress against fear
Never far away
A mission sometimes impossible to know
Hearts strong in faith
Spirits rail against the sure foe
The bustle of morning gives way to quieter times
Laughter breaking over bacon
Care in confusion and chaos
Steady hand and hearts
That break sometimes
When they come in.
The little ones and their smiles and their pink rides in the hall
Stopping to “honk”
Echoing each other in chorus
Necessary laughter
Naming, life claiming, love
Saturday, June 23, 2007
10:12 AM June 23, 2007
Tender hands on tiny feet
Blue ink stains
Beautiful, beautiful boy
Snuggle deep into Grandma’s folds; sleep tight
Fussy response of the unspoken yet
Never unheard
“A.Donor” is unnamed
Not you.
You are named
Named with God’s hand imprinted on our hearts
Blue ink stains
Beautiful, beautiful boy
Snuggle deep into Grandma’s folds; sleep tight
Fussy response of the unspoken yet
Never unheard
“A.Donor” is unnamed
Not you.
You are named
Named with God’s hand imprinted on our hearts
Sunday, June 10, 2007
England and More
So we have been to England and worshipped in Salisbury Cathedral and Westminster Abby. How incredible it was. I am amazed –still- that these incredible buildings were built in ages when cranes and bulldozers and heavy equipment were not there. People literally lived and died while building Salisbury Cathedral. And often with in the walls of the building. When the spire (don’t call it a steeple!) was added the stones that held it literally bent inward. So the architect at the time – in the 1200’s or so—decided that flying buttresses would hold up. And they did. And the spire stands. Two world wars spared this cathedral. I have no idea how as it was possible that the Germans used it as a landmark for their bombing runs over the city. The British army training grounds were not but 8 miles from there. Right next to Stonehenge. Again an incredible feat albeit a disappointing site. But how did the cathedral survive? How is it that in May of 2007 a forty year old woman from East Tennessee could awesomely worship every morning for 8 days in a 700 year old chapel? A blessing.
One of the more incredible stories (and there are many) of the Cathedral is the story of the stonemasons. They were asked to carve faces for one of the chapels. So, they looked around and saw each other! All along the walls of one of the chapels and throughout the Cathedral really, are little faces. 700 year old faces frozen in time. Jolly faces to be sure. Still there. Some with noses rubbed off. Most with curly curly hair. And they watch over us these many years later.
We build megachurches and churches in coffee houses. Built of steel and glass and concerns over the parlor seating. Yet these sites of stone are indeed built to the glory of God. I wonder what we are thinking when we hire architects and planners. Millions of dollars and fundraising efforts. And it is nothing compared.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Six Figures for what?
In the course of less than 24 hours, my partner has been recommended for a job and subsequently will be interviewed for a job. At 7:30 am on a Saturday morning. She says it maybe that they are desperate to find someone! How does that happen? It is a job for a different company. Insurance to be sure, but a competitor. It pays significantly more than she is making now. In some ways that is nice. A nice compliment to her work, her work ethic, and her. Who knows who recommended her? She has worked with many companies and brokers and firms. Always professional and a great attitude and all those things you want in an employee.
We ran errands tonight for a trip to England. She will be going with me on a Div School trek to study worship. God love her for that. She is excited and I am excited to be able to share this part of my life with her. In all of its work and worship and wealth of experience. I don’t expect her to love every minute of it or become a seminary student herself. But it is an opportunity we could not pass up. It is a way for us to bring parts of ourselves together again. As we ran errands for the trip, we talked.
But as she says, it is an outrageous amount of money for something really doesn’t matter to her. In her words, she doesn’t work nearly hard enough for someone to pay six figures. “It just shows how screwed up the world’s priorities are.” She said it is an outrageous amount of money considering there are people who don’t make enough to feed their families. It is far, far from what she is trained to do. She fell into it. She tells me often that she feels as though she “plays pretend”. She is an Illinois girl who was raised with her two brothers on a dairy farm. Her father died when she was nine and her mother was a school nurse. She has never wished or wanted wealth. Only to live comfortably and able to pay the bills. She has more than provided for us. Particularly in this last year.
But when did it become a bottom line world? I see her struggle with the needs we have and yet remains unfulfilled. She is trying to determine what it is that she wants to do when she grows up. It is difficult to see where her road will take her. She misses her student contact and feels very far removed from her work with disabled students. Her heart is often trampled for the sake of someone’s bottom line. And it is not always her company’s bottom line. It may be a broker or a sales guy or a customer.
I so want her to find a way to use her talents in a way that feeds her. I have no idea how or where or when that will happen. She is realizing it too. I wouldn’t care if she quit tomorrow and worked at an Easter Seals camp. I can’t see the bigger plan and how all of this works. Why now? Why in Philadelphia of all places? And why keep pushing things toward a life of luxury? She doesn’t want it or need it. Neither of us do. A friend today told me she didn’t see our lives changing much no matter how much either of us made. It wouldn’t. We’d travel but I don’t see the Lexus or new house or jewelry.
I am amazed at times and confused and in conundrums. This too shall pass. Yet I have no idea where we shall pass to. We trust and hope it is for some greater reason. These goofy things that seem to be sent to remind us of how the other half lives.
We ran errands tonight for a trip to England. She will be going with me on a Div School trek to study worship. God love her for that. She is excited and I am excited to be able to share this part of my life with her. In all of its work and worship and wealth of experience. I don’t expect her to love every minute of it or become a seminary student herself. But it is an opportunity we could not pass up. It is a way for us to bring parts of ourselves together again. As we ran errands for the trip, we talked.
But as she says, it is an outrageous amount of money for something really doesn’t matter to her. In her words, she doesn’t work nearly hard enough for someone to pay six figures. “It just shows how screwed up the world’s priorities are.” She said it is an outrageous amount of money considering there are people who don’t make enough to feed their families. It is far, far from what she is trained to do. She fell into it. She tells me often that she feels as though she “plays pretend”. She is an Illinois girl who was raised with her two brothers on a dairy farm. Her father died when she was nine and her mother was a school nurse. She has never wished or wanted wealth. Only to live comfortably and able to pay the bills. She has more than provided for us. Particularly in this last year.
But when did it become a bottom line world? I see her struggle with the needs we have and yet remains unfulfilled. She is trying to determine what it is that she wants to do when she grows up. It is difficult to see where her road will take her. She misses her student contact and feels very far removed from her work with disabled students. Her heart is often trampled for the sake of someone’s bottom line. And it is not always her company’s bottom line. It may be a broker or a sales guy or a customer.
I so want her to find a way to use her talents in a way that feeds her. I have no idea how or where or when that will happen. She is realizing it too. I wouldn’t care if she quit tomorrow and worked at an Easter Seals camp. I can’t see the bigger plan and how all of this works. Why now? Why in Philadelphia of all places? And why keep pushing things toward a life of luxury? She doesn’t want it or need it. Neither of us do. A friend today told me she didn’t see our lives changing much no matter how much either of us made. It wouldn’t. We’d travel but I don’t see the Lexus or new house or jewelry.
I am amazed at times and confused and in conundrums. This too shall pass. Yet I have no idea where we shall pass to. We trust and hope it is for some greater reason. These goofy things that seem to be sent to remind us of how the other half lives.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Street Corners and Little Miracles
I went to Orientation for my Summer CPE today. I will be serving as a Chaplain Intern at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital throughout the summer. I am excited, nervous, anxious, and thrilled all at the same time.
I stood at the corner of 21st Ave and the entrance to the hospital recalled a conversation I had a little over a year ago. It too took place on a street corner but in Chattanooga. It was a beautiful day and I had finished lunch. My friend Gwen looked at me and said “don’t let this place take your soul”. I had just been promoted to a managerial position at the company where I worked. She too had been in management for a good bit longer. She actually was my trainer when I came to work in August of 2000. She was well aware of the perils I was about to navigate. And she knew me much too well to attempt to buck up my ego.
And that is when the journey to this place began. I was struck this morning by how different my life is now than how it was this time last year. I am certain I am different but in ways I cannot name at the moment. I feel more peaceful though Heidi would tell you I am still hyped up 90% of the time. Only subject has changed. Another friend calls me “Capt. Anxious”. That too will fit.
My key relationships have been challenged to the very core of their being but are on track now. Thankfully. God bless that. We have come through the storms of uncertainty I never dreamed would face us. I know how blessed I am to have the people around me that I have. Who keep me grounded and hold me when I sleep at night. It is a miracle in so many ways.
There is some sense of moving I think. Not on as if to move along, but a movement toward something. I am trying to get used to actually having a summer for a few weeks. I will be back on an 8-5 schedule in June. That will be odd. Someone today told me they didn’t realize I had “grown-up” clothes.
I have actually taken to gardening. I have done it in part because I lost a bet to Heidi but in larger part because I am starting to see the therapy in it. Granted I needed some help in identifying the difference between a yellow leaf and a cucumber bloom but I will get there. I cussed one morning while trying to drag the water hose into the front yard in my pajamas. But, I go and check the garden every night and find myself looking over it as though it were a miracle. It is that indeed.
So as Josephine liked to say, “We shall see”. England is next up. It will be fascinating. To be where John Wesley was and the ages.
Good grief, we are but a twinkle in the eye of our Creator.
I stood at the corner of 21st Ave and the entrance to the hospital recalled a conversation I had a little over a year ago. It too took place on a street corner but in Chattanooga. It was a beautiful day and I had finished lunch. My friend Gwen looked at me and said “don’t let this place take your soul”. I had just been promoted to a managerial position at the company where I worked. She too had been in management for a good bit longer. She actually was my trainer when I came to work in August of 2000. She was well aware of the perils I was about to navigate. And she knew me much too well to attempt to buck up my ego.
And that is when the journey to this place began. I was struck this morning by how different my life is now than how it was this time last year. I am certain I am different but in ways I cannot name at the moment. I feel more peaceful though Heidi would tell you I am still hyped up 90% of the time. Only subject has changed. Another friend calls me “Capt. Anxious”. That too will fit.
My key relationships have been challenged to the very core of their being but are on track now. Thankfully. God bless that. We have come through the storms of uncertainty I never dreamed would face us. I know how blessed I am to have the people around me that I have. Who keep me grounded and hold me when I sleep at night. It is a miracle in so many ways.
There is some sense of moving I think. Not on as if to move along, but a movement toward something. I am trying to get used to actually having a summer for a few weeks. I will be back on an 8-5 schedule in June. That will be odd. Someone today told me they didn’t realize I had “grown-up” clothes.
I have actually taken to gardening. I have done it in part because I lost a bet to Heidi but in larger part because I am starting to see the therapy in it. Granted I needed some help in identifying the difference between a yellow leaf and a cucumber bloom but I will get there. I cussed one morning while trying to drag the water hose into the front yard in my pajamas. But, I go and check the garden every night and find myself looking over it as though it were a miracle. It is that indeed.
So as Josephine liked to say, “We shall see”. England is next up. It will be fascinating. To be where John Wesley was and the ages.
Good grief, we are but a twinkle in the eye of our Creator.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Backpack Garbage
I spent exactly oh say 14 hours away from the computer. Pitiful really.
I finished my first year of Divinity School yesterday. I took the world’s longest Reformation Exam. Not hard really. Just long and most definitely thorough. “Comprehensive” as it was described to be.
I went to see our Field Ed supervisor afterwards. She sat me in her office and asked me what my very first reactions were about completing my very first year. I could barely complete a sentence. But I think challenging, personally more than I expected, worth every minute to be sure, I never got to get all of it and that bugged me but there was summer for that. And a few other things.
I was really making rounds to say hello to the Administrative staff. They are a funny bunch and remind me of the good old days when I was in Higher Ed. The staff in the Dean’s Office and Field Placement serves as our friends and allies when the faculty seems unapproachable. With chocolate readily available and good warm hugs, they are the people to see when you are tired and need a pick me up. And we are tired a lot it seems. Mentally and often physically.
So my first action of the summer was to run errands. Which I gladly did because I had time to do them. I took shoes to be repaired, I ate a leisurely lunch. I had the oil changed and transmission fluid flushed in my car. I got the dog’s medications for the next month. I usually hate errands but on this gorgeous spring day, I felt like a real person again. Not just a student whose time is concentrated on deadlines and papers. No thoughts really. A little numb. And realized through the tears I shed with Heidi that I was greatly relieved.
I cleaned out the backpack today. Finally. I THINK I cleaned it out last semester but can’t be so sure. It doesn’t look like it at any rate. Among the contents were receipts and Oreo crumbs. The random Cheerios which are my between classes staple food. I found a Cheerio on the floor behind my desk when I sat down for my exam. I had been there before it seems. A paperclip. A nametag for some event. Pens. Pens. Pens. All at the bottom of the bag. I for once rubber banded them. Why not? The semester is over…. The back pack is now on the stairs in the attic closet. It will sit there until England in a few weeks. Then who knows what it will carry back.
So a school year has gone. It did fly by and I know the summer will go and then the fall and then more time will have passed. I am still grateful and blessed to be here. To be able to reclaim a bit of time that many of us over 35’s don’t get to do for one reason or another. I hope for a good summer and one of some rest. I watched CSI for the first time in weeks and did notice that yes, Miami does have an orange and green color scheme just as Chris said they did. How odd…and I can ponder that now.
Minutiae but I like it.
I finished my first year of Divinity School yesterday. I took the world’s longest Reformation Exam. Not hard really. Just long and most definitely thorough. “Comprehensive” as it was described to be.
I went to see our Field Ed supervisor afterwards. She sat me in her office and asked me what my very first reactions were about completing my very first year. I could barely complete a sentence. But I think challenging, personally more than I expected, worth every minute to be sure, I never got to get all of it and that bugged me but there was summer for that. And a few other things.
I was really making rounds to say hello to the Administrative staff. They are a funny bunch and remind me of the good old days when I was in Higher Ed. The staff in the Dean’s Office and Field Placement serves as our friends and allies when the faculty seems unapproachable. With chocolate readily available and good warm hugs, they are the people to see when you are tired and need a pick me up. And we are tired a lot it seems. Mentally and often physically.
So my first action of the summer was to run errands. Which I gladly did because I had time to do them. I took shoes to be repaired, I ate a leisurely lunch. I had the oil changed and transmission fluid flushed in my car. I got the dog’s medications for the next month. I usually hate errands but on this gorgeous spring day, I felt like a real person again. Not just a student whose time is concentrated on deadlines and papers. No thoughts really. A little numb. And realized through the tears I shed with Heidi that I was greatly relieved.
I cleaned out the backpack today. Finally. I THINK I cleaned it out last semester but can’t be so sure. It doesn’t look like it at any rate. Among the contents were receipts and Oreo crumbs. The random Cheerios which are my between classes staple food. I found a Cheerio on the floor behind my desk when I sat down for my exam. I had been there before it seems. A paperclip. A nametag for some event. Pens. Pens. Pens. All at the bottom of the bag. I for once rubber banded them. Why not? The semester is over…. The back pack is now on the stairs in the attic closet. It will sit there until England in a few weeks. Then who knows what it will carry back.
So a school year has gone. It did fly by and I know the summer will go and then the fall and then more time will have passed. I am still grateful and blessed to be here. To be able to reclaim a bit of time that many of us over 35’s don’t get to do for one reason or another. I hope for a good summer and one of some rest. I watched CSI for the first time in weeks and did notice that yes, Miami does have an orange and green color scheme just as Chris said they did. How odd…and I can ponder that now.
Minutiae but I like it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Blackburg
I find myself sitting in my little house that has become a refuge of sorts for me. It is indeed a little house that sits behind the larger “main” house. Someone built it a long time ago as a jam band garage of sorts. Heidi has since turned into a home office by day and I have turned it into a study room by night. The night is comfortable enough for my door to be open this evening. Unlike last night when it was chilly. Lyndsey stopped by to see if I would go and study with her. She scaled our 8 ft privacy fence. I left her hanging up there for a bit until I could figure out what she could step on to get down. She is young enough to be one of my youth kids from a good long time ago. Those guys are all out of college now and working on their lives. Some are married. One is an ad exec in New York. Another, the ad execs best friend, is married and expecting her first child. I still think of them.
I particularly think of them today. There was a terrible shooting at Virginia Tech yesterday. I know Blacksburg. It is an hour and a half from where I went to school. Tech is nestled in the mountains and has a beautiful rambling campus. It used to be a military school I think. The original buildings are stone. White stone now streaked with blood.
I talked with my friend Sam today. He is as conservative as I am liberal. We don’t agree on much except we both know that Jesus loves US. We discussed the shooting. He mentioned that the young man who killed these students and himself was from “CO-rea”. I mention this not only because of his East Tennessee accent, but because of his sometimes irritatingly hostile statements about those who are not from “around these parts”. He did mention that the young man was a legal resident from Korea. I applauded him for that. The immigrant card was off the table. Then Sam went on to talk about how he bought a gun in Roanoke several days before the shooting. I, of all people, said, “well you can do that”. He agreed. But couldn’t say much more about the purchase. Other than it was a gun intended to kill people. And not to hunt and not to have on the mantle.
I think about those kids up there. The RA who went to help when he heard a commotion. I did that once. It was friend who had crawled down the hall suffering excruciating pain from kidney stones. I sat with her head in my lap until the ambulance came. She was ok. This fella was not. I think about the 19 and 20 year olds who were from small towns in Virginia. Some were just starting their college careers. They could be youth group kids. They ARE someone’s children. And they got up one day to go to class and they suffered horribly.
The Tech President was being questioned today by Matt Lauer. (why not Meredith?). He discussed what they thought they knew yesterday. That by letting kids go to class it would be a way to protect them. He too was doing his job yesterday. I can’t imagine the guilt and second guessing he must be going through. As a former college staffer, I understand the responsibility he feels. Parents entrust their precious children to folks they don’t know in order for them to be educated. And now what?
Blame will be placed in all places. Sam mentioned lawsuits. Sure those will happen. But for what good? They are hiring more Campus Police at UTK. Great! Why did it take this? My guess is once the news dies down and state budgets get cut, those jobs will not be available.
And finally, what about the young man who was very troubled and angry it appears. He was supposedly a loner. A man with a dark sense of self. He too was someone’s child. His parents, much like the Columbine shooters parents, hurt. Who is to say their dreams aren’t shattered as well?
I don’t understand it. I don’t get it. I don’t get how we can live in a place that can find it so easy to hate the “other” when the other is loved by someone. And when we are all loved by GOD, for God’s sake. Sam would say this young man was not loved by God. He would say he will pay for his sins. I think perhaps this young man may be at peace. The demons quieted. Maybe not. I tend to look at things through rose colored glasses sometimes. But I can’t conceive of a God that doesn’t hurt with us. That doesn’t grieve with us while still trying to show us how to love.
Even in the awfulest of times.
I particularly think of them today. There was a terrible shooting at Virginia Tech yesterday. I know Blacksburg. It is an hour and a half from where I went to school. Tech is nestled in the mountains and has a beautiful rambling campus. It used to be a military school I think. The original buildings are stone. White stone now streaked with blood.
I talked with my friend Sam today. He is as conservative as I am liberal. We don’t agree on much except we both know that Jesus loves US. We discussed the shooting. He mentioned that the young man who killed these students and himself was from “CO-rea”. I mention this not only because of his East Tennessee accent, but because of his sometimes irritatingly hostile statements about those who are not from “around these parts”. He did mention that the young man was a legal resident from Korea. I applauded him for that. The immigrant card was off the table. Then Sam went on to talk about how he bought a gun in Roanoke several days before the shooting. I, of all people, said, “well you can do that”. He agreed. But couldn’t say much more about the purchase. Other than it was a gun intended to kill people. And not to hunt and not to have on the mantle.
I think about those kids up there. The RA who went to help when he heard a commotion. I did that once. It was friend who had crawled down the hall suffering excruciating pain from kidney stones. I sat with her head in my lap until the ambulance came. She was ok. This fella was not. I think about the 19 and 20 year olds who were from small towns in Virginia. Some were just starting their college careers. They could be youth group kids. They ARE someone’s children. And they got up one day to go to class and they suffered horribly.
The Tech President was being questioned today by Matt Lauer. (why not Meredith?). He discussed what they thought they knew yesterday. That by letting kids go to class it would be a way to protect them. He too was doing his job yesterday. I can’t imagine the guilt and second guessing he must be going through. As a former college staffer, I understand the responsibility he feels. Parents entrust their precious children to folks they don’t know in order for them to be educated. And now what?
Blame will be placed in all places. Sam mentioned lawsuits. Sure those will happen. But for what good? They are hiring more Campus Police at UTK. Great! Why did it take this? My guess is once the news dies down and state budgets get cut, those jobs will not be available.
And finally, what about the young man who was very troubled and angry it appears. He was supposedly a loner. A man with a dark sense of self. He too was someone’s child. His parents, much like the Columbine shooters parents, hurt. Who is to say their dreams aren’t shattered as well?
I don’t understand it. I don’t get it. I don’t get how we can live in a place that can find it so easy to hate the “other” when the other is loved by someone. And when we are all loved by GOD, for God’s sake. Sam would say this young man was not loved by God. He would say he will pay for his sins. I think perhaps this young man may be at peace. The demons quieted. Maybe not. I tend to look at things through rose colored glasses sometimes. But I can’t conceive of a God that doesn’t hurt with us. That doesn’t grieve with us while still trying to show us how to love.
Even in the awfulest of times.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
And it's only Tuesday
1) Sunday – Easter Baptism. I heard, "you are a child of God".
2) Monday- My own Easter Sermon for Homiletics . I heard "spirit filled".
3) Tuesday – I heard Matt Lauer give Don Imus more airtime after he was suspended from CBS Radio.
4) Tuesday -I heard C. Vivian Stringer, a coach, a woman, a mother, speak out for her team who might as well be her family. “we had to experience racist and sexist remarks that are deplorable, despicable, and abominable and unconscionable. It hurts me." C. Viv, it hurts us all.
5) Tuesday - I heard three speakers at school talk about HIV/AIDS in the Black Church. We can’t talk in ANY church about sexuality. Based on # 3 and 4, we apparently can’t talk appropriately about each other.
Can we go back to number one and start over?
2) Monday- My own Easter Sermon for Homiletics . I heard "spirit filled".
3) Tuesday – I heard Matt Lauer give Don Imus more airtime after he was suspended from CBS Radio.
4) Tuesday -I heard C. Vivian Stringer, a coach, a woman, a mother, speak out for her team who might as well be her family. “we had to experience racist and sexist remarks that are deplorable, despicable, and abominable and unconscionable. It hurts me." C. Viv, it hurts us all.
5) Tuesday - I heard three speakers at school talk about HIV/AIDS in the Black Church. We can’t talk in ANY church about sexuality. Based on # 3 and 4, we apparently can’t talk appropriately about each other.
Can we go back to number one and start over?
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Prayer 40% Off
Prayer is 40% off at the 21st Century Bookstore.
I should say that only in the 21st Century would prayer be 40% off. As if it was a commodity of sorts. To some it is, I guess. My assumption is that this 40% off sale is for Prayer books maybe? I hope so otherwise I owe somebody something.
I should say that only in the 21st Century would prayer be 40% off. As if it was a commodity of sorts. To some it is, I guess. My assumption is that this 40% off sale is for Prayer books maybe? I hope so otherwise I owe somebody something.
Wonder if there is an after Easter Clearance?
Wow! That’d be a concept. Clearance after the resurrection! After nothing is left in the tomb?! Cool! Liquidation! I can see it now…. Shrouds and linens clearance.
My friend Lyndsey saw this sign a few days ago. I had seen it a few weeks ago and forgotten about it. We are in school together, she and I. The two of us along with our friend Anna Russell Kelly are our own version of the Three Amigos. But we really resemble the Three Stooges. We had a 3 second conversation in the hallway of my house last night. We were all talking at once or in some monosyllabic manner finishing the other’s sentences as we often do. We finish them for each other because one of the three of us is laughing too hard to complete a sentence.
When Heidi and I left Chattanooga for this adventure, I prayed there would be people here to receive us. I never dreamed I would find two 20 something’s who would care for me to see me through this place. Lynds and AR are “2nd Years”. They have been through this “1st Year” stuff and have tutored me along with plenty of realistic expectations and a calming presence when the work has been overwhelming for me. They are kindred spirits who have taken me into their lives.
Lyndsey is the one with the activist heart who keeps the fire going for all of us. I tell her we are twins of different mothers 20 years apart. The funny thing is while she reminds us of our responsibility to each other and to the world around us in this fired up manner she carries with her, she is the heart and soul of us. Truly. A heart that loves more than most. For longer than most. She can argue with a doorpost and it most likely will move. She has an ability to see the “man behind the curtain”. Her knowledge and understanding of theory and practice are amazing to me. I can do one or the other but I can’t put the two together for Pete. Her dreams of a PhD will be realized and she will go on to teach others to do for themselves in a manner that will benefit the communities they live in. I am proud of her.
AR is the funny, kindhearted, best-friend-forever. I want to call her naïve but it isn’t that really. It is an awareness of being in the moment with someone that is her nature. She too has an activist heart for the homeless and the underprivileged. She is uncertain a bit as to what is in store for her after school. She wants marriage and children and feels guilty for wanting that Volvo down the street. At the same time, she is a welcoming hospitable spirit that wants to serve those who have needs beyond their control. She is interning at a church next to the Nashville Mission. She is capable of arguing for those whose destinies have unfortunately been decided for them. AR gives voice to those who can’t always speak for themselves. I am proud of her as well.
I know from previous life experience in the “other” world that we can get sidetracked from our dreams and our call. I am living proof of that. Maybe not the sidetrack but the meandering of life I guess. I want us to all get where we are going. But together. I hope in their taking care of me now I can return the favor in the future. However that may be. I have friends who are incredible stalwarts in my life. I know that. But to have friends who share in the journey you are on and who let you be who you really are, that is a blessing. I guess God knew what was up when these two wandered in or actually I crashed their party. They are the arms I seek when I need a good hug. One that takes you in and holds every bit part of you. They are the ears who hear my "joys and concerns". Theirs is the laughter I hear when I get too excited to talk and end up in tears due to a spittle episode after a math lesson.
I pray our lives will always have room for all of us. Those prayers aren’t 40% off.
Wow! That’d be a concept. Clearance after the resurrection! After nothing is left in the tomb?! Cool! Liquidation! I can see it now…. Shrouds and linens clearance.
My friend Lyndsey saw this sign a few days ago. I had seen it a few weeks ago and forgotten about it. We are in school together, she and I. The two of us along with our friend Anna Russell Kelly are our own version of the Three Amigos. But we really resemble the Three Stooges. We had a 3 second conversation in the hallway of my house last night. We were all talking at once or in some monosyllabic manner finishing the other’s sentences as we often do. We finish them for each other because one of the three of us is laughing too hard to complete a sentence.
When Heidi and I left Chattanooga for this adventure, I prayed there would be people here to receive us. I never dreamed I would find two 20 something’s who would care for me to see me through this place. Lynds and AR are “2nd Years”. They have been through this “1st Year” stuff and have tutored me along with plenty of realistic expectations and a calming presence when the work has been overwhelming for me. They are kindred spirits who have taken me into their lives.
Lyndsey is the one with the activist heart who keeps the fire going for all of us. I tell her we are twins of different mothers 20 years apart. The funny thing is while she reminds us of our responsibility to each other and to the world around us in this fired up manner she carries with her, she is the heart and soul of us. Truly. A heart that loves more than most. For longer than most. She can argue with a doorpost and it most likely will move. She has an ability to see the “man behind the curtain”. Her knowledge and understanding of theory and practice are amazing to me. I can do one or the other but I can’t put the two together for Pete. Her dreams of a PhD will be realized and she will go on to teach others to do for themselves in a manner that will benefit the communities they live in. I am proud of her.
AR is the funny, kindhearted, best-friend-forever. I want to call her naïve but it isn’t that really. It is an awareness of being in the moment with someone that is her nature. She too has an activist heart for the homeless and the underprivileged. She is uncertain a bit as to what is in store for her after school. She wants marriage and children and feels guilty for wanting that Volvo down the street. At the same time, she is a welcoming hospitable spirit that wants to serve those who have needs beyond their control. She is interning at a church next to the Nashville Mission. She is capable of arguing for those whose destinies have unfortunately been decided for them. AR gives voice to those who can’t always speak for themselves. I am proud of her as well.
I know from previous life experience in the “other” world that we can get sidetracked from our dreams and our call. I am living proof of that. Maybe not the sidetrack but the meandering of life I guess. I want us to all get where we are going. But together. I hope in their taking care of me now I can return the favor in the future. However that may be. I have friends who are incredible stalwarts in my life. I know that. But to have friends who share in the journey you are on and who let you be who you really are, that is a blessing. I guess God knew what was up when these two wandered in or actually I crashed their party. They are the arms I seek when I need a good hug. One that takes you in and holds every bit part of you. They are the ears who hear my "joys and concerns". Theirs is the laughter I hear when I get too excited to talk and end up in tears due to a spittle episode after a math lesson.
I pray our lives will always have room for all of us. Those prayers aren’t 40% off.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
National Champions 2007
I will attempt not to gloat. But I am happy. I will wear orange tomorrow.A few parting words:
Quit asking Candace Parker if she is leaving. She is not leaving despite Nancy Leiberman’s predictions of European riches.
Sidney finally found the basket. Go Sid Go!
Pat finally found a point guard.
Pat needs to find a comb. Or quit poofing her hair.
Pat has two more than Geno… and that is all that really matters.
Gail went to Texas. A pity she can't have some respect from a program she built.
Pokey is still missing. Probably best for the time being. Hang in there Pokey. Hopefully, there is grace to go around.
All will be well if Vanderbilt can keep Melanie. I hope so. I have grown fond of the Jersey Girl.
The next season starts in 197 days. If I can add, which is questionable.
The SEC Women’s Tournament is in Nashville next year.
I made a rather feeble attempt to exegete Revelation for the express purpose of this blog but I decided to let this be it. It became a Pat vs Geno eschatological synopsis and I got anxious. And then I wondered if I was in the 144,000 or if I just got confused and thought I was at Neyland Stadium waiting in line for the bathroom at a UT football game.
"It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.”
I love basketball.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Palm Sunday Fun
Palm Sunday. The day that is proclaimed to be the re-enactment of Jesus’ triumphal ride into Jerusalem on a donkey.
I love Palm Sunday. Not for the sentiment but for the simple fact that Palm fronds are way too fun. For everybody! At church, we were given palm fronds that were grown on a sustainable farm. At least that was our hope. I go to a progressive Baptist church and we are trying to do things “right”. One can only hope that when you order palm fronds from Guatemala that they are a) from Guatemala and b) are actually from the sustainable farm that advertises them. Otherwise, I am not sure what happens. Do you send them back?
The morning proceeds with the usual children’s “parade” down the aisle. Palms waving every which way. There is the little girl who waves it incessantly all the way to the altar. The little boy who sticks the end up his nose and then shows his friend what happens when you do this. He may leave it up his nose even. Embarrassing Mom and Dad and every one else. There is the little boy who waves his open hand palm to family members who are present, palm frond dangling at his side. All in all no one knows what to expect other than it will be a cutie patooties.
The choir then enters from the narthex. Voices carrying upward to the ceiling as we sing “All Glory Laud and Honor”. Now the fun begins. Leading the choir are those members who wave the fronds dramatically in the elbow, elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist action often associated with beauty pageants. Waving their fronds high in the air for the most effective performance of professional frond waving. The men are better at this, waving them instead in front of their music thus having to readjust their music folders AROUND the palm instead of waving the palm in a manner more conducive to holding their music. Maybe waving the frond in their neighbor’s ear. Finally the pastors who have been-there done-this so many times that they have t-shirt that says “I survived the Lenten Season”. They merely allow the palm to be carried as though it were a flag staff. It’ll wave then as it will.
The palms given to the congregation find themselves in all sorts of contortions and conniptions. We sit on them. We drop them in the floor. They serve as placeholders for the next hymn. For certain we do not know when to wave them. Is it during the choir introit? During the solo? We can certainly try our best waves in “Freebird” fashion like we did when we all had lighters in the arena rock days. I tried to do that during the offertory hymn but Heidi wasn’t paying attention and it wasn’t that fun then. Instead, during the prayer Heidi and I practiced our “beauty palm frond wave” as demonstrated by the choir. The older ladies in front of us were playing too. Waving them in each other’s hymnals as the invitation was sung. We are never too old to play.
I am not so sure Jesus’ last week started on such a high note. I would hope those folks in Jerusalem were better palm wavers.
But somehow, I don’t think Jesus would mind our lack of palm waving etiquette. As long as we know what comes next.
I love Palm Sunday. Not for the sentiment but for the simple fact that Palm fronds are way too fun. For everybody! At church, we were given palm fronds that were grown on a sustainable farm. At least that was our hope. I go to a progressive Baptist church and we are trying to do things “right”. One can only hope that when you order palm fronds from Guatemala that they are a) from Guatemala and b) are actually from the sustainable farm that advertises them. Otherwise, I am not sure what happens. Do you send them back?
The morning proceeds with the usual children’s “parade” down the aisle. Palms waving every which way. There is the little girl who waves it incessantly all the way to the altar. The little boy who sticks the end up his nose and then shows his friend what happens when you do this. He may leave it up his nose even. Embarrassing Mom and Dad and every one else. There is the little boy who waves his open hand palm to family members who are present, palm frond dangling at his side. All in all no one knows what to expect other than it will be a cutie patooties.
The choir then enters from the narthex. Voices carrying upward to the ceiling as we sing “All Glory Laud and Honor”. Now the fun begins. Leading the choir are those members who wave the fronds dramatically in the elbow, elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist action often associated with beauty pageants. Waving their fronds high in the air for the most effective performance of professional frond waving. The men are better at this, waving them instead in front of their music thus having to readjust their music folders AROUND the palm instead of waving the palm in a manner more conducive to holding their music. Maybe waving the frond in their neighbor’s ear. Finally the pastors who have been-there done-this so many times that they have t-shirt that says “I survived the Lenten Season”. They merely allow the palm to be carried as though it were a flag staff. It’ll wave then as it will.
The palms given to the congregation find themselves in all sorts of contortions and conniptions. We sit on them. We drop them in the floor. They serve as placeholders for the next hymn. For certain we do not know when to wave them. Is it during the choir introit? During the solo? We can certainly try our best waves in “Freebird” fashion like we did when we all had lighters in the arena rock days. I tried to do that during the offertory hymn but Heidi wasn’t paying attention and it wasn’t that fun then. Instead, during the prayer Heidi and I practiced our “beauty palm frond wave” as demonstrated by the choir. The older ladies in front of us were playing too. Waving them in each other’s hymnals as the invitation was sung. We are never too old to play.
I am not so sure Jesus’ last week started on such a high note. I would hope those folks in Jerusalem were better palm wavers.
But somehow, I don’t think Jesus would mind our lack of palm waving etiquette. As long as we know what comes next.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Summitt the Wonder(ful) Dog
I am sitting on the couch with my sleeping dog beside me. She is a beagle mix who is moody at times although the aging process has tempered her temper a bit. That and thyroxine.She was a surprise “gift” from my mother. I grew up with dogs and they were always the best, best friends for an only child.
Summit was delivered to me on a Fall break 11 years ago. I had my own house and had room for a dog. She was 6 lbs. and could fit into the front pocket of my rain jacket. She slept a lot then. Like she does now. Of course she was to be an outdoor dog. But then it snowed. About 6 inches and she couldn’t get through the snow. And then it was cold. And then, well….she was comfortable on the bed. Under the covers. Behind my knees. Where she still sleeps most nights.
She scared me to death before Christmas when she contracted some awful puppy virus and I begged her not to die on me as we wildly drove to see Dr. Karl, a friend from church who was our vet. He is a gentle man with a quiet voice who kept her overnight and called me throughout the evening with updates. Calmly telling me she would be fine and it wasn’t Parvo and no she didn’t eat that earring I lost and couldn’t find. He did the x rays already.
She chewed on 8 year old Joe’s ears when that was ALL he had on his head. Just a noggin and short cropped hair and ears good enough o eat.
She gave her seal of approval to Heidi and was there to call me back to consciousness after that first kiss in the living room. You have had them...the ones that make the world stop and then turn over so you see it differently from that moment on.
She helped write my first thesis. And stayed up …truly, to see that I proof read and edited and finally printed out the last page of works cited. She got a graduation card from Grandma for her scholarship.
She moved across town and terrorized Casey (Heidi’s dog) and worried Max next door to death. She nursed Heidi through surgery in Chattanooga. And she stayed beside my mother as she took her last breath. Gently curling next to her until we could get there on that long long drive up the interstate. We could tell where she laid doing a job that I could never do myself. The last one of us to usher mother through the thin curtain. She dried my tears with her kisses and gently placed herself at my side as I sat on a deck that summer, silently screaming into the darkness of the nights that were endless.
As I sit on this couch thinking of the last time I heard my mother’s voice, Summitt looks at me with sightless brown eyes. Eyes that sometimes reflect something else I can’t quite make out. I know without a doubt that she cannot see. She blinks but that is because her eye lids still react to air flow. Suddenly, I realize maybe she knows how I feel. That it still hurts after almost 6 years this June. That sometimes I forget what it is to hear my mother tell me she loves me. She reminds me that there is a still voice that calls me home. A voice that lets me know deep inside that Mom is alright and that she loves me still.
Summitt gently nuzzles me and sits on my lap while I cry even now. And then she puts her head back down and sleeps.
Monday, March 26, 2007
In the Beginning
FirstKingsNineteenNine
Maybe that will work for a Blog name. Not real catchy but it refers to a a chapter in the Hebrew Testament that had meaning to me today. 1st Kings 19: 9. “And behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and he said to him, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"
Except in the Jewish Bible Translation “ What are” is translated as “WHY are you here Elijah?”
Powerfully and excruciatingly close to home for me.
I am a Divinity School student at Vanderbilt Divinity School. A friend encouraged me to do this Blog thing, perhaps so she won’t get my rambling e-mails. Someone else encouraged me as well but that was because I was terribly catty and cracking jokes about any and all Women’s Basketball teams. Two loves, basketball and theology. They do work together in a sense. There is redemption in a free throw. Grace found when you get an offensive rebound and a put back. Rest when you ride the pine. And Miracles when a three sings string music.
So I will post. Why am I here? I can’t begin to answer that question. It only adds to a myriad of other questions. I can only answer as Elijah did in a sense…You called me here. And God goes on to tell him all he is going to do.
I have not a clue. I am not a theological brain. I could care less about the historical Jesus although I find it incredible that some man or men with a message a long time ago could change the course of the world and we still get it wrong. Even it isn’t factual, it is true. I am supposedly “pastoral” which is funny to me as I like to cuss and get just as mad at God as the next person. I just am.
But I am here. I get up everyday and try. I don’t always get it right. I don’t always even want to try but half assed is a half of something.
I have a partner and a dog that will inevitably make their way into this. My friends wander in and out as well. My life is a story and I can’t help but tell it. My head would pop off if I couldn’t.
I don’t pretend to have answers. There aren’t any or any right ones most of the time.
If yu read on in 1st Kings 19, God plays games with Elijah...sort of a 'Marco" "Polo" can you see me now game.
Until the end, when after the fire, Elijah hears the wind.
Maybe that will work for a Blog name. Not real catchy but it refers to a a chapter in the Hebrew Testament that had meaning to me today. 1st Kings 19: 9. “And behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and he said to him, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"
Except in the Jewish Bible Translation “ What are” is translated as “WHY are you here Elijah?”
Powerfully and excruciatingly close to home for me.
I am a Divinity School student at Vanderbilt Divinity School. A friend encouraged me to do this Blog thing, perhaps so she won’t get my rambling e-mails. Someone else encouraged me as well but that was because I was terribly catty and cracking jokes about any and all Women’s Basketball teams. Two loves, basketball and theology. They do work together in a sense. There is redemption in a free throw. Grace found when you get an offensive rebound and a put back. Rest when you ride the pine. And Miracles when a three sings string music.
So I will post. Why am I here? I can’t begin to answer that question. It only adds to a myriad of other questions. I can only answer as Elijah did in a sense…You called me here. And God goes on to tell him all he is going to do.
I have not a clue. I am not a theological brain. I could care less about the historical Jesus although I find it incredible that some man or men with a message a long time ago could change the course of the world and we still get it wrong. Even it isn’t factual, it is true. I am supposedly “pastoral” which is funny to me as I like to cuss and get just as mad at God as the next person. I just am.
But I am here. I get up everyday and try. I don’t always get it right. I don’t always even want to try but half assed is a half of something.
I have a partner and a dog that will inevitably make their way into this. My friends wander in and out as well. My life is a story and I can’t help but tell it. My head would pop off if I couldn’t.
I don’t pretend to have answers. There aren’t any or any right ones most of the time.
If yu read on in 1st Kings 19, God plays games with Elijah...sort of a 'Marco" "Polo" can you see me now game.
Until the end, when after the fire, Elijah hears the wind.
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