Songs in the Key of Life

What Oscar Missed

2012-02-23T13:12:00.003-08:00

Wrote this for my brother's blog, The Lawn Chair Boys.

And though this is posted in the full article, I thought I would add it here too, because it makes me happy.

Why I Love Valentine's Day

2012-02-14T15:36:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid I loved making my Valentine's Day mailbox in school that I would tape to the edge of my desk so my classmates could walk by at the designated time and drop in Power Ranger, Aladdin, or Rugrats valentines. As I got older, the "everybody gets a valentine" sentiment melted away, making room for high schoolers and college kids who were dating to feel somewhat superior to those who were alone. It actually never bothered me to be alone on Valentine's Day, and I usually opted out of my single friends' ill conceived plans to forget it was Valentine's Day and "just have fun being single." But now, I feel like that is not even what I experience most in the days leading up to the big day. No. Now it is this.

I have never had an Edible Arrangement. I do not really care to. But it is good to know that Edible Arrangements are guys' secret weapon. Now, I am pretty sure that the apartment in the commercial is not about to be attacked by bandits. I am also pretty sure a bear is not about to maul them. I am absolutely sure that the commercial is saying the fruit covered in chocolate is the guy's weapon in removing the lady's dress and having sex with her. Cause getting a girl to have sex with you is like a fight.

This next one is helpful, because the girl is telling the guy what to do so she will have sex with him. "That heart shaped box of chocolate goes a long way." Please. Why does she not just say, "Buy me chocolate and I will have sex with you"?

This commercial premiered before Christmas, and even though this is the holiday version, it was redone to be more Valentine's Day appropriate, meaning they took out the Christmas tree, and there was more red in it. Everything else is the same. There is nothing to say about this one. It is suggestive as anything can be. But I will say that I think if "your moment" comes down to how will this woman have sex with me, your life must have little significance.

So Valentine's Day and companies that profit off of you, this is why I love you. You remind us all that we live in a hetero-normative world where men want one thing, and women want something sweet to eat or shiny to wear. You remind men that if they want a woman to have sex with him he should buy her something sweet to eat or shiny to wear. And you remind women if a man gives her something sweet to eat or shiny to wear, she should have sex with him. It is such a beautiful thing.

And now for a Bruce Springsteen song, because not everything having to do with Valentine's Day is sexist. Sometimes there is something sweet--that does not require a woman to have sex with a man.

They say if you die in your dreams, you really die in you bed
But honey last night I dreamed my eyes rolled straight back in my head
And God's light came shinin' on through
I woke up in the darkness scared and breathin' and born anew
It wasn't the cold river bottom I felt rushin' over me
I wasn't the bitterness of a dream that didn't come true
It wasn't the wind in the grey fields I felt rushing through my arms
No no baby, baby it was you

So hold me close honey, say you're forever mine
And tell me you'll be my lonely valentine
Lonely valentine

A Top 5 List

2012-02-08T08:11:00.000-08:00

I have moved back to Virginia. The majority of my belongings are in my parents' basement. Even so, I write this from the student center of Austin Seminary in Austin, Texas. I have one more class to take before I graduate, but it only meets five times over the whole semester, so I am here for a month, then I will be back in Virginia basically for good.

The biggest change however, is that Russ and I are engaged. He proposed January 4. Here are the top five things I have noticed so far about being betrothed. Disclaimer: this is mostly ranting and complaining.

5. Your hand does not belong to you anymore. I have heard many pregnant women talk about how people just start touching their belly all the time without asking. Well, people just grab my hand to look at the ring. But after all, the ring is why I said yes in the first place and definitely the best part.

4. Tips for wedding dress shopping all begin the same way. "Start out looking at hundreds of pictures of dresses." Not necessary. I went to one bridal shop. I tried on a few dresses. I told the lady who worked there what I did not like about them. She suggested a particular dress. I will be getting married in it.

3. People assume you have no idea what you like. They tell you you must be on Pinterest--which I have all kinds of issues with that site, but that's another topic--so that I can get ideas and figure out what I like. As if I am incapable of knowing if I like something before I "follow" someone on Pinterest, copy what I see, post it on my board, and make a comment like, "Isn't this a cute idea!" Maybe there are some good ideas to be found, but since my gmail and facebook and for some reason my regular mail are all flooded with wedding crap, I think I will be OK without the added great ideas from Pinterest. Then again, how would I ever know what flowers I like without this?

2. Hell--if there were a hell--would be an endless making of a guest list. Endless because in hell, the event your planning would never actually happen. So all the arguments of "you never talk to that person, why do you want him/her at our wedding"; all the comments of "I know we don't really know these people, but they are my parents' good friends"; all the people you are not inviting because while they were a big part of your life at one time, they are not anymore and you are trying to keep the number of people reasonable; all the dreadful emails that explain to said people why you're not inviting them making some excuse about only inviting people who have been apart of your life as a couple; and all the awkward questions people ask like, "I am getting an invite, right?" would all be pointless because the wedding would never happen because it would be hell. Thankfully, Russ and I will get married, so hopefully the guest list will be worth it.

1. No one--with the exception of seminary students--asks about the ceremony. They may ask where it will be. But with the reception, the questions do not end with location. They ask about center pieces, food, serving styles, cake, music, blah blah blah. But with the ceremony--which is the whole point of a wedding, because it actually IS the wedding--all people want to know is where it will be. This is messed up.

Mostly, being engaged is great. Being in Texas while Russ is in Virginia? Still not great.

'Cause if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it
Oh oh oh oh oh oh

Could not help myself with that one.

Pop Hope

2011-11-28T19:52:00.001-08:00

I am somewhat of a snob. I have so many grammar pet peeves 50% of what I say is a correction. Not really, but I have been known to verbally correct movies and TV shows I watch. For example, the distance from here to California is farther not further than the distance from here to Arizona. Further is a measure of degree, not distance. Also, Christmas is not on December 25. It is December 25. I could go on. (Yes, I did end a sentence with a preposition, which actually is not grammatically incorrect, however not ending a sentence in a preposition does keep the dative case straight. When you say, "Who did you give that to?" it is easy to mess up the case. But "To whom did you give that?" makes it clear to use whom instead of who." I digress greatly.

I am also a film snob. A music snob. A seasons snob (what is happening outside here is not fall, and what will happen in January is not winter). I am not a food snob, though I may be a nachos snob. And so, people find it surprising that I love chick flicks. Yes, they are predictable. But that is the point of a genre film--something I learned in a class I took for my film studies minor because I am a film snob. People also find it surprising that I am a Rihanna fan. I guess when a person's favorite artists are Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam, and R.E.M. it seems strange that a pop sensation would also be on that list. But aside from being ridiculously prolific, having ridiculously catchy songs, and let's face it--being ridiculously hot--I think she is a strong female voice in a music genre of male voices and weak female ones.

"Love the Way You Lie" gives voice to being the victim of abuse. Some of her more explicit songs, while being inappropriate for children, give voice to being a sexual creature--which we all are. I find it powerful that she claims that even after being an abuse victim. I do not find my affinity for Rihanna strange. Like The Boss, Eddie Vedder, and Michael Stipe, her music gives voice to something.

Her latest single, "We Found Love" is--of course--absurdly catchy, lyrically simple, and full of hope. "We found love in a hopeless place."

Several nights ago, I was wasting time online. I came across a Coldplay cover of "We Found Love" that adds a whole different sound of hope. It really is a beautiful song.

The same night I happened upon Mumford and Sons' new single, "Ghosts that We Knew." The chorus is, "So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light/ Cause oh that gave me such a fright/ But I will hold as long as you like/ Just promise me we'll be alright." Another beautiful song of hope.

I thought of other songs of hope. Springsteen's "Badlands."
Now I believe in the love that you gave me.
I believe in the faith that could save me.
I believe in the hope and I pray that some day it
Will raise me about these
Badlands.

Pearl Jam's "Love Boat Captain."
Hold me, and make it the truth,
That when all is lost there will be you.
Cause to the universe I don't mean a thing
And there's just on word that I still believe and it's
Love, love, love, love, love.

R.E.M.'s "Sweetness Follows."
It's these little things, they can pull you under.
Live your life filled with joy and thunder.
Yeah, yeah we were altogether lost in our little lives.
Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.
Oh, oh, oh, but sweetness follows.

Lupe Fiasco's "The Show Goes On."
So no matter what you been through
No matter what you into
No matter what you see when you look outside you window
Brown grass or green grass
Picket fence or barbed wire
Never ever put them down
You just lift you arms higher
Raise em till' your arms tired
Let em know you're there
That you strugglin' and survivin' that you gon' persevere
Yeah, ain't no body leavin, no body goin' home
Even if that turn the lights out the show is goin' on!

And I wondered why it is that music does a better job of conveying hope that the church does.

At the Risk of Being Overly Sentimental

2011-11-17T13:48:00.001-08:00

sentimental adjective of or prompted by feeling of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia
she felt a sentimental attachment to the place creep over her
-(of a work of literature, music, or art) dealing with feeling of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia in an exaggerated and self-indulgent way: a sentimental ballad.
-(of a person) excessively prone to feelings of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia: I'm a sentimental old fool.

About a year ago, I met with the Student Life Student Standing Committee of the Board of Trustees. I, along with several other students, was asked to share what life in seminary was like. What had my experience been? How did I perceive Austin Seminary? I do not believe the committee got the answer it was looking for.

I went on a rant about not knowing if seminary was for me, thinking I should be somewhere else, and mainly just being exhausted. I left the meeting, leaving behind board members concerned for my well being.

Well, twelve months, one travel seminary, two semesters, one degree change, four months at home over the summer doing nothing related to seminary, and countless conversations with faculty, staff, mentors, and fellow students, I am still here doing fine. My seminary path has been much different than most--starting and stopping the ordination track, changing degrees after the amount of time it would have taken to earn the degree I am now earning, and in a couple weeks I will be packing up my apartment, driving to Virginia, and finishing the rest of my degree by flying from Virginia to Austin several times next semester so I can graduate in May with the class with whom I entered seminary. And I feel this is exactly what I should be doing.

My time here is ending--and though I feel I sound like an elf leaving Middle Earth--that is not to say that I have not cherished my time here. Yes, I have learned a lot and made many great friends. But what I cherish is that what I learned and the people I have come to know have allowed me to live into who I am called to be. They have shown me who I am, and affirmed who that is. They have taught me that I am a child of God, and conveyed what that means. And so one year later, at the risk of being overly sentimental, I must say that my seminary experience has been beautiful. I would do it all again.

The Phases of Halloween

2011-10-27T18:50:00.000-07:00

My Halloween costumes have always come in phases. Consecutive years linked by a theme. If I had been a Hanson boy one year, the next year I would have been Justin Timberlake from the *NSYNC years the next, the next year I would have been a Backstreet Boy, and I would have kept going until I had been a member of all the great boy bands of the '90s. Fortunately, I have never dressed as a member of a boy band, and my Halloween costumes have been much less contrived. The themes were never forced. They just happened. I have only realized the connections of phases and themes in hindsight.

My early years of dressing up I did the typical costumes. Pumpkin, witch, clown, Wonder Woman, Red M&M, Native America (I realize, also in hindsight, this is kind of offensive, but the Disney Channel had just made a movie about Squanto, called Squanto, and my brother and I were obsessed with it). But in my late elementary school years I took on the genre of children's literature. In third grade I was Pipi Longstocking, complete with a reshaped coat hanger-headband with my hair braided around it so it would stick out the sides of my head. I was an amazing costume, but it was incredibly difficult to swing on the swings during recess. My braids kept hitting the chains. I followed that costume with Laura Ingles Wilder and Little Red Riding Hood. The awesome thing about being Laura Ingles Wilder was I was not the only one in my group of trick-or-treaters, so I had no idea how nerdy it was.

I followed that phase with a decade theme. I wore a poodle skirt and letterman jacket one year, and dressed like a hippy the next year. The awesome thing about wearing a tie dye shirt, leather fringed vest (altered from my brother's Davy Crockett costume a few years prior) and frayed jeans, was then it was a costume, but a few years later that is just how I dressed.

High school was strange. There was the one year I was the pink rhino Smoochy, from Death to Smoochy, but mostly I was Johnny Depp movie characters. Sam from Benny and Joon--a character who dresses like Buster Keaton, so basically I was Buster Keaton, but the only person in my high school who know that was my drama teacher. Edward Scissorhands--which was an excellent costume, but commonly mistaken for Freddy Krueger. And this phase carried me into college, when I was Depp's Willy Wonka. That costume was dead on, and the coat made me much warmer that the various slutty [fill in the blank] costumes other college girls were wearing.

I followed this phase with the group costume. The Peanuts gang. I was Snoopy. The Jamaican bobsled team. I was Sanka. Alice in Wonderland. I was the Mad Hatter--oddly enough, another Johnny Depp character, though I did it way before him.

Since college I have been in a lull. I have not dressed up for Halloween. I have not even dressed up for themed party--my costumes for which deserve an entirely different article. This makes me rather sad. Halloween was always one of my favorite things growing up. I would brainstorm what my costume would be over the summer, and my mom and I would work on making it a reality. Mainly she would work and I would tell her if she got it right--which she usually did. I loved that time of year. It is know as autumn, or fall. The temperature is much cooler. Leaves change colors. The air smells better. It is really quite something. My brother and I would see who could make one's candy last the longest, which meant we usually had stale candy by the time the next Halloween rolled around. The movies were awesome. Not the horror movies, but things like It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and Hocus Pocus with Bette Middler and Sarah Jessica Parker. There was something mystical about Halloween when I was a kid. And I miss it.

I guess I could always start it up again with a new phase. I could try my hand at doctrines. Atonement, Creation, Resurrection, Eschatology. There is a lot of potential there.

How is that not one of the best things in the world?

Thoughts on R.E.M.

2011-10-05T10:09:00.000-07:00

I contributed a post on my brother's blog.

If death is pretty final, I'm collected vinyl
I'm gonna DJ at the end of the world

Cos if heaven does exist with a kickin' playlist
I don't want to miss it at the end of the world

Hey steady steady, hey steady steady
I don't wanna go till I'm good and ready

It's on my mind, it's in my mind
It's what I found, it's what I find

It's on my mind, it's in my mind
It's what I found, oh my my my

When I spin my way right through it grates enthusiast Jack Pruett
As the moths circle the moon, as you're circling the room

Music will provide the light you cannot resist
you cannot resist, you cannot resist

And the weblogs that get tangled as you bully and you wangle
When you walk up in Seattle, where you fought the nascent battle

You threw the thread and throttle let us raise another bottle
Raise another bottle, raise another bottle

Because death is pretty final, I'm collecting vinyl
I'm gonna DJ at the end of the world

Hey steady steady, hey steady steady
I don't wanna go till I'm good and ready

It's on my mind, it's in my mind
It's what I found, it's what I find

It's on my mind, it's in my mind
It's what I found, oh my my my

Hey steady steady, hey steady steady
I don't wanna go till I'm good and ready

Hey steady steady, hey steady steady
I don't wanna go till I'm good and ready

Music will provide the light you cannot resist
You cannot resist, you cannot resist

Yeah

The Magic Clarity of #9 Comes in 6

2011-09-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

A week or so after I got back to Austin I bought a six pack of Magic Hat #9. It is quite delicious, but one of my favorite things about Magic Hat beer is that the bottle tops have sayings written on them. Now, I have written and spoken many times about the annoying sayings written on Dove chocolate wrappers. Magic Hat sayings are not like those. Typically, they are not anymore helpful than the sayings that accompany that chocolate, but they are not geared towards fat women with relationship problems. And that makes them better. Instead, they are charming, funny, and eclectic such as, "Bryan loves wings." How could you not love that?

But the six pack I bought a couple week ago gave me a different experience. To fully understand you must know that since being back in Austin I have not been bored. I have plenty to do. I have Kairos, classes to audit, an office job, plenty to read, and the class in which I am actually enrolled. Unfortunately, most of if feels like all it is is stuff to keep me busy. After my great summer, taking one class that meets two more times this semester does not seem like reason enough to do everything else just to be busy. And so my adjustment was not going very well.

Back to the beer. One night I opened one. "Spend Some Time With Number 9." No problem. I did just that. I had another. "Everything Will Be Clear Tomorrow." This one seemed a little ridiculous. Sure, everything will make sense tomorrow. I thought it absurd, but enjoyed the beer anyway. The next day I had a meeting with the head of my new degree program. He seemed to know everything that was troubling me before I even started talking. He knew I did not want to be in Austin right now. He knew it was because of a relationship I was in. We talked about the logistics of finishing the program if I moved back to Virginia. We figured out when I would need to be in Austin, how many classes I could miss without it being unfair. I talked to my boss later that day. We figured out when I would have to decide so that she could have time to find a replacement. That evening I talked to my roommate. She said it made sense to her that I would go back to Virginia, and she could figure out her living situation in plenty of time.

I had another beer. "Love Over Time Is Quite Sublime." Affirmation. Not only was I making life decisions based on love, but eventually it could lead to sublimation.

The next beer. "Minds Awaken on Roads Less Taken." Let us recap. I was seeking ordination and an MDiv degree for two years. And then decided to stop seeking ordination and switch to a different two year degree when I would still have to be in school for three years. Faculty committees had to have meetings to discuss my situation, such as would I still qualify for campus housing since I was not a full time student. Road less taken? Check. Mind awoken? Hopefully.

"What Exactly Are You Waiting For?" The answer is in the next beer. "Nuthin' to it But to Do it!" All that to say, at the end of this semester I am moving back to Virginia. I am coming back to Austin a few times next semester for class and for graduation. I have a sense of peace in my decision, and would like to thank my supportive friends, and the wisdom of Magic Hat.

Waiting

2011-09-16T07:37:00.000-07:00

I did not go to Convocation. I missed Ted’s sermon later that evening. When Tuesday, September 13, rolled around I had not gone to our chapel since last spring semester. I debated not going to chapel that Tuesday morning either. But I did.

I had to leave early, so I sat in the back--a different perspective from my usual second row, left side seat.

I was excited that Dean Allan Cole’s sermon was from the Psalms, as every sermon I have written--all three of them--were from the Psalms. But I must admit that after his opening of quoting Tom Petty, saying, “The waiting is the hardest part,” I spent the first several minutes of his sermon thinking of contemporary songs about waiting. Jack Johnson’s lines, “Must I always be waiting on you?”; John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change”; Kings of Leon’s “California Waiting.” There are others, but I digress.

I tuned back into the sermon. We often have to wait. Our culture is not fond of waiting. I thought about my Young Adult Volunteer year in Seattle after I graduated college. I volunteered in an after school program for inner city elementary school children. I loved my volunteer work, but I spent a lot of that year waiting. Waiting for my housemates to get along, waiting for our house to have heat, waiting to find a part-time job to pay rent, waiting to discern what to do when the year was over, waiting for things to make since.

At some point during the year I wrote a blog entry about waiting. This is part of what I said, "I believe that we will always be waiting. Whether we know it or not, we keep doing what we do because we expect something will happen by doing it. I think waiting is an action. And if my waiting right now is passed by playing with kids, then I guess I can't really complain."

I tuned back into the sermon again.

I thought about being back in Austin after a summer of being in Virginia--the longest amount of time I have been home since I was in high school. It was a really good summer. I thought about how I switched to MATS last semester, leaving me with only two classes to take this year. I thought about how for the first time in my life I feel homesick. And I thought about how I am waiting. I am waiting on God, I am waiting on taking two classes, I am waiting on figuring out what I will do after those two classes, and I am sure there are other things I am waiting on as well.

I tuned back into the sermon, and I felt glad I had gone to chapel that day. I felt like maybe waiting--for whatever it is I am waiting on--is not that bad. And similar to what I said in Seattle, if my waiting right now is passed by hanging out in Austin, then I guess I can’t really complain.

Oh baby don't it feel like heaven right now
Don't it feel like somethin' from a dream
Yeah I've never known nothing quite like this
Don't it feel like tonight might never be again
We know better than to try and pretend
Baby no one could have ever told me 'bout this

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Well Yeah I might have chased a couple of women around
All it ever got me was down
Then there were those that made me feel good
But never as good as I feel right now
Baby you're the only one that's ever known how
To make me wanna live like I wanna live now

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more ca rd
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
Don't let 'em kill you baby, don't let 'em get to you
I'll be your breathin' heart, I'll be your cryin' foolDon't let this go to far, don't let it get to you

Let's See

2011-09-06T14:49:00.000-07:00

It is the first day of the fall semester. Classes have started. Chapel has resumed. The dining hall was packed at lunch time. Students are perpetually asking "How was your summer?" and "What classes are you taking?" Assignments are already piling up, and everyone is busy. Everyone that is, except me. I have two classes left before graduating, one each semester. Not only am I just taking one class, but it only meets three times. The whole semester. So while today is the day everything gets crazy for everyone else, I still have 14 days until my first class of the semester. And then I will be 33.3 repeating percent finished with this semester.

So. I have some time on my hands. I am editing Kairos--which seemed like a lot of work with a full class load. Now I will probably just spend a lot more time on it, because I have a lot more time. I will also be working in the Student Affairs office 15 hours a week--filing and such. I am going to audit a class, so there will be the reading to do for that. And other than that, I don't have anything to do.

So here's the thing, I am planning (we will see how this goes) to set a routine for myself--devotionals, exercising, reading for that class, reading for fun. And I am going to see what happens. I had been thinking I would not be blogging much because not a lot is happening for me to blog about. But I am going to try to blog more, to see what I write when I'm not busy.So let's see what happens.

Yeah, I'm sittin' on this bar stool
talking like a damn fool
Got the twelve o'clock news blues
And I've given up hope for the afternoon soaps
And a bottle of cold brew

Is it any wonder I'm not crazy?
Is it any wonder I'm sane at all?

I'm so tired of losin',
I've got nothing to do
And all day to do it
So, I go out cruisin',
but I've no place to go
And all night to get there

Is it any wonder I'm not a criminal?
Is it any wonder I'm not in jail?
Is it any wonder I've got too much time on my hands?

Ticking away with my sanity
I've got too much time on my hands
It's hard to believe such a calamity
I've got too much time on my hands
And it's ticking away - ticking away from me

Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands

Now, I'm a jet-fuel genius
I can solve the world's problems without even trying
I got dozens of friends,
and the fun never ends
That is, as long as I'm buying

Is it any wonder I'm not the President?
Is it any wonder I'm null and void?
Is it any wonder I've got too much time on my hands?

Ticking away with my sanity
I've got too much time on my hands
It's hard to believe such a calamity
I've got too much time on my hands
And it's ticking away - ticking away from me

Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands

This, by the way is not exactly accurate to how I am feeling right now. But the lyrics are funny.

Conference Pastor

2011-09-04T10:37:00.000-07:00

I back to doing the seminary paper, so here's my first article this year.

Last March, I got a call from a friend I had worked with on Montreat--a Presbyterian conference center in North Carolina--summer staff in college. She was directing a youth conference, and asked me to be the conference pastor--who commissions the small group leaders at the beginning of the week, leads vespers for the SGLs every night, meets with the planning team, and takes care of any conflict that may arise among the leadership. Basically, I was being asked to be the chaplain at Montreat for a week, which is not a strange role for a seminarian to find herself.

What made it strange for me, was that a few weeks before I got the phone call, I had decided to switch from MDiv to MATS, and not to go from inquiry to candidacy. I had decided not to be a pastor so I could forever remain in the discomfort of praying in front of people, of planning worship, and of leading devotions. My decision got me out of having to do CPE--where I would have done those things all summer, but now I was just going to do all of that for one week.

Now Montreat is a place where I rarely feel unsure of what I am doing. But the first couple days, when I had no rooms to set up, no toilets to clean, no people to teach pottery to, no production books to write, and no small groups sessions to prepare for, I felt unsure. What was I supposed to do? I began to think this was going to be the most relaxing week in Montreat I had ever had.

But as the week carried on, and the more I prayed in meetings, gave advice to small group leaders, listened to peoples’ problems--whether they were just tired or had an intense small group or had trouble back home--the more tired I became. I was absolutely exhausted. I do not mind listening to people when they need someone to talk to. I rather enjoy being that person. But I do not want to be the person who prays out loud in front of people all the time. It is true that I learned a very good form of prayer in Intro to Preaching last year, and it served me well. I even said one prayer using the theme of puzzles, but knowing a prayer form did not alleviate the exhaustion of praying on behalf of other people four times a day. I have not prayed out loud since.

I know it was only a week, and I am sure if I kept praying out loud, eventually I would not find it exhausting. However, the truth is that I have never been more sure of a decision than the decision I made to switch to MATS. Because the truth is I do not want praying out loud to become less exhausting.

One afternoon during the week at Montreat a member of the planning team--a recent seminary graduate and now full time pastor--asked how I was doing. He told me how pastors have to get used to all the things I was dealing with all week. I told him I was not planning to be a pastor, and we got to talking about my call to seminary--how I had always been told I should go to seminary, how I was very involved in church activities, worked at Montreat during college, did a year of Young Adult Volunteer work after college, and then did not know what else to do so I came to seminary. And we talked about how a lot of young people involved in the church are told to go to seminary. Many of them should. But we talked about how it is somewhat of an injustice to our baptismal vows and what the Reformed church believes, to think that the only way for someone involved in the church to serve the church is to go to seminary to become a pastor.

I am glad I did come to seminary. I would not have had a conversation about my baptismal vows if I had not--and that is not the only reason. But now I just have to figure out how to fulfill my baptismal vows without being a pastor. I am glad I have this community to help me figure that out.

O I heard you voice in the Dresden
as baby took to the air with all my loving
I heard your voice in Dresden
and now it follows me everywhere
some have said our love is lost
but I swear I know my way from here
yes some have said our love is lost
but I swear I know my way from here

Summer Lessons

2011-07-10T18:58:00.000-07:00

My home church in Fredericksburg, Virginia joins the efforts of several of the local churches to help run a sports day camp for inner city kids in the area. Each church provides volunteers for one week of the camp, and each week is a different sport. My church always takes baseball week. And since I had just finished reading a novel about baseball saving the world, gone to a few Nationals games, and had nothing else to do, I decided to help out.

The camp is held in the courtyard of an apartment complex where all the children who attend the camp live. Eighty elementary kids, rotating between four skills stations, and then playing baseball on two fields cramped into an apartment courtyard. My job was to lead the blue group--first and second graders--around to the different stations. Most of the day, if I was not trying to track down the kid who decided to momentarily join the red group or the preschool pen, I was being DeLonte’s--not to be confused with his twin brother DeMonte--personal jungle gym.

At the end of each day I walked Lynnette, Moise, and Damion home to their building. They found it pretty remarkable that I could guess that of all the cars in the parking lot, the one that belonged to their family was the minivan.

Tuesday afternoon Lynnette could not find her shoes--though technically they were sandals, as the majority of the kids showed up everyday to play baseball in sandals. I walked the courtyard with her to look for them. When we came upon them I picked them up and handed them to her.

Later in the week I found trying to get the younger kids to play a game they are not interested in to be a little redundant, exhausting, and completely useless. So we played parachute games, which turned into the kids rolling around under the plastic parachute in the sun complaining it was hot.

One morning during the week I woke up with an itch between my fingers. I put cortizone cream on it, and did not think much about it. But the skin between my fingers kept itching. The next day, the area was red, blistered, and the itching had worsened and was not burning as well. I had athlete’s foot. On my hand. Athlete’s hand?

I learned a lot that week. I learned that I would rather work with a camp where the kids are around the same adults all summer--not different ones each week. I learned that I would rather work with a camp where kids got to chose what activities they want to do, or at least get to do a variety each day, not one they do not like for a whole week.
I learned that telling most of these kids that they could not do whatever they wanted qualified me to be the meanest person in the world. I learned I did not mind that title. I learned that despite all of that I do miss spending time with kids. I learned that baseball probably only saves us from the end of the world in Michael Chabon novels, not in real life. And I learned that when helping kids look for their shoes, it is best to let them pick them up.

I do not have a song for foot fungus growing on your hand.

Struggling

2011-06-29T13:54:00.000-07:00

Last night my church here in Fredericksburg, Virginia held a meeting--a conversation about the PC(USA) recent passing of Amendment 10-A that changes the wording in the Book of Order, making ordination more accessible to members of queer community who feel called to ministry. Jack Haberer, editor of Presbyterian Outlook, gave a presentation on the history of the issue of homosexual ordination and the amendment. Then our pastor, Allen Fisher, moderated an open floor of questions and comments from members of the church. The open floor lasted about an hour and a half.

When I heard about the meeting I was not sure I wanted to go. I went to a presbytery meeting in San Antonio when Mission Presbytery was voting on 10-A. Then, I wanted to see how the vote turned out. Now, I was not to keen on the prospect of hearing all the same hateful, misinformed, offensive--intentional or not--and fearful arguments against the amendment that I had already heard in Texas, this time from people I have known since I was in middle school. I did go. I showed up, surveying the crowd, judging my fellow church members on what I assumed was their position. I concluded I was in the grave minority of people at the meeting who support 10-A.

The meeting was not what I anticipated. There were a number of people ignorant on Presbyterian polity. People who were worried anyone who decided to be ordained now could be. People who felt they had no representation on this vote. People who thought the church would now be sued by people who were not ordained. There were a number of people ignorant on the issue. People who were not aware there had been an issue in the past year until reading an article in the local Fredericksburg paper. People who got most of their information from the Presbyterian Laymen--an absurdly conservative stance. People who felt the new wording was wishy-washy, lacking conviction, and snuffing of any requirement of ordained people to have integrity, morals, or a clean background check. There were a number of people who were offensive--though I really do not think they were trying to be. People who claimed that they liked "the gays," that they know some, they just cannot be led by them. People who said its fine if they are gay as long as they do not engage in the gay lifestyle. The arguments were nothing new. They were the same old fearful and ignorant rantings.

There were some positive things as well. One person pointing out that the church and God are big enough for differing opinions. One person pointing out that one sin is not greater than another. One person pointing out God created homosexuals, and so favoring heterosexuals over homosexuals is theologically wrong.

I did not say anything. I thought about saying how Calvin claimed we cannot know God's plan, so we must treat everyone as if they are elect. I thought about speaking about my experience at the Mission Presbytery meeting--where the Spirit moved the people to vote for the amendment despite the overwhelming arguments against it. I thought about sharing stories of my fellow seminary students who now have hope in becoming ordained because of the amendment. But mostly I just sat in my seat shaking. Shaking out of frustration of hearing the same arguments over and over. Shaking out of frustration of so much ignorance. Shaking out of not understanding why people are so scared. I do wish I had said something. I do not think it would have made much difference. But I wish I had said something.

It’s so loud Inside my head
With words that I should have said
As I drown in my regrets
I can’t take back the words I never said
I can’t take back the words I never said

I believe what bothers me most about people being offended about the new wording in the church constitution is the same thing that bothered me about people at Austin Seminary who were offended about "The Queer Issue" of Kairos this past spring, the same thing that bothers me that men were--and still are--offended that women have intelligence, and the same thing that bothers me that white people could be offended that black people are black. It is as if the people in power feel they have the right to be offended by the existence of those not in power. As if difference itself is offensive. As if being black, or a woman, or queer means taking a stance that being white, a man, or straight is wrong. Being offended in these matters is a right reserved for the oppressed. And the fact that scared people in power feel offended is offensive.

An editor of The New Yorker recently blogged about some fifth graders in New York who thought writing to Albany in favor of same sex marriage was an obvious no brainer. She mentioned this song. I guess I figure the queer community has as much right to commandeer it as Coke and FIFA.

Born to a throne, stronger than Rome
But Violent prone, poor people zone
But it’s my home, all I have known
Where I got grown, streets we would roam

But out of the darkness, I came the farthest
Among the hardest survival
Learn from these streets, it can be bleak
Except no defeat, surrender retreat

So we struggling, fighting to eat and
We wondering when we’ll be free
So we patiently wait, for that fateful day
It’s not far away, so for now we say

When I get older, I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom, just like a Waving Flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back

So many wars, settling scores
Bringing us promises, leaving us poor
I heard them say, love is the way
Love is the answer, that’s what they say,

But look how they treat us, make us believers
We fight their battles, then they deceive us
Try to control us, they couldn’t hold us
Cause we just move forward like Buffalo Soldiers

But we struggling, fighting to eat
And we wondering, when we’ll be free
So we patiently wait, for that faithful day
It’s not far away, but for now we say

When I get older, I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom, just like a Waving Flag
And then it goes back, and then it goes back
And then it goes back

Summer Breakdown

2011-05-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

I have been in Virginia for one week and two days now. I have not found a job, and am probably not going to keep looking with much enthusiasm. I spend my days sleeping in, watching a bit of syndicated TV, walking at parks, meeting my parents for lunch, reading, writing, and cooking. In the evenings Russ and I sit on the couch while he gets things for work done and I read more. We go on a adventures for late night ice cream or go to a movie. The weekends are devoted to finding the best places to eat in Fredericksburg. All in all, I am having a pretty good time. I am not bored--someone once told me boredom is correlated to a lack of intelligence, so I will take this as a compliment. I am doing what I spent most of the past year wishing I could do--writing and reading what I want. This is probably exactly what I needed.

Granted it is only been a little over a week. A few more weeks may demonstrate my lack of intelligence. Then I'll just find something else to do. In the mean time, I am really glad for the break.

I hope this old train breaks down
Then I could take a walk around
And, see what there is to see
And time is just a melody
All the people in the street
Walk as fast as their feet can take them
I just roll through town
And though my windows got a view
The frame I'm looking through
Seems to have no concern for now
So for now

I need this here
Old train to breakdown
Oh please just
Let me please breakdown

The Last Week of Class

2011-05-02T16:22:00.000-07:00

It is kind of like Christmas. Students of all ages, professors, teachers, and family wake up the last week of class thinking this is it. This is the last time I have to be up at 8:00. This is the last time I have to head to class--at least for a little while. That may just be me. But as my alarm goes off each week during the last week of class, I think about how this is the last Monday, the last Tuesday, the last Wednesday, etc., that I have to get up, and I jump out of bed. It may not be much like Christmas at all actually. Who sets an alarm to get up Christmas morning?

But even so, it is exciting. The end is not only near, it is in sight. That is, the end of the semester. There is still reading week. There is still finals week. There are still tests to take, papers to write, projects to finish. But for me, the freedom of not having to go to class, of not having a schedule to follow is huge.

If seminary were like “Oregon Trail,” reading week and finals week would be the part where you navigate your raft down the river to the promised land. The hard part is over. No one in your wagon is going to catch malaria at this point. No one is getting bitten by a snake. There is no need to stress over killing enough buffalo to eat, but not too much so that you waste it and leave some behind. You have made it. As long as you do not bang your raft against a rock.

Reading and finals weeks may be a little more stressful than using a computer mouse to drive a raft, but regardless, the end is in sight. Classes are finished. People are camping out in McCord. Professors are hosting dinners. Students are walking labyrinths. The sense around campus completely changes, and things are finally crossed off the to do list.

My hope is that in this last week of class, this issue of Kairos reminds you and gives you a glimpse of the fun stuff that lay outside of school. I hope that it is like binoculars that give you a vision of the promised land before you have to navigate the river with your mouse. Because there is nothing wrong with pausing the game to play some table tennis, or to watch a movie, or to do something around Austin, or to laugh with your friends. Just as long as that pause does not keep you from returning to rafting down the river to hear the music at the end of the game, because it is much better than pausing the game.

I've been a grubbin on a little farm
on the flat and windy plains
I've been listening to hungry cattle bowl
I'm gonna pack my wife and kids
I'm gonna hit that western road
I'm gonna hit that Oregon Trail this coming fall

Local of the Year

2011-04-26T14:36:00.000-07:00

I have spent the past few months getting ready to not be in Austin. I have decided to switch to MATS. I have become pretty involved with a guy living in Virginia, and I have come to terms with not living in Austin after next year, during this upcoming summer--and being pretty much OK with that.

And then, this past weekend was the one year anniversary of the Local. The owner hosted an awards ceremony to honor his loyal and favorite customers. He entitled it “The Local of Year Awards.” There were awards for “Best Attendance,” “Best Couch Surfing,” and so on. I received, for being the best seminarian, the award for “Best Christian” of the year. There may be a fine line between best and worst Christian.

I sat in the bar that night, during the awards ceremony and during the celebration afterwards, feeling quite at home. I did not feel like I needed to leave Austin anytime soon.

As the end of the semester approaches the question of “What are you doing this summer?” has become more and more frequent. I am heading back to Virginia--for the first summer since I was in high school. I have been excited to do so. Excited to not have anything to do for school. Excited to escape the Texas summer heat. But for the first time recently, I have become somewhat sad to be leaving Austin for the summer.

Many juniors have been asking what Greek is like, and in recalling the experience, I realize that I had a great time last summer. Class in the morning, the Episcapool in the afternoon, movies or “True Blood” in the evening. The summer was hot, Greek was exhausting, but it was one of the best summers of my life.

My sentimental flashbacks, and second guessing of how OK I am with not being in Austin for much longer may be a sign that I am about to overdose on nostalgia, but I believe it is more likely that I am realizing how much I have loved living in Austin, and how much the people I have been with here have meant to me.

I am sure I will have a great summer, and I am excited to be back in Virginia. But I am equally as sure that when I return in the fall I will soak up as much Austin as I can before the year is out.

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - burn with a weak heart
(so I) guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up and say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - -she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo we drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all tose kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head ah ooh

Oh the tension of having a home in two places.

The Guy Shorts Conundrum

2011-04-11T17:24:00.000-07:00

This past issue of the seminary paper was the first ever themed issue. "The Queer Issue" was printed in color on fancy white paper, and had articles and poems from students, professors and the president about different aspects of the queer issue from the Shower of Stoles display on campus to the new student group that has formed this semester. Here is my bit.

I spent one week every summer in high school going to Montreat youth conferences at the Presbyterian conference center in North Carolina. Around my second summer, conferee dress became a big sensitive issue. Some people felt it was a problem that high school girls were having to stop during energizers--which is basically Presbyterian clubbing with God--in order to pull up their tube tops in order not to flash the 1200 other high school kids in the room. Apparently, it was also a problem that many of the skirts girls wore were more like belts than clothing that served a function of covering anything. A dress code was instated. It did not bother me. I was usually wearing track and cross country t-shirts fashionably paired with shorts I would buy from the guys’ department of stores. I was very modestly covered.

But there was this other aspect of the dress code. There was to be no cross dressing. Apparently, it was a problem that 15 and 16 year old boys ran around in skirts and dresses to attract attention and be funny. And if girls could not wear tube tops, guys should not be able to either. Remember that thing I said about buying guys’ shorts? Technically, I was cross dressing. I went from being one of the most modestly dressed girls at the conference to being a hardcore dress code violator. No one ever hunted me down and forced me to wear girl clothes, but that just reinforced the problem of the no cross dressing clause of the dress code. For some reason, it was fine for me, a girl, to dress like a guy, but not for a guy to dress like a girl.

I still wear shorts bought from the guys’ department now. I do not know if that is the reason I often get hit on by women at places like Wheatsville, but I am sure it does not help. In fact, I know that the shorts are not the only reason I have been mistaken for a lesbian. At my psych evaluation for the ordination process last summer, the counselor spent half of our day together trying to get me to come out, and “accept how God made me.” And I was not wearing guy shorts that day. So guy shorts or not, I seem to convey an into women quality. I am not sure why.

But the truth is, it does not matter, and that is not the point of this article.

Our society has a lot of ideas about what is normal and what certain things mean. It is okay for a girl to cross dress, but not a guy. At the same time, a girl who does cross dress is attracted to women.

I am not saying there is anything wrong with being hit on by women, but it speaks to the bigger issue that our society often equates gender with sexuality. That we can say what is normal by placing it in certain sections of a department store. That we can know who a person is attracted to just by looking.

So the Queer issue is more than just accepting things that are different. It is more that just stopping an injustice that has gone on way too long. It is also redefining how we define normal. Because in truth, there is no normal. And my guy shorts are just one way of breaking down that stigma.

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up muddled up, shook up world
Except for Lola, L-L-Lola

Well, I left home just a week before
And I'd never ever kissed a woman before
But Lola smiled and took me by the hand
And said, "Dear boy, I'm gonna make you a man"

Well, I'm not the world's most masculine man
But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man
And so is Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola
Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola

This is probably my favorite song about a cross dresser.

Losing Stuff

2011-04-01T21:17:00.000-07:00

Last Monday, I had a super productive night. Super productive. Perhaps the most productive night of the semester, of this school year, of my life. Not really. But it was really productive. I pretty much had Kairos finished two nights before the deadline. I finished my Kierkegaard journal almost six hours earlier than I do every other week. I started and wrote half of a paper that was due in over a week. I started researching for a paper due at the end of the semester. I just had a surge of getting things done, not waiting until they were due. I went to bed feeling accomplished and stress free.

The next day in class my computer was not working at its typical standard of operation. The Mac rainbow wheel of death kept appearing. It is the most unhappy rainbow in the world. Everything was slow and only one program would work at a time.

A couple hours later it was worse. I turned my computer off, and turned it back on. Nothing. And then... flashing question mark. My computer had died. The hard drive was crashed.

I headed to the Apple Store--which by the way, was a nightmare getting to. The Domain is pretty much my worst nightmare--a mall designed to feel like a town, a Disneyland for credit card holders. But I got to the Apple Store. I made an appointment despite the fact that I was in the store. I sat around and waited for my appointment.

Then one of the employees came over to me and asked what brought me in. She told me I seemed to be waiting quite patiently. I explained my predicament. She asked if I had anything backed up. I said I did not. She looked me in the eye, shook her finger at me, and said, “Tisk. Tisk.” Seriously.

Then my appointment time arrived. I explained my problem to another employee. He hooked up my computer to whatever it is the geniuses at Apple hook up computers to. He waited a few seconds. He looked at me, and said, “Yeah, it’s worse than I thought. We can’t do anything.” Then he asked if I had anything backed up.

“No.”

“You should back up your stuff.”

Really Apple Man? Is that what I should do? Back up my stuff, so that when your product breaks it will not matter?

After holding it together up until this point, I left the Apple Store and had my one freak out moment. I got to my car and cried. Losing stuff is not that fun.

I thought about all the files I had lost. All the music. All the pictures. All the documents. All the work I did that productive night before. And my Kairos template. I thought about it quite a bit. And then I let it all go. What a lesson to learn for the person who already is not a big fan of things digital in the first place. But the thing is, losing stuff happens--whether it is over a long period of time or all at once. It happens, and we have to cope with that. Not that I am not going to back up files now to prevent this happening again, and not that we should be apathetic about losing stuff, but sometimes we will, and there is not much we can do.

And the thing that is better than all the files I lost is the McClungs lending me a computer to do this week’s Kairos, and Patrick taking me to Fry’s to buy a new hard drive, and replace it for me without charging me for labor.

Losing hope is easy
When your only friend is gone
And every time you look around
Well, it all, it all just seems to change
But hanging on is easy
When you've got a friend to call
When nothing's making sense at all
You're not the only one who's afraid of change

The Ins and Outs of Broadway

2011-03-24T22:08:00.000-07:00

I have not been to many Broadway shows. Though I have been to a few--Wicked, Les Miserables, The Lion King. I do not know a lot about Broadway culture, but one thing I have gathered from the shows to which I have gone is that the crowds are pretty much always the same--a mixture of cultured and artsy. Seemingly well off, well dressed, or NYU musical theater students who got cheap tickets, and are pretty well versed in Broadway shows and tunes. There is definitely a culture to it, and I do not exactly fit into it.

Over spring break I went to New York City with my boyfriend Russ. We went to Times Square, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, The Met, all the usual places, and to the Broadway show Lombardi--about the football coach who was head of the Green Bay Packers from 1959 to 1968. This crowd was different from the crowd at any other show I have seen. It may have been because it was the first non musical show I have seen, but the number--though smaller than usual--of well-dressed-play-goers suggested otherwise. What made this crowd different was the football aspect.

The differences became apparent when we headed down the stairs from the box office to the lobby of the theater and a crowd was gathered around display case in the middle of room that contained the Lombardi trophy. I am not sure of the authenticity of the trophy or for which Super Bowl it was awarded, but as I stood next to the case across from a 350 plus pound guy in New York Giants gear I felt much more like I was at the football hall of fame than the lobby of a Broadway show.

We found our seats, and I headed to the restroom. The ridiculously long line for the women’s restroom and the non existent men’s line was familiar. This was definitely a Broadway show. But the juxtaposition of the line in a room set up to look like the Green Bay locker room was again disorienting.

Back in our seats, Russ and I began to notice that while the guy admiring the Lombardi trophy in the lobby was the only audience member in Giants gear, he was by far not the only audience member in football gear. Many of the fans around us and across the stage (the theater is a circle with the stage in the middle) were wearing Packers gear. I suppose they wanted to prove to everyone else there that they were truly the biggest Lombardi fan and therefore deserved to see the play more than anyone else. Russ asked me where my Aaron Rodgers jersey was, as the members of my family are all Packers fans, but I unfortunately do not have one, and therefore looked like an inferior fan and audience member.

The play itself was incredible, and even more entertaining than its audience. Vince Lombardi was played by Dan Lauria, the dad from “The Wonder Years,” and his wife was played by Judith Light, Angela from “Who’s the Boss.” The acting was superb, the story was compelling, the set was intriguing, and the real footage of games incorporated into the play was not hokey, but quite entertaining.

I may have been disoriented at times. It may have almost been a who’s who of 80s television, and it may be the only Broadway show where entire rows were filled by big burly men who were not dragged to a play by a significant other, but it was probably the best Broadway show I have seen, with the exception of the opening of The Lion King. But I still did not fit into the crowd. Maybe next time I will try an Off Broadway show to see if I fit in there.

Picture yourself in the living room
your pipe and slippers set out for you
I know you think that it ain’t too far

But I hear the call of a lifetime ring
felt the need to get up for it
oh you cut out the middleman
get free from the middleman

You got no time for the messenger,
got no regard for the thing that you don’t understand,
you got no fear of the underdog,
that’s why you will not survive!

Trust the Process

2011-03-15T20:01:00.000-07:00

February of 2009 I met with 40 other people on youth conference planning teams in Montreat, North Carolina to choose the theme for the summer 2010 youth conferences. The selection of the theme is guided by a highly developed process. At each step of the process someone says, “trust the process.” Usually this statement comes at times of frustration, when things are not going how one would like. That February, we picked a theme that coincidentally was the Triennium theme for the same summer. We had to remind ourselves to trust the process. One of the final themes in the selection process did not seem to have much mention of God. We had to remind ourselves to trust the process.

Friday, March 4, John Stanger and I went to the Mission Presbytery meeting to witness the vote on Amendment 10-A, that would change the language in the Book of Order to make it easier for members of the Queer community to become ordained. It was quite a process.

There was roughly two hours of debate. People speaking for, people speaking against. People saying hateful things, people saying beautiful things. People saying things that are helpful, and people saying things like, “the Bible is not open to interpretation.” Two hours of process, and then they voted.

Tension was high. There was obviously a great divide between the people in the room. No one knew what would happen. I found myself saying the same thing said so many times at the planning team meeting in Montreat two years prior, trust the process. Trust the process. Trust the process.

It was not working well. But the then Committee on Ministry had its time on the agenda while votes were counted. One man was brought before the Presbytery. He had been approved by the COM for ordination, but the Presbytery had to vote on it--more process. After questioning and what not, came the vote. The moderator asked all those in favor of this man--whom I cannot remember his name but whom I will never forget--being ordained to say “yes.” The room erupted with a wave of a very definitive “YES!” The moderator then asked for those opposed to say “no.” Silence. And then applause. Everyone clapped in recognition of the fact that though we may disagree on what 10-A is saying, and whether or not to approve it, the church can agree on some things. Trust the process.

The meeting went on. Things were crossed off the agenda. And then, the voting results were announced. 201 for, 194 against. But before anyone could react, we prayed. We held hands, and we prayed. I am not going to pretend like I was not ecstatic the amendment passed. I am not going to pretend that I would not have been heart broken if it had not. But every bit of process was followed. Every bit of detail was attended to. And so every voice was heard. I am glad one was louder than the other, but I came away from that meeting thinking that I really can trust the process. The struggle is not over, and there will still be problems, but there is a process.

Recently, I have come to terms with another Presbyterian process, the ordination process. I do not need to tell any PC(USA) students in the process that the process is exhausting, that it can be discouraging or encouraging, that it makes one wonder why any of it is necessary. I have personally decided to drop out of the process. My reasons go much further than the process itself, but regardless I have decided to drop out of it.

But after leaving the Mission Presbytery meeting I thought about process. I thought about how process is one reason I do love being Presbyterian. And I realized, my decision to stop the ordination process at this point is part of the process. I was just an inquirer. And as my liaison (another part of the process) told me, that is what the inquiry stage is for--to discern if ordination is really for you. I discerned it was not. And so I realized I did not drop out of the process, I simply finished it in a different way than expected. So I can still say, “I trust the process.”

A tree for all these problems
They can't find you for the moment
Then for all past efforts
They're buried deep beneath your heart
And somewhere in your stomach

And hey, transform all others
When awful people they surround you
Well ain't they just like monsters
They come to feed on me
Giant little animals to feed

Though to say we got much hope
If I am lost it's only for a little while

A tree for all these problems
They can't find you for the moment
Then for all past efforts
They're buried deep beneath your heart
And somewhere in your stomach

And hey, transform all others
When awful people they surround you
Well ain't they just like monsters
They come to feed on us
Giant little animals for us

Though to say we got much hope
If I am lost it's only for a little while
Though to say we got much hope
If I am lost it's only for a little while
If I am lost it's only for a little while
If I am lost it's only for a little while

Several posts ago I wrote about not really wanting to be in seminary. I used this song then. I made it clear that I am not surrounded by awful people, but many other things have "fed" on me while in seminary. I knew then I was lost, but would not be for long. Now, I don't think I am lost anymore, though I don't really know what is going to happen next.

Inter-Faith Dialogue

2011-02-25T10:37:00.000-08:00

What is inter-faith dialogue? A panel with representatives from several different religions talking about what roll food plays in the practice of their religion? An orchestrated, well planned event, like the World Parliament of Religions? A group seminary students traveling to Trinidad and Tobago?

In undergrad, I had to take a capstone class entitled Inter-Religious Dialogue as a capstone course for my philosophy and religion major. We read a lot of theologians--some Schleiermacher and Barth among others--studied important events in religious dialogue, conducted our own dialogues, and wrote a lot of papers. One of the books I read for the class was The Faith Club, written by three women--a Muslim, a Jew, and a Christian--about their experience of getting to know one another and one another’s faith. The book is challenging, readable, and very good.

For a long time, this has been what I thought of when I thought of inter-faith dialogue. All of these are completely valid, completely necessary, completely critical types of inter-faith dialogue. But Sunday, February 20, I experienced a different type of inter-faith dialogue, my own type of “faith club” experience. It was a Muslim, a Jew, and a Christian making chili, and entering it in a contest.

It was the 6th Annual Kosher Chili Cook-off in Austin, Texas, sponsored by Congregation Agudas Achim. Fatima Price Khan, Amanda Robinson, a MATS student, and myself arrived at 8:00 AM to begin making our chili to have it ready to eat by noon. Our team name: The Inter-Faith All Star Eco-Justice League. Wonder Woman themed and all.

We did not sit around talking about the roll of food in the practice in religion, but we did make chili that all three of us could eat together. I learned about the Indian style of cooking chili. I learned that there is an Indian style of cooking chili. I got to know Fatima. I got to hangout with Amanda outside of class. We got to laugh about all the Jewish men around us who are very serious about their chili crafting.

It was not inter-faith dialogue in the classic sense. But if more people decided to make chili together, I think the need for all the other types of dialogue would not be as necessary. That is just my opinion.

We did not win any of the awards for best chili, or most spirit--though I think that last award did not have the most qualified judge. We did have a good time. Our chili was pretty amazing. And I was reminded that non academic fun is as important as academic study in knowing things about the world.

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

So imagine if we made chili together.

Wake Up

2011-02-07T15:12:00.001-08:00

This post is highly contextual to seminary. And kind of sappy.

We are at the beginning of the spring semester. The beginning of my fourth semester in seminary. That means that I am half way through my seminary experience.

There are times when I have wanted my time here to be over--when everyone is stressed over papers and exams, or when I am trying to meet a Kairos deadline. There are times when it is easy to bogged down in this seminary environment. Times when what we are doing does not seem all that relevant to the church. Times when maybe you have spent a little too much time with your classmates. Times when professors gave you the wrong grades. Times when something in worship was not how it should have been. Times when ordination processes just seem like road blocks. Times when someone did not quite understand what you were trying to say. And times when it makes little sense for you to be in seminary. Maybe it is just me, but something tells me everyone who experiences seminary experiences some frustration with being in seminary.

But the other night, a close friend reminded me that we are halfway through. We are halfway through the long nights of studying, the grades, the disagreements, and the frustrations. But we are also halfway through the other stuff. The people staying up with you to study, the learning that comes along with the grades, the getting to know people better through disagreeing.

This place and this time may be a cause of a lot of frustration. It may be the target of some well-meaning criticism, but it is also the place where I have encountered more people who love me and who I love than I ever have before. I have been able to grow into myself. I have been able to help others do the same. And I have loved every bit of that.

So for those of you just starting out, I want you to know that you will be frustrated, but it will be okay, because you are surrounded by love. And for those of us who are feeling that maybe the end cannot come soon enough, it is time to wake up. Chances are, if you are on campus and look up right now you will see someone who cares deeply for you. And I am hoping that you take that as more than simply a sentimental thought on how we live in community. I hope that you take this as an invitation to let people know you love them, and let them love you back. After all, we only have a short time left, and we should spend less of it complaining, and more of it appreciating how special this place is because of the people who are here.

Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.

I guess we’ll just have to adjust.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’

You better look out below!

Not Everything Is Bigger in Texas

2011-02-03T11:38:00.000-08:00

It was December 10, 2010, the Friday of Reading Week. John Stanger and I were meeting at 5:00 AM to begin our 1463 mile trek to my parents’ house in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Both of us had worked frantically the last week of class and through reading week to get all of our papers turned in so we could leave school before finals week even began. The road trip started well. It was dark, as the sun had yet to come up. We listened to Broken Bells’ self titled album, and a mix Laura Westerlage made specifically for our drive. We we were making good time, going through Waco right at 6:30.

A few minutes later a state trooper who had been parked on the side of I-30 pulled onto the road and followed me. My heart began racing. About a mile later--about the amount of time it would take to read my bumper sticker collection--the blue lights began flashing. I pulled over. The state trooper walked up to John’s window, and said, “I’m highway patrol. I’m gonna need ya’lls licenses.” John and I handed him our IDs, and he went back to his patrol car.

A few frantic minutes later, I heard a tapping behind me. I jumped. I realized the officer was tapping on my trunk. I looked in the rear view mirror, and he was crouched down behind my car gesturing for me to meet him.

“I think he wants you to get out of the car,” John said.

“Does he want to search the car?” I replied.

John just shrugged.

I joined the officer behind my car.

“I’m highway patrol,” he said.

I wondered to myself if he began every exchange with that declarative statement of authority.

“I pulled you over because you were going 70. Round here, the speed limit is 65.”

I was somewhat dumbfounded. I had been pulled over for going 5 miles over the limit.

“Where are you coming out of?” he asked.

I explained that John and I were students at Austin Seminary and were going to my parents’ house for Christmas break. He was going to be returning to Texas December 17.

“That’s a long drive,” he said in an informative manner, as if I were unaware.

“Yes, it’s 23 hours,” I said.

“Why didn’t you fly?”

“I like to drive, and we’re staying with a friend of mine in Nashville.”

“But why didn’t you fly?”

I began to wonder if he suspected us of transporting drugs to Virginia.

“Whose car is this?” he asked.

I thought it was a silly question. Of course the car with the Virginia license plate belonged to the person with the Virginia driver’s license.

“It’s mine,” I said.

“Stay right here,” he said.

He walked back to John’s window, and asked him all the same questions he had asked me.

He walked back to me, gave me a written warning, and told me I needed to be careful.

I got back in my car, and got back on the interstate. From the rearview mirror, I saw the patrol car get back on the highway, saw the lights come back on, and saw it follow another car off the road.

In my 18 months of living in Texas, I have found that many things are bigger here: the capital building, the brisket barbeque, the state flags, the red part of a thermometer. But an hour and a half into a 23 hour drive, I found that one thing is sometimes not bigger in Texas--the grace surrounding the speed limit, and liberal bumper stickers.

Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey Jones you better watch your speed.
Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

What Is a Fire Anyway?

2010-12-03T13:44:00.000-08:00

This week a student at Austin Seminary was found dead in his apartment. He was 38, in his first year, and we do not know how he died. He lived upstairs from me, and I saw him more than a lot of people as he had withdrawn from classes until next semester for health reasons. Here is the article I wrote for Kairos this week.

Most everyone who reads my articles, or hangs out with me, or even talks to me, knows that I spend a lot of time at an establishment a couple blocks away known as the Local. Certain professors have even brought the establishment up in lectures. I know that I do not need to write anymore articles about the Local, and I had planned not to, but the events that occurred right before I sat down to write my article altered that plan.

No one on campus knew what to do with the news of Shan Bagwell on Wednesday, December 1. I am not sure I ever will.

But that evening, I went to the Local to edit Kairos. I was cutting and pasting the great articles our colleagues wrote for this issue, but all I could think of was Shan. I did not know how to address his death, or his life in Kairos--or not in Kairos for that matter. I did not know what was appropriate to print, what was appropriate to leave out. I did not know if I needed to say anything at all. Then Larry--who I have written about before, who is an institution at the Local, who cleans up after other people all the time--came up to my table.

“Brittany, have you ever built a fire here?”

I must tell you that in the middle of the room at the Local is a wood stove, and if the temperature is below 60 degrees, there is probably a fire going in it. That evening was a bit chilly, and Larry had decided it was time to have a fire.

“No... I have revived one,” I said.

“Well come on. You’re going to build a fire.”

“Larry, I have had a bad day, and I have a lot of work to do.”

“You need to build a fire,” he said.

I got up, and began walking to the stove.

“Doesn’t take much to get you away from your work, does it?” he asked.

I guess he was right. The last thing I wanted to be doing was putting together an issue of Kairos--do not get me wrong, I love doing it, but not at this particular time.

“I’ve never actually built a fire before,” I said.

“That’s OK. I’ll show you.”

Larry handed a section of a newspaper to me.

“Ball up all of those sheets and put them under the grate.”

Then he and a very reluctant Charles went to collect sticks outside... from the parking lot? I balled up newspaper. When Larry and Charles returned, I made a pile of twigs over my balled up newspaper, and used Larry’s lighter to set it on fire.

Anyway, my first fire building experience was a success. It was in a bar. The bartender even bought me a drink for getting it going.

But the most important thing about my first fire was that it was at the exact right time. Larry and I laughed quite a bit--the first real laughing I had done since Manna that day. Something made sense, and not that Shan’s death made sense, but the fact that it did not make sense was easier to bear. Larry did not know about Shan. I did not tell him. But he was right. I did need to build a fire that day. And the fire felt really good.

I'm wandering, a loser down these tracks
I'm dying, but girl I can't go back
'Cause in the darkness I hear somebody call my name
And when you realize how they tricked you this time
And it's all lies but I'm strung out on the wire
In these streets of fire
Streets of fire
Streets of fire

I have been listening to a lot of Bruce this week. I used him in my sermon I had to preach for class this week for a funeral, and so I feel he's appropriate for this entry. And this song mentions fire.

What Is Thanksgiving Anyway?

2010-11-11T22:43:00.000-08:00

The past couple Thanksgivings I did not go home. When I was living in Seattle, I stayed there and celebrated Thanksgiving with a Samoan family--though as far as numbers go, they are more like a clan than a family--in my church. It was very strange to not go home, and while it was wonderful, and quite a cultural experience, to be invited to spend the day with an amazing family from the South Pacific, I felt very strange to not go home. My roommate Whitney and I probably hit the height of our homesickness that day.

But after dinner, we went back to our house. All our roommates were at their respective celebrations, so what did we do? We watched Sleepless in Seattle. That is right. Thus an new Thanksgiving tradition was born: Give Thanks for Tom Hanks.

Last year several of us out-of-state students had a Tex-Mex potluck at Bart’s house. Bart’s mom was also there. But before heading over to Bart’s with my Mexican lasagna/ enchilada casserole, Mary Ann and I watched The Money Pit. The tradition continued. Thanksgiving was very fun last year. The food was delicious, the company was fantastic, and Tom Hanks falling through a hole in the floor was as funny as ever. I got into some trouble with my brother when I told him it was probably the best Thanksgiving I have ever had. He took offense to that. But I found it exciting that I was forming my own traditions.

I figured I was going to be staying in Austin again this year, and my parents had even talked about flying out here to join me. Though I do not think they were all that excited about not having turkey for dinner. It was going to be great. My parents were going to join me in my home for Thanksgiving, and we would be partaking in traditions I have started. The only question was which Tom Hanks movie would we watch. That Thing You Do, Forest Gump, The Burbs?

But then my best friend from high school decided to get married the Saturday before Thanksgiving. I figured it was a bit silly to fly to Virginia for a weekend, and then have my parents fly out here three days later, so I planned to just stay in Virginia for the holiday.

I am very excited to see my family, and spend Thanksgiving with them. This year it will just be my parents, brother, and me--which has never happened before, and is unlikely to happen again. I am also looking forward to a Thanksgiving where the high temperature is under 70 degrees. Even though I have established some traditions of my own (although I am not sure if they can technically be called traditions if you have only done them once or twice) a traditional Thanksgiving with family and turkey will be something to give thanks for. Though I will be passing on the turkey. I do not eat animal flesh.

But I think I am still going to have to give thanks for Tom Hanks. If you have a favorite Hanks flick, let me know. Maybe I will watch it.

I heart Shades!

What Is Rilo Kiley Anyway?

2010-11-05T16:46:00.000-07:00

I have a t-shirt that says “I [bow tie] RK.” It sparks a lot of curiosity whenever I wear it. The RK stands for Rilo Kiley, a band whose male members often wear bow ties when they perform. The bow tie does represent a heart, and that is really all the meaning there is behind the shirt. I do bow tie, or heart Rilo Kiley. If you would like to get a glimpse of why I love them, I recommend listening to one of the following songs, “A Man/ Me/ Then Jim,” “Silver Lining,” “Arms Outstretched,” or “Portions for Foxes.” That last one is a reference to Psalm 63.

A few weeks ago, I was listening to The Execution of All Things--the band’s second album that came out in 2002. I bought it my freshman year of college, and listened to it all the time. I believe it is the best of their four albums (they are not a very prolific band as the front woman, Jenny Lewis, does lots of side projects, and the lead guitarist is the lead singer of another band--The Elected). While listening to the album a few weeks ago, I became overcome with sadness. The sadness came from the fact that I will never hear the album for the first time again. I will never be that college freshman in a dorm room unable to take the album off of repeat, because I cannot get enough of this new sound. This is not to say that I am sad not to be a college freshman living in a dorm. It really is about hearing music I love for the first time.

Now that I have probably built up the album way too much, I must say that since my freshman year I have gotten to know all the songs on that album better than I did during that first listen. That may be completely obvious, but bear with me. I have seen Rilo Kiley perform a lot of those songs live. Those songs have accompanied me on many of my life changes and memorable events in the past 6-7 years. I would say that, along with my knowledge of the album, my appreciation and understanding of the album is far greater than it was the first time I heard it.

And yet, for some reason I am still sad that I cannot hear it for the first time again. Because greater understanding comes with loss. Loss of excitement, loss of awe, loss of novelty. It may be replaced by greater and deeper understanding, but that only comes after enduring a lot of other things. My greater understanding of Rilo Kiley has come with the death of four grandparents, the loss of friendships, the earning an undergraduate degree, the moving across the country twice, the redefining of relationships, the acquiring of a couple broken hearts, the establishing new friendships, the discovering my own talents without having to be told what they are, the coming to greater self understanding, the answering a call, and trying to figure out what that call is. Rilo Kiley was a part of all of that--the good, the bad, and the ambiguous.

I know that all of that would have happened regardless of how many times I listened to The Execution of All Things, but the way I see it, listening to The Execution of All Things is what was there during all of that--and therefore very much a part of all of that. I could have not listened to it again after that first time in a dorm room. It would have forever remained new and exciting, but it also would not mean very much. It would just be an album that I heard once that seemed awesome.

And so with anything--whether it is an album, a place, or a person--greater understanding comes with a risk. A risk of a definite loss of newness, and a risk of pain. But I guess the question is, Is the loss of newness greater than the gain of understanding? In the case of Rilo Kiley, the answer is no, even with the feeling of overcoming sadness. How I feel about them and all their albums matters a lot more than hearing them for the first time. Still, it is rather sad I cannot hear them for the first time again. Maybe they will release a new album soon.

No one is wearing bow ties in this video, but it's just a performance in a record store. It's the best video I could find of "A Man/ Me/ Then Jim."

For the awesome "Silver Lining" video and plenty of bow ties, go here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVtSSCzASR0&feature=fvw

Stuck Inside of Austin with the Autumn Blues Again

2010-11-03T19:29:00.000-07:00

I have been going to a spiritual direction group this semester. I love the people in it, but for the most part, all it has really done is made me very aware that I am not married and have no children--as all the other women in the group do. Before going today, I was sitting at lunch complaining that I did not want to go. That's when someone said that I needed to just go in there and say that today we need to talk about me.

I did not do that, but I did share more today than I have been. I said how I have left Austin twice this semester--for fall break and for my grandmother's funeral. Both times I did not want to come back to Austin. The first time, I thought that just meant I did not want to leave Seattle. But this past weekend I did not want to leave Virginia either. I said that I did not know if that meant that I was just tired, missed the season of fall, was tired of Austin, or do not need to be in seminary. My spiritual director asked me what God was asking me to do with all of this. I said I believe God is asking me to sit.

Still, I feel quite lost. And I do not really want to be in Austin right now.

A tree for all these problems
They can't find you for the moment
Then for all past efforts
They're buried deep beneath your heart
And somewhere in your stomach

And hey, transform all others
When awful people they surround you
Well ain't they just like monsters
They come to feed on me
Giant little animals to feed

Though to say we got much hope
If I am lost it's only for a little while

A tree for all these problems
They can't find you for the moment
Then for all past efforts
They're buried deep beneath your heart
And somewhere in your stomach

And hey, transform all others
When awful people they surround you
Well ain't they just like monsters
They come to feed on us
Giant little animals for us

Though to say we got much hope
If I am lost it's only for a little while
Though to say we got much hope
If I am lost it's only for a little while
If I am lost it's only for a little while
If I am lost it's only for a little while

Here is to hoping this is just for a little while. And this is in no way intended to imply that I am surrounded by awful people who are just like monsters. Quite the opposite actually.

What Is A Bike Anyway?

2010-10-31T21:11:00.000-07:00

When I was about seven years old I stopped riding my bike. I have no idea why. But when all my friends in my neighborhood would ride up and down the street, I would be on foot. Which meant that when Megan McNeil fell off her bike and cut her head on a mailbox, I had to run up the hill to our houses to tell our moms what happened.

When I was around nine, I decided I wanted to ride a bike to school. You know that thing that people say, “You never forget how to ride a bicycle.” It is not true. I was nine years old, and for the second time in my life had to have a parent run behind me holding the bike seat as I peddled down the street.

For my eleventh birthday I got a bike. It had hand breaks, gears, a place to put a water bottle, and it was awesome. Then my family moved to Virginia. My bike stayed in the garage all through highschool.

The next time I rode a bike was my freshman year of college. Laura and I were going to go visit our friend Laura where she worked at Barnes and Noble. We decided to ride bikes. I borrowed my brother’s. I almost ran over four pedestrians, almost got hit by two cars, and the next day was the sorest I had been since attending a week long running camp in high school.

I decided to bring my bike--the one inhabiting the garage--to school. I used it to ride with Jeff to the store for late night Ben and Jerry’s runs. We would ride our bikes through campus, across I-85, to the East Campus dining hall where they made crepes to order. Jacob and I would ride our bikes downtown on Saturday mornings to get breakfast at our favorite restaurant.

Senior year I moved downtown and rode my bike to school everyday. At night I locked it to a lamp on the porch. Very secure. One day while stopping at a local bike shop to fill up my tires on the way home, the bike shop guy told me I probably needed new tires, and definitely needed new brakes.

I got a new bike for Christmas that year. It was beautiful--a Trek hybrid--that shifts gears so smoothly, you do not even know it happened. The brakes, well I will just say they actually stopped the bike and you could not hear them half a mile away. I rode that bike everywhere for the remainder of senior year.

Then I moved to Seattle, leaving the bike at my parent’s house. At some point while I was out there I made a list of all the things in Virginia I missed. My bike was in the top three. I was very excited to bring it to Austin.

Last Sunday I was riding my bike home from University Presbyterian Church. I was behind another guy on a bike. An SUV passed us. There was a guy hanging out the backseat window yelling repeatedly, “I HATE ALL PEOPLE ON BIKES!” He must have said it six times. The guy in front of me turned off the road. I passed the SUV while they were stopped in a line a traffic light. The guy kept yelling. Right before I turned onto a side street, I yelled over my shoulder, “God loves you!” I do not know how he responded.

Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle

I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like

You say black I say white
You say bark I say bite
You say shark I say hey man
Jaws was never my scene
And I don't like Star Wars
You say Rolls I say Royce
You say God give me a choice
You say Lord I say Christ
I don't believe in Peter Pan
Frankenstein or Superman
All I wanna do is

Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle

This Is NOT an Article I Wrote for Kairos. It's a Real Blog Post

2010-10-26T16:25:00.000-07:00

A couple of posts ago, I posted an article I wrote about a bar. If you haven't read it, this won't make sense.

A little epilogue to that article:
One of the bartenders heard about it from a seminary friend and asked to read it. Nick sat across from me while he did. He cried, and asked if he could show it to Chase--the owner. I said it was fine, and Chase came outside to where I was after that and would not stop telling me how great it was. Though he was most happy about the fact that I like to be in his bar more than church. Nick later told me how prophetic and amazing he thought it was. I have had some pretty amazing conversations with him about theology and faith. He sees his job as a ministry, and I agree. The only reason I did not include him in the article is he works there, and I wanted it to be about the people who go to the bar. But he is one of the things that makes it an amazing place.

Several people at the seminary have told me how much they appreciated the article, how much guts it took me to print it, and how much hope it has given them for the church. All of this has made me uncomfortable, as I do not take praise very well.

None of this is the point to this post.

Saturday night I was at the Local with Chris--a seminarian I had just picked up from the airport at the end of fall break. We were sitting at the bar. All of a sudden, Larry appeared with a cake. A dense, tall, and most delicious chocolate cake I have ever had. He asked me to cut it into 6 pieces and save some of it for later. Then he handed me a plastic knife that was as tall as the cake. It was very difficult to cut the cake with this insufficient utensil.

I sat at the bar struggling with the density and plastic ware, when all of a sudden there was the sound of breaking glass, hitting, falling, shuffling furniture, and any other sound that goes along with bar fights. And I must point out that these sounds are rare in The Local. People do not usually fight there. But some guys who had been there all day had run up a $140+ tab and started a fight over it. The ex-football playing bar back--Ahmad--for the night had been knocked to the ground. He rose with a torn shirt, and pretty hurt pride.

Also in the midst of it all was Larry. When it all settled, he came over to the bar and said, "I've been kicked out for life." He had. Chase was out of town. His brother was watching the bar for him. And the fight had upset the bartenders enough that Larry was asked to leave, and not come back. I am not sure why so much of the blame was placed on him, but I did not see all of this start. I was cutting cake.

Ahmad was pissed the rest of the night. And he is about the happiest guy I know. At some point, Chris asked if he wanted cake. His response was, "Where did the cake come from?" I just looked at him and said, "Larry."

Ahmad smiled and walked away to change his shirt. I looked at Chris, and said, "Who else would bring cake to share at the bar?"

So the point of all of this is not to gossip about bar fights, but to point out that even things that give us hope--such as bars that are more like the church than the church is sometimes--are not perfect. They are flawed. They always will be because people are flawed. Larry, who gives me hope, who was the first person I told about my grandma dying, gets in bar fights. But, he also brings cake to a bar. The most delicious cake I have ever had. And I realized as I told Ahmad who brought the cake, I love Larry. Fights and all, just as I love The Local, fights and all. Just as I love the church, failure and all. Just as I love people, flaws and all.

In case you are wondering. I have been back the The Local since, and Larry is there. All--or some--is right with the world.

When the fighters are all around
All the lovers are underground
No one will save you anymore
So what's happening, what you rapping about?
Little boy. Is it cars? Is it girls? Is it money?
The world?

Or is it something they can never believe?
Or is it something you can never achieve?
Is it
Beyond your means?
Is it
Inside your dreams?
Can it
Never come out cause it's scared to
Unprepared to
Too worried about the words of the people it's weird to
You don't want them to hear you
You just wish there was a door that would appear that you can go disappear through
Well I'm feeling your pain
I was feeling the same
But I said I'd never feel that again

When the fighters are all around
All the lovers are underground
No one will save you anymore
So what's happening, what you rapping about?
Little boy. Is it cars? Is it girls? Is it money?
The world?

What Is Seattle Anyway?

2010-10-25T16:08:00.000-07:00

The setting for popular and cult classic films such as 10 Things I Hate About You, Sleepless in Seattle, Say Anything, Singles, and Mad Love. One of the rainiest cities in the country. The birth place of grunge music. The home of Bill Gates, Eddie Vedder, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Penn Bridgley. A place surrounded by the Cascade Mountains, the Puget Sound, and Lake Washington. A place where on a clear day, you can see a city skyline juxtaposed with Mt. Rainier. The place where UPS, Microsoft, Starbucks, and Amazon all started. A city that has the common misconception of being comprised of affluent white people. The place where you can get the best sandwich in the world. Where I lived after graduating from college and beginning seminary. Where I first saw the Kingdom of God at work in the world. Where I lived with a somewhat psychotic 19-year-old known for punching people on the bus for sneezing on her. Where I not only became familiar with public transportation, but often gave people directions on how to get across town. Where a different roommate and I became the stars of a weekly karaoke night in a bowling alley. Where seeing my favorite bands in small clubs became a regular routine. Where I spent fall break.

I had not been back to Seattle since I moved to Austin. I missed it, and decided that this fall break I was going. I had hoped it would be rejuvenating. It was my work in a small urban church there that made me want to come to seminary. I had hoped going back for a few days would give me a glimpse of that clarity. At some point on the flight there I thought to myself, What if I have built this trip up too much? What if it does not live up to my expectations?

I got there late Saturday night. So the first thing I really did was go to church Sunday morning. Most people did not know I would be there, but I was overwhelmed with excitement, hugs, and exclamations of “Welcome home!” Ron Ruthruff gave the sermon that morning. He is not the pastor at Mount View Presbyterian, they are in the process of searching for one. Ron does street youth ministry throughout Seattle, and has formed a very strong relationship with Mount View over the years as both are committed to an idea of theology from below. I heard him preach several times while I was in Seattle, and was excited to hear him that morning. His sermon was on Lamentations. I believe that was the first sermon on Lamentations I have ever heard. It was also one of the best sermons I have ever heard. No, I had not built this place up in my head. It was as amazing as I remembered.

I spent a lot of my visit riding my favorite bus routes, eating at my favorite restaurants, and going to my favorite parks. But the best part of the trip was going to the after school program run by Mount View where I used to work. I fell right back in the routine I was in when I worked there. Monday I found myself preparing the snack for the day like I always did before the kids arrived. A lot of the kids came into the program shocked to see me there. I got a lot of hugs and lot of questions about what it is like to live in Texas. Robert and Thommas--who I worked with everyday--just came in, sat down next to me, and began telling me about their weekends. Their weekends. Not, you know, the past year and 2 months, or what third grade is like compared to first. No. They told me about their weekends, just like I had never been gone, like I had not missed anything in their lives over the past year.

I had not been back to Seattle since I moved to Austin. I missed it, and decided that this fall break I was going. I had hoped it would be rejuvenating. It was my work in a small urban church there that made me want to come to seminary. I had hoped going back for a few days would give me a glimpse of that clarity. I am not sure I got any of that clarity. I did however, more than ever realize that when I left Seattle, I left amazing people, and I left home.

A song about flying to Seattle...

I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade into the ocean's arms
And from here they can't see me stare
The stale taste of recycled air
I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade into the ocean's arms
Calm down, release your cares
The stale taste of recycled air

A song from Seattle...

Come to send, not condescend
Transcendental consequence
Is to transcend where we are
Who are we? Who we are
Trampled moss on your souls
Changes all you're a part
Seen it all, not at all
Can't defend fucked up man
Take me a for a ride before we leave...
circumstance, clapping hands
Driving winds, happenstance
Off the track, in the mud
That's the moss in the aforementioned verse

Just a little time, before we leave...
Stop light, plays its part
So I would say you've got a part
What's your part? Who you are
You are who, who you are

A song about going home...

Coming home from a month away
To empty cabinets and bed
Well if there's love in this house again
Then let the lights shine through the windows and onto my head

Now I stay in the city
Walk the streets, search for something
Something calls and it's leaving
I am dreaming of a girl, she is not really there

All I did see, is the buildings they burn so bright

I feel sorry for everything
I'll watch the homeless woman sleep
Just like the dimes that i gave her
I am scattered and I will roll away

What Is a Regular Anyway?

2010-10-09T10:07:00.000-07:00

I have not found a church home since being in Austin. Last year I visited several churches, but I did not feel particularly called to any of them. I have just begun an internship at University Presbyterian Church, and will be attending there regularly, but there is a difference between going to church because of an internship and going to church because it feels like home. It is probably a fair criticism to say that last year I did not try hard enough to find a church home, but maybe I felt like taking advantage of the first--and quite possibly last--time in my life that I did not have to go to church every week. All in all, I did not feel like I was missing out on much last year staying home on Sunday mornings. Except for one thing. I missed the community of a church, and there were definitely times last year when I wished I knew people in Austin outside of the seminary world.

Lately, I have realized that I have found a community outside of the seminary world. But it is not a church. It is a bar. Now, I am not going to try to say that my frequenting a bar is a replacement for going to church. It is not. But I do think there is something the church universal can learn from The Local Pub and Patio, next to Kerbey Lane Cafe on Guadalupe. Outside of the marks of the church--the sacraments and the proclamation of the word--a mission of many churches seems to be building community, providing hospitality, and fostering growth in faith. While I am looking forward to getting involved in the life of a church at UPC this year, I do not foresee UPC being a replacement for the community, hospitality, and fostering of faith I have received at The Local in the past months. They have been crucial to my seminary experience.

Tom is a regular at The Local. He is also a member at UPC. In the past year or so he has undergone several serious medical complications, and has not attended church in a while; he says he cannot bring himself to do so lately. He is planning to go back soon. In the meantime, I have had several conversations with Tom, in which I have found myself being ministered to. Tom continuously encourages me to practice regular spiritual disciplines, and is one of the most genuine people I have ever met.

Randy is an engineering graduate student at UT. The first time I talked to him, he told me Jesus was fake. He quickly apologized, said he did not want to offend me, said he knew Jesus was not fake, and then said, “I’m agnostic.” I have had several conversations with Randy--though now I refer to him as Fake Jesus and he calls me Seminary--since then about Christian doctrine and faith. Randy and I will never see eye to eye on faith or religion. And I believe we both know that. But that is not the point. I have spent a year in theology classes learning the arguments of Calvin, Schleiermacher, and other theologians on revelation and incarnation and so on. And if I cannot take those arguments, formulate my own, and articulate them in a relevant way to an engineering student, agnostic or not, then I believe the past year in seminary has been a waste of time. And if I could not listen to others articulate their own beliefs, then it would not matter how eloquent or articulate I could convey my own beliefs, because who wants to listen to someone else when he or she does not feel heard? Despite the fact that Randy and I will never agree, we do both listen to the other and have a genuine interest in what the other person thinks.

Larry is more than a regular at The Local. He is an institution. He is there every time I have been there. He is a master at trivia on Tuesday nights, and an avid football viewer--though I can never figure out who his team is. I think he just enjoys the spectacle. He is always helping out the bar staff and the guys who run the burger stand in the back--which by the way, has the best veggie burger in Austin--by picking up empty glasses and bottles, and clearing tables of trash. One evening I was sitting at the bar with a fellow seminarian, and Larry came up behind us. He started laughing, and said, “I just can’t get over you seminary students.” He went on to say that seminary students should not spend time in bars--maybe he is right--but that he was glad to know there are Christians who are open to the idea of being in a bar, and he appreciated that we were changing his perception.

I have encountered all types of people at the Local with all types of belief systems. But I have not encountered anyone unwilling to talk about the differences in those beliefs. My experience is that people there are quite excited to discuss theology, more excited than a lot of church goers I have encountered. Challenging and articulating one’s faith is almost always going to foster growth in one’s faith. This happens almost every time I go to The Local. Though it may not be the most typical community for a seminarian, the Local has become a community of mine in Austin. And if hospitality is not knowing the names of your customers, knowing what your customers like on their burgers, knowing what football game your customers came to watch, and always asking how your customers’ day is going, then I do not know what hospitality is. Because sometimes you just want to go where every body knows your name, and they’re always glad you came. So I would like to thank The Local for being a hospitable community that likes to talk about theology. I hope to one day find a church like it too.

What Are Veggie Burgers Anyway?

2010-10-02T12:36:00.000-07:00

The other day someone pointed out that non-vegetarians feel a need to qualify the claim of liking veggie burgers with “but I’m not vegetarian.” It is a strange phenomena. People do not seem to order a veggie pizza and say over the phone, “I’m not vegetarian,” or make eggplant parmesan and serve it saying, “I’m not vegetarian.” And yet, somehow veggie burgers have earned the reputation of being a strictly vegetarian food item. What is ironic about this assumption that only vegetarians eat veggie burgers is that as a vegetarian who has been so for about five years, I really only eat veggie burgers at restaurants when there is no other vegetarian option. My logic is that I can get a veggie burger anywhere. If I am someplace that has a vegetarian specialty, I am ordering that. For example, ordering a veggie burger at Mother’s Cafe--a completely vegetarian restaurant--is about as absurd as going to a steak house and ordering chicken fingers, even if Mother’s claims to have the best veggie burger in Austin. If I go to Mother’s, I am ordering the spinach lasagna, or the stuffed peppers, or the super delux nachos. Not the veggie burger.

But this is an article about veggie burgers, not Mother’s menu. And despite my previous statement, there is one place in Austin that I would always get the veggie burger no matter what else they served. It is my favorite veggie burger in the world. The guys who run trailer out back at The Local makes the best veggie burger I have ever had. That is right, they make them themselves. I am not entirely sure what all of the ingredients are. I believe there is some sort of grain involved, but I do know that the main ingredient is tiny dust from heaven. Tiny dust from heaven that crumbles and melts in your mouth taking you on a journey to a better time.

A few weeks ago Mary Ann and I went to The Local to get a veggie burger for lunch. We went outside to the back, ordered our food, walked back into the air conditioning, grabbed a seat, ordered some water, and waited for our food to arrive. When it did, I was too excited about my heaven dust burger to even look at it. I took a bite, and Mary Ann said, “Is this meat?” With my mouth full, I looked at my burger. It was not a patty made from anything heavenly. I sat there, with a mouth full of food, wondering what to do. Several thoughts ran through my head. I cannot spit it out, the guy who made it is standing 5 feet away, and that would be rude. And I cannot spit it out, wasting food would go against my entire ethos of being vegetarian. And I cannot swallow this, eating ground beef would destroy my digestive track. And maybe I can just sit here with a mouth full of burger, and it will somehow just go away, and I can give the rest of my burger to the bartender. Mary Ann began sniffing her burger to see if she could detect a flesh-esque quality, asking me if it tasted like meat. With my mouth still full of food, I replied, “I do not remember what meat tastes like.” It has been a while since I have had meat.

I am not sure how long this frantic moment went on, but we did realize that the food we had been served was in fact two veggie burgers. They were just not made from heaven, and they were grilled up quite well done, making it difficult to identify them as fake meat. It turns out, the burger stand was just out of their handmade patties, and had to go to their backup. The burgers we ended up having were not bad at all. They were just obviously made from earthly ingredients. To say that Mary Ann and I were disappointed would be an understatement.

As the parousia approaches, for I have seen glimpses of it in the form of veggie burgers from heaven, I cannot help but think of a beginning when “God said, ‘See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food’ ” (Gen 1:29-30). And I believe that the time will come when the realm of God will breakthrough into our reality, and all creatures will be nourished by the heaven dust burgers from The Local, and we will not wonder if it is animal flesh we are consuming, but know that it is a gift from God, and “the wolf shall live with the lamb” (Isaiah 11:6), and we shall “beat our swords into plowshares,” (Isaiah 2:4) and peace shall reign on earth forever and ever. Amen.

Kings and sons of God
Travel on their way from here
Calming restless mobs
Easing all of their, all of their fear

Strange times are here
Strange times are here

Statue in the square
Meant so much when it first stood
People come from far and near
To bless them if, bless them if it would

Strange times are here
Strange times are here

Sadie, dry your tears
I will be the one
To pull you through the mere
Before you come, before you come undone

Strange times are here
Strange times are here
Strange times are here
Strange times are here

What Is Sleep Anyway?

2010-09-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

Latest article (one of these days I'll write a real blog entry):

There are many types of sleep. There are the full nights of sleep, complete with REM cycles and dreaming, where you wake up refreshed and ready for the day (or so I have heard). There are the nights where you head hits the pillow, and what seems like 5 minutes later, your alarm clock goes off. There are the nights where you toss and turn all night so you are not really sure how much sleep you have gotten. There are the naps where you plan to sleep for 20 minutes, but you wake up 3 hours later. There are the naps where really all you needed was to rest your head against something and close your eyes for 10 seconds. And then there are nights like the one I had over a week ago.

It was a Thursday night. I got home around 11:30, and went straight to bed. I do not even remember getting in bed. The one thing I do remember is thinking about how I should not lock the top deadbolt, because doing so would lock out my roommate, and that would not be good. Other than that, I was too asleep to notice anything. I woke up at 4:00AM--which may be completely normal for Jessica Goad, but I am not Jessica Goad. I had slept completely soundly for about 4 and a half hours, woken up unrefreshed, and could not go back to sleep. I lied in bed for about an hour, and then thought to myself, I might as well just get up. I fed the cat, got something to eat because I was quite hungry, and thought about how strange it was that it was completely dark outside and there was no reason for me to be awake--no traveling to do, no one to take to the airport, no paper to finish. I was awake and moving around at 5:00AM, just because. At some point I went to the door, and checked the top deadbolt. It was locked--Mary Ann must be home because I thought about how should not have locked it last night so she could get in. Then I put in the first dvd of Freaks and Geeks the Complete Series--one of my favorite things in the world, and a show from 1999 about highschoolers in 1980, that though it only lasted one season, is absolutely incredible.

Suddenly the apartment door opened. Mary Ann walked in with her crock pot. I knew she had gone by Jessica’s room last night to pick it up, so I did not think that was weird that she had it with her. What was weird was how she was able to come home last night, lock the top deadbolt, leave with it locked, and then walk back in the apartment when I was sure she had to be inside of it. She explained that when she got home the night before, the top deadbolt was locked. Apparently, my good intentions were worthless because my actions were locking the top deadbolt and not the bottom deadbolt. She had spent an hour knocking on the door waking up everyone in the building, except Sudie Neisen and me (maybe redheads are more likely to sleep through loud sounds), while holding her crock pot. Now, I felt pretty awful about the whole thing, and could not believe I did not wake up. But I cannot help but wonder, why not put the crock pot down on the floor, instead of holding it while banging on the door, and carrying it across the hall to sleep on the Webb’s couch? I mean, it is just an empty crock pot.

Mary Ann and I spent the rest of the morning watching Freaks and Geeks and laughing about the previous night’s mishaps--especially the voicemail from Eric Gates that said, I had “locked Mary Ann out, and she’s waking everybody up, so open the door”. All of this commotion completely disoriented the two of us time wise. We kept wondering why it was getting lighter outside, when it still felt like night, because neither of us had gotten enough sleep.

So what is sleep? It is a rare commodity in seminary. It is something that when it is not acquired causes people to lock out their roommates, wake up entire apartment buildings, carry around crock pots, watch decade-old shows on dvd for 3 hours before 8AM, and contemplate the gradual increasing brightness outside. I am not really into stories having morals, but I think there is one here. Sleep. Do not lock out your roommate. And just put the crock pot down. It will be OK on the floor.

When your mind is a mess
So is mine
I cant sleep
Cause it hurts when I think
My thoughts aren't at peace
With the plans that we make
Chances we take
They're, not yours and not mine
There's waves that can break
All the words that we say
And the words that we mean
Words can fall short
Can't see the unseen
Cause the world is awake
For somebody's sake now, please close your eyes woman
Please get some sleep

What Is a Middler Anyway?

2010-09-17T04:42:00.000-07:00

Here's the latest article I wrote for the paper:

You may or may not have noticed all the titles of my articles are, “What Is (blank) Anyway?” You also may or may not have noticed that I never really answer the question. I just write about it. So you may wonder why I title all my articles this way. Well, to actually answer the question, it is because I wrote an article in Kairos last year titled “What Is Mental Health Anyway?” That title came from a time that I asked that question in a class discussion in the Vocation and Ministry Colloquium taught by Professors Allan Cole and David Jensen. While taking that class I was in a mini-crisis of trying to figure out why I was in seminary, but at the time I did not know that that was the root of the problem. I was just in a state of unrest. And though the crisis had nothing to do with that class, one day it just surfaced in that class in the form of the question, “What is mental health anyway?”

At some point last year I figured out that my crisis had nothing to do with mental health. The problem was not knowing the answer to the question “what in the world am I doing here?” that Dave spoke of in his sermon last Tuesday. Some point after figuring out that that question was the problem, it became OK. I never figured out the answer, but I stopped asking the question. And that was OK. As Professor Kristin Saldine put it in a conversation I had with her about this, I am not sure why I am here, but here feels like home. I still do not know why I am in seminary, but I am very much at peace with that. Or I was. Then Greek happened. And then the rest of summer happened. And then middler year started. For some unknown reason, I thought maybe whatever peace I found last year would stick with me through the middler year. That has not really been the case.

Yes, we are just at the beginning of the year. Just two full weeks under our belts. But they have been crazy and overwhelming weeks. At least for me. I am not trying to freak out any juniors by saying that all the reading and the coursework does not get better. It does. My feeling of being overwhelmed is quite different than anything I dealt with last year. It has something to do with the fact that I am supposed to know what is going on, and what seminary is about, and why I am here. I am supposed to be comfortable praying, supposed to be able to preach in a month or two, supposed to know how to keep other students from freaking out, and supposed to know how to exist in the liminal space of not being new and not being about to leave. Right now, I am not comfortable with any of that. And the question, what am I doing in seminary, that occupied most of my thought process last year, has suddenly become unsettling again, even though I had found peace in not knowing the answer.

So, what is a middler anyway? Students who have 60+ credits, who have taken both semesters of systematic theology and biblical studies, who have taken Greek and or Hebrew, who have survived a summer of hot in Austin, and who have started thinking about what comes next. But mainly what I think a middler is (and what I think is the definitive word on what being a middler is) is figuring out the tension of being new in a not new place. Because even with how uncomfortable I may be with a lot of things about the middler year, I am comfortable in this community. It is not new anymore. It is home. And though praying out loud and preaching may make me uncomfortable, they are things I will inevitably get better at doing. So maybe a better way of putting it is, being a middler is learning how to be uncomfortable in a place where I have become comfortable. But again, that is just what my experience seems to be. And one day I will probably have peace in the uncomfort as well, because I will continue to remind myself that I do not need to know what is going on, what seminary is about, or why I am here. And if there is one thing I have learned it is that seminary is more about the questions than the answers. But by the time I do find peace in the uncomfort, I will probably be a senior, and I will write an article entitled, “What Is a Senior Anyway?” about whatever newness comes along with that.

Well I don't know why I came here tonight.
I've got the feeling that something ain't right.
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,
and I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs.

Clowns to the left of me!
Jokers to the right!
Here I am stuck in the middle with you.

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,
and I'm wondering what it is I should do.
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face.
Losing control yeah I'm all over the place.

Clowns to the left of me!
Jokers to the right!
Here I am stuck in the middle with you.

What Are Silly Bands Anyway?

2010-09-07T20:16:00.000-07:00

This summer I fell victim to a fad. Silly Bands--brightly colored rubber bands that hold the shapes of anything from numbers, to clothes hangers, to Bibles, that return to their shape even after being stretched out--are all the rage among elementary kids, high school kids, and me. Wearing them around your wrist allows for interesting conversation such as, “What is your Silly Band?” and “Mine is the number 3” and “Would you like to trade?” I first encountered them at the Montreat Youth Conferences this summer. I acquired a pack of them that were all in the shape of sea animals. I was pretty excited. And by pretty excited, I mean really excited.

I got back to Austin, and Mary Ann Kaiser said she saw them everywhere when she was home in Florida. For here they marked a time when she felt out of touch with the younger generation for the first time. Becca Weaver, who works in the Walgreens in East Austin said her store does not sell any. This got me thinking that maybe Silly Bands are only popular with certain economic classes.

Becca and I traveled to Colorado soon after this conversation. At a restaurant in Boulder, our server had a few Silly Bands around his wrist. Though I did not ask what shapes his Silly Bands were, Becca and I knew immediately he must be very trendy. I saw many kids with Silly Bands in the Denver airport before my flight home.

While in Virginia, I went to the Union Presbyterian Seminary campus to visit a friend. Both her and her boyfriend had Silly Bands. We of course removed our wrist wear and proudly showed which ones we had. Each one of us had a favorite. Claire’s favorite was Woody from Toy Story. Matt’s favorite was a hedgehog. My favorite is my sea horse. I also saw a friend of mine who is a high school teacher while I was home. Her reaction to my Silly Bands was not very enthusiastic. She was quite disappointed I had fallen privy to the Silly Band fad.

My last Silly Band encounter came when my aunt and uncle came to visit from Philadelphia. My aunt runs a before and after school program for elementary school children. She had to ban Silly Bands from the program. When trading Silly Bands became disruptive, she made the rule that the kids could wear them, but they had to keep them on their wrists. A new problem soon arose. Kids started ostracizing one another, making fun of the kids who had “imitation” Silly Bands, and not allowing the kids who had none to join in any of the reindeer games. My aunt found herself in a real life Sneetches and Other Stories.

I still wear mine. I think they are funny. I would be glad to show anyone all my sea creatures. But it does make me sad that something so insignificant and silly could be something used to hurt people, and tell them they are not welcome. And I do not know why we humans must always find an excuse to do exclude others--whether it is brightly colored rubber bands, stars on the bellies of Sneetches, skin color, sexual orientation, or where people build their place of worship. But I hope one day we will have more sense.

So I leave my possesions to the wind
And I'm done with ever wanting anything
Well I can die satisfied
No desires do I hide
Not today, not today
Nor for the next one thousand lives

I want to be a little seahorse
I want to be a little seahorse
A little seahorse

I want to be a little seahorse
I want to be a little seahorse
I want to be a little seahorse...

Well I'm scared of ever being born again
If it's in this form again
Well I wanna know how why where and when and then
I wanna see you be the bright night sky
I wanna see you come back as the light
I wanna see you be the bright night sky
I wanna see you come back as the light

The Life of a Newspaper... Person?

2010-09-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

I have not written in way too long, which incidently is kind of funny because a lot of what I have been doing the past couple of weeks is writing. I am this year's editor of Austin Seminary's newspaper, Kairos. Part of that job--along with getting people to write articles and proof reading them, coordinating campus schedules, and trying to come up with new ideas for the paper--is writing an "editorial" or something each week. Even though only one issue has come out so far (the paper is weekly), I have been trying to get several articles written before classes start so I'm not frantically writing them when I have to read and write papers for class.

So far, I only have gotten three written. They are about candy wrappers, silly bands, and blue paint tape. Therefore, they are not very typical of seminary article content, but that's something I wanted to do this year: shake up the content of the paper. I have enjoyed the work so far, but we will see what happens when I have to balance it with school, because classes still have not started. Anyway, I'm going to try to keep writing somewhat interesting blogs. Sometimes I may just post articles I've written for Kairos, but we well see what happens with that too.

I fly like paper, get high like planes
If you catch me at the border I got visas in my name
If you come around here, I make 'em all day
I get one down in a second if you wait

Sometimes I think sitting on trains
Every stop I get to I'm clocking that game
Everyone's a winner, we're making our fame
Bona fide hustler making my name

All I wanna do is
And
And take all your money

There is really no reason to use this song. Other than the fact that it mentions paper and I'm writing for one. It mentions taking money and I'll be getting paid some. It mentions hustling and that sounds fun (I just wanted to rhyme).

Will this week ever end?

2010-08-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine once said, "Longer is one day in Montreat than a thousand elsewhere." I've now been in Montreat for 13 days as part of the Omega planning team. This was the first full day of our second round of the conference. And all I have to say is, my friend was probably right. I feel like I've been here for three years. My fellow planning team members and I cannot wait until Wednesday, when for free afternoon we will go see Inception (I've already seen it twice). And I'm getting ready to be able to get back to Austin so I can sleep for a very long time. A very long time.

And yet, the past 13 days have been absolutely amazing. These people I'm on planning team with are awesome and I have had as much fun with them as I've ever had with anyone. So I'm really going to miss them, and while I'm really looking forward to getting a sufficient amount of sleep, I'll be very sad to say goodbye to them.

So since that was short and sweet, here's a song by a somewhat bitter and angry band that's awesome to go along with it...

While we're on the subject
Could we change the subject now?
I was knocking on your ears
Don't worry, you were always out
Looking towards the future
We were begging for the past
Well we knew we had the good things
But those never seemed to last
Oh please just last

One Year Ago...

2010-07-25T05:46:00.000-07:00

One year ago today my roommate Whitney and I got the rest of belongings we had in Seattle that we had not packed the night before, and stuffed them into her VW Jetta. One year ago today we began driving from Seattle to Montreat, NC. One year ago today I left Seattle, and I haven't been back since. One year ago today I ended the most significant experience I've had in my life. One year ago today I began living kind of like a nomad until I moved to Austin. One year ago today I had no idea of the effect the previous year had had on me. One year ago today I had no idea how much processing of that experience I was going to have to do in seminary. One year ago today I had no idea how much I could miss a place. One year ago today I had no idea I had seen the kingdom at work. One year ago today began one of the best weeks of my life. One year ago today Whitney got pulled over twice for speeding in two different states. One year ago today I saw California for the first time. One year ago today marked a point of not really knowing what I'm doing with my life. One year ago today I was just beginning to realize how amazing the people of White Center are. One year ago today I left behind something pretty amazing. One year ago today I started something else pretty amazing.

WELL WE KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOIN'
BUT WE DON'T KNOW WHERE WE'VE BEEN
AND WE KNOW WHAT WE'RE KNOWIN'
BUT WE CAN'T SAY WHAT WE'VE SEEN
AND WE'RE NOT LITTLE CHILDREN
AND WE KNOW WHAT WE WANT
AND THE FUTURE IS CERTAIN
GIVE US TIME TO WORK IT OUT

We're on a road to nowhere
Come on inside
Takin' that ride to nowhere
We'll take that ride

Feelin' okay this mornin'
And you know,
We're on the road to paradise
Here we go, here we go

There's no significance to all the capitalization. That's just how I found it.

Trouble Sleeping

2010-07-05T23:34:00.000-07:00

I babysat tonight. I got there around 6:00, got dinner together, watched some "Handy Manny"--which is a mix of Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder where every other phrase is said in Spanish and then in English--then I put the kids to bed, worked on my Greek homework, and then at about 8:30, Emma walked out of her room where I knew she had been playing and said, "I'm tired. Can I go to bed now?" After I got over the hilarity of the question, I told her that would be fine. She asked for a lullaby. We had already read a story. She wanted to hear a lullaby on my phone. I don't have any lullabies on my phone. She said all the songs she heard on my phone were too fast and then I came upon this one...

The official video is no longer embedable. So that's the best I could do. But regardless, the song put her right to sleep.

I can't fall asleep now. "Silver Lining" didn't do the trick for me. When I was little I had a hard time falling to sleep and I had a cassette tape of Sesame Street characters singing lullabies trying to get BIg Bird's friend to fall asleep, and at the end Big Bird couldn't fall asleep and everyone sang a song together and they all fell asleep. But I was always awake at the end. That's kind of how I feel right now, and have been most nights recently.

The Brakeman is letting off some steam,
This has to be the slowest train that I have ever seen
and the Sandman's waiting to deliver me my dream,
Guess I'll lay my head against my elbow and the window

Watch the wheels go,
Watch the wheels go,

Roll on, Roll on oh little train
Brakeman blow your whistle, throw your weight upon the chain
Make way, for whatever will be, will be
Between the Sandman, the Brakeman, and me.

And the Sandman's waiting to deliver me my dream, deliver me my dream, deliver me my dream,
Today

Guess I'll lay my head against my elbow and the window
Let my wheels go, let my wheels go

I hope the sandman comes soon.

It's Hot Here

2010-06-17T17:32:00.000-07:00

It's hot in Austin. Someone told me before I moved here that the breeze in Austin feels like a blow dryer in your face. That's true. But there's usually not a breeze. Usually, it just feels like you just got into a car that has been sitting in a parking lot all day with no shade anywhere. My cat just lies on the kitchen floor sprawled out because he's too hot to curl up like he usually does. Today I took a longer route than walking somewhere just so I could be in shade. I've gone to the pool almost everyday--which is strange for me--but I think that actually makes the rest of the day seem hotter. I'm so used to sweating that being dry feels very strange. 85 degrees seems somewhat chilly.

It's hot. And I hate heat. But, this still has to be one of the best summers I've ever had. It's hard to beat last summer--working in the day camp in Seattle, eating at all my favorite places in Seattle before leaving, driving across country twice, going to Bonnaroo and seeing the Boss. Yeah, it's hard to beat that. But this summer is pretty good. I spend two hours a day in Greek class, work on Greek for a few hours, go to the pool, watch movies or some show on DVD--I've seen the first 2 discs of True Blood now--and hangout with people. I've even been hosting an introduction to film class--which is basically an excuse for me to pretend like I know a lot about movies, talk about them, and watch them with other people. So, despite the miserable heat, that may or may not get worse--I've been told both--this summer has turned out to be quite nice so far. Go figure.

Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city

All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head

But at night it's a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat it'll be alright

And babe, don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city

Scenes from the Charlotte Airport

2010-05-25T09:23:00.001-07:00

I know the Charlotte Airport very well. My first time flying by myself, an ice storm left me stranded here. Anytime I fly to Montreat or home from Austin, I go through Charlotte. I can pretty much navigate it blind folded. I know it very well. Even so, I still always have to go straight to my gate when I get off my first flight. I guess I think for some reason C3 will not be between C1 and C5, and instead will arbitrarily be in concourse A between gates 30 and 32. Luckily, C3 is right where it should be, so I sat down for some prime people watching until my hunger grew too prominent to ignore.

Heading back to the main terminal, I passed Tequileria--a Mexican Bar and Grill--baring the slogan "Food, Fun, Spirits, and something else that I can't remember right now." I thought about going in, and paying $15 for nachos and a beer. But didn't. Instead I crossed the terminal to the neon lighting of Quiznos. There I bought an $8 sandwich that all but fell apart in my hands. The beer might have been a better investment. Maybe with a beer I might have actually been able to sleep on the plane.

While I was in line for my culinary masterpiece, the place was swarmed. About a dozen girls in cutesy, slutty, sorority dresses appeared. I swear one of the dresses was a 2 piece, attached only by completely transparent--not that the rest of the dress wasn't somewhat see through--white mesh material. Everyone else pretty much had variations of a different dress. I guess it's a new trend--a short dress that looks like an 80s workout tank top, connected to a obnoxiously floral skirt by a big belt. They were accompanied by a guy in seersucker pants, and untucked button-down and tie.

Why am I writing all this? Just to set the scene.

I was pretty much getting my sandwich when they all got in line. I was enjoying my sandwich/wishing I was eating nachos and drinking a beer when 5 of the girls sat down at the table for 2 right next me. I had to scoot my table over to allow room for people to walk by. On the other side of me, was an older couple enjoying their sandwiches from Quiznos. It seemed to be a novelty for them. Most of the girls next to me had gotten parfaits, probably thinking the calorie and fat content was lower. Too bad a veggie sub with no cheese has 270 calories, and a parfait has about 350. Oh well.

Now, I don't usually like to listen to other people's conversations. That's actually not true. I love listening to stranger's conversations. And I tried to listen to this group of girls. But I had no idea what they were talking about. It wasn't even that it was "he said, she said" stuff and I didn't know the hes or the shes. I really had no idea what they were talking about. Meanwhile the couple next to me is commenting on how the sandwich wasn't cut in 2, how the classic sub seemed to be a good choice, and inquiring if the other felt the same way. Riveting.

I suddenly felt somewhat depressed. On one side of me there was a bunch of girls who seemed oblivious to everything around them, from what to wear in airports, to other people's need for space, to the nutritional information of their lunch. And on the other was what seemed to be a very nice couple, very sweet, who only talked about the subs they were eating for lunch.

The whole thing made me think of a My Morning Jacket song.

Remember when you were seventeen
You goin' crazy, you know what I mean
It wasn't that long ago
In the grand scheme of things
It wasn't that long ago
You think you're so much smarter now

Twenty one everything stays in place
Forty one some things start to fade
Well when you're so young, you wanna be older
And when you're older, you want the body you have now

I believe in a perfect world
You rule your own universe
The only gun you'll ever need will be in your brain
The only gun you'll need is in your hands

You want this now you want that
Can't have it all you should enjoy what you have
But I know what you want, Well I know what you want
Well I know what you want, you want the better of two halves!
Well I know what you want, Well I know what you want
Well I know what you want, you want the better of two halves!

I guess I was the 21 part. Though I'm not 21 and I have no idea how things are staying in place right now.

And box top haircuts might be coming back. I saw 2 guys with them today.

Change, End, and Something Else

2010-05-14T11:53:00.000-07:00

Change is a funny thing. I've recently gotten somewhat used to being in seminary--the classes, the people, the emotionally draining circumstances of everything. And I suppose that's only fitting, seeing how the semester (or the first year) is pretty much over. Soon, the seniors will be gone, there will be a new junior class, I will be a middler, and people are going to stop asking how seminary is and start asking what's next. The changes are coming.

And yet, they never stopped coming. I spent the first year trying to reconcile my experience in Seattle with being in seminary. In some ways I had a lot more time--last year I didn't seem to think about myself a whole lot, and here that takes up most of my time. In other ways I have a lot less time--I don't read stuff for fun anymore, I don't blog much anymore, I don't write letters to people nearly as much. But the major reconciliation, or attempts of, have been trying to figure out what Seattle has to do with seminary. How does working with inner-city elementary kids have anything to do with taking classes on Barth and Biblical interpretation? I know there's some very applicable theology there somewhere, but I do feel like most of my seminary experience has been self-examination--which has not been much of anything except frustrating, disappointing, and hard to handle. And all of this is a major change from what I was doing in Seattle. And just as I've started to get a grip on that change, I'm going to have to deal with a whole other set of them.

I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

So I can freak out about all the change, or just go along with it. I can't do anything about change except influence how I handle it. And while I will be figuring out for the rest of my life what my experience in Seattle has to do with everything after my experience in Seattle, one thing I have learned from my seminary experience so far is that I can be aware of the changes I'm going through now. Despite what Salman Rushdie says, there are things I am capable of understanding about my experience--even now. I just may not understand their effects, or impact, or fruits.

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't tell t hem to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can't trace time

Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Basically, things are changing. Part of that sucks. I like the people here now, and don't really want dynamics to change. I also talked to someone else who did a YAV year yesterday and we both said how it's weird that we're almost at a point of being further away from that experience than the amount of time we spent having that experience. Part of it is good. I'm ready for some new experiences after this year. I'm ready to not be in this first year of seminary.

But change is a funny thing. New things can't come without letting go of the old, and sometimes it's hard to let go of the old, even if it's bad, just because it's familiar.

The end is near

2010-05-07T23:01:00.000-07:00

Classes are over. Three exams left. The end is near.

Now it's 16 miles to the promised land
And I promise you I'm doing the best I can
Now some days, they last longer than others
But this day by the lake went too fast

Although very few of these days have gone by fast. And the "lake" here in Austin is really just a wide part of a river that they like to call a lake. Weird Texans.

First Year Down...sort of

2010-05-06T16:58:00.000-07:00

After tomorrow at 2:20 PM I will have finished my first year of classes in seminary. Granted, I still have three finals to take, and will not be entirely finished until May 20 at approximately noon. And I guess I will not really be finished with my first year of seminary until Greek is done July 16. But still, after tomorrow I will have finished my first two full semesters and a January term of seminary. And I think that counts for something.

So let's recap.

When I showed up in Austin to move in, I was with my parents. We had my car and U-Haul full of pretty much everything I own. At this point, my only experience with Texas had been driving through the pan handle with Whitney earlier that summer (I was not excited about the decision to move to Texas after that).

Orientation was strange. The people here are kind of eccentric. Although I quickly became termed "the hippie/hipster" depending on the day. And people pretty much seemed to agree that I'm awesome. Somehow people came to know me as the authority on music no one has ever heard.

Classes started, and I read a lot.

I read a lot.

And then there was the first round of midterms. I stopped reading, and began writing papers and studying for tests.

I questioned why I was in seminary. I missed Seattle. I missed Mount View Presbyterian Church, and all the kids in the after school program.

I had to write a paper on my sense of call. It kind of made me break down. I had to prepare an essay on using the Psalms as my cadre to caste Lamentations and Song of Songs. I taught it to the entire Old Testament class, and it was not on the exam.

I drove home to Virginia, got trapped in the blizzard of 2009 in a hotel with my cat.

I came back to Austin, took a class on outsiders and wrote a paper on the Native American Church's use of peyote.

I flew to Virginia as all the snow melted there, and while it snowed in Austin in order to become an inquirer.

I got my heart broken, and then started to learn a "living ancient language." I read a lot of Schleiermacher, parsed a lot of verbs, and wrote a lot of ethical papers.

I saw some great shows, met some great people, and questioned a lot of things.

August seems like forever ago, and yet it went by really fast.

Let me tell you about my day
It's such a very long day
It started around seven
And I can hear your breath

That'a why I love Sunday mornings
Even when it's cold
There was always something burning
That was good for my soul

As I walk through the yard
I can feel you presence
You're giving me the time of my life
And me the life lessons

Now I know what they mean
When they say keep your heads in the sky
And don't be too quick to fit in
And don't I have to try

This world is strange, so strange it is
You know it really hurts inside yeah (sometimes)
No matter how good you are to people you know
They'll make you cry sometimes (sometimes)

I'm so proud for you to see
The young man I came to be
With life long troubles
You kept a smile on my face

And as I'm looking all around me
A say how can I ever repay you
Mama was worth more than gold
and she always tried to tell me

This world is strange, so strange my dear
You know it really hurts inside yeah (sometimes)
No matter how good you are to people you know
They'll make you cry sometimes yeah(sometimes)

There's been a few days
When people truly let me down
I said things
Just to bring me down

And they would
Just for their self motives and greed
But I guess that ain't nothing new
It's just something I gotta go through

This world is strange, so strange it is
You knew it makes me hurt sometimes yeah (sometimes)
No matter how good you are to people you know
They'll make you cry sometimes (sometimes)

Now how much more can I take before I shoot a kiss
Don't let them for joke cause what you feel is very real yeah yeah

You know it makes me cry sometimes baby (sometimes)
Yes it does
Out of all the days and all the stories you've told me bout
You know I still hurt inside yeah (sometimes)

I go through life with my hands in the air
Said Oh Lord help me there
Oh it hurts sometimes baby (sometimes)
Nobody can tell me better than you
About these things I will go through
Oh it hurts sometimes baby (sometimes)

So I told you about a year instead of a day. But it has been long and strange. It has been hard. I have cried, and yet it is not without its good times. And I think I am glad of how I have turned out.

Necessary Poor Decisions

2010-03-31T14:37:00.000-07:00

It's been a crazy few weeks. Spring break sandwiched with a ton of work. But I kind of decided that this week, because I don't have any pressing work due, and most of my reading for this week is done, I am not going to do a lot of work. Next week I will probably find that this decision was a poor one, but I will worry about that next week. It's beautiful in Austin right now--sunny and not too hot--and I'm going to take advantage of that as much as I can before I have to suffer through the misery that is summer in Austin. I've also been catching up on sleep that didn't really happen over spring break and was worsened last week with the amount of work I had. So there you have it, poor decisions for a little bit of sanity.

And tomorrow's just another day
And I don't believe in...

Time is wasted, time walking
Time, time
You ain't no friend of mine
I don't know where I'm going
I think I'm out of my mind
Thinking about time

Like I said, I'm probably hurting myself, but thinking about it right now is just going to put me out of my mind.

The Problem

2010-03-11T20:43:00.000-08:00

I believe I have identified exactly what the problem of my infrequent posting is. Being the incredible and insightful writer, thinker, philosopher, and theologian that I am, I expect that every time I sit down to write a blog entry it should be somewhat awesome. But given the amount of Hebrew I have to translate, the amount of Biblical commentaries I have to read, and the Levinas I have to interpret, whenever I sit down to write an entry, I'm too tired and have nothing to say outside of wanting to vent about all the time I don't have to write incredibly profound blog entries. And I figure I should spare whatever readers I have from reading about what I have to complain about (too bad I just did that anyway).

And I believe the word "complain" is significant because school work is not a whole lot to complain about. Besides, last semester I was bored with school work and wanted to be more challenged. Good for me. Well now I have a lot more work, no life, and a completely not prolific blog. Again, I realize the trivialness of my complaining. But still, it kind of sucks.

So let's get to the point, let's roll another joint
And let's head on down the road
There's somewhere I got to go
And you don't know how it feels
You don't know how it feels
No, you don't know how it feels to be me

So you don't know how it feels to be me, but that doesn't matter a whole lot. But to get to the point, how do you feel about Jesus having friends? Does it seem not cool that Jesus would favor some people over others? Does it make it easier to relate to him? I don't know. I kind of feel like I wouldn't want to be friends with a guy who made me feel dumb all the time, who wasn't really all that nice, and who was never ever lucid about anything. So that's not really a point about anything, but I think that's alright.

Cheesy and Profound

2010-02-24T19:53:00.000-08:00

Monday night I flew home to Virginia to meet with my Presbytery's Committee on the Preparation for Ministry. I had to interview with them in order to become an Inquirer, which is the first step of the ordination process to become a minister. I have no idea if I want to be ordained, but the process is pretty complicated, and it would be easier to start the process, even if I don't finish it, than it would be to decide later I want to be ordained and start it then.

There are about 20 people on the committee, and I had to introduce myself, explaining what brought me to that point. And then they all got to ask me questions--either about what I had said or about all the questions I had to answer before hand, that they had printed out in front of them. Except for the one question about my understanding of original sin being reconciled with Calvin's that I thankfully did not have to answer, it was surprisingly fun. We talked about my tattoos, my dislike of grits, my love of Pearl Jam and Seattle weather, and throwing pottery. A couple people asked if they could use some of what I said in sermons. After they voted to accept me as an inquirer, many of the committee members told me that I was a "breath of fresh air" and my "off the wall approach is exactly what the church needs." So I would say it was a pretty good time.

But the best part of the experience was that two of the men on the committee knew my granddad. One of them said that Papa and my great uncle were the reason he is where he is. The other said he worked with Papa on a lot of Presbytery committees. When I came back in the room, after leaving for the vote, they told me the latter would be my liaison to the committee for the inquiry process. I was overwhelmed. It wasn't a just a sentimental "that's neat" kind of thing. I felt like Papa was sitting with me. I started crying. Thankfully it was during a prayer, so I didn't draw a whole lot of attention to it. But what I had been dreading turned out to be quite a profound experience.

Since there was no way to not make this cheesy, I decided to go all out. Hope you enjoyed the giraffes. Her brother Tito sued her for using them. Apparently, they belong to him and she didn't ask if she could use them.

To make up for not posting in while

2010-02-24T19:49:00.000-08:00

I wrote this for the seminary paper, and am just going to post it to get something up, seeing how it's been over two months since I posted anything.

“What Is Mental Health Anyway?”

I was not a psychology major in college. I spent my years in undergrad reading Shakespeare and Keats (maybe that is from where the inspiration for my tattoos came). So last semester during a discussion about the mental health of pastors in the Ministry and Vocation Colloquium when I blurted out, “What is mental health anyway?” I thought to myself, maybe I should have been a psych major. Maybe then I would better understand the mental toll seminary takes on a person.

But since it is unlikely that I will go back and get another bachelor’s degree, I will settle for the next best thing in understanding mental health. Wikipedia says mental health is “a term used to describe either a level of cognitive or emotional well-being or an absence of a mental disorder.” When I first posed that question last semester I had at that point, survived John Ahn’s midterm, was struggling to write a paper about whatever it is I believe about Jesus, and was about to write a paper on what my sense of vocation was at that point. Now, I would not say I was suffering from a mental disorder, but describing my mental health as being in a state of cognitive or emotional well-being would probably have been a stretch.

I would say since that time, my mental health has improved. I know this because the number of people daily asking me if I am going to drop out of seminary has substantially fallen. I could probably also articulate what I believe about Jesus and my vocation much better now than I could in November. But I also wonder how long this improved mental health will last. After all, I have the words “Can’t put a dagesh in a resh” running through my head all the time, I am always already reading three Biblical interpretations all the time, and I listen to lectures given by a man who “on a pure ethical and theological level, no one ever know what the heck [he’s] saying.”

So do I think that seminary is seriously detrimental to one’s mental health? No. And do I even think that I am in a state of mental unhealth? No. And do I have any idea what mental health is? No. But I do have some Schleiermacher to read.

And the song to go along...

But you better be careful
You still got to watch yourself

You wanna be crazy
So you wanna go crazy
Let's go crazy
So you wanna be crazy
Then let's go crazy
Let's go crazy

Hopefully my posts will be a little more frequent.

Pearl Jam always makes things better

2009-12-06T11:15:00.000-08:00

It's strange. This time last year I was writing every other day at the very least. Sometimes I was pulling two-a-day blog entries. I could say I'm much busier than I was last year, but I don't think that's true. I waste a lot of time. And last year I was basically working two part time jobs, and riding all over Seattle on the King County Metro--which I desperately miss. The nature of my business has changed though. I read and write, so maybe writing a blog is not the most appealing thing anymore. I don't have that need to process what I've been doing in writing, because what I've been doing is processing what I've read in writing. And yet, that answer is not satisfying either. I've been dealing with many things in the past 3 months that have had little to do with what I've been reading and writing for class. So why haven't I processed those?

Last year my entries--not to be too full of myself--were these great daily observances where everything came together and tied into a song. If things didn't come together, then I just wrote about that. It was a lot of fun. But here, most of the observations I make about anything are really introspective. It's exhausting, and I don't need to share all of it on a blog. So I don't.

But last night, something happened that was reminiscent of last year's blogging. I went to the dorm lounge to hangout and watch Texas football--WOO! I don't think I'll ever fully be into that. At first, I felt like there were too many people there to even have a good time, but some people left to go watch a tree lighting. It turned out to be a fun time. And near the end of the game, a guy I was sitting next to said, "I've got a song to play for you," and he pulled up "Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam on his iPhone and sat it on my shoulder. I love that song, but it took on a different meaning that night.

Yes, I understand that every life must end, uh-huh
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, uh-huh
Oh I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands the ones I love
Some folks just have one, yeah, others, they've got none

With all the stuff in seminary I'm not a fan of, one thing I do know is that, even in the people I know here in seminary, I can count on two hands the ones I love. And that's a great thing.

Tales in Babysitting

2009-11-22T11:20:00.001-08:00

Friday night I babysat for one of the other seminary students. He and his wife went to see the new Twilight movie. They have a four year old girl and an 18 month old boy. I heated up dinner, watched some "Mickey's Clubhouse," changed a diaper, read "Goodnight Moon," brushed someone else's teeth, read a chapter of "The Wizard of Oz," and sang a good night song. It was nice to get off campus, help someone out, and especially nice to be around kids again. Even though they are different ages than the kids I worked with in Seattle, it was nice to have a conversation about the silliness factor of talking monkeys instead of the implications Chalcedon has on our faith today. It was a good break from everything in seminary, and hopefully I'll get to babysit again soon.

I've watched the children come and go
A late long march into spring
I sit and watch those children
Jump in the tall grass
Leap the sprinkler
Walk in the ground
Bicycle clothespin spokes
The sound the smell of swingset hands

I will try to sing a happy song
I'll try and make a happy game to play
Come play with me I whispered to my new found friend
Tell me what it's like to go outside
I've never been
Tell me what it's like to just go outside
I've never been
And I never will

I'm not supposed to be like this
I'm not supposed to be like this
But it's okay

Basically, the time I spent with kids in Seattle is the reason I came to seminary. It's easy to forget that. As much as I missed school last year, "I'm not supposed to be like this"--that is absorbed in reading and writing. Friday night reminded me of that. So I will try to sing and happy song, and it's okay.

Freak Outs and Growth

2009-10-13T15:36:00.001-07:00

I have not written in a while. Seminary seems to be one of those things that consumes your life. I've had a lot of papers and exams recently, but even before that, I have found that I do not have time in the same sense that I had it in Seattle. Personal reflection has fallen below reading, building community, and mindless activities necessary for sanity, on the priority list. I am in a community that is more intentional this year--in an apartment by myself--than last year in a house full of six girls. And community takes a lot of time. Everything seems to take a lot of time. And it is all exhausting.

But this entry is not about how much time and energy I have or do not have. Seminary is a roller coaster. It pulls your in four different directions, and then you feel you have a hold on everything, and then you find that there are four more directions you did not even know about putting pressure on you as well. It is a constant up and down between freaking out and feeling confident. Luckily for me, one of the lesser of all these pressures and tensions is academic. Any stress I have that stems from school work is a result of my procrastination or poor decision making, and not a feeling of being overwhelmed. That said, there is a lot of crap to deal with.

A couple weeks ago I was in Systematic Theology listening to a lecture on revelation. I found myself having to come to terms--possibly for the first time in my life--with the fact that God loves me. It is not a novel idea, I realize. I also realize it's probably something that should be encountered before entering Seminary. But I do not think I ever dealt with that notion on a personal level. I have always believed that God loves the world. I told a bunch of kids last year in Seattle that God loves them. Somehow in my life of claiming to be a Christian, I never equated God loving the world with God loving me as an individual, or as a part of that world for that matter. But that was a couple weeks ago, and I am dealing with that much better now.

Since then I have realized I never dealt with leaving Seattle. I drove across the country, was a small group leader at Montreat for a week, and then went home to begin freaking out about my life decision/leap of faith to go to Seminary. Then I was in Seminary. I never processed my work in Seattle, or my no longer work in Seattle. I have had a hard time adjusting to spending all my energy serving people directly to spending all my time talking about abstract beliefs and ideas. A lot of this seminary stuff does not seem revelatory. I realize now that last year I attended a church that pretty much lived out the Kingdom of God about as well as it can be done. So what am I supposed to do now?

I really like moving to new places, and meeting new people, but when you just look back on something it is really easy to forget how hard doing that is. That is getting better. The people here are fantastic, but I had to remind myself of something I learned last year: community does not just happen. You have to work for it. That means engaging people in conversation, and inviting people to hangout, instead of wishing people would do the same for you.

What sparked this entry was a guest speaker in my Vocation and Ministry class this afternoon. She was a very honest speaker who shared her own call, as well as her vast knowledge on vocational ministry. Frankly, she freaked the hell out of me. I do not know what I am doing going "into ministry." I cannot see myself as a leader of a church at this point. I do not want to be that person that everyone knows, but no one is really friends with. I do not really want to be open with an entire community about my personal life. I am not sure I can handle the public isolation of ministry.

I know all these fears are normal. I also have plenty of time to learn and grow. I just wish I had some of that time when I do not have a paper due. All that said, I am going to relish in this time as much as I can. The occasional freaking out is not bad. It is opportunity to learn, and I am certainly not the only one dealing with all of this. And what better to bring people together than undergoing the same trauma?

I've put on something you can't switch off
I won't buy, you won't cry
I know I will and you know how it feels
On the northside on the southside
They sing along long when you switch on

You switch on for the city
Long gone from the city
Come on strong winds move on
You belong in the city
I'm long for the city
Switch on a sad song when I'm gone

When in New York
I stay indoors go into the city
And switch up the pity
On the train someone says
Something about how Jesus saves
But I'm too lost to be found
You put on a good face, when i wasn't around

On the eastside
On the westside
They sing along when you switch on
You switch on for the city
Long gone from the city
Come on strong winds move on
You belong in the city
I'm long for the city
Switch on a sad song when I'm gone

I'm long gone from the city, and I long for the city. Jesus does save. We are never too lost to be found, though it sure is easy to feel that way. Even in seminary. Perhaps especially in seminary.

"Sometimes Planes They Smash Up in the Sky"

2009-09-23T19:20:00.000-07:00

Last week I flew home for my grandfather's memorial service. I had my first series of plane/airport pastor talk. I sat next to a guy from Austin on my flight to Charlotte. Our conversation didn't get much further than the fact that I'm in seminary. He probably didn't think the conversation would go anywhere after that point. The copy of Volume 1 of Calvin's Institutes in my lap may also have been a little intimidating or off putting. But oh well.

During my long layover in Charlotte, I was reading from Faith Seeking Understanding by Migliore. A woman sat down next to me and asked if I was a theology student. We talked about where I was in seminary, why I decided to go, what I was planning to do afterwards, etc. Then she asked what I was reading about. The chapter I was reading is entitled "The Authority of Scripture." And instead of being able to explain what I was actually reading about, I began to talk about all the stuff I have been reading in Old Testament class--that there is a lot of speculation of if the Exodus actually happened, if the Israelites were ever enslaved in Egypt, if Moses was an actual person, and so on. This did not go over well. Not in the sense that she called me out for blasphemy. But in the sense that she was actually considering what I was saying to her. And the only thing that went through my head was, what the hell did I just do to this woman's faith? The conversation basically ended with me saying, "I'm sorry. I just started two weeks ago and I'm not really good at this yet."

Who knows what she took away from the conversation, but I left trying to reconcile how I'm supposed to tactfully educate people and still be pastoral. I know that I am new to this, but I did neither of those things on Friday. And it's just starting to hit me how hard this stuff is.

Dear god, I'm trying hard to reach you
Dear god, I see your face in all I do
Sometimes it’s so hard to believe in
Good god I know you have your reasons

Dear god I see you move the mountains
Dear god I see you moving trees
Sometimes it’s nothing to believe in
Sometimes it’s everything I see

Well I’ve been thinking about,
And I’ve been breaking it down without an answer
I know I’m thinking aloud but if your loves
Still around why do we suffer?
Why do we suffer?

Dear god, I wish that I could touch you
How strange sometimes I feel I almost do
And then I'm back behind the glass again
Oh god what keeps you out it keeps me in

Well I’ve been thinking about,
And I’ve been breaking down without an answer
I know I’m thinking aloud but if your love's
Still around why do we suffer?
Why do we suffer?

I've listened to this album a lot today. And that's the main reason I chose it for this post, but my airport conversation did make me question why I am doing what I'm doing. Maybe I have to figure out the relationship between what I believe and what I know. Maybe when I reconcile that, because they are very much the same, then I might start to figure out what to tell people on plane rides.

Peer Transitions

2009-09-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

It's interesting what happens when one graduates from college. From here I could go in about a hundred different directions, but what I'm going to focus on is the post graduate social network. In college one's social network is set up for him or her. And that network is comprised of people pretty much within a four year age difference on either side. My experience last year as a post grad was a bit of an anomaly in that I was around people of different ages, but most of them were between the ages of five and eleven. My social network was still mainly people my age, it was just much smaller. My experience now is probably still a bit skewed because I'm back in school. But with post grad school there's no telling how old someone is. The youngest person in my class is 22. The oldest is around 72. I have peers who have children my age. And that's the big difference. It's not that all my time in college was spent with people in the late teens and early twenties, is that every person I knew who was older was in a mentor capacity. Now I find myself just as much, if not more, of an authority on something as someone twice as old as me. The age range of my social network has about tripled, and I'm now even in the role of making sure drunk 34-year-old seminary students get to bed. It's just a bit strange.

So here's a really weird video about growing up. Sort of. It is really weird though.

Words Words Words

2009-09-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today I read the book of Genesis. I read the introduction and the first four chapters of Introduction to the Hebrew Bible (105 pages). I read a chapter of Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture by Childs (60 pages), which is what it would be like to read a commentary of the Bible written by Immanuel Kant. I read the the second part of Justin Martyr's First Apology. I defined a plethora of theological terms, a few of which required some deciphering of Karl Barth.

Don't think me unkind
Words are hard to find
The only cheques Ive left unsigned
From the banks of chaos in my mind
And when their eloquence escapes me
Their logic ties me up and rapes me

De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
Their innocence will pull me through
De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
They're meaningless and all thats true

Poets, priests and poiticians
Have words to thank for their positions
Words that scream for your submission
And no ones jamming their transmission
Cause when their eloquence escapes you
Their logic ties you up and rapes you

De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
Their innocence will pull me through
De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
They're meaningless and all thats true

"De do do do. De da da da." That's pretty much all the words my brain can muster up right now. Maybe I'll have some insight into something tomorrow. But most likely I'll just have more reading to do.

Changes

2009-09-06T15:50:00.000-07:00

I have been in Austin for eleven days. I haven't discovered everything about Austin, but I basically know my way around. Unfortunately, I know my way around by car rather than by bus. My neighborhood here is completely different than where I lived in Seattle. It's hip and trendy and I doubt anyone is going to ask me if I can leave my house at night for fear of getting shot. I am 1,343 miles closer to home now than I was last year, but am still 1,473 miles away.

And I was not here long before I was reminded of how far that is. Yesterday my granddad died. And while the people here have been very supportive--which gives me a a lot of comfort for the difficult times ahead--it does not change the fact that I've known most of them less than a week and none of them for more than eleven days, and it doesn't change the fact that I'm not home right now. And yet, I don't wish I were home so that I would feel comfort in my grief. I wish I were home so I would actually feel the grief. Cause out here I feel that my mourning is not doing justice to my granddad's life, though I know that's not true. It just feels that way.

I'm coming up only to hold you under
I'm coming up only to show you wrong
And to know you is hard and we wonder
To know you all wrong, we were

Really too late to call, so we wait for
Morning to wake you; it's all we got
To know me as hardly golden
Is to know me all wrong, they were

At every occasion I'll be ready for a funeral
At every occasion once more is called a funeral
Every occasion I'm ready for the funeral
At every occasion one brilliant day funeral

I'm not entirely sure what the lyrics of this song mean. But it is a beautiful song, and aside from being entitled "Funeral," it's off the Everything All the Time album. And I have gotten a lesson in that right away. I am overwhelmed with life changes right now, and what would they be if they weren't everything all the time?

Four More Days

2009-08-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

I leave for Texas in four days. I'm memorizing the following song for the occasion.

There's a yellow rose of Texas
That I am going to see
No other soldier knows her
No soldier, only me.
She cried so when I left her
It like to broke my heart
And if I ever find her
We never more will part.

She's the sweetest rose of color
This soldier ever knew
Her eyes are bright as diamonds
They sparkle like the dew.
You may talk about your dearest May
And sing of Rosa Lee
But the Yellow Rose of Texas
Beats the belles of Tennessee.

Oh, my heart is feeling weary
And my head is hanging low
I'm goin' back to Georgy
To find my Uncle Joe.
You may talk about your Beauregard
And sing of Bobby Lee
But the Gallant Hood of Texas
He raised Hell in Tennessee.

The Last Week or Two

2009-07-11T12:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we took the kids in the summer program to Coulon Park on Lake Washington. It was pretty awesome getting pelted with water balloons by the kids, and then getting into splash fights while we were swimming in the lake. I tapped into my maternal nature by helping kids pull on water shoes, and carrying them out of the water when too much water got in their ears. One of my new favorite kids--Jamaal, who is from Fiji--did not bring swimming clothes with him. So when it was time to go he was standing on the beach trying to wash out his t-shirt in the lake. Unfortunately he chose a part of the lake that was all mud and seaweed. I helped him out, and we got the shirt rinsed and wrung out as best as I could. Part hilarious, part adorable, part heartbreaking.

Wash yourself clean in the water
There is power in the wake
Child let your sins be forgotten
There is hope for you today

Wednesday we went to the zoo. I had a group of nine kids who could probably be an exhibit in the zoo. One kid almost got in the penguin, alligator, and bat exhibit. I'm not really a big fan of zoos, but hope to not go back to one for a while.

Something tells me
It's all happening at the zoo
I do believe it
I do believe it's true

I don't think it's what Paul meant, but there was a lot happening at the zoo when I was there. Very little of it had anything to do with the animals.

Tuesday I was leading a craft with about ten of the kids. We were making tetrahedral kites out of straws. They're pretty complicated, and it's kind of hard to teach a bunch of kids how to do it. Tuesday I got to also teach Qua--a Vietnamese boy who does not speak any English how to make a kite. It was a challenge, but pretty awesome to find that I could communicate with him what to do by making shapes with the straws and then pointing to show how to thread the string through them. He did much better than most of the other kids.

Oh, oh, oh!
Let's go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let's go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let's go fly a kite!

Mt. Rainier

2009-06-29T22:08:00.000-07:00

My brother says Northwesterners are obsessed with Mt. Rainier. I think they have good reason. And here's my attempt at being a true resident of the Pacific Northwest before I leave.

I lived in Seattle for about a month before I ever saw Mt. Rainier. It is the biggest thing I have ever seen. On the days it comes out, you can't help but look at it. When I would get on the bus on a nice day I would make sure to sit on the "Rainier" side as I called it, as opposed to the skyline side, so that when the bus crossed the West Seattle Bridge I would have the best view possible of the volcano. Some days you can only see a vague outline of it and some days it's hard to distinguish it from the clouds it pokes through. But most days you can't see it at all. My brother didn't see it once when he was here.

Today, Mt. Rainier looked more amazing than I have ever seen. I went to the Rainier Valley twice today for work and it dominated the skyline. It also dominated the view on the drive to South Center--another work related trip. And today, in the back parking lot of the church, I saw it for the first time at Mount View Presbyterian. The entire year I have wondered why things right where I lived are called Mount View, because I never saw it around here. The closest I had been to seeing it from Mount View Pres was more than 15 blocks away. And today there it was, plain as day, or plain as a gigantic volcanic mountain.

So I'm packing my bags for the Misty Mountains
Where the spirits go now,
Over the hills where the spirits fly.
I really don't know.

I don't really feel a need to get all metaphorical with the music selection today.

A Change of Heart

2009-06-24T17:23:00.001-07:00

In training today I had to do a lot of thinking about seeing God's image in kids, which had me thinking a lot about why I wanted to work during the summer camp in the first place. I love kids. I love Seattle. And this is my last opportunity to work with kids in Seattle--at least for a while. So instead of wishing that I were back in Montana or counting down the days till I drive to Redwoods, California, I'm going to relish my last days in Seattle. Starting next week I get to hangout with Eddie and John without having to get them to do homework. And that's what I wanted all year. God brought me here for a reason, and these last weeks are a part of that reason. Who am I to wish it would end already?

I've used this song before, but it's too fitting to not use it here.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song.
Im twenty-two now but I wont be for long
Time hurries on.
And the leaves that are green turn to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.

I'm already 23, but I haven't been for long, and I've got four and a half weeks before my leaves here turn brown.

What Is Left

2009-06-23T16:42:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in quite a while. Since my last blog I have flown to Manchester, TN for Bonnaroo--where I saw artists such as Bruce Springsteen, Band of Horses, Jenny Lewis, Andrew Bird, David Byrne, Al Green, and Gomez--then my trusty roommie and I drove from Nashville back to Seattle in four days. We went through St. Louis, Kansas City, saw Mt. Rushmore, and explored a bit of Missoula, Montana (possibly the best place on EARTH). In short, the last couple weeks have been amazing--I mean, I saw the Boss perform "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and "Rosalita", spent my 23rd birthday at a national landmark, saw the setting for one of my favorite movies, and marked four states of the list of states I haven't been to. How could have not been great?

But now I'm back in Seattle. And while I love Seattle, it's been hard adjusting back to the norm. Part of that may be because I no longer have a norm. Before the XC trip, I didn't work at the library very much, and spent 3 to 4 hours at the after school program. I had a ton of free time. And now I have a full time job. I will be working with the summer program for the rest of time here. Right now I'm exhausted. We're just training now, so I haven't even seen any of the kids. Hopefully they will change my perspective, but right now I'm just counting down the days to when I get to drive back across the country. Like my last entry said, "It's the beginning of the end." And I guess I'm actually ready for that now. That was not the case before.

Not that this video does it justice, but it's better than putting up some crappy video of the Boss that doesn't come close. Besides, Bruce was rocking out too much for many people to be taking videos of it.

The Beginning of the End

2009-06-08T13:09:00.000-07:00

Friday was my last day with the after school program. I will be working (and getting paid) with the summer program that starts in a couple weeks, but Friday was my last day of volunteering. Which means that my work as a Young Adult Volunteer is pretty much over. It's the beginning of the end of my time in Seattle. The rest of my time here is not going to be anything like my time here previously. I'll be working full time with the summer program--something I haven't done at all. The packing process has begun. My time has been winding down for a while. People at the church have constantly reminded me that I'm leaving soon, but Friday just marked the beginning of the transition.

Closing time
Time for you to go back
To the places you will be from.
Closing time
This room won't be open
'Til your brothers or you sisters come.
So gather up your jackets,
And move it to the exits
I hope you have found a friend.
Closing time
Every new beginning
Comes from some other beginning's end.

I spend my last day reading with Eddie. I couldn't have asked for anything better.

Things Kids Say

2009-05-30T11:48:00.000-07:00

Tuesday Margo gave all the kids a talk about not using excuses as to why you don't have your homework or can't do it. Then during homework time, John--a kid who rarely uses excuses--said all of these things to me. Oh the power of suggestion.

"Talk to the hand cause the butt's out of duty."

"I can't do my homework because I'm sick because I swam in a cold lake. I stepped on a rock for an hour."

"I can't do my homework because I was sick so I had to my head under water."

"I'm sick cause someone stepped on my foot."

"I'm just really tired. So I can't do my work."

"I broke my leg."

"I can't do my homework because my grandma died and I had to go to her funeral."

This last one was really the icing on the cake. I asked John if he wanted my to inform his grandmother that he couldn't do his homework Tuesday afternoon because of attending her funeral over the weekend. He said no.

Meanwhile, Larry was telling me all about the differences between the 1950s movie "The Blob" and the 1980s version. Apparently, in the 1950s version they used silly puddy for the blob, but used real ooze in the 80s one. I asked him what real ooze is made out of. He didn't know.

Don't worry. It's just silly puddy. It's not real ooze.

Goths and Hippies

2009-05-20T12:41:00.000-07:00

Monday at the after school program I only had John in my group. Ironically, we probably got less accomplished on his homework than usual. We kept getting distracted with some ridiculous conversations. Did you know that I am a goth hippie? That's right. I dress like a hippie, but my multi-colored hair makes me goth. We got on the subject of hippies because John accused the hippies of making the worksheets in his homework packet, as if the hippies in the world have actually accomplished something other than accomplishing nothing--torturing young minds by putting countless math problems on sheets of paper.

I couldn't think of a song, so I chose my favorite scene from a movie about a bunch of hippies who find they all had to do something.

Going Back to the South

2009-05-18T10:48:00.000-07:00

Though not the part of the south I ever intended to go. I'm moving to Austin, TX in the fall to start the three year Masters of Divinity program. That's right, I'm going to be a master of all that is divine. I'll be able to fly and levitate things in just three years. I'm pretty excited about moving to Austin. This is just one reason why. Before I decided I was quite torn on what to do. I was seriously considering staying in Seattle, because I have fallen in love with this place and will be very sad to leave it in July.

If your trials end, are really getting you down
We had a close call, I didn't even see it,
Then another one, I hardly believed it at all.
What the writers say, it means shit to me now.
Plants and animals, we're on a bender when it's 80 degrees,
The end of December was coming on,
Only for you and me.
When the showing up ends, going back to the south,
Where hungry necks that I know, and runnin'
A blender in a lightning storm,
Disguised as a blessing I'm sure.
Knowing up here, there comes a fork in the road,
Pants have gotta go, we're on an island on
The fourth of July, looks like the tide is going home.
In time I'd find a little way to your heart,
Down to the general store for nothing specific,
Gonna wash my bones in the Atlantic shore - only for you and me

I won't be washing my bones in the Atlantic shore, but maybe I'll get over to the Gulf.

Play

2009-05-13T23:49:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days. All the leaders at the program was short tempered and all together lacking in patience with the kids. My group of four was awful. No one would do their work and no one would pay attention to anything I said. After about 20 minutes of referring, I had sent all the boys except John out to the big room. John claimed he finished his homework packet, and when I looked through his packet, I found he hadn't done one page. The assignment was to draw a picture of a family member and tell why that person was special. John chose himself. I couldn't really say that that wasn't OK, because he is is a member of his family. He didn't think twice about why he was special. He immediately wrote, "I am special because I like to play." Yes, it's sweat, and all an "Ode to Intimations of Immortality" and all, but those words were especially significant today--the day that I was sick of being around kids and all the adults around me were sick of being around kids; the day that I really felt like some of my favorite kids in the world were absolutely awful--because these awful kids are only kids. They play, and that's why they are special.

John taught me a lesson in Schiller today. The Speiltreib, or "play drive," that suspends us between the the senses and reason, and basically makes us human is exactly what makes John special. He likes to play. He likes to be caught between any sense or reason, and forget where his place truly lies, and just be. That only happens when we play. And we can only play when we remember what it's like to be a kid.

Tongue Twister

2009-05-06T23:30:00.000-07:00

Today John had a worksheet that required him to do several math problems that all corresponded to a letter. Then he had to use the letters to fill in blanks that answered the following question, "What can you hear on the beach?" When John finished the worksheet, he read the answer slowly, "Six silly snails sneezed." Then he read it again faster, "Six silly smails smeesed." And quickly responded, "IT'S A TONGUE TWISTER!" It was beautiful. He only knew it was a tongue twister because his tongue got tied.

Nothing to do with anything except that the title is Tongue. But I couldn't resist. It's beautiful for so many reasons: The singing of "Brandy" by Looking Glass, the shots of Bill Berry's unibrow, the paradox of Michael Stipe, and the song itself.

What Is Beautiful?

2009-05-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

The Seattle Post Intelligencer reported a couple years ago "Billions of gallons of raw sewage and some of the most toxic material imaginable have been dumped into the waters of Puget Sound, ravaging what was once one of the world's richer ecosystems. We have overfished, destroyed shoreline habitat and poisoned beloved killer whales." Just recently Dateline did a special on the toxic pollution in the Sound. It caught the attention of a friend of mine so much that he immediately notified me to stop eating fish while I'm out here, and then he remembered I don't eat fish anyway. Apparently the Duwamish River--which runs next to the Boeing airfield and into the Sound--has been so polluted that it can never be renewed. Never sustain the life it once did. Never be clean again.

This isn't an environmental rant. I promise. Though I do feel awful about canceling my membership to Environment Washington. I spent most of yesterday by the Sound. I went over to Lincoln Park and sat on the beach of pebbles for over an hour. I went downtown and walked along the waterfront for a long time and then sat on on of the peers for another long time. When Whitney got off work, we walked on the waterfront some more.

I love that body of water. The discovery of the beach at Lincoln Park is going to make leaving this place if/when I leave much harder than I would like it to be. It's a place of convergence. And so my question is, is the Sound's beauty greater because of all the pollution--meaning is it more beautiful in spite of the pollution because something that's awful and grotesque can be beautiful? Or is it beautiful despite the pollution--which just covers up the need to clean it?

So here's a song by a Seattle band about overfishing and whales.

The sun was in clouds. The sun looked out.
Exposed a trail of mist and spouts.
Ships followed the ancient lead.
Deceiving friends under the sea.
Wow, imagine that? They won't fight back.
I got a theory on that.
A whale's heart is as big as a car.
A whaler's thought must be smudged by the dark.

They won't fight back. I'm sure they know how.
Beings that love are too proud.
They won't fight back. I'm sure they know how.
Beings that love are too proud.
They swim. It's really free.
It's a beautiful thing to see. They sing.

Hunters of land. Hunters of sea.
Exploit anything for money.
I refer to anybody that takes advantage
of what that is free.
They won't fight back.
It's only a thought that makes it seem right.
What you don't see is because of your sight.

Take what you want. Kill what you can.
That's just one way of the mind of man.
Take their lives. Sell their parts but
there is no taking of their hearts.

If I was lost at sea. That harpoon boat in front of me.
It's the whale I'd like to be.

I found a video about environmental problems that was set to this music, but it was way too graphic. So I settled for the lyrics. And though I don't know the question about the Sound, I do know that this song is beautiful. It just is.

Boiling Water

2009-04-23T22:31:00.000-07:00

They say a watched pot won't ever boil,
Well I closed my eyes and nothin' changed,
Just some water getting hotter in the flames.

I wrote an entry earlier today about not knowing what I'm going to do next year. And you know what, I'm not going to know now. I just have to wait. And it's hard because I want something to happen, but even if I close my eyes, I'm still just standing next to it listening for it to boil. So I need to go do something, like be in Seattle and volunteer at the after school program.

It's not a lover I want no more,
And it's not heaven I'm pining for,
But there's some spirit I used to know,
That's been drowned out by the radio!

I know what I'm looking for, but I need to stop getting distracted. I'm too worried about finding the call, and figuring out what's next that, I've somewhat lost my relationship with God--that "spirit I used to know."

They say a watched pot won't ever boil,
You can't raise a baby on motor oil,
Just like a seed down in the soil
You gotta give it time.

I have to be patient and give it time.

People Power

2009-04-23T22:19:00.001-07:00

A few days ago Larry was sitting by himself during free time. I went and sat next to him, and after many questions he finally told me what was bothering him. Sam, a kid in the program with whom I have very little interaction, told Larry he didn't want to be his friend anymore. Then he preceded to play with John right next to where Larry was sitting. Larry says it happens all the time. At one point during our little heart to heart, Larry asked Sam if he would be his friend again. Sam looked at him and said, "No." Then he looked at me. Now I have been told by many people that my looks could kill. I have made perfectly confident people "question [their] existence." But never in my life have I given anyone a look like the one I gave Sam. I love Larry. He's probably one of my three favorite kids (not that I have a list or anything), and if someone hurts his feeling by doing something as stupid and drama queen-esque as telling him they can't be friends anymore, I'm gonna get pissed. Sam immediately told Larry they could be friends again. But really, why do we learn at such an early age that it's fun to mess people for the hell of it? Larry didn't do anything to Sam. Sam just enjoyed having the power. Why do we do that?

But I shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die

Sam wasn't as malicious as this, but he had no motivation to hurt Larry other than to mess with him. And the thing about it is, Larry wanted to be his friend so much he forgave him right away. And I have to too.

To Use the Words of a Friend...

2009-04-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

Now I normally don't write about my personal issues, but to use the words of a friend "I've noticed a slight decrease in the 'overly excited to be alive' category-- just bogged down with some life choices?" Pretty much yes. Not to say I'm not excited to be alive, and that things are not going well, and I'm not enjoying the after school program, because I am. But am a bit bogged down with life decisions. I have applied to three seminaries, have gotten into one, and am working on one more application. Three months ago my plan was to apply to seminary, defer my acceptance and go to Tucson for another volunteer year. But I've been waiting to have the interview to make that happen for about two months, so who knows if or when that will happen.

If it does happen soon, I have to decide if I am going to go to seminary or wait another year. If I decided to go to seminary, I have to decide which one, and not only have I not visited any of the campuses, I have only been to one of the states the four of them are in. I don't really have any time to go visit any of them before I have to make a decision. So how am I supposed to decide where to spend three years of my life if I haven't even been to the places I'm deciding between?

I believe in self-assertion
Destiny is like diversion
Now it seems I've got my head on straight

I'm a freak without provision
Seems I've made the right decision
Try to turn back now, it might be too late

And it's off to the morning and back again
Same old day, same situation
The happiness is back as if to say

I wanna stay home today
Don't wanna go out
If anyone comes to play
Gonna get thrown out
I wanna stay home today
Don't want no company
No way
Yeah , yeah, yeah

I believe I've always made the right decisions in life. And I know what ever I decide and whatever happens will be the the right thing to happen. But right now I would like the agony of making the decision to be over and done with. But I also can't make any decision right now, because I've only heard from one of my five options.

My Lungs

2009-04-22T13:51:00.001-07:00

Lauren Davis introduced me to Rilo Kiley my first summer working at Montreat. The following fall, which was my sophomore year, I bought all their albums that had been released--"Take Offs and Landings," "The Execution of All Things," and "More Adventurous." I probably drove all my roommates crazy, because I played them ALL THE TIME. Sophomore year was the worst year of my life for reasons I'm not going to go into, but it was Rilo Kiley that got me through it, or at least helped me to cope with it. They were my life line, and continue to be the band I go to for almost any mood I am in. They're my lungs. I breathe easier because former child actors decided to make some music together.

My Lungs: Rilo Kiley
Key Album: The Execution of All Things
Key Track: A Man/Me/Then Jim

Imagine I Wrote This Yesterday

2009-04-21T18:19:00.000-07:00

Today is
Today is
Today is
The greatest day
That I have ever known

Like I said, imagine I wrote this yesterday--the day it was over 70 degrees and sunny in Seattle. The day I didn't mind that I missed the bus, because it meant I got to walk 15 blocks to another bus stop. The day the energy downtown was unusually high. The day I found out I got into Union PSCE (not sure if I'm going, but it's nice to have options). The day I made chocolate and peanut butter chip cookies from scratch for snack at the after school program. The day Damion helped me make the cookies (the first time he did anything like that). The day Whitney got into Vanderbilt Divinity School. The day that keeping the kids for ESL started out awful and ended in a dance party with with a 9, 4, and 1 year old. The day Whitney and I watched "The Ape" (a movie written and directed by James Franco I've wanted to watch for a long time).

Today is the greatest
Day I've ever kown
Cant live for tomorrow
Tomorrow's much too long
I burn my eyes out
Before I get out

As for tomorrow (today), it was pretty good too. I got most everything for my other seminary applications in the mail. I spent an hour just sitting on the beach at Lincoln Park. And the after school program was awesome. Damion explained torganic food to me--it's made from fruit with no preservatives.

100 POSTS!

2009-04-16T13:44:00.001-07:00

Continuing with the theme of Dr. Dog, here's a video of a performance of a song with "100" in it. Enjoy.

Parent Talk

2009-04-15T18:12:00.000-07:00

I was talking with a parent today. She came by and helped me with snack. Usually my conversations with the parents don't extend much past the kid's school work and behavior. But this parent and I got into a discussion of social work and service through the church. She was raised Catholic, and always felt pressured into religion and consequently into faith. Now she believes in God, but has strayed away from organized religion. She has decided to have her kids attend a Christian after school program in order to let them make up their own minds about religion. There are some flaws in this plan--they aren't learning about other religions for one. But it was really good to hear that she has never felt like she has been pressured or judged by the people at this church, and she doesn't feel her kids have either. I guess I just found it encouraging that my ideal ministry--simply loving people through God without forcing God on them--can actually be received that way too.

And I know I’ve done my part
Oh, oh, my God
Oh my God
He listens to me
Listens to me
When I’m not even talking loud
Oh, oh, my God
And he says, ‘My son’
Says, ‘My son’
‘Now, listen to me’
‘Listen to me’
‘Listen while the listening’s good
You’re not my son’
But oh my love
Oh my love
No it ain’t easy
It ain’t easy
But it ain’t the type to give up and die
That’s not my love

The main reason I chose this song is because I saw Dr. Dog last night, and it was awesome. But it works on some level. Make what you will out of it.

A Simple Reminder

2009-04-13T21:29:00.000-07:00

I've felt as though I'm in some sort of rut lately as far as writing about the kids at the after school program. It's not that I don't enjoy hanging out with them, or find them funny. It's just that the things they say don't stand out to me as much. I'll find myself thinking, I need to remember that so I can write about it later, and when later comes around, I can't remember a thing.

Today, Eddie changed things up. I only had Eddie and John in my group, and John got picked up early. Eddie had finished his homework for the day, and done his reading. So he began impersonating these toys/action figures that appear to simply be balls the size of marble shooters. But when they're placed on metal, they spring out into robotic figures. I forget the name of these things, so we'll call them "Barookas." Eddie would pull his t-shirt over his legs, pull his arms inside, and say, "I'm turning into a barooka! I need metal?" Then he would spring from his confined form, and crawl through the lava/floor. Then the process would start again. He looked like one of the fuzzy things with feet and eyes that you could stick to your shirt. I don't remember what those are called either. We had a long conversation about the significance of the barooka's color. The blue ones go through water. Green ones go through grass. Brown ones go through dirt. Red ones go through fire. White ones go through the sky. The other colors don't exist in that world.

The only difference
That I see
Is you are exactly the same
As you used to be

Eddie hasn't changed. None of the kids have. I mean that in the best way. They are still kids. They still say hilarious things, make me laugh, make me glad that I'm out here in Seattle, and make me think that the world's not that bad even though they have to deal with a lot of what is bad about it. I just needed a reminder of that. And today I saw that the only difference between today and six months ago is it's not different than it was six months ago. I still love these kids.

Good Friday Service

2009-04-11T10:35:00.001-07:00

Mount View Presbyterian did a Tennebrae service for Good Friday. Seven people were asked to reflect on one of the last seven things Jesus said. I was asked to reflect on Luke 23:33-34, "When they came to the place called 'The Skull', they nailed Jesus to the cross there, and the two criminals, one on him right and one on his left. Jesus said, 'Forgive them, Father! They do not know what they are doing.' "

Here's what I said:
This passage made me think of the Lauryn Hill song "Forgive Them Father." In the song she says,

Beware the false motives of others
Be careful of those who pretend to be brothers
And you never suppose it's those who are closest to you, to you
They say all the right things to gain their position
Then use your kindness as their ammunition
To shoot you down in the name of ambition

Like Cain and Abel, Caesar and Brutus, Jesus and Judas,
Backstabbers do this
Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do

It’s a good song about betrayal and corruption in politics, especially in Africa, and so Lauryn focuses on the betrayal of Jesus that led to his crucifixion, by simplifying the verse to stand for Judas’ backstabbing. She makes the words into a warning for all the hate and violence in the world. As if all the people close to you will one day stab you in the back. And so I think Lauryn Hill misses the point of the verse.

If you focus on the second part of the verse, “For they know not what they do,” you come away with the idea that we are all ignorant of our actions. But the people Jesus is referring to were aware of their actions. They knew they were crucifying the “king of the Jews.” What they did not know is the greater impact their actions would have. And how often do we do things without knowing the impact they will have? And so the “They do not know what they are doing” means that we don’t know the consequences of our actions. This maybe true, and yet I still don’t think this is the point of the passage.

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

Father forgive them. The verse doesn’t begin with they don’t know what they are doing. It begins with forgiveness. And this level of forgiveness is unreal. If the soldiers somehow came to the realization of the impact of what they were doing and asked Jesus for forgiveness, and he granted it to them, I could maybe understand. But Jesus offers up forgiveness freely as they gamble for his clothes. Not only do they not show remorse for crucifying him, they make a game out of it. And Jesus wants them to be forgiven, even though they will probably never be aware of that forgiveness, and probably wouldn’t accept it if they were aware of it. That’s how much we are loved. Jesus can forgive us for putting him on the cross as he hangs on it. We do not have to do anything to receive God’s grace. He loves us that much.

Shakespeare and the Same Ideas

2009-04-11T10:05:00.000-07:00

I just finished a book by Marjorie Garber called "Shakespeare and Modern Culture." It's basically a series of essays, each one about a different play of Shakespeare's and how that play has shaped some aspect of our culture. So at the end of the book, she has argued that Shakespeare has formed our culture because ideas like determinism, youth, the invention of personality, and interpretation all come from his plays. Yes, I am a huge nerd, because I went through this book faster than any other book I've read in a long time. I couldn't put it down, and I love Shakespeare that much.

In the chapter about "The Merchant of Venice" entitled, "The Question of Intention," Garber argues that in reading this play, more than any other, we try to make Shakespeare like us. This play has always been controversial because if it is read simply as a comedy, the villain of the play is a Jew, and the play is quite anti-Semitic, but since the Holocaust, performances and critics have made Shylock, the Jew, into a victim. The play works both ways, and therefore it's impossible to determine what Shakespeare intended. I wrote my term paper for a Shakespeare class on this play as an example of Keats' Negative Capability--the poet's ability to remove himself from his work in order to write about all men. In one part of Garber's essay she talked about the idea of Negative Capability a lot. She also cited two sources other than Keats that I used in my paper. She basically pulled the same quotes I used.

Now, on one hand it's quite exciting to think that I was arguing the same thing that a prominent Shakespeare critic was arguing before I read her essay. On the other hand it's disheartening in a way. I know how my brother felt when he made a student film about a high school student that resembled a movie that came out later that summer--"Napoleon Dynamite." Cause even when you didn't take any ideas from this work, it seems less yours when someone else has done it better. And yet, somewhere in the middle, there is the idea that is somehow connected to Carl Jung. Keats uses Shakespeare when he defines Negative Capability. So it is not by any great thinking that one explores his idea in a Shakespeare play. But it is interesting that both Garber and myself chose the same play to do that. She does not mention Negative Capability in any other essay about any other play, though it is just as evident in them. And I didn't chose any other play for my paper, even though I had studied several other plays that would have worked just as well. So maybe we were both just operating from a collective consciousness that pointed us to Shylock in "Merchant of Venice." Maybe I still just want to be writing papers, and connecting ideas, which is really all writing papers is.

Sunny Day

2009-04-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

I only went to the after school program two days--Monday and Tuesday--this week, because my brother came into town for his spring break. Monday and Tuesday were unbelievably sunny and warm. We played outside for a long time before starting homework. I thought that it would be hard to get all the boys to focus on their work because of the nice weather, and it being the first days being back from spring break. But it wasn't. On the contrary, it was real easy to get them to do their homework, reading and journals. (Robert's response to "Why did the people go from cheering for Jesus on Sunday to having him crucified on Friday?": "That's how Mr. Matt told the story.") I think the weather put us all in such a good mood, that doing work was not a big deal. I hope it lasts.

Camp

2009-04-03T10:46:00.000-07:00

Two days ago I got back from a three night trip to Black Lake Bible Camp in Olympia, Washington. I went with the after school program here in White Center as well as programs from three other sites. I was the girls' counselor for Lake Burien, so I wasn't with the kids I work with all the time. But none of my boys went to camp anyway. I've waited to write anything about it, because I didn't want anything I wrote to be primarily angry. I had a lot of issues with some of the programs and games we did with the kids. So I needed to get some distance there, because while I'm still utterly exhausted, and do not want to be responsible for kids taking showers, brushing their teeth, and getting to bed any time soon, the truth is I had a great time. I revisited a lot of my own camp memories, got to teach the cup game to a bunch of kids, taught the "Ant's Marching" energizer to my group of girls, made a s'more in the rain, and play with a bunch of kids without having to worry about making sure they get their homework done. I also found myself filling the role of the weird counselor--the one with multi-colored hair, piercings and tattoos, and the one who doesn't eat meat--and I am quite content with that role. So all and all, it was a good trip and I will leave the frustrations I have with what else went on to another conversation.

This has little to do with anything except the word "camp" and maybe the overall sense of chaos of the whole experience.

My Nails

2009-04-02T16:21:00.000-07:00

Finger and toe nails are a vital part of the body, and yet we don't think about them very often. At least I don't. I really only notice them when they give me trouble, such as a hangnail. Or especially when I cut them too short, making it so I truly miss them when they're not all there. Not since middle school have I been into finger nail polish. I much rather prefer the natural look of nails to any color, but the only color my nails have been since highschool is bright green. I also have quite strong nails, so I don't really see the point of covering them up.

Band of Horses is very much like finger nails. They're a solid band. They've got a classic sound. But when they do dress it up, it is like bright green finger nail polish--it's not the everyday ornamentation. They usually miss out on my list of favorite bands, but if I go very long without listening to them, I feel something is missing, and it pains me. Like a nail that's been cut too short. You might say I take them for granted, but when I think about it, I realize they are of the highest quality, and I'm quite glad to have them.

My nails: Band of Horses
Key Album: Cease to Begin
Key Track: "The Funeral" or "The General Specific"

Given to Fly

2009-03-23T22:27:00.000-07:00

Do you remember when your dad used to lift you up by your stomach with his legs to make you feel like you were flying? I did that for the girls I keep during the ESL classes for an hour tonight. A whole hour. From 7:30 to 8:30. The game turned into seeing who could stay up the longest. As if they had control over how long my legs could hold them in the air. I think that I could make a workout video about it though. Burn calories and tone your legs while you babysit! It kept them entertained. They laughed more than they had in a long time, and no one cried until I told Kim she had to help clean up or sit in time out. It was awesome. The flying, not the crying. I saw them in the true kid element. The fear, the thrill, the fun of being lifted off the ground.

And he still gives his love, he just gives it away
The love he receives is the love that is saved
And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky
A human being that was given to fly

High.. flying

I chose this song because I couldn't bear to incorporate R. Kelly. Though I guess I just did.

Rough Sorting Paradoxes

2009-03-22T13:47:00.000-07:00

I worked at the Greenwood Library on Friday. Recently, I have decided that I would try to engage with the people I worked with. If I get a response, great, and if not, well I'll probably never see them again anyway, because I never work in the same place. Friday I was working in the back room with Carol, a middle aged lady. The two of us had a great conversation about Milk, which led to a conversation about gay rights, and how gay people getting married doesn't infringe on anyone else's rights. I think Carol pegged me as a young, liberal idealist--which would probably be an accurate assessment.

Later in the day she asked me what it is I liked to do. Kind of an open ended question, but I told her about my volunteer work with the after school program, which led to telling her about the Young Adult Volunteer program through the Presbyterian Church, which led to asking what was next, which led to talking about seminary, which led to asking what came after that. Aside from the frustration of always having to answer "what's next?" since high school, something in the mood of our conversation changed. No longer were we people who agreed on human rights issues, we were now two people who apparently had very different ideas about where religion fits into people's lives. Carol made a comment about how it must feel quite infringing for people to be approached from a religious stand point. That has always been something I've struggled with. I've never been comfortable with evangelism. I don't believe it's my duty to convert anyone. So in a way, I do agree with Carol. But I couldn't help but feel that that's what she was implying I do. The conversation more or less died there. I couldn't find a way to say that I don't believe in throwing religion in people's faces, but through religion, one has a freedom to connect with people on a much deeper level than they would otherwise. And even if I'm not converting people because Jesus saved me, I believe in the equal opportunities for all people because Jesus saved me.

Hard times as we go
We know what times will change
I talked to Jesus
Jesus says I'm okay
...

Hard times as we go
We know where times will change
I talk to Jesus
Jesus everyday

I wish I had told Carol how I feel about all of this instead of rough sorting books in silence. But in the long run, I don't think it matters much. It's something I'm going to have to deal with for the rest of my life. In college the question was, "How can you be intellectual and wear a cross around your neck?" Now it's changed to, "How can you claim to help people without being off putting?" The question changed, but the idea is the same--people have an idea of what Christians think and do, and that idea has nothing to do with what it actually means to be Christian, at least not for me. But, "I talked to Jesus and Jesus says I'm OK." On a side note, my favorite thing about this song is that on their next album, Caleb sings, "Jesus never loved me. No one ever carried my load." And that's what being a Christian is--peace in that paradox of feeling alone because things aren't easy, and still having a place to go in hard times.

A Drought of Thought

2009-03-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

I loved being in school. I loved taking classes, learning, spending hours in the library, reading things I wouldn't normally read--and things I would--and writing papers. Since being out of college I have tried to keep up with reading a lot. I write in a journal. But this blog is probably the manifestation of my most creative thought this year. Not that impressive. I'm currently reading Beloved by Toni Morrison. My only regret is that I have waited unitl my 22nd year of life to read anything she has written. This book more than any others I have read in a while has sparked a lot of thought. As I read, I contemplate symbolisms and metaphors that aren't really present in The Girl With No Shadow and The Time Travelor's Wife--the last two novels I read (I've never read so many books written by women in a row). But all I do is think about them. I don't contemplate them. I don't discuss them. I don't develop any ideas about them. For example, I haven't really thought out the fact that Sethe is everyone's source of food. She feeds everyone. And it is her husband's witnessing of her milk being stolen that takes his manhood. Seeing her function destroyed destroys him as well. I haven't thought about this much at all. I miss that. I miss thinking. And I wonder, am I only able to do that if I have to? Could I only write a paper on Paul D's inability to control his own hands and feet so that his heart has been replaced by a tin box if Dr. Facknitz assigned it to me?

I used to have all kinds of discussions about all kinds of things. I was the kid at the party talking about the presence of Jung's collective conscious in the divinity of the number 3 in the world's religions, or Keats' Negative Capability traced through Bruce Springsteen's albums. Maybe most of those conversations were primarily bullshit, but I was thinking creatively about eclectic things. Now the only intellectually stimulating conversations I seem to have are about theology. And that's more than fine. I could talk about that forever, but I miss talking about theology with people who didn't believe in God. Or believed in a different version of God. Or believed in a supreme divineness, but didn't really know what that was. I guess I miss a diversity of beliefs that I never knew surrounded me at JMU. That said, I should probably respond to both Mark and Sarah about the philosophical issues both have placed before me.

Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite

2009-03-19T19:04:00.000-07:00

So...I have bedbugs. My arms and back are covered in tiny insect bites that itch with a dull pain. They must all be connected because if I so much as touch one of them, they all light up in a flaming irritation. I have washed everything on my bed, gone through a whole tube of cortizone cream, started taking Benedryll, and now after four nights of waking up to my own scratching, it seems to be getting better.

I got bugs
I got bugs in my room
Bugs in my bed
Bugs in my ears
Their eggs in my head
Bugs in my pockets
Bugs in my shoes
Bugs in the way I feel about you

Bugs on my window
Trying to get in
They dont go nowhere
Waiting, waiting...
Bugs on my ceiling
Crowded the floor
Standing, sitting, kneeling...
A few block the door

And now the questions:
Do I kill them?
Become their friend?
Do I eat them?
Raw or well done?
Do I trick them?
I dont think theyre that dumb
Do I join them?
Looks like thats the one

I got bugs on my skin
Tickle my nausea I let it happen again
Theyre always takin over
I see they surround me, I see...
See them deciding my fate
Oh, that which was once...was once up to me...
Now its too late

I got bugs in my room...one on one
Thats when I had a chance
I'll just stop now
I'll become naked and with the...
I'll become one

Don't worry, my own ending has been nothing like a Kafka story. I decided to kill them.

The Right Answer

2009-03-16T18:21:00.000-07:00

Today's journal topic: What really matters (to you)?

John: My parents, God and you yep.

Eddie: Choclet really matters. X Box 360 really matters. Wii really matters.

John wrote his entry with such authority and no hesitation as if what really matters to him is an undisputed fact. He didn't need to think about it at all. The answer was obvious, because the question was was easy. Eddie on the other hand, had to think for a long time, had to ask me to look away, and continually said, "You're not going to like this," as if I would tell him that what mattered to him was not worth writing down on a scrap piece of paper. And yet, I liked his answer better. I'm always scared that Eddie is growing up to fast, and his answer confirmed that the important things in his life right now are exactly what should be important to a six year old.

Never been lonely
Never been lied to
Never had to scuffle in fear
Nothing denied to
Born at the instant
The church bells chime
And the whole world whispering
Born at the right time

I love when they remind me that they are just kids, cause most of the time I feel like I'm thinking about how their experience is not like the one Paul was singing about.

Just a Thought

2009-03-13T20:29:00.000-07:00

I didn't get to the after school program today because I had to work in Ballard, and it was too late by the time I got home. So I've only gone to the program one day this week, and I miss the kids.

That's all I needed to say.

My Grievance with Grievances

2009-03-12T16:58:00.000-07:00

I've spent the past 6 days with my parents and haven't had time to do such critical things as blog. But something happened at the after school program last Friday that I've been thinking about ever since. We broke up into our small groups to talk about grievances and forgiveness. I asked each of my guys if they had any grievances against other people that they should maybe forgive. The only thing anyone said was that everyone in the room "except Miss Brittany" was being rude. So it turned into a calling each other out on behavior. But during that time, I asked Damion--who joined my group for the day--if he could forgive John and Eddie for being rude even if they didn't apologize first. He said no. And when I asked why he responded with such a cliche phrase, that I don't really understand why I was so stunned. He said, "Why should I be nice to them, when they're not nice to me?" I asked if he thought they might be nice if were nice first, and he said they were the ones being rude.

So when do we learn this mentality of "I've been wronged, and people need to make that up to me"? Damion is 8. He's in second grade. And he's already going through life thinking that he's entitled to everything. Why do we teach kids this before they can even do their times tables?

Where’d all the good people go?
I’ve been changing channels and I don’t see them on the tv shows
Where’d all the good people go?
We got heaps and heaps of what we sow

Maybe they didn't go anywhere, but were never really around.

Mixed Up Expressions

2009-03-04T10:28:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm lookin' for some answers
But I don't know who to ask

Yesterday three people told me at the end of the day that I looked really tired and the kids must have worn me out. Funny thing is, yesterday was a very good day. There were no huge catastrophes on the playground, snack didn't involved me washing 65 dishes (not an exaggeration somedays), and my small group went really well. I only had Eddie and John today. We get through several worksheets, reading, and journal--something that hardly ever happens. I successfully taught John how to add double digit numbers, and Eddie might have even enjoyed writing his journal.

And still I looked worn out. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe it's just a new form of my inability to facially express myself--like in high school when all my friends thought I hated them--but I find it kind of funny that on the day that everything goes well, everyone asks what's wrong. And the days that aren't great, when I question what it is I'm doing and why I'm doing it and what purpose it serves, apparently I look like everything is fine.

Cold wind blows on the souls of my feet
Heaven knows nothing of me
I'm lost, nowhere to go

Oh, when I was a kid
Oh, how magic it seemed
Oh, please let me sleep
It's Christmas time

The Complexity of Anger

2009-03-03T09:41:00.000-08:00

In my small group yesterday, Eddie and Chris were being pretty productive. Eddie is reading chapter books now, and though he doesn't know what they're about, I find that pretty impressive. Chris was working on his homework packet, though I pretty much have to hold his hand in order for him to do it.

John, on the other hand, kept hitting the table and having spurts of convulsions. When I asked him what was wrong he said he was really angry, and didn't feel like himself. I took him down the hall and he told me a story I didn't quite understand about a friend at school. Then he told me about his mom getting really mad at him this past weekend. Back in the room he got pretty overcome with anger, and when I got him calm down he apologized and said he needed to get control of himself. I worked pretty closely with him on his homework and he kept saying it was confusing, and he didn't understand anything.

When his grandmother came to pick him up he asked me to tell her about his "actions today." I didn't really know what to tell her. I just said he was really upset and he told me stories I didn't really understand about school and the weekend. She said he had gotten too sensitive lately and then started talking about his germaphobia.

It was heartbreaking to see John so upset. He's typically a pretty happy kid. The things he gets upset about are not getting to play with the toys he wants to play with. He's probably the most kid-like kid I work with. While it was kind of awesome to see him be so self aware, it's sad that kids have to experience such intense emotions that they don't know how to handle.

Seems like the roads stretch out like veins, but there's no heart.
Nature's haircut is concrete now, and we played our part.
So we sing ...

I've lost my taste for modern things. They're not for me.
I want mundane: a quiet place, where time is free,
And I can sing ...

The last thing I wanted to do yesterday was tell John he needed to do his homework. John is also the last kid I would tell he didn't have to do his homework. John is very much a kid. So much a kid that when he feels adult emotions, I don't think he knows what to do with them, and I don't think his feeling them is taken very seriously. All he can really do it try to figure it out himself. When he left, he said, "I'm just going to go home and sleep. Maybe then I'll feel like myself again."

My Nose

2009-02-28T09:46:00.000-08:00

The sense of smell is closely linked to memory. Scent can transport any person to any place from the past. I saw DeVotchka perform at Bonnaroo in 2006. I had never heard of them before. After seeing them, I bought one of their albums. Listening to it--and several of their other albums I have attained since then, including the "Little Miss Sunshine" soundtrack--always makes me feel like I have been here before. They're probably the most nostalgic band I've ever heard. They're completely weird, but they sound like home, and they're hauntingly familiar.

My Nose: DeVotchka
Key Album: A Man and Faithful Telling
Key Track: The Last Beat of My Heart

Seeking Beauty

2009-02-26T18:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the first day of my plan to find something beautiful everyday. I sat a across from a man on the bus downtown who stood up about 10 times to throw garbage out of the bus window. On the ride home, I sat next to a girl who was having a conversation with a girl in front of us. The girl next to me is 16 and pregnant for the second time. She had a miscarriage and got pregnant again because her 18 year old boyfriend wants a kid. She recently dropped out of school, and thinks it's really great that her and three other family members are pregnant at the same time. The other girl just turned 18 and is really excited that her relations with her 29 year old boyfriend aren't illegal anymore.

I got to the after school program hoping the kids would make the world seem better, but it was just one of those days when the kids don't listen and you're easily irritable. So I began to wonder if my commitment for Lent was simply naive, optimistic and stupid.

Today however changed those feelings. It was a good day. Take for example my conversation with Eddie while we were outside:
Eddie: I don't want to go outside.
Me: But we are already outside.
Eddie: But I don't want to go outside.
Me: Well, you can either go inside and do homework, or stay out here.
Eddie: I'll go do homework.
Me: You finished your homework Tuesday.
Eddie: I can read.
Me: OK. You can go inside and read.
...
Me: Do you want me to go with you?
Eddie: Yeah.

My time with all my guys also went well. They all listened. We had fun, and they got work done. And at the end of the day John's grandmother, Gloria, was picking up John and his sister. I asked her how she was doing and she said she was blessed. This is a woman who has to raise I don't know how many kids, and when my basement flooded, a pipe in her house burst. Her and all the kids didn't have water and were going to the bathroom outside. And today she said she was probably the most blessed person on earth. I remembered that she said that yesterday when I talked to her, and I realized, that's where the beauty is. It's people like Gloria doing the best they can and genuinely feeling blessed to do it. Suddenly, yesterday didn't seem like such a bad day, such a lost cause.

So I'm back to think that there is beauty everywhere, because God is everywhere. I don't need to look for it as hard as I thought I did. I just have to pay attention and listen to what's around me. The beauty is there. I don't have to create it. I just have to notice.

She comes around here
Just about midnight
Ha, she make me feel so good, Lord
I wanna say she make me feel alright

G-L-O-R-I-A (GLORIA)
G-L-O-R-I-A (GLORIA)
I'm gonna shout it all night (GLORIA)

Tis the Season

2009-02-24T22:27:00.000-08:00

I have never giving stuff up for Lent. I don't know that I'm going to start this year. I think what I plan to do is be proactive--thanks to Whitney for the idea. I'm going to renew my discipline of daily devotion that I started back in the fall. I'm going to get back into writing. I haven't written for the fun of it in a long time. I really miss writing papers, and I kind of want to tackle an idea in an essay. I need to write more poetry, short stories, creative stuff. This isn't a very concrete plan for Lent, but we'll see how it goes. Basically, what I want to do is look for beauty. Kant and Keats are two of my favorite people. A lot of my thinking on the world comes from their writing, and I have recently come to think that the presence of God is beauty, and that beauty is everywhere. So I need to start finding it everywhere, not just in looking back on things, but in the moment. So for Lent I'm going to actively pursue beauty, and see it in everything.

That's my plan anyway.

Call the world if you please "The Vale of Soul-making." Then you will find out the use of the world.

And one can only see the use of the world by seeing its beauty.

Stupidity or Faith?

2009-02-18T18:02:00.001-08:00

Today I did one of the dumbest things I've ever done. I had to catch the 128 this morning, and the stop is placed so strategically on the bus route that one cannot tell if the bus is coming until it's at the stop. The bus turned the corner when I was still about 2 blocks from the stop. I started running as fast as I could, but there was no way I was going to make it before the bus pulled away. Then some man in a Jeep Cherokee pulled up next to me, honked, pointed at the bus, and motioned for me to get in his car. And I did just that. I didn't think to myself, this man could get me in the car and drive me anywhere he damn well pleases. I only thought, I can only catch that bus if this man gives me a ride. I had to sit on a bunch of the man's stuff because there was no time to move it. The only conversation we had was him saying, "I'll get you there real fast. I'll pull up right in front of the bus." I responded with a thank you, and after the bus driver honked at the man, I was on the bus paying my fare.

So I'm either an idiot, completely naive, or just have tremendous faith in human nature. I believe people are good. So far, that thinking hasn't gotten me into trouble. And today only strengthened my thinking. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to make jumping into strangers' cars a regular habit, but I can't help thinking that people actually do help each other out sometimes, if not most of the time.

Ride, ride, ride, hitchin' a ride
Ride, ride, ride, hitchin' a ride

Guess Who I Ran Into Today

2009-02-17T21:39:00.000-08:00

I worked at the Ballard Library branch today. And while I wasn't contemplating the stupidity of shelving "Lord of the Flies" next to the novelization of Buffy the Vampire Slayer because they are both "young adult" books, I ran into Dan from the after school program--our only male kindergardener. He was there on some sort of field trip. His family is in the process of moving/getting ready to sail around the world, so he's actually not coming back to the program anymore.

He came up to me and said, "Hi Miss Brittany."
"What are you doing here?"
"I go to a new school now."
"Do you like it?"
"Yeah."

Then he walked away. His new teacher was giving him and me some strange looks. I guess it's kind of weird for library employees to know the new student by name.

Dan drives me crazy. He's the kid who bites you to see how long you can take the pain. His favorite past time with me was reenacting some sort of demented bullfight. He was the bull. But I'm going to miss him and it made me really sad to see him in with a new group of kids, and teachers. It made me realize that I'm only going to be a part of these kids' lives for a very short time. But I can enjoy it as much as I can for as long as it lasts, and hopefully they'll get something out of it too.

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last.
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast.
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun,
Crying like a fire in the sun.
Look out the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

...just a song about things coming to an end.

Kids These Days

2009-02-14T10:24:00.000-08:00

We watched "Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown" at the after school program yesterday in recognition of today. Sadly, the kids didn't get it. They laughed at a few things Snoopy did but for the most part, it was lost on them. Larry spent most of the time saying, "I can't understand what the teacher is saying. Do you know what the teacher is saying." THAT'S THE POINT! And Larry, don't you go through the same thing every day at school?

So what's a world going to look like when these kids who don't understand the overwhelming optimism and ability to love of the ultimate underdog grow up? What happens when these kids are adults and they don't get the paradox of a kid who can't go anywhere without his blanket being the same kid who can quote scripture? Not sure I want to live in that world. So here's a bit of the underdog for you.

You got no time for the messenger,
got no regard for the thing that you don't understand,
you got no fear of the underdog,
that's why you will not survive!

My frustration is very similar to what my brother was feeling a couple weeks ago when he showed Peter Pan to his creative writing class and not only did they think it was dumb, and that kids wouldn't like it, but these high school students didn't know the story. So soon, all these kids who don't know how to be kids are going to be adults. And I doubt they'll understand it much better then.

Guess I should just be glad that when I was little I pretended to be able to fly by thinking of happy things. And I did want to remain a kid forever, and these kids I work with have to already be grown up because a lot of them are more of an adult than their parents. But I'm not really sure what to do about that.

Green Hang Ups

2009-02-12T11:03:00.001-08:00

There's a lot of "Go Green!" efforts out there now a days, and sometimes it's hard to know exactly what the right choice is. Before reusable bags became so prominent, the choice was paper or plastic. One would think that paper is the way to go, but it takes more energy to produce a paper bag than it takes to produce a plastic bag. Let's say you decided to reduce your paper consumption by switching to cloth napkins. Now you have to do more laundry, using more water and energy. I know these are minute examples, but it's the little things that make a difference, right?

Don't get me wrong, I'm all fro green efforts and reduce, reuse, recycle. But we can't eliminate our effect on the earth and the environment. We can make our carbon footprints smaller, but we can't not have one. And then there are some things that I don't really want to give up. I could buy a Kindle, and read all my books off a screen, but I like books. I like writing when I read them inside the front cover, and putting them on my bookshelf. I like letting people borrow them. I like thinking about all the pages I have read in my life, and don't think that the number of times I would hit next at the bottom of a screen would really compare. I like the smell of books, the feel of the covers. Even this blog is a paperless form of expression, but I still have three paperful journals going write now, because I like holding a pen, and seeing how much I've written over any given time. Most of my communication with people since I've been in Seattle has been over email or facebook, which is nice, but there's nothing as exciting as getting a real piece of mail--which not only uses paper, but the energy to get it across the country.

I guess what I'm saying is sometimes the choice is about reducing our impact rather than eliminating it. And when the choice is between reducing my carbon footprint and holding on to some nostalgic form of expression like journals or letters, I think I'm going to go for the nostalgia. Maybe that's wrong.

And here I am worrying about these tiny things, while there are still thousands of people driving their cars around because the bus system is awful, even though they've never ridden the bus and maybe if they all invested in it, it would be better.

Its a disease,... and theyre all green
It emminates from their being
Agitation,.. with occupation

And like weeds,.. with big leaves
Stealing light from whats beneath
Where they have more,...
Still they take more

Course I know,.. then I dont
Theres a stoway with my throat
Its deceiving
I dont believe him

We can scream,.. out our doors
Behind the wall a fat man snores
In his dreams hes,...
Choking on leaves

Well I guess
Theres nothing wrong with what you say
Believe me
Just asking you to sway
No white
Or black
Just grey
Can you feel this,..
World with your heart and not your brain?

Waiting

2009-02-10T21:03:00.000-08:00

I haven't written anything in a while. I've been consumed by thoughts of what to do next year, and have come to no conclusions except that I'm not ready to make a long term decision that is any way associated with a vocational discernment. And for now, at least for a while, I'm OK with not knowing. I'm waiting to see what happens.

In Bible study tonight we talked a lot about waiting. What is waiting? Is it active or passive? How should we wait? What are we waiting for? Why is it so hard for us to wait? None of those questions were really answered, but I believe that we will always be waiting. Whether we know it or not, we keep doing what we do because we expect something will happen by doing it. I think waiting is an action. And if my waiting right now is passed by playing with kids, then I guess I can't really complain.

It's rainin' but there ain't a cloud in the sky
Musta been a tear from your eye
Everything'll be okay
Funny thought I felt a sweet summer breeze
Musta been you sighin' so deep
Don't worry we're gonna find a way

I'm waitin', waitin' on a sunny day
Gonna chase the clouds away
Waitin' on a sunny day

Work Woes

2009-02-04T20:13:00.000-08:00

I worked at the Greenwood library yesterday. I shelved holds the whole time I was there. Shelving anything is not exactly a social exercise, in fact it's pretty isolating. But yesterday that isolation hit an all time high. One of the ladies came to find me after I'd been there about half an hour to tell me they were throwing a party for Mike because it was his last day. So I continued shelving holds while everyone else who worked there joined Mike in the break room. Then the same lady came to tell me that they would save me some food because I couldn't join the party.

I don't know why it bothered me so much. I would have felt pretty awkward at the party. But it made me realize again, that I'm never going to know any of the people I work with, and it's not going to matter when I leave. And that shouldn't matter either, because I'm not invested in the library. I'm invested in the after school program, and when I got home from work, I didn't feel well, and didn't go to the after school program, but Pat sent me a video of Eddie and his sister saying "hi" to Miss Brittany. So it doesn't really matter if I don't feel attached to the Seattle Public Library other than a means to get my free bus pass.

Well, hello all you lovely ladies
pleased to see you again
just hold on
it won't take long
to realize you're gonna figure out what's wrong

Goodbye, oh my baby, baby
please don't hate me
what all of...
what's this gig about us being in trouble
found you in the double time, whoa

Oh, what you see
is so different than I
You're supposed to be cold to the touch of the skin, oh, whoa

Bend me any way that you want me
just tell me ya need me
and your life is so empty
Just promise to be here for me to adore
while you hide behind your screen door

I sang this song to myself while everyone else was singing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."

My Imagination

2009-02-03T17:18:00.000-08:00

No, the imagination is not a physical part of the anatomy, but I started this whole analogy with the soul, so I guess I reserve the right to bend the rules. I would describe myself as pretty imaginative--I am writing blog entries comparing musical artists to my body parts. My personal statement for college applications was about how I am like peanut butter. I'm always coming up with weird ideas like that. My imagination has gone through a lot of development over the years--from my "reading from Dr. Suess," to looking for figurative elements in literature as an English major.

REM has gone through major developments over the years--changing from IRS records to Warner Brothers, and changing their sound again after drummer Bill Berry left. Through all the changes, they have remained pretty much the same (sounds like a Paul Simon lyric), but they have matured, and in my opinion gotten better. I don't really know why I say these guys are my imagination. I just love them and they're weird. So there you go.

My Imagination: REM
Key album: Murmur
Key track: Tongue

Polarity

2009-02-02T21:33:00.000-08:00

My group of boys were slightly awful today. Maybe I was in a bad mood, but I don't think that's it. They were loud, didn't listen to anything, and all of them claimed they couldn't do their work. But when I would begin to help them, they were fine, and someone else needed help. They tried to sneak out of the room several times. Other kids were sneaking in to see how long it would be before I noticed. It was chaotic, and pretty unproductive.

The good times hide
And so do I
Out of my control
I dig a hole

I'm gonna let the bad times roll
I'm gonna let the bad times roll

If that's all the time
That you got
Then I'd rather not
Waste my life on hold

I'm gonna let the bad times roll
I'm gonna let the bad times roll

...

It's Monday, so I got to keep the ESL kids tonight. I only had Jane and her brother. The first half of the night we played MASH with Whitney, because she didn't have any students of her own. After snack we came up with a version of tag that I could play while holding a 9 month old. If you've never played tag with an eight year old by sitting in rolley chairs while holding a baby, then I highly recommend it. And it's exhausting.

Let the good times roll
Let them knock you around
Let the good times roll
Let them make you a clown

Let them leave you up in the air
Let them brush your rock and roll hair

Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll

Two songs with almost the same refrain, but one word makes a huge difference. I don't know what made this after noon so not good, and what made tonight awesome, but there was a huge difference. Polar opposites.