Sunday, September 13, 2009

Geese

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Mission Statement | Complete

To illuminate and articulate the theological authority of women, resonating with and empowering those who have been marginalized, oppressed, and systematically excluded by the church.

Prose No. Six

I wonder why it's so hard for me to choose - to decide - to make a move.
Fear has captured me so strongly in her grip, paralyzed me - almost.
I agonize over if I'm making the right choice, the best choice, who will be affected...
What I want for myself resides somewhere near the bottom of my checklist.  So far down I often forget about it, or can't find it, or get tired of looking for it.
I used to be braver than this.  I don't remember how I lost her {courage} but she has nearly faded away, now.

The baby birds outside my bedroom window flew away today.  
I didn't watch them go, but I'd been stealing glimpses of their preparation for days.
They would stand as near the edge of their temporary home as possible.  Wings flapping wildly, puffing up their little bodies to occupy as much space as they could, crying eagerly.
They were focused single-mindedly on their purpose.

And I stood behind the window, grimacing, whispering worriedly, don't go - you're too little - you're not ready.

But they knew better.  They were ready to go and they did not wrestle over the choice to fly.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Prose No. Five

She
knew it would be hard to go home again.
The house
would be a different color.  
There 
would be a marked change, somehow.
She wanted to replay
small memories, one more time.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Prose No. Four

When over half of the morning disappears in a daze of switching fans on, turning them to (first) blow cool air in and (then) hot air out, trying to find the witching hour when it suddenly becomes hotter outside than in and racing to imprison the house from the heat of the day ... when this is what summer means, I am so over it.

I'd like seven days (okay, maybe five) of eighty degrees and then, fall please.  I'm ready now for crisp, cool air with the hint of a fireplace burning in the early morning, foamy cappuccinos with nutmeg, sweaters, falling leaves.

Or maybe - I'm just ready for an air conditioner.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Monday, Monday ...

I don't particularly enjoy Mondays. I just love the weekends sooo sooo much.

Generally, I am pretty grumpy on Monday mornings, and even more so today because I am completely behind with school and I actually need to be ahead because on Thursday I am going to be here for 4 days.

**********

I have a cozy chair in my bedroom that's nestled underneath my window and beside my bed. I push an ottoman out in front of it and sprawl out most of the day on Mondays and Thursdays. It's the best place to think and read, but not so great to write (this might be why my back hurts all the time).

The last couple of weeks I've been watching a bird throughout the days I spend on my chair. She has a nest in the tree that's just an arms length from the window sill. She's spent so much time in her nest recently, I knew she must have babies on the way.

They hatched today. I heard them. A very quiet, mysterious crack and then an eruption of shrill chirps. They are so incredibly tiny and I want to just sit and watch them, but Mama is nervous. Every time I get up to watch her fed them, she ruffles her short feathers and hops around a lot, casting me irritated, sideways glances. So I'll have to be content to just listen, today.

Maybe I'll catch a better glimpse tomorrow.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Tend to your Soul

When for too long I don't go deep enough into the woods to see them, they begin to enter my dreams. Yes, there they are, in the pinewoods of my inner life. I want to live a life full of modesty and praise. Each hoof of each animal makes the sign of a heart as it touches then lifts away from the ground. Unless you believe that heaven is very near, how will you find it? Their eyes are pools in which one would be content, on any summer afternoon, to swim away through the door of the world. Then, love and its blessing. Then: heaven.  
{The Faces of Deer | Mary Oliver}

Mission Statement

One of the classes I'm taking this summer is about clarifying your purpose, one's calling in life.  
For the instructor - purpose/calling/mission - are one in the same.

Through a long process of reading and testing and identifying different strengths and weaknesses, I am working on writing a mission statement, a clarifying mantra of sorts.

At first, I thought this exercise was a little silly, but now that I'm reaching the end of it, I see how valuable focus is.  Forcing yourself to really think about who you are and what you've been gifted with enables you to see what kind of change you've been called to effect.

Since I haven't actually written the statement yet, I can't share it with you.  BUT ... it will revolve around these three words.  

Resonate | to have an effect or impact, to influence, to engender support.

Illuminate | to make free from confusion or ambiguity; make clear.  A condition of spiritual awareness; divine illumination.  Tending to increase knowledge or dissipate ignorance.

Educate | to create by training and teaching.

Prose No. Three

There are too many times that I am restless.

Waiting for the coffee to brew, fingers tapping the countertop with impatience.

I worry that I will get trapped in these moments - repeat them a thousand times over.

Waiting for the coffee, waiting for the light to turn red, waiting for a phone call, waiting for my pink fingernail polish to dry, waiting in line at the supermarket, waiting.

When what I really want is to be doing.

Note to self: Do not wait too long to do.

Prose No. Two

There are people I know {or have known} that I wish to be more like.  

But none as much as my youngest sister, Rebecca.

She who is patient

She who is quiet {now} more often than she speaks
{although it was not always so, and I liked her just as much when she was a wild, belligerent tumbleweed}

She who is a peacemaker and keeper

She who is fair and honest

She who is a Pandora's box {in a good way} of surprises

She whose heart is tender and spirit is gentle

She who is unaffectedly childlike and wise
 {although I suspect she is unaware of this}

She who sings like the lark outside my bedroom window

She who is as lovely as the sun setting in the summer sky

She who is Rebecca.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Prose No. One

She thought it might be okay to find grace in small delights,
joy in the days of small things.

These things made her smile:

the rise and fall of a sleeping cat's belly

the sound of night

the smell of the magnolia tree

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Drugstore Recessionista Picks

In general, I really do feel that you get what you pay for. I don't care how inexpensive Cover Girl lipstick is, it will just not do for you what Nars or MAC or Bobbi Brown will do.

However, a recent concentration on being more thrifty sent me on a search for drugstore products that could rival what I usually purchase in department or specialty stores.

I hoped I would be satisfied with what I found; I didn't expect that I would actually prefer my drugstore finds to their more expensive counterparts.

But I swear to you, I do.

Here are the items I suggest you purchase immediately....



This shampoo/conditioner is good, not incredible. It's sulfate-free though, which is almost impossible to find in drugstores.



I love this face wash. It's gentle enough for my sensitive skin and doesn't feel overly drying. I broke up with Dr. Hauschka for Neutrogena, but Dr. H was just too dang expensive!


This is the best lip balm ever, hands down. Don't mess with $20 pots of clear gloss, just go spend $1.99 on classic Chapstick. It has to be the classic kind though, black label. The other kinds just aren't the same. I also like it because of how nostalgic it makes me feel. I used to find it in my dad's work pockets or on his dresser among loose change and tire parts.


I've struggled to find the right moisturizer for years ... and I found it at the drugstore. I use both the Positively Radiant and Ultra-Calming lotions. They are both great, and used in tandem (one in morning, one at night), phenomenal.


This might sound strange, but I wipe my face with alcohol at morning and at night. I used to see a facialist once a month to keep my stress breakouts under control. When I had to trim her out of my budget, I panicked. Turning to the internet for at-home remedies, I read about the benefits of alcohol for breakouts on the decolletage. And I decided to try it on my face. I can count on one hand the number of breakouts I've had since starting this practice. And if I do get a spot, I can usually take care of it by the next day. This is the single most fabulous trick I know of.

Now, go to Rite-Aid, or Fred Meyer, or Walgreens or wherever and stock up!

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Guess What I Did This Week...

On Monday, I bought a harness and leash for Dot. I wanted a cat-stroller but they are too expensive.


We're going to go walking once it stops storming.

Yes, I am crazy. So what?

Monday, June 1, 2009

The Goodness of God: Toward the Skeptical and the Faithful

***This is a sermon I wrote for a summer class I'm taking on the Torah (first 5 books of the Hebrew Bible). It's the first time I've written something on spirituality that's non-academic, so it's a little raw. I did receive an A for it, though, so it probably won't be the worst thing you've ever spent 10 minutes reading***

The Genesis account of Joseph is a story that reminds us of timeless human conditions and relationship challenges we all deal with, every day.

At first glance, it’s easy to side with Joseph, the protagonist in the story. He is faithful to God, who is faithful to him. And he is even faithful to his family, who abuse and betray him.

But the more I meditate on the text, the more I feel compelled to confess that it is Joseph’s brothers I most readily identify with:

I find it painful trying to “measure up” to others who seem to have it easy.

I have a hard time trusting others to be true and faithful.

I struggle with believing that God is always good.


As we approach this story together, I hope we can all find a little bit of ourselves in unexpected places…

Realizing that their father was dead, Joseph’s brothers said, “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back in full for all the wrong that we did to him? So they approached Joseph, saying, “Your father gave this instruction before he died, “Say to Joseph: I beg you, forgive the crime of your brothers and the wrong they did in harming you. Now therefore please forgive the crime of the servants of the God of your father.” Joseph wept when they spoke to him. Then his brothers also wept, fell down before him, and said, “We are here as your slaves.” But Joseph said to them, “Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today. So have no fear; I myself will provide for you and your little ones.” In this way he reassured them, speaking kindly to them. {Genesis 50.15-21 NRSV}

At the end of Genesis we find this narrative account of a dialogue between Joseph and his brothers that presents us with the thesis of the Joseph story.

The brothers are engaged in behavior that has been typical of them throughout the narrative – they are scheming, just as they were at the beginning of the story (in Genesis 37) when they threw Joseph into the pit. At this point in the text, Joseph and his brothers have finished mourning for and burying their father Jacob, and it occurs to the brothers that Joseph may have been previously generous to them because of Jacob. Prior to Jacob’s death, the brothers were bound together by a common interest – love for their father. Now that Jacob has died, can Joseph be trusted? Is his love faithful?

In Genesis 50, it seems that the brothers have devised yet another plan. The narrative does not record Jacob requesting Joseph to forgive the crimes of his brothers. Yet the brothers recount the supposed words of Jacob, “Say to Joseph: I beg you, forgive the crime of your brothers and the wrong they did in harming you.” Of course, the lack of this conversation in the text certainly does not mean it didn’t or couldn’t have happened. It just means that if this conversation occurred, the reader is not privy to it. Are we to trust the brothers, or is there reason to doubt the authenticity of the conversation recounted?

The second half of the verse records their own request, “Now therefore please forgive the crime of the servants of the God of your father.” The brothers fall before Joseph – for the first time willingly subjecting themselves to Joseph’s earlier vision and fulfilling the vision of the first dream from Genesis 37:5-7, “…There we were, binding sheaves in the field. Suddenly my sheath rose and stood upright; then your sheaves gathered around it, and bowed down to my sheaf.” Characterizing themselves first as slaves of God, and then as slaves of Joseph (we are here as your slaves), the brothers essentially equate Joseph to God.

But Joseph refutes this characterization, “Am I in the place of God?” Joseph’s response to his brothers confirms his love for them and his desire for reconciliation with the siblings who abandoned him. The true meaning of the dream that Joseph so boldly shared in Genesis 37 has been revealed. As he has already done before in the story, Joseph again explains the character of God to his brothers, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today.” The point of God’s movement was not in forcing the brothers to bow before Joseph, but to move Joseph into a position that allowed him to provide for his family.

The stories of each of the Patriarchs in Genesis show the arc of God’s movement – the gradual revelation of a plan that transforms the descendants of Abraham into the people of God. Although God seems more distant in the Joseph story than in the narratives of Abraham and Isaac, nowhere is the theme of divine providence more apparent. In the story of Joseph, God is clearly at work behind the scenes, working in spite of and actually transforming the evil intentions of men into ultimate good.

Joseph’s response to his brothers isn’t a simple summation of divine providence. Instead, he extends himself to them once again, binding himself to his family as he has already done in Genesis 45. Joseph’s response in Genesis 50 is essentially a paraphrase of what he has pledged earlier in the narrative, when he first revealed himself to his brothers. In Genesis 45, Joseph insists that God (not the brother’s bad conduct) sent him to Egypt, in order to preserve them. Joseph promises to care and provide for them. Yet, five chapters later, the distrust of the brothers requires Joseph to pledge his love another time.

There is a multiplicity of observations we could take away from these six verses. I’d like to focus on three observations regarding the characters we’re presented with: a thought about God, a thought about the brothers, and a thought about Joseph.

Throughout the history of the Patriarchs, God is portrayed as being completely faithful to the promises and covenant he establishes. When the Patriarchs are deceptive, when they are uncompassionate, and when they’re disobedient, God blesses them; renewing, and even expanding covenants. From the beginning, the promise to Abraham is established upon God’s divine will – not dependant on human action. In the Joseph story, this characteristic of God becomes penetratingly apparent. Regardless of human intention or interaction, divine providence prevails. The God of Genesis intends to act for the good of humankind … “God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today.”

The character of the brothers reveals something I think is true of us all. They begin to doubt Joseph’s good intentions. They demand further proof of his love and intent to reconcile. I most easily identify with Joseph’s brothers. They’re scared and selfish and in the midst of their fear reveal how vulnerable they feel. More often than I care to admit, I stand in the place of the brothers. In my fear, in the face of my own self-interests, in my inability to truly grasp hold of the love and reconciliation extended to me, I ask for further proof. I’m not interested in condemning the brothers for asking this, because I understand it all too well. Just as they failed to understand how they really stood in relationship with Joseph, so I fail to understand how I stand in relationship to those who really love me; this is especially true of my relationship to God. All too easily, I forget the bond of love between myself and the creator, a covenant based simply on God’s love for me, a relationship in which I will resort to my own selfishness and fear over and over again, but God will continue to be faithful (as he was to Joseph).

God will continue in faithfulness because God is unchanging. We embrace the belief that God is the same as God has always been. That means that our God is the same God who engaged in covenant with Abraham, expanded and renewed promises when disobedience occurred, took the evil intentions of Joseph’s brothers and ultimately shaped them into a plan of preservation. It strikes me as noteworthy that Joseph’s “preservation” of his family initiates what becomes the oppression of his people. Joseph is even indirectly responsible for making slaves of the people living in Egypt, for the interests of Pharaoh. Yet oppression is crucial to their ultimate deliverance, too. In enabling the taxation of his family, Joseph initiates the plan for deliverance.
God’s unchanging nature does not mean that our circumstances will always be pleasant. It means that God’s will toward us is good. Always. Even when we’ve been abandoned in the desert or find ourselves enslaved to something or someone more powerful than ourselves.

Rather than growing frustrated at his brother’s continued scheming and narcissism (after all, their concerns revolve around their own well-being), Joseph extends generosity. The text reveals that Joseph spoke kindly to them, he assured them. Joseph patiently reiterates God’s plan for their good and pledges to provide for them. Similar to the promise God makes to Abraham, the promise Joseph makes to his brothers is conditional on nothing. Joseph’s response is a model I certainly aspire to, but I am only rarely secure enough with myself to respond with the kindness and generosity Joseph demonstrates.

Genesis 50:15-21 reiterates the theme central to the Joseph story – divine providence – but it also reveals the vulnerability of the brothers, the grace of Joseph, and the faithfulness of God. It might be tempting to feel discouraged if you, like me, find it easy to relate to the brothers but more difficult relating to Joseph – and even more difficult to embrace this text’s portrayal of God. But let’s note that this Joseph is not the Joseph we encounter in the beginning of the story. In Genesis 37, Joseph is a tattletale, and in revealing his dream to his brothers he sounds just a little narcissistic. Yet Joseph emerges as the gracious leader at the end of Genesis 50 because of the hardship he faced, experiences that ultimately led to his maturation. Can’t we all say that the most difficult experiences in life have often formed us into people a little more kind, a little more gracious, a little more mature? If you, like me, find it difficult to trust that God’s purposes are always good, that God’s covenant with humankind has always been rooted in God’s love for us, then I would encourage you to explore the God of Genesis. This is the God the author seems to experience, and wants to convey to us. This God has clearly bound himself to his people simply because he loved them, regardless of their behavior.

But, God’s desire for our good does not mean that only good will occur. Take the stories of the Patriarchs in Genesis, for example. Unfortunately, we see the powerless becoming more and more marginalized in the text (Abraham and Isaac both endanger their wives, Hagar is abandoned and God seems to favor Sarah, Esau is humiliated by Jacob, Dinah is raped, Tamar is denied her legal rights, Joseph is left to die in the desert). But this is certainly no different from our modern-day context, where the powerful gain more power at the expense of the oppressed, and injustice is simply a fact of life. God does not always appear to be at work. But while my response is to shake my fist in the sky and ask where God is, the Patriarchs are drawn to God as their greatest good – even in the midst of tragedy and pain. They believe God to be with them in the darkness. They experience the God who demands the sacrifice of a child, as well as the God who intoxicates them with divine presence (the Patriarchs may have been more comfortable with paradox than we are).

How does this God compare to the God you embrace? I confess that I am uneasy with the paradox expressed in Genesis, but I am open to learning to embrace the mystery of God, the darkness of God’s light. I am willing to spend time sitting with the God Joseph expresses in these verses – the God who has always been at work, weaving the difficulty and pain of my experiences into good.

Are you struggling to feel worthy of relationship with God? Perhaps the Genesis God could ease your distress; this God loves humanity simply because humanity is. This God does not love humans because of what they do or do not do. This God is ultimately committed to fulfilling promises and covenants of good toward the people of Israel. Perhaps this is the same God we enter into relationship with today. If, after all, God remains unchanging.

So what have we learned from and about the characters of this story? That God actively intervenes for the sake of goodness? Or that we are all narcissists like Joseph’s brothers? Or that we are like a young, brash Joseph? Or that we will be blessed to see the positive fulfillment of heartache and pain? Absolutely not. The observations we’ve made in the text show that the God of Genesis is faithful to the promises he makes, not that he circumvents the struggle, heartache and pain of our journey. And it’s not a failure to admit that we’re a little like Joseph’s brothers; it isn’t easy for us to accept that God can or will have our best intentions at heart… so we must remember to extend grace to ourselves and each other, knowing that we’ll ask for renewed promises of love and reconciliation from God, and from those we’re in community with. And we’ll try to hold our doubt and fear in tension with the God of Genesis (and the God of today) who invites us into relationship that is sometimes a mystery, sometimes a paradox, but is always in movement toward something good.

Dreaming



{from Jen Gray}

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Writing is Cathartic

I wrote a lengthy diatribe last night that I intended to post here.

When I was done writing it, and after I let Peter read it, I decided I didn't need to post it.

So I deleted it.

It was mostly about an injustice that I felt had occurred against me and how angry I had been about it, etc. etc. etc.

But truthfully, I'm not really that angry about it anymore. I think I just needed to write the words down.

And you wouldn't have enjoyed reading it - it was too preachy.

Suffice it to say, I was angry about girl drama and I wanted to challenge us (as women) to start being united rather than ripping each other apart. We should be standing in solidarity with each other against a culture that has dehumanized and devalued us for centuries. And that is all I'll say about that. At least for now.

But speaking of being preachy - I recently had to write a sermon for a class I'm taking on the Torah. I might post it here, in case you're interested.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Mountain Climbing

how to climb a mountain

Make no mistake. This will be an exercise in staying vertical.
Yes, there will be a view, later, a wide swath of open sky,
but in the meantime: tree and stone. If you're lucky, a hawk will
coast overhead, scanning the forest floor. If you're lucky,
a set of wildflowers will keep you cheerful. Mostly, though,
a steady sweat, your heart fluttering indelicately, a solid ache
perforating your calves. This is called work, what you will come to know, eventually and simply, as movement, as all the evidence you need to make your way. Forget where you were. That story is no longer true. Level your gaze to the trail you're on, and even the dark won't stop you.

{Maya Stein}

Forget where you were. That story is no longer true. Level your gaze to the trail you're on, and even the dark won't stop you.

********


Saturday, May 23, 2009

Grief

I did not get over the loss of my loved ones; rather, I absorbed the loss into my life, like soil receives decaying matter, until it becomes a part of who I am.
{Gerald Sittser}

Thursday, May 21, 2009

In Memory & Hopeful Expectation {for Eula}

I have written this at least ten times. Five times in my head – the words keeping me awake at night. Five times on paper – but never good enough.

And now I’m giving up. Because I understand that words won’t do justice to the story I want to tell you. Words cannot capture the brightness of my grandmother’s life. So what I have written will just have to do, although I am certain that it’s not enough.

A poem has been stuck in my mind for a year now – it comforts me when I wish I lived closer to my family. It frames what I believe is true about relationships with loved ones – whether we are separated by mere street blocks, by thousands of miles, or by our very state of being. The poem goes:

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it (anywhere I go, you go, my dear, & whatever is done by me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant & whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

Here is the root of the root & the bud of the bud & the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide

And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)


Although death separates us now, Gramma’s heart lives among us – it resides in the love we have for her – in the pieces of herself she left behind. Her legacy is part of our story – her love, part of our past & our present.

Two Wednesdays ago I began the climb over the mountains, driving to La Grande. The sky looked angry – gray, unstable & moody. Framing the hill separating La Grande from Pendleton was the most brilliant rainbow I think I have ever seen. The layers of its colors were so distinct from its beginning to its end. It’s almost startling to see something so beautiful set against a sky so fierce. But the most beautiful things in life seem often accompanied by something quite opposite. Death is always prefaced by life.

When I walked into Gramma’s room that same night, I found her surrounded by visitors (as was nearly always the case). This night, one of her oldest friends & a new friend sat on either side of her bed. Her new friend was a staff member at the facility, but his visit was not a condition of his position… he had brought her coffee from Starbucks, & was visiting her on his own time. I remembered his name from a conversation I had with Gramma weeks earlier. She said they were “figuring each other out,” learning from each other. She knew he had a story to tell, & she was ready to listen, when he was ready to share. That night, I realized that something had transpired between them, a deep connection had been made. But Saul’s relationship with my grandmother was not unique. You all are already aware that Gramma cared deeply about the people she came in contact with.

Hours before her spirit left this place, hospice began their care of her. Gramma had become less & less communicative, she was opening her eyes at fewer intervals, but something caused her to stir, & when her eyes flickered open she met the gaze of a new visitor, who introduced herself: “Hi Eula, I’m just the hospice nurse.” To which Gramma responded, “Don’t say ‘just.’” Even at the end, her primary concern was focused on others… her first instinct was to encourage the self-esteem of a woman she had never met. How typically Gramma!

But I’ve digressed. I was going to tell you about the conversation Gramma & I had after Saul & Carol left her room that night. We talked for two & a half, almost three hours. I was struck by how beautiful she looked – her skin as smooth & olive-toned as I’d ever seen. Her eyes had changed from the last time I saw her – they were wider & not quite as clear, but I remember thinking how childlike they were – open & seeking. Her hand clutched mine, & she asked, “Jen – what do you say when someone asks about me? How do you describe me?” I remember pausing in amazement at the perfection of this opportunity. I had, in fact, spent the previous three days asking myself the very same question, & writing down my response. The response contained what I loved most about her, what I admired about her, the memories of her I held most dear.

“It’s funny you asked me that,” I said, “because I wrote you a book with the answer.” We laughed & cried as I read to her. I had written that I loved her strength, her fierce love for her family, her boldness, her courage. I wrote that I loved her elegantly curved handwriting & the many precious notes she had written me throughout my life. I wrote that I loved playing Uno with her, having Christmas at her house & opening presents one at a time in almost painful slowness. I loved her laugh – strong & loud. Her commitment to her own opinions, the way she still asks me about my friends from college, many of whom she met only once. I wrote that I loved her spunk, her tenacity, that more than once I had wished to be more like her. I wrote about how grateful I was to her – for the ways she had supported me over the years – for telling me over & over again that I could do anything I wanted to. I wrote that her support, in many ways, was responsible for shaping the person I am today & the person I am still becoming. I wrote about some of my favorite memories of times we had spend together…

I wrote that words were so painfully inadequate as expressions of my love for her, how I would cherish her always, how I would hold her heart in my own. And I must admit the same to you: I could write thousands of words & read them a thousand different times, & they would not come close to honoring my grandmother’s life the way I want them to. But words are often all we have. I wrote that more than loving her because of the things she did, I loved her simply because she was. I loved her existence, & I believe our collective presence here today testifies that we all loved her in this way. I wrote that she was leaving in her footsteps a beautiful legacy, a garden of lovely flowers. I wrote that I honored her life, her love, her spirit, her wisdom.

She fell asleep that night continuing to murmur little bits of memories… some of them had nothing to do with me. They were about my mother, my sisters, the moment my dad came out of the delivery room on the day I was born… some of the things she said I had no point of reference for at all, but she was smiling & I was content that she was remembering the most precious moments of her life. When I returned the next morning, she was still holding the little book I had written, she had been reading it again, she said. At the end of the book I had recorded some pieces of scripture & prose that resonated with me… one of them was, curiously, a verse that had been recited at my wedding, & now it had returned to my mind. The passage is from the Song of Solomon, “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is as strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.”

Nothing can separate us from the love that was exchanged between our spirits & hers. Love is as strong as death – stronger, I think.

There is little I know that provides comfort when our hearts are breaking. But maybe, instead of contemplating the loss of Gramma, I can remember that her strong spirit is a part of me – her heart is carried within my own. And this is the deepest truth I know: Gramma’s life sang in testimony to a Creator, to the giver of Life. Her life blossomed with good fruit. The greatest universal commandments are to love God & to love each other. My grandmother loved each of us with intensity until her final moment.

The Gospels tell us that God dwells among us when we love one-another. When we reach out to the world around us – we are not simply doing work Jesus commanded; we are actively loving God. This was what my grandmother was engaged in for as long as I knew her. As finite beings, we wrestle with concepts of infinity. Next year at this time, I’ll have completed my master’s degree in theology & be moving on to doctoral work. But I doubt that I’ll be any better equipped to discuss the infinite… there are some concepts the human mind can only just begin to comprehend.

But here is something else I know is true: God is good. No thought I have ever had of God can even begin to compare to the goodness of the Creator. God is infinite goodness. And Gramma has been gathered up into that goodness, into the infinity of love.

I’d like to share one final piece of poetry…

Scripture ends in a marriage.

This is the end to which all

Things tend, the end which makes all

Things new.

All that mars love ignites, makes ash.

But faith, hope, love survive. Love

Is the Last, best word, the end

Into which all will bend, &

Then begin again. The next

Word & the new will be love

As well: for love never ends.

I believe life ends in a marriage, a holy union between the finite being & the infinite Creator. In the end, all that remains is love – oceans & oceans of love. We have been blessed to swim in the sea that was Gramma’s life, & we are blessed to carry her love within our hearts.

Where do I go from here? I know she wouldn’t tell me to stop grieving. Every time I’ve cried in her presence over the past three months, she wept alongside me, & reminded me that tears are okay…joy & sorrow often sit side by side. And indeed, this has been true over the past week. If you are feeling, as I have, a sense of loneliness in your grief, I’d like to suggest that God grieves this loss as well, & is very near…surrounding us as the night embraces the moon. In time, I pray that our hearts will be healed, & find rest in knowing that in her peaceful departure from this world, she was welcomed into a far more beautiful place.

How shall I honor her life? My very bones know the answer to this question. By continuing her legacy – loving my family well, laughing as often as I can, weeping when there is something to grieve, dreaming big dreams, befriending strangers, & living with extravagant generosity.

And The End of Something Else, too.

My good intentions regarding this blog (and a lot of other things) have fallen apart, a bit.

A couple of weeks ago, my grandmother passed away.

Her final decline (the one from which she would not rebound as she had so many times in the past) began the day after the last time I posted here (the post about Emily).

I was lucky to spend about 15 hours at her side before her spirit moved from this place to another.

I have so much to tell you about. I have posts in my head about the expansive love of Gramma, the way a family unites around death, the loveliness of my mother who shook as I wrapped my arm around her waist, my father with his arm around her shoulders, and walked into Gramma's room knowing she was already gone - and the strength in her voice as she prayed over her mother's body, the brokenness I saw in my sister's eyes and how I tried to comfort a breaking heart but failed, the strained notes of an old hymn - voices choked with sorrow. I might write about some of these moments; I might just hold them in my mind and let them tumble around until they begin to sing a hint of something sweet rather than something painful.

During the time I spent in La Grande this month, I also experienced some frustrating moments that I'm certain I'll write about. I found myself involved in girl drama at a hair salon I'd never been to - and being effectively kicked out of a restaurant.

I have soooo much to tell you.

I'll get to those stories - but starting tomorrow I'm in Portland for classes and Peter's birthday is on Monday so it will be next week before I begin to process those words.

I will post one more time today, though; the words I wrote and read for Gramma this past Saturday as those who loved her gathered together in honor of her life, and death.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

The End of Spring Semester

This morning, at 7:00 a.m., I released into cyberspace the last assignment of Spring semester.

And I felt very strange.

I have a hard time being "done" with things. Even in the short term.

{and this is the very, very short term since summer semester starts on Monday}

But it meant that I had absolutely nothing that I had to do today. And nothing that I have to do tomorrow. No reading, no forum posting, no research, no writing. In a short amount of time my life has been consumed by study.

And I've really liked it.

But now I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. Until Monday, that is.

I had anticipated feeling this way, so I scheduled a day in Eugene with Emily. That sounds selfish. Let me rephrase. I knew this weekend would be the first free one I've had since Christmas break, so I penciled a day trip in several weeks ago.

I think it's a problem not to feel comfortable in one's own skin unless you're in the act of doing what you believe defines you.

*****************************

I got up before Peter {I always do; he's a night owl and I'm becoming more and more of a morning person}, and submitted my final assignment. I showered and fed the cat as quietly as one can in a 400 square foot space. I walked out into sun and shockingly warm temperatures. But the sky was brooding. I knew the rain was on its way.

I drove downtown, toward gas {stop number one} and coffee {stop number two}. The coffee was too sweet but I sipped it anyway as I drove an almost-bare old highway the 45 miles that separates Corvallis from Eugene.

I feel a little taken aback and shaken up every time I see one of my sisters. The problem is that they've all grown up too fast. They've changed, they've matured, they've gotten married and had babies, they've fallen in love and are struggling {as I am} to figure out who they are. In my mind, I remember them most distinctly at the ages they were when I was about a freshman in college.

Emily is eight, she is all awkward arms and legs flailing around her body as she waltzes and pirouettes from room to room. She is a ballerina. Her hair curls wildly in different directions, spilling around her face and down her back. She giggles as she dances, a book clutched in one hand, a baby doll in the other. She is quiet and sweet. Secretly, I worry about her awkwardness. Will she grow into herself?

I need not have worried.

Emily opens the door to her apartment, she is tall - much taller than I. Her side-swept bangs graze eyes that are akin to infinite pools of hot chocolate. She is more graceful than ever - a long, leggy gazelle {with style}. She talks about finding her way in academia - her plans for championing the cause of hurting women - her boyfriend, her roommates, her future. I think about how much more mature she is than I at her age. Her smile and giggle come a little more reluctantly than when she was eight, but still, she is ablaze when she smiles.

We eat breakfast, we take a tour of the sorority house she has just joined, we purchase American-made goods at American Apparel, eat chocolate in the rain {it arrived in a fury}, play with lipstick at the cosmetic counter. And too soon, it's time to go.

I drop her off at her apartment, wondering if she knows how splendid she is. Really, truly splendid. I wonder if she knows how much joy and beauty my heart wishes her. All the love in the world.

****************************

I'm enrolled in summer classes, but at basically half-time enrollment. Which means I'll have a lot of extra time on my hands. I have a list of things I'm going to do with that time - like read a list of books from scholars who are important in my field, and do more yoga, and spend more time just being still with my husband, and listening for the voice of the Creator. Posting on this blog is part of my list, along with really observing and thinking about the ways women interact with each other. Women are at the heart of my concern - how we support each other, or how we fail to. How we are sometimes each others best friends, and more often than not, each others fiercest opponents. I can't imagine behaving this way toward my sister. I could not, ever, oppose my sister. None of them.

Why is it so easy to injure our broader network of sisters? The sisters I have by nature of belonging to the human race?

I think it might have something to do with not being comfortable with ourselves. Not being enough.

I might be thinking/writing a lot about this over the summer. Or not. If I do, I hope it doesn't bore you too much.

{and more on Holly and Rebecca next week}

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Hello

I'd like to post a complaint.

Here goes:

No one told me my metabolism would suddenly change once I approached 30.

No.one.ever.warned.me.about.this.

{shame on you people}

Rather abruptly I am realizing I should probably choose between the chocolate, the latte, OR the red wine. All three simply will not do.

Also, I cannot munch on m&m's throughout the day like the teenagers I spend 20% of my week with can.

{note to self: you are not 18}

I think this happened when I turned 15ish, too. But that was a long time ago and my memory's not so great.

I'll tell you what:

I am not looking forward to managing my thighs from here on out.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

2 Things



Hi friends ...

No, I am not really back into the blogging swing but I am procrastinating finishing a paper and I was online, so my procrastination has turned into this post.

I saw the above graphic while I was clicking through my favorite blogs this afternoon and it struck me. I don't know where I'd heard or seen it before, but well over a year ago when I was in the midst of a particularly nasty job, I scribbled those words down on a post-it note and kept it on my computer. It was a reminder to myself that I wouldn't be a "failure" if I left the situation. And in fact, once I started to see that I was not needed, it would be best to leave.

And guess what? I did.

{that was thing #1, by the way}

Thing Number 2 is that I am no longer stressed out about being old. No reason to fear the inevitable. I'm focused on accepting it gracefully.

I have made a few resolutions for myself to follow over the next 10 years.

Here are some of them {in no particular order of importance}:

1. Grow out my hair for 10 years. I want mermaid hair! Do you know what that is? The teenagers talk about it. I had to ask one of them what in the heck they meant. It sounds quite lovely, actually. Ask your teenager to define.

2. Pare down my wardrobe to only the best and most desirable essentials. So far, this includes copious amounts of denim, short dresses to wear over the denim, wedge heels, western boots, lots of jewelry, and one tough-chick motorcycle jacket. Still on the hunt for the perfect handbag.

3. Drink lots of water.

4. Exercise only because it makes me happy. Not because I live in fear of my thighs.

5. Have fun.

Ciao for now! Or the next several weeks ... until it strikes my fancy to drop in here again.

P.S. Guess what? You know that picture of Audrey in my template? {over there, to the right} My 3 year-old nephew literally thinks that is me. He looks at it and says, "Aunt Sis!" Guess that tells you how often he actually sees me. I am a bad Aunt.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Getting Older

It's late and everyone is asleep.

(everyone being Peter and the cat)

I'm restless, and I think it has something to do with the fact that this time next week I'll have aged another year.

And I can feel it this time.

This year I've discovered physical proof that my body is aging.
I have cellulite, gray hair, a few wrinkles ... it hurts to move my body in certain ways, I feel stiff if I sit on the floor for too long.

So there you have it.

And every year since I turned 20 I wonder how I'm measuring up on the invisible growth chart looming next to me.

Should I already have kids by now?

Should I be done with school?

Should I own a home?

Should I, Should I, Should I.

I know the truth is that I am me. Unique. And there's no one {and no chart} that I need to be measuring myself against.

But I'm tempted to.

And then I tell my gremlin to knock it off and I move on.

There are some nice things about birthdays....

1. People have to be nice to you.

2. People give you things.

3. You can cheat on your sugar diet and no one will condemn you.

4. You can buy yourself a present and maybe not feel guilty.

5. You can drink a coke and have a coffee if you want.

6. You can watch movies all day if you want.

7. You can wear a tiara if you want.

{I want - someone pllleeeaassee get me a tiara}

You can think about how, really, you've been very, very blessed thus far and how many things you've learned along the way that are helping you become {or maybe just helping you see} who you've always been.

So, anyway, it's late and I'm contemplating these things.

And also, I'm rejoicing over the return of Lost on January 21st.

You should be, too.