It's been several days since my last posting for a few reasons.
1) As I start my practicum, I'm in that awkward "adjustment" phase ... trying to find a rhythm I'm comfortable with in regards to time spent at school and practicum, along with sleeping, eating, socializing ... you know the drill. :)
2) Encountering people's stories, learning how to be therapeutic in the midst ... all of the extra thinking ... has made me more tired. I've been sleeping more.
3) I'm in a melancholic season of life these days. Not so much just blue ... but more that I'm grieving some losses, unable to stop the sadness. It's been bubbling up in my mind like air in water, and so I'm trying to listen to it, be in it, release it. I don't know. But it's requiring more mental energy than normal.
But I wanted to sign on and say hello, and say that I should be back to more regular writing very soon.
Peace....
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Alone....
There are different kinds of alone, you know....
Like when you get in your car and drive to a place where trees outnumber people; you listen to silence and give your thoughts some space to breathe, and you like your own company;
There's the alone that takes residence in your gut while you're standing in a room full of friends, and you realize that no one there can ever really, fully know you.
Or sometimes, alone is walking along crowded streets of people holding hands and pushing strollers and carrying doggy bags, and you wish you were laughing too.
Then there's the alone of grief; silence echoes all you've lost, and you wonder if loving was really worth it.
Sometimes alone is found in the isolation of aging, and sometimes, in having to go take a nap while the grownups play.
Funny, huh? That we all feel alone sometimes, together?
Like when you get in your car and drive to a place where trees outnumber people; you listen to silence and give your thoughts some space to breathe, and you like your own company;
There's the alone that takes residence in your gut while you're standing in a room full of friends, and you realize that no one there can ever really, fully know you.
Or sometimes, alone is walking along crowded streets of people holding hands and pushing strollers and carrying doggy bags, and you wish you were laughing too.
Then there's the alone of grief; silence echoes all you've lost, and you wonder if loving was really worth it.
Sometimes alone is found in the isolation of aging, and sometimes, in having to go take a nap while the grownups play.
Funny, huh? That we all feel alone sometimes, together?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
American Idolizing
I have to say, I enjoy a good dose of American Idol now and again. And, I also have to say -- for any of you who may have watched tonight's episode -- how much did you love dread-lock boy's (don't know his name, so I call him dread-lock boy) Hawaiian version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow?!" He was my fave tonight, though David Archuleta is my long-term fave, and so I cast my first American Idol phone vote!!!
Alright, just had to dabble in pop culture for a few moments.... :)
Alright, just had to dabble in pop culture for a few moments.... :)
Monday, April 7, 2008
Fugitive Pieces
I am re-reading one of the most beautifully-told stories I've ever read. It's a book by Anne Michaels, a poet and professor of creative writing in Toronto that follows three generations of pain and redemption through the aftermath of World War 2. It's title, "Fugitive Pieces."
I'm trying to balance out the grad-school brain, you know, by reading something for fun at night before I sleep. Supposedly, this whole reading before bedtime thing also helps your body to go through the turning-off the lights, setting the thermometer, turning on the dishwasher system it needs to do in order to wind down at night. So, I'm reading.
And, because I am savoring this woman's way with words so much, I thought I'd share a lovely, poetic passage with you: literary chocolate.
"Alone on the roof those nights, it's not surprising that, of all the characters in Athos's tales of geologists and explorers, cartographers and navigators, I felt compassion for the stars themselves. Aching towards us for millennia though we are blind to their signals until it's too late, starlight only the white breath of an old cry. Sending their white messages millions of years, only to be crumpled by the waves."
Sigh ... tonight, I thank God for beauty.
Happy Monday!
I'm trying to balance out the grad-school brain, you know, by reading something for fun at night before I sleep. Supposedly, this whole reading before bedtime thing also helps your body to go through the turning-off the lights, setting the thermometer, turning on the dishwasher system it needs to do in order to wind down at night. So, I'm reading.
And, because I am savoring this woman's way with words so much, I thought I'd share a lovely, poetic passage with you: literary chocolate.
"Alone on the roof those nights, it's not surprising that, of all the characters in Athos's tales of geologists and explorers, cartographers and navigators, I felt compassion for the stars themselves. Aching towards us for millennia though we are blind to their signals until it's too late, starlight only the white breath of an old cry. Sending their white messages millions of years, only to be crumpled by the waves."
Sigh ... tonight, I thank God for beauty.
Happy Monday!
Sunday, April 6, 2008
A few church ramblings....
Well, I'm on a quest to find a church. And, it should be noted that out of the last three moves I"ve made in the past 6 years, finding a church has been an arduous process 2 out of the 3 times. I thinking this is the case for two reasons. First, my thinking about "church" continues to evolve. Second, it's hard to feel at home anywhere after you've known what it's like to grow up in a church.
You see, I've gone to the same church my entire life ... well, that is, up until I was 25 ... 4 years ago. Now, while I'm sure that growing up in the same church one's whole life isn't always a fantastic experience (to say the least), in my case, it's been a lovely thing ... since the church I grew up in is full of real people, seeking to know God and one another. Of course the church has its share of warts and politics and ugliness. That comes with being human. But, it is a family to me. I've known many of the people there for 29 years!
So, understandably, any church I visit feels, well, "not like home."
But, second, my whole thinking about church is in a shift phase right now. I've swung from being pretty conservative and "sure of everything" in my early twenties, to being sure of nothing ... at age 22. But, that's a different blog entry. And now, I suppose the best way to try and encapsulate where I'm at is to say that I am sure of very few things; I am pretty sure that only a few things really matter; and I am pretty sure of a few things. But I'm not sure that what I'm sure of is actually what matters most. Does that make sense?! :) Anyway, I suppose my faith journey is a bit like an archaeology expedition. I continue to try to chip away all that hinders me from getting to the real thing. But I do so with great care, so as not to destroy any part of the treasure. All of this to say that I'm trying to figure out how to pick a church. So, I've been asking myself a few questions. What's most important to me in settling in at a church? What should church look like? What can I tolerate (cause no place is perfect)? And, is church even important? Some might shudder at my sacrilege. But, I think it's an important question to have answered in my heart. I think it's important that if I go to church, it's because I believe it's important, and NOT because I would be ashamed NOT to. Don't get me wrong. I think -- for sure -- that it's important to share our faith journey in community. It's just that sometimes it seems like the most authentic places where that happens aren't in church. Sad.
But, I find a lot of solace in the dependable pace of church ... I find solace in the fact that once a week, a body of people gather with the proactive intention of bending our hearts and minds toward God. Toward Truth and Grace.
So, I've been searching for a church. And for many years now, I've had a consumerist mentality toward church. I go in to each building I visit with my church shopping list. Age-appropriate small groups? Check. Authentic-seeming, non-judgmental pastor? Check. Multi-generational church members? Check. Diversity? Check. Blend of contemporary worship and hymns? Check. Intentional service projects in the city? Check. Size? Woah ... way too big. And so, I leave, and go on to the next place with my shopping list in hand.
Now, it's not that I think it's bad to know what's important to you in joining a church. But, I think that this mentality has gone too far in my case, such that I've come to church to take what's offered, but I haven't really given much back. The idea of actually committing to a church, well, that would tie me down to much. What if I stop wanting to go there? Then what? So, I've sort of bounced around, staying in each place long enough for it to feel familiar, but never really sinking down roots.
But I'm tired of that.
And I'm tired of the way that very modernist mentality takes shape in my life. I'm getting to the point where I crave roots. In a place. In a church. In friendships. In career. In love. But, I don't want to do the whole pendalum thing (even though I probably will) where I just swing from one extreme to the other. So, I'm trying to find a healthy middle ground.
This time around (of church searching), I'm trying to be more involved in the process.
So, I've gone to a Quaker church the past few Sundays ... never thought I'd say that. I never thought I'd say it because I guess I just didn't know much about Quakers. The word, "Quaker" brought images to mind of oatmeal and silence, and maybe Puritan bonnets, but that's about it. But there's a Quaker church just five minutes from my house. And I went to it for the first time on Easter Sunday. The first thing that impressed me when I walked in is that the entire front wall of the church is windows, and the church is high enough up that it looks straight North to the Transverse Mountain Range. It was incredibly beautiful to sing worship songs while looking straight at wildflower-covered mountains. It is small and friendly. And while it doesn't have everything I'm looking for on my "shopping list," I'm wondering if maybe it's "good enough."
I used to think that "good enough" was a settling term ... a term to be avoided. But, I'm coming to think that perhaps -- for us perfectionists -- "good enough" should be an important element of our vocabulary.
So, that's where I'm at. And, I'll update you once I've decided to settle in ... for sure. :)
You see, I've gone to the same church my entire life ... well, that is, up until I was 25 ... 4 years ago. Now, while I'm sure that growing up in the same church one's whole life isn't always a fantastic experience (to say the least), in my case, it's been a lovely thing ... since the church I grew up in is full of real people, seeking to know God and one another. Of course the church has its share of warts and politics and ugliness. That comes with being human. But, it is a family to me. I've known many of the people there for 29 years!
So, understandably, any church I visit feels, well, "not like home."
But, second, my whole thinking about church is in a shift phase right now. I've swung from being pretty conservative and "sure of everything" in my early twenties, to being sure of nothing ... at age 22. But, that's a different blog entry. And now, I suppose the best way to try and encapsulate where I'm at is to say that I am sure of very few things; I am pretty sure that only a few things really matter; and I am pretty sure of a few things. But I'm not sure that what I'm sure of is actually what matters most. Does that make sense?! :) Anyway, I suppose my faith journey is a bit like an archaeology expedition. I continue to try to chip away all that hinders me from getting to the real thing. But I do so with great care, so as not to destroy any part of the treasure. All of this to say that I'm trying to figure out how to pick a church. So, I've been asking myself a few questions. What's most important to me in settling in at a church? What should church look like? What can I tolerate (cause no place is perfect)? And, is church even important? Some might shudder at my sacrilege. But, I think it's an important question to have answered in my heart. I think it's important that if I go to church, it's because I believe it's important, and NOT because I would be ashamed NOT to. Don't get me wrong. I think -- for sure -- that it's important to share our faith journey in community. It's just that sometimes it seems like the most authentic places where that happens aren't in church. Sad.
But, I find a lot of solace in the dependable pace of church ... I find solace in the fact that once a week, a body of people gather with the proactive intention of bending our hearts and minds toward God. Toward Truth and Grace.
So, I've been searching for a church. And for many years now, I've had a consumerist mentality toward church. I go in to each building I visit with my church shopping list. Age-appropriate small groups? Check. Authentic-seeming, non-judgmental pastor? Check. Multi-generational church members? Check. Diversity? Check. Blend of contemporary worship and hymns? Check. Intentional service projects in the city? Check. Size? Woah ... way too big. And so, I leave, and go on to the next place with my shopping list in hand.
Now, it's not that I think it's bad to know what's important to you in joining a church. But, I think that this mentality has gone too far in my case, such that I've come to church to take what's offered, but I haven't really given much back. The idea of actually committing to a church, well, that would tie me down to much. What if I stop wanting to go there? Then what? So, I've sort of bounced around, staying in each place long enough for it to feel familiar, but never really sinking down roots.
But I'm tired of that.
And I'm tired of the way that very modernist mentality takes shape in my life. I'm getting to the point where I crave roots. In a place. In a church. In friendships. In career. In love. But, I don't want to do the whole pendalum thing (even though I probably will) where I just swing from one extreme to the other. So, I'm trying to find a healthy middle ground.
This time around (of church searching), I'm trying to be more involved in the process.
So, I've gone to a Quaker church the past few Sundays ... never thought I'd say that. I never thought I'd say it because I guess I just didn't know much about Quakers. The word, "Quaker" brought images to mind of oatmeal and silence, and maybe Puritan bonnets, but that's about it. But there's a Quaker church just five minutes from my house. And I went to it for the first time on Easter Sunday. The first thing that impressed me when I walked in is that the entire front wall of the church is windows, and the church is high enough up that it looks straight North to the Transverse Mountain Range. It was incredibly beautiful to sing worship songs while looking straight at wildflower-covered mountains. It is small and friendly. And while it doesn't have everything I'm looking for on my "shopping list," I'm wondering if maybe it's "good enough."
I used to think that "good enough" was a settling term ... a term to be avoided. But, I'm coming to think that perhaps -- for us perfectionists -- "good enough" should be an important element of our vocabulary.
So, that's where I'm at. And, I'll update you once I've decided to settle in ... for sure. :)
Saturday, April 5, 2008
A Saturday Haiku
Well, I've made it through the first week of classes and the start of practicum. So, when my faithful pup, Charlie, woke me up this morning at 7 am in order for a chance to relieve himself, I decided to treat myself with a trip back to bed in hopes of sleeping in. Charlie and I have a bit of a morning routine. It mostly surrounds the fact that I'm trying to get Charlie potty trained (so, I have to listen to his whines to go out) while at the same time teaching him that I am the Alpha Boss (which necessitates ignoring his demands every now and again). So, he wakes me; I take him out; I take him back with me and get back in bed, but let him stay out of his crate to play with his toys. Usually, however, when I wake up an hour or two later, he is curled up on my bed, asleep.
Anyway, I bore you with the tedium of our little ritual in order to tell you about this morning.
I slept in until 9:30! It was lovely. And when I awoke, I felt his little head tucked next to mine. He was sound asleep. And, I just lay there for a few moments, blissfully aware that I had to be nowhere today, at no time. Silence. Bird chirps. Breathing. Soft pillow, warm blankets.
So, in honor of this happy moment, I've composed a Haiku, because I think that Haikus are like little pieces of dark chocolate. A little bit says alot.
Saturday
Saturday Morning
I linger in your stillness
blanket for my soul.
Happy Saturday!
Anyway, I bore you with the tedium of our little ritual in order to tell you about this morning.
I slept in until 9:30! It was lovely. And when I awoke, I felt his little head tucked next to mine. He was sound asleep. And, I just lay there for a few moments, blissfully aware that I had to be nowhere today, at no time. Silence. Bird chirps. Breathing. Soft pillow, warm blankets.
So, in honor of this happy moment, I've composed a Haiku, because I think that Haikus are like little pieces of dark chocolate. A little bit says alot.
Saturday
Saturday Morning
I linger in your stillness
blanket for my soul.
Happy Saturday!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Hi, my name is Susan.
I went to my first day of classes for Spring quarter '08. I'm taking: New Testament Gospels, Assessment, and Child and Family Development. They were all fascinating classes, and I'm sure to be blogging on each at one point or another. However, for today, I must share a moment (or two) from Child and Family Development before I retire for the night.
The professor is a mother of 3 (one is six months!!), an ordained minister, a researcher, and, obviously, a professor. Now, I'm not under the impression that anyone can do it all. But, I have to say, I found myself wondering what gives in her own life. I mean, she had makeup on, clothes pressed, and fancy heeled shoes ... with painted toes sticking out of the top. And no chips in the paint! But, the longer I live, the more I realize that something always has to give. But, that's not the purpose of my writing.
The purpose of my writing is to tell you about an activity she did with us today that really touched my heart. After we'd talked a bit about how we were going to tackle lifespan development in ten weeks (ha!), she said we were going to do a "fun (hopefully)" activity to help us understand a bit more about where we were each coming from in our own lifespan development and to give her a better idea as to the makeup of the class. Then she asked if we'd ever been to any sort of 12-step group before. A few brave souls raised their hands. "As you know," she went on, "12-step groups always start in the same way. Each person introduces themselves, the group says 'hi' back, and then each person states 'I am a ________.' Well, we're gonna follow that model. I'll start." So, she introduced herself, "Hi. I'm Pam." The class looked at one another for a moment, everyone waiting for the next person to take the lead. Eventually someone did, and we all followed suit. "Hi, Pam." Pam: "I have developmental issues. I am the mother of three; my baby still isn't sleeping through the night. I am really active in church, have just come back to my job from maternity leave, and I'm a wife. And, I just turned 40!" And after that, each person in the class introduced him/herself, followed by our, "Hi, ______," and talked a few moments about his/her "developmental issue." And, I tell you, it was so beautiful to watch walls fall down. Some people kept things light, mentioning school burnout issues or career decisions. But other people courageously went deeper. Broken relationships with Dad. Wishing for children. Wishing for a spouse. Meeting her spouse all over again after children left home. Feeling rootless from having never lived anywhere for too long. Feeling like she should have children, but not wanting to. Caring for sick parents. The list went on. I sat there sort of in awe. I'd never realized how much the roles we play in life are so central to who we are. And I'd definitely never realized all the tender places those roles tap in our hearts. As people talked, the room got quiet ... like everyone was aware that these things were important.
We were all sort of in shock, a bit, at how similar our stories sounded. I think that's one of the hardest parts of struggle in life ... that it often makes you feel alone. And perhaps a part of the success behind 12-step groups is that they deconstruct that myth. We are not alone. For each person that wished for children, there was another. For every caretaker of a parent, there was another ... every student far away from home, another ... every person wishing for a home, another.
Most of the time, as I walk through the world, I see "me" and "them." (And in traffic, it's definitely "me" and "them!") I swim in my own thoughts and take very little notice of what others are doing around me. In fact, often the "other" represents so much of an unknown that self-protection is my most immediate emotion. But, occasionally, I am able -- for a few blissful moments -- to get outside of that false understanding of the world. And instead of seeing "me" and "them," I look people in the eye. And I see them. And I smile at them. And I feel connected to to them. Like family. And I feel acutely aware of all the stories of joy and woundedness, of wander-lust and boredom, of fear and anticipation, of lost loves and hopeful dreams ... of all of that stuff that we carry around within. And I feel like it all crashes around in the air, in our words, in our misunderstandings and short tempers. And I wonder why we spend so much time talking about everything else.
I think I will send my professor an email to thank her, for inviting us to be honest, to be real, to be us.
The professor is a mother of 3 (one is six months!!), an ordained minister, a researcher, and, obviously, a professor. Now, I'm not under the impression that anyone can do it all. But, I have to say, I found myself wondering what gives in her own life. I mean, she had makeup on, clothes pressed, and fancy heeled shoes ... with painted toes sticking out of the top. And no chips in the paint! But, the longer I live, the more I realize that something always has to give. But, that's not the purpose of my writing.
The purpose of my writing is to tell you about an activity she did with us today that really touched my heart. After we'd talked a bit about how we were going to tackle lifespan development in ten weeks (ha!), she said we were going to do a "fun (hopefully)" activity to help us understand a bit more about where we were each coming from in our own lifespan development and to give her a better idea as to the makeup of the class. Then she asked if we'd ever been to any sort of 12-step group before. A few brave souls raised their hands. "As you know," she went on, "12-step groups always start in the same way. Each person introduces themselves, the group says 'hi' back, and then each person states 'I am a ________.' Well, we're gonna follow that model. I'll start." So, she introduced herself, "Hi. I'm Pam." The class looked at one another for a moment, everyone waiting for the next person to take the lead. Eventually someone did, and we all followed suit. "Hi, Pam." Pam: "I have developmental issues. I am the mother of three; my baby still isn't sleeping through the night. I am really active in church, have just come back to my job from maternity leave, and I'm a wife. And, I just turned 40!" And after that, each person in the class introduced him/herself, followed by our, "Hi, ______," and talked a few moments about his/her "developmental issue." And, I tell you, it was so beautiful to watch walls fall down. Some people kept things light, mentioning school burnout issues or career decisions. But other people courageously went deeper. Broken relationships with Dad. Wishing for children. Wishing for a spouse. Meeting her spouse all over again after children left home. Feeling rootless from having never lived anywhere for too long. Feeling like she should have children, but not wanting to. Caring for sick parents. The list went on. I sat there sort of in awe. I'd never realized how much the roles we play in life are so central to who we are. And I'd definitely never realized all the tender places those roles tap in our hearts. As people talked, the room got quiet ... like everyone was aware that these things were important.
We were all sort of in shock, a bit, at how similar our stories sounded. I think that's one of the hardest parts of struggle in life ... that it often makes you feel alone. And perhaps a part of the success behind 12-step groups is that they deconstruct that myth. We are not alone. For each person that wished for children, there was another. For every caretaker of a parent, there was another ... every student far away from home, another ... every person wishing for a home, another.
Most of the time, as I walk through the world, I see "me" and "them." (And in traffic, it's definitely "me" and "them!") I swim in my own thoughts and take very little notice of what others are doing around me. In fact, often the "other" represents so much of an unknown that self-protection is my most immediate emotion. But, occasionally, I am able -- for a few blissful moments -- to get outside of that false understanding of the world. And instead of seeing "me" and "them," I look people in the eye. And I see them. And I smile at them. And I feel connected to to them. Like family. And I feel acutely aware of all the stories of joy and woundedness, of wander-lust and boredom, of fear and anticipation, of lost loves and hopeful dreams ... of all of that stuff that we carry around within. And I feel like it all crashes around in the air, in our words, in our misunderstandings and short tempers. And I wonder why we spend so much time talking about everything else.
I think I will send my professor an email to thank her, for inviting us to be honest, to be real, to be us.
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