On Mother's Day, I flew out of Nashville and arrived in Erie. It was a exciting couple of days in Erie. I surprised both Grandmothers (one much more than the other!) and attended two very important meetings to help start off my time at Columbia Seminary.
The first meeting was a gathering of my home church's Session, for me to discuss why I've decided to go to seminary and pursue ordination. It was a wonderful meeting. . . it felt so good to be home and around people who know more than this year of my story. It was incredibly affirming to share with them all, and to hear their thoughts and feelings when I was done talking.
On Monday I went to the Lake Erie Presbytery office to attend the Committee on Preparation for Ministry meeting. This CPM meeting was the next hoop to jump through in hopes that they would endorse me and then present me to the Presbytery meeting in June. This meeting was also very affirming and very positive. I really enjoyed my time with them all; even if I did do most of the talking!
I left Erie sad on Tuesday morning. It doesn't get easier to leave home, especially not when I've had such a great time with the people who know me. And the idea of being about four more hours away from Erie (Columbia is just outside of Atlanta) for three years makes me sad too. But I also know that I can't deny the notion of being called to Columbia, to seminary, and to ordination. So, I'll venture further away to pursue what I need to. And maybe someday, I'll move closer to Erie and the people who know so much of my story. Until then, I'll keep building community in new places and venturing forth.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
flood
When I asked my parents to ship my work boots down to Music City in March, I never suspected that I would end up using them more in Nashville than in Guatemala. (I actually didn't even take them with me to Guatemala).
The last three days (and again tomorrow) I've headed out into suburbia Nashville to help with flood recovery. It's a mess. Lives have been lost, tangible memories are soggy or destroyed, and my heart aches for all of it.
I've helped a co-worker save pictures from his flooded basement, torn up a hardwood floor at a stranger's house. Today I choked back tears as I helped an 85 year old woman salvage cards and pictures that her husband hadn't even signed before he died three years ago. I ripped out soggy drywall and tossed it into a heaping pile at another house.
Someone asked me today if this is what I ever expected to do during my YAV year. I laughed at the time, and answered that no, this was not on my list of expectations. Now I say no with a lump in my throat as I allow my thoughts and feelings to settle. It certainly has been a year full of the unexpected. And this flood and consequential devastation, as well as recovery work in my own city, was (and continues to be)on the top of my "totally unexpected" list.
I wish I could better articulate what I've been seeing and feeling. I don't know if it is a limited vocabulary or an overwhelming sense of emotion on my part. All I know for certain is that this city that I love is suffering.
The last three days (and again tomorrow) I've headed out into suburbia Nashville to help with flood recovery. It's a mess. Lives have been lost, tangible memories are soggy or destroyed, and my heart aches for all of it.
I've helped a co-worker save pictures from his flooded basement, torn up a hardwood floor at a stranger's house. Today I choked back tears as I helped an 85 year old woman salvage cards and pictures that her husband hadn't even signed before he died three years ago. I ripped out soggy drywall and tossed it into a heaping pile at another house.
Someone asked me today if this is what I ever expected to do during my YAV year. I laughed at the time, and answered that no, this was not on my list of expectations. Now I say no with a lump in my throat as I allow my thoughts and feelings to settle. It certainly has been a year full of the unexpected. And this flood and consequential devastation, as well as recovery work in my own city, was (and continues to be)on the top of my "totally unexpected" list.
I wish I could better articulate what I've been seeing and feeling. I don't know if it is a limited vocabulary or an overwhelming sense of emotion on my part. All I know for certain is that this city that I love is suffering.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
focus on the present
Much of my YAV has been spent looking into the future. I think that's the nature of one year programs, lots of focus into whats coming next. And that's great. I really wouldn't be ready for seminary if it wasn't the vocational discernment and other such "forward looking" experiences I've had through this year.
But this morning at church I was reminded of "old" life lessons. Worship opened with Holy, Holy, Holy. It's a great hymn, one that with a brief look to the next stanza, I can sing from memory. But today, I focused on the words. The words are so familiar that typically my imagination shuts down and the words are simply black letters on a page. The words only occasionally strike me, make me think, cause me to think about anything beyond what's next in the bulletin.
Today, I went back (mentally) to my Confirmation class in 8th grade when Mr. Skinner came into the class and we talked about hymns. Holy, Holy, Holy was one of the ones we discussed. We talked about the saints casting down their crowns and what that meant. I remember saying at that time I that suspected that that reference meant that "the saints" were acknowledging Jesus as Lord and king; and that their earthly positions of glory were nothing in comparison to Jesus.
I thought about my time at FootSteps and "This Little Light of Mine" in reference to the darkness in verse two. I thought about the times of darkness in my life, when I let the darkness slip in and I wallowed there for a while.
In the midst of trying to stay in the present (not the future), I was reminded of a lot of great moments and lessons from my past. All those things and moments and experiences that have shaped me and gotten me to this place so I can look into the future and be comfortable in the present.
But this morning at church I was reminded of "old" life lessons. Worship opened with Holy, Holy, Holy. It's a great hymn, one that with a brief look to the next stanza, I can sing from memory. But today, I focused on the words. The words are so familiar that typically my imagination shuts down and the words are simply black letters on a page. The words only occasionally strike me, make me think, cause me to think about anything beyond what's next in the bulletin.
Today, I went back (mentally) to my Confirmation class in 8th grade when Mr. Skinner came into the class and we talked about hymns. Holy, Holy, Holy was one of the ones we discussed. We talked about the saints casting down their crowns and what that meant. I remember saying at that time I that suspected that that reference meant that "the saints" were acknowledging Jesus as Lord and king; and that their earthly positions of glory were nothing in comparison to Jesus.
I thought about my time at FootSteps and "This Little Light of Mine" in reference to the darkness in verse two. I thought about the times of darkness in my life, when I let the darkness slip in and I wallowed there for a while.
In the midst of trying to stay in the present (not the future), I was reminded of a lot of great moments and lessons from my past. All those things and moments and experiences that have shaped me and gotten me to this place so I can look into the future and be comfortable in the present.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
staying put
It's been hard to "stay" in Nashville. In one sense, yes, I'm eager to get some more traveling and exploration in. But mostly it's been hard to stay in Nashville mentally and emotionally. With my Columbia Seminary acceptance letter and scholarship, I've mentally moved on. PSF had it's last worship on Tuesday night, and in two weeks the majority of students will be home for their summers. My role on Vandy's campus will change; my walks won't include seeing the community I've built there. And the general charm about living in community with four other Young Adult Volunteers has worn off. Living out "intentional Christian community" definitely has it's highs and lows.
A year ago when I said that I was ready to be broken and grow in new ways, I never expected all that has come my way. I'm tired--it's not been easy. But there is a lot of it that has been good. Fabulous life experiences: keynoting a youth retreat, leading a Guatemala trip, meeting and working with lots of great PC(USA) pastors, learning how to articulate my own faith and theology, discovering my passion for community building . . . the list goes on. I am confident that if it wasn't for this year of growth and challenges, I would not be so excited to venture off to seminary, nor would I be ready to venture off. It's been a good year, and I mean that. And now, with around three months left, I need to hold onto that mentality and see what else comes my way.
A year ago when I said that I was ready to be broken and grow in new ways, I never expected all that has come my way. I'm tired--it's not been easy. But there is a lot of it that has been good. Fabulous life experiences: keynoting a youth retreat, leading a Guatemala trip, meeting and working with lots of great PC(USA) pastors, learning how to articulate my own faith and theology, discovering my passion for community building . . . the list goes on. I am confident that if it wasn't for this year of growth and challenges, I would not be so excited to venture off to seminary, nor would I be ready to venture off. It's been a good year, and I mean that. And now, with around three months left, I need to hold onto that mentality and see what else comes my way.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
thoughts and ramblings
Easter is come and gone. I'm back to eating some meat (I gave meat up for Lent). My family is back in PA after a great visit. I got my acceptance letter to Columbia Seminary for the fall, so pending some financial aid, that's where I'll be come September. I'm seriously considering pursuing the Ordination track, which is new for me. Spring has sprung; and for the first time I really get the concept of spring marking Easter's themes of life and death so well--which is hard to do in Erie, when there's typically still snow. We're beginning the end of things on campus. I've got a little less than a month left with the students. I'm leading a class through April on art and spirituality. I'm tired with community living, and craving my own space. I'm sad that I only have about four months left in Nashville. I got about four, maybe five?, inches of my hair cut off. I'm addicted to Goodwill shopping. I'm eating fish/seafood regularly. I'm still terrible at returning phone calls and personal emails. I've been to the Nashville zoo with Sarah, experienced Chipotle with Kayla, and am planning for a few more visitors before this YAV experience is over. I'm trying to squeeze a trip to visit the Denver YAVs and the Compassion Buddha Retreat House before I no longer have friends out there. I can't believe I was in Guatemala a month ago. I've learned how important it is to know people's stories before you judge or assume that you understand who they are. I've learned that sharing my own story with people isn't as scary as I've always thought. I've been learning a lot--somethings have changed and somethings never will. Welcome to my year full of growth. Welcome to my year of service for a lifetime of change. Welcome to my life.
Monday, March 29, 2010
privileged shiftings
I've been fighting the urge to not share these thoughts. They are hard to articulate, difficult to understand, full of different layers and issues, and maybe even a little embarrassing. But, as is with most things I don't want to address, it won't go away. I apologize now if this is a lot to read. I apparently have a lot I need to say.
I've talked about this with several people, journal-ed, reflected, prayed, and cried. For a while, I could not even articulate what was wrong. It was simply a feeling that something wasn't right; that something had internally shifted and wasn't the same.
From time to time, things like that are easy for me to ignore. I stay busy. I avoid sharing my more personal thoughts with people. I still live and serve, but I don't always process what I've experienced; I've found that it's just easier that way. When you can't explain yourself eloquently, don't waste someone else's time. If you are going to cry for apparently no reason at all, just don't go there. Keep it all nice and neat. Don't show your brokenness, don't let your shit hit the fan. It's easier that way.
I've lived with that mind set for most of my life. Yes, occasionally the Spirit or just pure exhaustion (or both) would overwhelm me, and I would break, letting down my guard temporarily. But then I would apologize, and quickly rebuild my wall. That's been the cycle for as long as I can remember.
And then Gramps' got sick and died. Now, I recognize that I attribute a lot of my growth this year to his death. But that's my reality. My Gramps' suffering and death has marked an unexpected change in me. I still hurt over it; most days I'm still angry. And I couldn't hide that. I shouldn't hide that. I can't hide that.
I still get heartsick when I see the painted clouds on the ceiling at Downtown Pres and think that there should be stars. I see a butterfly and I choke. The sunsets, the stars, rainbows, a certain kind of hat. . . all pull me back to the pain I hold. The pain of not being there, the pain of being away from home when they needed me, and when I needed them. Even now, my eyes are full of tears.
I never expected this to happen this year. I never expected to lose Gramps, to have that as my constant struggle for this year of service. I expected struggles financially (you can only get so far with a few hundred dollars a month), community struggles, works struggles. . . all of which have only been compounded by this death.
I was expecting Guatemala to cause me to see poverty in a new light, instead, I've seen life and death differently. I've begun to see my life of privilege. I've always thought that people who had more than I did were the privileged ones. The nicer cars, the bigger houses, the better clothes. But Guatemala brought to mind my Malawi trip, which brought to my heart that sense of discomfort I described at the beginning of this post. And now, three weeks after being back in the States, I get it. I am privileged. By my experiences, my education, the communities that support me, the gifts I have, the love I share. I am privileged. Even as a middle class, white female, I am privileged. I am privileged to be serving this year in Nashville, to be discovering new passions, to be making new friends and connections, with the support and blessing of those who matter most to me. I am privileged to be growing and changing, to be experiencing God through new ways and through my own gifts. And I'm privileged, as hard as it is to say, to be able to say that I'm broken, that I'm angry, that I still miss my Gramps terribly. And I'm privileged to say that pain associated with losing Gramps has been the threshold for all this other growth and maturing that so many are saying they see in me and I'm starting to feel via that shifting. I am so privileged.
I've talked about this with several people, journal-ed, reflected, prayed, and cried. For a while, I could not even articulate what was wrong. It was simply a feeling that something wasn't right; that something had internally shifted and wasn't the same.
From time to time, things like that are easy for me to ignore. I stay busy. I avoid sharing my more personal thoughts with people. I still live and serve, but I don't always process what I've experienced; I've found that it's just easier that way. When you can't explain yourself eloquently, don't waste someone else's time. If you are going to cry for apparently no reason at all, just don't go there. Keep it all nice and neat. Don't show your brokenness, don't let your shit hit the fan. It's easier that way.
I've lived with that mind set for most of my life. Yes, occasionally the Spirit or just pure exhaustion (or both) would overwhelm me, and I would break, letting down my guard temporarily. But then I would apologize, and quickly rebuild my wall. That's been the cycle for as long as I can remember.
And then Gramps' got sick and died. Now, I recognize that I attribute a lot of my growth this year to his death. But that's my reality. My Gramps' suffering and death has marked an unexpected change in me. I still hurt over it; most days I'm still angry. And I couldn't hide that. I shouldn't hide that. I can't hide that.
I still get heartsick when I see the painted clouds on the ceiling at Downtown Pres and think that there should be stars. I see a butterfly and I choke. The sunsets, the stars, rainbows, a certain kind of hat. . . all pull me back to the pain I hold. The pain of not being there, the pain of being away from home when they needed me, and when I needed them. Even now, my eyes are full of tears.
I never expected this to happen this year. I never expected to lose Gramps, to have that as my constant struggle for this year of service. I expected struggles financially (you can only get so far with a few hundred dollars a month), community struggles, works struggles. . . all of which have only been compounded by this death.
I was expecting Guatemala to cause me to see poverty in a new light, instead, I've seen life and death differently. I've begun to see my life of privilege. I've always thought that people who had more than I did were the privileged ones. The nicer cars, the bigger houses, the better clothes. But Guatemala brought to mind my Malawi trip, which brought to my heart that sense of discomfort I described at the beginning of this post. And now, three weeks after being back in the States, I get it. I am privileged. By my experiences, my education, the communities that support me, the gifts I have, the love I share. I am privileged. Even as a middle class, white female, I am privileged. I am privileged to be serving this year in Nashville, to be discovering new passions, to be making new friends and connections, with the support and blessing of those who matter most to me. I am privileged to be growing and changing, to be experiencing God through new ways and through my own gifts. And I'm privileged, as hard as it is to say, to be able to say that I'm broken, that I'm angry, that I still miss my Gramps terribly. And I'm privileged to say that pain associated with losing Gramps has been the threshold for all this other growth and maturing that so many are saying they see in me and I'm starting to feel via that shifting. I am so privileged.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
lists and loves
I have a list I've been carrying around with me lately. It's not a to do list, so to say, instead I'm calling it my "one bite at a time" list. The nine items on the list are things I need to have done by a specific date: books to read, devotionals to write, scholarship essays, and a sermon.
That said sermon is now crossed off, as I preached it last night. I had prepared the liturgy (another crossed off list item) and was ready to serve God with my words. . . whatever words came out. And I loved it. Really, truly, loved it. I preached on a text I read in my God, Moses, and Torah class two springs ago that really spoke to me. The text was Exodus 18.13-26, where Moses gets his ideas realigned on how to serve his community.
I loved getting into the text, reading it with new eyes. I loved how the creative energies flowed as I thought about the text and the lessons I saw there. I loved getting up and sharing that inspired knowledge, speaking loudly and boldly; praying the entire time that one word, one sentence would allow the Spirit to move in someone in a new way.
And I loved that so many from my larger Nashville community were there. It was great to have the PSF regulars there, don't get me wrong. But it really meant a lot to have my housemates and YAV community members, friends from Downtown Pres and 2nd Pres there too. Earlier yesterday morning, I shared with someone that it was going to be hard to preach without my family there. She asked what difference my family would make, and I told her that I've always known that even if I totally flopped and failed, my parents, sisters, and grandparents would have told me that I did a fabulous job. They would have smiled, hugged, and supported me through it all. Even without my family there though, people who love me were there and they smiled, hugged, and supported me. Yes, I still missed my family terribly; but that hole they would have filled wasn't entirely empty due to the wonderful people I have in my life here. I'm so blessed.
Before I put together this "one bite at a time" list, I had forgotten how much I enjoy reading, writing, and proclaiming how God works in and through my life. It was exciting to be affirmed by the gathered community last night, but there was also a deep sense of affirmation in me. The kind of affirmation that can only come, I've found, when I stumble upon a portion of God's plan for my life.
That said sermon is now crossed off, as I preached it last night. I had prepared the liturgy (another crossed off list item) and was ready to serve God with my words. . . whatever words came out. And I loved it. Really, truly, loved it. I preached on a text I read in my God, Moses, and Torah class two springs ago that really spoke to me. The text was Exodus 18.13-26, where Moses gets his ideas realigned on how to serve his community.
I loved getting into the text, reading it with new eyes. I loved how the creative energies flowed as I thought about the text and the lessons I saw there. I loved getting up and sharing that inspired knowledge, speaking loudly and boldly; praying the entire time that one word, one sentence would allow the Spirit to move in someone in a new way.
And I loved that so many from my larger Nashville community were there. It was great to have the PSF regulars there, don't get me wrong. But it really meant a lot to have my housemates and YAV community members, friends from Downtown Pres and 2nd Pres there too. Earlier yesterday morning, I shared with someone that it was going to be hard to preach without my family there. She asked what difference my family would make, and I told her that I've always known that even if I totally flopped and failed, my parents, sisters, and grandparents would have told me that I did a fabulous job. They would have smiled, hugged, and supported me through it all. Even without my family there though, people who love me were there and they smiled, hugged, and supported me. Yes, I still missed my family terribly; but that hole they would have filled wasn't entirely empty due to the wonderful people I have in my life here. I'm so blessed.
Before I put together this "one bite at a time" list, I had forgotten how much I enjoy reading, writing, and proclaiming how God works in and through my life. It was exciting to be affirmed by the gathered community last night, but there was also a deep sense of affirmation in me. The kind of affirmation that can only come, I've found, when I stumble upon a portion of God's plan for my life.
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