Captivity and freedom

[Jesus said,] "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

Luke 4:18-19

Did you know that 36% of the Bible is written about or from prison?  It's easier to see if you expand "prison" to include slavery, captivity, exile, and confinement.  The foundational character of Christianity, Jesus Christ, was accused, tried, and executed by the Roman Empire for committing the crime of sedition--basically rabble-rousing.  The book of Acts records at least nine stories of arrest.  The Apostle Paul wrote four of his books from prison (Ephesians, Philemon, Colossians, and Philippians).  The book of Revelation was written from a work camp.  And the enslavement and subsequent exile of the Israelites are two primary themes in the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament).  

Prison is an important place from which to read Scripture.  I will be doing that this fall.  I am taking a course called Biblical Incarceration.  Half of the students are divinity school students, and half are from a local prison.  We read the same books, complete the same assignments, and share more things in common than not.  We are all women.  We are all have hopes and dreams, fears and things we wish we hadn't done.  We differ in where we live--some inside of a correctional center, others outside of its walls.  We differ in that it might be possible for me to find information on Google about some very difficult times in my classmates' lives.  I might be able to read about something of which they are ashamed on in a very public forum.  They can't do the same about me.  For one thing, they don't have access to computers or the Internet.  For another, I, like so many of us, keep the things of which I am ashamed mostly shrouded in silence.  My classmates who live in prison often don't have that option.  

Last night was our first class together.  It was hugely eye-opening, to say the least.  I began to think about captivity and release, and freedom and oppression.  My classmates in captivity live circumscribed lives.  They must wear a certain color of clothing, and be present at particular places at specific times.  They live within hierarchies and systems and levels of privilege that are earned in certain ways.  They think in terms of the outside world.  In contrast, I have an almost unimaginable amount of freedom.  Every day, I choose what to wear and eat, where I will go and when, who I will see and what I will do.   I have constraints on my life, like everyone else, but I also have a level of autonomy that is hard to fathom in many, many places, including prison.  

In the past, when I have read the words of Jesus that are recorded in Luke 4:18-19, I have tended to spiritualize them.  I have thought, well, we are all captive and blind and oppressed to some degree, aren't we?  We all struggle with forces and situations within ourselves or in the outside world, so Jesus comes to liberate all of us.  Yes, he does.  But my "captivity" is not the same as literally being captive inside a correctional facility.  The kind of release and freedom that I imagine is in a different category than freedom from prison walls.  For the first time, I am looking at those words of Jesus in a more literal way.  What does it mean to go to prison, to live there in a place and situation that is not of your own choosing?  What does it mean to be released from that kind of captivity?

I don't know.  I have lots of questions and no easy answers.  But I am deeply grateful for the chance to learn alongside all of my classmates, those who live in prison and those who do not.  Together we will listen and speak, learn and question, and hopefully, in some small way, be released from our own captivity.  

This is the prayer with which we will end each class.  May it be a comfort to you today, whether the captivity and freedom you wrestle with and long for is literal or figurative.

Visit this place, O Lord, and drive far from it all snares of the enemy; let your holy angels dwell with us to preserve us in peace; and let your blessing be upon us always; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Bologna sandwiches and acorns

On Saturday Adam and I attend Elon University's opening convocation for first-year and transfer students, since Adam is serving as assistant chaplain there this year.  It was a beautiful ritual, held under the oak trees on a gorgeous summer morning.  It recognized an important transition in the lives of 1700 young people and their families.  During his remarks, Elon University's president talked about the many opportunities that Elon students could take advantage of--athletics, studying abroad, conducting research with their professors, to name a few.  At one point, he said to the new students, "You have arrived at a great buffet.  Don't go make yourself a bologna sandwich."

What a great image!  I've been thinking about it ever since.   Don't get me wrong--I really enjoy a good bologna sandwich on occasion--but there is so much more to try in the buffet of life!  I'm trying to identify the bologna sandwiches in my life--the things that I do out of habit, because they are comfortable, maybe without even really thinking about them.  The TV show House Hunters is a bologna sandwich for me.  The premise of the show is that you follow an individual or family on their search for a new place to live.  You learn a bit about who they are, where they are house hunting, and some of the things they are looking for in a house/apartment/condo.  You follow along as a realtor shows them three houses, and at the end, you see which place they pick and how they've made it their own a few months later.

It is a really fun show.  I like trying to guess which house the people will pick, and I've actually learned a lot of real estate terms from watching.  But the thing that makes House Hunters a bologna sandwich for me is that I can easily park myself on the couch and watch a few episodes in a row.  Then the evening is gone and it's time to go to bed.  I can get stuck in this routine for several nights, and then it stops being fun and starts to become stifling.  I'm eating bologna sandwiches every night, when I could be trying something new from the buffet line.

The other night, Adam and I turned off the TV, stopped making our bologna sandwiches and ventured out to sample something new!  We rode our bikes to a place called Fullsteam Brewery in Durham.  Fullsteam doesn't serve food, but there are always food trucks parked outside.  We had dinner at one of the food trucks and enjoyed it at a picnic table outside.  (Instead of bologna, we tried something called duck fat tots.  What's not to love about anything that is cooked in duck fat?)  It was a fun and different experience.  We met some nice people and learned a little bit more about our new city...including the fact that you can bring your dog inside Fullsteam Brewery!  Filo will definitely have to come with us next time.

What are the bologna sandwiches that you tend to make out of comfort or habit?  Do you ever want to try something different?  I'm trying to pay closer attention to my own life, to see where it's okay to make a bologna sandwich, and where I need to take a risk and try something new...even if it is tiny.  Small changes can be just as empowering as large ones.

At the conclusion of Elon's opening convocation, the new students leave the ceremony surrounded by their new professors on either side of the path on which they are walking.  They are each given a wooden acorn, both because "elon" means oak tree in Hebrew, and as a symbol of the promise and possibility of their growth during their years at Elon.  At graduation, they will be given an oak tree seedling.

From the habit of bologna to the choices of the buffet line, and from acorn to tiny oak tree...these can be metaphors of our own growth in life, too.  What do they represent to you?  How are you making new choices and trying different things, in small or large ways?  I hope that you are mostly surprised and delighted when you take the risk to make different choices, because you never know--you might like bologna, but really love something at the buffet that you haven't tried yet!

You do amazing things

This week is orientation week for new students at Duke.  Yesterday I sat in the Refectory (the cafeteria of the Divinity School) and watched a group of freshman wait in line for lunch.  Their faces were a mix of so many emotions:  from the elation of "I can't believe that I am really going to school at Duke!" to "I know all this stuff already," to "I am so nervous and I hope that no one can tell."

Walking around campus, there is a sense of freshness, of the beginning of something that has not been before.  During opening convocation in Duke Chapel, Duke's president spoke of graduates who went on to pioneer life-saving medical procedures, make advances in law and business, and create new knowledge.  We look at what they have accomplished and we are astounded, but as the president reminded us, none of those people knew that they would do such amazing things when they sat in the chapel on their first day of orientation.

This is so good to remember.  I think that perhaps none of us really knows what we are capable of doing, or of the impact that we might have on another person's life.  I don't mean that in an unrealistic way.  Most of us will never become world famous, or fantastically wealthy, or be remembered in the history classes of the future.

But I truly believe that every single one of us has the chance to make an impact in the world for good.  My mom is a prime example of this.  She is humble and would not lift herself up as an example of someone who changes the world...but she does.  (And since I am the one writing this, I will lift her up!)  Yesterday, one of my mom's coworkers told her that she remembers the day they met.  Over a decade ago, they met by the copy machine at work.  Mom's coworker was having a difficult time, and mentioned it in passing.  Instead of going on with her day, as many people would do, Mom stopped, listened, validated this woman's feelings, and shared some stories that this woman remembers over ten years later as being compassionate and helpful.  My mom is not famous in the conventional sense, but she is changing the world by the choices that she makes and the generosity of spirit that she lives.  By the way that she lives her life, my mom accomplishes astounding things every day.

I think about that when I see the wide-eyed freshman going through orientation, no doubt thinking about astounding things that they hope to do someday.  I hope that some of them are famous and amazing in the conventional sense--that one of them finds a cure for cancer, or writes the next great American novel, or finds a way to disseminate technology that helps us to take better care of the environment.  But even more than that, I hope that those freshman choose to be extraordinary in the way that my mom is, whether or not they are ever famous in the world's eyes.

A new school year openly marks the beginning of something that has not yet been.  Whether or not you or someone you love is starting a new school year, this is the beginning of something new for you, too. This day has never been before, and you don't yet know what you are capable of as you live it out.  So many things are possible for you.  Even if you will never be a wide-eyed freshman again, even if the world will never know your name, this earth is not the same as it was before you arrived.

You make a difference in this world by your presence.  The way that you treat people, the time you spend with them, the stories that you share matter.  They probably matter more than you will ever know.

So go out into the world and know that you matter.  You don't know yet how something that you say or do might make a difference to someone else.  Trust that not a single day of your life is wasted.  In ways that you might never know, you do amazing things that change the world.

Friends

This morning I met a good friend for coffee.  We spent two wonderful hours together, talking, laughing, catching up.  We were really honest about our hopes and dreams and fears.  I am so grateful for the time we shared, and the way we trusted each other with our hearts.

It is a rare gift to be able to trust someone so much that you can share the parts of yourself that are not for public consumption...you know, the parts of yourself that are frustrating, worrisome, and well, human, knowing that your friend will keep on loving and accepting you.  My dad told me once that if you can count on one hand the number of friends that you have like this, you are very, very fortunate.  As I get older, I am beginning to understand what he meant.

Friends are a great blessing.  There are friends that you know from childhood, school, work; from volunteering, going to church, from being part of a group together.  There are Christmas card friends and neighborhood friends, old friends and new friends.  There are friends who you know would be there for you in a heartbeat, even if you don't talk all that often--and you know you would do the same for them.

The friends for whom we would do anything, and vice versa, the friends with whom we share our whole selves and lives--as much as any of us can--are the friends my dad was talking about.  There is a Celtic phrase, anam cara, which means "friend of my soul."  These are the rare friendships that will stay with you for life, through time, distance, life changes, and even death.

Do you have any anam cara friends?  I hope so.  There is nothing else like them.  They are an irreplaceable treasure.  Tonight, I am very grateful for anam cara friends, for old friends and new friends, for friends near and far.  Thanks be to God for every one of the friends who add color and comfort, love and life to all of our journeys!

On Haldol and Hyacinths

Haldol and Hyacinths:  A Bipolar Life is author Melody Moezzi’s story about being an American Muslim woman with bipolar disorder.  She is only a few years older than I am, and has a dazzling list of accomplishments to her credit:  she is a lawyer and published author whose work has appeared in the New York Times.  She has appeared on CNN and NPR, among many other things.

I read about Haldol and Hyacinths in the Sunday paper, which mentioned that she would be holding a book discussion at a local bookstore in Durham.  Adam and I rode our bikes to the local bookstore to attend a book discussion by a local author!  Please note the excessive use of italics.  They are my attempt to convey how enamored I am of the idea of A) using my bike as a means of transportation to go anywhere other than around the block, B) the excitement and pride I feel about supporting local businesses, and C) the novelty of all of this.  I roll my eyes at myself just a little bit when I do things like this, knowing full well that I am uber-enthusiastic about these kinds of things, which can be a bit much, and that B) will convince me that it is imperative that I purchase a hardcover, first-run printing of the author’s book at the bookstore so that I can have it signed, thank you very much.  Any day I can add to my library is a good day!

Feeling very pleased with myself, I waited for the talk to begin.  I was captivated by Melody and fascinated by her story.  She is obviously highly accomplished, funny, and beautiful, and she is utterly honest, about her diagnosis, her breaks from reality, her experience with medication, her family’s support, and her desire to advocate for those with mental illness.  Including herself. 

Mental illness is so often shrouded in secrecy, colored with shame.  Why should it be so?  There is not the same stigma attached to a broken bone, a cancer diagnosis, or a heart condition.  There are some things we can control as human beings and others that we cannot.  None of us is in perfect health, nor will we ever be so.  Even if we don’t struggle with a chronic condition, we are all affected by things like colds, the flu, and our own journey on the continuum of mental health. 

Why is mental health so often put in a different category than other health concerns?  Melody’s decision to be honest about her diagnosis—when there could have been real consequences regarding her job, her family, her friends, and life as she knew it—is brave and to be commended.  She mentioned that instead of a negative backlash, telling the truth allowed her to be embraced by many people, many of whom told her their own experiences with mental illness.  Melody’s life since “coming out” (as she puts it) as a person with bipolar disorder has changed dramatically—in largely positive ways.  She is now surrounded by a community of people whose lives have also been touched by mental illness, and she can give and receive support from people who she would not have known if she did not take the courageous step of telling her story. 

Thinking about her story makes me remember that all of us have things in our lives that are hard to talk about, but we are more than the difficult things in our lives.  So often, we think that we have to hide the difficult things by pretending that we have it all together.  I’ve talked to enough people now to believe that no one really has it all together.  Someone might have an amazing job, but wish they had a better relationship with their family.  Another person might have a beautiful home but be mortgaged up to their eyeballs to pay for it.  Someone else may have a great marriage but be unable to welcome the children they desperately want into their family.  And so on.  Our lives all positive and not-so-positive, just in different ways.  Melody has bipolar disorder and she is also a talented, funny, compassionate author.  Her honestly enhances, rather than diminishes, who she is.  In many ways, it is Melody’s very vulnerability that causes me to feel so drawn to her.  She says openly what is true of all of us.  We are all flawed and fabulous, we all excel at some things and struggle with others and it can be a liberating, gracious experience to say that out loud.  In admitting the truth, we often find that we are not as alone as we thought, and open ourselves up to a new way of being in the world.  

I know that not everyone feels safe or free to be honest about all of who they are, and I grieve that our world is often not kind to those who struggle or are “different” in some way.  But I lift up the transformative effect that honesty can have on a person’s life and the lives of those around him or her.  Are there things about you or your life that you don’t believe you can be honest about?  Why?  What would happen if you told the truth about who you are or what is going on?  Would it diminish your life—or could it break your life wide open to receive unexpected blessings that you can’t even imagine right now? 

Think about it.  I will, too.  

$45

Today's trip to the auto mechanic was lovely.  I took one of our cars in for a minor repair to a body shop that had come highly recommended.  It was a bit of a drive, but a pretty one, with sun and trees the whole way.  I found the shop in a tiny town and was welcomed by the technician with whom I spoke on the phone.  He greeted me by name, and asked if I had had breakfast.  He showed me to the immaculate waiting room.  I was delighted to find that my companion would be a cheerful white dog who lives up the road, but comes to the shop every day just in time for breakfast.

In a few minutes, the owner of the shop greeted me.  I explained the problem, and he went to take a look at it, but not before asking if I'd had breakfast.  The technician was just leaving to get some food, and they wanted to make sure that I could be included if I was hungry.  The owner went to work on the car, while I gave the dog a tummy rub...hands down the best time I've ever spent in an auto repair shop!

My car was ready to go quickly.  The shop doesn't take credit cards, and I didn't have enough cash to cover the cost of the repair.  I asked the owner what I should do, and gave me his business card and  told me to send him a check...for $45.

As I drove home, I marveled at the kindness, trust, and goodness in the world.  For all the shop owner knows, he will never receive my payment.  (He will, though!  The check is already in the mail...really). My whole day is better because of the kindness of these two men.  They trust me to send them what I owe.  They would have gotten me breakfast, and I'll bet that they wouldn't have taken any money for it.  They are good people and I'm glad that our paths crossed.

By moments like the ones that I had at the auto body shop today, I am constantly reminded that kindness, good humor, trust, and goodness really do matter.  The small exchanges that we have every day with strangers color our days, our lives, and our world, for better or for worse.  It matters that we take the time to smile, to be compassionate, to engage someone else in conversation about how their day is going.  It matters that we notice these moments, remember them, and share them.  It really does make the world a better place, little bit by little bit.

Many would disagree with me.  They would say that there are so many problems in the world that taking the extra time and effort to be trusting and kind is naive and pointless.  It's not going to change anything.  I suppose that they have a point.  If you trust someone to send you a $45 check in the mail, sometimes you will get burned.  The money may never arrive.  But goodness is never wasted, and it does change things.  Even if you never see it, your gift of trust will occasionally make someone's day, and the world will become a little bit kinder and gentler.

Thank you, Jerry's Collision in Stem, North Carolina, for making my day--and our world--better!

Going to church

This morning, I woke up and had a hard time deciding what to wear.  Today, for the first time in five years, I went to church without being a pastor serving a parish.  For five years, I’ve planned my Sunday morning outfits around a clergy shirt, and this morning, I didn’t do that.  I wore a dress and Adam and I went to a church that we’ve never attended before.  Since I’ve helped to plan and known what is going on in worship just about every Sunday for the past five years, it was new to walk into a sanctuary without knowing what the songs or even the readings would be.

When the pastor made the announcements, I didn’t know any of the people he mentioned, and no one knew who I was.  I was reminded, in a way that I haven’t been for a long time, that it takes courage to walk into a new congregation for worship.  People will sometimes compare church to a family, but what if you don’t feel part of that family?  Sometimes it can feel like you are sitting on the sidelines of someone else’s family reunion.  You don’t know the people, or what is happening next.  Since it has been my job to know these things for a long time, I can only imagine what other people feel like when they walk into a new congregation.

It gives me a great deal of compassion for people who are willing to take the risk of showing up in a new place, allowing themselves to feel vulnerable and open to what they might experience.  It’s not an easy thing to do.  And yet, it is a good thing to do.  Because going to church, going to worship, is not all about me and how comfortable I may or may not feel.  It’s not about how much I like the songs that we sing or the people I meet.  It is about God, who goes above and beyond all the people gathered for worship, making us into a community and a body even if we don’t know each other at all.  It is about a human need to connect with something that is bigger than we are, something that started before we were born and will continue long after we are gone. 

So it was good to go to church today.  Afterwards, we went to brunch and sat outside and enjoyed the gorgeous morning.  We bought a Sunday paper and went home and took a bike ride.  (And now I am tired and sore from the hills that we perhaps over-ambitiously tackled, but like going to church, going on this bike ride was a good thing!)

What makes something a good thing to do?  Does it have to do with your personal comfort or fulfillment—or that of others—or is it some of both?  Maybe it has to do with other criteria—because it is the right thing to do, or it simply seems good to you, or…?  Do you go to church?  Why or why not?

Dog TV

Adam and I found a new TV channel this week:  Dog TV.  It’s not, as I initially thought, a channel that is all about dogs.  It is actually a TV channel for dogs.  It shows programs with names like Evening Relaxation and Morning Stimulation.  The relaxing programs feature peaceful music with video of birds calmly paddling in a lake, while the stimulation programs include more upbeat music with video of a group of dogs exploring a field.  I think this channel is meant for dogs to watch during the day when their owners are out of the house.  Dog TV claims that it will lower your dog’s stress level and promote relaxation. 

Filo appears to really like this channel.  Last night we watched a few minutes of a relaxing show on Dog TV after returning from a walk, and I swear that his panting slowed down.  Today, I turned Dog TV on in the morning, and he was captivated by the dogs moving around the screen.  He even got up from his nap to walk towards the TV dogs and watch them very closely.

Periodically, Dog TV will also feature short videos to help your dog get used to certain aspects of his or her environment.  This morning, it was cars and road noise.  It is a strange concept.  Sure, you can see cars on the screen and hear the sounds of engines revving and sirens blaring, but other than that, watching cars and road noise on TV is nothing like experiencing them in real life.  It is also disconcerting to think that you would introduce a dog to something that is such a large part of everyday life on TV, rather than by actually experiencing it. 

There is a lot that could be said about the fact that a channel like Dog TV exists.  Does it say that as a culture, we are lazy and would rather entertain our dogs with TV instead of playing with them outside?  Or, does it recognize that many of us work outside the home for many hours each day, so Dog TV is a way to help our canine friends feel less anxious about our absence by giving them something else to focus on? 

A case could be made for both statements.  I think that Dog TV is pretty ridiculous…and I also kind of enjoy it.  It fascinates me a little bit.  A part of me thinks it is absurd, but you know what?  It is pretty relaxing.  The serene birds on the lake, the calm and happy dogs exploring the field, the peaceful music…it all helps to lower my blood pressure, too. 

I’m not sure what this says about me.  But now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check in with Dog TV for a few minutes…

The roundabout way of the wilderness

God led [the Israelites] by the roundabout way of the wilderness…

 Exodus 13:18a

Yesterday I got lost trying to find the grocery store.  What should have taken ten minutes to find ended up taking an hour and twenty.  The thing is, I thought I knew where I was going.  I typed the address of the store into my phone and set off on my way.  When it was clear that the grocery store wasn’t going to magically pop up in the direction I was heading, I figured that I could find my way without checking my phone.  A few turns and a little more time was all I needed.  I kept thinking that I would see a familiar street and I could find my way without checking my phone.  On the drive, I saw parts of Durham that I haven’t seen yet.  I passed lovely houses on tree-lined streets and noticed some grand old churches.  There was some frustration, but also a great deal of beauty in my journey.

I eventually checked my phone, located the store, and found my way home.  One block from my apartment, I noticed the cause of my dilemma.  Durham has both a Chapel Hill Street and a Chapel Hill Road, and they intersect.  I took the wrong one, which set me on the path of getting lost and wandering to the store in a roundabout way. 

Getting lost is something that our culture is loathe to do.  We have smart phones and navigation systems so that we don’t ever have to do what I did last night.  I could have checked my phone right away and found my destination much more quickly, but it can be good to take some extra time and get from point A to point B in another way.

When the Israelites were released from slavery, God “led them by the roundabout way of the wilderness” to reach the Promised Land some 40 years later.  In Scripture, the wilderness is a place of learning, growth, trial, and formation.  It is a place where it is easy to get lost.  Nothing looks familiar, and everything is different than you expected.  But the wilderness can also be a place of great beauty.  It depends on your perspective. 

All of us get lost in the wilderness sometimes.  It might be the physical wilderness, or it could be the wilderness of losing your job or a central part of your identity, the death of someone you love, the diagnosis of a chronic illness, or the loss of anything in your life that once seemed so certain but is now tenuous at best. 

I am coming to realize that the problem is not actually being lost in the wilderness.  The problem is that we so often fight being in the wilderness, trying desperately to hold onto what has vanished from our lives, or sink into despair, convinced that we will always stay in the wilderness. 

When God led the Israelites in the wilderness, the journey took a long time and was full of missteps as well as surprising discoveries.  To the Israelites, it was uncertain, exhausting, and probably frightening at times.  But their roundabout journey in the wilderness also taught them about God’s faithfulness and solidified their identity as a people.  The Israelites had to let go of what had worked for them in the past so that they could learn what would work in the future.  They eventually found their way home, and discovered new things along the way. 

What about us?  When we find ourselves in the wilderness, can we let go of what is gone from our lives?  With God’s help, can we open ourselves up to the possibility that, along with loss and uncertainty, the wilderness might also contain beauty, new discoveries, and gifts that we haven’t dreamt of yet?  The wilderness can be a frightening and difficult place, but there might be goodness in the journey through this lonely land, too. 

Perhaps if we stop fighting our sojourns in the wilderness, if we open our hands to release what we have lost, something of beauty and possibility will fill them again.  Perhaps the roundabout way of the wilderness will lead us home in ways that we can’t even imagine right now.  Perhaps.  

Quiet

This morning, I took my parents to the airport.  I am still carrying around the sadness in my chest at watching them go.  They are some of my favorite people to be around.  They drove from New York to North Carolina with Adam and I, to keep us company and to help us move. 

We had a great trip down.  We didn’t get lost and only thought that one of the cars was going to overheat once.  (We took it to a mechanic the next morning and they couldn’t find anything wrong.  Funny).  The past six days have been a whirlwind of packing, moving, unpacking, taking things out of boxes and finding spots for them in our new apartment. 

I have been very grateful for Adam and my parents in this process.  My mom has kept us on track, cheering when we empty another box, and Adam is great at spatial relation and figuring out where everything should go.  My dad helps us put up shelves and tells us what we need to pick up at Home Depot.  I’m getting to be a pro at Home Depot, having visited every day for the last three days! 

In the unpacking process, I would rather organize my books than do the useful things that the rest of my family members seem to do with such ease.  I can do the practical things, too, but I did stand in front of the pantry shelves for a few minutes the other day, staring at them blankly, before deciding where the cereal should go.  My family helps me along, keeps me on track, and makes the process more fun. 

It has been a great gift to have my parents here.  I love that they know what our apartment looks like, that they have met some of our new neighbors—they even know the names of the neighbors’ dogs—and that we’ve all toured the campus where Adam is starting work this week as an assistant chaplain.  They have a sense of context for us now, and the past week has been full of movement, energy, and tangible things getting done.  We’ve been exhausted at the end of each day, but it’s been a good type of shared exhaustion, where we have worked together on a common goal.

Now my parents are flying home, Adam is at work, and Filo is sleeping on the floor of our bedroom.  I am alone in my office and all is quiet except for the hum of the neighbors’ air conditioner and the occasional car passing by.  It is a welcome change after the near constant movement of the last week.  Now I can begin to settle in emotionally as well as physically.  I am excited to put the last things away and to explore my new city, and to have quiet time to think and process and rest.

But.  I miss the immediacy of my mom being there to help decide where the pictures should be hung on the walls, and of my dad painting the new shelves that we are using as a pantry.  They are great company and there are few people that Adam and I laugh with more.  Their companionship—in person and from a distance—is such a blessing as Adam and I walk through another time of transition.

The quiet now that they are gone is a mixed blessing.  

Overweight

For me, the hardest part of packing to move was sorting through all of our books.  Our new apartment doesn’t have room for all of them, so some had to be stored in my parents’ basement.

I love books.  I read them, remember them, decorate with them, and see them as a visual tapestry of my life.  I can often bring back a situation or time in my life by re-reading a certain book.  Parting with books makes me feel like I am saying goodbye to a friend.

But moving from a house with a basement to an apartment meant that I had to make some choices about books.  Slowly, Adam and I began to sort through our books over the past few months.  First we pared down all of the duplicate books we bought in seminary.  After five years, I was finally ready to admit that we probably didn’t each need a copy of every book that we had ever used in our M.Div classes.  We shared many of those books with a friend who is currently in seminary, and donated the rest to the library. 

Next, we went over the other books in our library and I reluctantly admitted that we could probably let go of my biology textbook from college…and so on.  We reduced the books we were taking from six bookshelves to three, and I patted myself on the back for being so judicious. 

Fast forward to moving day, part one.  It is past midnight, and the movers have just finished packing and loading everything that we are taking into their truck.  They tell Adam that we are probably going to be over the weight that they had originally estimated, because they didn’t think that we would really have so many books.  How overweight were we?  One thousand, five hundred pounds.  That’s right—we really do have a lot of books. 

I am thrilled to be sitting in my new book-lined office, but being overweight for our move has made me think.  Besides books, what else do I insist on carrying around?  What do I take with me in life that I don’t need as much as I think I do?

It’s a fine line, because our most helpful and harmful qualities are often so closely intertwined.  Packing lots of books helps me to feel at home, but it can also weigh me down.  Knowing what you want can be impressively decisive, or it can turn into paralyzing perfectionism.  Being open to change sometimes helps you to discover unexpected opportunities, and sometimes causes you to lead a somewhat rootless existence, going along with whatever catches your fancy at the moment. 

All this is to say that there is more than one way to interpret the choices that we make, more than one way to decide what to hang onto, and what to let go.  How do you make those choices?  What guides you?  How do you decide if something is a blessing or a burden?

As for me, I’m glad I brought all the books that I did.