Writing in other places...

I haven't been blogging much lately, since it is the end of the semester and I'm finishing up final papers.  In the meantime, though, I've been writing some book reviews for the Resource Center for Women & Ministry in the South.  It is a fantastic non-profit started 35 years ago by a Duke Divinity School graduate, and supports women in ministry (however they define that ministry) by focusing on spirituality, writing, social justice, feminism, workshops on a variety of topics, and other worthy pursuits.  You can find out more about the Center at its website:  http://www.rcwms.org.

I've been writing at the Center's new blog, Words and Spirit, which you can find here:  http://wordsandspirit.tumblr.com.

I hope that you enjoy what you find.  Blessed Advent to you!

 

Taboo

For my grandmother, it was divorce.  Divorce was something that wasn't to be mentioned, not just in polite company, but at all.  When one of her sisters divorced her husband, the rest of the family didn't know the truth for several years.  Her ex-husband simply stopped coming to family events, and no one really knew why.  Divorce was a taboo topic.

It almost seems quaint to talk about taboo topics in our tell-all culture.  We, as the American public, seem to have little hesitation about telling the world intimate details of our lives on reality TV shows, in confessional memoirs, and in our blogs.  And yet, for all of the information that we share, there are many things that we don't talk about very well.  Death, politics, and religion come to mind.  All of these topics are polarized and polarizing, reduced to shallow sound bites or just avoided altogether.  In many ways, they are still taboo in our society.

This week, I've attended two events to promote a new book called Talking Taboo:  American Christian Women Get Frank About Faith, edited by Erin Lane and Enuma Okoro.  It includes essays from forty Christian women under the age of forty, talking about subjects that they believe are taboo in their faith communities, from sexuality to being single to domestic violence, and yes, even divorce.  It is revealing to see what is considered off-limits by different communities, and how these writers address their topics.

It gets me thinking about what I consider to be taboo in my own life.  How did it get to be that way, and why don't I want to talk about it?  How about you?  What are the things that have been taboo for you, when you were growing up and now?  Why don't you want to talk about them?

I'm not saying that we should all go out and talk about whatever it is that is most taboo for us.  But it wouldn't hurt to think about why we consider some topics off limits, and the effect that is has on us and others.  And while you're at it, check out Talking Taboo.  It will give you food for thought.

Must love dogs

God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

Genesis 1:25

Yesterday many congregations celebrated the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, a monk and preacher born in the 12th century.  Francis was known for his compassion for the poor and for animals.  One legend surrounding Francis tells of a wolf that was terrorizing the people of a small town.  In desperation, the townspeople asked Francis to help them.  Through his kindness and innate connection with animals, Francis was able to help the wolf and the townspeople come to an understanding:  the wolf would no longer harm the people of the town, and in return, the people promised to feed and care for the wolf for the rest of his life.  The legend ends with peace and harmony for all.  

The congregation I attended yesterday didn't have a blessing of the animals service, although I know that many others did in honor of St. Francis.  Fittingly, though, in the afternoon Adam, Filo, and I went to a festival called Woofstock.  Held in the same location as the Durham Farmers' Market, Woofstock was like a farmers' market/carnival for dogs.  There was a frisbee competition, free nail trims, and lots of vendors, where you could purchase everything from toys to hand-painted bowls for your dog.  Filo loved the agility course, where he jumped over obstacles and crawled through tunnels.  He received enough free samples of treats that we won't have to buy him any for months!  

It was a fun afternoon for all of us!  When I got home, I read a beautiful post by Lutheran pastor, professor, and author David Lose on why dogs are our best friends, and I heartily agreed with what he had to say.  (You can read the post here:  http://www.davidlose.net/2013/10/why-dogs-are-our-best-friends).  It includes a wonderful video that powerfully captures the love that develops between a little boy and a dog, which is definitely worth the few minutes that it takes to watch.  I cried and felt very grateful for the amazing dogs who have shared my life.

After I watched the video and finished crying, I had some time to think about why I love Filo (and dogs  in general) so much.  There are so many reasons:  Filo has an enthusiasm about life for which I have rarely seen a match.  He loves meeting people, dogs, squirrels, and anything else that moves.  He is excited to see everyone who crosses his path, wagging his tail and sometimes, to my chagrin, jumping up to say hello.  Filo doesn't care who you are, what you do, what you're worried about, how you've messed up, or what you are wearing.  He just wants you to love him.  Filo also has a wonderful habit of getting as physically close as possible to people when they are sad, anxious, angry, or not feeling well.  When I'm upset, Filo always makes me feel better by curling up in my lap or nosing his way into my space with his bright brown eyes and tail wagging.  

I know that I'm not alone in feeling this way about my beloved dog friend.   We have much to learn from our non-human companions:  about living with abandon each day, taking a risk to greet everyone who crosses our path with an open heart (or at least a friendly tail wag), being honest about our emotions, and chasing our dreams.   (Case in point:  Filo has never actually caught a squirrel, but he doesn't let that stop him.  He keeps trying on every walk we take.  I might not always like it, but he is persistent, and he keeps his dream and hope alive, day after day!)

Filo and other animals teach me lessons that I can't learn from classes or books or in words.  The lessons cover things like hospitality, making time for play every day, and excitement about having new adventures.  Also, trusting that basic needs will be met, that people are basically good, and that I can learn something about a person who is wearing black pants that are about to be covered in fur from my golden retriever's enthusiastically wagging tail.  

Upon creating animals, God proclaimed that they were very good.  To me, they are one of God's great gifts to humanity, and a continuous source of abundant goodness who enrich our lives and have so much to teach us.  What have you learned from the animals with whom you share your lives?  How would you be different without them?  If you don't share your life with a pet, what have you learned about life by watching other animals?    

Running buddy

I've been running off and on since college.  Of the many reasons I was excited to bring Filo home, one of them was the prospect of running with him.  The breeder told us to wait until Filo was 18 months old before running with him, to give his hips the chance to fully develop first.  On the very day that he turned 18 months old, Adam and I took him for a run.  He loved it!  Filo is fast and he loves to race along most any surface.  When he and I run, he often looks back at me with a little grin, as if to say, "This is the best!"

Filo is a great running buddy.  He is always ready, no matter the weather or time of day.  He helps me to notice all of the squirrels in our path, as well as people, other dogs, and hidden treasures like the half-eaten cupcake he found this weekend.  Sadly, I took it right out of his mouth.

Lately, Filo and I have had company on our runs.  My neighbor is training for a half-marathon and asked me if I wanted to run with her.  I said that I did, so we run together several times a week, and we bring our dogs.  On Saturday morning, we ran 4 miles around Duke's East and West campuses, and I thought about how I was living a dream.  I was running on Duke's campus on a gorgeously cool  morning--a long held wish, helping a friend achieve her goal, and my beloved Filo was with me.

I just might register for this half-marathon.  It's never really been a goal of mine, but why not?  If I'm going to train for one, I may as well run in it.  It isn't something that I would do on my own, but with the support of human and canine running buddies, I'm part of a tiny community.  It is great.

Has a friend ever encouraged you to do something that you hadn't considered before?  Did you do it?  If so, did you have a "running buddy"?  

Story people

We are all people of stories...story people.  "Story People" is the name of an art series created by Brian Andreas that captures poignant, powerful, and funny moments of life in brightly colored stick figures and carefully chosen words(www.storypeople.com).  Through his art, he tells stories of life.

The stories of our lives are both familiar and hidden.  There are family stories that have been told so often that they become legends: stories of how people met, births, Christmases, and ordinary days where something unusual happened.  In my family, some of these stories include the Christmas that my brother and mom got my dad a puppy that he first thought was a stuffed bear, the story of my birth, and the day that we returned from vacation to discover that my cat had died while our neighbor was watching her.  (On that last one, our neighbor was distraught about the cat's death, and the rest of us were...not so much.  We were sad that the cat died, but we are definitely dog people.  Good to know).  Often when we tell these legendary, familiar stories, we tell them in the same way every time, so others who know the story can jump in and continue with the same words we would have used.  Stories are foundational to life.

Although we shape our own stories, the stories of our lives also shape us.  They help us understand our families, our identity, and what is important to us.  Stories tell us important truths about faith, life, what we deem valuable, and how we come to view the world.  They connect us with the past and give us hope for the future.  Stories shape us as people, communities, nations, and people of faith.  In a very real sense, we are all made up of the stories that we accept and reject, that limit and expand our lives, that tell us who we are and who we are not.  Stories are a gift and a heritage, a warning and a promise, a way to understand life itself.

In the book of Deuteronomy, Moses shares the words of God that are to make up the story that that defines the people of Israel, both then and now.  "Hear O Israel:  The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.  Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart.  Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise" (Deuteronomy 6:4-7).

Israel's story says that they are God's people, that they are to love God with everything they are, and that they are to share this story with their children and among themselves, at all times and forever.  This is a story that shapes human beings on every possible level.  It has been told in the same words for thousands of years, becoming deeply ingrained in the very being of those who know and cherish it.  This cherished story shapes both Judaism and Christianity, telling us who we are and whose we are.  It is one of the very foundational Judeo-Christian stories that has been shared and become part of the heart of countless people.

What are the stories that shape your life:  the ones that you know and tell, and the ones that are a bit more hidden?  How do you shape your stories?  Do you have some stories that you cherish more than the rest?  What are they, and with whom do you share them?

Working like a Hebrew slave

I was standing in line at the post office when I overheard one man greeting another.  "How have you been?" said the first.  "Working like a Hebrew slave," replied the second.  Wow.  Talk about an unexpected response.  I wonder what the man meant when he said that.  The beginning of the book of Exodus tells of the 430 years that the Israelites (the Hebrews) are enslaved to the Egyptians.  Exodus describes the slavery of the Israelites in this way.  "The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and every kind of field labor.  They were ruthless in all the tasks they imposed on them" (Exodus 1:13-14).

How many of us think of work as hard service that is imposed on us and has a tendency to make us bitter?  Few of us would actually use those words to describe the work that we do, but there are responsibilities in every job that we don't choose, that feel imposed on us, and can make us feel bitter at times!  I wonder about the relationship that we have with work in our culture.  Sometimes it is portrayed as the be-all and end-all of our existence.  When you meet someone new, the first question you are often asked after your name is, "And what do you do?"  Meaning, how do you earn a living, how does your job define you, what assumptions can I make about you based on your job title?  At the same time, work is also seen as a drag, something from which we long to escape.  Think about movies like "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," how much productive time at work is lost to the Internet, and how much we love long weekends.  We have a paradoxical relationship with work, and yet, God created us to be creatures who need to work in order to thrive.

In the book of Genesis, God created Adam, the first human, and gave him the responsibility of naming the living creatures that God brought into being (Genesis 2:19-20a).  What a great privilege, to think of names for God's creatures!  Work is not supposed to be the drudgery that it so often turns out to be.  Work is meant to be a way that we partner with God in the ongoing creation of the world.  When you engage in conversation with someone, fix something that is broken, make a meal, soothe a child, or teach a class, you are helping to create something that did not exist before you got to work.  You are helping God with the continual work of renewing the world by creating what did not exist before you came.

This is a small snapshot of the way it is meant to be.  God does not intend for anyone to work like a Hebrew slave, expending all of their efforts for a harsh, cruel taskmaster.  Work should be part of our satisfaction in life, a way that we contribute to the world around us, as we are treated fairly and compensated justly for what we do.  Obviously, there are relatively few people in the world who can describe what they do every day as matching up with this idealized picture of work.  There are so many factors that contribute to the kind of work we do--our current life circumstances, whether we work inside or outside the home, if we work for pay, education, constraints on our time, obligations that we must meet in a variety of categories, and whether we are able to find work at all.  And that only scratches the surface of the factors that go into our working lives.

I think about the residents of the prison where I am taking my Biblical Incarceration class.  Last week, one of the women described the variety of job opportunities and work environments within the correctional facility.  She works making license plates for the state DMV.  Other women learn about horticulture or work in the kitchen.  Some have outside jobs.  The highest paid job that this woman mentioned was answering the telephone at the state visitors' bureau.  For that, you can receive up to $3 a day, plus overtime, once you have worked there for a certain amount of time and meet specific conditions.

Three dollars a day.  I consider those wages to be in the "working like a Hebrew slave" category, and most of the jobs described paid far less than that.  Hearing about these kind of experiences certainly gives me a whole new perspective on my work life.  How would you describe your working life?  Does it allow you to make a positive contribution to the world?  Is it a fair working environment where you are justly compensated--financially or otherwise?  How do you balance the ideal description of what work should be with how you actually experience work in your own life?

What is the work that you would most like to do in the world?  If you are not currently engaged in doing it, what is stopping you?  How do you reconcile the ideal with the real when it comes to work?

On being a bike commuter

The last time I was in a car was on Saturday.  I am very happy about that.  Since we live so close to campus, I bike to school every day.  I've also gotten in the habit of running errands on my bike.  I've been to the pharmacy, purchased school supplies, gotten my hair cut, gone to the bookstore and the grocery store, all on my bike.  I have a specific point on my ride home from school where I smile, take in the scenery, and think how great it is that I get to bike every day.

It has been a learning experience, for sure.  Everything takes a little longer on my bike, and I am now always scanning for bike racks when I arrive at my destination.  Although there are road signs all over Durham that remind drivers to share the road with bike, sometimes the cars whiz by awfully close.  I think twice about what I bring with me or purchase on my bike.  Everything that I bring along or acquire needs to go back with me, and I often need to pedal it up several hills.  I have accepted that for this time in my life, I am just going to be sweaty a lot, or be rained on.  I carry a towel with me everywhere.

And you know what?  I love being a bike commuter.  It is something that Adam and I have wanted to try.  It would be great if we could sell one of our cars someday and use our bikes to replace it.  I don't know if that will actually happen, but I am really enjoying it for now.  I hardly ever have to buy gas, find a place to park, or wonder what the rattling noise on the car means.  I like that I am being more environmentally friendly.  I get some exercise every day, and I am getting to know a new city in a whole new way.

Instead of being enclosed in my car bubble, I pedal along the streets, and I'm in a position to make eye contact and say hi to the people who are walking or waiting for the bus.  I notice street signs, restaurants, kids and dogs in a way that I haven't before.  I feel like I am more a part of this new place, because I am literally putting in all sorts of energy to explore it.  I am more aware of the many different life situations that people are in.  I ride my bike because it is convenient and it works for my schedule, but I also know that I have a car that I can drive if I want or need to.  I know that many other people don't have that option.  I enjoy biking because it is fun and novel, the weather is nice right now, and I can make some choices about where I need to be and at what time.  For others, biking, walking, or taking the bus for long distances is not a choice, but a necessity.  I don't want to forget that.  I hope that this experience, like so many others, will help me to live into being more compassionate and more informed about this world that we live in.  There is always more to learn.

I'm sure that I will have days where bike commuting will be a pain.  I'm curious to see what winter will be like, and how I will handle biking when it rains for days on end.  It will continue to be a good learning experience, which is what this year is all about.  

I am grateful that biking is one of my many teachers.

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.  

These Are Days

These are days you’ll remember

Never before and never since, I promise

Will the whole world be warm as this

And as you feel it,

You’ll know it’s true

That you are blessed and lucky

--“These Are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs

Yesterday was overwhelming.  I said goodbye to a wonderful congregation:  St. Timothy Lutheran Church in Bemus Point, New York.  After worship, there was a lovely coffee hour in my honor with a beautiful photo slideshow, a special song that the congregation sang for me, and very kind words.  I cried.  They cried.  I was, and am, very grateful for our time together.

I am stepping away from parish ministry to pursue another master’s degree, this time at Duke Divinity School in Durham, North Carolina.  I have always loved school, and I am excited to go back, but a little nervous, too.  I have been thinking about first days of school in general:  finding your way around a new building, meeting new classmates and teachers, and the same sense of possibility that comes when you are starting a lot of new things.  No one knows how the school year will turn out yet, and your books and notebooks and pencils are still shiny and new.  Anything can happen.  Do you ever feel that sense of possibility?  What does that for you? 

After worship, I went to lunch with Adam, my parents, and some dear friends.  We ate by the lake and watched the ducks, sharing good food and conversation.  My parents headed home and the rest of us drove to the Chautauqua Institution to catch the end of a free 10,000 Maniacs concert.  The last song they played was “These Are Days.”  I had one of those moments where I knew, as it was happening, that I would look back on it fondly.  I sang along to the song with our friends and was so glad to be with them, so grateful for good years at St. Timothy, and so excited for the new adventure that awaits in North Carolina. 

I thought then what I think now:  These are days I’ll remember, and I know it’s true, that I am blessed and lucky…and grateful.  Yes. 

For just such a time as this

Who knows?  Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.

Esther 4:14b

This week, the world has been fascinated by the birth of a baby prince to Prince William and Kate Middleton.  I’ll admit that I am just as interested as many others!  The whole idea of a royal family is so intriguing. 

Along with this new royal baby, I have the story of another royal family in mind.  This story takes place in the book of Esther.  The book of Esther is a fascinating one.  It begins with a king who is displeased with his wife, wishes to choose another wife who will become queen.  Esther, a young Jewish woman, is eventually chosen to be queen.  The story of Esther involves political machinations, jealousy, anger, misplaced power and inept leadership that eventually leads to a decree ordering the annihilation of all Jews. 

Because she is the queen, Esther is in a unique position to help her people.  Esther’s cousin, Mordecai, helps her to realize this when he says, “Do not think that in the king’s palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews.  For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish.  Who knows?  Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this” (Esther 4:13-14).

Although Esther did not plan or choose the life that she is living, now she has a choice to make.  Will she risk the king’s anger and expose his decree as cruel and false, or keep silent and allow her people to perish? 

Most of us will never be in a position to make a decision with implications as far-reaching as the one Esther had to make.  But the choices that we make have real consequences.  When we are faced with a difficult decision, we often seek God’s guidance.  In the book of Esther, God is never explicitly named, but it is possible to see God’s hand at work if you choose to see it as such.

What if, like Esther, there are times in our lives when we are in a certain situation “for just such a time as this”?  Perhaps God’s hand is at work in our lives more than we are even aware.  Have you ever called a friend on a whim, only to hear her say, “I’m so glad you called tonight.  I really needed this conversation!”  Have you ever received such a call?  Has a difficult situation in your life ever been transformed into a positive one in ways that you could never have imagined? 

I don’t claim to know how God works or what God’s intentions are.  But I do believe that God works in all kinds of ways, not all of which are evident at first glance.  In all of our lives, there might be times where we can join Esther in pondering our life’s situations and the choices we are invited to make.  Who knows?  Perhaps you are at a specific point in your journey for just such a time as this.