wondering and wandering

Uncle Spann

2008-11-28T22:59:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning the caller ID lit up with the VA’s number. The doctor on the other end was looking for Uncle Spann’s brother Charlie. Mama gave them the correct number and asked if Uncle Spann died. Of course, HIPAA prevented her from answering, but we knew. It was over.

For 89 years Uncle Spann beat the odds and lived a vibrant life. By his own account, his mama laid out his funeral clothes twice before he turned 18. Both times, he surprised them. There were no surprises this time.

A few weeks ago he was driving to visit mama as often as she would let him. He would come to the house and the crack of dawn, drink our “good coffee” and then take mama to lunch. Mama‘s alertness increased and her mental acuity sharpened. She called him her “life-long friend” and he referred to her as his sweetie. They made friends at the Waffle House and spent hours holding hands on the couch. Uncle Spann told her how much he loved her and she flourished with the attention. Just as I began to enjoy having Uncle Span around he cut his leg and spiraled downward. Less than a month after the injury, he died.

Uncle Spann was my dad’s best friend and has always been a part of my life. However, in the past few months, he grew on me. He rarely remembered my name and simply called me “shoog.” He told and retold the same two or three stories and always worked back to the time that the rattlesnake bit him.

In the last days of Uncle Spann’s hospital stay, he struggled against IVs and catheters. I rubbed his hand and commented, “I know this is uncomfortable, but it’s nowhere near as bad as a rattle snake bite.” He did not respond and I knew that his journey was coming to an end. I grieved the situation. Here he was, restrained in a hospital bed, alone and dying. I sat on the foot of the bed and patted his knee. When mama went to the restroom, I leaned in close and told him that it was ok to let go. I assured him that he was loved and that we knew he loved us. I told him that we were okay, I would take care of mama and that he could go anytime that he was ready. When we returned the next evening, Uncle Spann was much less restless. Maybe his medication was adjusted, maybe he did not have the energy to fight, or maybe he believed me.

The funeral was atrocious. The minister spent one minute talking about Uncle Spann and twelve minutes talking about being saved and not being upset. I left angry about such a bastardization of the gospel. The handful of folks at the funeral were not church folks and such tirades will not draw them in. When Lazarus died, Jesus showed up, cried, grieved with friends, shared a meal, and shared a little hope. Perhaps we would do well to follow this example.

Note: I do know that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, but I still think the model is valid.

Travel, Illness, and Work

2008-11-13T23:01:00.002-05:00

I feel somewhat guilty about neglecting my blog. However, until I return to writing, I hope you will enjoy this short video of my recent trip to Nicaragua.

Put me in Coach. I'm ready to play.

2008-11-07T22:58:00.002-05:00

I have been in Nicaragua for a week or so and that journey can be better understood by viewing the team blog at www.stjohngoestonicaragua.blogspot.com

Three hours after arriving home, the nausea began. I suspect that the stomach ailment generated from being in close proximity to a sick team mate, however, I may never eat KFC again -- sorry Con. Sanders.

It is five days later and I have missed one, if not the, most significant national events in my lifetime. We had an election party and I slept through most of it -- me, the political junkie and card carrying democrat. I have been waiting for this week for 22 months. I supported Hillary. I adjusted. Long before November, I knew where my ballot would be marked. That morning, I stumbled into the little church where I vote and waited 5 or 6 minutes before stepping up to the ballot screen. I sorted through 18 pages of questions and tried hard to remember exactly what the referendum babble was saying. I know all of this, because a friend drove me to poll and returned me to bed. Later she repeated my description of the line and process. As for me, most of this week has been a blur. Today, I begin to catch up on the news. Today, I begin to soak in the events of this past week. Today, I role my eyes at ignorance and smile at those who have a little more spring in their step.

Today, I also begin a new pilgrimage. Every once in a while, I experience the movement of god in or around me. Every once in a while, I am compelled to respond to this movement. Today, I begin to wake up to need for contemplation and prayer. Often I jump without regard. However, today, I am called to listen. Tomorrow, will be the time to jump.

Lessons from the Mountains

2008-10-20T17:56:00.002-04:00

In my last post, I promised to post some lessons from the mountains. The list below was my last reflection before leaving Gatlinburg. After years of being in place, it was time to go. I consider these to be the top ten lessons learned. It has been seven years since I left and I still consider these to be cornerstones of my faith and my view of ministry.

10. “It is essential to experience all the times and moods of one good place.” Thomas Merton

I have experienced the goodness of finding my place and the power of being there.

9.Creativity is necessary for life and for ministry.

We are creations of God. Those we minister to are also made by the gentle sculpting of the creator. For these reasons we, too, are able to create. Leading, teaching, and existing with creativity allow me to experience God anew.

8. Earn the right to be heard.

This lesson was engraved on my heart as an innovator. Sharing Christ is not selling girl scout cookies. Chic slogans and cute uniforms are unnecessary. If I do not love people as Christ loves them, how can I expect anyone to believe my words? Hurting people deserve the richness found in the depths of a relationship with God. Therefore, I must develop relationships that enable others to hear the call of God upon their lives.

7. Know your own strengths and weaknesses.

I am unable to lead music or connect with a large group of teenagers, but I am good at speaking clearly, leading, and touching those whom society appears to deem useless and hopeless. Thank God for that discovery. Thank God that I have learned to embrace to the person he has called me to be. Life is more complete when I am doing the things that God has enabled me to do and when I seek to enable others to do what he has called them to do.

6. Speak up.

People need to hear what you are saying. The quality of my content is diminished if no one can hear what I am saying. Also, conduct yourself in a professional manner. To do so, preparation is key, especially in worship leadership. Creative and refreshing worship does not just happen. God gives to each of us whole-heartedly. If I am to reflect him in the services I lead, I must also give whole-heartedly.

5. Prayer is.

Prayer takes many forms as I journey through life. At different stages I tend to use different approaches. Currently prayers fill my journal. Other times they flow through physical labor or quiet walks. God continues to reveal himself to me in all of these forms. Prayer is more than words can express. God is God, I am me, and together we experience prayer.

4. Life is better lived in community.

“I have been observing into you and you have been observing into me. I have become a part of you and you a part of me. Because of this our salvation is bigger.” No Myung Su

My life is more complete because of the kindred souls in my life. Community is beyond geography; it is place where one cannot help but be at home. We find ourselves --at home in the acceptance and inclusion of others-- at home in the gentle honesty that enables us to grow and heal --at home in giving and receiving grace. Community makes life worth living.

3. ASHAN

Sometimes slogans embody much truth. The presence of God is real to me here in the Smokies. I feel him in the breeze. The coldness of damp rocks speaks deeply to my soul. Sunsets and sunrises reveal the consistency of God. Birds of the air sing his praises and red cheek salamanders give life to the detailed care of a loving God. Water cleanses my soul. Snow brings purity and challenge. Flowers bask in the creativity of God. The same God that tends so gently to the Smokies moves in my life. The same God that created the mountains created the person asking me for directions. The Smokies have enabled me to experience the presence of God in nature and in other people. May I continue to be so keenly aware.

2. “Regardless of our state in life, the issue is how authentically we love.” Monks at New Skete

Authenticity in personhood. Authenticity in ministry. I need it. That is the lesson.

1. Life is a journey.

Often people hike to get to the top of the mountain or to see the waterfall, but I hike for the sake of hiking. Some friends even question if my pace is considered hiking at all. I am often afraid that I might miss something, so I walk slowly looking at flowers, rocks, and anything else that distracts me. Mountain tops are beautiful from a distance, but from the top the ground looks much like the ground a half mile down trail. The trail approaching the top has the same flowers that trail coming down has. Yet, the mountain top beckons. I like being on top. For one thing, if I take my eyes off the ground I can see for miles. Secondly, climbing is hard. The journey of life is similar. In it grace brings us unexpected joy and beauty. Somewhere on the trail we find both --somewhere -- we stop and accept God’s grace.

Final thoughts:

And I was wondering if you had been to the mountains to look at the valley below?

Did you see all the roads tangled down in the valley? Did you see which way to go?

Oh, the mountain stream runs pure and clear and I wish to my soul we always be here!

But there’s a reason for living way down in the valley that only the mountain can know.

Paul Stookey

Who Benefits?

2008-10-20T17:10:00.003-04:00

I am sure that the church grows weary of my push for mission trips. However, short term ministry changed my life.

We often think about going far away to help 'those poor people' in dire straights. However, my experience has been the opposite - I am the one that has been saved.

Indulge me for a few moments...

My first freshman year in college was challenging. I was the brightest, most likable, most likely to run the world, person in my small town. At least, that was my perception. Simply put, Georgia Tech kicked my ass. Calculus Three was my nemesis, but Jack Daniels was my comforter.

I attended a conference in the spring where I committed to working as a summer missionary near a National Park. A few weeks later, I started drinking - a lot. My grades were horrible before, but then I quit attending classes. Two days before leaving to be a summer missionary, I had one last blow out. I knew life was about to change and I was both glad and fearful.

My appointment was to Smoky Mountain Resort Ministries in Gatlinburg, TN. The drive from Cherokee to Gatlinburg was so long. The mountains are a holy place for me and that summer I learned to stand on holy ground.

I lived in a dorm on a church camp with 20 of my closest friends and neighbors. I helped with day camps in the morning and worked in a gift shop at night. On the weekends, I would lead worship in one of the campgrounds. It took me most of the summer to warm up to everyone. I was dreading the return to Atlanta and fearing that other staff members would think that I was unfit to do ministry. That experience was so awkward for such a social person.

Several weeks in, Georgia Tech sent me a letter confirming my failure. They suggested that I try a community college. At that point in life, I had experienced death, loss, fear, and uncertainty, but never failure. FAILURE. In that moment and through that summer, I experienced grace. I learned to be aware of god's presence, to accept grace, to speak and receive blessing.

I had preached sermons on the tenant that you cannot earn god's love, but that concept was for other people. I was good enough. I could give grace and acceptance to others, but my pride made it challenging to receive. The summer was challenging, yet incredibly formative.

I am who I am, because of that summer. I returned to Gatlinburg and worked with Smoky Mountain Resort Ministries for five years. My faith and theology are entrenched with the lessons of the mountains. See the next posting for more on this.

As our group prepares to travel to Nicaragua, I am reminded of the power of shared ministry. Do the folks in Nicaragua needs us? Sure. Do we need the people in Nicaragua? Sure. In the end, I suspect that we are the greater beneficiaries.

Maybe we learn a little grace. Maybe we learn to see god in a new light. Maybe we broaden our understanding of the world. Maybe we learn a new way of loving. Maybe we come to understand ourselves better.

Through it all, I pray that we are able to be fully present and tuned in to the movements of god in and through us.

The power of place

2008-10-16T09:35:00.005-04:00

Gatlinburg, Tennessee and Matagalpa, Nicaragua are both places of great peace and 'at homeness' for me. In Kathleen Norris' book, Dakota, she discusses the power of place and the power of being in place. In about a week, I will take a group of 17 to Nicaragua. While we are there we will conduct vision clinics and free eyeglasses in the remote areas of the Matagalpa region. I am both excited and nervous. Personally, I am swamped with work and travel preparations. However, in the moments that I can move beyond that, I smile.

The group has a blog with reflections, photos, and prayers : http://stjohngoestonicaragua.blogspot.com/

At a loss for words...

2008-10-09T22:38:00.002-04:00

Overheard while standing outside a Sunday School class:

Teacher: Can God use you?
Participant: Of course, God can use an ass ... (not kidding)

Teacher: Who wrote the Bible?
Participant: King James (duh!)

Teacher: Can God use you to share love with people of other religions?
Participant: You mean like Catholics?

Lately I have been at a loss for words. I intended to use the above quotes as a jumping off point for brilliant editorializing. However, that morphed into late night ramblings.

As I ponder on tonight's posting, my mind returns to the events surrounding me. The stories are rich, but the details are not mine to share. Here is the Cliff Notes version:

My mother's elderly male companion practically lives at my house.
My niece's boyfriend is deploying to Afghanistan.
The septic tank is acting up.
A teenager in my life is struggling to survive.
Money is a dirty word for so many of us.
A dear friend relives her recent loss as a fellow church member approaches their shared 'due month.'
Family members grieve the death of their baby girl.
Other friends wait for the money and clearance to travel to Ethiopia and pick up their two daughters.
I prepare to lead a team of 17 to conduct eye glass clinics in Nicaragua.
P and I are planning a wedding.

What started as a list of stories now resembles a prayer list. So, if you are a praying person remind God of at least one person on the above list. Each of us needs a little reminder of God's presence and peace.

"I am looking into you and you are looking into me and together our salvation is bigger. "

No Myoung Su

Love

2008-10-02T19:49:00.002-04:00

I stumbled across this clip today on the Sisterfriends Together blog. I was moved by the familiar scripture and thought I'd share it with you.

2008-09-21T17:05:00.003-04:00

Sunday afternoons seem to be a good time to reflect on the week. To be blunt most of this week would have been smoother if I had been walking through the gates of hell. Several key tools in my life died, including my mom's scooter and my laptop. In case you are wondering, both are expensive to resusitate. However, yesterday was a breath of fresh air.

For the first time in my life, I went to the gay pride parade and festival. It was sooo much fun. Granted, every time a few thousand folks gather, a few nut jobs show their colors. Overall, it was delightful. I rushed us to arrive early enough to get a "good seat" for the parade. On the grand scheme of things, the parade was pitiful. Yet, it took me back to my childhood, where on the last Saturday in September we would get up early and rush to downtown Hephzibah to watch the "Country Fair" parade. After the parade, every southern gospel group, clogging troup, and belly-dancing accordion player would perform as old friends ate meat-on-a-stick and shouted, "hey, it's good to see you. How is your moma and them?' The two parades were eeriely similar.

I often try to forget the days in that tiny community where racial slurs were as common as hay bales. However, so much of who I am grew out of the traditions and communal nature of the rural south. I attended an all white, private, independent, Baptist elementary school where the Bible was used as science text, but today I have a knowledge and love of scripture that nourishes my weary soul. A church youth leader once told a group of us that black people were different and should be treated accordingly, but at that moment I learned that sometimes you have to stand up and walk out. I walked in pro-life fundraisers with other church youth, but today I know the power of coming together for a common cause. This same community taught me the value of showing up when folks were ill or had experienced a death in the family. My mother put a funeral ham in the freezer every time that they went on sale, and I thought that every child did homework in the break room of the local funeral home.

Looking back, the community I experienced at the gay pride festival is the much the same as the community that I experienced as a youth. We need each other, we like to eat and play together, we want someone to watch out for the 'crazies' and show up at funerals, but most of all we want someone to know our name and ask about our moma and them.

Too old for this...

2008-09-15T09:06:00.003-04:00

This weekend my fiance took me to see the Indigo Girls in Charlotte. Little did we know that we would end up standing against the stage. The tickets were described as theatre in the round - they left off the part about the absence of chairs in the round. Nonetheless it was an amazing concert.

Sappy is not a word that I have ever used to describe myself. But, there was something about being out in a predominantly lesbian crowd that brought out the sappiness in me. I must also admit that it forced me to face my own prejudices. Many of you know that I have been scared of lesbians for years - I know, I know, I was avoiding my own sexuality. This was the first time that I had been around more than one or two other gay folks since I came out. It was amazing and nurturing. I also was able to face my preconceived notion that all lesbian couples have butch and femme roles, except for us - we are both somewhere in the middle, as were most of the couples at the concert. I'm a bit embarrassed to be writing about this, but I suspect that I am not the only person with these thoughts.

I love the Indigo Girls for their powerful lyrics. Today, the song, "Let it be me" seems particularly timely. I will end with these words:

Sticks and stones
Battle zones
A single light bulb
On a single thread for the black
Sirens wail
History fails
Rose-colored glass
Begins to age and crack
While the politicians shadowbox
The power ring
In an endless split decision
Never solve anything
From a neighbors distant land
I heard the strain of the common man

Let it be me
(this is not a fighting song)
Let it be me
(not a wrong for a wrong)
Let it be me
If the world is night
Shine my life like a light

Well the world seems spent
And the president
Has no good idea
Of who the masses are
Well Im one of them
And Im among friends
Were trying to see beyond
The fences in our own backyards
Ive seen the kingdoms blow
Like ashes in the winds of change
But the power of truth
Is the fuel for the flame
So the darker the ages get
Theres a stronger beacon yet

Let it be me
(this is not a fighting song)
Let it be me
(not a wrong for a wrong)
Let it be me
If the world is night
Shine my life like a light

In the kind word you speak
In the turn of the cheek
When your vision stays clear
In the face of your fear
Then you see turning out a light switch
Is their only power
When we stand like spotlights
In a mighty tower
All for one and one for all
Then we sing the common call

Let it be me
(this is not a fighting song)
Let it be me
(not a wrong for a wrong)
Let it be me
If the world is night
Shine my life like a light.

May I know my neighbors, may you see beyond the fence in your backyard, may we sing the common call. Let it begin with me.

Looking Back

2008-09-11T16:10:00.001-04:00

I celebrated my 32^nd birthday yesterday. I have been showered with cards and notes from wonderful friends and finished the evening with a nice romantic dinner.

As I reflect on the past year, I see much personal growth and professional development. I am sooooo much more comfortable in my own skin than I was a year ago. In many ways this blog has helped me through the journey - with the assistance of a decent therapist.

During the past year:

1. I traveled cross-county to Sedona and the Grand Canyon.

2. I had my first forthright conversation with my birth mother.

2. I now know my birth father’s name.

4. I cried in public.

5. I reexamined my own view of tolerance.

6. I “came out” to close friends.

7. I met the love of my life (ok, so I am a cheese factory).

8. Then, I “came out” to my mother.

9. We both survived.

10. I finished remodeling my house.

11. I experienced a different approach to family in the still birth of my niece.

12. I got engaged.

13. The Augusta Chronicle published my letter to the editor.

14. I woke up one day and realized that I am happy – not just content – but happy.

Perhaps the year is best summed up by this quote (from Sept 2007 post):

Be patient to all that is unsolved in your heart and learn to love the questions themselves, like looked rooms and books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. - Rainer Marie Rilke

But, my age is sneaking up on me: I saw a church sign this weekend that said "Hannah, Ike, and Josephine please stay away." I thought that the Church was horribly mean. Then someone told me about the hurricanes...

Weekend Musings

2008-09-07T21:00:00.002-04:00

Last night I went to see a community production of Fiddler on the Roof. I often hate musicals and keep the program handy to see how long I must endure. But, last night was different. We had 2nd row seats and the cast was wonderful - with the exception of one nervous cast member who vomited in the middle of crowd scene- but moving right along...

I was unfamiliar with the production and found myself enamored with the story. The questioning of tradition, the love of family, and the perplexities of faith that the characters dealt with in this 1905 story parallels so much of my own story. I, too, am entrenched in tradition and love of family, yet my life's path enters into new territory that is - at times - scary for all of us. Like the young brides in Fiddler, I know that love matters and that while I want my parent's blessing, I dare not ask for permission. (In some ways this is a moot point, my father is deceased and my mother teeters on the wall of dementia). In her own way, my mother has offered her blessing and I have not shared my recent joys with other family members.

My faith journey is a bit more comfortable. Coming out sparked an internal revival. In the words of Christ, "you shall know the truth and the truth will set you free." I have been liberated from spiritual stagnation and released to experience love and grace in a new manner. I have also been "filled up" to the point of being able to engage in ministry again. Praise be to god.

Today I am also grateful for my family of choice - a rag-tag band of travelers who walk this journey with me. I celebrate the upcoming addition of 2 new Ethiopian nieces. I thank god for the gift of community that has been given to a gay college student cousin. I cherish the time spent this afternoon laughing and playing with young highschool boys. Intentional family. Intentional ministry.

Confessions of Political Junkie

2008-08-27T14:57:00.000-04:00

I confess. I am a political junkie. Last night’s Democratic Convention had me glued to the TV like a football fan on Super Bowl Sunday. I turned the television to PBS, poured a glass of iced tea, and fed the political wannabe that lives deep within me.

The night started warm and fuzzy with everyday folks testifying to their belief in Barrack Obama. I was especially enamored with the home health worker who spent the day with Obama. She was poised and dressed for the occasion, but she never looked up. She read the teleprompter with sincerity and walked off stage with humility. I wonder if she was able to absorb the magnitude of the moment.

Duvall Patrick touched me with his personal journey. The senator from Pennsylvania acknowledged that we can have key differences and yet work together for the future of this nation. For a few moments, I thought, Wow, Mark Warner is good.

However, I have almost forgotten his speech, minus the chant “four more months.” With baited breathe, I waited for her… and I was not disappointed. I have been a Hillary Clinton admirer for years, a card carrying member of the Democratic Party, a proud southerner, a closet feminist, and a not-so-scary lesbian. I value justice, hope, grace, perseverance, honesty, and second chances. I am aware the path that I often stroll down was paved with the (often trampled) hopes and dreams and hard work of another generation. While Hillary is far from aged, she is part of the generation that carved the way that lets me publish such posts as this.

The generations and other dichotomies divide us more than they unite us. But last night, I believed that we are better together – all of us: young, old, male, female, gay, straight, rich, poor, yankee, southerner, white, black, brown, or otherwise. I laughed and cried – during a DNC speech!!! I was excited and affirmed, yet I still carry an ounce of grief that Hillary Clinton will not be our next president.

In the hours that have passed since, “the greatest speech I ever witnessed”, I find myself clothed in something close to patriotism, something close to hope, something that renews my faith that my generation will create a path that our children will be proud of – a path of unity, a path of equality, a path of freedom, and a path lined with equal pay for equal work, universal health care, and secure retirement.

So, thank you, Senator Clinton for speaking directly, regally, and respectfully to each of us. We know that loosing sucks – for you and for those of us who believe in your leadership. However, your professionalism and focus reminds that you will lead from the Senate as powerfully as you lead from the campaign trail.

Living in the Cloud

2008-08-21T17:11:00.003-04:00

This afternoon a NPR snipet on living in the cloud caught my ear. For those you who do not know this phrase, living in the cloud is the techie term for storing information in cyberspace rather than on a hard drive. Examples include storing photos or documents on google or flickr as well as hosting journals and info on facebook. I was a bit disappointed. I think of living in the cloud as a carefree, no-strings-attached way to approach life. But, without even knowing it, I having been living in the cloud for years. Somehow I doubt that I haven taken full advantage of the view.

How much living can one actually do in the cloud? Granted, you can share information and perhaps make a new friend. However, one can also hide from people, withdraw, or create a second (or third) persona. For me, this venue is an opportunity to be honest with my self and with others. I tend to like to be everyone's favorite friend, sister, co-worker, aunt,or lover. Putting my thoughts in the cloud allows me to test drive them. I get feed back from the comments on my blog or from "I can't believe you posted that" emails. When I see folks face to face, they already know the 'scary stuff' and I can skip the 'how will they react' head drama. Is this the best way to approach relationship? I doubt it, but how would I know, I have had my head in the cloud for years.

Most of you who know me in the real world, know that I can soak up every ounce of vigor that life offers. So, maybe my feet remain on the ground while my overly cerebral head lives in the cloud.

Borderlands

2008-08-17T20:40:00.001-04:00

"Deepest communion with God is beyond words, on the other side of silence."
- Madeleine L'Engle

"By 'minister' I mean any person who lives in the dangerous, exhilarating, life-giving borderlands of human existence, where the everyday experience of life opens up to reveal glimpses of the HOLY -- and not only lives there but comes to the aid of others who are living there."
- L. William Countryman

These are quotes that I saw on friend's facebook page. They bring up two topics that intrigue me: silence and revealing the holy.

In the past few weeks, I have been more out about my sexuality and upcoming wedding. This has fostered wonderful dialogue with my friends who see this aspect of my life as unholy (actually, sinful). In these rare moments, I do not have the words to outline an argument on the theology surrounding the sinful or sinless nature of homosexuality. Instead I return to a lesson that I learned as a summer missionary -- share the gospel according to insert your name here.

This approach works something like this ..."All I know is... I once was blank and now blank" This generates from the New Testament story of a blind man that Jesus healed. The establishment asked him a laundry list of questions about the man that healed him. The healed man's response was pointed , "All I know is that I once was blind but now I see."

For most of us, healing moments are less than common. However, somewhere in the silence of communing with god, and in the borderlands of our human existence, we get may glimpse the Holy. And that glimpse changes us.

All I know is that I was once blind, but now I see.
All I know is that I was once lonely, but now I'm not.
All I know is that I was once restless, but now I'm assured.
All I know is that I once saw life as futile, but now I have purpose.
All I know us that I once new about love as an abstract theory, now I know love as an integral part of life.
All I know is that I once knew everything, but now I know nothing.
All I know is that I am better as a part of a holy relationship than when I was alone.

All I know is that god is god, and that I am not. I have been relieved of my duties as keeper of the universe. I am called to love god and love others and through that I get to glimpse the holy in the borderlands of this thing called life.

May you too spend some time in the borderland and experience god's presence there.

2008-08-03T09:57:00.000-04:00

Rarely, am I enamored with poetry (or movies). However, yesterday I watched "In Her Shoes" and was deeply moved by the ee cummings poem below. I suppose it my current stage in life that opened me to hearing such art on a new level.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)
i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

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

ee cummings

Reimagining Family

2008-07-20T11:34:00.000-04:00

What a week. Last weekend was amazing - fun, romance, friends, family, and naps. Life doesn't get much better than that. But, life changes quickly. My partner called mid-day Monday and said, "Can you talk?". Her tone was somber and shaken. The words that followed were equally so. Her little sister was five months pregnant and had been to the doctor that morning. The baby's little heart had stopped.

The rest of the week filled with travel plans, hospital stays, emotion-filled moments, and grief. Not so many days ago, we learned that my partner's sister and brother-in-law were having a girl and we learned her name. Christmas stockings were stitched, blankets quilted, and little girl clothes purchased. On Wednesday evening, she was born. Her dad says, "She weighed 1 lb. 10 oz., was 12" long, and was beautiful. She had the smallest fingers and toes! We agree that her face kind of looked like mine. We both held her, talked to her, and said goodbye."

For me, it has been a significant week on my journey. I am affected deeply by this death. I did not know how deeply I would be touched. The family has treated me as one of their own and I have had the privilege of sharing this part of the journey with them. I have experienced a different approach to family. My family of origin does grief boldly - we are loud and even explosive with our grief. I am grateful for both approaches.

Today, I am especially grateful for this family and their method of grieving:
We sat. We cried. We laughed. We ate. We ate again. But mainly, we have simply been together.

home

2008-06-17T20:02:00.000-04:00

I have been traveling for several days and returned home today. For most folks this may be a refreshing experience, but it is challenging for me. I'm one of the many who care for an aging or ill parent.

After my mother's stroke, we agreed that sharing a house would be the most sensible way to co-exist.It is logical:our 3500 square foot house is more than big enough for two people.However, it is not large enough for myguilt and resentment.

I adore my mother. Yet, when I walk in from four days on the road, followed by a tedious day at work, I want some silence. She, on the other hand, has been home alone (with the exception of a short visit from her male friend) and wants to chat. She's excited and I'm exhausted - and a bit snappy. How can I get frustrated with her. Like any of us, she is lonely. She has 6 kids, 14 grandkids and a quiver full of great grand kids. She attended church every time the door opened until she could no longer drive. Where is everyone? Are folks so consumed that they cannot pick up the phone and call a lonely old lady? I know, I could ask for help. But, I don't. Instead I have little patience with the one person who has no control over this situation: moma.

If you are still reading, pick up the phone and call a lonely elder - they and their primary listener- will be grateful.

Breaking the Silence

2008-06-16T19:49:00.000-04:00

It has been months since I have written and my faithful reader(s) are probably wondering why. It is one thing to put your intimate thoughts and inner dialogue on the internet when no one else is involved. However, someone else is involved now. A few months ago I met the most wonderful woman. We began dating immediately and are fostering a life long relationship. I forget that we do not look like every couple at church and even at the local coffee shop. However, she teaches middle school and so we have chosen not to be reckless in our "outness." So, I have been absent from this blog.

Yesterday, I heard a sermon on god's presence in the absurd - that Sarah laughed at the ridiculousness of god's promise and god's grace was still poured out. I'm familiar with that. My relationship may seem absurd to many, but I now more aware of god's presence than I have been in years.

So, in that vein, I'm writing again. Let the absurdity continue...

Holy Moments

2007-12-27T09:50:00.000-05:00

I am strangely moved by Benazir Bhutto's assassination. I know her only through the voices of NPR commentators, and I will likely forget her quickly. However, today I am reminded to speak truth to power and to treasure life's holy moments.

Heat, work, busyness, a messy- unfinished house, and routine usurp the beauty and power of Advent -- at least for me. But this year the insanity of the season has been peppered with holy moments.

Last Saturday, I spent the day with old friends. We sat around the fire, roasted hog shoulders, sipped a little whiskey, and shared stories. Time changes nothing and everything. Seven years have pasted since we lived in the same community and the only difference I noticed was my own maturity and the absence of my favorite Springer Spaniel, Jack. Thanks be to God.

I cherish my role as a lay reader at St. John UMC. But, as many of you may guess, I am not very coachable. That changed this weekend. As I listened to Judith coach the Christmas Eve readers, I knew that we were invoking the holy. Judith is experienced and credentialed, but none of that mattered. She spoke with love and admiration to each reader - from the small child to the senior minister. Judith's admonitions focused on the spirit of each reading and how the reader could lead the congregation toward the holy mystery. She could have simply corrected tone or pace, but instead she focused on spirit and energy and for that I am grateful. Thanks be to God for coaches who bring mystery and holiness into routine moments.

On fifth Sundays I teach Sunday School at the senior high rise adjacent to the church. The group humors my musings, but prefers lectures to interaction. Embarrassingly, they never crossed my mind during the holidays until I received a card and check from them. I was both ashamed and affirmed. I'm single without kids, so occasionally I am jealous of the gift frenzy surrounding others. The gift from these seniors squelched my jealousy and highlighted the gift of love that surrounds me daily. Thanks be to God for the wisdom and generosity of elders.

The tattoo on my right arm is supposed to remind me that god is present in unexpected places and that my role is to open my senses to the divine presence. Most of the time I fail. Thanks be to God for a series of holy "oh yeah, god is here" moments that propel me into the new year.

Benazir Bhutto - one woman yearning to make a difference -- often failing -- occasionally succeeding. May her death not be in vain.

Tolerance

2007-12-15T15:43:00.000-05:00

According to dictionary.com tolerance can be defined as:

1.	a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differ from one's own; freedom from bigotry.

2.	a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward opinions and practices that differ from one's own.

3.	interest in and concern for ideas, opinions, practices, etc., foreign to one's own; a liberal, undogmatic viewpoint.

4.	the act or capacity of enduring; endurance

A fellow church goer has repeatedly accused me of being intolerant and disrespectful when discussing a conservative approach to faith. But I think he is very wrong. I have a very undogmatic view of the extreme right and I have endured ... more than I probably should have (see definitions 3 and 4).Yet, the more I ponder on it, the more I think that I shouldn't be tolerant.

Tolerance has enabled the protestant middle to fill churches with socialites rather than a change agents. Tolerance has left the inner cities to give birth to a generation of children who are uneducated and stuck in poverty through no fault of their own. Tolerance prevents same sex marriage and domestic partner insurance benefits. Tolerance prevents us from interfering when an acquaintance is being abused. Tolerance lets church leaders drive Jaguars when parishioners cannot afford school supplies -- or nutritious meals. Tolerance is the buzz word for a society of pansy-ass middle class Americans who are afraid to take a stand for anything.

So, if refusing to participate in a small group that uses popular "christian" propaganda as study material makes me intolerant - so be it. If getting passionate about my view of church and faith is considered disrespectful - so be it.

Let's shake things up a bit. After all, Malcolm X's radical views made Martin Luther King look reasonable. So if I wander too far into the radical, it just emphasizes the reasonableness of sane folks.

Thanksgivingesque

2007-11-25T14:26:00.000-05:00

At thanksgiving dinner a friend asked everyone to share the one thing that they were most thankful for. I gave a true, but incomplete response: having a true peer group. As I pondered on this question for several days, I came to an interesting conclusion -- the things that I am most grateful for are not things at all. People and relationships are the most important elements of my life. This past year I have experienced tremendous growth that is only possible in light of a peer group that I trust.
At the risk of leaving someone out, I will attempt to make a list of gifts my friends have given me.

Bill and Cindy: Bill taught me confidence and grace. Cindy taught me hospitality, maturity, and modeled womanhood beautifully.
Joe challenges my intellect and keeps me sharp. He preaches Christ and believes what he says.
Tab reminds me to be gentle. She has loved me for a long time for no particular reason. We are family.
Jody is a man of great depth and few words, and in that I find great security.
Beth is a daily blessing. Her number is on speed dial for venting and random observations. She continuously shares her home and family with me.
Charles cracks me up. We are kindred spirits and have a shared sense of humor (or lack thereof). I invade his home and spend more time with his wife than he does. Yet, he still seems glad to see me (or maybe he fakes it -- but I feel welcome either way).
Mary Ann brings joy in many ways, but this year, after a particularly vulnerable moment, wrote me a note affirming me and our friendship. Being as this is a public space, I'll skip the details, but her affirmation was a treasured gift.
Julio ... what more can I say. I am grateful for our weird relationship and all that it entails.
Emily and John are precious humans who embody peace and fun. They matter to me and so many others,
Linda is so damn frank that she can push others away, but not me. She has spoken so much truth to me in her sarcastic, over the top manner and for that I am appreciative.
Renee and Dondi model authenticity and give me space to roam. Thank you.

Thanks for indulging me in a list that barely touches on the difference people have made in my life. As advent approaches, I pray that the spirit of thanksgiving will remain. It has been good for me take inventory of the gifts I have already received this year (but I will still be accepting beautifully wrapped gifts though out the season hint, hint)

2007-11-19T15:25:00.000-05:00

Joe says that its time for me to write a new post. And just for the record, Joe is always right. The good news is that I use this blog as a tool for processing the things that keep me awake at night -- and I have been sleeping well.

However, today someone asked me, "How do you keep from being disillusioned and cynical?" Well, first of all, I'm not sure that I do. But he pressed further, looking for the source of my hopefulness.

Through that conversation I recognized a couple key elements of my life:

Somehow, I made it this far in life with the belief that I matter and that I really can change the world. Egotistical? probably.
A peer group of well-read and engaged friends keeps me sharp. They provide a safe space for my cynicism and push back enough to keep me humble (well, relatively).
In my post-evangelical era, I rarely talk about "calling". However, from a very early age, I have been away of the presence of god in my life and of my need to respond to that call through service. The shape of that service may shift, but the calling remains. Outside of professional ministry, I have the opportunity and responsibility to minister to folks who see no relevance in the organized church. I may struggle with finding the right language for my faith, but I have no trouble identifying the right actions.

So what? I still believe that a few individuals can start a movement and that movements change the world. I believe that refusing to vote or failing to educate myself on matters of importance would be a rejection of my calling.

How do you describe the aspects of life that drive you? Is a calling or hobby? What role does faith play? What drives your level of civic engagement?

Whoever I am, I am thine, Oh Lord.

It's No Big Deal

2007-10-10T19:24:00.000-04:00

I realize that cyberspace is a dangerous place for self-disclosure, but I need to write this. Besides, I am convinced that no one else reads this blog (and that's okay)

Tonight, I met my biological mother for a drink after work. Let me preface that thought. Before tonight, she never told me that she gave birth to me and I never told her that I knew - Hence the need for a stiff drink. I have become aware of the need to live and authentic life and the need to base relationships on truth. So, I set up the meeting.

Shortly after she asked, "What's up?" I recited my practiced introduction: "I am at a place in my life where I need to hold on to as few secrets as possible. I want to tell you that I know that you are my biological mother and I hope that you will share some of that story with me..."

Her response, "So you are at the point that you want to know everything"
Me: Not really, I just want to have this conversation and not tell your story if you don't want it told"

Her: It's really no big deal. I was 16 and pregnant. Moma and Daddy sent me to a home for unwed mothers. The nurses would not let me see you in the hospital because moma and daddy told them not to. Moma and Daddy told me that financially it would be better if I signed papers for them to adopt you. I signed. Daddy took papers to biological dad for him to sign. They promised that I could take you anytime. That wasn't true. I filed for custody and lost. I was a kid and that's the system for you. A little while later I married a son of bitch and .... and now we are here. No big deal.

She then addressed the other natural areas: Your dad was a really nice guy. He and his parents were healthy. He drank alot. And did a few drugs - he was in a car accident with a friend and the friend died - that messed him up. But he was a calm, easy going nice guy. She has no idea where he is. But, she told me his name - something I never knew. Also, her husband knows, but not her kids - my half siblings. She goes on to say that it's my story, not hers. If I want to tell them I can, she doesn't care. "It's no big deal either way"

I asked her if my dad had bipolar disorder or other mental health concerns. Not that she knew.

We then returned to our typical pattern of conversation. How are the kids and work? Have you tried any new restaurants lately?

Well, I've got errands to run. See you later.

"It's no big deal".....
Before the conversation, I really did not like her much. I still feel the same. We share blood type and more personality than I'd care to admit, but otherwise our worlds are so different.

I'm glad we chatted. I'm glad that our relationship is not a secret. I'm glad that she didn't cry. I'm even more glad that I didn't cry. And I'm really glad that my sense of self is not based on on someone else's sense of no big deal."

Unknown

2007-09-15T23:01:00.000-04:00

This quote was the opening to yesterday's meditation reading. I'm still chewing on it and decided to share it:

Be patient to all that is unsolved in your heart and learn to love the questions themselves, like looked rooms and books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. - Rainer Marie Rilke

The Power of Red

2007-09-11T22:59:00.000-04:00

Three days in Sedona, AZ has left me virtually speechless. The Red Rock of Oak Creek Canyon and the surrounding area radiates the divine presence. My tour guide made eye contact in similar manner. As we drove to the Grand Canyon, he asked us to look at the fields of nothing spotted with brush. He then reminded us that in a little while we would see beneath this surface -- the Grand Canyon. Life mimics this discovery. How often do we see a barren, scrappy human and fail to travel far enough with them to see the beauty and complexity within.

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-09-10T23:31:00.000-04:00

The cons of spending your 31st birthday traveling solo.

The rewards of the same adventure.

Stopping. Frequently. Can. Be. Annoying.

2007-09-05T21:53:00.000-04:00

I'm a calendar girl. My entire work day revolves around my Outlook calendar -- and I rarely make exceptions. However, this week was different. To make a long story short, I rearranged an entire day to accommodate one of our rural city officials -- and then she canceled. In a parallel time line, a friend called to ask me to stop by the funeral of a young man who found little peace in this world. You guessed it, the funeral was at the exact time of the canceled meeting. I went. How could I not, the very universe was ordered around this event. I did all the usual funeral rituals: sit in the back, speak kindly and and gently to the family, sign the guest book and return to work. The funeral home was packed with sobbing young people. Together they were comforted and together they were devastated.
Fast forward a few hours and I took my mother and two of my favorite people to the nicest restaurant in town. The couple dining with me are in their early 80s, sarcastic, irreverent, curious, and fully alive- for they embody peace. Together, we ate too decadently, chatted too loudly, and laughed until we hurt.
A young man's funeral and an elderly couple's celebration remind me to soak up life, live big, love more, and unschedule some time for chance encounters.

Clash

2007-09-04T21:48:00.000-04:00

I spent the weekend with my delightfully, spunky, 87 year old great-aunt who wanted to see us "one more time." Overall, I adore her, but our god compasses point in opposite directions.

She told a story about her son-in-law that broke my heart. (Basically, he manages a christian bookstore that refuses to hire homosexuals-- they even ask about sexuality on the job application. When an applicant complained, the son-in-law "witnessed" to the young man. Time passed and the young man returned to thank him for setting him straight and tell Roger that he was no longer gay.) My great-aunt ended the story with a commentary on "that lifestyle". She was not talking to me, but I was close enough to hear, but I said nothing. My deeply entrenched southern manners prohibit me from correcting someone so elderly, yet my activist side wanted to scream.

I grieve for the church- the institution of hope and grace has been raped and smothered by well-meaning christians. I do realize that the church has always been used for both good and evil, but today I grieve anyway.

To be cliche, we have made god in our own image and instead of vice versa. Theology like this creates dangerous dichotomies: good or evil,black or white, holy or profane. Aren't most of us both good AND evil, liberal AND conservative, prejudiced AND accepting, faith-filled AND doubtful... You get the point.

Just wondering... How does a well-mannered southern lady change the world when she cannot refute her elders? Do actions really speak louder that words?

Getting Started

2007-08-29T13:12:00.000-04:00

I am too old for my space and too young to not have a presence on the web. So here I am blogging. I suspect that this will be a location for random comments and observations, although, I occasionally drift off in to an existential pondering.

Last night, the group formerly know as St. John Young Adults, finally adopted a new name, Detour. I like it. I pitched it because it is the name a club that I have been to in Athens. But, I think it works on many levels. The group exist for fun, fellowship, and encouragement (insert church language of edification). Too often groups that call people forward in love instead of holding them back in judgement are hard to find. So, I am grateful for a Detour.

On a personal note, I am beginning a new personal journey. It may be a detour, but I suspect that it is a new route. Just deciding to give myself freedom to get real with myself about who I am and how I handle stress has been super liberating. So, stay tuned....