Reflections on 2006

Check out Mason Jenning's Boneclouds album. Each song highlights a different element of this past year for me. Rather than read here, go and listen to the album in its entirety. You will then understand what I've been thinking, feeling, perceiving (and so on) this past year.

Also, I've been reading some of the old high school standards . . .To Kill a Mockingbird and Crime and Punishment. This is something I highly suggest to anyone. I've even revisited the children's classic The Velveteen Rabbit, thanks to my friend in Ireland/Haiti (I think he has found out that the way to this woman's heart is through books), and each are profound in a new way this go-around; a more lasting way. Dostoevsky's Sonia will linger with me, as will Harper Lee's Atticus. The Horse who advises the Rabbit will stay in my mind as well, reminding me that love hurts sometimes but that it is better to be real--even if it means getting a little banged up. (Or slept on so that you can't breathe, or having your whiskers torn out!) And I think of Porfiry in Crime and Punishment and his urging Raskolnikov to not be "over-wise, but to fling yourself straight into life; without deliberation." Each character--Horse, Sonia, Atticus--fleshes out genuine, agape love. Maybe they'll help me love with kindness in 2007.

This is Too Much

A phobia to pickles?!

The pulpit in July?

Bizarre morning, but one of those God-is-in-this mornings . . . . All said and done, I might be preaching for 3 weeks in July.

Am I still wondering what happened? Yes.

A Fresh Kill

NYC!

Nicole and I on top of our bus

Times Square by day

Broadway

Nicole and I entertaining ourselves while waiting for the tour bus

Times Square by night

Lights!

Me, the double decker bus . . . .

Fells Point, MD

Fells Point--one of the streets in the oldest part of Baltimore, MD

Me in front of the Whistling Oyster

One of the most haunted buildings in Fells Point

East Coast Synopsis

Places:

• Hershey and Bethlehem, PA; Washington DC; Baltimore, MD; Princeton, NJ; New York, NY; New Haven and somewhere near Hartford, CT.

People:

• Larry, Debbie, Meredith . . .uncle, aunt, cousin. Treasure hunting in thrift shops with Debbie; running down streets with Larry to catch Meredith marching in her school's color guard. Exploring Baltimore's Inner Harbor and taking the "Ghost Tour" in Fells Point on Halloween. Chocolate World!
  

• Grandma Charlotte, Aunt Lisa, Uncle Doug, and my cousin Andrew. Grandma drilling me about the guy I was meeting in DC. Lisa showing me Bethlehem and making coffee a priority. Doug offering to take a day off work to showcase NYC. Andrew telling me about his band and texting his friends regularly. Me eating tasty salmon.

• My Irish friend living in Haiti. Meeting at the Jefferson Memorial (in response to the question: "Which president did you enjoy learning more about in school--Lincoln or Jefferson?"). A red bag full of goodies, one of them being the complete tales and poems of Edgar Allen Poe. Many cab rides and monuments, the Capitol, protesters and the White House, holding hands and reading the newspaper in silence together.

• Mozella. One of my favorite humans on the planet. Kind, funny, the best hot chocolate maker out there. One of those people you want to be like someday. Also dealt with me on the phone in my effort to get out of DC . . .getting pulled over in DC, me crying and blocking traffic. I hate DC cops. Mozella, however, I adore.

• Stina. Miss PhD Princeton. Being with her as she accepted the job at Bethel, remembering our old roommate days in the place in downtown Minneapolis. Our TA life coupled with squirrels needing to be led out of our house with grapes, lettuce, and whatever else we thought might work, getting Dima together, exploring Christianity and womanhood, boys/men, and figuring out our vocations together. And still doing that with a lot of laughter, challenging conversations, and most importantly, grace.

• Tim & Nicole (or as her mom and I like to refer to her: "Nicoley"). Wandering around Yale's campus and falling in love with the place. Parallel parking 2-3 different times and holding up a city bus. Fearing I might have hit the tree. Really tasty beer and, believe it or not, mashed potato pizza. Taking the train into NYC with Nicole, double decker buses, Times Square, posing for pictures . . .laughing a lot, wondering about the future together, attempts made to figure out our families . . . . Tim making me one of the best music mixes out there, appropriately titled "East Coast Extravaganza." Mason Jennings, the Decemberists, and so many others--one can't go wrong. Being with two people I value deeply.
  

• Sabrina, Maya, and little Thatcher. Witnessing a good mom in action. Holding Thatcher often, even managing to get him to stop crying when Sib left to get something with Maya (I'm better with dogs than babies). Wendy's! Frosties, french fries, and Maya running up and down the bench. Maya moving the "Caution, Wet Floor" cones all over the place while screaming on occasion. Admiring Sabrina's stamina. Not wanting kids any time soon. Wishing I lived closer to be an auntie. . .enjoyed being referred to as "Auntie Kristy." Stimulating conversation with a kindred spirit.
  

A very brief rundown of my 2 week stint out east . . . . Overall, splendid. Much needed in every way.

Snowy Friday

It was a day for the mukluks! December has arrived and this snow-loving woman is happy.
:)

Day from hell? Quite possibly . . . .

a.) I got up at 4 am.

b.) There was an insane amount of surgeries today, and I worked beyond my normal shift.

c.) The "oil line" on my Blazer snapped, broke, blew--use your choice of words for it, which in turn left me stranded on the side of the interstate waiting for 40 minutes for my father to come to the rescue. With the help of 4 gallons of oil, shutting the truck off during red lights, and having a mild heart attack, we got the truck to a parking lot to assess further damage. Repairs for the oil line/set of tubes will run over 500 dollars, not to mention the tow to the shop . . .and even then, I'm not sure if the engine is trashed. We won't be able know until this first part is repaired, unfortunately. And oddly enough, my father replaced the oil and filter last night. The tubes blowing today is unrelated to the oil change, but the fact that my truck dumped brand new oil and ruined a perfectly good filter adds salt to the wound. Damn you, car gods!

d.) I drank a lot of coffee (the parking lot belonged to a Caribou Coffee), so sleep is a long way off.

It really could be worse. On the flip side, I have a great neighbor in Mike who took care of Dima while I was hoping to not get killed by a semi, and I have a terrific mother and father who are doing their best to help with the mess. I didn't die, by the way, so it is probably good that I was physically able to drink coffee, stay up too late, and pay off my credit card bills for the rest of my life. I'm blessed . . .really . . . . And if I'm lucky, the engine isn't cooked. If I'm not lucky, well, I'll owe credit card gods more of my blood, sweat, and tears.

Oh, the drama! Am I one of my Thistledew girls?

LCD Bulbs--Who needs 'em?

This will be short, as I am not writing from my computer. My laptop has given up the ghost, yet again.

I'm looking forward to writing about my last two weeks in PA, Washington DC, NY, MD, NJ and CT. Amazing friends and family members, a fluttering of the heart for Yale (there is a theology and literature program that has caught my eye (thank you, Nicoley)), New York City (Mason Jennings got it right with his song), and so much more. A whirlwind of fine conversations and laughter, this trip has been good for my soul.

More later . . . .

It's official: Dima is part wolf . . . .

I met a woman at the laundromat who owns malamute/wolf dogs and she was beside herself when she met Dima. Before I knew it, she was after his mouth and peeling his jowls upward to investigate his teeth. With an emphatic "Yes, I knew it!" she turned toward me and informed me that "without a doubt" Dima had wolf in him. Apparently he has extra teeth that only wolves have. We swapped some stories and she then brought her dogs in from the car, and one of them about killed Dima. Thankfully Dima's husky traits are dominant, so I don't need to worry about him attacking other dogs.

Crazy--I've been sleeping with a wolf for six years.

More Ray Ravings

I'm sorry, but I can't help myself. I'm fully in love with Ray LaMontagne's album Till the Sun Turns Black. Some truly well-written, well-played songs: Empty, Three More Days, Lesson Learned. The lyrics, the music, the overall feel . . .superb. Nothing but goodness for your ears and mind. Go to itunes now.

So I've been busy making travel plans with my family in PA, still need to get on the plans with friends. I'm thinking of flying out and then taking the train up the coast. Unfortunately Amtrak doesn't run through the part of PA I want it to, so I've got to get creative. As of right now the stops look like this: Philadelphia, DC, Baltimore, Princeton, NYC, New Haven. Then again, that might change depending on whether I get a round trip ticket or not. It has been 2 years since I've taken a vacation for me, so I'm still in shock that it's actually happening. Feels good, really.

News on the homefront: 1) My Dad is doing really well. He has already turned down a couple of jobs and is taking time to figure out what he really wants to do . . .in the meantime he is busy exercising, purging the house, and walking/dogsitting Dima when I work 2nd shift. 2) Mike picks up a new puppy lab today! I'm sure "Bowen" will be harassing Dima regularly as I hope to help whenever I'm able. Thank you for your prayers. I think it's safe to say that both lives are experiencing more happiness.

"Compassion is the chief and perhaps the only law of being for all mankind."-F. Dostoevsky

More Superior Shots

On a happy day . . .

On a moodier day . . .

Song of Choice

Ray LaMontagne's Three More Days--does it get any better?! Truly!

Ray, you can bring you and your raspy Joe Cockeresque voice/vibe home to me any day.

Temperance River

A lot going on here . . . .

My neighbor (and friend) Mike's dog, Isaac, died last week. It's awful and he's really struggling . . .please pray for him.

I also found out today that my father got laid off from the job that he's worked for over 15 years. It's a long story. Please pray for him as well.

For Matt

Expedition Pictures!--SHT

The Superior Hiking Trail does not disappoint! Above is Battle Creek Pond, early in the morning. We heard a moose sloshing around in it the night before--a lot of crunching/snapping of branches and definitive hoof-against-ground sounds. Very exciting . . . .

A corny shot of me looking out over Lake Superior from Mystery Mountain.

Probably my favorite Lake Superior shot . . . .

Devil's Track River

I couldn't resist: Minnow Lake (near camp in Togo) where I got swarmed by hornets. Unaware and distracted from jumping around on a bog to test its strength, I bounced right into their ground nest. Thankfully I got out of there with only three bites to my right hand. My hand looked like a latex glove filled with water, and even now, turns purple in the areas where I was stung when I'm cold. You can see where the venom (or whatever it is that makes them wretched bastards) traveled in my circulatory system. Some people develop allergies with each new sting. Are there Epi Pens in my future?!

Putzing in Duluth

Yes, it is 8:21 pm and I have 2 more hours to camp. I'm enjoying my last latte before the 3 weeks of teenage female drama. BUT--there are good days with good breakthroughs, and I'm looking forward to throwing the pack on my back again . . . . And it's back to the North Shore! No complaints, right?

Did I mention that I already miss my dog?

I've got 2 hours to get over it . . . .

Online Dating

Yes, I took the plunge.

Matches from all over the globe await . . . .

And yes, I am thoroughly entertained.

A Little Piece of Wisdom

"People usually maintain nebulous boundaries out of fear: fear that if you ask for commitment the other person will refuse; fear that if you make a commitment, you'll break it; or fear that you'll be swallowed up and lose yourself. The ability to commit is related to levels of differentiation. Because people who are well differentiated are better able to hang onto themselves in close relationship to others, commitment feels like freedom to go deeper, feel union, and explore oneself."--from If the Buddha Dated: A Handbook for Finding Love on a Spiritual Path, by Charlotte Kasl

Well put, Charlotte.

Tired

I'm learning to be okay with people hating me. Not easy, but it's a lesson we all have to learn, I suppose. It's just hard when it's two menopausal women that you work with--rational thinking is out of the question.

Two Beauties

Ray LaMontagne's Trouble: Buy it and love it with every ounce of your music-appreciating being.

An Unfinished Life: Rent and savor it. Then buy it and share it with your friends.

More Praise for Emmanuel UCC

I’ve been exploring churches in the Oconomowoc area in an attempt to actually attend a church within my community, but none seem to fit like the UCC church in Dousman. I think I need to just suck it up and make the drive out there. Here are a couple of indicators of health that I perceived this last Sunday, which was “Bring Your Pets to Church” day.

1.) The service was held outside with our respective dogs, cats, and even horses. The service’s hymns spoke of God’s love for all of creation, and children helped lead some of the songs.

2.) One hymn referred to God as both Mother and Father—something I find to be invaluable, as both work as metaphors to speak of the nature of God . . .and to be in a church that values the suggestions of both means a lot to me, as I’ve encountered a lot of resistance to this in the past. Thank you, Emmanuel UCC. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

3.) During the service our pastor had us bring our pets/animals to the front of the gathering, and she prayed over and blessed each one. Afterwards, each received an appropriate treat. Carrots for the horses, dog chews for the pooches, and whatever you give to cats. Dima helped himself to the treats’ bucket before she could even pray for him, which brought laughter to everyone else and complete embarrassment to me.

4.) Later in the service, Nancy then had the children go spread bird seed. I love that the children are learning that caring for animals is vital to our understanding of our relationship with God and the nonhuman world. It will teach them not to exploit their surroundings, and that life is much larger than themselves as individuals. I’m game for any church that stresses the interdependencies of this world . . .agriculture, wilderness, human care . . .and to find a church that finds value in implementing this respect for the land and its inhabitants to its future generation brings me hope.

5.) The service handout’s front page was a drawing from one of the kids with the title “God loves pets.” Each week they try to showcase artistic expressions from the children. How empowering for the kids—to foster creativity and acceptance on a community level . . .LOVE it! And for them to have individual time in the spotlight is also important.

6.) The multi-generational community. To find church congregations that vary in age these days is rare.

7.) And finally, St. Francis of Assisi—love the man. He was referred to in the service and we recited one of his prayers.

They also gave horse rides to the kids once the service was over. How fun is that?

So with all of that said, I’m finally venturing back to church with a sense of excitement instead of dread.

Planes, Motorcycles, and Mini-Vans

A couple of weekends ago my dad's side of the family got together for a mini-family reunion in South Bend, IN. Above is my uncle Bob in Man-Toy Land. In his personal hanger (yes, for airplanes) is his tool shop, kayaks and airplanes he has built for himself, motorcycles (the latest a BMW touring bike which is a mighty smoothe ride), fishing boats, and I'm sure a lot of other crap that isn't really crap. He also hiked a portion of the AT last year, so he was eager to show me his backcounty gear that is stored there as well. His latest project is building a hutch for his wife, Rita, and naturally, we were shown all the tools necessary for the task. I do believe an obsession with projects runs in my family . . . . Look at him, he looks like a 5 year old boy in a McDonald's playland.
Bob decided to take me for a flight in his plane and even let me fly a little. We flew over a portion of Lake Michigan and surprisingly got clearance to fly over Notre Dame. Seeing Touchdown Jesus and the stadium from the air was incredible.
Airplane seatbelts . . .Bob had to strap me in like an infant. I tried to figure them out myself but I can only do so much with non-descriptive words like "That--there. No, no, that . . .there!"
My dad and mom (Ron and Dottie) with little Danny, my cousin Jenny's baby. He's a sprawler when he sleeps and especially enjoyed the comfort of my dad's gut. Jenny and her husband, Sean, give me hope for happy marriages. Fingers crossed, they'll settle into the Milwaukee area.

Well, onto other business on the internet, like paying bills and email.

Current . . .

Current read: A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson.

Current song of choice: Just Another Old Love Song, by Joe Purdy.

Current thoughts surfacing and resurfacing: All decisions involve loss, and the fact that happy endings don’t happen according to fate or some random circumstance—they involve a commitment to making hard decisions and discipline . . .oftentimes they require compromise and self-sacrifice.

Current anxiety: going back to Greek and Hebrew. My Greek is incredibly rusty, and Hebrew is an entirely different game that I haven’t played before.

Current question: Do I look for a job at the hospital in Oconomowoc to save a chunk of change on gas?

Current hope: that everything will work out at The Nashotah House for my MDIV.

Current surprise: how much I love Oconomowoc and its endearing “Parade of Lights” (pontoon boats dressed up like parade floats—themed and blaring music—parading through City Beach and past the docks), band shell concerts, art festivals, and May’s Garden Center (great deals on flowers and watering cans—also home of Dima’s treats and dog food).

Current other hope: that my cousin’s husband will take the job with Harley Davidson and move to the Milwaukee area. Then I could be a pseudo-auntie to their new baby boy, Danny, and hang out with my old partner-in-crime, Jenny.

Chaplaincy?

Greetings from SE Wisconsin, currently the land of high 90's and wicked humidity. I've had to walk Dima pre-5 am or post-9 pm, and even then he launches himself into the lake as soon as he's able--nothing like the smell of wet dog before you go to bed! But I feel sorry for the hairy bastard . . . .

On to some different thoughts.

It has been good to be back at Froedtert Hospital. Though I'm not crazy about my actual job duties, I love the people I work with: nurses, surgeons, residents, care techs, chaplains, transporters, and fellow communicators. They are quality people who care well for people . . . . Lately I've been getting to know one of the rabbis who comes in the mornings to see patients before they go into surgery. We've been discussing his career as a chaplain and the pros and cons of the profession. Over the past few years I've entertained the idea of becomig a chaplain. It's a job that requires more listening than talking (something I prefer, believe it or not!) and I love that it interacts with different faiths. At Froedtert we have a host of faiths represented in the chaplaincy department, which I love. I've known for a long time that I could never work in a church setting, as I crave discussions with those who have come to different conclusions about life than myself . . .and I love how those conversations enrich and shape me. I don't condemn those who prefer a church setting--I just know that it would be a recipe for disaster should I go that route.

Back to chaplaincy: for a few years I've considered chaplaincy in a Children's Hospital setting, and over the past few months the idea has been screaming at me for attention. I haven't said much to anyone about it, because I wondered if it was just the yearly restlessness with the current job that was surfacing (see my resume--it's ridiculous), just like previous years. I'm one of those people who is addicted, maybe, to "newness." Jobs, places to live, people, cultures, etc.. I have a need for new adventures. However, with my return to Scony, I think I might be settling into what I love (and maybe what I've always loved, for that matter). I love Oconomowoc and the concerts by the American Legion band in the bandshell on Wed. nights. I love the people who are kind to you when you pass them on the sidewalk. And I love the lakes. I really love the lakes . . . . And there is my apartment, which could not be more perfect, and my dog, and my family close by--the list goes on. Maybe I'm settling down, or growing up, or both. Either way, I'm trying to bring my love for people--especially those who are hurting--together with my love for home.

With that all said, I've decided to see my contract through Decemeber at Thistledew, and I will then be working only at Froedtert. Once I've put my 6 months in there, I'll access my tuition benefits through the hospital and work on finishing up my MDiv, most likely at North Park in Chicago. I only need 5 more credits on campus, and I'll then be able to finish everything up via online classes. With a couple of week-long intensives, meeting those requirements shouldn't be a problem, and I'm actually looking forward to checking in with a couple of professors I connected with during my previous schooling there. I've always respected the Covenant tradition and ideology . . .I love their concerns for social justice, biblical equality, and cultural diversity. I think it would be wise for me to finish there, though I've been investigating an Episcopalian seminary 15 minutes away from where I currently live. And did I mention that I love the UCC church I've gone to on occasion when I've been home? Not even within Christianity can I stick to one denomination! Call it my need for the bigger picture. :) Again, another reason why I would probably actually stay in a career of hospital chaplaincy . . . .

Whew. A lot said there, but it's good to get it in print.

A New Sausage!

Yes folks, the Brewers have added a NEW sausage to the racing team at Miller Park. Does it get any better???

Mind Games

Woke up at 3:30 am to be at the hospital at 5:00 am. Eating breakfast, taking a shower, feeding and walking the dog, throwing a lunch together, and a 40 minute commute fills the time quickly . . . . But I will not complain, as work brings in the cold, hard cash, which in turn, pays off the Los Angeles credit card bills. I try to tell myself “Hey, today your work will pay for a third of your bed frame,” or “Remember when you blew that tire on the 210? Today you’re paying for that tire,” and so on.

Today I’ve decided that I’m paying for one of the grocery runs to Ralph’s or Trader Joe’s.

Early Morning

This morning I woke up at 4:30 am, resentful for having to get up so early for work. And yet, when I walked Dima I encountered one of the most stirring sunrises I’ve seen in a long, long time. A brilliant, pink brooding sky with the lake to match it . . . .

There aren’t words for these moments—just stillness while the colored morning light splashes over you, relieving you from your sense of duty to the world. Quiet awareness; beauty that almost hurts to take in . . .and relief.

It is good to be home.

Expedition Pics-BWCAW

Hocho and a pregnancy test--welcome to Girls Endeavors.

Me carrying a canoe at the portage on Splash Lake.

Vera Lake--one of my favorite lakes in the Boundary Waters.

My 27th B-Day! Thank you, Lindsay, for the "Birthday Party in a Box." The girls loved the lip gloss, cliff bars, and drink mix. The tiara was a lot of fun too! Thanks for making it special for both me and them. I'd post a picture here of them and their rings, but you know how confidentiality laws go . . . .

Dusk on Moose Lake.

Another Expedition accomplished . . . .

A New Favorite

One of the girls read this poem this morning for check-in. I loved it and am posting it below:

Comes the Dawn

After awhile you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And that company doesn't mean serenity.

You begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts,
That presents aren't promises.

And you begin to accept defeats with the
Grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
With your head up and your eyes open.

You learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow's ground is too
Uncertain for plans, and futures have a
Way of falling down in midflight.

After awhile you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own gardens and decorate
Your own soul instead of waiting for someone
To bring you flowers.

You learn that you really can endure.
That you really are strong.
That you really do have worth.

And you learn and you learn.

Iron and Wine

I took a break in Duluth and purchased a couple of CDs--one of them Calexico & Iron and Wine's In the Reins. I'm at a loss as to how to explain how this album moves me . . . . I will say that it is the perfect record to listen to while traveling 2-lane highways in MN, especially as the landscape shifts from unassuming silhouettes to the quiet of the dark.

Post Report Ramblings

I'm in the throws of writing reports and am escaping for a bit between each one. 11:12 pm, and what is on my mind?

--Don't itch the bug bites.
--Why do the ones on my fingers itch the most?
--I need to take a course off to rest my heart. Get perspective again.
--I love Patty Griffin.
--I need to play my guitar more.
--I hate writing reports.
--My brother will be working with the Boys Endeavors program and should be arriving sometime tonight or tomorrow. It will be bizarre to see him running around camp. I hope it all goes well for him.
--I love MN.
--I miss WI.

Damn Bugs

As of 6:48 pm today, I had 74 mosquito bites.

If I could marry any stretch of land in the world . . .

I would marry the North Shore--truly. I'm a sucker for rocks, water and the woods, and all merge beautifully along the Superior Hiking Trail. Above I'm "posing" for a picture above Grand Marais. It's a sloppy Proud Warrior, but we had just hiked 8 miles. And let me add that I must now avoid Grand Marais like I avoid Bozeman, MT . . .I could all too easily move there and live happily ever after.
The girls on a section of trail that leads down to the Devil's Track River.
Hiking along the shore . . .again, so much beauty.

There are more pictures, but I have midnight checks for solo tonight, so I've got to get myself together before venturing out to our sites. Hope all is well in your parts of the world.

Rain . . .and More Rain

Thunder Mountain

Life is good . . .and wet. The girls are good . . .and wet. Me? Good . . .and wet.

Old-School Surprises Still Exist . . .

. . .meeting someone intriguing, kind, and wonderfully sarcastic while you walk the dogs.

. . .picking up extra work between courses at a previous employment with a starting pay that is higher than when you left two years ago.

. . .shearing sheep for the first time (pictures will come later).

. . .having your side-view mirror ripped off by a carwash (today).

. . .waking up to a large german shepherd draped over half your body, watching you intently.

. . .waking up later to that same german shepherd snoring furiously with his head nestled into your armpit.


I'm off to MN tomorrow morning for another go-around with Thistledew's Girls Endeavors. Backpacking and the Superior Hiking Trail--should be delicious . . . .

Look Out

Come to the window, look out, and see
the valley turning green in remembrance
of all springs past and to come, the woods
perfecting with immortal patience
the leaves that are the work of all time,
the sycamore whose white limbs shed
the history of a man's life with their old bark,
the river under the morning's breath quivering
like the touched skin of a horse, and you will see
also the shadow cast upon it by fire, the war
that lights its way by burning the earth.

Come to your windows, people of the world,
look out at whatever you see wherever you are,
and you will see dancing upon it that shadow.
You will see that your place, wherever it is,
your house, your garden, your shop, your forest, your farm,
bears the shadow of its destruction by war
which is the economy of greed which is plunder
which is the economy of wrath which is fire.
The Lords of War sell the earth to buy fire,
they sell the water and air of life to buy fire.
They are little men grown great by willingness
to drive whatever exists into its perfect absence.
Their intention to destroy any place is solidly founded
upon their willingness to destroy every place.

Every household of the world is at their mercy,
the households of the farmer and the otter and the owl
are at their mercy. They have no mercy.
Having hate, they can have no mercy.
Their greed is the hatred of mercy.
Their pockets jingle with the small change of the poor.
Their power is the willingness to destroy
everything for knowledge which is money
which is power which is victory
which is ashes sown by the wind.

Leave your windows and go out, people of the world,
go into the streets, go into the fields, go into the woods
and along the streams. Go together, go alone.
Say no to the Lords of War which is Money
which is Fire. Say no by saying yes
to the air, to the earth, to the trees,
yes to the grasses, to the rivers, to the birds
and the animals and every living thing, yes
to the small houses, yes to the children. Yes.

--Wendell Berry

I couldn't agree more . . . .

Nerd Test

For the record . . .I do not despise nerds.

Relief

My dad has been harassing me for some time now to go to a church that he has been "seeing on the side." (Scandalous.) It's a small UCC church (United Church of Christ) and the woman is a pastor from Seattle or Vancouver. (My father knows this because she prays for the Seattle Seahawks during football season.)

"I know you'll like this church, Kris."
"I don't know, Dad. I've been to a few in the area and the odds aren't in your favor."
"Tomorrow morning? From 9-10? It'll only be for an hour and I'll take you out to lunch."
"Lunch after? Hmmm . . .okay."

So with a bribe of free food, I attended Emmanuel UCC and was THOROUGHLY impressed. I don't even know where to begin. Do I start with the fact that the message was about genuinely loving other people and discerning the differences between judgment and inspiration? Or do I talk about the multi-generational congregation that was eager to participate during the sermon? Oh, and there was the "Emmanuael UCC GREEN SHEET . . .Your guide to Local, Sustainable & Fair Living in the larger Dousman area," with one of the farmers speaking in an adult forum after (to discuss CSAs (Community Supported Agriculture), one of which I will be buying a share in). Maybe it was their affirmation of faith: "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. And we shall love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our mind, and with all our strength. This is the first and great commandment. The second is like it: Love our neighbor as we love ourselves. There is no greater commandment. Amen." Note the emphasis on love, along with the plural language indicating that it is a communal act of love. There is also a discussion group that meets on Thursday nights at one of my favorite coffee shops to explore a weekly article provided by the church. This week's is "Taking the Long View" by Gregory Jones, dean of Duke University Divinity School, and "Biting the Land that Feeds Us" by Jim Scharplaz, a rancher in Kansas. Can I say that I'm in love?

During the service, the pastor sang This Little Light of Mine during part of her message and I started weeping. Even now, I'm tearing up just over remembering it. Man. Maybe I'm ovulating or something. Or maybe I encountered God's love in a church building, which is rare these days. What I like the most about this particular church is that the love doesn't stay in the building, reserved for those who show up on Sundays. They're very community-minded and I think I just might throw myself at them, telling them that they can use me wherever when I'm home between courses. Already I'm interested in volunteering to help organize/distribute the food drop-offs for one of our local CSA farmers . . .maybe I'll start there, meet a farmer, and live happily ever after. Kidding, kidding, though I'm not opposed to life working out that way . . . .

The beauty of it all was that later I could sit with my father, eating ribeye (spelling?) sandwiches and french fries, and discuss fair trade, ecological responsibility, and the latest car he's restoring. And all of that because we attended a church with a pastor who happens to be a woman. In Dousman, of all places.

Ah, the sweet aroma of health. . . .

Good work, Emmanuel UCC! You've restored some hope to this post-seminary church critic.

Walker Percy

I've been reading a lot of him lately . . .and recommend him as much as I recommend Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard and Fyodor Dostoevsky. I just finished his book The Thanatos Syndrome, and have been working through Signposts in a Strange Land. Below is an excerpt from his article "Novel-Writing in an Apocalyptic Time". . . . I've added some gender inclusive language for the sake of myself and other women writers.

"If the novelist's business is, like that of all artists, to tell the truth, even when he or she is lying, that is, making up a story, he or she had better tell the truth no matter how odd it is, even if the truth is a kind of upside-downness. And if it is the novelist's business to look and see what is there for everyone to see but is nonetheless not seen, and if the novelist is by his or her very nature a hopeful man or woman--he or she has to be hopeful or he or she would not bother to write at all--then sooner or later he or she must confront the great paradox of the twentieth century: that no other time has been more life-affirming in its pronouncements, self-fulfilling, creative, autonomous, and so on--and more death-dealing in its actions. It is the century of the love of death. I am not talking just about Verdun or the Holocaust or Dresden or Hiroshima. I am talking about a subtler form of death, a death in life, of people who seem to be living lives which are good by all sociological standards and yet who somehow seem more dead than alive. Whenever you have a hundred thousand psychotherapists talking about being life-affirming and a million books about life-enrichment, you can be sure there is a lot of death around."

Life is sweet when . . .

. . .you're sipping on a Sprecher's Root Beer Soda in a coffee shop, people-watching and listening to Bob Dylan.

"The slow one now will later be fast . . . ."

Backyard Pics

Fowler Lake

Ramblings from a Couple of Days Ago

Currently the breeze drifts through my apartment while Chachi hangs out by my bare feet. Light filters in through the white linen window treatments and David Gray’s Life in Slow Motion album floats through the air like the breeze. I’m absorbing as much peace as possible.

A quick word about David Gray: I love him . . .maybe to the point of obsession. His lyrics, voice, guitar and piano playing abilities—so much depth. His piano skills in particular . . .all I can say is that if I was in the same room with him while he was playing, I would probably jump him. And yes, I’m shameless.

Ain’t No Love is the song that has spurred on the most thought lately. I find myself agreeing with him, while not . . . . I haven’t believed in a lot of things, for a long time now. Pre-Bethel College I was struggling through Christian doctrinal issues concerning salvation, the motivation behind “evangelism,” and the usual pettiness of dating other Christians, expecting “spiritual leadership” from males only (I imagine the woman’s leadership was displayed by saying yes to her husband at all times while raising the kids in a meek manner . . . ), and the list could go on for pages. So many inconsistencies.

I was one of those kids who read through the entire Bible a few times as well—The Living, NIV, and NRSV translations (still working on The Message). I wanted to bring it all together so that it would make sense. Sick of everyone telling me what to believe, I thought I might take a stab at it myself . . .see where my thoughts would take me in the theology business. With a BA in Biblical and Theological Studies (with a Greek emphasis), along with a year and a half towards a MDIV, I’ve come to very few conclusions. If anything, my studies have made life more ambiguous, and I’ve taken to concentrating on loving those around me while attempting to be a voice for those who have none (currently MN girls in “the system” and neglected dogs in the Iron Range).

I’ve clung to Father Zossima’s advice to the skeptical woman in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. Father Zossima begins with this assertion:

“One cannot prove anything here, but it is possible to be convinced.”

“How? By what?”

“By the experience of active love. Try to love your neighbors actively and tirelessly. The more you succeed in loving, the more you’ll be convinced of the existence of God and the immortality of your soul. And if you reach complete selflessness in the love of your neighbor, then undoubtedly you will believe, and no doubt will even be able to enter your soul. This has been tested. It is certain.”

My opinion is that the church wastes too much time talking about belief. The wrongs, the rights--always failing and missing the point . . . . What of love? What if evangelism was encouraging others to love those around them without the mandate to confess Jesus as Lord first? What if evangelism was “Hey, I’m going to go mow the bitchy lady’s lawn who yells every time a dog approaches her yard, or I’m going to go hang out as a Big Sister or Big Brother, or I’m going to collect some food for the pantry, etc.. Do you want to come along?” Maybe then God could be experienced through an act of sacrificial love instead of some damn apologetic argument. Ontological or teleological—it doesn’t mean anything. But going out of your way for someone or something that needs it does mean something. For some, it means everything.

So then, for those of you plagued with existential angst, take some advice from WB:

“When we convene again
to understand the world,
the first speaker will again
point silently out the window
at the hillside in its season,
sunlit, under the snow,
and we will nod silently,
and silently stand and go.”

Driving Mr. Chachi

Wow. What a ride. 9.5 hours (I took a wrong turn and explored an incredibly beautiful area of WI--Hwys 35 and 77; check it out) of road time with the Chachmeister, who did not relax the ENTIRE trip. Chasing cars/vans/trucks is his passion, and it does not matter if he is in one himself. He will chase a vehicle from the beginning of my Blazer to the end of it, throwing himself at the glass each time. It does not matter if the car is parked either, the fact that it is there warrants his aggressive pursuit. Regardless, we made it home with most of my truck intact, though I haven't looked at the interior closely . . .purposefully.

Kurt got back from a trip to Florida (he works as an associate youth pastor) with his kids yesterday morning, so I spent most of the day with him and Chach, trying to make the transition as smoothe as possible. While Kurt was busy rigging up Chachi's running cable (a pulley that hangs off a chord between two trees) I decided to keep Chach busy by throwing a new toy around. One throw happened without my paying attention to where Chach's cable was located, and within a second, I was roped and lassoed like a calf. I threw my hands out to catch my fall and managed to slice my palm open. Blood was everywhere and when Kurt ran over to see if I was okay, I mumbled something about being trained to handle these kind of injuries and I ran upstairs to the bathroom to clean the wound of dirt and gravel. While in the bathroom, all I could do was repeat the word fuck over and over--the pain was enormous. It was clear that I needed stitches, but like my father I reasoned myself out of going to the hospital: Chachi is still getting used to the house, we cant leave him alone; stitches on this area of my palm will be akward anyway; I don't have the $500 it will probably cost me to get this handled; I'll have another scar story; it's not that bad, right?; and so on. Instead I bandaged it up as best as I could and went outside to pretend that it didn't hurt.

Kurt finished up the cable and we decided to walk Chachi down to Miller Park. We sipped beer out of our McDonald's cups and caught up on each other's lives while the Chachinator explored his new surroundings. I feel good over having him with Kurt, and it's so fun to hear the excitement in Kurt's voice when I called today for a Chach check-in. Apparently he has already learned the commands "Drop" and "Shake," and he likes McDonald's cheeseburgers. I think it's safe to say that he will now lead a good life.

So aside from the fact that my body and truck have been permanently marked by Chachi's presence, I am happy and feeling good about the way life plays out today.

Expedition Pics in Washington State Forest

Hiking on Battle Lake Road to pick up another trail . . . .
Blue skies--so good for the soul.

My front porch at the Twins (disaster, as usual).
Red Lake.
More of Red Lake.

4-Day Solo ends tomorrow, and then it's Graduation on Monday, the picking up of Chachi, and then on Tuesday we make our way home through the Duluth/WI route instead of the Cities. It has been a great course, but I'm ready to spend some time at home. Maybe see the Brewers play. Maybe go down to Chicago to visit some old friends from North Park before they graduate and leave for destinations across the world. Rigden, Linds, and the rest of the WI posse--I'm looking forward to enjoying a good cider or pale ale at The Pub.

Today I called my dad to wish him a "Happy Birthday!" and found myself in the strangest of conversations with him. First, background: During a conversation with one of our girls during her solo, she shared her experience of being raped not by one person, but by several, and all during the same evening.

She said, "You know what a train is, right?"

"A train? No."

"It's when a group of guys get together, get girls drunk, and then take turns having sex with the girls when they can no longer move." (All of this was said with a matter-of-fact tone of voice, as though this is common terminology passed from one person to another.)

"What? Guys raping girls in front of each other?"

"Yes."

"And this is common?"

"In Fargo, yes."

It took everything in me to maintain a straight face and keep my tone of voice in check as she recounted what had happened to her (the first time she had ever had a beer). I was in a complete rage internally--wanting to castrate the guys who had hurt her while trying to not throw up as I was visualizing her detailed story. In front of me sat a beautiful girl who had a tremendous sense of humor . . .a great smile and kind eyes, someone so normal and human and loveable. And someone so wronged. A survivor.

While processing this, my dad asked me how the girls were doing. I proceeded to launch into how I couldn't understand the mentality of group sex, much less group rape. He told me that unfortunately this behavior was not new to the world. When I continued to go on about it, trying to understand it somewhat, he halted the conversation by saying "Uh . . .Kris . . .I never got into that stuff, so I don't know." It then dawned on me that I was discussing group sex/orgies/rape with my FATHER. Immediately the conversation got switched to the upcoming Brewers schedule and what game I'm going to take him to for his birthday.

I need to remind myself that very few people know this world that I live in for 3 weeks at a time, and that when they do ask a simple question like "How are things going?," I need to prep them first . . . .

Official Signs of Spring

1. Open water.
2. A warm breeze felt on bare skin.
3. Mosquito bites on the arms.
4. Spider bites on the ankles.
5. My face is sunburned.

Kristy's Animal Rescue Continues

Alright folks. There is now another dog that needs to be rescued from the infamous Iron Range. He's a husky/lab mix named Toby, and he is only 1 year old. I have a certain fondness for the sass and independence of huskies, but I can't have another one at this time. My hope is to talk my father into taking him (Ron has a soft heart for the huksy lip and challenge as well--probably from raising me), but my mother is currently in her 3M-Mania (getting her Masters while having Multiple Sclerosis and Menopause) so it is unlikely that Dad will be allowed to take him in. For now he settles for the occasional dogsitting of Dima when Lindsay is out of town or busy with teacher conferences. Sadness for lonely Ron . . . .

Anyone out there interested in Toby? From what I've been told by one of my coworkers is that he's "beautiful and tall, with the coloring of a husky."

Kool Aid Mustaches

Last night we got the girls together with some of the women in our Challenge Incarceration Program (CIP) and had a circle where the girls could learn from the women's experiences and the women could ask the girls questions related to developing relationships with their daughters at home. These women come to Thistledew from Shakopee, which is a prison for women in the state of MN, and all of them were sentenced because of their drug addictions (manufacturing, selling, possesion, etc.). Since most of our girls struggle with substance abuse, they find this time with the women extremely meaningful, as the women have had experiences that speak directly to the girls' situations.

Since the weather was dry and windy, we decided to have the circle around a fire. I watched our talking piece travel from hand to hand around the circle of young and older women, and the light flickered on their faces as they shared their stories of mistakes, regret, redemption, and a desire to live life differently, and I was moved by the earnestness of the older women to encourage the girls toward "the good path" (a Native term I've heard several times now, and love). I also watched our girls speak of physical and sexual abuse, addiction, and the struggles they encountered as those around them labeled them "bad girls."

What struck me most was that they shared these stories with orange drink mix mustaches on their faces. The juxtaposition kills me . . . . Again I'm reminded of the complexity of the life of a kid who has had horrific adult experiences forced on her. She's still a girl . . . and yet not.

Their mustaches give me hope, though. Their courage in voicing the pain and confusion in their lives--with themselves and their families--also shows signs that healing can begin, despite it being a long and difficult process. (A girl/woman can never recover, truly, from certain experiences, but she can learn how to move onward.) I see resiliency among them and know that they're fighters, and I'm honored to be among such strong women.

Tomorrow we leave for Expedition--9 days of backpacking in volatile Northern MN spring weather . . .wet feet await.

Enjoy your dry feet.

What more did I think I wanted?

Again I resume the long lesson: how small a thing can be pleasing, how little in this hard world it takes to satisfy the mind and bring it to its rest.

Within the ongoing havoc the woods this morning is almost unnaturally still. Through stalled air, unshadowed light, a few leaves fall of their own weight.

The sky is gray. It begins in mist almost at the ground and rises forever. The trees rise in silence almost natural, but not quite, almost eternal, but not quite.

What more did I think I wanted? Here is what has always been. Here is what will always be. Even in me, the Maker of all this returns in rest, even to the slightest of His works, a yellow leaf slowly falling, and is pleased.

-Wendell Berry