2007 Reflections (continued)

7.) A perfect December!

2007 Reflections

This year has been complex, to say the least. In thinking back on it, a lot of it was pure survival, and not the survival that I normally prefer (the kind that happens out in the woods on the trail, in the elements). This year's was of a different nature, dealing with money and time . . .with the deciding of vocational paths and living arrangements . . .and much more. A 40 hr/week job with no health benefits and no vacation days, to an unpaid internship consuming 50-60 hours a week (and yet, 3 other jobs aside from the internship worked in an effort to make ends meet), to backing out of a residency for numerous reasons, to where I'm now: a job with benefits that is allowing me to pay off my lingering Cali debt. No career changes or classes toward my MDiv will be made/completed until those are eradicated. I've tried to go ahead with both in the past, and I've found that it simply doesn't work. I think that in my 28th year of existence, I've finally learned that sometimes "having my cake and eating it too" does not come without making sacrifices. And suffice it to say, this year the cake has been few and far between.

But I'm an optimist (as told to me by one of my Episcopal friends, who at one point doubted my Christianity for believing in the goodness of humans during an argument over something I can't remember), and I'd like to reflect on some of the sweet moments from this past year.

1.) I joined Emmanuel United Church of Christ after several years of trying to find a church I could commit to with a good conscience. (This is not to say that other churches and their ways of going about church are lacking . . .this is only to say that I knew what I was looking/hoping for and to my genuine surprise, found it within a mile of where I had grown up.)

2.) I preached 3 different sermons and was surprised (perhaps I've had as much "surprise" as I've had "survival" this past year?) to have them go over so well. Again, I heard words I've heard before: "Kristy, you're a pastor." And again, I responded with words I've used before: "Why thank you, but we'll see about that . . . ." Still, there was something significant in those moments, something I'll probably have to ponder when it comes time to make that next vocational move.

3.) Living in a terrific apartment with a true friend, Lindsay. We've been friends for so many years, it's as though we are now family. It has been a gift to be able to come home at the end of the day and walk the dogs together . . .sharing rants or funny stories about the day's happenings. She helped keep me sane during the CPE madness and is quite skilled in getting me out and about town, so that I don't lapse into my introverted ways too frequently. Overall, a rare find and one I'm thankful for on a daily basis. Thanks, Linds. :) You are loved!

4.) Many new friendships: Jim and Alex, Sue, Julie, Delana, my comrades from St. Luke's. And old friendships: Dan, Kristina, my brother Dave, J.J., the list goes on. The making of new friends and keeping of the old . . .it provides a rich life!

5.) Dima's tumors not being cancerous. He continues to be his sassy self, and this year scored pizza and an entire pot roast off the counter top. (2007 has been good to him.)

6.) Family. It has been a rough year--a divorce for my brother, my father getting laid off from a job that he had worked for 18 years, multiple sclerosis for my mom (and all that it entails), and yet we still managed to sit around the dinner table and laugh this Christmas Eve. I do believe resiliency runs in our blood.

During our Christmas Eve service, one of my responsibilities was to hold the "Christ Light" candle during communion. After people received the bread and wine, they took a candle and lit it from the candle I was holding. As they lit it, I would say "The Light of the world." After saying this about 60 times, it began to dawn on me that I was a possessor of this light, and I wondered if my actions communicated light and hope to others, or if my actions instead indicated someone wandering around in the dark. My hope for this coming year is that the light I embody is that of the early morning, or of dusk . . .warm, and splashing color on its surroundings . . .a time where others pause and consider the beauty of this world, and in turn find themselves musing over the beauty of God.

Sunday Musings

Because of the enormous amount of snow we received yesterday, I decided to spend my Sunday morning at home instead of making the drive out to Dousman to attend church. This morning is one of those slowed sabbaths . . .genuinely restful and even including a bit of family, as my brother crashed at my place last night because of working on written exams until 3 am. Outside, everything is layered in a 3-4 foot blanket of white and mounds have risen up along the sidewalks and driveways, reaching up to my chest. (Winter--how do people survive without it?) Inside, the sunlight pours through the windows and the dogs lounge around. Vegetable quiche cups are in the oven and I'm drinking tea, pondering what I read in Hebrews and Psalms this morning.

The first, from Psalms 135:

"GOD, your name is eternal,
GOD, you'll never be out-of-date.
GOD stands up for his people,
GOD holds the hands of his people.
The gods of the godless nations are mere trinkets,
made for quick sale in the markets;
Chiseled mouths that can't talk,
painted eyes that can't see,
Carved ears that can't hear--
dead wood! cold metal!
Those who make and trust them
become like them."

And out of Hebrews 8:

"Heads up! The days are coming
when I'll set up a new plan
for dealing with Israel and Judah.
I'll throw out the old plan
I set up with their ancestors
when I led them by the hand out of Egypt.
They didn't keep their part of the bargain,
so I looked away and let it go.
This new plan I'm making with Israel
isn't going to be written on paper,
isn't going to be chiseled in stone;
This time I'm writing out the plan in them,
carving it on the lining of their hearts.
I'll be their God,
they'll be my people.
They won't go to school to learn about me,
or buy a book called God in Five Easy Lessons.
They'll all get to know me firsthand,
the little and the big, the small and the great.
They'll get to know me by being kindly forgiven,
with the slate of their sins forever wiped clean."

A couple of things move me with these two passages. First, the idols. Second, God's "livingness" known through the act of forgiveness. In contemplating my idols . . .they're more conceptual than a literal statue I bow down to on a daily basis, but they create death in the same fashion. Living for an illusion instead of engaging a God who is already active and at work in the world surrounding me . . .why do this? And I think of the transformative work of forgiveness, how truly profound and powerful it is--surpassing powers of control, judgment, the personal conviction of being right and feeling wronged.

So this is my task today, to contemplate my idols and see how they've manifested themselves into my way of thinking and perceiving the world, and to then look for God in me, carving a niche into my heart like the kids building snow forts outside.

Nothing like a down jacket . . . .

Last night I dug out one of my favorite down jackets from the depths of what resides under my bed. I'm positively giddy about it, as it means that winter is coming . . .as is snow. (For Al, it's flannel sheets.) I put it on, savored all of its fluffy and warm comfort, and took in the smells of old Thistledew campfires. So divine! Memories flooded back of moonlight lit solo journeys in the snow across lakes to check on girls (avoiding areas around beaver dams), roasting frozen mozzarella cheese and beef sticks over the fire before bed--laughing and ranting over the antics of the day, sawing so much wood and taking down live birch trees to set up the base for the fire . . .and skies so clear, clearer than summer nights in the boundary waters. And the wolf tracks; waking up in the morning to know that you and the girls were not alone during the night. All that wildlife business, given away by snow.

Loving all of it so deeply . . . .

And the jacket, with its elbow bandaged with ripstop repair tape (due to an incident with the wood burning stove in one of the cabins)--I wouldn't have it any other way.

More Milwaukee: The Art Museum

I've seen this building from land, and I've seen it from water. From all angles it is a genuine work of art . . . . Job well done!

Fresh Carnage

"Mr. Cuddly Bear" lasted for 25 minutes, but you'll notice the rubber ice cream cone continues to thwart Dima's efforts to kill it. Perhaps the bear was gutted and left to die in front of it as an example? An ominous forewarning . . . .

Milwaukee's Third Ward

A little riverfront action.

Lindsay and me downtown.

A former firehouse . . .the wood, the brick, the metal . . .fabulous!

And who thought Milwaukee was only about beer?

Fall and love songs.

There's something about Autumn and love songs. Maybe it's all the change; the last and brilliant confessions of the leaves. They break out from their anonymity of green and move to various reds and yellows. Each one tells its story in its own way, before giving itself up to the whims of the wind.

For the leaves:

-Citizen Cope's Holdin' On
-Postal Service's Brand New Colony
-Ray LaMontagne's Shelter
-Death Cab for Cutie's I Will Follow You Into the Dark
-Iron and Wine's version of Such Great Heights
-Wreckless Eric's Whole Wide World
-Rufus Wainright's Hallelujah, from the Starbuck's album: "Lifted: Songs of the Spirit"
-The Violet Burning's She Says Electric
-U2's All I Want is You
-Tom Petty's Wildflowers
-Storyhill's The Great Divide
-Patty Griffin's Heavenly Day

With the first and last being the current favorites. . . .

Hafiz's "Not With Wings"

Here soar
Not with wings,

But with your moving hands and feet
And sweating brows-

Standing by your Beloved's side
Reaching out to comfort the world

With your cup of solace
Drawn from your vast reservoir of Truth.

Here soar
Not with your eyes and senses

That turn their backs
On the earth's sweet stumbling dance
Which needs you.

Here love, O here love,
With your mouth tender and open upon your lover,

And with your heart on duty
To the souls of rivers, children, forest animals,
All the shy feathered ones and laughing, jumping,
Shining fish.

O here, pilgrim,
Love
On the holy battleground of life

Where there are bleeding men
Who are calling for a sacred drink,
A gentle word or touch from man
or God.

Hafiz, why just serve and play with angels?
They are already content.

Brew your knowledge well for men
With aching minds and guts,

And for those wayfarers who have gained
The rare courageous thirsts

That can never be relinquished
Until Union!

Hafiz,
Leave your recipes in golden drums.

Tie those barrels to the backs of camels
Who will keep circumambulating the worlds,

Giving nourishment
To all our tender wondrous spheres.

O here love, O love right here.
Find your happiness, dear wayfarer,

With your beautiful lips and body
So sweetly opened,

Yielding their vital gifts upon
This magnificent
Earth.

An update, of sorts.

It's official: I'm leaving the residency program at St. Luke's for a variety of reasons, most of which I won't write here. However, I will say that I'm ready to give myself an easy year . . .meaning I'm ready to live close to where I work, pay off bills in a dramatic fashion, and enjoy my housemate and immediate neighbors (not to mention the dogs!). I've been going strong since college and I'm ready to take a bit of a breather. Collect myself. Laugh more. Have people over for a meal that I actually prepare for them . . .I'm ready to have a life that is mine again. And to much personal amusement, I've already been recruited to the Social Concerns Committee at church and have been asked to become a deaconess (I'm sticking just to the committee for this year), so I'll have a fair amount of involvement to keep myself busy. Opportunities for brainstorming and action; a cause to fight for/educate others on--definitely my cup o' tea.

I know I have been heavy on the quotes and poems lately, but I have to include another that I came across recently by one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver. It's titled "White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field."

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings--five feet apart--
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what has been running
through the white valleys of the snow--
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows--
so I thought:
maybe death isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us--

as soft as feathers--
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light--scalding, aortal light--
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

I read this poem and I think of my friend Bryan. 10 years later, and I still see the imprint of his death around us, remembering how quickly an extraordinary life was grabbed and taken away. And yet . . .the light. Always the light.

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

Below is a quote from a book I just finished (and recommend!). I find it similar to Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird . . . .

"You know, some things don't matter that much, Lily. Like the color of a house. How big is that in the overall scheme of life? But lifting a person's heart--now that matters. The whole problem with people is--"

"They don't know what matters and what doesn't," I said, filling in her sentence and feeling proud of myself for doing so.

"I was gonna say, the problem is that they know what matters, but they don't choose it. You know how hard that is, Lily? I love May, but it was still so hard to choose Caribbean Pink. The hardest thing on earth is choosing what matters."

Amen.

Hints of Winter

-Brooding skies, heavy with clouds.
-Fleeces, scarves, hats.
-Winds that almost knock you over.

And to think that I was swimming in a lake on Sunday . . . . WI remains the same in that its change is constant.

Milwaukee Surprises

Linds and I went hiking down by the lakefront today and came across a few goodies: a couple of interesting bridges and Lindsay's favorite, Bucky the Badger. Make sure to ask her how she feels about inflatable lawn decorations . . . .

No more residency?

I think I'm going to step out of the residency program at St. Luke's. I'm not going to defend this position presently, as I'm still pondering the possibility . . .but I'm thinking it might be a wise move on my end.

A long story for another time, perhaps.

More love for Wendell . . . .

This poem reminds me of chaplaincy . . .the lilies being those sacred moments between people; sought out, and yet stumbled upon . . .oftentimes given. Their beauty lingers.

The Lilies

Hunting them, a man must sweat, bear

the whine of a mosquito in his ear,

grow thirsty, tired, despair perhaps

of ever finding them, walk a long way.

He must give himself over to chance,

for they live beyond prediction.

He must give himself over to patience,

for they live beyond will. He must be led

along the hill as by a prayer.

If he finds them anywhere, he will find

a few, paired on their stalks,

at ease in the air as souls in bliss.

I found them here at first without hunting,

by grace, as all beauties are first found.

I have hunted and not found them here.

Found, unfound, they breathe their light

into the mind, year after year.

-Wendell Berry

Chicago

My fellow comrades off of Navy pier: (L to R) Nina, Ellen and Lindsay.

Ellen, Linds, me, Nina, and Johnny

Some of the skyline . . .the weather could not have been more perfect.

In front of the Field Museum.

Inside the museum. :)

Driving Ticking Time-Bombs

Ruby, my beloved blazer, blew one of her head gaskets yesterday evening. Right now her guts are spilled all over the garage (in an organized fashion, of course) and my main duties involve cleaning the threads on screws with the grinder and holding a light at different times. I also get and return tools to their correct toolboxes . . .very much like a surgical nurse. It's all very fascinating, though it's much easier for me to conceptualize various theological positions and models of psychotherapy than it is for me to understand the relationship of the "valve springs" to the pistons, to the crank shaft(s?) and so on. But at least I'm getting better at recognizing the actual parts.

Life is an adventure, yes?

Something Lighter

Greetings from a sunny and blustery Scony. I'm currently in the basement of a hospital, blogging away between calls. (The silence from my pager goes appreciated!) After knocking off these two 12 hour shifts this weekend, I have two weekends in a row COMPLETELY TO MYSELF. Bliss! So this means that I will be calling Al, Rigden, Jamie, and some of my other long-lost friends in attempts to reunite and have some semblance of a social life. (Already begun by a movie and dinner with Nicki and Linds last night--can I mention how great it is to be getting paid again?!)

Below is a poem by Mary Oliver that I was introduced to this week, and it has quickly become a favorite.

IN BLACKWATER WOODS

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

May the autumn season move you in all of those necessary ways . . . . .

From the Archives

I was meandering through some of my old journal entries and came across one that seems relevant for today. After having heard from another friend encountering the betrayal of a cheating spouse and now divorce, my heart hurts for those who have entered into relationships with complete seriousness and commitment to the other, to only find that it has been tossed aside in the most heart-wrenching of ways in the name of "Hollywood Love." Love, the feeling, is only around for so long, and as soon as that dissipates, "I just don't love you anymore." It's amazing how prevalent this is . . .love being about feelings and not about a choice backed with commitment . . .it blows my mind, really. And then to somehow use the love-as-feelings as a justifiable argument for infidelity--WOW. The biggest cop-out and insult . . .no maturity and responsibility taken for one's actions. And what an insult to authentic love--the self-sacrificing, kind, patient and seeking-the-good-of-the-other love. The kind of love I see between two people in their 80s as one looks on the other in the hospital bed . . . .

I'm embarrassed for my generation.

(And if you're not completely turned off by my rant, read on.)

June 3, 2004—Traders, 7:07pm

Suddenly I’m weary. Leary of words I’m going to put down on this paper. My melancholy raises its head and asks for companionship; it settles into the familiar shape it inhabits regularly like a dog that circles and reclines for a snooze. I feel it moving about now, circling through conversations I’ve had today and memories those conversations have evoked. Faces appear and fade. “I love you(s)” connected with eyes-so-serious surface . . .recede. I stand alone looking at and into them, screaming my silent why(s).

Melancholy looks up and wags its tail, the familiar thump of it telling me that I’ll be alright. I’ll get through this not as a hardened person, but as a better lover. Yes—I want to love deeply. Love like the recipient of Anne Sexton’s poem Courage: “and those you love will live in a fever of love”—a benediction in its fullest sense.

How is it that Hurt is the great Refiner? How is it that suffering and pain (if not won over to bitterness) produce a seasoned, more authentic love? I say goodbye, it’s over, I have to leave you while not understanding why (but somehow understanding), and hope presents itself in the midst of “What the hell happened here?” Dostoevsky’s Idiot comes to mind, loving always, so consistently. Nastasya Filippovna couldn’t accept the purity of his love. She mocked him while hating herself for her refusal of him. His fever of compassion was simply too much for her and the hatred of her life she projected onto those around her, becoming the Russian tragedy.

I say she is the human tragedy.

She is my and your tragedy.

Another gem in my Prayer Book search.

I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible,
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance;
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.

-Dawna Markova

A Quote

Came across this quote today, and loved it . . . .

Give me everything mangled and bruised,

and I will make a light of it to make you weep,

and we will have rain and we will have begun again.

-Deena Metzger

In the Name of Congruence

For those of you wondering what my summer has been like . . .here is a blurb from my Theory Integration Paper for CPE.

Currently my theology is in transition, though I come from a predominately conservative Christian Evangelical background. Personal piety, a commitment to God’s Word as revealed in the Bible (minus the Aprocrypha), and an emphasis on having a personal relationship with Jesus as the Son of God and Redeemer of this world were points of emphasis for me since childhood. With that also came an emphasis on evangelism, sexual “purity,” and, to some extent, voting for Republican candidates.

In high school, I was a poster child for all things listed above. I brought a Catholic friend to a production of “Heaven’s Gates, Hell’s Flames,” thinking she needed to hear the message about Jesus becoming her personal savior. I read my Bible every night and tried to live according to my understanding of it. I gave a speech in high school, advocating for the understanding of Jesus as Lord—using C.S. Lewis’s “Lord, Lunatic, or Liar” argument. And yes, I prayed with others around the flagpole on the national “Meet You at the Flagpole” day. I even gave my friend who had just admitted to me that he was gay a tape I bought at an Urbana Mission’s Conference that he could listen to, and then somehow become non-gay. I tried to tell myself that this was an honorable Christian life . . .that I was truly pleasing God (for this was a point of emphasis in my upbringing as well: making God happy). But all the while, a resistance was building in me; something didn’t feel quite right.

In college, I was free to do some exploring, as everything was new. New people, new teachings, new locations. For two years, I visited different churches, getting a taste of how people perceived and experienced Christianity. I eventually committed to a church and served their youth ministry for 3 years.

During this time I was spending a lot of time with Open Theism. The following is a brief quote by Dr. John E. Sanders for those unfamiliar with its concepts:

“That God changes in some respects implies that God is temporal, working with us in time. God, at least since Creation, experiences duration. God is everlasting through time rather than timelessly eternal... We believe that God could have known every event of the future had God decided to create a fully determined universe. However, in our view, God decided to create beings with interdeterministic freedom which implies that God chose to create a universe in which the future is not entirely knowable, even for God. For many open theists, the “future” is not a present reality — it does not exist — and God knows reality as it is.” [1]

This made sense to me, as I was working with girls who had been sexually abused when they were younger; I couldn’t believe that God intentionally determined these acts to take place. It seemed completely contradictory to the God I had come to experience personally . . .as I felt loved by God, and that God wanted me to bring good into this world rather than evil. I liked the emphasis on the present that Open Theism advocated as well, and I liked that as a child of God, I was actually heard by God; that I could pray and persuade, and perhaps influence and participate in God’s compassion and saving acts in this world. Plus, in my understanding, this notion of God’s work/action in everyday life protected the goodness of God; something I have experienced daily. Evil could be attributed to poor human decisions and not to the Divine.

Additionally, I was exploring Buddhism during this time—savoring a philosophy class titled “Asian Thought.” I was drawn to the Buddhist notion of being fully present—to self, to others, to the Divine. The focus on mindfulness, coupled with discipline (meditation), was appealing to me. This could be due to my personality: work leads to play, and I enjoy the payoff of wholehearted effort. From backpacking trips to writing a good sermon, to even cleaning the house, I find that joy comes in the midst of the effort . . . which then leads to a point of deep satisfaction and fulfillment with the task accomplished; from the feeling of having just portaged a canoe 280 rods to knowing God in the deep silence of a moment—I have learned that work gets me to these points of time where/when I genuinely feel alive . . .living authentic to my true nature. All of this is to say that some tenets of Buddhism spoke to me in those deep recesses of my soul, and I took on some of them as my own, as they were congruent to my inner self.

In seminary I came across Gustavo Gutierrez’s book, A Theology of Liberation. His arguments for social justice and personal action resonated with my own understandings of Christianity. Also, I had decided to spend a year reading solely the Gospels, as I had had my fill of Paul and his letters. That year was formative for my Christianity (to say the least!). I came to a point of no longer being concerned with the Christian apologetics side of things. Instead I focused on Jesus’ teachings, particularly the Sermon on the Mount, and that became the crux of my Christianity. I paid attention to those who lived a life that reflected the teachings of Jesus, as opposed to those who merely spoke of them, and to my surprise, I found Jesus in my Buddhist and Hindu friends. This opened my mind to the universal workings of God, and I no longer felt compelled to encourage conversion in these friends . . .as in my eyes, they already “got it.” God was much bigger, grander, and more mysterious than my white, middle-class American suburban understandings. I then threw myself into the mystery of God, and decided to focus on my own journey and aligning my own self with the teachings of Jesus, rather than concern myself with finding tidy answers to messy questions regarding life, and then forcing those conclusions on others’ journeys. And for perhaps the first time, my relationship with Jesus became truly personal.

I find that my life, and ministry in general, is like a river—winding, meandering, at times raging, swelling with rain, or dry with drought . . .always moving from one place to another. From unconsciousness to consciousness, from dark to light, from stress to rest and back again . . .all the while making its way toward the deep, the Great Unknown, and not always by its own will. This is not a solitary affair, either, as others are caught up in it, meeting rocks and trees at various points, or carving and smoothing stones when the current is strong enough. It depends on the environment—the weather, the geology, the affects of human civilization. Not one point of time is like another, so I must remain awake, looking to each moment as a new opportunity for the experience of life and a deeper awareness of God and self; of God and community; of God and this planet.

During a vespers service in college this became especially clear to me, as in a moment of song and prayer I had a vision of being caught up in a river. I was thrashing about, panicking, thinking I was going to die from lack of air, for the current had pulled me under. For a few minutes I fought it, trying to find my way to the top, but then in genuine feelings of horror and helplessness, I realized I was going to die in the dark of the deep. And I gave up, knowing the water would rush in to claim my lungs. It was then that I opened my eyes and found that I could breathe. I could see the fish surrounding me, and the light fracturing itself in the water, and I felt myself being carried along. Alive.

When I walk into a patient’s room, I walk in with no formula. I do not know where the river will lead me in this encounter, so instead I take in the environment. I pay attention to what I hear and see, to what I feel and perceive to be felt by the other. I ask myself “What is our movement together? Why am I here with you, and you with me, in this moment?” I pay attention to the affects of human civilization on this individual—all the cultural, sociological, and spiritual norms this person might be touching—and I wonder about his or her geology. What do I hear of what he or she is made of? How does what I’m made of respond? And the weather—what of it? Rain, sun, bitter-cold or profound aridness . . .how is this person reacting to what he or she can’t control? Are emotions swelling, frozen, or non-existent? Or have they been dried up due to the harsh elements? I journey alongside the other, as the current has both of us, and we face whatever presents itself together. No conditions; no expectations. Just me with the simple hope that the pt will experience a deeper awareness of self, and in turn, might experience some freedom (life!) because of it down the way . . .and that this knowledge of self would ultimately carry him or her to the vast ocean of God’s love.

So then, my purpose of pastoral care is to use my awareness of self, the other(s), and the moment we’re in, to come alongside the people I’m with . . .so that they may be able to experience a deeper sense of their own truth/reality, and in time, find themselves loved by God. And further, my pastoral purpose is to elicit a deeper sense of the other’s self. Henri Nouwen phrases this somewhat differently, but with the same intent: “Healers are hosts who patiently and carefully listen to the stories of the suffering strangers. Patients are guests who rediscover their selves by telling their stories to the ones who offer them a place to stay. In the telling of their stories, strangers befriend not only their host but also their own past.”[2]

Self-discovery and self-understanding, coupled with the self-experience of knowing and feeling that he or she is not alone—this is my hope for each person I encounter.

---

[1] Wikipedia, “Open Theism,” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Open_theism (accessed August 24, 2007).

[2] Henri Nouwen, Ministry and Spirituality (New York, NY: The Continuum Publishing Company, 1998) 237.

Go get it.

Thanks to my friend Tim, I have discovered Band of Horses' Everything All the Time album.

It's phenomenal . . .of U2's The Joshua Tree status.

My Uncle is Dying

And he knows it . . . .

He has Down Syndrome and says around 5 words. Many doctors have said that he only has the mental abilities of a 3 year old . . .and yet, the other day he was out walking by a graveyard and he pointed to the gravestone and then pointed to himself.

He was diagnosed with GI Cancer around 6 months ago, had surgery, and has been in hospice since. Mom and Dad flew out to CO this morning to be with him, as he is eating less and they are increasing his morphine treatments. I want to be with them, but can't for too many ridiculous reasons. Please pray for my family--my mom especially--as this is her little brother.

A Good Word

Read this.

Daily Theme: Death

Yesterday I couldn't help but think of a book I read earlier in the year, titled The Book Thief. In it, Death does some narrating and in one passage the comment is made about "gently collecting souls"--some are suprised . . .some tired . . .and some ready. In the book, Death also notes the color of the sky when "carrying the souls from their bodies," and I couldn't help but notice the stormy, slate-grey sky . . .ominous and pregnant with rain.

Yesterday, Death was busy collecting souls in this corner of Milwaukee. I went from one code to another, the patients dying at each with the families left in shock, whispering "She was sitting up and talking this morning," and "He was laughing with me yesterday . . . ." Their voices trailed off and tears fell. Some took to wailing; consumed with the loss of a son. Others simply looked out the window.

And I thought of Death, taking the souls up into his/her arms--most of them probably quite surprised (with one ready and willing) . . .and I contemplated this cycle of life and death; how natural it all is, even when it seems as though it shouldn't be. And I thought of my own relationship to it, how death is so much a part of my daily life . . .and that this, too, feels surprisingly natural as a hospital chaplain.

And yet I know, too, that if anything should happen to my parents, my brother, my friends--I will whisper in disbelief . . .and rage . . .cry . . .even look out the window in silence.

Natural and unnatural, Death will come to carry us off, and someone we loved and who once loved us, will feel the loss in an acute way. All the while, the sky spills its color.

Heaviness.

Hello all,

I just received word from Lindsay's mom to inform me of a tragic death of one of Lindsay's team members (they had just left for SE Asia a week ago). He was an older gentelman who drowned.

There is so much to pray for, as his wife was with him while swimming. They tried to save him, but the ocean's pull had taken him under and his body didn't wash ashore until this morning. There are several Muslim laws that go along with the recovery of a dead body, and as of now, they're not sure if they're allowed to bring the body back to the States.

I'm in complete shock and feel overwhelmed for Lindsay and her team of 5 . . .now 4. I think of her sister and brother-in-law over there as well, along with their children, and my heart breaks for all the grief/surprise/anger/fear that this might bring up in them.

Please pray for them--as of right now the team is on a boat with the body; leaving the island to get to a larger city. I can't imagine the wife of the drowned man . . .journeying alongside her dead husband across the ocean. And I think of Lindsay, too, as the reality of the situation crashes in on her.

God . . .may they experience your gentle mercy and concern.

Alli Needs to Start A Blog

Al,

It's time. You have good thoughts and a good brain . . .therefore the potential exists for a good blog.

Did I mention that you're funny in that brilliant-sarcastic-kind-of-way, too?

I'm just sayin' . . . .

A right poem; a right time.

Questo Muro

Quando mi vide star pur fermo e duro
turbato un poco disse: "Or vedi figlio:
tra Beatrice e te e questo muro."

(When he [Virgil] saw me standing there unmoving,
he was a bit disturbed and said, "Now look, son,
between Beatrice and you there is a wall.")
-Dante, Purgatorio XXVII

You will come at a turning of the trail
to a wall of flame

After the hard climb & the exhausted dreaming

you will come to a place where he
with whom you have walked this far
will stop, will stand

beside you on the treacherous steep path
& stare as you shiver at the moving wall, the flame

that blocks your vision of what
comes after. And that one
who you thought would accompany you always,

who held your face
tenderly a little while in his hands--
who pressed the palms of his hands into the drenched grass
& washed from your cheeks the soot, the tear-tracks--

he is telling you now
that all that stands between you
& everything you have known since the beginning

is this: this wall. Between yourself
& the beloved, between yourself & your joy,
the riverbank swaying with wildflowers, the shaft

of sunlight on the rock, the song.
Will you pass through it now, will you let it consume

whatever solidness this is
you call your life, & send
you out, a tremor of heat,

a radiance, a changed
flickering thing?

A Tale of Two Employees

This last week has been a bit of a rough one--on pretty much every level of my existence. The bridge collapse, major things going down at work (which I'm on the 3rd day of dealing with), and a couple of major things going down in my personal life (think finances, think men).

On Sunday night I went into Froedtert to pick up some extra hours, as I am broke off my ass . . .an unpaid 45+ hours-a-week internship will do this to you. Anyway, I rolled in thinking I was completely alone. After all, this is the way it normally is in Day Surgery on the weekends; I work on getting charts prepared and enjoy a little music from my iPod during the process.

Well, lately I've been REALLY into Jet's album Get Born, and last night I was giving it a listen after deleting some emails that once meant something to me. After having a small cry session/pity-party for myself, the song "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" came on. (One thing you should know about this song is that you absolutely, can not NOT dance to this song. In fact, head over to iTunes now and buy it. It will not disappoint.) So, given the stress I've been under . . .oh, say, everywhere . . .I let loose and completely rocked out in the chart room. I repeated the song a few times and danced like a crazy woman. Eyes closed, even--I was livin' it.

We all know what's coming, right? Oh yes . . .I was due for a new embarrassing moment.

I turn around and there, in the doorway, is the maintenance guy with the LARGEST grin on his face. I wanted to die, to disappear, to melt and dissolve into the carpet. I have no idea how long he was there, or even what kind of show I provided him, but I'm fairly confident that my face matched the color of the bright red allergy stickers on the table in front of me . . . .

Maintenance Guy: "So . . .I just wanted to let you know that I'll be over here replacing the water filter." The smile does not leave his face.

Me: "Alright then . . .enjoy that." He leaves with much amusement and I slink back into my chair, praying that he caught only the tail end of it.

A few minutes later, I couldn't help but laugh. Oddly, it put everything into perspective for me.

Rock out, my friends. It's good for your soul.

"You are like a summer rain, O Sudden Benediction"

Merlot . . .it makes the verbatim writing go better. As does Citizen Cope. As does the rain falling outside and Dima lounging by my feet.

The love affair continues with me and Microsoft Word . . . .

Hospitals and computer: summer 2007.

the right place; the right time

I went to my first Kirtan with Ragani this evening . . .and found it to be a profound experience.


"Listen far
beyond hearing
And call the
Unheard."
-Lao Tzu

Where to get the goods . . . .

For those of you interested in reading my fledgling sermons, you may read them here. Remember--they sound better than they read . . . .

Ah, vanity . . .I need to chuck it out the window. And thank you, Dave, for having read my first on your own free will.

Gratefulness--feels pretty damn good.

"When you have reached the point where you no longer expect a response, you will at last be able to give in such a way that the other is able to receive, and be grateful."

-Dag Hammarskjold
Markings, 1951

Hospital Musings

One of the main methods of psychotherapy that we've been studying is Carl Rogers' "Client-Centered Therapy." You let your patient lead . . .the topics of conversation present themselves naturally, and you're only role is to reflect comments and demonstrate unconditional positive regard while utilizing empathic listening and maintaining the million dollar word: congruence.

So to speak of themes . . .I had 2 patients today initiate the theme of my single status:

Pt: "So, are you married?"

Me: "No. I'm single."

Pt: "What? A girl like you shouldn't be single. No, no, no."

Me: (This is where I pause and think of some way to redirect the conversation.)

Pt: "I have a son. He lives in Florida, but he's single . . . ." And on it goes.

Why am I writing this? Because I find it fascinating. These two visits today were with women in their late 70s, and this is not the first time that I've run into this at the hospital . . .they genuinely see my singleness as something that needs to be fixed. Another line that was given to me was "Oh, a girl like you can't go to waste. Absolutely not." And I find this funny because the last thing I've done is intentionally waste my life away. . . .

I know, I know--cultural and generational differences. But still, why so much talk about it today? And then to top it all off, at volleyball tonight the ref (is that what they're called in volleyball?) pulls me aside at the end of our match and makes a point to show me a picture of his girlfriend on his cell phone, because apparently I look just like her (she's in Oklahoma, FYI). A little awkward. I made some joke about how she must be the girl people are referring to when they say to me, "Haven't I met you before?" and made my exit.

I guess this is the adventure one encounters as a single woman in her late 20s. I should embrace it.

Alas, procrastination.

A mind-blowing day . . . . I've never felt so on the edge of something vocationally, but today I ventured into a conversation with a co-chaplain and he shared a dream/vision he has had on his heart for some time now regarding opening a shelter in the Oconomowoc area for women and children experiencing abuse (a hushed but prevalent problem in the area). I listened to his still-forming hopes for the place and bounced a few ideas off of him. He has yet to see the full picture (which he feels he needs before acting--understandable), but when he does . . .I'm there. No hesitation on my part whatsoever. I think of all the healing that could begin with a big house on the lake . . .meeting with women in canoes and exploring life experiences out on the water . . .the kids having the lake to swim and fish in . . .big rooms to facilitate circles in for group therapy . . .with smaller rooms for reflection. Prayer/meditation rooms . . .yoga . . .some sort of education/training element. And if one can legally get away with it, a dog for pet therapy. It's pregnant (as my CPE supervisor would say) with potential.

Wow.

God, make the full picture known. Please include me in it.

An almost month of silence.

Greetings from what is a fabulous day in Scony. Low 70s, sunshine. I got to sleep in this morning and eat frozen custard this afternoon . . .life is fairly good with one dog beside me on the bed and the other at the foot of it. We're all resting and enjoying the quiet of the day.

I could go on about what I'm learning in CPE--all that business about diving into my inner self. Or I could go on about preaching last weekend in a church that I absolutely love. Or maybe . . .I could just not.

"If only I may grow: firmer, simpler--quieter, warmer." -Dag Hammarskjold, Markings, 1953

Pride and Prejudice

Just saw the movie for the first time and laughed! A classic: attraction, denial of attraction, teasing/banter, misunderstanding on one's part, a profession of love on the other's part, rejection, regret over rejecting, misunderstandings made clear, redemption, a final profession of love, and alas!, true love is fully realized (or should I say "accepted?") by both involved.

Simple.

A Significant Day in Kristy's Life Story

Two things:

1) I gave my first verbatim in CPE this afternoon. I received wonderful feedback from my peers and I just might be on the right track for this new direction in life.

2) I received the United Church of Christ's Book of Worship today in the mail. Having grown up in a non-denominational church, I never encountered the beauty of liturgy. Now I have it to myself (Pocket Edition!) and it is a tremendous resource for anything related to the "office" of a pastor: deaths, marriages, baptisms, etc.. Below is a prayer that resonates with me and its language draws me in (one of many reasons why I love the UCC).

O great and kind Spirit,
you have always been, and before you nothing has been.
There is no one to pray to but you.
The star nations all over the heavens are yours,
and yours are the grasses of the earth.
You are older than all need,
older than all pain and prayer.

O great and kind Spirit,
all over the world the faces of living ones are alike.
With tenderness they have come out of the earth
from which you give us food.
Look on your children.
With children in their arms, they face the wind
and walk the red road to the day of quiet.

O great and kind Spirit,
Give us strength to understand and eyes to see deeply.
Teach us to walk on soft earth as relatives to all that live.
Help us! Without you, we are nothing.
Amen.

Lines I especially love:

O Great and kind Spirit,

You are older than all need,
older than all pain and prayer.

Apartment Series: House

The entrance to the stairway, which leads both to the basement, Matt and Sarah's, and our place. Obviously.

I dig this light fixture.

The casa bonita . . .which will likely be painted this summer. Any ideas on color schemes? Matt and Sarah are taking suggestions.

Our street . . . .

Apartment Series: Deck

Matt--one of the proud homeowners--chillin' in my usual reading spot.

Lindsay's usual reading spot.

Our second story deck, facing the south.

The backyard, which our deck overlooks (picture a garage to your left).

Apartment Series: Bedroom

The south side of the entry way, with the doors to Lindsay and my's rooms. What I love about these doors is that they're at an angle to each other--something I haven't seen anywhere else. The bathroom door is also to the right.

My bedroom (with the door not pictured (to the right of the window) that leads to the deck).

My writing desk--home of many agonies over sermons, papers, and the like. Also home of email and the occasional chat.

To see Lindsay's place of rest, check out her blog (or the pictures I linked in a previous post).

Apartment Series: Entry Way and Bathroom

When you come up the stairs, this is part of what you see.

The bathroom, and yes, that's a full-sized window in the shower.
I tell myself that the steam and the vinyl shower curtain around/over
it blurs "the image" significantly, but it's likely that
some of our upstairs neighbors a few houses down
receive quite the show . . . .

Apartment Series: Kitchen

The entrance to the kitchen from the dining room.

More of the kitchen on the west side of the apartment.

Hands down, our biggest project--the cabinets. With Liquid Nails, 2 coats of oil-based outdoor trim paint, and new hardware courtesy of Matt and Sarah, they dressed up nicely.

The cabinets BEFORE 3 nights of work.
(The application of Mineral Spirits to just about every
body limb became a nightly ritual.)

Apartment Series: Dining Room

The dining room as seen from the living room. This table is the same table my dad grew up eating and doing homework on, and I got 4 the chairs through a coworker. (After Lindsay and my's mad reupholstering skills, and a coat of Old English, they're as good as new!) The end chairs I picked up at a rummage sale and painted to match the set.

The view from the other side of the dining room; the direct view from our entry way.

Apartment Series: Living Room

Boob tube in the SW corner.

The beloved lounge, nestled in the NW corner.

"The East Side"

Missing Traci

I wandered into the local Starbuck's this evening to find retreat and work on my prayer book for work. I'm consulting favorite poets and books, and gathering quotes and so on to assemble into a journal that I'll carry with me when doing rounds at the hospital. I think I'll find it to be a tremendous resource . . .and it'll be congruent to who I am as a person.

As I've been perusing books and mulling over different passages, I can't help but think of my college friend, Traci, and all of the long talks we had in various coffee shops in the Twin Cities. We would pull out our journals and share quotes that grabbed us. We'd talk about our lives in the context of the words we found profound and helpful, and little bits of our souls were handed back and forth--enjoyed, affirmed, loved.

All of this is to say, "Traci, you are missed!"

The calm before the storm?

Greetings from the back porch in Tosa. Everyone is on alert this evening . . .supposedly some nasty storms are making their way to the Milwaukee area, and the mayor already had a press conference concerning the city's preparedness for likely tornadoes.

I have yet to see lightning.
Or hear thunder.
Or hear the tornado siren wail.
And yes, I passed up Jazz in the Park because I thought the weather would be an issue.

*sigh*

But!! I have excellent news:

I got the internship at St. Luke's! Which means that come September, I will be an actual resident after completing my first unit of CPE. (A little trippy.) I'm also looking into finishing up the good ol' MDiv at Chicago Theological Seminary and will pursue ordination after. How crazy is that?! But it's time . . .I need to start finishing what I started years ago.

As for apartment pics, Linds has some posted on her blog. Check 'em out. I'll have more coming soon.

Can't catch a break . . . .

Bought a great bike on Saturday. Then bought an expensive u-lock Monday. Mounted the lock Tuesday evening. Had the bike stolen out of the garage sometime last night or today. (Sarah's bike, however, remains.)

Current question: why mine? Especially with a lock on it that they can't remove, because a) they don't have a key to the lock and b) the chord to the bike's seat is attached to it? And to top it off, the bike is actually registered in Wauwatosa!

What a great introduction to the neighborhood . . . .

The cop who took report told me to expect to never see it again, and then if it shows "which is a real shot in the dark," I can be surprised.

Thanks.

Check it out--Acorny Tale

My friend Sabrina is in the masters program for puppetry at UCONN . . .see her latest work. I love everything about it!

Happy Mother's Day

I absolutely adore my church. Like dating various types of men, I've tried different versions of Christianity--from conservative "non-denominational", to the charasmatic Assemblies of God, to the sort-of-pressing-the-norms Evangelical Covenant, to what I now find as my home (quite possibly for life): the United Church of Christ. Looking back, I see how experiences in each of the former institutions have led me here . . .and I'm thankful. It is good to know what one loves and needs, and to find both in one place is a tremendous blessing . . . .

Thank you, Dad, for bribing me with that free lunch a year ago!

Below is a poem that was on the front of our bulletin cover, titled For Love of the World.

For the love of a tree, she went out on a limb.
For the love of the sea, she rocked the boat.
For the love of the earth, she dug deeper.
For the love of community, she mended fences.
For the love of the stars, she let her light shine.
For the love of the spirit, she nurtured her soul.
For the love of a good time, she sowed seeds of happiness.
For the love of nature, she made compost.
For the love of a good meal, she gave thanks.
For the love of family, she reconciled differences.
For the love of creativity, she entertained new possibilities.
For the love of her enemies, she suspended judgment.
For the love of herself, she acknowledged her worth.
And the world was richer for her.

-Charlotte Tall Mountain

May your world be rich today.

First Post from the New Place

Greetings from Wauwatosa. I'm officially in my new place and am LOVING it. I'll get a mass email out soon with the new contact info, and then eventually pictures. I do have some of Matt hauling out a 25 lb raccoon carcass from the soffit of the garage (I won't go into details about the smell), but my inkling is that it doesn't make for good blog reading/viewing. Maggots and the whole nine yards. Funny and completely sick all at once, and having an aerial view at that . . . . Though in a moment of dignity, Matt did refuse to hold up the remains. My pleas for a picture of the proud new homeowner went unheard. Apparently we were not on a fishing trip . . . .

:)

I'm also preaching again at the end of the month and am mulling over what passage to go with . . .Proverbs 8 is jumping out, as is Romans 5:1-5. Wisdom is personified in the first, lending beautiful imagery. But then the savory and lingering words of endurance, character, hope, and peace with God tempt me in Romans. Wisdom seems to enable all of those, so I'll pull from both. Below is the verse I find most intriguing:

"and I [Wisdom] was daily his [God's] delight,
rejoicing before him always,
rejoicing in his inhabited world
and delighting in the human race."

So clever!

Just saw Stranger than Fiction and LOVED it.

An excerpt from a "reasonably full account" of my life...

Shortly after my grandmother’s funeral, my parents decided to move to WI to 1.) give my brother and me an excellent education (at that time WI had the best public school systems in the US) and 2.) give my father an opportunity to live closer to his family. Though I will never forget my grandfather crying as he hugged us goodbye, my parents made a good decision in relocating us to the Midwest. I think it is important to note here how impressed I am with my parents’ marriage. Growing up, not once did I get the impression that one was in charge of decision-making over the other, and because of this, it developed in me a deep respect for egalitarianism. Despite attending a fairly conservative church in WI where submission to husbands as “spiritual leaders” was taught and expected, my parents lived something different. Both of them worked; my mom an elementary school teacher and my dad an auto mechanic. They took turns cooking for each other, doing household chores, and so on. And though they fought at times, every decision was still a team effort. I don’t remember any ultimatums being given. And though the economic difference between Colorado and Wisconsin was drastic and created a lot of financial stress, they managed to keep our little family afloat. And further, even with my father recently being laid off from a job he worked for 18 years, my mother continues to stand beside him, all the while insisting that he find a job he genuinely likes instead of rushing into the next available position. He stands beside her as she faces the unpredictability of multiple sclerosis. I’m thankful to be near them now during this phase of life—they teach me deep and lasting truths about marriage.

Some mild procrastination going on...

Well, well, well. It's 6:37 pm and have I begun my ACPE application? Absolutely not. But have I watched the final episodes of Alias? Yes. Thank you, Netflix. I've also managed to pack up a quarter of my apartment, polish the sermon I'm giving tomorrow with the help of my pastor, do a run to my new apartment in Wauwatosa (I'm renting Matt and Sarah's upper with Lindsay--the change will be good for me in so many ways, though I will miss the community I've found here), and other odd ends . . . . And now Ryan Adams is in the stereo. Love that harmonica. Absolutely delicious. Now I'll just make some tea and settle into giving a "reasonably full account of my life." Not daunting or time-intensive at all . . . .