The Wind in my Headscarf

I do weird things. Just ask my husband. One of the fairly odd things that I do is drive sometimes as much as an hour away to different coffee shops to get my homework done (the library of course is far too quiet and boring). One of my chief reasons for going to a coffee shop to begin with is that if I stay home I can't ignore the distractions of things that need done. I do things like paint my entry door instead of writing a paper because that is the length I will go to avoid displeasure (if you follow the enneagram- I'm a very true 7). Why not paint something that has needed to be painted for years on a whim instead of putting laundry away or hey, writing that paper?! Makes total sense. I would tell you that the reason my local coffee shop (which I love) just won't do is because I see too many people I know there and thus spend my time "yackin" instead of writing which defeats my purpose. That is true. But the bigger truth is I am a creatively wired dog (I hate cats). To get myself to put words on a page about the topics that are the most mundane and painful for me (ahem...church history) I have to go somewhere that stimulates me. I travel to places where I feel different because I am most assuredly an outside observer. I write a few lines and then I drift and dream.

Considering that I live in the land of delft and dutch fronts where my community of 10,000 generally paints in 2 colors and hides behind the same cut-out's, it's not hard to find places that differ. There is a community just 15 minutes away with a coffee shop by the exact same name as one that we have. It provides the needed change of regular patronage. I go there for basic assignments and when I don't have time to travel. However, I have two favorite places to go. One is about an hour south of us and is home to the Maharishi school of the Age of Enlightenment. It is very colorful. There is a coffee shop that I enjoy, but even more so I love a little Turkish hole in the wall diner. I could spend hours there. The owners are friendly, the food is good, the wifi is free, and the customers are dynamic to say the least. I'd have an easy cast of characters if I could be working on a novel instead of my homework.

My second favorite place is a coffee shop in our nearest big city of Des Moines. It's in an area that I feel like most of my friends don't even know exists. Instead of climbing up onto the bypass to the shopping extravagance of the West side you just stay the course and roll right into the heart of the city. Most people think Des Moines is like the rest of Iowa and like my small town- flat and monochromatic. It is far more beautiful then that. I'm not sure why I always drive the distance to this particular cafe because it's always busy and I never land a corner booth with my back to the wall which is optimal for hiding and watching. Today I had to sit up at the bar (with other people!) that faces out to the street. At first I was annoyed because I don't like having my screen face into the room (someone might know I'm doing religiously related homework, or blogging, or both). But today it's given me an entirely different vista for which I'm grateful. There are all kinds of signs of spring outside. There is nothing green yet, but all kinds of people on the move. There are university students out doing a video project, tall thin white people in their mid 40's who've moved in to "elevate the neighborhood", poor people who live in the apartments down the block, unattended children playing ball, and other oddballs like me sitting in the coffee shop.

Then it happened. First a young man walked by with what looked to be a friend. They were followed by two small boys which makes me think he was actually some sort of aid worker instead of simply a friend. Then following them was a woman, a teenager, and preteen girl all with their heads covered in different but brilliant colors. They all passed like everyone else and ignored me and every other person in their path, but the girl looked up. She kept walking with her people but looked over her shoulder to smile at me. She waved. I smiled and waved back. This encounter doesn't necessarily make me focus on my homework or write any better. It does hearten me to the world and my fleeting place in it. It connects me to people and helps me to know beauty as I think God intended it to look. I am but a fleck in the world, but my connection to other humans matters. My assignment today is to write about the work of the holy spirit as it relates to the trinity and I do believe that her smile has helped me to remember the invocation that must be a part of this work.

Systematic theology is a “task that ventures a faithful, coherent, timely, and responsible articulation of the Christian faith” ( Migliore, Daniel L. Faith Seeking Understanding: An Introduction to Christian Theology). For me, a responsible articulation of the Christian faith is not one that is painted only in blue and white. It is not born of privilege and articulated in a bubble. It does not encourage fear based understanding and it does not perpetuate strength for the strong. This young girls face has seared itself into my mind and will remain for a time. I pray for her. I pray for her family. If she is in fact a "new Iowan" as I suspect, I pray that she will not know the experience of depravity at the hands of Christians. I hope for her future and wish her joy and freedom. May her path be guided by the holy spirit and may the world return her greeting.

Save Part of Yourself for Me

I have this friend who is incredibly helpful, empathic, and intuitive. She's teaching a class at church about self-control with regard to food and how that can be linked to our spiritual journey. Last week in our group we were asked to set a goal. I hemmed and hawed, I looked around at my friends who were willingly setting small, solid, tangible, goals. It came back around to me again and I sort of froze. I said "I don't have one and I don't know what to say". It was the truth. In that moment, I didn't have anything to offer and I couldn't even tell you what was blocking my heart from spitting out some fumbled for meager response. I went with honest hoping she wouldn't push me too much in the space of that moment. She didn't of course. She handled me graciously and said "Kristin's goal then is to set a good goal next week". I shrugged it off thinking that whatever the silliness of that mood was would blow over, but still lacking a clear sense of why I couldn't set a goal and with still very little willingness to try.

I've been cleaning out my closet this week and I literally have clothes that range in size from 6 to 18. No joke. I've worn them all on this very body (that has never carried a baby mind you). I have no excuse. It's hard to believe that one body can stretch and shrink as much as it can. But it can! I've come to terms with the fact that I'll probably never wear a 6 again even with hard work enough to move a mountain. I've also made my own personal vow that I will never, ever shop for size 18 again. When you hold these sizes together it's incredibly hard to believe that one person could wear them. I try to envision a young emaciated Kate Moss wearing a size 12 and chuckle that it is in fact possible. (Side note, there is nothing wrong with these specific sizes for any body. Each person is differently created. I'm lamenting about what's right for my body and my battle with consistency in this area of my life). All this to say, when you lose a bunch of weight, continue the journey of working hard, and feel "ok" about how you look it's easy to just feel great about holding steady. My size 12's are awesome. Eat clean, work hard, what more goal do I need?

I went to the gym tonight after having not gone at all last week and just a couple of times the week before. My wonderful friend said- "yay you, way to go, I'm glad you're here"(Isn't she wonderful? I promise she's real and not even imaginary). I said "my goal is to always make Monday's because if I skip Monday the rest of the week falls apart, but if I make it in on Mondays then I don't want to undo all of the work I start". She followed with the question "what changed". Ooh, life question. What had changed? I hadn't done anything remarkable that I could remember. But suddenly there I was telling my gym to watch out because I was coming for it with my "fierce face" back on and my "fat pants" gathered proudly round my "I belong here" hard working booty. All I could muster up in response was "I have a job interview this week" (Woot!)... "I guess I've been a little depressed lately". Wow- that actually came out of my mouth. I'm the strong one, the one that helps others. Depressed? Really? Me? She asked if I'd share some of what's really been going on in my personal life with our group and I shrugged and actually said "I only share my good stories, not when I'm the one that's the loser". (Yup- I said that awful thing and I meant it).

I then proceeded to my car. I'm a big believer that God speaks to us in whispers in moments that we sometimes barely grasp. On the radio was a song by an artist that I adore named Brandi Carlile. She's amazing (she sang the national anthem at the Seahawks playoff game this year if that helps you to know her). The beautiful, secular little ditty on the Coffeehouse acoustic station was called "Save Part of yourself for me". I read that on the screen, perked up at the amazingness of how even just the title was hitting me right between the eyes and proceeded to sit in the parking lot and cry. The song is about two lovers, but if you amend small phrases here and there it was in that moment about my loneliness, my journey, my relationship with God, and my longing to be myself again.

Given the current circumstances of what's been going on with me with my education, my career, and our dreams to adopt (all at once... why do our learning moments always have to be so colossal) I'd say I've done a good job of "hanging onto me". I've been understandably sad, but I've kept a beat on personal growth inspired by all the changes and redirection. My gym (said in a loud and proud tone) was the first place I went when bits started coming untethered. My gym people (much like my church community who were also very present with me) helped to anchor me and remind me of who I am. I still belonged at my gym. I still enjoyed my gym. My gym and the community within wasn't going to turn on me, only cheer me on. Yet, slowly as I learned to fill time that I never had the luxury of before with bouts of idleness I also became complacent. It's easier to just "keep going" when your in motion, but there is something much more difficult about "getting going". So like a slow leak in a tire I drifted away from my goals. I didn't gain tons of weight (a little), but I did lose my focus. So, the question came "what are you doing" and I fritzed out. But now this path has lead me back. My friends have called me home. I remember truths that are bigger than lies and I can't wait to achieve and accomplish life once again.

Just. like. that.

"life goes on, yeah life goes on"...

I will save part of myself for you.



Lyrics: "Save Part Of Yourself"

The sun came up and five years gone
Life goes on, yeah, life goes on
I wonder how you're gettin' by
The sun goes down and I feel blue
Now I toss 'cause my mind's on you
And I kind of miss your broken smile

Save part of yourself for me
Won't you save part of yourself for me?

I remember you and me
Lost and young and dumb and free
And unaware of years to come
Just a whisper in the dark
On the pavement in the park
You taught me how to love someone

So save part of yourself for me
Won't you save part of yourself for me?

When we walk into the sun
Or burn below for what we've done
Will you still call out for me?
Turn to light or fade to black
You don't look back, no, you don't look back
At what you might not wanna see

But save part of yourself for me
Won't you save part of yourself for me?

The sun goes down and five years gone
Life goes on, yes, life goes on
I hope you caught up with your dreams
I hope you saved part of yourself for me

Won't you save part of yourself for me?
Save part of yourself for me

Sweet Christmas Honey

I remember the day. Every year I take out my silver nativity scene from Mexico somewhere around black Friday. All I can think of is this mans face all soft and full of the sort of joy and wisdom one holds when they can’t be beaten by life but life tries it’s hardest. I try in the midst of this image to make my shopping list but fail to because his face just keeps flooding my visual memory. He becomes even more real to me then he was on that day.

So here’s the story. I was on my first ever trip to Mexico. I was excited to walk across the bridge and bust out my newly learned bartering skills. We went through the usual motions of finding a buddy and not straying too far from the group and off we went. We took pictures at the boarder plaque. We ate authentic Mexican food. We danced salsa. We shopped. We were tourist who had fun.

I was a young adult leader on this particular trip and not a student. I didn’t care about bootleg DVD’s and instead wandered off to find scarves, indigenous crafts, and silver. What I found was a nativity scene that I still cherish and some honey sold on the street by a local farmer. I did exactly what I thought I was supposed to do. I bartered for the best deal I could on this jar of honey. He stated the price and I showed him what I had in coins and offered them. He restated the price and I turned to walk away. He accepted my coins and I went home with some wonderful honey. To be fair I was showing him all of the pesos that I had. I wasn’t being dishonest about that. But I of course had a wad of US dollars in my pocket as well that I wasn’t offering.

There was nothing more to this exchange to tell about really. We ended our day in the line of elderly folks walking back across the bridge from having acquired cheap health care and prescriptions. We were shocked at how many people need to do this and genuinely surprised at how much more scrutiny there is to walking out of Mexico as there is to walking in. My honey and I along with 90 or so students piled into our caravan for home. We drove North to the land of milk and honey with my jar full of cheaply acquired honey. Somewhere around Oklahoma I was awakened from my Dramamine induced slumber to the sound of shattering glass and “oops, what was that” being shouted by the person trying to pull their bag from the open back doors of the van. So that was it. We spent the next 20 minutes cleaning honey as best we could from everyone’s bags at a gas pump and we finished our trip.

I never thought much more about my honey. I was disappointed that I didn’t get to live into my anticipation of sharing something authentically Mexican purchased at such an amazing price with my cup of tea and my friends. But, like the good American I am I drove to the nearest Wal-Mart and bought some more.

It’s been five years since that all but forgotten trip. The funny thing is that even though it was nothing more than a brief exchange it has played itself out in my heart deeply each and every year at Christmas. I pull out my tubs labeled “Christmas/Breakable” from the basement never remembering what I have in them. I open each and every piece and try to decide where I will put it even though we have a small house and the same things get placed nearly the same as the year before and the same cast offs get put back in the tub for another year. Each piece a gift, a hand-me-down, a special memory to be kept. I always pull the silver nativity piece from its wrap, give it a little polishing rub with my shirt sleeve, and smile as I think of my students. I place it on the same side table in almost exactly the same position as the year before and I move on with life. I don’t have any more thoughts.

But then sometimes a few hours or sometimes days after, the man’s sweet face comes to my mind again and I can’t shake my feelings of regret and sorrow. While I thought I was doing some “hot shot” albeit naïve thing at the time I now realize that all I did was keep a man who was trying to provide for his family from receiving a fair price for his goods. I walked away with all he had to offer and actually felt good about myself rather than shameful. I didn’t realize just how sick we really are.

So now as I flip through the stacks of Black Friday fliers I think of this man. I think of my trip and the honey that was never meant to be. I still shop. I still get a thrill out of getting the “best deal ever”. But I no longer make a mad dash on Thursday night instead thinking of the employee who needs the overtime pay to provide for the family they can’t spend time with because they already receive an unlivable wage. I honor them with my silence. I think of what it takes and who it really costs to make a TV so cheap that it will astound us. I pray for this man that I don’t know and I pray for us all. May we experience this Christmas how sweet the taste of honey is and truly appreciate it’s rendering.

Adoption Balloons

Jason and I are very excited to announce that we hope to adopt our family. This time next year our little family of four (Jason, myself, and our two dogs) could suddenly be a family of seven! There are so many things that go into this process but we are making a conscious decision and even though it's scary at times, it's really what we feel is right for us and we pray what is right for a sibling group of three that we don't yet know but who need a place to call home.

Our journey has placed us on track with the state of Iowa to become licensed to foster and adopt via a 10 week class called "PS-MAPP" (Permanence and Safety-Model Approach to Partnerships in Parenting). At this class each week we learn at least a few things that other parents say "I wish there had been a class for me on that". And, we also always leave feeling a heavy sense of burden. We spend a lot of time talking about loss, grief, and the disruption of a child's development and coping through that. This is our current reality and it's just plain sad. We realize that we are the over-eager, bubbly, first-time parents that need to just tone it all down about 50 notches, but we also still hang onto hope that God really does have a plan and that there really is a family merger waiting for us. We must have been called to this for a reason.

At our last class session a discussion ensued mostly born from everyone's similar anxieties. They hope that what they are doing is right and that it will go well even though the odds don't seem to be in our favor. We've felt a gentle (or not so gentle) nudge from most of the people we've come into contact with thus far to open ourselves up to foster care and not to go the adoption only route. Jason and I really feel like that's a bit disingenuous because we know that we really want a permanent situation. But the people who are encouraging us really do know what they are doing. During the class discussion we learned that our current case-worker isn't really the person who helps us through the whole process as we had thought but is the person that will certify or license our home now and that's about it. After she writes our report it's up to us again to get to know social workers, people who do respite care, and people who place children who might come to know us (and hopefully like us). Not only were we unsure about who would be our advocate, we live an an area of the state placement lines that feels like a bit of a "dead zone". We are by one thing, but not very near another, and the counties closest to us aren't really in the same zone. We misunderstood parts of the process in the beginning and we really left from the conversation feeling a bit alone.

We drove home from our meeting and processed with each other how hard this is but how we both just have this sort of gut feeling that we are still "on the right track". Jason then stopped at a gas station and I checked my phone to see what I'd missed over the last four hours. There sitting in my inbox delivered at nearly exactly the moment of our heightened confusion an hour earlier was an email from a "post adoption support specialist" inviting us to an "adoptive/foster parent support group". Our area hadn't had one for a long time and a group of people are trying to get it going again. The first session will be held exactly three days after our last class. That felt to us like a direct beacon of hope from God at a moment when we needed to feel His direction, mercy, and care.

We have no idea who we will get to know and how God will use this story. But we do know that we are on the right uncertainty laden path. We are every bit the eager, expectant, excited, new parents that you might anticipate us to be. And though we won't barrage our potentially shocked children at the door with balloons and the zealous joy we feel in our hearts-- we will very, very slowly unfold a world that does include balloons to them.

Thank God for Casey Kasem

I always “hate” when people say “tell me about your call”. Mostly this is due to the fact that it is still being formed. I am being shaped and will always be in process. I know things at this moment that I didn’t know before. God has a “funny” way of working in us. If you had asked me the call question at thirteen, seventeen, twenty two, or even yesterday vs. six months ago (I’m thirty) the answer would be different but with a singular overarching theme. Something larger than me beckons (now I know that is God, but I didn’t always know that).

At thirteen having been abused (with that still present at that time) and self-harming, I had a strange sense of call. I felt “marked” for something, which was also part of my will or drive to survive and move away from the situation. I spent afternoons outside on my picnic table with my “boom box” (insert: white radio with little kid dials, a handle on the top with a red and blue microphone attached) and wait for Madonna’s “Just Like a Prayer” to come on Casey Kasem's top forty count down on Fly 92 so I could belt it out karaoke style (thankfully the nearest neighbors were a 1/2 mile away on either side). Why that song? One could argue that the theology of it is terrible (if present at all), but at that time it drew me in (I certainly didn’t get what it was really about anyway). I didn’t care about any other song… I had a prayer.

Alongside Madonna was my grandma who kept saying that I was going to be a nun (she just “had a feeling”). This was a joke of course, said because she wanted me to stay “her baby” and because she didn’t want the hassle of being annoyed by a teen who “suffers from every psychopathology known to humanity: depression as aggression directed against the self; manic-depressive mood swings; obsessional guilt and compensation; hysteria that appears after long periods of concentration; suicidal thoughts as displaced aggression against one's caretakers; and megalomania, in which the adolescent will now resolve the world's problems.” (Loder) This was also funny because we're not Catholic. However, it stirred in me. I didn’t totally reject it; I wanted to be Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act.

I also in the midst of the destructiveness around me and in me, felt at times that I was a bit of a “martyr”. I had feelings about the pain I was experiencing being used for good. I didn’t seek out situations that would “martyr” me, but simply felt that there must be some good to come of my terrible situation (of course I certainly don’t think I am a “martyr” now). As Loder puts it “This (hypothetico-deductive thinking) is the final, decisive move out of egocentrism insofar as intellectual competence is concerned, but it is also accompanied by a heightened intellectual narcissism, so that even in this last move out of egocentrism as intelligence, there is still a residual form of it-an egocentrism of new enthusiasm and sense of omnipotence of reflection".

In high school my friend’s mom was a youth group leader. I was happy to make friends and to be a part of the group, however, once again something in me stirred. I felt the need to join the actual church itself (which was a traditional, rural, East coast, old Reformed Church with a volunteer youth leader… I certainly felt no pressure from pastor or people to do so). I wanted more. So I took the Belonging class and I joined with very little sense about how "weird" that really was.

In college I moved to the Midwest with my “residual ego form”. I learned all kinds of crazy new things that I never knew before and then proceeded to “teach” my family what they just couldn’t see. We all go through this stage, but I was a bit insufferable. I was taking things in, but also rejecting things, especially ways that people can be taken into a self-serving sort of religion. I didn’t know then why it made me so angry. I couldn’t understand why some of my friends could just shrug it off as no big deal while I felt incensed. I now know of course that it’s because I do care so deeply, and that is probably because I am called.

After college I used my psychology degree to go sell things for a corporation in New Jersey. I thought all the while that I wanted to land back in Iowa (why? who knew?). I then took my job as the Coordinator of church relations for a small private college. I wanted to have a job where my “sales skills” lined up with advancing the kingdom and with doing the good work of helping young people to find the path that I did. Then seminary became possible via distance learning, and I am happy to be on the journey.

All in all I have discovered that our development and our call go hand-in-hand. They are inextricably intertwined. I used to know a pastor who said that he knew that he was called when God audibly told him at fourteen to go preach. I was so jealous of this “God told me ever so clear” story for a long time. While I do not judge or aim to ever know the calling of another, I have come to learn that my way is just as beautiful. God is beautiful. Even if my story doesn’t have the same instant “wow” delivery, I've got Madonna, gramma, Whoopi, & passion.



Reference:
James E. Loder. The Logic of the Spirit: Human Development in Theological Perspective (Kindle Locations 2923-2924). Kindle Edition.

Direction

When I began seminary I had this excited "hey let's do this" exhuberance that I still carry a bit of. However, now as I head into my fall semester next week I can't help but reflect. The thing about a five year program is that it is always multi-faceted. It is fun. It is work. It is a lot of things. Much the same, how I feel about myself in the program changes. In the beginning I did not have a clear vision of what I am being called to, but I felt resolute about the call itself. Now as I head for year two, my reckless abandon is being shaped into something different. I feel excited, but not giddy. I have prayed for clarity and vision over the summer and have received again just a feeling of "this is right- keep going", with even less of an understanding of where it is that I'm going. For now, one foot in front of the other will do. I will enjoy the path that God has placed me upon and pray that He will see me through it to the finish.

Ever Shifting Life

Now that I am happily home with my second of 10 M.Div distance learning 2 week long "Intensives" under my belt, it seems a good time to process my "ever shifting life" as I understand it. I always leave for intensives with a few feelings. First, I cry as the stress of exams has mounted and leaving my whole life for two weeks is a less than thrilling thought because I love my life! I always arrive in Holland, MI at Western Theological Seminary and am "half present" for about the first three days. As one professor often quips "I gird my loins" for what I think I know is to come (as I expect "weeping and gnashing of teeth"... A very Matthean quip to add to your bank). I go to the opening dinner and start to become more fully available to my peers. I then go to the opening "spiritual formation retreat" totally not ready. It's a funny thing about "retreats"... if you are not ready to retreat, then it is no treat at all. In the case of this year, the two weeks prior to the intensive were "killer", so I was still cramming in all sorts of coursework. Also, I find that I like guided meditations and conversations and don't ever do very well with "go be still" (just ask my mother).

Then the intensive begins. Classes begin. Learning becomes official and academic. I have found the first three days to be the best time to get the most important knowledge in. I am "all on" and want nothing more than to learn. Each day we have mid-morning worship which has a way of warming me to my surroundings. I find that I slowly wind each day until I am so very keenly aware of my peers, the place that I am, and my Lord and Savior, that all I can do is cry at the insurmountable wonder of it all. This generally goes on for about 4 days mid intensive. I revel and enjoy. Then I get to a place where I am "stir crazy" and can't seem to cram in anymore knowledge. My notes get more and more sporadic and I feel as if I just need a day to reflect on all that I've learned so I can "file" it in the proper place in my brain. I start to check out from my own "all on" intensity, but I still LOVE spending time with my peers. I learn from them, I enjoy their company, and I hear the good news of what is happening in their ministry contexts and home lives (I also find dissent, but that is a conversation for another time). They become part of my world in such a way that I wish I could take most of them back to Pella with me to continue the journey in a more present way together.

Also simultaneously happening as the academic, social, and spiritual bits occur are peer group times, a written paper due regarding present spiritual place, psychological tests become due, formation is pushed from "mold" to "must". I enter ready to be formed...a "tabula rasa" and leave feeling as if under a microscope that I would like to gently push away for a while. Then a curious thing seems to happen each time. I become so happily engaged in my surroundings that I actually feel as if I have a double life. I have friends, supporters, wise peers (and not so wise), learning, & teachers, all that my husband are not a part of. By the time the last day comes I am so sad to leave it all because it has become a sort of "home", guilty that it is "my" place and not "our" place, and so happy to be going to my actual home and to my life that I adore to prevent it from turning onward without me any longer.

Yet, in all of that I find the most tiring part of the journey to be that we all seem to think that we both know and can explain God. I get to a place where God is SO MUCH BIGGER than our feeble attemps at understanding and I feel exausted just listening and watching others as they either share what they think they can know about God in a way that is foolish and arrogant, and those that guard themselves so closely that you wonder what dagger scares them so. I wish we could get to a place where we could share more deeply, honestly, and passionately without being rooted in camps like "left" and "right" and forcing corners in round places. I hope on one of my next 8 trips I will not only see God in others, but will hear other talk about Him more often and in a way that lets Him know that we long to know more and not that we think we already know it all.

Thus you have it. What it is like to journey from your life for two weeks twice a year to grow and learn in a "distance learning" M.Div pastoral training program. You also now have a more concrete understanding of why I love my dogs and long for their whistful, easy, bubbly, constant, affection.

MIA- This is Work!

Dear Blogger.com... I have missed you so. Sadly for you, you come after all of my friends. I forget what they look like now, so you too are neglected.

Yikes is all I can say. This week has been HUGE. (HUGE, HUGE, HUGE). For starters I am taking three courses this semester that I really enjoy at present (a bit of a turn from last semester). I am taking my second semester of Hebrew, an Old Testament course, and a Spiritual Formation course. They are challenging (which I both love and despise at the same time) and awesome, but each decided to kick it into mega-hyper-drive this week. In Hebrew we went from basic grammar lessons to here parse out the first nine verses of Jonah, I had an "extra paper" do in formation (and have not even cracked my book for the intensives that start next week), and I really have to know every detail of every line of the penteteuch if I plan to eek out in OT (btw, we had an exam this week in that class). Don't forget my dear friends, that I also have a full time job and sadly not the kind where I can check out at 5pm. I have had evening engagements all week long on top of the 8-5. It's funny, I am in a study group at my church and we just talked about how God calls us to "life with margins". At that point one month ago I thought "boy, I should probably find some more margin space in my life". Now that is such a far cry from my reality that it must be a joke. Before I can try to find margins in my life I need to try to condense it down to just one page first!

Sometimes it's hard to know if I should laugh or cry. For now I think I'll blend the two. I won't stay long... it's back to painstakingly parsing out Hebrew verbs for me. All that to say, I miss the blogosphere...and my margins.

What is being Stolen?

It is ash Wednesday and my head is all over the place. I have been pondering and pondering my place in the church and in particular in the RCA. I visited a group of churches yesterday that do not hire ordained women (love the conscience clause). I think of the scene from the movie Elf where the kind little friend says to Buddy "you bring the elf choir down a whole octave"... in this case I brought it up a whole octave. I'm not really sure how I feel about that except to say that it pushes me right off of my confidence rock. I finished my presentation and returned to my hotel room a whir of emotion (I mean, it went well and everyone was super nice, it just left me with an odd feeling). What is my place in all of this? I sat down on my bed and looked over at the the coat rack that I had neglected to hang my coat on but had haphazardly left my scarf dangling from. It was a beautiful "God moment". It hung there with the pattern perfectly at front almost aligned end to end just like a pastors stole. So I cried. I then hopped online to discover that an old friend gave his testimony at his church and was baptized last weekend (I'm a small church girl, but gotta love big churches and technology sometimes). He said to me in a FB note "even when things were way out of whack the one thought I always had (even to the point it was pissin me off!! :D) was how you maintain to be so positive and speak your beliefs....I get it now. :D". I watched his testimony. I read his note. And I just sobbed and sobbed. It's a funny world we live in and God's power is, well, astounding. Just when I am about a half a shake away from saying "this is nuts, I am every bit the person I used to be, I'm just a girl and why would I even want to fight that fight, I'm tired (It's finals week), and even though I don't doubt my call, I do doubt myself" there God is. He calls one home that I really know well and have been rooting for and he draws my eyes to my old scarf on a dingy coat rack in a dim hotel room in snowy, nowhere Wisconsin.

ps, I am discipline challenged and this my my lent
(words of encouragement welcomed):

http://40days.bloodwatermission.com/members/kfishery/

The Ultimate Where would I be if Question?

Where would you be and what would you be like were it not for your faith and the grace of God?



Yesterday I read my Relevant media daily devotional email. Typically I cruze through it with my finger hovering over the delete button. The piece itself was not super interesting or insightful, but the question extracted really made me think... "Where would you be and what would you be like were it not for your faith and the grace of God". My gut reaction to this is "eek, I don't even want to know".

This week I have been drafting and rewriting my five minute or less of course presentation to a group known for it's conservativism. I have presented there before and am always sidelined by questions that instantly put me on the defense about who I am and what I represent. I'm not this or that enough, my organization is not this or that enough, etc. I have been working hard to learn and use a language that is unapologetic in it's decription of God and faith lived in an intentional and fully encorporated way, yet not in an overt, mandatory, nor procelytizing way.

I have been encouraged by my colleagues to put more of myself and my own story into my presentation and I have been really struggling with this. My story is not neat and pretty with a pink bow. It's messy. My life in particular before my walk of faith was a daily walk of shame. It feels entirely cliche to say "I didn't know the Lord and now I do" or "I needed to know grace" when the truth is I was abused, my life was a mess, and then I abused myself because it was all I knew and now I live into my relationship with Christ, but on some level that doesn't make my life less messy, just different (stay with me on that one, I don't mean I live an "unclean" lifestyle).

So the question on some level begs me to respond in this mega-transformation sort of way. And how on earth does one convey tranformation without first describing the starting point? (Be honest, some people just cannot refrain from judging the starting point). Any schmuck can say "I am a changed person" and that really doesn't tell you a whole lot about them. However the flip side of that is that "whoa was me, and now I'm amazing" testimonies can be tiresome too.

Where would I be and what would I be like?

I would still be a child of God, I just wouldn't know it yet. I would still be a caring individual who can sometimes be a pest, but I wouldn't know that God loves the whole of that me. I believe that I still would have overcome poor parenting, I would have kicked drugs (I never really liked them anyway), I would have eventually learned how to be a better friend and a person who trusts others. I came into this world with a strong fight response (albeit God given). I never aimed to let the world keep me down. If I did not know God's grace I would sadly just be a lot more tired from the fight because I would not know that I can be at peace and rest and that He is my number one uplifter. I wouldn't really be very different, but my soul and my countenance would be. I am thankful that I can enjoy the journey!

Oh the Perfection of me

I spent the better part of an afternoon on Tuesday, February 8th trying to make the PERFECT birthday day for my husband. I love throwing parties, giving gifts, and making things special. It is my chief love language (and it gets me into trouble quite frankly... budgets are such a bore when there is just one more thing that would make something go from kinda cool to WOW) ;). I collected the perfect little candles that spelled out Jason's name all the way back in September of last year, hung onto them, and actually remembered that I had purchased them, and could find them come the 8th (no small feat). I got two batches of yellow cake mix and two containers of chocolate frosting (I'd prefer from scratch, and would love that for him, but it is not what he prefers... I've learned to go with it). He really wanted cupcakes, so I got special birthday cupcake papers. I whipped up a dozen or so yellow cupcakes and made a small round cake. I also had all of his favorite things ready to go (a gift card to bass pro, some special bbq stuff from Uncle Buck's, runts, sweet tarts, and cosmic brownies... what can I say he is a connoisseur of sugar... that is why he's so sweet). I even got a special container in the shape of a cupcake so that he could take them to work! Anyway, now that I know what things he really likes (golly did I insist on a homemade cake the first time) I was ready to go.

I made my cupcakes, and they were well... sort of funny. I then went to flip the cake out of its springform pan and onto the pedestal (I still have to dress it up somehow) and it flopped. I FORGOT TO PUT THE WATER IN THE CAKE MIX. That explains why the mix looked more like taffy than cake mix! Then I took the stupid expensive candles out of the box and I broke the "J". :(

I have no super insightful statement to make about God or myself here. The bottom line is that I am so happy to have such a good husband to make crappy cupcakes for :)

The Misadventures of the Imperviable Bubble Girl

I am not a people pleaser, I am a New Yorker.  That is what I would tell you.  However, if you really wanted to rattle my cage you totally could.  Because after all, I am a Christian and it is not a good, kind, nice, caring, loving thing to do to treat you poorly.  Where do we draw these lines?  How do we care for people who hurt us (and are much more cognisant of that then we give them credit for) and really truly care for them (not "kill them with kindness")?  How do we preserve ourselves in the process?  How do you handle the situation when you know that with all the reason in the world the other person won't "get it"?

I have an acquaintance in my life that likes to "get under my skin".  This person is a very good and fast manipulator.  Just when I think I am being super tough, boom, there they are affecting my well being.  This person is not only a child of God, but a person who works in ministry that is well liked by many... so what is a girl to do?

I learned a new trick!  I am the imperviable bubble girl!  Today I conducted myself in a respectful manner.  I participated when needed, I didn't respond when not needed.  I didn't take on the roll of keeping a slowwww meeting rolling, I let it hang there in oblivion.  I didn't take on any extra-lame task that this person was trying to get me to pick up.  I didn't apologize.  They made a crack about my haircut and I didn't laugh ackwardly to make them feel better.  I am better than a rock... I don't need a fortress...I am a bubble.  When I was ready to float away I did.

I guess I have operated under the mantra of "their emergency is not mine" all this time.  Quite frankly that just isn't good enough.  Prior to my bubble days I would still jump even if I was avoiding the trampoline.  Now I don't have to be confident... because I am imperviable.  My heart belongs to God, not you.

February Christmas

Today was supposed to be the blizzard of all blizzards in Pella, Iowa. 

It wasn't. 

I still had the best day ever!  I woke up on my terms.  I watched meaningless, bottom-of-the-barrel TV and loved it.  I took the time to sit and eat an entire bowl of cereal in my own house.  I spend some quiet time with God (albeit that was short... but I'm a go-go-go kinda girl... it's ok, He knows my name).  I braced myself to go down into my scarry basement alone to get the tubs for the Christmas stuff that has been on my dining room table for three weeks.  Lenny and I went down together while Gnocchi sat at the top of the stairs and whimpered.  I put all of my ornaments and decorations away and put the living room back together again.  I then wrote the paper for my class that was due last Saturday.

I am not sure which of the random activities above to ruminate on right now.  There's the super lame day to be declared a snow day... but oh how thankful I am for it!  There's my lame attempt at bible time.  I could write about just how much I like cereal too.  I even could tell of my complete lameness that I put my Christmas decorations away on February 2nd.  I mean heck, why not wait until Easter and then just swap everything out?  I could even write about my dogs.  My sweet, sweet dogs who followed me around all day and refused to poop outside because it is so cold and snowy, yet were pumped to jump in the snow drifts and race around the back yard.  I think I will write about the experience of writing my paper (c'mon... keep reading, it will be fun, I promise).

I seem like a "type B" personality.  However this is not true.  I am really a "type A".  I am easy going about the things that I don't really care about, but watch out if it is something that I do.  I am an obsessive, perfectionist and am even competitive about it.  My assignment started out with vague directions to write a profile about a group (no specification about which criteria we are using to define group), to use some theories that are out there or not, and to make it of nondescript length.  The problem is that I am also strong-willed to the point that I can't even trick myself into doing something when there is a problem.  A better person than me would have called the teacher for clarification.  I however chose to put it off until I could muster the will to do it.  Anybody else would just be happy to be able to make it whatever they want it to be.  I on the other hand spent three extra days (after the due date) stressing about it.  If you would like to psychoanalyze, feel free.

Yet, I still call today a great day!  God is good.  He loves people who stress about silliness too.  He even loves those of us who put away our Christmas decorations in February.

Funeral's, Answering Machine's, Rival Fans, & Directories

My job is to call churches all the time.  One thing I have learned with certainty is that nothing is standard!  I called five different churches this morning around 10:00am (a fairly standard time of business).   Today I am calling to thank them for their work by offering  them a dinner and a copy of the book of a speaker from a widely known Christian organization. 

-  Response #1:  I am a fan of your rival school, so I can't come.
-  Response #2:  Unspecified voicemail (i.e. automated "Hello, leave a message")
-  Response #3:  Hushed tone, pickup on fourth ring, "I'm sorry we are in a funeral right now, you are going  to have to call back"
-  Response #4:  A tone that says "oh it's you again"... yes, we got your email, no we are not coming... after ackward silence...a polite "I'm sorry"
-  Response #5:  Long emergency info voicmail followed by a staff directory prompt

My favorite is Response #3 in case you are wondering.

Winter Jam: A Christian's Perspective

I went to Winter Jam last weekend and had a blast with some women that I truly enjoy spending time with at one of Christian music's biggest events in the Des Moines area.  I wish I could sit back and say that I still love to listen to Christian music because I don't have to worry about what it aims to teach my family and my soul.  However that was a far cry from the truth.  Here's my take:

Chris August kicked things off and his song Starry Night is fantastic.  He is definately an up-and-comer.  I could listen to his voice for hours and his style is all his own.

Sidewalk Prophets are great too.  They sang their big hit The Words I Would Say along with a few other songs and their lead vocalist David Frey has some serious pipes.  On more of a side note, I love that Christian music is ok with a heavy set singer.

KJ-52 can get a room full of soccer moms waving their arms gangsta rap style... no need to say more.  He is a ton of fun.

Francesca Battisteli was a performer that I was really looking forward to seeing because I love her stuff on the radio.  Sadly, that is the only place she is talented... on the radio.  It apparently takes a lot of editing to make her sound good and her performance was totally "blah".

Red scared the crap out of me.  I absolutely do not understand the genre of death metal in the name of Jesus.  Their backdrop had red spandex stretched over the shapes of faces that lead me to believe they were the faces coming out of the gates of hell and the Christian eyeliner wearing band was going to save me from them.  They had a pretty neat fire show.  I'll give 'em that.  I am also still processing the couple in front of me in their 40's totally freaking out to the band Red.  I'm with the soccer mom who sat next to me that said "I can't understand them at all" and left.

Next up was Newsong.  I have been a quasi-fan of Newsong for a while now, but I'll be darned if I am not totally dissappointed and am now cosidering deleting their albums from my I-tunes library.  The song Arise my Love is sort of like today's Christian answer to the Gaither's, yet I like it... I have no shame.  The real turn off come's in the form of their new song One True God, sung after a description of their recent trip to India and the horror of what they witnessed in the expression of "other religions" there.  These guy's are apparently real cultural genius's.

David Crowder played a short version of their standard concert set.  They havn't changed it since the last concert of theirs I went to in '04.  However, Crowder is still awesome and stands alone as an authentic Christian band.  They are so much fun and I'll pay money to watch them twang out to "I'll Fly Away" again and again!

Kutless all this time I thought was Skillet (show's how credible I really am).  I have discovered that Kutless sounds totally like secular pop on the market and their frontman has a handsome baby face and rocks a fedora and skinny jeans regardless of how big his butt is just like the rest of 'em.  However, they are totally pleasant.

Last up was Newsboys.  They are awesome now with Michael Tait of DC Talk as their hero.  Their show was high energy and reminded me totally of the Black Eyed Peas (oddly enough a friend critiqued him as a Michael Jackson wannabe).  The coolest thing of all was their complete ecumenism and the drummer spinning around and still playing.  Very cool.

A room full of 11,000 Christians rocking out should leave me feeling recharged, energized, blessed... yet I can't shake the sour taste in my mouth.  I can totally appreciate that Christian music has always been a one-off of pop culture and that different bands appeal to different styles.  The burn comes in the form of their Giglio wannabe speaker Tony Nolan.  He shares his hard knocks testimony and then encourages his book sales (of course with the caveat that he only takes a meager salary for his family).  I am also totally amazed that we good Christians are willing to pay $10 bucks a pop for this propaganda.  It doesn't matter that we don't like Red and we do like Newsboys... we'll still pay to sit through it because we are ministering to our neighbor and the non-Christian's in the room (who are you kidding... there are very few if any non-Christians in the room).  Not only that, but we are then willing to put our cash in the offering bucket that get's passed to keep the concert going because we appreciate the low ticket cost.  Did you know that a free -will offering vs. a standard charge always earns more... can you imagine what funds are brought in in a room filled with 11,000 people... and just how much of that money do think actually makes it to the bands, the road crew, or the Holt International orphans?

Which brings me to the most appalling thing of all... Newsong lead singer Russ Lee pushing support for Holt adoption services was a complete turn-off.  Not only did Lee push support (an ok thing in it's basic form... brand awareness and encouragement of) he went so far as to state (after ONLY 250 people purchased pictures of kids at the cost of a cup of coffee a day... i.e. like 600 bucks...i.e. like $150,000) "you are not a Christian if you are not supporting orphan's".  I would really like to see them stand at the back of the room with pictures of widows and say the same thing.  Better yet, "Love your neighbor as yourself"... I'd like to see them pin down exactly who my neighbor is and then accuse me of not being a good Christian for not loving them properly.

Christian music is great at times.  I like being able to flick on the radio and have a moment to worship while I rush from A to Z.  I love to worship my Lord and savior.  I don't like to be told what makes for a "good Christian" in your narrow worldview and I won't be shamed into giving you my money.  I am thankful that I don't go to a church that pushes this kind of garbage.