My best friend's In-Laws are in town. They are staying with her while they remodel her kitchen. Or to put it another way, her In-laws have been living with her for a month and they have destroyed her kitchen. I buy chocolate chip cookies and wine and set off to console the desperate.
After 10 minutes of driving I am in the heart of my friend's neighborhood at the corner of Drug Dealer's Paradise and Working Girl Central. My tire blows. Not only do I hear it and feel it blow, but a nice lady who just happens to work the corner knocks on my window, "You have a flat!" I sigh and pull into the nearest parking lot which happens to have not only Korean grocery store and Mexican eatery, but a message parlor with tented windows as well. Great.
I think: "Right, well it can't be that hard to change a tire." I open the trunk and find a screwdriver, jumper cables, shoes, lawn chair, large amount of plastic swords, two teddy bears, Cheeze Nips, water gun and underneath it all, a tire bolted down, which I cannot budge. I go back to the front of the car to try to will the tire to change itself. A pickup truck pulls into the lot and I wave frantically. The nice man stops and asks me if I need any help. As it so happens, yes I'm desperate, and the man sets about freeing the tire and jack from the trunk. It is at this point I realize that his knuckles spell out "K-I-L-L". I take a deep breath and look at his girlfriend who is still sitting in the truck. As a ponder the wisdom of this situation the man continues on with the job in hand. It takes him about five minutes. My tire has a lengthy gash in it. He pours scorn over my spare and implies I will die horribly if I attempt to drive on it as is. He says he will go straight to a gas station to put air in my spare.
As he throws the donut into the bed of his truck the girl friend in the front cab is having a hissy fit. I suspect she does not like me and these suspicions are confirmed when he forces her to stay with me while he redeems the tire. I extend my hand to the designated-bodyguard-girlfriend as she gets out of the truck. As I am introducing myself my eyes are involuntarily drawn to her breast which are slightly covered by a neon green tank top which reads, "Light Up the Nite!" in pink glitter. It turns out Chloe is a women of few words. Neither of us is good at small talk so we sit in silence and wait for her boyfriend to return. By now, the poor guy is dripping in sweat. It has been another 100 degree day and he has been fiddling with my tire for close to 30 minutes. He wastes no time finishing the job and refuses my offer of all the cash in my wallet. I shake his hand and thank Chloe for lending him to me. I do not think she likes me. They drive away. I open the chocolate chip cookies.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 22
Wednesday, March 9
Wednesday of Quiet Love and Ashes
Today is Ash Wednesday. My evening will end with a service in which a United Methodist Minister will ask the congregation to come to the altar. People will go to the altar and kneel and the minister will dip the side of his thumb in ashes. He will take the purported ashes of last year’s palm branches and spread them on congregants’ foreheads in the form of the cross. The gathering of unholy sinners will leave the red carpet and stained glass windows of the sanctuary with ashes emblazoned on their foreheads and feeling just a little holier and just a little subconscious about flipping the bird at the guy who cuts them off in traffic. You can’t flip someone off if you are holy.
I do not start this day a holy person. I woke up well rested having fallen asleep at 9:30. Being a secretary is exhausting. Handling ten tasks at once for eight hours is exhausting, but soaking in a hot bath for thirty minutes proves restorative so I soaked. I soaked and talked on the phone and went to bed and slept soundly. Waking up at five o’clock in the morning is easy when you have slept soundly and so this morning I woke up and was ready for the day to begin. I anticipate lunch with an old friend as I eat my Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast and marvel at the quiet darkness as I drive through the neighborhood, depositing my daughter safely with her grandparents. The road out of town was quiet and soft in the early morning glow of street lamps. My car drives itself as I listen to James Naughton read the words of Earnest Hemingway's Moveable Feast in his deep baritone voice. Heading east into town I am hypnotized by this baritone and I listen even if I did not care for Hemingway’s words and I wonder how many people in their twenties even know who Gertrude Stein was or why his portrait of her is so stunning.
This trance is broken when I finally slip out the door of the downtown garage and onto the street that is full of people and the air that is full of garbage and bus fumes. These streets are not quiet. Cleaning women are making their way home and typing women are making their way to work. The only men I see are wearing hard hates and blue jeans. Men in suites don’t come to work this early or else they never walk on the street.
And so this day begins. This day, the first of the holy season of reflection and preparation, begins like any other with simple peace. In the quiet God’s simple assurance of unconditional love speaks volumes. In placing ashes on our foreheads we wear the grace of God and Her love feels absolute and forever. So what happens between the quiet and the ashes? What happens when I walk through air that is full of garbage and bus fumes? God's love is total, unconditional, absolute and forever. The state of grace—God's attitude toward us—is eternal. I am the one who changes with fumes. To receive the love of God is to recognize it is all around us, above us and beneath us; speaking to us through every person, every flower, every bag of trash, every trial and situation.
For the next forty days I give myself the challenge to remember this simple statement once written by the Franciscan monk Richard Rohr - Stop knocking on the door: You’re already inside!
I do not start this day a holy person. I woke up well rested having fallen asleep at 9:30. Being a secretary is exhausting. Handling ten tasks at once for eight hours is exhausting, but soaking in a hot bath for thirty minutes proves restorative so I soaked. I soaked and talked on the phone and went to bed and slept soundly. Waking up at five o’clock in the morning is easy when you have slept soundly and so this morning I woke up and was ready for the day to begin. I anticipate lunch with an old friend as I eat my Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast and marvel at the quiet darkness as I drive through the neighborhood, depositing my daughter safely with her grandparents. The road out of town was quiet and soft in the early morning glow of street lamps. My car drives itself as I listen to James Naughton read the words of Earnest Hemingway's Moveable Feast in his deep baritone voice. Heading east into town I am hypnotized by this baritone and I listen even if I did not care for Hemingway’s words and I wonder how many people in their twenties even know who Gertrude Stein was or why his portrait of her is so stunning.
This trance is broken when I finally slip out the door of the downtown garage and onto the street that is full of people and the air that is full of garbage and bus fumes. These streets are not quiet. Cleaning women are making their way home and typing women are making their way to work. The only men I see are wearing hard hates and blue jeans. Men in suites don’t come to work this early or else they never walk on the street.
And so this day begins. This day, the first of the holy season of reflection and preparation, begins like any other with simple peace. In the quiet God’s simple assurance of unconditional love speaks volumes. In placing ashes on our foreheads we wear the grace of God and Her love feels absolute and forever. So what happens between the quiet and the ashes? What happens when I walk through air that is full of garbage and bus fumes? God's love is total, unconditional, absolute and forever. The state of grace—God's attitude toward us—is eternal. I am the one who changes with fumes. To receive the love of God is to recognize it is all around us, above us and beneath us; speaking to us through every person, every flower, every bag of trash, every trial and situation.
For the next forty days I give myself the challenge to remember this simple statement once written by the Franciscan monk Richard Rohr - Stop knocking on the door: You’re already inside!
Saturday, January 1
Red Shoes Go With Everything
This fall I quiet haphazardly bought a pair of new red shoes at half off. I bought them not sure when of if I would ever wear them, but they were cute. Cute and half off. The longer I owned these particular shoes, I began to realize something magical. That red shoes go with everything.
I know that it is said that things can't make you happy and perhaps that saying is often true, but I draw the line at my red shoes. I am happier when I wear them. They bring an extra spark to any day, and I'm happy when I think about the fact that God made me the type of person who dares to own a pair of red slippers, Hans Christian Anderson's ghastly tale not with standing.
So it was that last night I slipped on my shoes to join the New Years count down with friends old and new. We ate too much food and had just the right amount of wine. We laughed and joked and pushed each other on to stay at the party until midnight. There is nothing quite like celebrating New Years in the middle of Bum-Fucked-Egypt. In the city they have things like laws that keep hooligans from shooting bottle rocks at each other in a misguided attempt at celebration. In BFE every one's a hooligan and there are no laws against setting off fireworks in your back yard, right next to that huge oak tree. The mayhem starts at midnight and we old battle axes drag ourselves out to the front porch in equal amazement and fright because even unsafe fireworks are magical and I'd rather be outside when the roof goes up in flames.
A lot happened in 2010. The Olympics and Jo at A Majority of Two introduced me to Vancouver, CA. And I feel head over heals for that beautiful city and the not a mascot Muk Muk. I also learned about vuvuzelas, cheered for Spain's World Cup win, and said fair well to Paul the Octopus.
This year I didn't listen to a lot of new music, or the new music I listened to all sounded the same, but I did see a lot of movies. I saw the Lisbeth Salander trilogy and loved it. The final Harry Potter, Part I was spot on. The Twilight movie I was sucked into seeing sucked more than I thought it would. Disney Animation's Tangled was good, but Disney/Pixar's Toy Story 3 was better. If we are talking best film I saw this year I would have to hand it to The King's Speech. Not because I just saw it or it stars the ever sexy Colin Firth, but because it was the first movie I left, having paid nearly $10 for and wanted to turn right around and pay another $10 to see it again.
In 2010 I discovered E.L. Koningsburg's wonderful stories and Alexander McCall Smith's No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Finished reading Stieg Larrson's Lisbeth Salander Trilogy and finally read Harper Lee's magnum opus, To Kill a Mockingbird. My favorite non-fiction works include Neal Gabler's telling of Walt Disney's life story, Karen Armstrong's A Case for God and Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.
I was laid off in October which was great because I had the chance to do some random things I normally would have passed on like visiting the Menial Collection and eating lunch in all kinds of trendy restaurants with my not so trendy friends. I found joy and courage in relaxation, art, journaling, prayer and loved every minute of being a stay at home mom. Still, if one is to buy red shoes, one must have an income so I was grateful to Elaine for retiring and to the people at the French oil company for hiring me on as her replacement. I finally responded to God's nudging and turned in my application for seminary and sat through necessary interviews with key Church people about pursuing a path towards ordination. That all sounds like I've worked out what I'm doing, but this is still just the preface. God is still preparing me for this journey. Ask me next January if we've reached the exposition.
So here we are. We lost a lot of good people in 2010, but you and I didn't die. Reason enough to celebrate. You and I go on. We dance our little dance and pursue the circuit of our dreams insofar as the hours of daylight permit. Love, courage, justice, faith, hope, charity. God bless you all.
I know that it is said that things can't make you happy and perhaps that saying is often true, but I draw the line at my red shoes. I am happier when I wear them. They bring an extra spark to any day, and I'm happy when I think about the fact that God made me the type of person who dares to own a pair of red slippers, Hans Christian Anderson's ghastly tale not with standing.
So it was that last night I slipped on my shoes to join the New Years count down with friends old and new. We ate too much food and had just the right amount of wine. We laughed and joked and pushed each other on to stay at the party until midnight. There is nothing quite like celebrating New Years in the middle of Bum-Fucked-Egypt. In the city they have things like laws that keep hooligans from shooting bottle rocks at each other in a misguided attempt at celebration. In BFE every one's a hooligan and there are no laws against setting off fireworks in your back yard, right next to that huge oak tree. The mayhem starts at midnight and we old battle axes drag ourselves out to the front porch in equal amazement and fright because even unsafe fireworks are magical and I'd rather be outside when the roof goes up in flames.
A lot happened in 2010. The Olympics and Jo at A Majority of Two introduced me to Vancouver, CA. And I feel head over heals for that beautiful city and the not a mascot Muk Muk. I also learned about vuvuzelas, cheered for Spain's World Cup win, and said fair well to Paul the Octopus.
This year I didn't listen to a lot of new music, or the new music I listened to all sounded the same, but I did see a lot of movies. I saw the Lisbeth Salander trilogy and loved it. The final Harry Potter, Part I was spot on. The Twilight movie I was sucked into seeing sucked more than I thought it would. Disney Animation's Tangled was good, but Disney/Pixar's Toy Story 3 was better. If we are talking best film I saw this year I would have to hand it to The King's Speech. Not because I just saw it or it stars the ever sexy Colin Firth, but because it was the first movie I left, having paid nearly $10 for and wanted to turn right around and pay another $10 to see it again.
In 2010 I discovered E.L. Koningsburg's wonderful stories and Alexander McCall Smith's No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Finished reading Stieg Larrson's Lisbeth Salander Trilogy and finally read Harper Lee's magnum opus, To Kill a Mockingbird. My favorite non-fiction works include Neal Gabler's telling of Walt Disney's life story, Karen Armstrong's A Case for God and Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.
I was laid off in October which was great because I had the chance to do some random things I normally would have passed on like visiting the Menial Collection and eating lunch in all kinds of trendy restaurants with my not so trendy friends. I found joy and courage in relaxation, art, journaling, prayer and loved every minute of being a stay at home mom. Still, if one is to buy red shoes, one must have an income so I was grateful to Elaine for retiring and to the people at the French oil company for hiring me on as her replacement. I finally responded to God's nudging and turned in my application for seminary and sat through necessary interviews with key Church people about pursuing a path towards ordination. That all sounds like I've worked out what I'm doing, but this is still just the preface. God is still preparing me for this journey. Ask me next January if we've reached the exposition.
So here we are. We lost a lot of good people in 2010, but you and I didn't die. Reason enough to celebrate. You and I go on. We dance our little dance and pursue the circuit of our dreams insofar as the hours of daylight permit. Love, courage, justice, faith, hope, charity. God bless you all.
Saturday, December 25
The Blessings of Wonder
It is Christmas Morning, but of course you know that. Unless you live ten miles up a box canyon deep in the Wasatch Range with only your dog Boomer and are demented from drinking bad water, you are inhaling Christmas morning air and "Joy to the World" is stuck in your head like a five-inch nail.
On Christmas Eve the Church was packed for the 3:00 service, the 4:30 and 6:00 candle light services were beautiful. Slient night drift through the rafters. I left the church and listened to NPR share the Christmas music of Olde England while I drove to Old Navey and bought a new pair of jeans and a couple of shirts. For myself.
I know its Christmas and we are all to be selfless and giving, but with my daughter away I am indulging in simple acts of selfishness. For example if I feel like if I feel like having a mocha, I just step into a Starbucks and get one. A small one, no pastry, but it feels luxurious. Why mocha? How does it further God's work on earth? I don't know. I just like it.
I had planned to return to church for the 11:00pm communion service, but after driving around I found myself near an old Catholic church. I slipped in the back in time for Mass in Spanish. Mass in Spanish is pretty wonderful. It's like a big family reunion at which I know nobody and so nobody is mad at me. Nothing said in Spanish offends me doctrinally or any other way. I squeeze into the crowd, under the placid stone faces of saints, the sweet smell of burning wax and a hundred varieties of cologne, and feel the religious fervor, and tears come to my eyes, and I light a candle, say a wordless prayer, and out into the cold rain I go.
A woman gets a keener sense of the divine in a church that is not your own. Maybe Luther and Calvin and Jan Hus and all them were dead wrong and literacy is not the key nor an understanding of Scripture, and maybe the essence of Christmas is dumb childlike wonder and the more you think about it, the less you understand. Which makes me glad I am no smarter than I am. Let's go have Christmas lunch.
On Christmas Eve the Church was packed for the 3:00 service, the 4:30 and 6:00 candle light services were beautiful. Slient night drift through the rafters. I left the church and listened to NPR share the Christmas music of Olde England while I drove to Old Navey and bought a new pair of jeans and a couple of shirts. For myself.
I know its Christmas and we are all to be selfless and giving, but with my daughter away I am indulging in simple acts of selfishness. For example if I feel like if I feel like having a mocha, I just step into a Starbucks and get one. A small one, no pastry, but it feels luxurious. Why mocha? How does it further God's work on earth? I don't know. I just like it.
I had planned to return to church for the 11:00pm communion service, but after driving around I found myself near an old Catholic church. I slipped in the back in time for Mass in Spanish. Mass in Spanish is pretty wonderful. It's like a big family reunion at which I know nobody and so nobody is mad at me. Nothing said in Spanish offends me doctrinally or any other way. I squeeze into the crowd, under the placid stone faces of saints, the sweet smell of burning wax and a hundred varieties of cologne, and feel the religious fervor, and tears come to my eyes, and I light a candle, say a wordless prayer, and out into the cold rain I go.
A woman gets a keener sense of the divine in a church that is not your own. Maybe Luther and Calvin and Jan Hus and all them were dead wrong and literacy is not the key nor an understanding of Scripture, and maybe the essence of Christmas is dumb childlike wonder and the more you think about it, the less you understand. Which makes me glad I am no smarter than I am. Let's go have Christmas lunch.
Friday, December 3
Happy Ending of the First Week of Advent
For the last few years I have made a vow not to step foot in a mall during the month of December. I intend to keep that same promise again this year, but I have to admit that I wouldn't mind being in this food court.
Thursday, November 18
I Love...
- I love that a cold front means a high of 60 degrees. I love that is cold enough for me to wear my new red pea coat.
- I love that I get to take my father out to lunch for his birthday and I didn't even have to ask anyone for time off to do it.
- I love that my dad has always tried to support his daughters. Even when he doesn't understand what we are doing, which is most of the time.
- I love drinking tea with my mom at the kitchen table and cracking endless amounts of pecans.
- I love that no one in my family blinked an eye when I told them I was decorating the Christmas tree for fall.*
- I love my family dearly and I think God for each of them each day.
Wednesday, October 27
Part II: In which I am drawn down a path
I have to say that something I find frustrating is the idea that there is a moment when a person is called to do something. Even if it isn't a lighting bolt there is suppose to be a divine whisper or a specific mentor or moment when the final piece of a thousand piece puzzle lands in just the right place. I don't feel "called" into ministry. I feel drawn.
Perhaps it is just semantics, but to me the words are different. I don't think I am fulfilling a call as much as I am continuing a journey to discover what it means to not just believe in God, but to love God, to travel with God, to see the world as God has created it.
I don’t know how to look at God. I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what to look for. It is God in us that loves God. And all we can do is get ourselves out of the way. It is the Spirit in me that recognizes the Spirit. It is the body of Jesus that I am that loves Jesus. The eyes that can accept God in me and the eyes that can accept God in you are the same set of eyes. That is how all self love and other love is finally one love and from the same Source. How we do one is how we do the other.
The more I have wrapped my mind around this idea, the more I have felt drawn into ministry. In speaking was a pastor about telling my call story I was advised not to focus on the "why", but to just explain the "how", but for me I think the two are inseparable. I have been drawn towards ministry as I have come to see God inside of me and inside of others.
Perhaps it is just semantics, but to me the words are different. I don't think I am fulfilling a call as much as I am continuing a journey to discover what it means to not just believe in God, but to love God, to travel with God, to see the world as God has created it.
I don’t know how to look at God. I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what to look for. It is God in us that loves God. And all we can do is get ourselves out of the way. It is the Spirit in me that recognizes the Spirit. It is the body of Jesus that I am that loves Jesus. The eyes that can accept God in me and the eyes that can accept God in you are the same set of eyes. That is how all self love and other love is finally one love and from the same Source. How we do one is how we do the other.
The more I have wrapped my mind around this idea, the more I have felt drawn into ministry. In speaking was a pastor about telling my call story I was advised not to focus on the "why", but to just explain the "how", but for me I think the two are inseparable. I have been drawn towards ministry as I have come to see God inside of me and inside of others.
Tuesday, October 26
When Life Throws Dung Balls
Sometimes life throws dung balls at you, but you just have to roll with it.
I was laid off yesterday. I can't say I'm terribly surprised.
Its an unknown path full of uncertainly.
Still, I can't help but be glad to see the back of the place.
I'm looking forward to having time. Time for prayer and reflection. Time to spend with Alex. Just time.
Maybe I'm naive, but I honestly think I will come out on top. I learned a lot from my time on the job, but it was never a place I wanted to spend my whole life.Photo Credits: All photographs taken at Walt Disney World in 2010. First five photos taken by Katy. Final photo taken by Tim and used by permission. -Thanks Tim!
Friday, October 15
Part I ... In which I attempt to articulate my call to ministery
I got lost at church when I was eleven. I wasn't really lost. I knew I was sitting in the Associate Minister's office. My parents didn't know that and at that time in my life, they were the ones who determine who and what were lost. It was three weeks before my Confirmation Class was going to be asked to stand in front of our congregation to confirm our baptism and become full members of the church. I had decided that I would rather not. I would rather not be confirmed in my faith. I had been reading a lot of books on the subject and I wasn't completely convinced yet. I had read about the early church, the history of how the Bible came to be. I had read about the historical Jesus and wondered what the difference between the myth of Jesus, divine human and the myths of all the other divine humans actually was. If the answer was it was because the story of Jesus was in the Bible, then I really wanted out. I was sure there was nothing remarkably sacred about the book at all.
As I sat in Associate Minister's office explaining that I had too many questions to confirm the truth of anything, he smiled and nodded his head. He totally agreed. There are a lot of questions one has to ask and the confirmation of faith is not something to be entered into lightly. Associate Minister agreed that confirming a person so full of doubt would be misguided and wrong, but then he said something else. He said that I would never not doubt. That if I was looking for a divine burning bush or a person who could explain all questions away, I was in search of the wrong thing. Associate Minister explained that doubt is the most important part of faith. Those who don't doubt their faith, their motives behind faith and what they are doing in the name of their faith are scary. He told me to think it over some more. Then he called my frantic and pissed off parents and drove me home.
That was the first time I realized that faith isn't supposed to be something you KNOW like you know two plus two is four. Faith isn't something you can memorize with flash cards or underlined in a book.
That was also the first time I ever thought about being a minister. How fun would it be to sit around and have theological and philosophical discussions every Sunday afternoon? That's not what ministers do with most of their time. It didn't take long for me to figure that one out. Ministry is a really complicated thing. A really complicated thing that involves people. I hated people. Ministry was not for me.
* As a side note, I was confirmed with the rest of my confirmation class.
**As a double side note, this is Part I of a multi-part series in which I will try to articulate why I feel that I have been called into ministry.
As I sat in Associate Minister's office explaining that I had too many questions to confirm the truth of anything, he smiled and nodded his head. He totally agreed. There are a lot of questions one has to ask and the confirmation of faith is not something to be entered into lightly. Associate Minister agreed that confirming a person so full of doubt would be misguided and wrong, but then he said something else. He said that I would never not doubt. That if I was looking for a divine burning bush or a person who could explain all questions away, I was in search of the wrong thing. Associate Minister explained that doubt is the most important part of faith. Those who don't doubt their faith, their motives behind faith and what they are doing in the name of their faith are scary. He told me to think it over some more. Then he called my frantic and pissed off parents and drove me home.
That was the first time I realized that faith isn't supposed to be something you KNOW like you know two plus two is four. Faith isn't something you can memorize with flash cards or underlined in a book.
That was also the first time I ever thought about being a minister. How fun would it be to sit around and have theological and philosophical discussions every Sunday afternoon? That's not what ministers do with most of their time. It didn't take long for me to figure that one out. Ministry is a really complicated thing. A really complicated thing that involves people. I hated people. Ministry was not for me.
* As a side note, I was confirmed with the rest of my confirmation class.
**As a double side note, this is Part I of a multi-part series in which I will try to articulate why I feel that I have been called into ministry.
Thursday, October 7
The Art of the Visiting Dish
Since Monday I've done nothing but cook, visit the funeral home and drink my weight in ice tea. There isn't a problem God can throw at you that can't be fixed with a homemade meal. We were out to save the world one chicken, spaghetti, squash, broccoli ... casserole at a time. Really there isn't any ingredient in this world that can't be turned into an decent visiting dish - as my mother would call it - by adding a pound of cheese and can of cream of something soup.
Now, if one is going to be visiting people in the wake of a tragic event, the best place to find great recipes for covered dish offerings is in old church cookbooks. I'm certain that women's church groups have been publishing cook books since Gutenberg invented movable type, at least I think that's when my mother's favorite cookbook was published. Its a great book. Really, it has some great dishes and ingredient lists mentioned in its pages. The thing is, this particular book leaves one wondering what you are suppose to actually do with the ingredients.
I'm not sure how I lived for 28 years without ever actually looking at the pages of this book. I know I have helped my mom cook with it for many years... I just never noticed that every recipe lacks instructions. For example, the recipe for Squash Casserole reads:
You will need 4-6 yellow squash, 1 onion, 8 oz. sour cream, 1 can cream of mushroom soup, 1 package bread crumbs, and graded cheddar cheese. Combine all ingredients top with extra cheese and bake.
No, I didn't leave out a step. That's it. Now, most people are going to just assume that you need to chop the onion and chop and boil the squash before adding the other ingredients. I say most people because my oldest sister, the Ditsy Pre-school teacher, didn't assume that. I don't call her a ditz for my amusement, its just a simple fact. Luckily, as my brother-in-law so helpfully pointed out, the women in my family are unable to do anything alone so there were plenty of people on hand to yell... STOP... CHOP! before something went majorly wrong. I had to concede that the non instruction on oven settings for the "...and bake" part a little unsettling. However, it stands to reason every visiting dish is made to be baked at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.
Friday, July 16
Finding a Way Towards Love
It is really easy to love people who love you back. It is really hard to love people who could conceivably always find a reason to hate you. That is maddening. Infuriatingly frustrating. Hate and righteous indignation seem to be a lot more empowering in the face of that kind of thing. Jesus loved the Pharisees and the Priests. Jesus was obedient to the powers that hated him, but he wasn't afraid to keep knocking on the door. He kept inviting them to be true to themselves. Jesus taught us to love the unlovely, exactly as it is. If we simply love that which is worthy of love, we will never love at all. You cannot love someone for who you think they could become. That's a cop-out. The only way you can love someone is to love them as they are today. Because of their maddening and infuriatingly frustrating ways we must love.
There is a balance to be had in loving someone who will always hate you no matter what you do or say. I really wish I knew what that balance looks like.
There is a balance to be had in loving someone who will always hate you no matter what you do or say. I really wish I knew what that balance looks like.
Friday, May 21
Pentecost in Ordinary Times
This Sunday will mark the Christian feast of Pentecost. Celebrated since the 3rd Century, Pentecost commemorates the decent of the Holy Spirit onto the Apostles as tongues of flames. Pentecost - from the Greek word for fifty days - falls fifty days, or the seventh Sunday, after Easter.
I'm not sure why, but the coming of Pentecost has reminded me, more than any other Christian celebration this year, that our lives are cyclical, and the seasons come and go as if we were simply turning a giant wheel. I suppose its that there is something found in Pentecost, flaming tongues not withstanding, that is... its ending. After this the church falls into ordinary time. Ordinary time is what happens when God isn't being born as a baby or walking out of a grave or lighting our heads on fire. No, those things aren't ordinary.
Ordinarily we go about our daily lives and, unless we are looking for something divine, we probably won't notice anything miraculous at all. Ordinary is what happens when we arrive at work every day, do our jobs and then return home to fix dinner, read books and go to bed. Life takes place in the ordinary. While we celebrate these feasts as a way to remember that God is out there and the Divine has moved in unbelievable ways, I find that I am called to remember that the Divine is always present. Always nudging us in subtle ordinary ways. If there is one thing that I draw from the bizarre story told in the second chapter of Acts it is that we all speak different languages. We all experience the world in different ways. Life is certainly not one fits all, and if the story of Pentecost is to be believed, God isn't either.
I might be alone when I say this, but I have never heard a burning bush speak my name, or had a blinding light tell me to change. I have plenty of things that I am unsure of, but what makes me love and seek the Divine are the constant reminders of the generosity and mysteries of life. The poet reading their work, cheap wine at a not- so-fine restaurant, art in the gallery, and musicians in the park. The inspiring novel read at the bus stop amid gas fumes and the drawn faces of the passersby. I have done a lot of things that I regret, but they are also why I cling to the mercy of God's grace. I'm pretty sure that most people can learn mercy with out screwing up as much as I have, but I don't think I could have come to love God in any other way. At times my life has seemed insurmountable, but I mount up every ordinary morning and ride.
I'm not sure why, but the coming of Pentecost has reminded me, more than any other Christian celebration this year, that our lives are cyclical, and the seasons come and go as if we were simply turning a giant wheel. I suppose its that there is something found in Pentecost, flaming tongues not withstanding, that is... its ending. After this the church falls into ordinary time. Ordinary time is what happens when God isn't being born as a baby or walking out of a grave or lighting our heads on fire. No, those things aren't ordinary.
Ordinarily we go about our daily lives and, unless we are looking for something divine, we probably won't notice anything miraculous at all. Ordinary is what happens when we arrive at work every day, do our jobs and then return home to fix dinner, read books and go to bed. Life takes place in the ordinary. While we celebrate these feasts as a way to remember that God is out there and the Divine has moved in unbelievable ways, I find that I am called to remember that the Divine is always present. Always nudging us in subtle ordinary ways. If there is one thing that I draw from the bizarre story told in the second chapter of Acts it is that we all speak different languages. We all experience the world in different ways. Life is certainly not one fits all, and if the story of Pentecost is to be believed, God isn't either.
I might be alone when I say this, but I have never heard a burning bush speak my name, or had a blinding light tell me to change. I have plenty of things that I am unsure of, but what makes me love and seek the Divine are the constant reminders of the generosity and mysteries of life. The poet reading their work, cheap wine at a not- so-fine restaurant, art in the gallery, and musicians in the park. The inspiring novel read at the bus stop amid gas fumes and the drawn faces of the passersby. I have done a lot of things that I regret, but they are also why I cling to the mercy of God's grace. I'm pretty sure that most people can learn mercy with out screwing up as much as I have, but I don't think I could have come to love God in any other way. At times my life has seemed insurmountable, but I mount up every ordinary morning and ride.
Tuesday, December 22
Yesterday I stayed at work late to catch up. I spent an hour in my annual review meeting. One of the lawyers I used to work for, (used to because she was fired a few months ago), had scored my performance at all ones. I'm the first to admit that I suck at my job. They have put me in charge of all the details and I suck at details. Still, everyone else (me included) thought I was a solid 3. That's a good B average. I'm not sure why, but I sobbed. I sobbed to the head of HR. I don't sob. I certainly don't sob at work. And I would never want to sob in front of the head of HR. But I did. I did and that caused me to stay at work until it was dark outside.
As I walked to the bus stop, downtown in the dark, I prayed that I wouldn't get mugged. Not long after I arrived I was greeted by a homeless man with his bed roll in tow. I prayed he wouldn't ask me for money. He didn't. He just mumbled to himself. And shielded his eyes from the non-existent bright light. And in between the mumbling and the eye shielding he shouted unintelligible curses at something only known to him. When the bus arrived the man did not get on. He simply turned and walked away.
Once I had been deposited at the church, I rushed inside. I had promised I would run graphics for the Traveler's Christmas Eve service. The turn out was nice. I was out to lunch. One of the cameras was broken and the man running the switcher made a few mistakes. Still, the service was beautiful. You don't need graphics and cameras to sing Silent Night A Capella by the light of a few hundred candles.
And that's it isn't it? Everything can be total crap, but somewhere in it all there is Silent Night and candles.
As I walked to the bus stop, downtown in the dark, I prayed that I wouldn't get mugged. Not long after I arrived I was greeted by a homeless man with his bed roll in tow. I prayed he wouldn't ask me for money. He didn't. He just mumbled to himself. And shielded his eyes from the non-existent bright light. And in between the mumbling and the eye shielding he shouted unintelligible curses at something only known to him. When the bus arrived the man did not get on. He simply turned and walked away.
Once I had been deposited at the church, I rushed inside. I had promised I would run graphics for the Traveler's Christmas Eve service. The turn out was nice. I was out to lunch. One of the cameras was broken and the man running the switcher made a few mistakes. Still, the service was beautiful. You don't need graphics and cameras to sing Silent Night A Capella by the light of a few hundred candles.
And that's it isn't it? Everything can be total crap, but somewhere in it all there is Silent Night and candles.
Monday, December 21
Happy Winter Solstice Everyone...
When I think of the winter solstice today I go back to a winter solstice celebration of a few years ago. It was a quiet occasion. A small group of people gathered that cold night to walk a labyrinth that is laid out side in gravel and stone. There was something incredibly peaceful about the air that night. We walked in silence and dark. Remembering that light was soon returning. Remembering that Christmas was just a few days away.
There is something tangible about that connection with the universe and its mysteries that makes the connection with the Divine more real. In the middle of our daily lives where there is no triumph, nature proves there is still light, even after the longest night.
There is something tangible about that connection with the universe and its mysteries that makes the connection with the Divine more real. In the middle of our daily lives where there is no triumph, nature proves there is still light, even after the longest night.
Thursday, April 30
Faith and Reason
There is something radical that comes from combining the faith in spirit with the reason of the mind. This week I attended a seminar that did just that. It started last night with a speech from Joan Chittister on the Divine Feminine and its place in not just the Christian religion, but in the world.
Today it was followed by a talk given by Richard Rohr which he called the Human Sprite, but really, I would have named it Human development. I have heard substance of what he said before in various forms, but of course, you always hear it in a new and different light.
When Joan spoke again this afternoon she didn't talk about spiritual theology. (I was getting tired of that anyway). She spoke about women and war. She spoke about the radical idea of giving a voice to women when it came time to go to war, and to end a war. How different would things look if people stopped to think about the women.
I don't think it really comes as a shock to anyone to hear the numbers she threw out there. Something like 90% of the casualties in the Iraq war have been civilians. That in its self is a tragedy. Beyond that though. What if we considered the women who are left alone in the bombed out village with their small children. Left to somehow provide them with food and water when there is none to be had. We don't hear these numbers. It was a very interesting. Very moving speech. One of those things where as she talked I kept thinking, "why had I never seen this before?" All of those people, hidden right in front of our eyes.
How do we make sure these voices are heard? Our voices are heard? I have no idea. Something to sit with for awhile.
If you want more information you can check out the UN page here.
Today it was followed by a talk given by Richard Rohr which he called the Human Sprite, but really, I would have named it Human development. I have heard substance of what he said before in various forms, but of course, you always hear it in a new and different light.
When Joan spoke again this afternoon she didn't talk about spiritual theology. (I was getting tired of that anyway). She spoke about women and war. She spoke about the radical idea of giving a voice to women when it came time to go to war, and to end a war. How different would things look if people stopped to think about the women.
I don't think it really comes as a shock to anyone to hear the numbers she threw out there. Something like 90% of the casualties in the Iraq war have been civilians. That in its self is a tragedy. Beyond that though. What if we considered the women who are left alone in the bombed out village with their small children. Left to somehow provide them with food and water when there is none to be had. We don't hear these numbers. It was a very interesting. Very moving speech. One of those things where as she talked I kept thinking, "why had I never seen this before?" All of those people, hidden right in front of our eyes.
How do we make sure these voices are heard? Our voices are heard? I have no idea. Something to sit with for awhile.
If you want more information you can check out the UN page here.
Wednesday, January 28
Book Group... Movement One
So my book group met last night for our first real discussion.
As I said we are reading The Velvet Elvis: A Repainting of the Christian Faith. I think this book was well chosen. It fosters discussion in a meaningful way. And for all that I disagreed with what a lot of my fellow readers I have to say, I appreciated their approach to the discussion. Everyone came with an open mind. Everyone came, ready to hear other points of view. I assure you we all had our own points of view.
There was a young man, new to me, who has just recently graduated from that bastion of conservatism, Texas A&M University. Not only that, but he was a member of the "Brotherhood of Christian Aggies." Then there was me. Spirituality has been a part of me all of my life, but I have always been weary of religion and "the church". I think everyone else seemed to fall somewhere in between the two of us.
So far I am not all that impressed with the book. While many in the group praised Bell and said that it "blew my mind", I felt like Bell was doing nothing more than climbing on the shoulders of the mystic tradition of the faith and watering it down for today's young adults. My view might change as I read more than just the first chapter, but as it was, I found myself adding things in the margins as I read. I wanted him to flush out his idea that "Its okay to question" and say that its not only okay to question, but we must question. I kept waiting for him to reveal that questioning is the only way we can move from simply obeying and defining doctrines and move into a fuller, richer, deeper relationship with God. I wanted to see him say what was said in the Cloud of Unknowing that "Our need to understand is our biggest stumbling block to God." He came really close to it a few times, but he never fully got there.
Still, like I said, it was a good group of people. Some of us were polar opposites, but we all listened to what the other had to say. We all articulated our points well. We were all heard and understood. On a personal note, it was nice to hear the Aggie say that he had to go home and think about some of the things he had heard.
If I were just reading this book on my own, I'm not sure I would care to move on to Movement two, but I'm excited about next week's discusstion.
As I said we are reading The Velvet Elvis: A Repainting of the Christian Faith. I think this book was well chosen. It fosters discussion in a meaningful way. And for all that I disagreed with what a lot of my fellow readers I have to say, I appreciated their approach to the discussion. Everyone came with an open mind. Everyone came, ready to hear other points of view. I assure you we all had our own points of view.
There was a young man, new to me, who has just recently graduated from that bastion of conservatism, Texas A&M University. Not only that, but he was a member of the "Brotherhood of Christian Aggies." Then there was me. Spirituality has been a part of me all of my life, but I have always been weary of religion and "the church". I think everyone else seemed to fall somewhere in between the two of us.
So far I am not all that impressed with the book. While many in the group praised Bell and said that it "blew my mind", I felt like Bell was doing nothing more than climbing on the shoulders of the mystic tradition of the faith and watering it down for today's young adults. My view might change as I read more than just the first chapter, but as it was, I found myself adding things in the margins as I read. I wanted him to flush out his idea that "Its okay to question" and say that its not only okay to question, but we must question. I kept waiting for him to reveal that questioning is the only way we can move from simply obeying and defining doctrines and move into a fuller, richer, deeper relationship with God. I wanted to see him say what was said in the Cloud of Unknowing that "Our need to understand is our biggest stumbling block to God." He came really close to it a few times, but he never fully got there.
Still, like I said, it was a good group of people. Some of us were polar opposites, but we all listened to what the other had to say. We all articulated our points well. We were all heard and understood. On a personal note, it was nice to hear the Aggie say that he had to go home and think about some of the things he had heard.
If I were just reading this book on my own, I'm not sure I would care to move on to Movement two, but I'm excited about next week's discusstion.
Friday, April 4
Thursday, March 20
Equinox
Backyard, by Katy © 2008Today is an anomaly. I haven't looked it up, but I'm sure that this kind of thing only happens once in ever million years. Today is Holy Thursday and the Spring Equinox. Today is the only day of the year that there will be the exact same amount of sunlight that there is moonlight. From here on out there will be more light than darkness.
I find it really interesting that this day should correspond with Holy Thursday. The day that Jesus washed the feet of his disciples and shared the last supper. Interesting that this event is remembered, this year on the day that a new season is officially here. In many ways, I think we can say, that the last super was the closing of one chapter and the starting of another. It was the first time in the Gospels that we hear Jesus giving his "what will happen to you all when I die" talk to the disciples. It is a dark time. For him, spring has not yet come.
In Spring, we celebrate new life. Bunnies are shagging and eggs are hatching, reminding us that after darkness, winter, the reflection of advent, and fasting of lent, there is new life to be had. We are growing and changing.
It is an odd feeling tonight. Odd that we celebrate the joy of the Earth, yet still reserve the remembrance of the struggles that are still a head. In way this joy of Spring is a good reminder of how the disciples really felt on this night. We see it as the last super. We listen to Jesus prepare for his death. They didn't see it that way. This was a celebration. They were still riding the high of Palm Sunday. They were celebrities and they were feasting with their messiah. It is a good reminder that today is a day of joy. The sorrow comes tomorrow.
On a slightly less related note, but a new beginning all the same, I got a new camera today. The "new battery" idea didn't work. So now, a whole new challenge of photography with a whole new camera.
Wednesday, February 27
Tuesday Night Bible Study
Jesus is Not kEwL, by Katy © 2003How I ended up in that house last night is a very long and not so complicated story. If anyone reads this and wonders WHY????? I might be able to tell you.
Last night I agreed to join and old Friend at her new bible study "for young adults." That right there is usually a red flag for bad things to come. When ever a church says, "young adults" they usually mean young Christians who listen to Christian Rock and are trying to hip and cool and oooohhh so very not hip and cool way.
The whole thing was like a bad flash back to high school and collage. If you have ever seen the movie Saved you will know where I am coming from. These people were so shallow and the whole thing just seemed pointless. I have gotten so used to communing with wise women and talking about "the feminine" and the oppression of the church and its doctrines that I had forgotten that there are people who read a verse of the bible out of context and say, "now what do you think?"
It just so happened that we read the verse were Jesus calms the storm and the questions asked by the leader steered the conversation into how dumb the disciples were. When was someone going to bring up that this was irrelavent? That this was just a metophor? Oh, that would be my cue I guess. I had to be the one to say, "I don't think the question of the Disciples' logic is the focus of this story. I think whoever 'Mark' was wrote this story just as a way to say, 'have faith always.' They didn't wake Jesus up to admire a beautiful sun set, and we don't wake him up for that either. We wake him up when the waves are crashing in and we are sure we are going to die, even when we are sure it wont do any good. I think what Jesus was saying was, 'Look, you don't have to shout. I'm here. Don't you get that?' " THAT opened the flood gates, and I was reminded why I don't hang with people my own age.
Last night I agreed to join and old Friend at her new bible study "for young adults." That right there is usually a red flag for bad things to come. When ever a church says, "young adults" they usually mean young Christians who listen to Christian Rock and are trying to hip and cool and oooohhh so very not hip and cool way.
The whole thing was like a bad flash back to high school and collage. If you have ever seen the movie Saved you will know where I am coming from. These people were so shallow and the whole thing just seemed pointless. I have gotten so used to communing with wise women and talking about "the feminine" and the oppression of the church and its doctrines that I had forgotten that there are people who read a verse of the bible out of context and say, "now what do you think?"
It just so happened that we read the verse were Jesus calms the storm and the questions asked by the leader steered the conversation into how dumb the disciples were. When was someone going to bring up that this was irrelavent? That this was just a metophor? Oh, that would be my cue I guess. I had to be the one to say, "I don't think the question of the Disciples' logic is the focus of this story. I think whoever 'Mark' was wrote this story just as a way to say, 'have faith always.' They didn't wake Jesus up to admire a beautiful sun set, and we don't wake him up for that either. We wake him up when the waves are crashing in and we are sure we are going to die, even when we are sure it wont do any good. I think what Jesus was saying was, 'Look, you don't have to shout. I'm here. Don't you get that?' " THAT opened the flood gates, and I was reminded why I don't hang with people my own age.
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