Tales from a Vicar

Spectacular. Magnificent. Incredible.

2012-01-30T19:11:00.004-05:00

I wish I could throw my body in the air to punctuate each of these words for you.

I am home after 2 weeks in Denmark and a brief visit to Iceland. I was sitting on a plane yesterday, a few Icelandic documentaries under my belt, when I peaked out the window to see something soul-screeching amazing.

When you fly west out of Iceland, bound for Seattle, you fly over Greenland and over a body of water called the Davis Strait. At this time of year the body of water separating Greenland from the uninhabited snowy fjords of Northeastern Canada is made up of giant sheets of fractured ice. For hundreds, even thousands of miles, jagged indigo veins thread their way through milky plates of ice. White cliffs jut curiously up from the sea and not a living thing can be seen. Nothing breathing, nothing photosynthesizing, nothing moving to the rhythms of the strange and stunning landscape. On this trip we were quite close to the North Pole, so we traveled for 8 hours with the setting sun. The light on the shattered landscape was breathtaking- everything awash in pink and gold, purple and blue. As I snapped a few photos out the window I felt my heart leap for joy. Leap.

For a moment I looked around, wondering what we ought to do. I considered promoting a collective dance. Or a subdued squeal. Something.

Instead, I just said thank you for every possible thing I could think of. I gave thanks for the plane and the pilot and human flight. I gave thanks for the sun and the moon and for the quirky bus driver who invited us to “stare into the darkness” when we arrived in Iceland, etc. etc. Like most people, most of my days are filled with the humdrum of daily decisions. I navigate life with unconscious consciousness. But yesterday I was given 30 minutes of magnificent.

It's amazing what 36,000 feet and a puny window can do for your soul.

A Wintry Update

2012-01-13T15:52:00.012-05:00

I'm sicker than a dog for the second time this season. I need to stand in line with all the old ladies (a.k.a. the bright one's of the earth) and get a flu shot next year. Tomorrow Clark and I are bound for the land of Danes and I am already dreading facing the poor person who will be sitting next to me in 34D. They are going to despise me. I am drugged up and resting today, so hopefully will be in much better shape by tomorrow at 3:30 when our plane departs.

Clark and I are going to Denmark to paint my cousins' house. As a thank you they are flying us through Iceland on the way home. Who does this kind of thing? We're hoping to soak in some hot springs and admire the Northern Lights. Fabuloso!

There is much to catch up on and discuss in the world. We could discuss the assassination of the Iranian nuclear physicist or the genocide occurring in Southern Sudan. Or the exciting happenings in Myanmar.

This is all worthy chatter chatter, but I've only the capacity for celeb gossip. Britney Spears is getting married again, which nearly prompted me to buy a teeshirt with her face on the front yesterday when I was at Value Village picking up a few things for painting. I googled her this afternoon and was invited to follow ol Brit on Twitter. I think I can say with certainty that I cannot imagine wanting to follow someone less.

A few random updates from my neck of the woods:

On Sunday (the eve of Carmen Vs. The Flu Round 2) Clark and I went snowshoeing in the Cascades. Lovely.

We went to Florida to spend time with Clark's fam for Thanksgiving where I caught my first fish, swam in the Gulf of Mexico, and spent my first Thanksgiving holiday in a pair of flip flops.

I loved spending time with my fam for 2 full weeks over the Christmas holiday. Such a luxury. And now a Christmas confession: you all know I am a feminist and believe in supporting strong, healthy compassionate boys and girls, yet I admit I bought my niece princess gear this Christmas.

Shoot me now.

Happy Birthday UW!

2011-11-04T19:22:00.006-04:00

One hundred and fifty years ago today , a young whipper-snapper bravely began teaching classes at the "Territorial University of Washington" in a rough and tumble mill town. According to the article I read this morning, Seattle was a shabby settlement where about 250 white folks lived in wood/mud shacks and spent their time gambling and boozing. When UW opened its doors, there were 2 distilleries, 11 drinking establishments, and one bawdry house (brothel) in the neighborhood. Ha! Seattle! Such promise. Such excitement! Clearly, this teacher had an inkling of all the possibilities that lay ahead. Microsoft and Boeing, send us your weary, innovative masses.

I am proud to say that my Alma Mater has come a long way. The first graduate was a woman, Clara McCarty, who went on to become the superintendent of Pierce County schools. Today the University of Washington is one of the oldest universities on the west coast and receives more federal research funding than any other public university in the nation. It is routinely ranked among the top public research universities in the country and the top-25 list in the world. Happy Birthday to the Huskies! Glad to be part of the story.

By the way, one of the primary reasons I went to this school had NOTHING to do with its prestige or academic rigor. No. I thought it was pretty. It "felt collegiate." Have mercy. That was my reasoning as an 18 year old. Whatevs.

It IS pretty.

Visiting the Land of Giants

2011-10-28T02:02:00.008-04:00

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
-Annie Dillard

Clark and I flew to California last week to visit the fabulous Smith family who recently moved to Fresno after 4 years living in Zambia. Among many fantastic adventures, they sent us to Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park where we visited some of the largest trees on earth. As we drove to the park Clark mentioned multiple times, "You will want to hug these trees. They are irresistible."

It's true. As you wend your way along the hillside, perfectly carved out as a safe haven for these beautiful monoliths, you begin to think you are shrinking. The bark of these wise old trees are rust-red and unbelievably soft.

And of course, I couldn't help it. I stepped off the path multiple times to press my cheek into the bark.

The forest is a nice place to listen. There were times Clark and I whispered as if we were in a library. These trees are thousands of years old and reverence is required.

We climbed inside one tree whose hulking mass had been completely burned out on the inside, but was alive and flourishing against all odds.

I feel like singing that Phil Collins song now.

There is a small post office in the park. I hate that this itsy bitsy post office is rarely frequented, so I insisted we send some postcards and strike up a conversation with the postman. He told us all about bears and bobcats that periodically peer in his windows and it was fun to imagine his life in this sometimes-lonely national park.

Nothing like visiting the land of giants to reorient your perspective. Such a magical place.

Macklemore - White Privilege

2011-10-18T16:54:00.000-04:00

WAIT

2011-10-17T18:38:00.008-04:00

My friend Sarah taught me a new and helpful acronymn: WAIT.

Why Am I Talking.

This guy looks a cheery chap, right? The kind of warm, gentle man you'd like as your grandfather. His name is Charles Hodge and at Princeton he was considered a monumental theologian and purveyor of all things good and wise and Christian.

Today I was reading a fascinating little book and came across this startling quote by old Chuck:

"If women are to be emancipated from subjection to the law which God has imposed on them... If, in studied insult to the authority of God, we are to renounce, in the marriage contract, all claim to obedience, we shall soon have a country over which the genius of Mary Wollstonecraft would delight to preside, but from which all order and all virtue would speedily be banished.... There is no deformity of human character from which we turn with deeper loathing than from a woman forgetful of her nature and clamorous for the vocations and rights of men."

WAIT, Charles Hodge. WAIT.

By the way, what is wrong with Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley? Maybe he didn't like Frankenstein. I lived for a year in Hodge Hall in seminary and as I have been pondering this man this afternoon I cannot help but feel a little sorry for him. Amazing how a few harsh words can quickly fracture a legacy.

I hope he's loosened up in heaven, perhaps shared a martini with Shelley, and kicked his feet back in gratitude. Grace does a body good, Professor Hodge.

Words With Friends

2011-10-13T15:00:00.006-04:00

I am a machine. A "Words With Friends" machine.

Playing this addictive game is one of the perks to living in what I have proclaimed to be "The Year of Semi-Employment" (think Chinese Zodiac, except more descriptive rather than predictive).

I've also been making time for real words with friends, gleaning a good deal of wisdom and sharing in friends' woes. I wish I could repeat the HILARIOUS phrase my friend Jennifer used to describe the early 30's for most of our girlfriends, but it made me burst out laughing on our walk around Green Lake. I cannot repeat it because it is full of crudity that potential future employers might not want to read on a blog. But it captivated me. Mostly because of this:

Life does not often turn out the way we expect. We all know this to be true, of course. But when you are 33 and educated and privileged and mostly happy and often disconcerted, you eventually slow down long enough to let this though sink in uniquely: MY life isn't as fabulous or important or deeply meaningful as I assumed it would be. Marriage, babies, religion, love, career.... Not exactly what I dreamed it would be.

Other realizations: Beauty and charm-- limited. One's ability to affect meaningful change in one's own life let alone the lives of others stricken by injustice or cruelty-- limited. This can be denied until our dying day, or we can do something entirely more productive: take it in stride and allow it to shape a more true and gracious way of living.

Someone asked me this week, "What is the most amazing thing you have learned lately?" Like a cursor blinking on a blank page I looked back and thought, "Amazing? Unless you are talking about babies or nature, amazing is hard to come by." But then I thought longer and harder. This week I had dinner with a man in his early eighties. As I listened to him reminisce and make plans for the future two lessons came to the fore in a new way: one, we humans do not stop wrestling with our identity EVER. And two, life rarely turns out the way we expect. Most importantly, neither of things are one of life's tragedies. Amazing.

Foiled plans sometimes pave the way for unimaginably good gifts.

As this man's stories unfurled like the cigarette smoke he gave up decades ago, I was reminded that foiled plans invite resilience, creativity, regrouping, and a whole lot of humor. Dry bones resurrect. Some old dogs learn new tricks. And God continues to stitch and sew and hem us in. Amazing. And more amazing. And hopefully, probably, rest-assuredly more amazing some more.

Seattle Extravaganza

2011-10-06T14:06:00.006-04:00

Mike Watson came to visit last week. Who is Mike Watson, you might ask? The man who is responsible for setting me up with the one and only, Sir Clark Scalera.

We provided an intense 56 hour tour of Seattle that included some mighty fine Pacific Northwest cuisine, good live music, tours of the best record stores in the city and some rigorous games of "Corn Hole" courtesy of Clark's craftsmanship and my meager sewing skills. I picked out fabulous fabric because one cannot make bean bags for a lawn game with lame solid colors.

I love this time of year. Clark is bewildered by all the gray, but I love it. The days are growing more cold and crisp and it is good to be home for the first time in years. I bought my train ticket for halloween and will go trick-or-treating with my nephews and niece for the first time EVER. It is so good to be Aunt Carmen just a short train ride away.

I'm helping lead a retreat this weekend, so have a bit more work to do today before traipsing up to the poetry store up the street. I love Wallingford. Who else has a store consisting entirely of books of poetry just 4 blocks from their house? I hope to find some work by the Swedish poet Transtromer (who was just awarded the Nobel for literature). I'll share some gems sometime soon.

Dear Morgan...

2011-09-13T16:14:00.002-04:00

... It was very nice to meet you today.

I doubt you will ever read this, but I just wanted to tell you that I think you are great. I have a sneaking suspicion that you don't have people remind you of this enough. You are sparkly and warm and obviously work really hard in your job. I hope you got your passport with ease and I hope you extend your 4-day trip to Bavaria. Soak up the beauty of this new city and time with your boyfriend and let it orient you as you figure out how to get out of the toxic job situation. Down with yucky bosses. Up with working collegially and growing professionally and living holistically!

Sparkly Morgan, may your life be full of riches and joy!

Affectionately,
Carmen, the random girl you met at the passport office today

September the Great

2011-09-08T19:11:00.009-04:00

September in Seattle is magnificent. Cool mornings and cool nights give way to warm, sunny days. The air is full of optimism. Kiddos and teachers are returning to their classrooms and like Tom Hanks once said, "It makes me want to sharpen and give away bouquets of #2 pencils."

I took a tour of the Seattle University campus today and it was fun to see a few students draped across benches in this little oasis on Capital Hill. It would be a fantastic place to work- if only a position would avail itself (or I could manage to get a PhD in the next three weeks).

I've been doing a lot of thinking these days. Thinking and brooding and feeling depressed 27% of the time. Another 6% of my life is spent feeling guilty for feeling depressed. Unemployment is hard. Underemployment is hard. Trying to "let my life speak" (as the Quakers and Parker Palmer say) is hard. I'm doing my best to re-remember that smart lady that lives inside me and knows how to navigate difficult seasons.

In the meanwhile, poor Clark.

When I was growing up my mom would occasionally say to me, "I am going put in an advertisement for a new mother for you." Stretched out on the couch, she would say this with a laugh, but I suppose there was truth in her intention. Being who I needed her to be was just plain hard. Lately I have been telling Clark that I plan to put in an advertisement for a part-time girlfriend for him-- someone who will be a fun and easy-going companion (preferably semi-unattractive). They can go hiking and to the movies and she will make light-hearted conversation.

I've mentioned him on the blog before and I really ought to introduce him to you more fully, but my words will not do Clark justice. Instead, take this picture for starters. This is the kind of man he is: the kind of man who will crawl into a bathtub, committed and in costume, to work on a movie for my nephews and niece (8 minutes of hilariosity). Clark is warm-hearted and creative and relentlessly good. He and I are making our way, trying to unearth a good life. One of these days we will be able to box up our wandering shoes in exchange for a season of rootedness.

Until then I'll do my best to minimize the time I spend with irrationally self-centered, sad Carmen and live into the jaw-dropping adjective assigned me this week: scintillating. Scintillating! A professor said it so it must be true. Scintillating is only assigned when one is capable and confident and compassionate. So, here's to it. Bottoms up. Drink it in. Let's radiate, people.

I owe you some cheer this morning.

2011-08-29T11:27:00.007-04:00

I believe cheer can ALWAYS be found. Even in Moldova.

My friends Brett and Shelly served in the Peace Corps in Moldova and tell me it has been consistently rated the most "depressing country in which to live." I have a hard time believing it is worse than a place like Somalia where civil warfare, collapsed governance, and famine wreaks havoc. But, supposedly, it does not hold a candle.

In all of the chaos, I continue to be awed by the magnificence of human resilience. I know some folks who have received rough news lately. Rough. Devastating. Fill in your own adjective. And in the wake I have seen these very same people rise up to seize life a bit like a lion with its prey. They ravage it. Ravish. Ravage. Both. They receive its goodness and its trouble a bit like a bridge grasping the earth with its fingers and toes, bearing up over the chasms below.

Over the weekend Clark and I took time to play- really play. We ran around Green Lake under a bright, warm sun. We learned how to paddle board and went to the movies (this picture of Matthew McConaughey and his girlfriend really gives you a sense of EXACTLY what Clark and I looked like when we paddled). We went to church and met Angie and her kids at the park. My friends Peter and Cheryl sent me a gift in the mail and in their gesture reminded me that we live life in community for a reason. In community, we remind one another of what is true and what is good and what is hilarious and what is beautiful.

Remembering the sweetness of life in the midst of chaos is good medicine. And when you cannot do that, you must read Billy Collins poems instead.

Forgetfulness, by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Wait for the right fit.

2011-08-24T13:27:00.010-04:00

This is the advice I have received most often of late.

Whether it is choosing a spouse or choosing a job, all of us are asked to navigate a cacophony of voices helping us to know what we want and what we need. In the midst, it is hard to unearth the voice within. Call it the Holy Spirit, call it your own still small voice, but listening for her is like leaning into the wind along 5th Avenue in New York City. If you have ever walked along the east side of Central Park you know you have a simple choice: you can click along the apartment-side of the street where you smile at doormen standing on pristine concrete only occasionally defiled by the urban dog (you can always tell a NYC dog—look deep into his eyes after he has circled and circled and circled, desperate for a blade of grass), or you can walk along the tree-lined portion of the park where uneven cobblestone threatens the heel and the ankle. Non-native New Yorkers often prefer this side of the street. This must be genetic.

Whichever side of the street you choose, you swim in sound. Horns, birds, barks, children chattering, cab drivers shouting, whistles blowing. Your own voice melds with the busy world and somehow the exhilarating clamor brings peace. But hearing your own voice? Good luck, Jack.

In the Presbyterian Church these days, there is a litmus test for the “right fit.” It is always embedded in a larger conversation about “Biblical Ethics” or “One’s Exegetical Hermeneutic” (swear to God, this is the heady, theoretical language that is used to describe the difference between Evangelical Christians and Christians of the more liberal slant). Christians supposedly have one or the other: an orthodox exegetical hermeneutic or one that is distorted by cultural/intellectual shifts. Ironically, I believe that both brands, both sides of the polarity, depend on something I would call ‘selective literalism’ when reading the Bible. All of us pick and choose which parts of our sacred texts to read authoritatively, which texts to interpret metaphorically, and which texts to carefully slide under the bed.

'Hermeneutic' is playing an important role these days in the debate about healthy sexuality (the litmus test used in determining who is in and who is out). Historically, here in the United States we separated the lambs and the goats based on who endorsed slavery and who endorsed abolition. Later we separated the lambs and the goats based on who ordained women and who exclusively ordained men. Now we are separating the lambs and the goats based on sexuality: not just who is gay or straight, but who has the right to enter into the covenant of marriage and who is disqualified. Hermeneutic aside, most folks have a knee-jerk reaction to this subject. Sex has a way of stirring up the most mild of souls. Yet, many of our knee-jerk reactions are ungracious. We fear variability, complexity, and the possibility of having it wrong.

Funny thing is, ask anyone, the church has been a disaster on the subject of sex. Here in the U.S. we live in the most hyper-sexed culture in the world. We are experts in commodifying bodies, exporting pornographic material, and our homes are more silent on the subject than ever. Churches are just one step above silence: “Humans are not sexual creatures until they are married, so either get married or pretend you are not sexual.” Eeeesh. The brave ones among us, spend time reflecting on the God-given goodness of intimacy, the art of loving, and the lessons derived from commitment.

I should move to Sweden.

I am living in a city where the most popular, populated church is rigorously black and white on the subject of sex (http://marshill.com/). But I have a hunch it is all far more complicated than Mark Driscoll suggests. So, I will live in the complexity of the conversation because I am just an idiot 33 year old that wants to enter into it more fully and with deeper integrity. Guess who probably won’t get a church-gig in the Emerald City.

But I'll keep on keeping on. Looking for the right fit, right?

Who knows. Maybe we will all begin to make more room for each other, for the parts of us that flop over the edge of the cookie cutter. Stupid cookie cutter. I suspect the cookie will be tastier for it.

Pull, pull, pulling my hair out

2011-08-19T14:52:00.005-04:00

So, I have come to discover something about myself. I am a worst-case-scenario kind of cat.

When I apply for a job the same patterns erupt:

1) Position reviewed. Application submitted.

2) Investigation period takes hold and I talk to a few people about the hopes/expectations of the position.

3) A dark cloud of unrelated warnings, red flags, noisy beeping explodes in short succession:

"Your boss will be a narcissist."
"You are overqualified for this position."
"You are a loser and you have no tangible skills to offer an organization."
"Maybe you should move to Europe."
"Starting over in a new city will be exciting."
"Moving across the country will make your family sad."
"I am hungry."
"You are crazy, so you should go run before you go insane."
"Maybe you should start a business cleaning houses."
"Hang in there. You are doing fine. You are awesome, fun, and will find a great place to serve."
"But your co-workers might be crazy."
"That will be okay because most people are crazy."

Now, being a worst-case scenario kind of person has its upsides. Nothing is as bad as I create it in my head.

O Carms, ye of little faith, "Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?"

It is a fabulous, beautiful, warm day in Seattle! It is high blue sky and this sunshine might call for some paddle boarding with Clark later today (who is making bread this instant!). Not bad. Not bad at all. The Hairless Wonder will go forth into the sunshine and play as intensely as she broods!

Earth's crammed with heaven...

2011-08-01T00:21:00.007-04:00

...And every common bush afire with God,

But only he who sees takes off his shoes;

The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.

— Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Humdinger

2011-07-31T19:26:00.008-04:00

Can you believe this is a word? Humdinger. It means "a remarkable or outstanding person or thing".

Clark=Humdinger

I am stressed out. Clark, from 1500 miles away, is good at encouraging me despite my erratic bouts of freaking out. Thanks, babe. I know I must make you mad as snakes sometimes.

In case you were curious, there are 2,316 ordained Presbyterian Professionals (pastors, christian educators, etc) officially looking for positions in the Presbyterian Church (example of said clergy pictured here). There are 495 positions posted. I have been referred to 51 of those positions. I have had 4 phone interviews and have been a finalist for 2 of those positions.

Anyone dumb as a doornail can see, the statistics aren't good.

So, I have been exploring using my gifts elsewhere. I have applied for university "gap program" coordinator positions, chaplaincy, and staff administrative positions. I would be eager to translate my gifts to global development programs with a non-profit or academic program. So far, no dice. In fact, I have had multiple people tell me, "I know this is bizarre and unfair profiling, but is there any way you can drop the church stuff from your resume? Universities are going to run from you."

BTW, look up the word "pastor" on google images sometime. Do it. It'll kill you.

According to NPR, I should have been a computer programmer or scientist. There are scads of positions available. Too bad I was always bound for the social sciences. I only passed high school physics because I convinced Garrett Barnum to build me a mouse-trap car.

The fact is this: I want to do meaningful work and that isn't easy to come by. I know this longing is nothing new under the sun. There are plenty of immigrants making beds at hotels or driving taxi cabs that would rather be doing something more MEANINGFUL. Well, maybe I have a new opportunity ahead: live a meaningful life and get a job to pay the bills. Sometimes work is work.

Peg got a couple of new cameras for a photography class she is teaching this fall and she is letting me borrow the beauties. I think I'll go out and snap myself some pictures. I might find a humdinger or two. It's possible. Anything is possible.

Reasons why the world might not be so bad

2011-07-13T22:11:00.008-04:00

This place warms my heart. It is just two blocks from where I live and tonight I spent a couple hours here drinking coffee (courtesy of David Hallgren, thank you very much). I spent some time writing and researched a few new job opportunities. Does 44 inches of snow a year sound like a legitimate reason for NOT applying?

This cozy neighborhood coffee shop boasts delicious "pay what you can" pastries and beverages. I got sucked into Youtube this afternoon-- seriously spent an hour and a half perusing Mark Driscoll sermons (I do not understand why this guy is the MOST downloaded preacher in the world-- enlighten me if you must). I needed to get out of the house, so I took the dog on a walk and found myself here.

One of my favorite bloggers is Annie Parsons and she has something called "Bosom Friend Fridays' (reference not lost on Anne of Green Gables fans). I have decided that today is "Reasons Why The World Might Not Be So Bad Wednesday(s?)." The title is too long, but never mind that.

Here it is- reasons why the world might not be so bad, this fine Wednesday afternoon:
1) Yoga studios and coffee shops where you pay what you can
2) New friends
3) Old friends (that know how awful you are and still like you)
4) Boyfriends who find ways to play Words With Friends in the middle of nowhere to appease neurotic girlfriends
5) People who help make the world more gentle and passionate and beautiful
6) The story about Margaret Shoop playing air guitar for The Edge

Okay, that's all I can think of because it has been THAT kind of day. Feel free to add to the list. Would love to chew on your nuggets of inspiration as well.

The Spanish Lessons Guy

2011-07-11T21:49:00.004-04:00

When I first arrived in Seattle I was eager to get back to Green Lake, my favorite place to run in the city. When circling the lake for the first time I recognized a number of "regulars" including the Spanish Lessons guy. Nice to see him meandering the lake 8 years later.

Except he wasn't wearing his Spanish Lessons pinny. This perplexed me. He seemed to be walking a bit slower and he was not accompanied by a spanish student. Bummer. I spotted him a second time and again he walked alone. Drat. But today sweet victory! I was pleased as punch to see him, bright white and red pinny in place, chattering with an eager mustached student speaking extra loudly to make up for his poor grammar.

For some reason I found this soothing. The world changes, changes, changes, but some things stay the same. Like the friendly Spanish Lessons Guy.

I'm applying for jobs like a mad woman. Even jobs that are ridiculous. This whole unemployment thing gets annoying. I had to say to my self, "Self, do not flinch" when an employed doctor said to me, "I have no money." It is all relative, people. All relative.

I've had loads of encouragement these days. I have hung out with some amazing pastors who are reminding me of why I got into this business in the first place. And despite the fact that a handful of them have made it clear that they would NEVER hire me because some of my new-fangled liberal beliefs, I like them. And I happen to think Jesus likes them as well. And me. And the gays (seriously, swear to our heavenly father (even though we aren't supposed to swear), that a guy interviewing me referred to folks who self-identify as homosexuals as "the gays"). So, I am okay with being ousted from some circles. There will be others to join.

I am starting my mental list of "things I'd like to have once I have a job." Top of the list? A cat. But not more than one. I will not be a crazy cat lady. Second on the list? A pedicure. And after a significant number of paychecks and the illusion of stability? A camera. This list is subject to change on a moment's notice, btw.

All right. Herein ends the news. Hope you have your own version of "The Spanish Lessons Guy." Some things really do stay the same.

Love.

Sum-sum-summa time

2011-07-06T21:57:00.009-04:00

The cold weather has finally given way to blue sky, sunny days, and summer barbecues! Returning to Seattle has allowed for some fantastic reunions, trips to visit the fam, new friends, and plenty of time to introduce Clark to the beauty of the Pacific Northwest. We've hiked, chatted late into the evening around a campfire or two, planted a garden at Peg's house, ferried around the Sound, travelled east across the mountains to visit the Smith family (back from Zambia!) and some seminary friends, went to a rodeo and an MLS soccer game, and plenty of other adventures.

Not bad for some unemployed folks. I am still the Reverend Secretary (doing Admin work at a church nearby), but doing my best to savor the summer. Here are some of the people I have been spending time with:

College room-mates Ryan, and Angie and Clark the Great

Fantabulous Peg who is hosting me in her home

And of course my sister Tamara and her kiddos Tate, Tyson, and Alyssa. I will be in town for the birthdays for all three kids this year. Such a gift!

I was going to write a blog post...

2011-07-06T02:35:00.001-04:00

...but I decided to read poetry instead.

If you can't say anything nice...

2011-06-15T21:52:00.002-04:00

... then don't say anything at all.

Today as I stood out in the rain, car alarm blaring, perplexed as to why the engine of the darling borrowed beauty refused to start for the third time, I could not help but feel a bit sorry for myself. To lighten the mood Clark and I ran errands. We got lost on the way to the library and walked in the door only to be told it was closing for the evening. Walked to the bank and realized that I had forgotten my bank card. 45 minutes later and empty handed we finally made it to the grocery store. At least Trader Joe's had that nice cilantro salad dressing I like. Being unemployed and unsettled and having everything you own in someone's garage 3000 miles away has the capacity to depress you. But like any rational creature, when you walk home from the grocery store and pass a man struggling to refasten his velcro shoes and six different homeless men asking for money, you realize life isn't so bad-- even if you don't have health insurance or look cute in a bikini top like that yoga instructor you saw through the window. Life is so weird these days. I feel disoriented. Wonderfully encouraged and supported by good friends and family, but I am 13 for 13, people. No dice.

Now that I have ranted I am sure I will feel much better. It is a pretty night in Seattle. The veil of rain has lifted and the sun is peaking through the windows. This blog post will come down in t-minus 3 days when I will apply for the next round of jobs and will re-post something cheerful and reflective and tasteful. As mama always used to say, "Things always look brighter in the morning." Here's to it, mama.

Apocalypse Nope

2011-05-22T12:55:00.010-04:00

I thought I might be the only one in a blogging slump, but I've noticed recently that most of my blogging buddies are sharing less and less these days. What's with the lethargy? Have we finally decided that full public disclosure is really a needless contribution to the mad cacophony in the world? Maybe we have we realized our thoughts and observations of the world are intensely ordinary and aren't worth talking about. On a more hopeful note, maybe some of us are standing back in awe these days? There is plenty in this world worth quiet reverence: love, loss, and the intense, magnificent weirdness of people.

Por ejemplo, i.e., the Apocalypse prediction. God Almighty. I fiercely ignored the talk of the earth's immanent destruction because anyone who knows anything about Jesus or the New Testament knows that this was a stupid prophecy. Some old radio evangelist predicts the end of the world and a bunch of people sell all their goods in preparation for the big day? Who ARE these people? And why doesn't anyone actually know ANYTHING about the Bible? Redemption and healing, people. That's the message.

I spent Friday afternoon with my hands in the dirt. My friend Peg had bought a bunch of plants that needed planting, so I weeded and watered and moved earth around while I considered some of the conversations I have had in the last week. I am amazed at some of the advice people bestow in the midst of a job search. "If you are faithful like me, God will guide you into the right situation."

Seriously? I suppose, much advice comes from the same place in people. Whether you are warning folks of immanent apocalyptic death, interpreting honorable living according to Scripture (gay ordination debate), or explaining why I am unemployed and they are employed (or why your baby died and mine did not), it comes from a longing for control and a fear of the unknown.

Perhaps.

Perhaps this is where I end and go take a shower for the day. I'm meeting my Dad in Olympia for a date. I've got bigger fish to fry than sit at a computer right now- heck, according to that radio prophet we've all got a new lease on life! It is May 22, 2011 and the world has not come to an end. Selah.

Dear Seattle,

2011-05-09T12:48:00.008-04:00

I love you. I love the Ballard Farmer's Market. I love all the people here who care about the earth and drink coffee and sing sad songs on the street corners. You're weather is unimaginably grim this time of year, but thank you for the generous glimpses of spring. You do an excellent job with Evergreens and I really think you should show off your mountains more. No need to be shy-- they are truly one of your best features.

Love, Carmen

P.S. I am about to post pictures of my trip to Florida. Don't be jealous. Do not feel that I have abandoned my love for you in exchange for warm, sunny skies and white sandy beaches. You are BOTH beautiful. Just saying.

What I was doing last Monday:

What I am doing this Monday:

Thoughts on Mom

2011-05-08T19:25:00.007-04:00

Mother's Day. Not my favorite. Today at church someone tried to pin a red carnation on my sweater in honor of my mother. But red carnations were "given in honor of living mothers," a woman said. I snatched a white carnation instead and pinned it to my chest. My mother is dead. White carnations are for the dead.

I was feeling sour as I marched around the church, ever mindful of that spindly white flower drooping over my heart.

My mom died almost 11 years ago. 4,001 days without a mom, to be exact. There are many things I miss, of course. Today I miss her laugh. Wish she could have been sitting with me in that little church this morning. I preached today and I rather think she would have enjoyed hearing me preach.

This day is full of goodness, of course. We have good reason to celebrate the sisters who love and nurture the human race, but to all of you who feel a twinge of sadness this day, peace be with you, my dears. Peace.

The Return of the Vicar

2011-04-28T01:47:00.003-04:00

I am working as a church secretary these days. Yep, queen of the church newsletter, master of the weekly bulletin. Door locker, phone answerer, copy machine trouble-shooter, and occasional preacher. I will add this to my already-impressive repertoire of random church skills like thermostat installer, hardwood floor refinisher, and boiler expert. Being a pastor can be mega-glamorous. “MEGA!” she says with vigor.

Recent conversation I had with the church custodian over the phone:

Me: You won’t believe it. My car won’t start.

Custodian: Bummer! What’s going on?

Me: I don’t know. My battery is drained, or something. Can you come over and jump me?

Custodian: (slight pause) I don’t think you should ask me that.

Me: (lengthier pause) O, have mercy. Sorry…

Swear to God. That’s what I said. I asked the custodian to jump me.

In other news, I gained 6 lbs in Italy. Any day now I’m going to start running. Soon and very soon I will shed these delightful prosciutto and gelato inspired layers, but in case you had not heard, Seattle is in the throes of an arctic freeze. I am considering getting a pet penguin. Wee Penguin and I can take up arctic sports and together trim down. Could be more viable than running. I’ll keep you posted.

Unemployment

2011-03-24T13:03:00.003-04:00

There are several strange things I have noticed thus far in this season of unemployment:

1) What happened to all the emails? I check my email account thinking, "Surely there must be more than this handful of junk messages."

Weird.

2) I have no keys. I currently do not have a car, apartment, nor job. So, no keys.

Weird.

Beyond all this weirdness I am actually feeling quite cheerful. I am visiting my friend Jessie today and all three of her children are currently crying (I'm a big help as I sit here at the computer). Today I go to my nephew Tate's 8th birthday, which feels pretty fantastic. Last time I was home to go to a birthday party was at his 1st birthday.

Wishing you a good day from the gray-sky-per-usual Pacific Northwest!

A Perfect Ending

2011-03-16T00:00:00.005-04:00

One of the glories of vacation, and unemployment, is the gift of time. This morning after I stopped to get a cup of coffee in Suburban Station for the last time I sat down on a bench and lingered. I lingered on my coffee: not enough milk; lingered on the stairwells that belched out busy people crisscrossing one another. Magnificent bedlam it was, and I had a front row seat. For whatever reason, hanging out in the train station this morning felt good. Nowadays people spend so much time on those da%# smart phones we hardly take the time to greet one another on the street, or acknowledge one another's presence on the bus. I think I should make sitting in a train station a habit, employed or not.

My time in Philadelphia has come to a close and last night supplied the perfect bookend. Nearly two years ago I bundled up and met Stephanie Kleven near 21st and Locust, a Seattlite new to the area who was also adjusting to life in the City of Brotherly Love. Last night it ended nearly the same way it began. Very close to the same intersection, bundled up and full of optimism, Stephanie and I embraced for the last time as fellow Philadelphians. I cannot tell you how many times that woman and I cried together over ex-boyfriends, our own self-indulgence, the troubles of the world, and the strong, vibrant thread of faith runs through it all. Strength and wisdom are hard won and I think she and I have gained a little of both these last two years.

Off to Portland to hang with the fam for awhile. I am temporarily relocating to the Pacific Northwest while I look for a job. My boyfriend Clark may be joining me for awhile (yes, totally publicly acknowledging the fact that I am dating) and am feeling refreshed and ready to jump back in the game. Six weeks in Europe does a soul good. More on that soon. I have some good stories, people.

A word from Europe

2011-02-27T17:57:00.004-05:00

I worshipped in a tall, wooden church in Stockholm tonight. Do not ask how I got from Italy to Sweden. Long story. I am visiting a friend I met in Zambia and though he claims to be a part-time atheist and part-time agnostic, he likes going to church on occasion.

As I looked around the room I was surprised to see so many crucifixes (Jesus on the cross). The Church of Sweden is Protestant, descendents of the Lutherans, and usually crosses are empty in the Protestant church (symbolizing Jesus´victory over death). I did not understand the words of the priest, so I had time to notice such things. I love being in church and it felt good to be nestled in tightly between two good atheist friends and listen to the strength of the congregation as they spoke the liturgy in harmony.

The priest wore Converse shoes.

I learned yesterday that 1 in 5 Swedes are in a choir. That is a pretty impressive statistic. Clearly this is what fosters greatness like the gift that Sweden offered the world: ABBA. And Roxette. I think the first CD my sister ever bought was a Roxette album.

Stockholm is buried in snow. The sky has been dull much like the snow that is old and tired, but I cannot help but pause in awe at such an old, magnificent city. Tomorrow I plan to go to a traditional Swedish spa with a girlfriend and supposedly we must dip into a frozen lake in our birthday suits. Eeek!

I could use some thawing. Perhaps most of us Northern Hemisphere folk are feeling the same way.

As my friend Bill Smith reminds me, "No matter your winter, Spring will come." Yes, indeed.

Italia

2011-02-07T07:58:00.004-05:00

We don’t have hill country in the United States. Just north of Rome is the province of Umbria, a region known for its lush valleys and slow pace of life. There are hints of spring everywhere. Bright green shoots are pushing through freshly tilled soil and the olive trees are stretching and yawning in their fields. The mountains are old, rounded and tamed by centuries of farming. The tops are crowned by magnificent walled cities that burn gold and pink in the evening light.

I have been told that one must attend to detail in this country. Notice the finely crafted sculptures, churches, arches, and fountains. Do not miss the extraordinary detail. Savor each exquisite bite of pasta al dente and feel the unique density of the bread as you move from region to region. Wander the serpentine streets and feel the smooth roundness of the archway you lean into as you wait in line for a cappuccino, but do not rest easy in your languid reverie for too long. It is Italy’s discordance that makes it truly great. Take a brief jaunt through Naples, the birthplace of pizza, for a new perspective. Gritty and piled high with garbage and lovers, the fresh insult of mafia-fueled exploitation and embezzlement trickles straight down to the port, peppering the romantic coastline with dirty diapers and empty bottles, waves and trash rhythmically lapping the shore.

Remnants of empire may be found at every turn, but Italy’s historic decadence diverges from its decadence today. Italy truly satiates the senses. At times the food is so exquisite you think you’ve never eaten such a fine morsel. Espresso in a café off the expressway rivals the espresso found anywhere in the country. The countryside is almost painfully breathtaking, the people cheerful and warm, art and architecture so complex and wonderful that much beauty goes unnoticed by tourists and locals alike as we drape ourselves over ancient steps eating gelato while watching the clouds shift and hasten off the blue landscape above our heads. But flip on the television and watch an hour or two and you will find just as much foolery in life and politics as anywhere else in this blessed world.

This is going to be a good trip.

Arrivederci!

2011-01-31T12:26:00.007-05:00

Good bye Philadelphia! Hello Rome! Getting on a plane in t-minus five hours. Check out clips from my "Best of Philly" farewell shindig courtesy of my friend Steph:

"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqu_pyzwsr0"

It has been a good year. Thanks pals.

C'est la vie

2011-01-23T21:59:00.005-05:00

I had to shove a massive pile of clothes off my bed tonight to find my way under the covers. My room is a disaster. Moving boxes, strategic piles to be packed in various containers, and scattered letters of love litter the floor. Today was my final Sunday serving as the Minister of Evangelism and Discipleship at the Arch Street Presbyterian Church here in Philadelphia. In November I was told that the church could no longer finance my full-time position and the congregation learned of this news at the first of the year (this is rotten news by the way: El Rottino. No one likes to downsize and no one likes to be downsized. This decision makes you ask yourself, "Am I the downsizing type?" But soon you realize this is not a productive question, so you make plans to go to Italy -- or this is what you do when you are me).

More on Italy later.

Anywho, the last few weeks have been tumultuous. Philadelphia can be a course place, not without its unique prickles and stings, but man-o-man I have met some magnificent people and I will miss this lovely church community.

A generous crowd gathered for a reception after church and by the time the group dwindled most folks were exhausted. Good byes are the worst. The last of the emotionally sluggish crew decided to traipse over to the Bellevue Hotel and head up to the 19th floor where we sat next to a roaring fire and drank cocktails. Yes, cocktails. The view of the city was perfect this frigid winter day and I honestly could not imagine a better way to spend an afternoon: good friends, rich conversation, and mutual solace was to be found in some martinis and sparkling wine. Judge me if you will, readers, but I will heed you not. It has BEEN a big three weeks.

I just remembered you are never supposed to stress the word "been". My acting teachers from a thousand years ago would be annoyed.

I'll keep you posted, people. Major adventures will be had.

Thank you, Sandi for the wonderful poem. There is nearly no better gift than a poem. I leave you with Mary Oliver's words:

In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

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

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

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

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

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

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

Things I like

2011-01-14T11:19:00.006-05:00

Snow.
Coffee.
Good friends.
Snuggly, non-vomitous babies.
Dancing.
Laughing.
HEALED cameras!
Forgiving oneself for saying stupid things in conversation.
Traveling to Italy (yes, I might be revealing a wee little trip scheduled sometime in the near future).
Wasting time on the internet.
Books.
Getting rid of unnecessary stuff.
This place:

This is the short list-- things that come to mind at the moment. Thought I would share.

More soon. The blog WILL be full of new adventure and general fabulousness. Promise.

Things I don't like

2011-01-14T11:18:00.001-05:00

Bad metaphors.

On Holiday

2010-12-31T00:10:00.007-05:00

I have been on a blogging hiatus. Ever since my camera broke I have been feeling slightly uninspired. I like a fresh photo to accompany my posts. But tonight I read an article by a sharp-tongued little Snippit that reminded me that the world is a very big place, worthy of exploration, and I have absolutely no good reason to whine and fuss simply because I do not currently have a camera. Most folks in the world do not have a camera. So, appropriately humbled, I am back in.

Back to the Snippit. This woman recently returned from a two-year stint in Oaxaca, Mexico and is wrestling with rabid criticism of exploitative U.S. culture. Fair enough. But as I read the article I wondered, "When was the last time I was this vehement about something?" My mind wandered back to my college days and the first feminist studies course I took at the University of Washington. I returned home for Christmas full of spitfire and venom. I distinctly remember yelling at my Aunt and Uncle that year when it was suggested that women were created by God as lesser-beings. I am certain that I screamed the word penis at a family gathering. This is not a word one should yell surrounded by a large group of people.

My frustration came from a good and healthy place, but it found expression in a rather useless manner. Head down, I began shoveling a chasm fueled by fury that ten years later feels impossible to fill in. Instead I stand with my hands on my hips on the other side of the canyon, curious to know if my Aunt and Uncle still think about the year I yelled about penises.

Tonight I sit in the comfy guest room at my sister's house and relish the quiet. The wee one's have gone to bed and Aunt Carmen is off duty. I have many things to ponder these final hours of 2010. Wishing you goodness and delight as 2010 comes to a close and the New Year begins.

Nativity Scenes

2010-12-23T10:48:00.004-05:00

I am supposedly very busy this week. It is the last week of Advent, two days before Christmas, and I work in a church. Yesterday I glued the giant head of a wise man back onto his giant body. I helped decorate the sanctuary of the church while one member banged out Christmas tunes on the piano. A few of us croaked along, irony in every syllable, as we sang the song "Silent Night." This morning I had breakfast with a woman who had me rolling with laughter about the war over tiny baby Jesus in her home-- baby Jesus is the dog's new favorite toy and her mother chases the dog around the house shouting "Drop baby Jesus, Hank! Drop him!"

Aside the wonder and the awe of the Incarnation, I like this time of year because it is so dang hilarious. One church Christmas party that will live in infamy: picture two old ladies adorned in plaid taffeta trying to out-do one another as "hostess" for the evening. Party disintegrates into a screeching fight that ends when one woman says to the other, "Take the %#$*ing Yule Log! Just take it!"

I love church. Most of the time. Or at least a strong 60% of the time.

I have only been in one Christmas pageant in my life and I am dying to run one. I love the idea of troops of kids acting out the Christmas story, adorned in bathrobes and foil-laden gifts creatively interpreting gold, frankincense and myrrh. My grandmother used to read us grandchildren "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" and it still has me in stitches every year.

Wishing you a blessed Christmas, whether you are a fierce believer in Jesus the Christ, a miffed Scrooge, a committed atheist or anything in between. Much love to you and grateful to be a fellow wayfarer on the journey!

"We shall awaken from our dullness and rise vigorously toward justice. If we fall in love with creation deeper and deeper, we will respond to its endangerment with passion."

- Hildegard of Bingen

Fa la la la la la la la la

2010-12-16T19:22:00.004-05:00

I am roasting a chicken for the first time in my life. I am wearing an apron to legitimize the act (If you ever see me in an apron you can be certain I am insecure about whatever I am doing in the kitchen). It snowed for the first time today and my room-mate had a lousy day, so I decided to go all out and cook a very merry, cheerful holiday dinner. The kitchen smells like rosemary or thyme -- some lovely green thing. My walk to and from Whole Foods was exhilarating. Tiny white flakes, slick side-walks, and the frigid air made me feel arctic and adventurous.

My camera is at the doctor's, so this is a stock photo. I am certain that my chicken looks better. Fingers crossed this darn thing will be delish.

Baby, it's cold outside

2010-12-06T09:43:00.006-05:00

I regularly bring some work with me to the Starbucks at Chestnut Street and 19th, a few blocks from my house. They have particularly cheerful baristas and a loft with comfortable chairs and tables. The loft is often full of scads of well-dressed college students alongside homeless people who have found a warm reprieve and rest. I like this Starbucks because no one is ever asked to leave, whether or not they are paying customers. The weather took a sharp turn today and it is bitter cold outside. No snow yet, but the wind is piercing. There is a woman sitting across from me, a worn Bible in her lap, and she has wedged herself comfortably into the corner of a big chair, eyes closed, shoulders twitching in sleep. On occasion she paws around her lap for the bag of chips that sits precariously at her side. Breakfast of champions.

I stupidly (intentional adverb) used to refer to Starbucks as 'the man.' And while it is ridiculous that franchises are taking over the world, I have softened my verbage. When I was in the Doi Sutep Mountains in Thailand a few years ago, I drank coffee with villagers who sell their coffee to Starbucks, fair trade, and it seems that the whole enterprise is legit, improving the lives of the community. So, I toast my Americano to thee, O Starbucks. Thanks for providing some warmth and comfort for some folks.

The Mortician

2010-11-30T00:36:00.011-05:00

I need to consciously integrate some festive, holiday cheer into my life this month. As I sit here, some candles are lit and Nat King Cole is crooning in the background. This is a good start. I plan to dig out my nativity set, the beautiful collection of white soapstone figures I bought in Zanzibar a few years ago. I think the best Christmas decorations have sentimental value- like the ornament I made my mother in the 1st grade, the one my sister is likely hanging on her Christmas tree as I write this. My poor sister is exhausted these days. The third baby refuses to sleep, so she navigates her days in a bit of a fog. She could use an extra set of hands to string popcorn or distract busy boys, a job best done by a sister, but instead I sit here crunching sun chips, writing liturgy, and trying to rationalize the purchase of a new holiday dress.

Tonight I was riding the trolley back to Center City and sat behind a woman who works at a morgue. She told me a little bit about her job and the precision it demands. She told me she was raised by a mortician. As a little girl, her daddy used to bring her to work where she learned how to prepare bodies for burial. I couldn't quite figure out why she wanted to chat with me. Engulfed in my puffy coat, I was mostly all yoga mat, down, and grocery bags. She flipped around at one point to tell me about a suicide she witnessed earlier in the day. A man had jumped in front of a train. She mentioned something about the Bible and what it says about suicide. If she was watching carefully, she might have seen the flicker of surprise that crossed my face. But I said nothing, of course. I imagine God Almighty would be surprised to know what people attribute to His Holy Book.

Me and this mortician, we deal in the art of life and death and the rituals that accompany it. Weird that I have quite a bit in common with a mortician.

Life can be hard. I am sad for the guy that ended his life today. I am sad for the lonely minister I met tonight and the homeless folks that are curled up outside. "The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise: I will cause a righteous branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness." May it be so.

Hope you're finding time for warm drinks and cozy evenings at home. Here's to savoring life, my friends, and the gift that it is.

Boston

2010-11-23T18:46:00.017-05:00

I feel like death warmed over. It will pass, but I just got back from the gym and am certain of two things: one, I am dehydrated; two, I am out of shape. Since August my work-out schedule has been sporadic at best. Tonight I planned to slip into the back of an aerobics class, but accidentally entered the wrong room and found myself in a one-on-one cardio and weight training session. Eeesh. Afterward I sat in the locker room with a towel over my head concentrating on not being sick.

I walked home tonight and paused in the middle of a cross-walk, caught off guard by an overwhelming urge to call my mother. That hasn't happened in a long time. I miss my mother's advice and compassion these days. She was a wise one. I have a box full of letters she sent me when I was in college that are are organized by date. I think I will find one marked November 23rd and read it tonight with an appropriate nightcap. Tea.

I had a lovely weekend in beautiful Boston where lobster reigns and young, good-looking brainiacs hang out in Harvard bars (pronounced 'Hahvahd'). My friend Stephanie and I spent two gorgeous fall days traipsing around the city with our friend and host Adam who recently moved to Boston from Philly. We took a night bus, so we were delirious and ridiculous by the time we arrived. I like Stephanie. She has the capacity to be sparkly and zesty and hilarious and she is also deeply reflective and wise. Adam is a cool cat. He wears designer sunglasses, has excellent taste, a wicked sense of humor, and a tremendously generous spirit. These are good people. I am lucky to know them.

In two short days we will be celebrating my favorite holiday. I will be heading to Princeton to be with good friends for a couple of days and look forward to some long walks, some lawn games if the weather plays along, and ridiculously good food. Happy Thanksgiving to you, dear friends.

Adios a mi Camera

2010-11-07T20:46:00.002-05:00

I watched a Brecht play a few nights ago. Upon arriving home I had two options: stew in despair or browse facebook and ponder a newsie blogpost. I choose option two. One should make room for nihilism, but only in small doses.

I have bad news. On Sunday night I was carving this cute jack-o-lantern and while cleaning up I accidentally bashed the viewfinder of my camera into a radiator. SMASH. In one swift move its days of documenting the world were over.

On the bright side, it is one less thing to own. I have always found ridding myself of earthly possessions invigorating. Within reason, of course. It's like nihilism: everything in moderation.

And so, my friends, I must pay homage to my camera.

How should one give honor to any good and faithful companion? A montage, of course.

A tribute to you, my Camera. Thanks for the good times.

RIP 2007-2010

Almost Everything Serious is Difficult

2010-11-06T21:47:00.004-04:00

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is,to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

-Rainier Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Love is in the air

2010-11-01T21:54:00.006-04:00

I finally got back to the gym tonight after a long hiatus. I have developed a slightly pudgy layer around the belly, so the return was critical. Betsy, my aerobics instructor, was especially cheerful tonight. You can attend to these things in between circuit training, particularly because you are surrounded by unforgiving wall-to-wall mirrors. In between jumping jacks, squats, and push-ups I noticed her furtive looks out the door and by the end of the class I had no doubt that dear Betsy and the new front desk guy have a little romance brewing. Love is in the air. Three cheers for romance.

I went to the "Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear" this weekend. It was a bucket of fun-- nothing life-transforming or anything, but it was the perfect fall day to hang out with 300,000 of my closest friends on the Mall. DC is such a lovely little city. Horrendous traffic, but full of politicos and fresh-faced idealists, those weary of injustice and those eager for something new. I think I would like living in DC.

A few pics from a controversial event. A penny for your thoughts?

Sour Puss

2010-10-27T17:23:00.010-04:00

Be Ye Prepared: poor excuses lie in wait.

The world did not accost me in any particularly harmful way today, but rottenness took hold. My excuses: 1) I have been creeped out by a new relationship I see evolving. Do you ever get creeped out by the relationships your friends find themselves in? Creeped out. 2) I was driving today (a novelty in the city) in weird Philadelphia and flipped through the radio stations until finally landing on a Christian praise station. I recognized some of the songs from my youth and chose to listen for awhile. I soon felt a similar creepy feeling washing over me. Some of these Christian rock stars are dead-ringers for swoony pop-singers begging for love and fulfillment (sexual overtones abound) and I couldn't help but imagine these "praise" songs in darkened youth group rooms, lyrics subtly wafting their way over pre-pubescent boys and girls swaying to the music. I don't like the idea of God as Lover. Giant Cassanova in the sky.

Then again, there is warrant for this notion, people. All kinds of mystics have written about erotic experiences in their communion with the Divine.

I digress. I was feeling all sour pants on my way back home when I got stuck in some delicious traffic. Delicious, you say? Yes. I say delicious. Because lovely, darling, smoochy, smoochy Bradley Cooper was shooting a movie in Rittenhouse Square and my car got stuck directly next to him. I could have opened my car door and smacked him in the thigh. I did no such thing, but my raisin-face soon gave way to smirk-face as I reflected on the depth of my superficiality. My entire day was lightened because I saw heart-throb movie star Bradley Cooper. Guffaw, guffaw.

Please do not worry, sweet boy who I am dating, I do not plan to ditch you for Sir Cooper. He's like Taylor Swift, but a guy.

West Virginia, Mountain Mama

2010-10-26T23:54:00.012-04:00

Meet Anneke. Anneke is one of the better Philadelphians under the age of two. Mild, strong-willed, curious, careful, and methodical, she is my favorite companion in the nursery at church if I am in the mood for cheerios, grape-halves, or a little TLC. Anneke wears pencil-leg jeans courtesy of her stylish urbanite parents and rolls through the world with big blue eyes and a surprisingly serious brow for a sprite who has been in the world for just eighteen months.

Last weekend I headed to West Virginia with Anneke and her parents to spend a couple of days in the Appalachian mountains. It was nice to get out of the city. I spent my time pretending to read, traipsing through the woods, and pressing myself as close to the fireplace as humanly possible, trying not singeing my hair or the heels of my tennis shoes. The forest was a magnificent array of reds, greens and yellows and I am inclined to believe they should give out blankets and copies of Thoreau at the West Virginia border this time of year.

I was feeling very John Denver and folksy imagining what it would be like to live in this state, growing and preserving things, charmed by the lethargic hornets dragging themselves across the woodpile and the lemon-yellow leaves dropping into the river at the bottom of the hill. The dream came to a glaring halt when I was reminded of just what a city girl I have become. One cannot sit on a sagging porch boasting two confederate flags, a U.S. flag, and a hand-painted sign advertising live bait and beer with any authenticity while wearing designer jeans and a black sweater from Anthropologie.

I'm no mountain mama, but I like this state.

P.S. Mock the orange. Do it. We deserve it. It was hunting season. We wore it because we did not want to get shot. And because we are ridiculous.

To Princeton and Back Again

2010-10-18T21:43:00.014-04:00

I read a lot of blogs of women my age who are married with children. On occasion I feel weird that I cannot relate to mortgages, dirty diapers, and kiddie soccer games. When I see pictures of spectacularly beautiful children and anniversary celebrations I get that 7th grade feeling -- standing on the side of a gym, lights dimmed, pop music throbbing in the background, wondering if Kevin Ramonis is going to ask me to slow-dance. I'm the awkward outsider that buys shoes and gears up for lame dates and drags in my own groceries-- scads of dinners for one. This does not make me feel sad. My journey has other riches, as my friend Scotty reminded me this weekend. My life is rich, indeed. Not much money, but when I've gone down I've gone down big. And when I've won I've won big. I'm no magician, but I know magic. I have tasted and felt it.

We've had different journeys, but I find that blogs are the great equalizer. Best described as "online scrap-booking," I have a slew of favorite writers who share tidbits about their lives and somehow I feel close to them despite the miles.

This weekend I went apple-picking. Autumn is my favorite time of year and October is especially delicious. I love pulling on a sweater and a scarf. I love drinking hot apple cider and the unique golden light that brightens crisp cornstalks and flaming red leaves. I drove up to Princeton to meet my old friend Scott. I met Scott when I was 19 and full of idealism and dorky ideas about the world. Old friends provide good orientation and it was nice to ease into a seamless conversation that has been going on well over a decade. Scott came to Philadelphia on Sunday. He had not been to church in awhile and had never seen me in a leadership position. He said there were multiple times during the service he wanted to stand up and say, "Carms, come down from there."

Me too, my brother! Me too.

Church can be so very strange and even a little disappointing at times. It is not always the community it should be. After I waved goodbye to Scott on Sunday I hurried to change my clothes for a funeral. As I stood at the graveside of a young man who left this world far too early, I was reminded again of the sweetness of friendship-- those people who help us tell our stories. There was a group of Boy Scouts who grew up together and cried tears of grief at the grave of their dear friend. The weather was kind and someone whispered to me after the service, "I am glad you do this job." I pondered this for awhile. I'm not sure that I always agree, but If nothing else, I hope I will always be a good witness. A good witness, a good storyteller, and someone who treasures the stories of others.

Thank you for sharing yours.

Happiest Place on -Erh-

2010-10-12T22:13:00.008-04:00

Disneyland.

Old Walt had a dream of creating a place where dreams come true. Mickey Mouse, Minnie, and Donald Duck live side by side in charming Tune Town where tourists can buy churros (fried bread dipped in cinnamon and sugar), ice cream, and endless kitsch. Disneyland is great and truly weird. I spent five days with my fam in Southern California and we milked it for all it was worth. My poor sister was sick with a sore throat, but we all rallied.

Being an Aunt is one of my most favorite things in the whole world. I loved watching Tyson throw his arms around giant, life-sized chipmunks in true adoration and staying up late at night reading books with Tate. Tiny Alyssa is her mama's girl, but in stolen sweet moments I won a few of her smiles and cuddles.

Little known fact: my dad ran into Walt Disney once. Literally. He was on a street corner in Seattle for the 1962 World's Fair and my dad accidently bumped into a man, apologized and quickly added, "Walt Disney... Excuse me, Walt Disney!"

I am not convinced a fictitious land filled with bawling babies, long lines, and a hefty helping of gluttony deserves the title of "Happiest Place on Earth," but it was a marvelous place to visit for a few days. Thanks fam for a great vaycay!

One Magical August...

2010-09-29T17:51:00.003-04:00

I tried to keep this video short. No need to overload you, but perhaps this will tantalize you into purchasing a ticket to Europe!

Primum non nocere

2010-09-24T15:40:00.009-04:00

First, do no harm.

Thus sayeth the Hippocratic Oath. I have been at a mission conference all day, listening to folks invested in international development in some way, shape or form. Lots of good-hearted souls have gathered to talk about ways to make the world a better place. But we are a surprisingly sedate bunch. Probably because we are Presbyterian. I think we need to get a little more riled up about all the injustice we witness.

Anywho, I'm feeling quite chipper despite the madness of life these days. It is fall and I love this time of year. The trees are tired after a long and hot summer, so they are fading in spectacular glory. The last few months have been full of good travel and adventures. There will be Turkey stories and pictures soon. Promise. Ahhhhhh, Turkey. Now THAT is a spectacular place.

Holy Shamoly

2010-09-15T10:08:00.003-04:00

All right. I have been a crappy blogger of late. I absolutely must share some more pics from extraordinary Turkey, but please be patient, my pets (all six of you who read this blog). It is fall, thank God, and I am delighting in cool weather and weekend excursions. Went to Valley Forge and NYC and this weekend plan to go to Washington DC. Got a lot on my mind these days, so the blog has been neglected. But wishing you all heaps of love and promise to be back with a few tidbits soon!

Magic

2010-09-10T11:13:00.006-04:00

I crawled into the car yesterday and I wanted a little magic. You ever have those days? I wanted to roll down the windows, turn the radio on, and listen to some fabulous playlist that the DJ would miraculously assemble.

Instead, I crawled into the car yesterday, flipped on the radio and the first thing I heard was some irrational woman screeching about burning the Quaran alongside a litany of hateful slurs. Eeek! What ever happened to religious freedom and mutual forbearance?

But then there are people like this:

"We came to have a peaceful conversation with the pastor, to hear his grievance, to ask him to follow his own Scripture about his enemies. His Scripture teaches him to love his enemies." Imam Muhammad Musri, president of the Islamic Society of Central Florida after meeting with preacher Terry Jones, whose church is planning to burn Korans on Saturday. (USA Today)

There is hope, Ms. Carmen. There is hope.

A magical city, indeed

2010-08-27T22:28:00.015-04:00

On my last day in Istanbul I stayed with a wonderful Turkish family who divides their time between Istanbul and Philadelphia. For decades, they have had a lovely home high in the hills of Ortakoy overlooking the Bosporus River. The Bosporus River divides east from west, Europe from Asia, a critical waterway between the Black Sea and the Sea of Maramara. As the moon rose over the opposite shore, we ate fresh figs and peaches and drank Turkish coffee on the porch. Fisherman and drunken boys argued on the water's edge while a welcome breeze finally offered a reprieve from the August heat. I asked my host, Mr. Eroglu, what he thought of Istanbul and he replied without hesitation. "In Istanbul I feel old. A thousand years old." He gestured to the palace of a sultan across the river and then a fortress built by Constantine. Centuries of architecture and war, religious and cataclysmic ideological shifts have transformed the hills and soil and water of Istanbul and my host said that he felt that somehow his life was a continuation of all those lives and events that had come before.

On my first day in Istanbul, an old man holding two white rabbits asked if he could read my fortune for 1 lire. I found he and the bunnies rather charming, so I placed a coin in his hand and watched as he and one rabbit carefully selected and unrolled a blue piece of paper that provided wisdom for my life, much like a Chinese fortune cookie.

All kinds of superstition is woven seamlessly into the culture. To ward off evil spirits, a person can buy a blue medallion representing Medusa's eye (to deflect evil thoughts). I am my mother's daughter, a woman who happened to be surprisingly superstitious herself, so I happily offered the remains of my Turkish coffee to Mr. Ergolu when I was told one could learn about the future from the sediment at the bottom.

Istanbul is a wildly fascinating place. Boasting a population of 20 million people, this massive, throbbing city is home to Kurds and Turks, Muslims and Marxists, all of whom stumbled across my path throughout my visit. Such a friendly place where gestures of hospitality are offered through Chai tea and banter. Ramadan kept things rather quiet during the day, but could not keep the smokers at bay nor the carpet sellers from aggressively selling their wares.

The pictures are from the Blue Mosque, the Aya Sofya, a boat cruise on the river, a Kurdish neighborhood near Taksim, and a carpet shop in Sultanahmet.

VayCay, Day 3

2010-08-11T06:53:00.002-04:00

The only thing better than visiting charming Nuremberg? Visiting charming Nuremberg and staying with your friend's Amy and Jeff who provide gorgeous lime/plum/coconut cake for breakfast. Today I had a leisurely morning that involved learning two things about spiders while drinking a cup of coffee on the porch:

1) Spiders gather in their webbing into a little ball when you mess it up.
2) After they do this they need a break and curl up for a nap. This morning I thought for the very first time in my life, "Spiders are cute."

This is what vacation does to you. It gives you the time to notice the way spiders spin a web and how they nap.

I traipsed about the city with my lovely friend Saskia yesterday morning and learned lots of its secrets with my old friend Udo last night. Thank you both, for a remarkable day.

You live in a beautiful part of the world and I am grateful to know you. Tschüß!

T-18 hours

2010-08-07T23:19:00.009-04:00

Deutschland, I cannot wait to meet you again.

Turkey, I am delighted we will finally make ourselves acquainted.

Reunions, frivolity, and new friends await!

I need me some flow!

2010-08-04T18:09:00.009-04:00

I need the creative juices to F-L-O-W. But they aren't at the moment.

When it is 6 p.m. and you are waiting for a 6:30 appointment and eat a second big handful of cheddar sunchips and part of a chocolate bar and follow this up with a facebook brain-drain (you look through an entire facebook photo album of a concert you know nothing about, full of people you do not actually know) you might think to yourself, "This is when it is time to cut out for the day." More diligent people would take this extra half hour to go on a good walk around the city, do a little yoga, or even lean back and shut their eyes for a few minutes. But instead I chose lazy-shmazy vegging. And lazy-shmazy vegging does not promote creativity in the world of me.

You know what I have been thinking about lately? Human interactions as transactions. Go with me on this. People are so used to buying/selling and consuming products, I believe they are beginning to treat people like commodities almost exclusively. If I need something or want something from you, I am motivated to make some kind of connection with you. But if you aren't something I want or need for a particular reason, I will ignore you. In gym class for example. On Monday night, most women walked into the class, set up their mat and were hard-pressed to make eye contact with others, let alone say hello. Most people, upon exiting the class did not say thank you to the teacher. Why say thank you? We pay this lady!

This depresses me. I think we should practice noticing one another. Extending a kind smile or gesture toward a stranger just because. Just because every person deserves gestures of warmth and dignity.

I am going to be the next Pollyanna. The cursing, drinking, sinning kind of Pollyanna. I like this image of Pollyanna, by the way. Walt Disney is probably rolling over in his grave. Sorry, Walt.

Atlantic City

2010-07-25T15:46:00.009-04:00

Did you know that the properties in the game of Monopoly are named after places in and around Atlantic City?

Well, bring on the gaming, baby. I spent the weekend "down the shore" and played a little soccer in the sand, swam in the ocean (although I am a serious baby and HATE spiky creatures touching the bottom of my feet, so my swims are more like dips), and enjoyed a night out on the town in Atlantic City. We met a bouncer named Reverend Rob who warned us of the evils of the city (and there are plenty, my friends). I sheepishly ignored his question when he wanted to know if I planned to gamble, since I had not ruled out the possibility.

My friend Clark and I decided to play with $50, just for adventure sake. I learned how to play the game of Craps and was thoroughly entertained traipsing from table to table meeting interesting people and learning the rules of Black Jack and Roulette. I find it amusing that I spent an evening in Caesar's Palace (irony not lost on me) alongside bazillions of dollars, scantily-clad women, and indulgences of every kind. I intentionally disallowed myself from thinking too deeply about the addiction and pain masquerading in sequins and expensive cuff links. Atlantic City is truly bizarre. Bizarre and a little sad. Bizarre and extremely entertaining.

It was well over 100 degrees when we returned from the shore. Made me want to turn right around and return to the beach. When I lived in New Jersey I occasionally wore a tee-shirt that said, "New Jersey: Only the Strong Survive." I think I need to get out a magic marker and draw a line through New Jersey and write "Philadelphia."

Aaaah, Philadelphia. Gotta love this place.

Wishing you a cool July evening!

Brides! Blah!

2010-07-15T23:06:00.009-04:00

There are some pretty wonderful things about being a pastor. I love officiating at weddings and it is a profound privilege to be invited to speak words of hope in the midst of grief and sadness at funerals. But there are a bazillion weird and awful things about being a pastor as well (like most of our jobs, I suppose?). I am currently in the throws of an email exchange about money. Brides and grooms who plan to drop $15,000 on a reception will beg for a discount (so they don't have to pay the poor organist $300). Sheesh.

I think I need to stop being so churchy and pastory. This is practically all I talk about in this blog. Is that true? Maybe not. But maybe I should commit to writing some posts that are wildly juicy or at the very least, banal.

So, how about this: I love figs. Figs and gargonzola and crisp, Spanish white wines (names I cannot remember). My friend Steph and I enjoyed these things last night. The glasses sweat here like crazy in the summer. It is so humid that the glasses drip, even when you are inside. I like this. I like the stormy down-pours in the middle of the day and I love the lighting bugs and the sound of the secadas when I get out to the country.

But don't worry. I'm not in love with Philadelphia. I still make fun of the dirty river and the appalling lack of green space. It is troubled and corrupt, but it's growing on me. Slightly. So there's that.

Latest life goal:

2010-07-15T08:27:00.002-04:00

I was in Montclair with two of my cute high school girls (I was their youth leader for two years) and we were playing a photography game. Having a camera in hand always makes me more attentive to details. I found this sign on a shop and I found myself saying, "Yes, indeed. Me too."

Hope you're feeling open-hearted these days.

Melting Smelting!!

2010-06-28T15:12:00.008-04:00

It is hotter than a mouth full of Haitian peppers. And it is raining. The weather in Swelter-delphia does not make sense to a mild-climate soul like myself. Black clouds are choking the tip-tops of the skyscrapers out my window and I'm crossing my fingers that we won't lose power for another three days. Seriously. We lost power for the entire weekend.

Last night I went to a going-away party for two fabbity fab people here in Philly and I stayed out late dancing and I cannot figure out why I wasn't entirely flattered by the guy who was hitting on me and has now called me twice. I must be getting old and crotchety. Or the weather is cramping my style. Of course there could be a million other reasons.

But I digress.

This morning I was running errands for church and I passed two different guys selling bottles of water on the side of the road. This seems to be a common summer business venture. Shirtless, often toothless fellows, drag big coolers to busy cross streets and sell bottles for a dollar. The way they fearlessly maneuver through traffic reminds me of the women at truck stops in Zambia who hold up baskets of produce for passers-buy to pluck up for a few hundred kwacha. It's a tough job and I cannot imagine they make much profit. I drove passed one ambitious salesman, brown and leathery, and I had the sudden urge to pull over and buy the whole darn cooler full of water. Across the street the parking lot of a strip club was jam-packed with cars at 11 in the morning and it gave me pause. The things we do for money are always...fraught. Yes, that's the word. Fraught.

I got a package in the mail today that made me cry. Some people are just so darn thoughtful! Thank you, Cheri!

Philadelphia Charm

2010-06-19T16:08:00.003-04:00

I have no good excuse for the lack of blog postings lately. Lots of lovely things have happened since I last wrote. I went home to visit the fam, got to see wonderful friends in Seattle; I have read three trashy novels, watched a half dozen World Cup games, and have had some fabulous meals and coffee dates with friends here in the City of Brotherly Love. The world is chalk-full of fine folk and I seem to be crossing their paths left and right.

But I still feel some writer's block. I'm so uninspired that I stole this photo from a stranger's blog! For shame!

It is a cool picture, though, eh? Of all the things I like about living in the Northeast, this still ranks in the top three: lightning bugs. They are magical. Last night I had a wonderful dinner with three women in the suburbs and we lingered on a back porch savoring good food and drink and sorbet and best of all, the charming fairies with glowing green bellies. I love a good, sultry summer night and hats off to Philly. It does 'sultry' very well.

Sweet Carolina

2010-05-31T22:20:00.010-04:00

I'll be honest. For most of my life "the South" has been a mythical place known only through country songs and movies about slavery and plantations and redneck ferocity distilled by female gentility and bourbon. There are lots of us non-Southerners that are truly afraid of the South. We don't get the whole confederate flag thing, nor seersucker suits and bow ties. Your accents and debutant balls, grits and greens are perplexing and I feel like a deer in headlights when I am called a Yankee or a Northerner. I was born and bred west of the Rockies and have no sense of where the Mason-Dixon line begins and ends. But I decided to expand my horizons this weekend and spend a few days visiting friends and camping in the mountains of North Carolina.

What a beautiful place.

The pictures do not capture it, but I was immediately smitten with the rolling hills, the red-clay soil, and the magnolia trees that perfume the air. Stereotypes were fulfilled left and right as I was warmly welcomed with a slow, sweet drawl everywhere I went. Do you know that in many circles the CIVIL WAR is referred to as "The War of Northern Aggression" (by the way, the word "war" is two syllables here)?! Years of unpleasantness in which the government infringed upon States rights. Yikes.

I was in the heart of the Bible belt and was amused (and incredulous) at the number of conversations amongst strangers that involved "the Lord." Spent a couple of days camping in the mountains Northwest of Raleigh and visited Winston-Salem (yes, the cigarettes) and Chapel Hill (UNC). My friend Clark and I hiked and played in mountain streams and swimming holes, studied trout and toads and snakes, and hung out in hammocks under a perfect Carolina blue sky. I especially loved that our food included brie, pepper jelly and homemade bread. This is my kind of camping.

I am feeling relaxed and refreshed and wonder why I don't do things like this more often? Lovely.

Thank you for your hospitality, friends!

I love Denmark!

2010-05-19T18:00:00.001-04:00

These flash-mobs are all the rage and I have yet to see one that disappoints. Check out this wonderful surprise birthday celebration for a Danish bus-driver named Mukhtar!!

Getting Saved

2010-05-17T15:16:00.008-04:00

I just reread my blogpost from Saturday and chuckled as I thought, "For God's sake Carmen, so melodramatic!" That first line from Shakespeare's Richard III comes to mind: Now is the winter of our discontent.

I've never read that play, by the way, but what a great line.

A new work week has begun and I am feeling much more cheerful. On the way to a meeting this morning I had two different people stop me to hand me a tract and ask if I had been saved. European friends, you are going to think this is insane and I imagine it would be rather shocking if something like this happened to you on a Monday morning in say, Stockholm or Zurich. But this was not especially surprising. I took both tracts, smiled and said thank you. I know these people truly have my best in mind even if I think it is a rather weird way of showing it. I suppose I could have stopped to engage one of these strangers, perhaps saying something like, "To be honest, I feel like I am saved, or rescued, on a regular basis." Belly-aching laughter has saved me from all kinds of despair. I had a cup of coffee with an old friend from college who knows all kinds of crazy things about me and still likes me. Friendship saves people all the time.

I know these people are probably worried about my eternal salvation, worried that I'll be turned away from the pearly gates. But I'm not so worried about the pearly gates these days. If there is a God, which I happen to believe, I think God is pretty interested in our todays. God is probably pretty sad about this oil spill. Doesn't like the violence that ravages homes and entire countries. God is busy delighting in all kinds of births and new loves and still probably gets excited about the sun rising and setting day in and day out.

Funny Americans.

I have some fun things planned in the coming weeks. Going camping in North Carolina (what up, Southern states!?!? Stoked to check you out!) and I get to spend a week at home with the fam in early June. I cannot wait. I plan to hold baby Alissa as much as possible.

Wishing you all kinds of joy and love today!

Update

2010-05-15T15:19:00.002-04:00

2 hours on the phone with Jessie.

Walk in the sunshine.

Better.

Day 5

2010-05-15T12:09:00.009-04:00

I am unreasonably depressed today. Ugh. You ever have those mornings? It is Saturday. I should be frolicking outside. Instead I am planning a couple of lessons in a general malaise. I could use some pals. Philadelphia has not been an easy place for pals.

According to facebook I have 569 friends. This is hilarious, outrageously hyperbolic. I need some of them nearby, skin and heart in tow.

But I have a date tonight. I swear to God, this poor guy has no idea what low expectations I have for him. I am well on my way to despising men forever. Giving them up entirely.

Pain seems to have a longer, more powerful shelf-life than love.

I am fairly certain that Jesus would not agree. A cup of a coffee and a run. That's what I need. And maybe someone should punch me in the face and remind me of just how good I've got it.

The birthday girl

2010-05-13T23:20:00.011-04:00

I love that 16 year-olds still call me for advice. Last night I had an exchange about prom with a girl who is now officially half my age and needed some non-parental wisdom. Young people are the best.

This week I turned 32. I am glad 31 is over. Not my best year. My good friends Becky and Andy threw me a birthday party and I was reminded again that I know some pretty wonderful people. My friend Bill celebrated my birthday with a "Church Lady Cake" and I received some wonderfully kind birthday notes. I was given poetry and flowers and dainty napkins to add to my collection (for the hospitality I will extend someday when I have a kitchen again).

Tonight I went to the gym and came home and ate a microwave dinner. It was a less-than-glamorous evening. I spent some time pondering the Quaker meeting I attended on Wednesday morning, skyped with my nephews, and wasted time on facebook. One year ago at this time I was in New York. Two years ago at this time I was in Zambia. Three years ago at this time I was graduating from Princeton. This year? I am eating microwave dinners in Philadelphia! Ha!

Amidst all my foolish whining, I am reminded that I have all kinds of agency and I better do well with what I have been given. I am not losing a house, no coup to contend with (Madagascar), no unexpected teenage pregnancy, no surprise affair and divorce (all situations I have encountered in some way this week). Life can be tough, but life can be sweet and worth savoring. That is what I plan to do today. Day 4 of being 32: savor. And do SOMETHING worthwhile and meaningful for someone else!

I'm a groupie

2010-05-10T09:34:00.002-04:00

I became a groupie this week. My friend Stephanie invited me to go to a show-- some friends from Seattle were visiting and playing a gig and like an idiot I never bothered to find out the name of the band before showing up. Thank god I had the good sense to text her for fashion advice because my poshity-posh outfit would have been ridiculous. As it turns out, Minus the Bear is a popular Indie rock band with quite the cult following in Philadelphia. The venue was packed. I maneuvered through the crowd to a stage door, flashed my backstage pass (a first for me) and found the dressing room where I greeted my new band friends with a surprised, "You people are LEGITIMATE."

Thank God they thought this was charming.

The show was fantastic. Check 'em out on Youtube if you have time.

I am on a bus back to Philly after spending Mother's Day in NYC. I played softball in Central Park with my old team and caught up with some friends at the Dive Bar. All in all, an excellent weekend.

May is a strange month. Mother's day, my birthday, and the anniversary of my mother's death. All bittersweet. But life is full of lovely gifts-- like the blue sky and lush green trees outside my window and the hilarious, open-mouthed couple sleeping to my left. May your Monday surprise you with snippets of joy!

Some Construction

2010-05-03T22:55:00.017-04:00

I am currently house-sitting in a glorious apartment overlooking Washington Square Park in "Society Hill."

Society Hill. Such a snotty name for a neighborhood, especially since there is not a hill in sight. This city is as flat as a pancake. The houses in the area are grand, brick colonials woven into this historical district by small cobblestone streets and the occasional cemetery. It is full of charm and the neighbors are friendly. Philadelphia has taken religious freedom very seriously since its inception and the neighborhood reflects this. There are dozens of churches and synagogues of all variety in the area and it makes for a fascinating place to take a walk.

It has been nice to be away from the haunted manse. Construction has taken over the 3rd floor where I live and while I am grateful we will finally have a kitchen (yes, that is 7 months without a functional kitchen), I am glad to have a break. These last couple of weekends I have had time to explore the city and I am fascinated by the dozens of abandoned churches that seem to crop up everywhere you turn.

Philadelphia built its infrastructure to cater to roughly 2 million people when its population peaked in 1950, but the city is currently only home to 1.5 million. There was a sharp decrease in the population due to “white flight” during the Civil Rights movement, so thriving neighborhoods gave way to large abandoned city blocks. This is likely one of the reasons there are abandoned churches all over the place.

Some people take pictures of the bones of old castles. Lately I find myself taking pictures of old churches.

But the story is more complicated and I find it rather soothing to go and stand in front of these dilapidated, old buildings and contemplate some of the larger issues at hand. Statistics suggest that people in the United States value church less and less these days. As I took these photos my back was to a filthy set of buildings home to a doughnut shop, laundromat, check-cashing joint, and an army recruitment office. I plucked up some purple irises that refused to give way despite the massive chunks of marble and stone that had fallen into the flowerbed. I plunked down on the steps next to some beer cans and cigarette butts and found myself at home, pondering the salience of this whole enterprise. You know what I mean—the church, my unrelentingly unique job, all the goodness of a faith community, all the shameful ways religious people behave, etc etc. It's an interesting season of life. We shall see what will come of it, fistful of purple miracles notwithstanding.

Bits of this and that

2010-04-21T11:48:00.006-04:00

"I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees. " --Pablo Neruda.

Hang out with this one for a little bit. Yowza.

Nobel Prize poets deserve more than yowza, but it is all I have at the moment. Forgive me, Mr. Neruda. I hope you know that it is because of you I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,  the white statues that have neither voice nor sight...

This weekend I went to the Italian market with my friend Judith and we bought gorgeous cheeses and pasta and vegetables. It was a breezy, blue-sky day and every tree was heavy laden with pink blossoms. It was unimaginably perfect. I stopped multiple times to scoop up large handfuls of soft, pastel bliss. Even the drains along the streets were filled with pink petals rather than the normal decaying leaves and bits of trash. Aaaah, spring. Finally!

Here's something I've been thinking about today: technology (weird, I know). Technology has given us the gift of virtual friendship and community, but it has its limitations.

If I haven't mentioned it before, I love reading your blog and facebook posts. I like reading about your babies and your fears and joys, but don't worry, I know you do not share everything. I know you probably left out the part about being so jealous and angry this week that you threw the phone across the room. You probably left out the part about the nagging loneliness that plagues you at night and perhaps you left the part out about some insane delight you can't quite put into words. Well, for the record, I like you. For all the parts you share and all the parts you don't. Today I am grateful for spring and for asking boys out and friendship and new jobs and all the bits we share. And all the things we don't.

Theological Ponderings

2010-04-13T21:55:00.006-04:00

What is the difference between providence and serendipity?

I was going to randomly post this on my facebook page, but as I imagined all the mad, weird, pietistic, annoying, sappy answers I would get I decided to share the question on my blog instead. Fewer readers. Hopefully less crazies.

Seriously. Tonight I had a serendipitous moment with a friend. Or a providential one. Something. One of those moments that was precious and surprising to me and to my friend and it gives me pause. Cosmic influence? Random occurrence? Influenced by the Divine?

Supposedly since I am a Presbyterian minister I should have some strong notion of providence. Supposedly.

Do you think that God actually orchestrates the meeting between two people? I know plenty of people who believe this about their partner/lover/spouse. But, from my observation, some relationships work out and some romances die and often this seems completely dependent on timing. Happenstance.

People pray for all kinds of intercession. Watch the NCAA basketball finals. You've got mamas on both sides of the court praying for divine guidance as their sons clamor for victory. I'm no expert, but I have the sneaking suspicion that God has bigger fish to fry than the NCAA finals. :-)

Winners love to claim providential care.

I don't know. I like to think that God loves all of us deeply, passionately and yes, even delights in college basketball-- draws near to those mamas as well as all who grieve and suffer and suffocate and soar. But does God orchestrate winning and losing? Living and dying? Maybe... yes... in a way. But not in that weird wizard-like fashion some of us imagine in our prayers. I hate the notion of an old, wand-carrying Diety granting wishes left and right to those he deems fit. I like the idea of a solidarity-God. But some people view the solidarity God as impotent. Tricky.

All I know is that I have had plenty of lost loves who are happily married to other women or are traipsing about the world with new lovers and I am not sure what to make of it. What feels like providence to one person is pain to another.

I don't have any clear-cut answers to any of these questions and I beg you to graciously keep silent if you do. You'll just break the hearts of the rest of us angsty folk that prefer pondering the questions.

My friend Micke reminded me tonight there is a difference between hope and belief. And a difference between belief and knowledge. There are some things I have known deep in my bones: Divine comfort, peace, and heart-breaking healing. But most days I live in hope. Hope and gratitude for all those serendipitous moments. Those two things are usually enough. They'll be enough for tonight.

To Cape Town and back again

2010-04-11T21:34:00.021-04:00

Nothing like taxes will sober you right up. I worked all afternoon on my tax return, so to avoid some serious depression I went to the movies as a reward after slugging through the dirty details. I went to see the movie Avatar in an IMAX theater -- really spectacular. As I stood considering ticket prices I struck up a conversation with a man who turned out to be a curator at the museum. He kindly opened his wallet and put four free passes into my hand. "Welcome to Philadelphia," he said. Welcome, indeed.

Just two weeks ago I was on the beautiful beaches of Southern Africa. After the wedding I went to Cape Town for a few days, which is truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

It is a complicated place. Breathtaking landscapes and seascapes and mountains are home to universities and vacation homes as well as townships and beggars and serious violence. When you stand nearly any where in the city your eyes are drawn upward and outward. The towering mountains have given witness to all kinds of beauty and all kinds of ugliness in their long history. I, of course, spent my time doing touristy things. I drove around the Cape of Good Hope, swam, hiked, and had lots of good conversation with my friend Kevin (a friend from seminary) who was a lovely host and companion.

Time rightly ushers us forward, but on occasion, it is good to go back. It was good to return to Cape Town and stand on a beach with a Malawian named Robert and admire the Twelve Apostles. It was good to dig my toes into the warm sand at Camp's Bay and laugh at the darling penguins at Boulder's beach. It was good to ponder the complexities of life post-apartheid with new friends and reflect on love and justice and all the possibilities life holds. Not bad for 2.5 days.

Southern Africa Part I: Baie Dankie

2010-04-05T21:28:00.026-04:00

“Buy A Donkey.” Say this phrase quickly and you are well on your way to being polite in Afrikaans. I guess it is more like “Buy a dunky,” but close enough.

I am feeling quite invigorated after 2 weeks in Southern Africa. I was invited to officiate at the wedding of my dear friends Jaco and Gharde in beautiful George, a small community along the Garden Route in South Africa. I met wonderful people and spent more time swimming in the ocean and playing at the beach in one week than I have in well over a year.

Gharde and I met 10 years ago at the University of Washington and I asked her if there was anything I should bring her from the States. She requested the cereal Captain Crunch (gross) and S’mores.

S’mores. Now that is what I am talking about! I brought the makings for this marshmallow/graham cracker/chocolate delicacy for the Braai (Afrikaans for barbecue) held the night before the wedding, which was a massive hit, even amongst the men who consider chicken an appropriate “salad” to accompany beef and ostrich and other game meats that were grilled with meticulous care by a crew of massive, sweaty men.

The wedding ceremony took place outdoors in a valley just minutes from the ocean. It was beautiful, even sacred as weddings ought to be.

A few moments stand out. Just before the wedding I stood with the groom, his father, and the groomsmen; I wore a little black dress and the five men looked dashing in their suits, the pitch of their laughter revealing the nerves they attempted to mask with cigars. As the five of us prayed, a flock of white Egrits assembled themselves in the nearby trees to participate in the festivities. A gentle breeze blew throughout the wedding and I was charmed by a fluffy gray cat who sauntered up to the front row and sat preening and cleaning her front paws as Gharde and Jaco said their wedding vows. The cat and the birds and the breeze all served as quiet witnesses, simultaneously magnificent and mundane. Just like us.

There was lots of drinking and dancing at the reception and I learned that Afrikaners are serious about dancing. They are brilliant at this dance that is a cross between the tango and a waltz. I had lots of partners who insisted that this was easy to learn, but I was a disaster. Thanks to my ‘31-year-old crisis heels’ I maintained some of my pride, but preferred to watch awestruck from a safe distance with a glass of champagne in hand.

The day after the wedding a big group gathered for breakfast at a venue overlooking the ocean and then we went to the beach to body surf before going our separate ways. What a gift.

Baie Dankie, South African friends! Thank you for an extraordinary week!

Brown Skin

2010-04-04T20:20:00.005-04:00

"Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems.” - Rainer Maria Rilke

Finally, spring has arrived. The winter cold has lost its grip and the flowers and trees are blooming! It has been good to return to Philadelphia "brown as a berry" (as my mother used to say) after a wonderful 2 weeks in beautiful, sunny Southern Africa. Today included an easter celebration with friends and plenty of relaxation and good conversation. The fragrance of easter lilies, magnolia trees and the white blossoms on the cherry trees have been a gift. I believe my heart and my mind and my body have officially thawed.

I will share some pictures and stories from my trip when I am feeling more lucid and clever. Jet lag is still curbing the creative juices. Happy Easter to you!

Hanging in the airport

2010-03-16T15:56:00.005-04:00

Aaaaah, free WiFi. Thank you random nice airport worker who gave me a coupon for free internet service! I am sitting in the Dulles International airport in Washington D.C. and am feeling thoroughly chipper. The sun is shining and in about 18 hours I will be in beautiful South Africa.

The flight between Philadelphia and D.C. was one of those small shuttles, so I sat chattered with a nice commuter throughout the flight.

The flight attendant seemed especially young to me. Every time she shut one of the overhead compartments she would run her right hand through her hair, carefully arranging a neat flip at the end. It was a quick gesture and one she seemed to do unconsciously. It made me wonder if I do this or if this is a habit relegated to the young. I will try to notice if I do this.

More interesting blogs ahead. I promise. The next two weeks will be full of adventure. I am now off to Ben and Jerry's for a big scoop of ice cream. I have this thing about "last meals" at the airport. I know it ridiculous, but before most flights I indulge myself in something sweet thinking to myself,"Well, this could be your last meal..."

Hopefully I do not die in a fiery crash, but if I do I will at least have had one last scoop of delicious chocolate goodness.

Wishing you a lovely day wherever you are.

I'm a grown up

2010-03-14T20:20:00.004-04:00

It’s weird to me that people were born in the 1990’s. I mean, I get it. People are born every year. But I have friends on facebook that entered the world when I was entering high school. Jeeze.

Sometimes I do not mind being old. Like tonight, for example. It is the weekend before St. Patrick’s Day and the bars were packed this evening as I walked through Center City. People seemed to be having a good time as they spilled out of the doorways onto the sidewalks wearing shamrocks and green beads, but I was glad that I had other evening plans. I went to the ballet with my friend Becky and it was extraordinary. The performance was a tribute to Chopin and the choreography and costumes and lighting were outstanding. The music of Chopin is romantic, but has enough dissonance to keep things interesting. I cannot believe that ballet has the capacity to be hilarious as well as deeply moving.

I have been thinking lately that it would be nice if everyone in the world, just for one day, would wear a tee-shirt with their state-of-being printed on the front. I think the entire world should be given black tee-shirts with white block lettering. We could imagine the words and miraculously they would appear.

Think of how much compassion we might feel for another!

Cancer diagnosis today.
Pregnant. Unplanned. Sh%$.
I am so lonely.
She said yes!!
I lost my job. Terrified.
Joy. Absolute joy.
Lost.
Confused.
Full of regret.
I am a fraud.
I just left the church.
I just left my wife.
New boyfriend.
Just got out of jail. Scared.
Addicted. Need help.

I’m not brave enough to tell you what my tee-shirt would say today. I wonder what yours would say?

Context is everything

2010-03-05T17:39:00.006-05:00

According to this Algerian guy I met today I look European. I, of course, pretended that this was not incredibly flattering. I generally think of Europeans as more sophisticated than I am, so I secretly loved the compliment. I wonder why I think this?

This eager young medical student was quite “hands on”—very bold for a stranger—and wanted to buy me a cup of coffee. I feigned a very busy afternoon. I tend to be more daring and interested in hanging out with strangers when I am traveling. I probably should have just had a cup of coffee with the guy.

My friends Stephanie and Elizabeth and I went to a flower show yesterday. Steph made me laugh out loud when she said, “Falling in love in Philadelphia would be like eating crème brule in the bathroom.”

Context is everything.

We laughed as we imagined a romantic walk along the polluted Schuylkill River or eating cheesesteaks at an Eagle’s game. Not my cup of tea. Philadelphia lovers would say I am being a brat right now and remind me of all the lovely things in this city, inncluding jazz on Friday nights at the art museum and a fantastic Rodin museum I have yet to see.

But tonight I will babysit for my friends Becky and Andy. No romance for me this evening.

Context is everything.

Wisdom from Eggers

2010-03-03T09:35:00.000-05:00

"I will not wait to love as best I can. We thought we were young and that there would be time to love well sometime in the future. This is a terrible way to think. It is not way to live, to wait to love."

- David Eggers (What is the What)

Vindication!

2010-03-01T14:11:00.003-05:00

It is a beautiful, blue-sky day in Philadelphia. Not spring here, mind you, but the sun is shining and the temperature is well above freezing. I think most people are exhaling a big sigh of relief.

I was listening to NPR (National Public Radio) this morning and heard a program about Philadelphia that made me want to leap out of my chair. Vindication!!! I have lived in Philadelphia for 5 months now and have struggled to nestle into this city, often feeling overwhelmed by the extreme poverty and violence that plagues the area. I have thought to myself, "Are you just grouchy because moving to a new place is always challenging and this winter has been especially cold?"

I moved to Philly during the World Series and I quickly discovered that Philadelphia HATES New York City. I was turned off immediately by my new neighbors who expressed, what seemed to me, inexplicable boisterous pride in their city. As I looked around I kept thinking, "What is so great about Philadelphia? Polluted rivers, high crime rates, very few accessible green spaces and parks..."

While I have come to find all kinds of charm in this new place, the radio program I heard offered a profile that helped make sense of my strong reaction. Let me give you a brief profile of Philly:

I moved to Philadelphia, a very poor city, in what has been the greatest recession since the Great Depression and since moving here I have only heard about State and City budget cuts for the poor.
- Only 66% of our high school students graduate
- The Philly School District averages 12,000 truancies a day
- 21% of our city budget is spent on prisons
- Last year there were 303 murders and 1400 shootings
- We are the third poorest urban area in the country (Detroit and Cleveland are the first and second)

It is no wonder that I have been overwhelmed by this place. There are parts of the city that are literally burned out and represent 50 years of specific choices: the choice to abandon, the choice to ignore, the choice to turn our back on the most vulnerable. I am not sure that I will ever grow to love this city, but at least I have a better understanding of its wounds. Perhaps a compassion will continue to grow as I do my best to help bring healing, even in small ways, in my work. I'm dreaming up a literacy program and look forward to partnering with the city in some good advocacy work. We shall see what comes.

I leave for South Africa and Zambia in two weeks! Hip hip hooray for a refreshing homecoming! The world is a big, beautiful place full of beautiful people. Excited to be reminded of that in new ways this month!

Life in my imagination

2010-02-23T08:56:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if I am better at fake life than real life? I am not talking about those obsessive virtual games that consume some people (google "virtual life" and you will see what I am talking about). But I am thinking more about the life I lead in my imagination. On days when Philadelphia is hard, when I am dog tired and feeling insecure, I think about all the more interesting and useful things I could be doing in the world. For example, "I could be traveling through Europe or doing substantive acts of justice somewhere in Africa." A friend posted a picture of Istanbul on his facebook page today and I thought, "Why am I not going on a romantic little getaway with someone? Turkey seems nice." The day to day monotony of life can be difficult. I often experience moments of deep joy and satisfaction, but I seem to be missing that elusive existential peace.

Is restlessness a universal trait?

This week I visited with my wonderful friends, the Faucett family. They are living/working in Thailand and we had a little picnic here at the manse one evening. Four-year-old Anna Faucett asked me for a cup of milk. I found a mug in the kitchen and poured her a glass. She stood with her hands on her hips looking around and said, "You don't have much nice stuff here, do you?" I laughed out loud and said, "No Anna, we don't have much nice stuff here." She is right, you know.

Unearthing hope in a building, in a church, in a heart or mind is never easy. But maybe that is why we are given imagination. Imagination paves the way for possibility.

Some pics from the newly transformed parlor. And yes, I chose one of the most flattering pictures of myself because the authors of blogs are allowed to do such things.

Beware: There is Cursing In This One

2010-02-18T00:38:00.008-05:00

I am a blogging maniac these days!

Philly made me angry yesterday. I found out the city does not plow the streets of the poor. They plow Center City, but they do not plow the ghetto. Ridiculous.

But I digress.

I share a quote from David Eggers here for inspiration. I warn you now: for those who do not think ministers should permit serious profanity on their blog, please skip this posting. Just click that little box on the upper left corner of your screen and turn on the TV. No more to see here. But for those who can swallow a few coarse words, please read on...

"What matters is that you do good work. What matters is that you produce things that are true and will stand. What matters is that the Flaming Lips's new album is ravishing and I've listened to it a thousand times already, sometimes for days on end, and it enriches me and makes me want to save people. What matters is that it will stand forever, long after any narrow-hearted curmudgeons have forgotten their appearance on goddamn 90210. What matters is not the perception, nor the fashion, not who's up and who's down, but what someone has done and if they meant it. What matters is that you want to see and make and do, on as grand a scale as you want, regardless of what the tiny voices of tiny people say. Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me, and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a fuckload of work to be open-minded and generous and understanding and forgiving and accepting, but Christ, that is what matters. What matters is saying yes."

Saying yes. I want to do that all my life long.

The full interview may be found at http://www.armchairnews.com/freelance/eggers.html

Love Letters on the Train

2010-02-15T16:18:00.020-05:00

Saturday morning I toured a mural art project consisting of 50 rooftop paintings with my friend Erika -- all love letters from a man trying to win the heart of a woman who rides the L train in West Philadelphia. Fantastic.

Some of my favorite love notes:

If I were with you I'd be home now

Your ever after

I had a nice dream about us

I want you like coffee

I'll wait for what I want

Co-sign on a lifetime

And my favorite series of three murals....

We share defeats. We share receipts. We share sheets.

The murals are wonderful. I hope he wins her heart.

4 days, 4 feet, 4 degrees wind chill

2010-02-11T12:24:00.010-05:00

I am feeling giddy. Giddy, I tell you! I leave for South Africa and Zambia in 33 days. The amount of work that needs to get done between now and then is ridiculous, but my excitement will not be diminished!

I will be traveling to the Southern coast of South Africa to marry my friends Gharde and Jaco (pictured here). We spent a fabulous four days together last year when I was in South Africa and I am delighted that I get to play a role in this special event. There are some amazing parts of my job and weddings are just one of them.

Snowpocalypse, SnOMG, Snow Spectacular have been the themes of the week. Two major snow storms in just four days. We have had about 4 feet of snow in total, which is a rarity in this part of the world. Too bad I do not own a pair of galoshes or water-proof boots. I have looked comical walking down the street in an assortment of atypical winter-wear.

I am not a big fan of cold weather. For those of you who know me well, you know I like to be cuddly warm all the time and subconsciously find a heat source in a room no matter where it is located. Fireplace in the room? I will be standing in front of it. Forced-air heating? I will be standing on top of it. Sitting on a couch with me on a cold day? If you are comfortable I will likely tuck my toes under your legs (my sister hates this and never allows me).

Here are a few shots from the recent snow storms. These pictures aren't particularly beautiful, but gives you a sense of the last week of my life!

Blossom

2010-02-05T00:03:00.002-05:00

It is far too early to offer a poem that anticipates spring, but I found this delicious little tidbit tonight and thought it was worth sharing. May it bring some warmth and cheer to all of you who are slogging through the damp drudgery of winter.

In April
the ponds open
like black blossoms,
the moon
swims in every one;
there’s fire
everywhere: frogs shouting
their desire,
their satisfaction. What
we know: that time
chops at us all like an iron
hoe, that death
is a state of paralysis. What
we long for: joy
before death, nights
in the swale - everything else
can wait but not
this thrust
from the root
of the body. What
we know: we are more
than blood - we are more
than our hunger and yet
we belong
to the moon and when the ponds
open, when the burning
begins the most
thoughtful among us dreams
of hurrying down
into the black petals
into the fire,
into the night where time lies shattered
into the body of another.

Mary Oliver

A picture is worth a thousand words

2010-02-01T21:04:00.007-05:00

This is a perplexing picture. It accompanied an article in the New York Times today about a cleric who was illegally swept off the streets of Milan (CIA/Italian Secret Police) and taken to Egypt where he was held/tortured for a year before he was released to his family. Obviously much could be said about the content of the story itself, but look at the boy. Twelve years old, perhaps?

I wonder what he is thinking as he stands in the midst of reporters and photographers, as he makes sense of English words like "torture, secret police, CIA"?

We adults who "run the world" run the world in front of little one's whose eyes are watching, whose ears are hearing the words we hurl at one another, the insults we scream.

I think we can be better. I want to be better for this brown eyed beauty whose heart and hands are still marked by innocence and hope.

Love

2010-01-24T19:11:00.009-05:00

Early this morning I snuck through the guest room to get to the one bathroom I share with my room-mates. They have visitors this weekend, so I quietly tip-toed through the room, trying not to wake the darling couple sleeping sweetly wrapped up in a blue blanket. The couple is dealing with the angst of a long-distance relationship, but in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, there was no need for angst.

I have been thinking about love today. It wasn't too long ago that I fancied myself in love, but unlike this couple my heart does not swoon these days. Instead it remains thoughtful.

I hung out with a saint again today. He is choosing a celibate life, which dumbfounds me beyond imagination, but I think this guy has some things to teach me about love. A few years ago he sold all he owned as an act of solidarity with the poor and he walks everywhere because he "wants to be attentive to the journey as much as the destination." This guy is perplexing. I was wearing black, high-heels while we spoke today. Black, high-heels.

C.G. Jung wrote, "Eros never emancipates his slaves." I think Jung is right, but eros is just one of four Greek words for love. What about the other three? What of agape and philia and storge?

Perhaps eros is an easier taskmaster. I'm not sure.

"To be loved means to be consumed. To love is to give light with inexhaustible oil." -Rainer Maria Rilke in The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

I like this juxtaposition. A juxtaposition worth pondering.

A minor revelation

2010-01-19T16:36:00.022-05:00

It was not readily apparent when I first moved to this historic, gritty city, but I now know with certainty that Philadelphia will not eat me alive.

I may very well get struck by a car (second close call today) and it is possible that I may grow more rough around the edges (people are not into eye contact here), but I have renewed hope in this place. I visited a recovery house in North-Central Philly this week (picture Mogadishu minus the beautiful equatorial climate) where men and women can find rest and respite and healing from all kinds of addiction. I swear I met a few saints of the earth this week. They reminded me that every pocket of the universe deserves love and attentiveness. My mouth dropped open in surprise as we made our way to the wintry backyard where fruit trees and gardens cover a two-block area. One of the saints said, "We cannot heal our own addictions until we heal the broken world that fostered our addiction. Even the earth can be healed."

I like this guy.

There are birds in this garden. Beautiful robins and sparrows living peacefully in a place that was once littered with dilapidated building materials and garbage.

Impressive. Also impressive is the Philadelphia public library located just a 5 minute walk from my home. There is life and beauty here if I just choose to see it.

At church on Sunday I sat between two African-American homeless men. We were asked to link arms at the end of the service and I thought that the gentleman to my right was going to make an ungentleman-ly-like move at any moment, but thank God I did not have to punch him in the face. His hands stayed where they needed to and the gentleman to my left rescued me with a smile and a knowing nod, moving between us. We human beings are amusing and I like the way we rescue one another on occasion.

"Friendship doubles our joy and divides our grief" -- A Swedish Proverb

Thoughts on Einstein

2010-01-13T21:24:00.021-05:00

You might as well not be alive if you're not in awe of God -- Albert Einstein

This does not sound like the Einstein I have heard and read stories about. My residence in Princeton was quite near the home of Albert Einstein and as I walked to class I often looked up into the second-story window where he had an office. He was born in Germany to non-practicing Jews and developed a respect for Christians after the second World War, stopping by Miller Chapel on the Princeton campus on occasion to tip his hat to the "only people who tried to protect my people during the holocaust."

I always thought Einstein was an atheist, but it turns out I was wrong.

He once described the human endeavor to understand God this way, "We are like a little child entering a huge library. The walls are covered to the ceilings with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written these books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. But the child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books—-a mysterious order which it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects." I like the mystery this image encompasses.

Pastors are often invited to speak about God with clarity and wisdom. Someone asked me today about the work of God in the midst of human pain. "Blah, blah, blah" I answered. All the while thinking, "While I can speak from some experience, most of this is my best guess, you know." An educated one (I will be paying on this brain of mine for awhile) and a reflected one, but my theology is dominated by hope rather than assurance.

Today while I cleaned and scrubbed and sanded a hardwood floor in the church with a group of fun girls (trying to fix up the parlor for meetings), hundreds of thousands of people sifted through rubble for people, for food, for some semblance of a life in Haiti.

Aaaah, Haiti. What will we do for you, so far away?

Awe and mystery and fear and sadness and hope. All of those seem just about right.

Mazungu Baby!

2010-01-04T19:40:00.009-05:00

I taught my sister to wear her baby Zambian style. I know my friend Esther does not read this blog, but this is dedicated to you, dear friend. I am passing on good lessons you shared with me!

I am back in Philly after a long day and night of travel. 2010 has begun! I am ready for some new adventures and some LAUGHTER. Enough with the dreary winter blues!

What should I accomplish this year? Writing a novel seems a bit too ambitious, but tempting. Here are a few ideas I am kicking around:

- Hold the hand of someone who does not expect it
- Eat an ice cream cone on a concrete curb with a friend on a sunny day
- Take a photography class
- Read a really good book
- Take a beautiful picture to give to a friend
- Go somewhere I have never been before
- Host at least one great dinner party

I need some more ideas. Any suggestions? Things you are going to do?

God bless us, every one!

2010-01-01T02:09:00.020-05:00

Thank you Charles Dickens for reinvigorating we anglophiles with a love for Christmas celebration. At least, I have heard this is to whom we must give credit. The Christmas holiday had fallen out of favor in mainstream English culture until he wrote “A Christmas Carol.” Actually, I am just happy to have been born into a land of immigrants. I love that I have already taken part in Christmas traditions from Holland (Sinterklaas), Sweden (Glugg), Denmark (looking for a hidden almond in a delicious dessert), and some of my own family traditions as well. Tonight I finished reading my nephews Tate and Tyson the book “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” just like my grandmother used to do every year and I had trouble choking back tears, of course, as awful Imogene Herdman wept over the baby Jesus. This is a wonderful story for children.

My nephews crack me up. Four-year-old Tyson and I did some yoga together today (he pronounces it yaga—as in Yahtzee) and Six-year-old Tate announced that he plans to have three simultaneous careers when he grows up: a meteorologist, a food scientist, and a dark ninja. He has asked his parents for a trip to Japan for training.

I arrived on December 26th, traveling most of Christmas Day. I had enough time along the California coast to remember that I find the ocean profoundly orienting. Flanked by the Pacific Ocean to the west and the lights of San Francisco to the east, I had enough time on the runway at the San Francisco International airport to recognize the particular shape of Ponderosa Pines and a sign for “In and Out Burgers” in the distance. The peaks of the Cascade mountain range and blankets of fir trees welcomed me home and I have enjoyed a very green, rain-soaked Christmas with friends and family. This part of the world still carries with it a familiarity that I hold deep within me.

Zambia has no Dickens. Most of the world has never heard of the Christmas Carol. I think it is a profoundly human trait to begin to think of oneself as the center of the universe. And it leads to our undoing. May my eyes be clearer this year and my thoughts more generous.

It is New Year's Eve and like most of you I am amazed that another year is over. My friend Rob said, "The good has been really good this year. The bad has been really bad this year" and I must agree. As the sage from the book of Ecclesiastes writes, there is nothing new under the sun.

Here's wishing you and yours much laughter and courage in the coming year. May we all be better, stronger, wiser, and warmer.

Twas the night before the night before

2009-12-23T18:14:00.006-05:00

Twas the night before the night before Christmas and I am sitting on a chair in the bathroom next to the radiator because this is the warmest room in the house. I love to be toasty warm. A cold snap issued a snowstorm of epic proportions last week and I have tried to make time to enjoy it as much as possible. Someone built this snowman near my house and I find him absolutely charming. I thought he might brighten your day as well.

It is Advent, just two days before Christmas and strangely I do not feel deeply connected to the holiday this year. I wonder what that is all about? I put up a glorious Christmas tree downstairs, have helped lead weekly Advent services, lit plenty of candles, listened to lots of Christmas tunes (Baby it's Cold Outside and The River are two of the favorites this year). I have shared short meditations on the nearness of God, and yet, somehow if my heart had a rating it would likely be rated as ummm.... trying to find the right word here... subdued?

Subdued is not a typical "Carmen state of being."

But some seasons are like that.

I paused to notice the shape of the snowdrifts behind the church today. In the midst of the city, beneath the grand buildings, lie small mountains made up entirely of intricate flakes, blown and frozen into blankets of white, sublime and quiet.

Friends, all over the world, wishing you a good yule, a Merry Christmas, happy holidays, Frohe Weihnachten, God Jul, and all the rest. May your holiday be full of good food and good conversation, peace and joy!

Bloggity Blog

2009-12-12T11:10:00.013-05:00

Last blog posting = author feeling not-so-cheerful
Current blog posting = author feeling quite-cheerful-indeed

Hey friends. This morning I slept luxuriously late and chose to lie around in my bed (in my Cindy Lou Who striped pajamas) reading mags. Tis the season for subscription renewal and I am looking for some good recommendations.

I love the Economist, but I find a weekly magazine too intense. I would prefer a monthly subscription to something. The Atlantic Monthly is excellent (my friends Peter and Cheryl in Zambia introduced me), but I am open to other ideas. Anyone have any suggestions?

It is Saturday and I am about to go on a long walk. I am thankful for the gift of time today. Time to sleep late. Time to walk. Time to read. Time to be attentive to the world and how good it can be. Life is not without its share of challenge, but it is relentlessly good. Wishing you some goodness today.

A lengthy post

2009-12-09T19:43:00.010-05:00

You know you need a proper date when the clerk at the corner store calls you "babe" and you think "that might have been the closest I've come to being an object of desire in a long time." Well, besides the 50 year old divorcee who asked me out at a funeral reception last week (yes, I was wearing my clerical collar at the time). Nothing against this 50 year old divorced man, but the whole thing was suspiciously fetish-tastic.

I just ate a 1/2 pint of chocolate fudge ice cream. It is like déjà vu from last spring. Life is good, but life is also hard these days.

So, why did I come to Philadelphia?

About six months ago I walked into a beautiful, old historic church in Center City, Philadelphia that seats more than 700 people and was told that 9 people attend services each week. It is a church in desperate need of imagination, love and attentiveness. And so I signed on. It felt like a good fit at the time. It gave me room to ask questions about the relevance of church in a world where its message and work has become obsolete in many parts of the world. For a minister, I am strangely suspicious of church. I am the first person to admit that church is often associated with destructive discourses characterized by shame and is known to exploit power, yet I remain curious, and open, to church as being something different, something other, something better. I remain compelled, for better or worse, by the Christian tradition, its Hebrew roots, and the notion of a God that draws near.

I came to Philadelphia to enter into conversation with people who want to reimagine church and how it can be deeply reflective on the spirit, on sacred texts, on God at work in the world and compel people to work toward a life and a world that is more meaningful and compassionate and just. That all sounds very well and good until you attempt to put this into practice. Our church sits next door to the Comcast tower, home to one of the most successful corporations in the United States and every day people line up around the block to bring their children to a 20 minute 3-D holiday show on a massive screen in their lobby. People make time for this kind of entertainment (surprisingly drab), while the building next door remains empty. This gives me pause to think. For the last two mornings I passed out invitations to the neighborhood for a midweek Advent service and today I sat in a pew amongst a dozen people. Not one new person came.

My friend Keelan said to me tonight, "Carmen, the church is a tough sell. You should have gone for knives."

He could be right.

I have not given up hope on God or hope in church, but this job has proven more challenging than I originally imagined. Friends have reminded me to take one day at a time as in all big challenges and of course they are right. But on days like this, a life of teaching and travel and romance sounds a great deal more appealing :-) For now I will crawl into bed, thankful for heat and clean drinking water, a paycheck, good friends and family and the hope that life is full of surprises.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

2009-12-05T16:26:00.014-05:00

I walked home today at the wrong time and got caught in sleet without an umbrella. My jeans were sopping and my wool coat was thoroughly drenched by the time I got to the haunted manse. I was cold and amused at the whole thing until I realized that most of my comrades on the road were homeless people with no warm home to return to. One woman stooped over a grate, trying to warm a pair of gloves in steam being released from the subway below. Homelessness racks Philadelphia.

Last week I saw a man sitting outside a barber shop surrounded by all he owned, His white head perched above bags of clothes and shoes, looking content as king of his own mountain. On the glass behind him, just above his head, the words "You are beautiful" were printed. A serendipitous place to sit.

The sleet turned into big, fat snowflakes by the time I got to a coffee shop where I met a woman who is a domestic and global AIDS activist who has lived in Philadelphia for a decade (I had trouble not choking when she generously ascribed "friendly" to this city-- I think I might get proven wrong one of these days). She was inspiring and I hope to meet her again someday.

I am off to a "Sinterklaas Party," which should be fun-- a Dutch couple is sharing this festive tradition with us tonight (wikipedia this to see just how strange--even slightly offensive-- this tradition is to our modern sensibilities). Happy Sinterklass to you!!

In honor of weird holiday traditions, I leave you with this picture I took last week on a walk in Princeton. This yard made me smile.

I dwell in poetry, a fairer house than prose…

2009-11-29T22:05:00.006-05:00

I have been thinking about Emily Dickinson today. The recluse poet, one of the most famous poets of the English language, has a fascinating connection to the home where I live and the church where I currently serve. She wrote three beautiful letters, if not scandalous, to a man we know as “Master.” As voyeurs tiptoe across the intimate correspondence, a familiar tightness pulls across the chest and lips curl into a knowing smile. The letters are full of longing and desire and Charles Wadsworth, former minister here at Arch Street Presbyterian Church, may have been the intended recipient. This is the portrait of Wadsworth that hangs in the study outside the sanctuary. He is a fairly handsome fellow. But so serious. When looking at characters like this buttoned up minister, I struggle to imagine pure, ecstatic indulgence. Really, Emily? Maybe I need to expand my romantic imagination.

I am likely preoccupied with poetry tonight because I am well-rested after a much needed Thanksgiving vacation in Princeton with good friends. I ate too much, drank enough, played amusing games, and spent time with people who make me wiser and warmer.

This is the thing I like about poets: they notice the small things that most of us pass by without a second thought. Life is too short to live merely in prose, a landscape painted in counterfeit hues. I like the idea of drinking in the poetry of the world as it unfolds around us in magnificent, if not understated, scenes.

I bought a couple of books while I was in Princeton, one of which is a collection of poems by Billy Collins whom I will leave you with here. This is a naughty, excellent, complex little poem about Emily. The reading is a little Dickens-esque, English drippity-drab, but worth a listen.

Taking off Emily Dickinson's Clothes

No Barriers

2009-11-19T19:39:00.013-05:00

Facebook is a funny thing. It allows you to creep quietly through people's lives without being noticed. You can give as much or as little information as you like, painting your life into the landscape you want people to see. Some people offer words of advice, admonish those of an opposing political party, or simply plea for love when things are hard. I think I have probably done all of those things. The jury is still out. Not sure how I feel about Facebook. It offers the illusion of intimacy, but web connection is not real connection, is it? Ironic that I am writing this on a BLOG.

On Wednesday night I went to the "No Barriers Dinner" that gathers at our sister church Broad Street Ministry once a month and literally advertises itself as a free dinner party for the city of Philadelphia. Imagine suits and skaters and artists and homeless people all packed together to share a meal. This month we had close to 400 people and were hosted by the Ritz Carlton (the best of the best) and many of the servers who volunteered were from the NYC record label Rough Riders (think hip hop). I sat next to a homeless man named Fred, across from an Italian named Dante who recently moved from Jersey (who was sitting next to a couple of students from the University of Pennsylvania) and had a lovely conversation with a Dutch woman and her partner who met one another while studying in New Zealand. I love this dinner. It is like one big hug or a group exhale. All of us, in all of our diversity and complexity and foolery, all gathered together to share some food and some love with one another. It was pretty nice.

I am working hard in my new position. The building is falling apart, so I cling to memories from Zambia where people did amazing things together with just a little bit of money and a whole lot of ingenuity. My friend Robert Louer shared a story about an afternoon he spent teaching in Lusaka that was interrupted by a panicked visitor who was trying to find a way to pay for a proper burial for a poor woman in the community. The group gathered enough money and donated planks of wood and nails to build her a coffin. They prayed over the offering before they returned to class. Now, that is faith. I hope to muster some of that here.

Living without barriers. Living in freedom. Doesn't that sound nice? Some friends shared their experiences from the months surrounding the fall of the Berlin Wall and since then I have been pondering this notion of freedom. I live in a country that talks about it a great deal, but not sure that many of us have a good working definition. Liberation from tyranny is vital to human flourishing. Yes. But liberation from the self, from the prisons we create for ourselves? Imperative.

Curious about Broad Street? Check it out here. Watch the slideshow for awhile-- I love the music.

A typical Manhattan weekend

2009-11-14T17:47:00.000-05:00

Imagine this: Jews from Los Angeles meet conservative Christian New York Koreans for a wedding on Friday the 13th, Chelsea Pier, Manhattan. Now that is a fascinating event! I was in New York for the weekend to celebrate the wedding of Max and Millie who hosted an extraordinary party on the Hudson River-- divine food and drink, orchids and roses and an excuse to wear three-inch black heels and eat chocolate-covered everything. Lovely.

This morning, after a slow start, I went to brunch with good friends from Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church. It was good to catch up with these women- bright attorneys, writers, business and entertainment-savvy women whose strength and humor inspire me. It rained all day long, so I curled up with a self-help book that proved irritatingly helpful. I am not usually a big fan of this genre (pride, I think), but this was a worthy way to spend the afternoon.

My friend Christy told me a marvelous story this week. She is a minister in New York and a 5 year-old in her church just had successful open-heart surgery. Christy called the family to see if she could stop by and visit the young patient who promptly said to her mother, "I cannot believe one of the President's of the church wants to come see me!" Upon arrival, the little girl greeted Christy with a special picture she had drawn of the two of them and shyly told her all about her time in the hospital. The girl's mother asked, "Would you like to show Reverend Lang your scar?" She sheepishly shook her head no and the visit proceeded with no scars shared. When Christy arrived back at the office she had an email waiting from the mother of the young girl. After Christy left the mother had asked her daughter, "Honey, you show everyone your scar. Why did you not want to show Reverend Lang?" The little girl sighed and said, "Mommy, wouldn't you be a little shy if someone asked you to show Barak Obama your scar?"

I am now back in Philadelphia and despite the fact that I came home to a broken heater AGAIN, I can authentically report that I like my job. Fixing boilers and toilets aside, I love that I get to be imaginative and relational as this church figures out what it means to be relevant in a city/culture/time and place that is appropriately suspicious of church.

A Poem for the Season

2009-11-12T16:39:00.000-05:00

Making the House Ready for the Lord
Mary Oliver

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
Still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice—it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances—but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

I like this poem. Yes, I do. I like this woman in the poem, whoever she is.

I have good news: Philadelphia is constantly revealing, albeit slowly, some lovely things about itself. Here is a charming factoid: O Little Town of Bethlehem, the popular Christmas song, was written by a priest at a church around the corner from where I live. I also like the fact that Emily Dickinson used to attend church here. Ain't bad to live in a place haunted by music and poetry!

I have shared before and after pics of my office at work! Looking far more legitimate, eh?

A Happy Day

2009-11-08T01:17:00.000-05:00

Happiness has a way of catching you off guard. At least, the best kinds of happiness works that way. Today I stooped down to pluck up the most marvelous leaf whose reds and purples were somewhere near indescribable. I have learned to drive a stick shift, which makes me feel strangely grown-up and being grown-up makes me feel sophisticated and world-wizened. Funny, but true. Today, out of the blue, I was reminded of how lovely it is to be so close to someone that you can feel their heartbeat. This crossed my mind and made me happy.

My friends Becky and Andy have been generous in welcoming me to Philadelphia and I love the way their 8 month-old baby Anneke nestles in close and thinks that noses are absolutely scrumptious. My nephew Tate and I had our most “grown up” conversation yet and I marvel at the boy he is becoming. I met some new girlfriends for coffee tonight and was reminded of how many good people there are in the world. All in all, it has been a day full of good things.

I still sort of hate Philadelphia, but am doing my best to expect the unexpected. And no doubt some more happiness will come my way :-)

Waiting on some inspiration

2009-11-02T12:23:00.000-05:00

Thoughts from the last 15 minutes:

1) I want to take a photography class. That needs to be on the life agenda.

2) Do you think there is anything worse than dishonesty? I think it might be one of the worst qualities in a person.

3) Falling in love is annoying, for the record. I am certain of it. That is the conclusion on the matter, this day, November 2, 2009.

4) Flirting, on the other hand, not so bad.

5) I would like a kitten. A fluffy, puffy, meowing kitten. What shall I name him? Something French, I think. Pierre.

6) I like cappuccinos. I think I may have found a coffee shop to return to regularly. It is rustic. That is a good word for it. Rustic, yet urban-fashionable. I am drinking a cappuccino right now, so I expect my mood to improve exponentially in approximately 5 minutes.

I’ve been waiting on some inspiration before writing a blog posting, but inspiration has been hard to come by lately.

I now live on the third floor of a creaky, old brownstone at Arch and 18th Street in Philadelphia. There is a row of eight small trees that line the block, but for the most part I am surrounded by concrete and steel. I need to find myself some parks. I have come to find that Philadelphians LOVE Philadelphia. It is a surprisingly intense love affair (and slightly obnoxious to the outsider). I have offended a few people by asking, "What exactly makes this city so great?" I am a jerk.

One wonderful thing about this city? Brunch. There are lots of great places for long, luxurious brunches- good coffee, good food, good atmosphere.

I have been absorbed by work already, but have found some time for lovely excursions with friends. Went to a wedding in Princeton last weekend and got to spend time with some people that I love.

Solitude and joy are not diametrically opposed. I plan to seize a little of both this week.

Sugar and spice and everything nice

2009-10-17T20:10:00.001-04:00

I wish the candle that is burning cheerfully in my room this evening was a baked good. Its scent is "pumpkin spice" and I occasionally look up to see if it has magically turned into a plate of pumpkin muffins or scones because it smells that good. Yummy. Reasons why I want to eat pumpkin scones at this very moment:

1) All of my friends have been talking about taking their children to pumpkin patches. This is charming and very autumnal, so I have pumpkins on the brain.
2) It is rainy and cheerless and treeless in my current corner of the world and I am dying for something sweet and earthy
3) I am mildly depressed and mild depression always calls for a baked good. It has been slowly dawning on me this weekend (even though I should have been fully aware) that moving to a new city means starting over - new friends, new parks, new grocery store, new yoga studio, new rhythm of life (all of which I have failed to find thus far). Carmen, your extrovert-extrodinaire, is feeling a little sorry for herself this evening.

Philadelphia is called the "City of Brotherly Love," but so far, I haven't seen much lovin'. This isn't a particularly friendly town. In fact, my friend J.C. reminded me recently that Philadelphia famously booed and threw garbage at Santa Claus at an Eagle's game a few years ago (football, for my Euro friends that could care less about silly American sports). Booed Santa Claus!!

Living downtown Philadelphia is nothing like living downtown Manhattan. The chain stores and gritty concrete are the same, but where is a Central Park when you need one? I had planned on going to a movie tonight, but it is frigid and rainy and I don't know the Philly transit system well enough to get to the other side of the city. Sigh. It will get better. Just a bummer today. I don't have any interesting photos yet. My friend Peg suggested I take pics of the new digs, but this mission failed because it was just too fetching cold. I'll get on it eventually. Here's wishing you a delicious fall moment or two in the coming weeks!

The life of a holy roller

2009-10-14T20:23:00.000-04:00

I like the title of this post, even if I am full of c-r-a-p. I am no holy roller, but you'd think I would be since I am a pastor.

Life in Philadelphia: I am sitting on a bed (the only clean, comfy, organized thing in my life right now), surrounded by boxes, overwhelmed by a very full inbox, swimming in WORK, curious about the strange new city I live in, and thrilled about the potential of this church. I already like the people I work with-- creative, smart, authentic-types that are all about service, compassion, and learning.

After 4 nights at here, I have decided the house where I live is not haunted. She is crumbling and falling apart in myriad charming ways, but she is ghost-less. Don't worry, I will make sure she is not lifeless!

This pic gives you a picture of where I live and work. Hopefully it will be the place that soon feels like home.

On a Plane Bound for Philly

2009-10-11T22:25:00.000-04:00

Finally spent some time with the family. It's been a nice four days. I have been wrestling with the nephews and cuddling with my new baby niece in Canby, Oregon. Yesterday was a glorious fall day and we spent most of it chopping down trees on my sister’s mini-farm. I am not kidding. Chopping. My dad taught me how to use a chainsaw and we brought down a couple of diseased trees. Fun! Saturday afternoon was perfectly, fantastically antithetical to my urban life in Philadelphia.

I love my sister’s house.

They have a small orchard out front and yesterday my nephew Tate and I filled a bucket with rotting pears and apples to bring to the goats and cows across the road. I always love being with my sister. Just standing next to her wearing a pair of work boots and dirty old jeans soothes me. Strange. I wonder if most sisters feel this way?

I missed my cousin Jenny’s wedding, but I got to spend one evening with my Sam and Angie (and briefly reacquaint myself with their darling wee people—3 kids under the age of 3— true bravery). When I arrived Angie promptly came out on the porch holding one of the twins (Glory?) and for a second I was reminded of the Folgers coffee commercials that used to make me cry. Remember that TV commercial where the older brother comes home for Christmas, sneaks in early in the morning, and joyfully wakes up the family over a mug of instant coffee? Yes, I felt like that. I happen to love the Lai family.

I can be such a bratty cynic about the world at times and yet it is full of wonderful people. I chatted with Rochelle for over an hour and I was reminded of the luxury of laying around with a sleeping baby on a comfy couch (my niece is a rather angelic infant). As I boarded the plane this morning, I was charmed by a woman wearing a fleece covered in neatly labeled lighthouses, an old silver-haired woman who methodically prayed a bright green rosary throughout the take-off and landing, and the cheerful strangers that welcomed their aisle-mates as if they had been waiting to meet this person all their life. This is one more thing to add to the "Great Things About America" list: unabashed friendliness. Yes, there will always be exceptions to the rule, but I love that strangers are often quite cheerful with one another in this country.

This post is long, so I will stop. One of these days I will tell you about my new job and the haunted manse where I live. But I hardly feel like a Philadelphia resident yet, so give me a few days. I am sure something newsworthy and interesting will come up.