Blank Stares and Smiles

Last Monday: hell.

This Monday: heaven.

Is this ministry? Is this working with elderly? Is this being 25 in the middle of Montana on internship to become a pastor?

... all of the above?

Last Monday that wonderful woman who shared her life story with me didn't remember me at all. Not even my face. She had no idea who I was, what I was doing there, or that she had shown me her apartment and talked with me the week before about life and love.

Let's just say that was a bit of a blow. Unexpected but yet, completely understandable. How do you do ministry when you cannot build relationships in the traditional sense? So I'm rethinking ministry and relationships and how I relate to elderly. Some of my cheerleader/happy-go-lucky/sunshine qualities are serving me well. Other times, of course, the elderly look back at me like "SHUT UP STUPID YOUNG GIRL." (Yeah, last Monday again.) Other times, they look back at me and beam with the brightest smiles you've ever seen.

Can I blame it on the moon?

Words

A resident was talking yesterday about the beauty of Christmas hymns in German. He said they are just more beautiful. And then I told him how I absolutely loved Psalm 150... in Hebrew. Not only because I was forced to sing it in Hebrew class last year but because there is something lovely and beautiful about the language and the way it describes sound in that chapter. Even the word for spirit or breath in Hebrew is gorgeous - RUAH. If you say it, you breath out - "Roo-ahh." I find myself immediately contemplative of my own spirit and the breath of life. Then there's the likes of Sarah Brightman and Josh Groban who sing songs in many different languages. Are they beautiful because we have no idea what they mean?

So I'm thinking about language and the craft of writing and composing. Purposefully putting certain words next to certain other words to create a pattern, a process, a certain way of pairing words that speaks to an entirely new thought. It is an art. This isn't to say that once the words are translated that they have lost their meaning. On the contrary, one of my favorite poets does not compose in English. I rely on a poet who speaks her language AND English to rewrite her poems. I count on that poet to take the essence of the poem and convey it to me in my language. A word for word translation will not do. It does not translate. It does not convey.

And this leads me to wonder about the task of a preacher. We study the original languages so we can then read them and find a way to translate them into a message that conveys the meaning. I never knew that studying poetry would come into play so much as a preacher. Who would have ever thought? I'm not writing poems after all, I'm writing sermons. But it isn't about the words and yet, it is. If the words cannot carry the message, the message falls flat. This is my task.

Have you ever heard of Eugene Peterson? He wrote a translation of the bible into contemporary, modern language called The Message. Here's a quote from him about why: "While I was teaching a class on Galatians, I began to realize that the adults in my class weren't feeling the vitality and directness that I sensed as I read and studied the New Testament in its original Greek. Writing straight from the original text, I began to attempt to bring into English the rhythms and idioms of the original language. I knew that the early readers of the New Testament were captured and engaged by these writings and I wanted my congregation to be impacted in the same way. I hoped to bring the New Testament to life for two different types of people: those who hadn't read the Bible because it seemed too distant and irrelevant and those who had read the Bible so much that it had become 'old hat.'"

In a smaller way, every Sunday, this is the task before: make an impossibly distant and hard to relate to text be entirely real and entirely relate-able. And you know what? I absolutely love it. There is always a moment when I am writing where I go, "Oh shit. There's absolutely no way out of this misery of a parable. What was Jesus talking about?!" And yet, every single time, a light bulb has clicked on, the spirit has shown up, and I have been humbled into realizing yet again, how great is the love of God.

Oh, do I love words and the Word.

Preachin'

A link for you! (It's my first Sunday Sermon Manuscript!)

http://messiahlutheranbillings.org/2010/09/september-19-2010-manuscript/

Fear

Do we live in fear? Are we crippled but it? I find that most of the problems I see in the world (including my life) are traced back to fear. People stuck in jobs they hate because it is too terrifying to think of starting a new one or even not finding a new one in the first place. Or fear that the job that is fantastic will run out in the near future. Elderly who don't technically need a walker but use it for fear of falling and breaking a hip. People who are stuck in a routine because of the safety of it. People who don't try new things because new things are scary, especially when done alone (so me). Fear of being alone! (Again, totally me.) Fear that our bank account will dip into the negative when there are still bills to be paid. Fear about tomorrow's weather! Fear about crime! It seems to be everywhere.

There's that horrible token phrase, "Don't worry about anything. Pray about everything." It is cliche to an intense degree. Because of course, if we don't worry about falling down and breaking our hip, we might actually fall down and break our hip. Then come the I-told-you-so's and the regret. "I should have known better." Is there a degree of worrying that is actually helpful? Perhaps what we are really seeking is awareness. Aware of walking slower so we don't fall but not being so caught in fear that we don't walk anywhere. Aware of a new job opportunity and the reality that change is scary but that it happens anyway. Heck, here I am in Montana. I never would have guessed it.

Personally, though I still retreat to my office when I get overwhelmed (read: afraid), I find I am usually rewarded when I step out. I am met by an incredible love story that has seen war and death and still survived. I am met by gracious smiles and handshakes and hugs. I am met with a breathtaking view of mountains, bright flowers, and a moon with a face in it. The fear isn't gone but at least I'm learning that reality never bites as hard as I think it will. And if it does, I'll deal with it then. Now is not the time.

Adventure Awaits

I've got silk in my teeth from the delicious sweet corn I just ate. I took a trip over to the farmer's market this morning and spent $50 on corn, bread, cherries, strawberries, zucchini, eggs, blueberries, peaches, and honey. I had an almost spiritual time with my local deliciousness while fixing some quiche, boiling the corn, and cutting up my veggies. I love local.

And speaking of local, I have almost survived two weeks here in Billings, Montana. The last few hours of the road trip here I was freaking out. There was nothing and more nothing for miles and miles and miles. I was thinking, "Oh my goodness. Here I am going to live further out west than anyone in my family ever has and very far away from all those family and all my friends. WHAT AM I DOING?!" And then I got into Billings and discovered civilization and neighbors and people making Hall's house beautiful for my arrival. And I was more at peace. Hard to be here alone but I'm adjusting just as I should be. I found Hall's radio/cd player/record player and use it to fill the silence. That helps tremendously.

My friend Kris from seminary lives here and has been showing me around Montana. we've been to Yellowstone, Cody Wyoming, Red Lodge, and Bozeman. What beautiful, beautiful country there is here. I know I thought this was in the middle of nothing but it is quite something in the middle of a lot of something else. I think that's the biggest surprise. I never expected it to be so beautiful. Then again, I've not been here through the winter and the farmer's are predicting it to be a rough one. So keep me in your prayers. Mail me postcards, letters, and packages full of love. I'm on an adventure of a lifetime!

Ready or Not

Ready or not - that is the question. Ready to drive 20 hours? Sure. Ready to see the family? Yes. Ready to see the new house and start internship? Yes please.

Ready to leave here? No.

It's more than the piles around my apartment that still must find homes in bags and boxes and wish their way into my car tomorrow. It's more than the feeling of sickness in the pit of my stomach that I can't shake with sleep or foods full of good vitamins and protein and fiber. Nothing helps.

Last night, I had a packing party with two friends. We took a time out and gathered on my (tragically still here) mattress on the floor in the "dining room" and talked about life. About relationships. About becoming the person you always hoped you would be and accepting the person you really are. Knowing yourself. Enjoying life. Being single or at least unmarried and why America says that is wrong... and how frustrating that is. About how life keeps changing. It was wonderful.

And then I realized they are not sitting in my piles of things to take with me.

I remember when I was 11 and moved for the first time how hard it was. My neighbor told me "Home is where your stuff is." I'd like to know what she would say when I tell her that my "stuff" is in a lot of different places. I've got boxes in both my parent's basements. Storage items and things I've passed on in at least 10 different homes of friends and other family. Some will find it's way to Montana where it will share space with the furnishings of someone else's home. So home for me is actually in a lot of different places by her definition.

I got a message from a friend when I was in TN last weekend: "Enjoy home while you are away from home and on your way to your new home." I smiled. She's completely correct. I'm blessed to have a lot of homes. But...

That doesn't stop me from resisting this big move like it is the plague. I just need more time. I'm not quite ready. Just another week. Another month. Another year. Another lifetime. Then I will be ready. Then.

Advice

So I keep finding myself in situations where people are giving me advice. About moving. About ink. About being friends with an ex. About life. MY life.

And I have to say, today I reached the ceiling on getting advice. I appreciate the balanced feedback from my spiritual director who I approached with these issues. I appreciate the insight from my mother who knows what she's talking about and knows me ridiculously well. I appreciate my tattoo artist advising me on tattoo care as my last one turned out beautifully and it is his passion.

What I'm full up on right now is everything else - "Well, you know... You should really... " I don't want to imply that you, dear reader, are unwanted in my life. But the advice about packing, internship, my ink, my ex, and my body are getting tiresome. It makes me feel as if everyone in my life sees me as a woman who is inept in all areas. It doesn't feel so nice.

Now, being on the other end of advice giving, I get that it generally comes from a place that is well meaning and sometimes even loving. I gave my mother advice when I was home last weekend and we got into a tiff about it. So I do it, too. I guess what I'm wondering is why? Why is it so easy to give advice and so annoying to get? Even if it comes from someone you trust who has good intentions, it rarely sounds like anything other than, "You have failed completely at (this aspect of your) life. Let me fix you."

My supervisor last summer told me that not all people hear advice this way. Like it implies there is something wrong with them. I remember being told that I had pretty much failed to connect with a patient or benefit them in any way and I broke down in tears. I had failed! My supervisor stepped in. No, I had not failed as a human being, a child of God, a hospital chaplain. I had failed to connect with this patient, this time, in this training session. What was all the fuss about?

It was a wake up call for sure. Why did that failure feedback send me into such a tizzy? (I've been reading too much 'Llama Drama' if 'tizzy' has entered my vocabulary.) Equally, it took me months to sort through the feedback that I was racist, sexist, and more after a challenging Endorsement Panel last fall. I was a mess in the beginning; vacillating between, "Is that true?!?!?" and "That can't be true!!!!!!" Now, almost a year later, I know to what extent I am a racist, sexist, and more and what else in the room was not actually MY stuff at all.

Is the same thing happening now? People giving me advice they must think I need to hear and my rejecting it? I can't decide. It seems very unhelpful now. I guess I will tell you in a year.

In the meantime, cease and desist.

Julie and Julia

I'm sitting here on my mother's couch watching Julie and Julia which incidentally combines two things I love - writing and cooking. Writing is an old love. Cooking is a new love. I think most of this is formed by being in community with people who are passionate about food. And not just any food. Fresh food. Local produce. Homemade deliciousness.

Think about how many ways we daily cut corners for convenience, time saving, and efficiency. Parmesan cheese already grated in a plastic bowl. Pre-chopped carrots and tomatoes. Whip cream in a tub or a can.

So this year, surrounded by the influence of people making brownies from scratch and their own whip cream, cooking with freshly chopped vegetables and making their own tortillas, I got inspired. So I started cooking without cutting corners.

Let me tell you - the difference is astounding. My first quiche had pre-made refrigerated crust, cubed ham, canned veggies, and pre-shredded cheese. It was bland and barely passable. My latest had home made wheat crust, fresh veggies, chicken that I cooked and cubed, and two different kinds of cheese that I shredded from blocks. It was FANTASTIC.

And I think part of it is that it is so much FUN to do all of this: to shred my own cheese, cut corn off a cob, and cook a breast of chicken in its own little dish (a former fear of mine was cooking chicken). I got the experience the JOY of cooking and I think it must come across in the actual food. What is that about?

I am not completely naive. I realize I am blessed to even be able to find and afford fresh food and sometimes organic or local food. I am blessed to have some time to set aside and prepare a dish for people I love. I am blessed to be able to have a home to cook it in. I guess I'm trying to live into my blessings?

... and it gives me deep joy to do so. So yay for fun movies about blogging and cooking. And yay for old and new loves.

Dive in dear friends. Dive into your blessings.

The Art of Leaving

A pastor I met recently called seminary "Transition Practice." In other words, it isn't so much about the classes and the books as it is about the art of leaving. Of saying goodbye. Of going from one community to the next. Of starting anew with a new set of somebodies. Of trusting there will be new somebodies that will love like these somebodies we already know and love.

I'm having a difficult time leaving. Saying goodbye. Going from this community to the next in Montana. Trusting that there will be new somebodies that will love me like my somebodies already do. I guess I still need a lot of practice but I can't say I'm looking forward to another round of goodbye's. Does it ever get easier?

As I give away my laundry hamper, my couch, my things that are really only things, I find myself flooded with all the memories surrounding them. I don't need to have this couch (I am on it now) to remember four rounds of horrible illnesses, fantastic movies with friends, cuddling with my boyfriend, and fantastic conversations over coffee, tea, and homemade meals. It doesn't stop me from hugging a cushion as tightly as I can and humming the lyrics to Ingrid Michaelson's "Breathing" though. Oh goodbye, why are you so difficult?

Comfort vs. Living Simply

I am one of the last interns to leave for internship - one of the last to start. This has caused me to see my friends through several rounds of packing and giving away. There are the three piles: take, store, get rid of. The "get rid of" stack is generally sub divided into trash and charity depending on the quality of the item. This sorting process has been especially interesting in light of my time in Mexico this summer. As a citizen of over-consuming-America, what do I do with all my stuff? How much do I NEED? What stuff is sentimental but functionless? What stuff is completely superfluous?

My greatest conundrum for moving to Montana is what to do with all that STUFF that I've accumulated in the last two years added to the things I brought with me in Henry the first year. More specifically, what to do with my couch, table, bed, entertainment center, tv, microwave... when I am moving into a fully furnished house? I only need to take the essentials (which, I apologize, also include my guitar and xbox and several well loved mugs and blankets!).

I lived perfectly find in Mexico for a week living out of a suitcase. Simply. My needs have been provided every single day even though I feel broke most of the time. I've been very blessed. Maybe because of this assurance, ultimately I decided to get rid of everything. Sell. Give to our school's international students who need to furnish their apartment. I came into this very fantastic apartment with very little and filled it up with fantastic hand me down furniture. All of it was provided for me perfectly. Can't I trust that God will provide for me again senior year?

So I had a yard sale on Saturday and gave the rest of my things away. I have various odds and ends boxes of office supplies, cd's, and books to go with my clothes, kitchen stuff, and the aforementioned essentials. In the past, I've been overwhelmed with how much stuff I have. This time, I'm contemplative about how much stuff we all have. Other cultures are not this cluttered!! Well, let's be safe and say that there are many other cultures who live (and LIVE abundantly!!!) a lot simpler than we Americans do.

In a note to my supervisors, I said that I was planning on only packing a car full of things to bring with me. Their response: "Sounds like you will be packing lightly, which I believe is one of God's intentions for us on this good earth." So I think I'm going to be in good hands this year!

Any thoughts on your STUFF? Over consuming? Ironic joy of consuming (retail therapy, comfort foods, etc)?