the story room

what I learned from the pet liturgy

2007-08-14T21:47:00.001-05:00

Last spring, one of my Betta fish, Eugene died. Having recently talked about funerals in our pastoral care class, my roommates and I thought it would be a good idea to have a little service of our own. We found a liturgy online and adapted it for our needs. Then we brought my other fish's bowls into the living room, and we all circled around the bowl of our dead fish. And we read and prayed and sang. Then we had a short "graveside service" around our toilet, before we flushed the body of our little roommate away.

It was, hands down, the single dorkiest thing we did all year. And quite possibly the best.

We couldn't help but laugh throughout the ceremony. And it was a holy time.

We celebrated the life of a little creature that God knows, whose body had been filled with the breath of life...the breath of God. A creature different from us in so many ways...but having known life and having known death, like we'll know death.

What I remember most about the service, though, was a line from the liturgy that still echoes in my mind: "May we live more peacefully because of today."

May our reflection on death and life change us. May our coming together over the death of a little fish remind us of the sacredness of life. May our quarrels subside, remembering that we are dealing with people who not only bear the breath of God, but also God's image. "May we live more peacefully because of today."

This summer I found that working as a hospital chaplain isn't unlike sitting around on the living room floor with friends, remembering and praying and loving a life we knew little of, but approached with awe just the same. The call to make peace rings out loud and clear, even if it is hard work.

---------
http://www.kingofpeace.org/resources/petfuneralliturgy.htm

shame on you

2007-05-29T00:17:00.000-05:00

(the conversation I had today at the checkout):

checkout lady: Would you like to pay for this on your Sears card?

me: No...it's debit for me.

checkout lady: Do you have a Sears card?

me: No.

checkout lady: Would you like to apply for one? You'll receive ten dollars off your purchase.

me: No thank you; not today.

checkout lady (taking this whole credit card thing awfully seriously): Well, I just have to say...shame on you.

*****

As soon as the words left her mouth, I was taken back to a memory now fifteen years old.

My first beloved bicycle had been stolen from our patio, right where my parents instructed me to keep it. I went with my dad to the police station to report it, and the lady behind me listened in on our conversation. Hearing where the bike had been taken from and assuming that it was the result of my lack of responsibility, she turned to me, looked me straight in the eye, and poured salt in my already hurting child's heart. "Shame on you," she said to me.

The memory of my stolen bike doesn't hurt anymore at all. But that stranger's words still sting. It's a pain that surprises me.

Admittedly, I've always thought deeply about words. I stop and listen to what each one means. So I assume you mean what you say. And when I heard, "Shame on you," I felt the weight of shame.

They are heavy words. They are words of humiliation and dishonor. They may be wielded with ease, but how sharp is the blade! It is specifically designed to harm.

I imagine myself now, standing beside my 8-year-old self, my arm protectively around her shoulders. I imagine standing there with a quiet dignity, invisibly shielding her from a sword recklessly swung. I imagine myself a heroine.

But there are other words that carry the same deadly weight. There are eye-rolls and glances that cut straight to the heart. There are tones of voice that are meant to demean, and the 'harmless' words they wear are a worthless mask indeed. I'd be a liar if I told you I never shame. I wield too well this instrument of death. Oh Lord, have mercy.

I pray that I will become more and more a shield from shame, and not a wielder of it. I pray that I can heal and not harm, protect and not cause pain. To show honor and be gracious.

To be like the One who stands beside us, arm protectively around our shoulders.

The One who shatters every sword.

*****

And my people shall never again be put to shame. . . . And my people shall never again be put to shame.
-- joel 2

a lenten prayer

2007-03-04T20:31:00.000-06:00

One night in early January, on an unusually mild night, I cracked our windows, smelled the freshness of the air, and jotted down this prayer. Looking back on it tonight, I think it's good to share during Lent.

Life-giver, Wind of refreshment deep and soft: blow upon us now. May your sweetness fill our noses and your healing strength our lungs. May your healing hand touch us exactly where it hurts, bringing wholeness and restoration to our stinging wounds, our aching limps, our ever-present scars. Forgive our broken hearts, and heal the bitterness that flares up so quickly and seeps out so slowly.

Grant us your peace, and through us, bind the brokenhearted.

But we need to be changed, too: turned around, converted. We've died and risen with you, but every day we need to live again your death and resurrection. Even when our thoughts are far from you and we cling to lesser lovers...we need you so.

In your love and in your mercy, cup our faces in your hands and turn our eyes to you. Take our hands and pull us close. And in our embrace, lay your hands upon our heads and pray for us - even as you heal us. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, touch us and make us whole.

Amen.

Ash Wednesday

2007-02-21T20:24:00.000-06:00

Early this morning I attended an Ash Wednesday service. It was the first time that I've walked around all day with ashes on my head (the service I went to last year was at night). In the coming days, I want to share some thoughts about today's experience.

Today, though, as I think about the beginning of my Lenten discipline this year, I'm reminded of something I wrote last year...something that's been on my mind since I wrote it. So, I share it with you again today...
-----------------

Ashes on Our Foreheads
(from April 3, 2006)

Thirty-three days into Lent, I've finally realized that I'm unable to keep the promise I made.

Sparing the details, I'll suffice it to say that I promised to fast from unloving and unkind words: things I wouldn't say about people if I knew they could hear me say them. Every day I've tried to discipline myself, but every day I've gotten it wrong way more than I've gotten it right.

I spent a lot of time this week praying and thinking about why this abstention, seeming so simple when I promised it, has been virtually impossible to keep. And today a memory came to mind that caused me to finally see:

I attended an Ash Wednesday service this year -- the first one I was old enough to understand. And even though I knew to expect it, I was still struck by the ashes. I was captivated during the service as I watched the elders smudge dusty crosses on each person who came forward: the beautiful, the sad, the very old, the complacent, the the newly-born, the wise, the fearful, the hopeful...all of us, at the end, with ashes on our foreheads.

Dust you are, and to dust you will return, the elders said.
Jesus is the resurrection and the life, whispered we.
The smudgy cross.

The ceremony was beautiful and profound, but then it ended. However, it was the time following that that affected me most.

In the candlelight, in the quiet, with Jesus' words on our lips - even with the mark of weakness and death on our heads - we looked courageous, holy, mysteriously strong. And the beauty of the ceremony is that, in a way, it showed us for what we were. But when the service ended, the candles were blown out, and the lights were turned up, the ordinariness of life quickly seeped into our conversations, our gestures, the ways we watched and listened to each other. Disappointingly ordinary (and loud and busy and self-centered and...), but bearing still the dusty crosses, all of us.

It was like a dream. All of us carrying on as usual, but able to see beyond what we usually see: all of us dusty and weak, terribly hopeless...and yet, showered with mercy and love, undeserved and overflowing.

I expected to leave church that night remembering that I was dust, and grateful for God's mercy. And I did. But I also left remembering that everyone else is dust, too. And if the perfect One mercifully and unashamedly loves dust, then I, smudged and ashy too, must do no less.

My problem with Lent this year is that I tried to hold my tongue but had little compassion. I didn't see their ashen crosses. And I seldom remembered my own.

But I haven't laid down my lenten promise; I take it up differently. God knows my willpower and strength is no strength at all, and in need of mercy I am indeed. But I want to love as graciously and freely and gladly as our Father. So I, weak but willing, will pray to love with his unbounded and compassionate love.

And I'll not forget the ashes.

dusted and damp

2007-02-02T20:22:00.000-06:00

I love snowy nights.

If only for a span of a few hours, the world slows down.

The snow catches the shining of the moon, reflecting its light back from where it came. The color of the ground blends almost seamlessly into the sky, and I feel enclosed in a sphere of softly-glowing gray. I can't help but feel especially safe.

Other nights the world is big, but tonight it is small.

I stand on the balcony, dusted and damp.

I take a deep breath and rest in the quiet.

I wish!

2006-12-17T17:36:00.000-06:00

Those of you who know me well know that I really like CNN news anchor, Anderson Cooper. Well, I came across this picture, and it made me laugh.

I don't pretend to know politics well (and in fact, I'm sure this post attests to it), but I do appreciate Anderson Cooper.

OK, back to the real world.

one of us, still

2006-12-08T20:38:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week I sat in my christology class listening to a discussion among my classmates about the incarnation of Christ. We were a room full of seminarians: future pastors and theologians...but it was so difficult for us to wrap our minds around both the divinity and humanity of our Savior.

It's more radical than we like to think.

I've always had a picture in my head of Jesus taking on human flesh, living on earth, dying, rising, going to heaven, and then...

Well, I don't picture him human anymore after that.

But we talked in class about how Jesus took on humanity, but he did not cast it off. Even now his scars remain...and they always will.

The fact that Jesus continues to bear our nature says a lot about our humanity. If he took on flesh, did his thing on earth, then cast our nature off, it would seem that humanity is a thing to be despised. And, in view of God's holiness and power, who could blame him if that's what he did?

But here is eternal and almighty God, taking on human skin and mind, human heart and soul...and keeping it. What must he think of us to remain one of us? Who are we? What is he making us become?

Jesus Christ was one of us, and one of us he is still.

And he is with us.

advent

2006-12-03T19:51:00.000-06:00

where I walk sometimes

2006-11-12T00:22:00.000-06:00

This is at Calvin College's nature preserve. Too beautiful not to share...

a random confession...

2006-11-08T23:12:00.000-06:00

Some people collect baseball cards, stamps, or rocks.

I collect fake credit cards.

I have twenty.

(If you get any, feel free to send them my way!)

we are we

2006-11-04T12:10:00.000-06:00

When I was very young, my mom taught me how to sing "Jesus Loves Me." My vocabulary then was small as my child's frame, so what I heard when we sang was this:

Jesus loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so
Little ones to him belong
We are we, but he is strong.

I woke up this morning with that tune and those words refraining in my mind...the childhood ones.

I'm actually grateful that the words my mom sang were "we are weak", not "they are weak." She sang words that impressed upon me that all of us, even she - my grown-up mommy who knew everything and kept me safe - are the weak ones. All of us.

And what of my words? We are we, but he is strong.

We are weak...and we are also terribly sinful: prideful, hurtful, angry, untruthful, selfish. Sometimes it feels like they're thorns in our flesh, the way they're buried so deeply into us. Sometimes they feel like such a part of us that we have to ask, Is this really me? And sometimes it is.

We are we. We are ourselves in all our beauty, weakness, and sin. I am me, who gets lonely, oversensitive, and ungracious.

I am me...
we are we...
...but he is strong.

And his power is made perfect in weakness.

Thank God.

beauty

2006-10-31T18:00:00.000-06:00

This morning I saw a minute-long video that really impacted me. You can watch it here:

http://www.styledash.com/2006/10/23/doves-evolution-of-beauty-campaign

I spent a number of years working with the junior high and high school youth groups at church, and I can't tell you how many girls came to despise themselves because of their appearance. So they dressed and acted in ways to compensate. Some of it (like makeup and certain clothes) was relatively harmless, I'm sure; but the desire for attention, acceptance, and yes, even love, can drive someone to a lot of self-inflicted pain.

Telling girls they're beautiful doesn't convince them of much. How I wish it did.

And adolescent girls aren't the only ones who battle these demons.

May we all have eyes to see the truth.

my new friend!

2006-10-29T13:25:00.000-06:00

Note how Brother Llama is also leaning in...we are definitely friends!

(and he's totally smiling...can't you tell?)

our eyes look to You

2006-10-18T22:05:00.000-05:00

For my speech class a couple weeks ago, I had to give a short meditation on the part of the Lord's Prayer that says, "give us today our daily bread." It's not especially polished, but I wanted to share the thoughts I was working with. Here it is:

"I lift up my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven. As the eyes of slaves look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maid look to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the LORD our God, till he shows us his mercy." (Psalm 123.1-2)

When Jesus teaches his disciples to pray he tells them to ask, "Give us today our daily bread."

Give us today our daily bread. Meet today the needs we have today. Put food on the table, Lord. Give us health and strength to work, and provide a paycheck to pay the bills. Give us the motivation and clarity of mind to complete our daily tasks. Keep the car running. Meet today the needs of the day. Give us our daily bread.

For some of us, this prayer is an easy one to pray. We recognize that we are dependent on God alone, and we look to his hand for everything we need. We're mindful that our physical needs matter to him just as much as our spiritual needs, so we don't feel foolish asking for food, money, clothes, strength, a running car. Some of us have been through times when we didn't know where our next meal would come from, how we would afford our home, how to send the kids to school or how to send ourselves to school. The only thing we knew was to fall to our knees, close our eyes, and with earnestness and faith pray, "Meet today, Lord, the needs we have today."

And whether or not we've been in such great need, we've been witnesses of his great power and loving care. We've seen him provide...sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes miraculously, always faithfully. We know that we're so weak and dependent on God that in and of ourselves we don't even have the power to put food on the table. So in thankfulness, faith, and trust we pray with all our hearts, "Give us today our daily bread."

For others of us, this is a difficult prayer to pray. We've known security and comfort all our lives, and we've never felt the anxiety of wondering how our daily needs would be met. We know that God is the giver and sustainer of life, but we've never had to ask for a thing. We're able to walk to the refrigerator, microwave food we bought with money we earned...and it's so easy and natural that we forget that it is a gift of God. Asking for food we know we'll receive seems like a formality. Why ask when we know we'll receive? And we may still be deeply thankful for what we have...but we forget that it's been given to us. Even so, whether we feel it or not, let us pray: Give us today, God, our daily bread.

And for still others of us, this is a difficult prayer for a completely different reason: we ask and cry out and beg, and still we receive not. We've faced foreclosure notices that end in eviction. We can't get a job, no matter how hard we search and where we apply. The health we need to work and live fails us. The car won't start.

And we think of those in other lands who look to the sky pleading for rain...but the earth remains full of dust, the livestock die, and the crops don't come in. We think of those who pray desperately for bread, but it doesn't come...certainly not every day. And this is a difficult prayer to pray because there are those of us who ask with expectancy and faith and hope...but the arms outstretched in prayer remain empty. How do we continue to ask when we never seem to receive? Even so, let us pray: Father, whether we understand or not, give us our daily bread.

Provide today, our Father, the needs we have today. It's a prayer we keep praying...sometimes because we see him answer; sometimes in spite of the fact that we don't think we need an answer; sometimes when we don't receive an answer. But we pray it still, not just because we have need of things, but because, at the very heart of it all, we are in need of him. We don't know why he gives as he does, nor why he withholds. But we say with the psalmist:

"I lift up my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven. As the eyes of slaves look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maid look to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the LORD our God, till he shows us his mercy. Have mercy on us, O LORD, have mercy on us."

Our Father, we look to your hand, all of us. We live each day in dependence on you, whether we feel it intensely or not at all. We look to your hand for our greatest needs: for daily bread, for love, for breath, for you. We don't pretend to know your ways: you bless and you withhold; you give and you take away. But we know, Father, that you are good, and we know that you are loving. Grant us the faith to ask for daily bread, to look to your hand. Help us in our needs; turn to us and have mercy on us. Provide today the needs we have today. And whatever we receive or lack, blessed be your name.

the tree outside our window

2006-10-04T16:55:00.000-05:00

an experiment...

2006-09-30T20:54:00.000-05:00

Although I've been blogging now for almost two years, I'm still working on figuring out what exactly I'm doing.

I've noticed that I have the tendency to write about a story and then sum it up by sharing what I've learned from it. And I don't think there's anything wrong with it.

However, my mind is filled with memories that I don't know how to neatly conclude. Some of them are huge memories that have impacted me greatly...but a lot of them are small memories of seeming insignificance. But they've stayed with me a long time, and I have a feeling they've affected me, too, though I'm not even sure how. The 'insignificant' ones are what I'm interested in now.

I've tried writing essays about them for myself...but they seem so small that I really have no idea what to say about them. But I'm going to try to share them here...with no attempt to give any sort of analyses, reflections, or conclusions unless they're abundantly clear to me.

And we'll see how it goes...

why I enjoy being home...

2006-09-16T23:15:00.000-05:00

why I write (and share it)

2006-09-12T17:11:00.000-05:00

"When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves" (Genesis 3. 6, 7).

Adam and Eve are flesh of each other's flesh, bone of each other's bone, and heart of each other's heart. United, bare, and unashamed they know each other intimately and are intimately known. And it is good.

Sin enters the picture, and in a panic Adam and Eve run from each other in search of cover. They hide not just their nakedness but themselves. For the first time, they can't bear to even be looked at. They dare not catch a glimpse even of themselves. Here begins the hiding.

And we know well that isolation. We fear exposing ourselves because we've too often been met with the stare of condemnation or the shifting eyes of disinterest. We have reason to be afraid.

But guilty, wounded, and pitifully-covered as we are, still our own eyes too betray the anger, judgment, and apathy of our hearts; and with our own eyes, too, we wound. We forget that we're all frightened and lonely and covered in leaves.

I write to know myself, brokenness as well as beauty. I don't have the strength to hide from myself, so I take a deep breath and pray for Christ's mercy. And I write to remember that, beneath all our figs and furs, everyone is just as broken and in desperate need of grace...and incredibly beautiful still.

I share what I write so that, even if we dare not expose ourselves, we'll remember at least to look on one another with compassion. And in the ins and outs of life, maybe - even if it's just a little bit - somehow we'll have the courage and grace to stop hiding from each other so.

my seminary desk!

2006-08-08T22:44:00.000-05:00

This was a gift from my grandparents. We found it at a local thrift store, and I love the fact that it has a history...that it was used and appreciated for years before it got to me.

It inspires me to study, reflect, and write sermons!

I planted this seed!

2006-08-08T22:24:00.000-05:00

In my biology class this past year, we did an experiment where my lab partner and I grew cucumber plants. I loved those plants and wanted to see them flourish, so every time I went to the greenhouse to water them I sang to them, spoke to them, and sometimes blessed them. (Yes, it's dorky...I know.)

At the end of the experiment, I gave my plants to one of my professors who loves to garden. Despite my prayers, they were very sickly (I kept them in a small pot much too long), and I was told they had maybe a 5% chance of survival.

Yesterday that professor called me to his office and gave me this:

I was so excited that I had to share!

Creepy.

2006-08-02T22:52:00.000-05:00

"Helloooo, children. Come hither and hear the words of the Wise One of Bethlehem."

I'm not that creepy in real life, am I?!

my white chairs and dancing supervisor

2006-07-21T19:25:00.000-05:00

I don't like autumn much. I don't know how to explain it, but the smell of the gray air, crisp and beautiful as it is, leaves me feeling unsettled. Maybe I just enjoy summer too much.

Whatever the reason, I noticed that the air smelled like autumn today. I worked outside most of the day, cleaning chairs from the cafeteria. Olfactory memories of fall wafted into my lungs and brain, carried on the cool breeze. And the clouds, heavy with rain, reminded me of the heaviness of people I know and those who are half a world away who mourn and are afraid. I couldn't help but feel heavy, too.

But the strangest thing happened.

The greasy gray chairs I was scrubbing became white when I rinsed them, and as I stepped back to get a look at my work, an unexpected joy overtook me. I tell you, they almost shone. I carried them back into the cafeteria and found my nearly sixty year-old supervisor dancing to a song on the radio, purposely uncoordinated and 'shaking his booty', casting aside his dignity to evoke our laughter. It works every time.

What grace.

Humanity is "born to trouble as the sparks fly upward"; it's true. My white chairs and dancing supervisor didn't make me forget. But in those gifts of work and play I was reminded that God is with us. I could feel it in my chest, in that place where joy so deep it is unspeakable resides.

hope.

2006-07-08T23:09:00.000-05:00

Well, I was thinking that my next post would be the one I recently plugged, the one I'm working on. However, I'm trying to find words that aren't so convoluted.

Instead, I offer something different tonight. It's a prayer I wrote this spring, during a time when I deeply felt the tension between 'reality' and hope. It's not polished, but it's honest:

When Ezekiel stood in the middle of the valley with skeletons strewn everywhere,
hot and dry,
you asked him, "Son of man, can they live?"

Can they live?

If anyone else had asked, he would have scoffed, or laughed,
or wept.

But you questioned him, and his certainty dissolved.

"Only you know, sovereign Lord," he said,
wondering if even that was a safe reply.

Now Ezekiel's words are mine.
They're on my lips,
though it wasn't me you asked.

But I'm standing in the valley, and these bones are brittle and bleached.

Will the dead ever rise -- will I see them live?
You've opened graves before, but what of these?

Can they live?

Ezekiel prophesied to the bones; you told him to.
Will I say anything at all?

some plugs, and a personal note

2006-07-06T00:18:00.000-05:00

This summer, I've been reading a blog that my friend, http://www.sacredfount.blogspot.comJames, recommended to me. The blog is called Real Live Preacher, and today's post really struck me.

The past few days I've been working on writing a post to share here, and I feel like the ideas I'm working with make more sense in light of what Real Live Preacher says. So, as I work to finish up my own entry, I highly recommend reading this one. (His is better, anyway!)

And I have to say, I am so grateful for those who hold my own heart like RLP's hamster, enabling me to be safe, and to be known. Terrifying and sacred and one of the most precious gifts I've ever been given. So precious.

the glimmers I've seen

2006-06-26T22:14:00.000-05:00

In an essay entitled "Summons to Pilgrimage" Frederick Buechner writes this:

"Religions start, as Frost said poems do, with a lump in the throat to put it mildly, or with the bush going up in flames, the rain of flowers, the dove coming down out of the sky. . . . We are all of us more mystics than we believe or choose to believe - life is complicated enough as it is, after all. We have seen more than we let on, even to ourselves. Through some moment of beauty or pain, some sudden turning of our lives, we catch glimmers at least of what the saints are blinded by; only then, unlike the saints, we tend to go on as though nothing has happened. To go on as though something happened, even though we are not sure what it was or just where we are supposed to go with it, is to enter the dimension of life that religion is a word for."

I don't always know how to talk about it (and I often lack the courage to do so), but over the years I have seen and experienced things that have left me with a lump in my throat. In both waking moments and dreams, in both ordinary and extraordinary ways, I've sensed the hand of God and I'm left without words, unable to see the world in quite the same way.

I am especially struck by the times when I am startled awake in the middle of the night. My sleep is normally heavy and deep, so waking during the dark and early hours is rare. But there are times when, unexplainably, I wake with a longing for God that is acute and unquenchable, where the only prayer I can pray is, "Jesus." There are times when I wake to confess sins that escape even my overactive conscience during the day, though they were committed directly against God himself. I sometimes wake in the darkness to truths that are incredibly simple but that I somehow desperately need to hear. I wake sometimes to a sense of peace and comfort so deep that the presence of God is almost palpable.

They are moments I could try to explain away in the morning if I wanted to, when the sunlight streams through the window and the busyness and noise of life pick up again as soon as the alarm clock sounds. But I can't deny that in those sometimes-bewildering always astonishing moments, I experience something extraordinary.

I don't always know what to do with mysterious encounters like these or, to borrow Buechner's words, where exactly to go with them. But I know that I can't simply go on and pretend they never happened. So I've learned to be sensitive and still, to listen, to let myself be changed.

And when the time seems right and I have the courage, I talk about these miracles and mysteries, because I can't help but believe you've caught glimmers, too...

Cleanliness and Godliness

2006-06-10T15:52:00.000-05:00

This summer, I'm working full-time for the maintenance department at Trinity. It's a fun job, actually: cleaning and re-cleaning dorm rooms.

Since my first day at work, I've had a phrase that keeps running through my mind. It's a phrase that I'm not even fond of, but it echoes in my mind every day nonetheless: "Cleanliness is next to godliness."

I don't like the phrase because I think it implies that uncleanliness is equal to ungodliness...and I don't like to make such sweeping judgments anyway. I hope I never hear myself say that phrase and mean it, but since I've been working this job, I've actually become sympathetic to what it might mean.

Whether or not the phrase is actually true, though, I'm learning things at work that are seeping into my life and (hopefully!) making me more like Christ.

I've worked in rooms that have been abused throughout the year, and I've learned that taking care of and maintaining something is an expression of gratefulness. It's a way to remember that what we've been entrusted with is a gift, and it honors God to treat it as such.

I'm learning that when a task needs to be done, it doesn't help to think about how much I don't want to do it, or how much I dislike doing it. Doing challenging jobs ungrudgingly not only makes them more bearable...they even sometimes become fun. (It's freeing, in a way, to not think so often about myself and all my likes and dislikes. Life, after all, is not all about me.)

I'm learning to be more positive and to pass up opportunities to complain.

I've been seeing my work as a way to give to people. Even in challenging rooms, I make it a point to pray for the people who just moved out. And I do my best to prepare an environment that will be clean and welcoming to the people who will move in in the fall. Even though most people probably won't think of the work I did (or even know that I did it), I hope it will be a gift to them.

And I'm learning that all these things need to carry over into the rest of my life as well.

I'm grateful for this job and the opportunities I have to work hard and learn along the way.

A pilgrim still

2006-05-26T23:19:00.000-05:00

Well, it's official: I am now a college graduate.

About this time last week I had just finished up all my packing. The dorm room I lived in this past year had truly become home to me and my roommate, and it was also a place of warmth and welcome for friends who wanted a place to retreat.

This made for a stark contrast, then, when it came to packing everything up. As I sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes and sorting through the last of my things, I couldn't help but think about my time at the beginning of that year, surrounded by boxes again, only that time unpacking and getting settled.

Unpacking in August was an experience that made an impression on me that stayed with me all year (see August 25 entry). As I sorted through my things and threw away what didn't need, I thought about what it means to belong to a God who calls us sometimes to live as pilgrims. Reflecting on that experience, I wrote this:

"And there in my room, I found myself facing the God who bids me come and follow Him, and I also found myself acutely aware of my need to trust Him. I hear His call to surrender everything I hold dear, knowing that He will give me a load to carry, but that it will be light -- maybe even lighter than I'd like it to be. But I trust that He will give me what I need, and that my loose grip on things I love too much will enable me to get up quickly and follow Him on this long (and often uncertain) road with endurance and strength.

"Because the truth of it is that as much as this world is indeed my home, I've never been truly settled, and I probably won't be until Jesus finishes His work and makes everything right. So my task is not to sink my roots anywhere so deeply that I'll die if I ever come uprooted; my task is to follow my God wherever He tells me to go and to do anything He tells me to do. And like Abraham and his pilgrim children, though I can't see very far ahead, I will travel light and will set up camp anywhere He tells me to. What else can I do but follow this God, and trust that wherever I pitch my tent, I will be dwelling in my Father's house?"

When I wrote that entry in August, it was written with a resolute but heavy heart; I didn't want to leave. I look back on those words now, and I know a deeper joy. I am still a little scared about moving away in August and starting a new life in an unfamiliar place, but I see my Father's goodness in the past, and I know that he won't abandon me now. Whatever else will come, that pilgrim God will be with me.

There are times in the Bible when God tells someone, "Go to this place, and I will show you what to do when you get there." I don't know how he spoke to them or how they recognized his voice, but I can't help but wonder if this unshakable sense that I'm headed in the right direction is a feeling that God's people of long ago would have been familiar with.

And I wonder what wonders I'll see when I go.

St. Francis again!

2006-04-23T23:59:00.000-05:00

I found another prayer this week attributed to St. Francis. With the many challenges and stresses that come with the final weeks of school, I've found this challenging, refreshing, and sustaining. Again, it puts words to a prayer I've been trying to pray on my own the last few weeks...and I count that as a wonderful gift.

"Our Father,

each day is a little life, each night a tiny death;

help us to live with faith and hope and love.

Lift our duty above drudgery;

let not our strength fail, or the vision fade, in the heat and burden of the day.

O God, make us patient and pitiful with one another in the fret and jar of life,

remembering that each fights a hard fight and walks a lonely way.

Forgive us, Lord, if we hurt our fellow souls;

teach us a gentler tone, a sweeter charity of words, and a more healing touch.

Sustain us, O God, when we must face sorrow;

give us courage for the day and hope for the morrow.

Day unto day may we lay hold of thy hand and look up into thy face,

whatever befall,

until our work is finished and the day is done.

Amen."

-St. Francis of Assisi

I knew I loved St. Francis!

2006-04-20T23:16:00.000-05:00

Flipping through a prayer book tonight, I found another prayer by St. Francis that I fell in love with. I deeply appreciate when people offer prayers that I could never quite put words to.

"Dear Father,
I pray for those who have no one
to love them enough to pray for them.
Wherever they are,
whoever they are,
let them know that they are not forgotten.
Amen."

(I think I want to be like St. Francis when I grow up!)

The Final Station

2006-04-16T03:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, as a way to reflect on the events of Good Friday, I meditated on the Stations of the Cross as found at: http://www.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/stations.html. The readings at each station struck me, but I especially appreciated what the last one said:

"They take the body of Jesus to its resting place. The huge stone over the tomb is the final sign of the permanence of death. In this final act of surrender, who would have imagined this tomb would soon be empty or that Jesus would show himself to his disciples or that they would recognize him in the breaking of bread? Oh, that our hearts might burn within us, as we realize how he had to suffer and die so as to enter into his glory, for us. . . .

". . . I pause to contemplate this act of closure on his life. In solidarity with all humanity, his body is taken to its grave. I stand for a moment outside this tomb. This final journey of his life has shown me the meaning of his gift of himself for me. This tomb represents every tomb I stand before with fear, in defeat, struggling to believe it could ever be empty."

I meditated for a long time yesterday on that image, thinking about the "tombs" I've stood before: the tombs of loved ones who have died, the tombs of broken relationships, the tombs that hold my fears and disappointments and regrets. I sometimes find myself wondering if God really will show up there, bringing his life where death seems to be the final word.

As Holy Saturday quietly slips into Easter morning, I realize that the tomb I stand before tonight - the one that matters more than anything else in the world - is empty. If the one who has power to resurrect is himself alive again - alive tonight - surely he will not ignore the other tombs we visit and weep over as we wait for him to bring life back.

The life-giver lives, and surely he comes, bringing healing and joy to my very life...and even to yours. May we take heart and have hope that he will come and make it all right, however long we have to wait. And may we see the beginnings of it even now, surprised and overjoyed at the life he brings.

May our hearts burn like the disciples', knowing that he's with us.

ashes on our foreheads

2006-04-03T00:25:00.000-05:00

Thirty-three days into Lent, I've finally realized that I'm unable to keep the promise I made.

Sparing the details, I'll suffice it to say that I promised to fast from unloving and unkind words: things I wouldn't say about people if I knew they could hear me say them. Every day I've tried to discipline myself, but every day I've gotten it wrong way more than I've gotten it right.

I spent a lot of time this week praying and thinking about why this abstention, seeming so simple when I promised it, has been virtually impossible to keep. And today a memory came to mind that caused me to finally see:

I attended an Ash Wednesday service this year -- the first one I was old enough to understand. And even though I knew to expect it, I was still struck by the ashes. I was captivated during the service as I watched the elders smudge dusty crosses on each person who came forward: the beautiful, the sad, the very old, the complacent, the the newly-born, the wise, the fearful, the hopeful...all of us, at the end, with ashes on our foreheads.

Dust you are, and to dust you will return, the elders said.
Jesus is the resurrection and the life, whispered we.
The smudgy cross.

The ceremony was beautiful and profound, but then it ended. However, it was the time following that that affected me most.

In the candlelight, in the quiet, with Jesus' words on our lips - even with the mark of weakness and death on our heads - we looked courageous, holy, mysteriously strong. And the beauty of the ceremony is that, in a way, it showed us for what we were. But when the service ended, the candles were blown out, and the lights were turned up, the ordinariness of life quickly seeped into our conversations, our gestures, the ways we watched and listened to each other. Disappointingly ordinary (and loud and busy and self-centered and...), but bearing still the dusty crosses, all of us.

It was like a dream. All of us carrying on as usual, but able to see beyond what we usually see: all of us dusty and weak, terribly hopeless...and yet, showered with mercy and love, undeserved and overflowing.

I expected to leave church that night remembering that I was dust, and grateful for God's mercy. And I did. But I also left remembering that everyone else is dust, too. And if the perfect One mercifully and unashamedly loves dust, then I, smudged and ashy too, must do no less.

My problem with Lent this year is that I tried to hold my tongue but had little compassion. I didn't see their ashen crosses. And I seldom remembered my own.

But I haven't laid down my lenten promise; I take it up differently. God knows my willpower and strength is no strength at all, and in need of mercy I am indeed. But I want to love as graciously and freely and gladly as our Father. So I, weak but willing, will pray to love with his unbounded and compassionate love.

And I'll not forget the ashes.

Whispering truth

2006-03-18T01:32:00.000-06:00

This past week, I've been reading a book by Frederick Buechner called The Hungering Dark. What I read today struck me:

"We all suffer to some degree from deafness, are certainly at best hard of hearing. We find it very hard to hear what other people are saying to us, either hard in the sense of difficult or hard in the sense of painful and sometimes hard in both senses at once. Somebody comes up and makes a remark about the weather, let us say, and all that we are able to hear or all that we allow oursleves to hear is someone making a remark about the weather. 'Looks as though we might get some rain' is all that gets through to us when what he is really saying, of course - and sometimes we know this and sometimes we do not - is maybe, 'I'm lonely. Be my friend, for Christ's sake. Speak,' or maybe, 'I know you are lonely.' And in our deafness, our only response is to say, 'Well we could certainly use it,' and then we indicate that we have plenty of our own work to get on with. The truth of it is that if you really listen to another person, whether on the surface he is talking about the weather or predicting the outcome of the World Series or even preaching a sermon, if you really listen, you begin to realize that what he is really talking about is himself. He is saying, 'Love me' or maybe 'Hate me' or 'Pity me,' but always he is saying one way or another, 'Listen to me. Know me.' Only most of the time people like you and me are deaf to this. We hear only the words. We hear only what is most comfortable to hear. But once in a while, by the grace of God more often than not, we hear scraps at least of what people are actually saying." (70-71)

As I was doing some driving tonight, with Buechner's words in the back of my mind, I was thinking about my gratefulness for people who speak words of truth to me: mentors and friends who, at just the right time, say things like, "God is with you", "Don't be afraid", "Humble yourself", "Take courage".

For almost a year now, I've been especially sensitive to words like these, and whenever they come to me and in whatever ways (whether through an email, a conversation, or a formal blessing), I'm struck by them. For reasons I don't fully understand, those are the words that give me pause (sometimes a long pause!) and stay with me a long time. They're words I don't easily forget, and mysteriously, they really do give me strength.

There are a lot of reasons why that happens, I think, but I made a connection tonight that I hadn't thought of before.

To draw on Buechner's imagery, maybe those who speak these words of truth to us are those who hear the words beneath our words. They listen to our worries, our complaints, our half-jokes...and they hear us say, "I need you", and beneath even that, "I need to hear something true." Because more than anything we could hear about our particular situations (though we need to hear that, too), maybe what we need most is to hear whispers of truth, gently reminding us of who we are and to whom we belong.

And I don't know why we so often need those words spoken to us when we can easily enough say them to ourselves. I wonder if it has to do with God indwelling his children, speaking to and taking care of us through one another. In needing him, we need each other.

May our Father give us ears to truly hear, and may he whisper the truth of his presence, power, and love through us.

Channeling Peace

2006-02-15T20:50:00.000-06:00

Almost a thousand years ago, St. Francis wrote a prayer that has become part of me:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much
seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in the giving that we receive,
it is in the pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I started praying this prayer in December mainly because I realized that I had been doing just the opposite: desiring consolation, understanding, and love so much that it was difficult for my thoughts and preoccupations to go very far beyond myself. So this prayer entered my life as a way to voice a tired cry: "Father, help me do better."

For the last couple months I've been turning these words over and over in my mind, being reawakened to the beauty and mystery of the seemingly upside-down way of Christ. In moments when I was alone and everything was still, I found myself thinking about Francis' words and praying, "Father, I want to live this out, if only you'll give me the strength."

I don't know how to explain it, but lately I've found myself not just thinking about, meditating on, or even just praying this prayer - I've been living it. I don't know how to describe it except to say that there's a strength beyond my strength enabling me to comfort, understand, love, and give in ways I didn't know I was able. And while I find myself in need of my Father's peace, miraculously and mysteriously, I'm finding that as he enables me to give to and take care of others, he takes care of me, too. Seeing how he answers this prayer and how he makes it real, out of genuine love for my Father and his children, in humbleness and gratitude, I've lately been praying, "Father, let me be a channel of your peace.

Through our lives, our words, our embraces, our eyes, and even our silences, may the peace and love of Christ be channeled to his children.

In the quiet

2006-02-09T20:30:00.000-06:00

It's been a month since I wrote last (many thanks to those of you who don't give up on this little blog), but I can't stop thinking about the restraint of God.

When I wrote about that last, most of my focus was on how it feels to be the recipient of a love so strong that it has to come to be given to us through at least some measure of restraint.

But lately I've been thinking about what it means to be the one giving love through holding back, being quiet, refraining - identifying with the One who restrains himself.

If it's true that we really are united with Christ, I wonder if sharing in that restraint is part of what it means to share in his and others' sufferings. I'm finding that it takes a lot of love and a lot of faith to take a step back and be silent, trusting that in my restraint, my Father's love will touch and comfort his children, to give them exactly what they need.

If all that's true and the love of God is like that...wow, it makes me want to be and love like him.

May our dear ones experience the strong love of Christ through the quiet restraint of our love.

The Restraint of God

2006-01-09T01:48:00.000-06:00

"The power that created the universe and spun the dragonfly's wing and is beyond all other powers holds back, in love, from overpowering us. I have never felt God's presence more strongly than when my wife and I visited that distant hospital where our daughter was. Walking down the corridor to the room that had her name taped to the door, I felt that presence surrounding me like air - God in his very stillness, holding his breath, loving her, loving us all, the only way he can without destroying us. One night we went to compline in an Episcopal cathedral, and in the coolness and near emptiness of that great vaulted place, in the remoteness of the choir's voices chanting plainsong, in the grayness of the stone, I felt it again - the passionate restraint and hush of God."
-Frederick Buechner, Telling Secrets, p28-29.

"But I tell you the truth: It is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Counselor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. . . . I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear."
-John 16.7, 12

I've been thinking a lot lately about the restraint of God.

I try to be aware of how aspects of God's love are reflected in the people around me, and I've been especially aware lately of all the people who show love to others through restraint: those who say less than they'd like to say, those who offer a handshake or high-five instead of a hug, those who seek to protect and guard others, those whose silences express a pure and holy love that often needs no verbal expression.

(And I want to be quick to say that restraint is not the only or best way to show love, because we all know we need open expression often, too. But Solomon said there's a time both to embrace and to refrain, and I, at least, too often forget about the value and beauty of restraint.)

For a while now, I've been able to recognize restraint as an expression of God's love, but I'm only recently being able to understand why. After all, we usually hear about God's love only as it is expressed to us, often with the popular imagery of being embraced by our Savior, being his best friend, always hearing his voice as he speaks to us. And I think those things are all true, but they're not the whole truth. To leave it at that would be to have an incomplete picture of our God and our relationship with him.

After all, we have never really been in the arms of our Savior...not yet. Often God speaks to us, but the silences are more familar to us. And he does call us friends, but even the closest of friends are silent sometimes.

But how does that restraint show love?

For one thing, I think restraint is an expression of trust. God trusts us enough to know that we will continue to love him, whether or not he expresses that love in everyday ways that are always obvious - ways that make us feel good. And we learn to trust that our Father loves us, whether or not he says so (at least in the form of good feelings, constant words of encouragement, and other ways we come to depend on). Often, too, I think the lack of the good feelings we long for push us to remember the cross...the expression of love we live on. In our Father's restraint, we learn to trust his goodness, nearness, and love.

And so restraint also has to do with a kind of knowing that is intimate. Those who know me best know me well enough to know not only what they should say to me, but also what I'll understand even without their saying. And in the same way, I think God knows us well enough to know what he doesn't have to say to us. He knows what we'll pick up on, and sometimes he doesn't give us much more than that. But that is more than enough.

I think God loves us in a way that is stronger than we can ever feel, because, in all its pure, powerful beauty, to feel its full expression is more than we can bear. And so, perhaps the restraint of those who love us (and also the restraint of God) speaks of a love stronger than we have the capacity now to hold.

May our Father give us the grace to recognize his love in restraint, and may we have the strength to show that same kind of love to one another.

Remembering

2006-01-07T01:56:00.000-06:00

I've found myself thinking about the discipline of remembering lately. As I look to a future with a lot of changes happening soon, I've been working hard to remember that my Father has dealt with me in goodness, faithfulness, mercy, and love. I can't see into the future, but like the ancient Israelites, I am called to look back and remember where I've come from, trusting that the God who has led me this far will not abandon me now, but will stay just as close - leading me in love, teaching me his ways, and using me to bring the love, peace, and grace of his kingdom to the world.

I recently read a sermon preached by Frederick Buechner called "A Room Called Remember" (in a book by that same title). The whole sermon struck me, especially this:

"To remember my life is to remember countless times when I might have given up, gone under, when humanly speaking I might have gotten lost beyond the power of any to find me. But I didn't. And each of you, with all the memories you have and the tales you could tell, you also have not given up. You are also survivors and are here. And what does that tell us? It tells us that weak as we are, a strength beyond our strength has pulled us through at least this far, at least to this day. Foolish as we are, a wisdom beyond our wisdom has flickered up just often enough to light us if not to the right path through the forest, at least to a path that leads forward, that is bearable. Faint of heart as we are, a love beyond our power to love has kept our hearts alive. . . .

" . . . 'Remember the wonderful works that he has done,' goes David's song - remember what he has done in the lives of each of us, and beyond that remember what he has done in the life of the world; remember above all what he has done in Christ - remember those moments in our own lives when with only the dullest understanding but with the sharpest longing we have glimpsed that Christ's kind of life is the only life that matters and that all other kinds of life are riddled with death; remember those moments in our lives when Christ came to us in countless disguises through people who one way or another strengthened us, comforted us, healed us, judged us, by the power of Christ alive within them. All that is the past. All that is what there is to remember. And because that is the past, because we remember, we have this high and holy hope: that what he has done, he will continue to do, that what he has begun in us and our world, he will in unimaginable ways bring to fullness and fruition."

Thank you, our Father, for your goodness, bringing us this far. As we remember the ways you've been near us and blessed us until today, please give us the courage and faith to trust you with our futures. Thank you for your faithfulness.

Simple and True

2006-01-03T03:02:00.000-06:00

Sometimes it's important to remember simple things, I think. I know it's important for me to do that, especially since I have a tendency to overcomplicate things. Sometimes it's good to hear something simple and true, and then to simply live in response to that truth.

On Sunday, our pastor preached on Psalm 121. It was a way to remember God's faithfulness to us in the past, and to also strengthen our faith in His continued care. Here's the psalm:

I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip - the one who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, the one who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The LORD watches over you - the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

Our Father has taken care of us up until this point, and watches over us still. I'm grateful that I can have faith in His constant protection, love, and care.

Not new or terribly profound, I know . . . but important still.

Learning from my mom

2005-12-29T02:35:00.000-06:00

This past week my mom has been recovering from an appendectomy (she's doing really well now, though!) and my dad has been away working, so I've been helping out with things at home. My responsibilities have included taking care of my younger brothers (including making time just to spend time with them, making them feel special and loved), doing grocery shopping, cleaning the house, and keeping up with the family's laundry. Even though it's been hard work, I've enjoyed being able to take care of my mom and help my family out.

I've also learned a lot through this experience.

Since I was young I've always been pretty helpful around the house, but it wasn't until this week that I realized how much it takes to maintain a household. It's almost scary that no matter how many loads of laundry are washed in a day, there's always more to do the next morning, and no matter how clean the house is at the end of the day, it doesn't take long before it needs to be cleaned all over again (if I ever doubted the law of entropy before, I certainly believe in it now!). And wow...money sure goes fast even when it's spent wisely and on necessary items. Even though I've experienced all this on a much smaller scale when it comes to taking care of myself, I am now very aware of how much it's magnified when it comes to taking care of a 6-member family.

I've been learning a lot through this experience.

For one thing, my respect and appreciation for my parents (especially my mom) has skyrocketed. I realize how much I take for granted all the little things they do to keep our household running smoothly, and how little they demand our appreciation, let alone even our recognition or acknowledgement.

It makes me want to be more like my mom. By spending this week in her shoes I have been able to not just witness her selflessness -- I've also come to experience what it takes to give so generously and love in such a way that I care about the needs of others as if they were my own, even if it means sacrificing. (I've also learned that my mom does a much better job at this than I do, and that I have a lot to learn, still!)

If I'm ever blessed with a family of my own to take care of, I hope that I can serve them like my mom serves us. And until then, I pray that I can learn to live like my mom, giving and loving like her (and like Jesus).

Come, ye Sinners

2005-12-24T00:05:00.000-06:00

Last night a friend shared this hymn with me, and it resonated with me. I appreciate it so much that I can't help but share it:

Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and power.

Refrain
I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
O there are ten thousand charms.

Come, ye thirsty, come, and welcome,
God’s free bounty glorify;
True belief and true repentance,
Every grace that brings you nigh.

Come, ye weary, heavy laden,
Lost and ruined by the fall;
If you tarry till you’re better,
You will never come at all.

View Him prostrate in the garden;
On the ground your Maker lies.
On the bloody tree behold Him;
Sinner, will this not suffice?

Lo! th’incarnate God ascended,
Pleads the merit of His blood:
enture on Him, venture wholly,
Let no other trust intrude.

Let not conscience make you linger,
Not of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requireth
Is to feel your need of Him.

Oh, come...

2005-12-22T00:25:00.000-06:00

Throughout this season of Advent, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to anticipate the coming of Christ.

Through my growing-up years, I had been pretty good about remembering the first coming of Jesus, and I still often find myself marveling at the mystery of God taking on humanity and dwelling among us. And as I've gotten older and become increasingly aware of my own depravity and brokenness, I've also grown accustomed to longing for Christ to continually come to my life - to me - healing me and making me whole. This year I am still deeply aware of those comings of Christ, but I am also finding within myself now a longing for Christ's return that is so acute that sometimes it hurts.

This past week I've been working through the morning and evening prayers I've found in the Catholic book of Christian Prayer: the Liturgy of the Hours. What I've been especially struck by are the intercessory prayers of both morning and evening, refraining, "Come, Lord Jesus!"

With my own brokenness and the frailty of those I love before me, remembering those I've loved who have died and are dying, longing for things to once again be the way they're supposed to be, and filled with the hope and joy of Emmanuel's first Advent, I deeply and sometimes painfully long for the fulfillment of my prayer - more than that, the Church's prayer - that He will come back to us soon.

Until then, as I wait in faith and cling to hope with my brothers and sisters, I find myself praying prayers like these, and taking them up into my life:

Jesus Christ is the joy and happiness of all who look forward to his coming. Let us call upon him and say:
Come, Lord, and do not delay!
In joy we wait for your coming,
come, Lord Jesus.
Before time began, you shared life with the Father,
come now and save us.
You created the world and all who live in it,
come to redeem the work of your hands.
You did not hesitate to become man, subject to death,
come to free us from the power of death.
You came to give us life to the full,
come and give us your unending life.
You desire all people to live in love in your kingdom,
come and bring together those who long to see you face to face.

(from December 17 evening prayer)

Houses of the Living

2005-12-04T01:10:00.000-06:00

Last night I was flipping through a journal that I kept last spring, and I came across a quote I had written down from Nicholas Wolterstorff's Lament for a Son:

"I begin to understand why humanity has regarded its burial grounds as sacred sites. Under each of these plots has been laid to rest what remained of one of God's images on earth, one of his icons. Those icon-remains hallow this place.

"I suppose if that's true, then the houses of the living are even more hallowed."

As my roommates and I have been milling about our dorm room today, and with friends coming in and out, I've been thinking about what a sacred place this is. And when I can see clearly enough to look someone in the face and think, "image of God", my pulse quickens and I all but tremble.

Since it gets dark so early now, I often walk across campus and see lights on in people's rooms. And I've come to recognize how beautiful a thing it is to live in the presence of living icons.

And I'm humbled to realize that I, too, am a living image of God, hallowing this place.

a year ago today

2005-12-02T22:18:00.000-06:00

Oh, I almost forgot to share this. A year ago today was a turning point for me: the day I decided to go to seminary (see December 6, 2004 entry). And exactly a year later (to the day!), I handed application references to my professors. Wow.

I'm grateful for and so amazed by God's guidance and the way He cares for His children.

Lord, have mercy...

2005-12-02T19:32:00.000-06:00

I've been at a loss for words all semester. It's evidenced here, and also in my journal. I'm thinking about a lot, but have been having a hard time expressing it.

It's evidenced, too, in my prayers. My desire to pray has been so strong, but when it comes to voicing something, I almost always end up silent.

Last night, I was with a bunch of theology students, talking about the Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." I appreciate that so much because it puts into words the prayers I've been wordlessly expressing the past few months. I appreciate it, too, because it reminds me of my place before God: one in so much need of mercy, in the presence of the Living God, who loves her tremendously. And it also reminds me of my place with others: sharing life together, all in need of both God's mercy and each other's mercy. I'm grateful for that reality and truth, and grateful to see from that perspective.

And indeed...
Lord, have mercy on us.

Writer's block...

2005-11-12T00:40:00.000-06:00

Yep.

(Thanks to those of you who check up on this anyway, even though I've been at a loss for what to say lately.)

Ten years ago today...

2005-10-16T01:57:00.000-05:00

Today is the ten-year anniversary of my baptism.

I remember standing before my congregation trembling, publicly confessing my faith. I remember the nervousness causing my knees to shake and the excitement causing my heart to pound. I remember the warm water, and how I was plunged underneath (buried with Christ, the pastor said) . . . and I remember my first breath when I rose again (and raised to walk a new life). I remember the handshakes and embraces I received from members of the congregation. It was the first church I had ever been a part of, and had only been there for two months. But as they embraced me or took my hand, I heard over and over, "Welcome to the family."

I was eleven years old. At the time I wasn't aware of all the joy, depth, and mystery that would be mine in Christ, but I was very conscious of the fact that, in this act of baptism, I was acknowledging God's hand on me and His work in my life. I knew that I was called to respond by following Him with everything I had. I knew that God had been working in me and that my life was not my own, but His.

Something changed that day.

I can look back now and see that God had been working in me way before that day -- even before I was born. And I know that my baptism was not about a decision I made as much as it was an expression of God's grace toward me. But on that brisk October morning, I very clearly understood that I died in that water, and that I rose with Christ living in me.

For a decade now, I've been living in this pattern of dying and rising: dying to myself and the sin that I still wrestle with, and rising with this Christ-life that is mysteriously mine. It's been a decade of struggle, to be sure, but it has also been a beautiful decade marked by Life. I've screwed up a lot, but I can look back and see that even so, He's been good to me. And I'm united with Christ. Somehow, I've participated in His death and will also be united with Him in His resurrection.

The mystery of the union of the Triune God and an eleven-year-old girl (now a twenty-one-year-old young woman) still leaves me in awe.

Alive

2005-10-01T00:23:00.000-05:00

I never gave it much thought before, but I realized this week that I almost always wake up in the mornings thinking about whatever it was I fell asleep thinking about the night before. Sometimes that means I wake up continuing a prayer I fell asleep praying. Other times, it's meant that I wake up preoccupied with the same cares I fell asleep mulling over. I don't think I had ever before considered the impact that my last waking thoughts of the night would have on my whole next day.

I've been working on a project with a friend the past month, and we've been asking people to share prayers with us that have been meaningful to them. One of my professors shared a number of prayers that are traditionally prayed right before one falls asleep. What really struck me about these prayers was the way they all likened sleep to death and waking to resurrection. And I appreciate that imagery so much because in the daily rhythms of waking and sleeping and waking, I find myself keenly aware of my participation in the larger rhythm humanity finds itself in: living and dying and waiting to rise.

For the past few days, I've tried to be deliberate about keeping these things in mind as I fall asleep. So, as I turn off the lights and lay in the dark, I think about the darkness of death. And as I try to calm my racing thoughts and surrender myself to sleep, I think about the stillness of death that I will some day be forced to surrender to. I know that as I lay there asleep, I will no longer be able to protect myself like I do in my waking hours, and I entrust myself to the hands of God, knowing that my very life rests in Him. And I try to find myself in the story that we're all found in.

What amazes me about all this, though, is the way I wake up. The first time I tried falling asleep like this, the first thought to enter my mind the next morning was, I'm alive...I'm alive. After I got out of bed, I took a walk in the brisk autumn air, and as I walked the trail and watched the sun shine through the trees, my breath was taken away, and all I could think was, "Oh God, I'm alive!"

It was a small thing, I know, but I caught a glimpse of the resurrection. And the entire day, I was awed by the fact that I was breathing, thinking, seeing, feeling...living. And as I went to lay down that night, returning my thoughts to humanity's weakness and helplessness, I couldn't help but think more about our participation in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ; the life that will await us in the morning; and the life that will call us even from our graves.

We're alive.

Behold the man!

2005-09-15T21:42:00.000-05:00

A friend and I were doing homework together today, and one of our assignments was to read a chapter of _Philosophical Fragments_ by Soren Kierkegaard. In this section, Kierkegaard writes about how God lowers Himself to reach His people (the 'learners'), to be unified with them. I didn't expect to encounter God like this in my philosophy homework, but this passage struck me.

It's a little long, I know, but it's worth the time to sit and read it. It reads a lot like a homily, actually. Anyway, I hope this will mean something for you as well:

"If, then, the unity [between God and a person] could not be brought about by an ascent, then it must be attempted by a descent. Let the learner be X, and this X must also include the lowliest, for if even Socrates did not keep company solely with brilliant minds, how then could the god make distinctions! In order for unity to be effected, the god must become like this one. He will appear, therefore, as equal of the lowliest of persons. But the lowliest of all is the one who must serve others - consequently, the god will appear in the form of a servant. But this form of a servant is not something put on like the king's plebian cloak, which just by flapping open would betray the king; it is not something put on like the light Socratic summer cloak, which, although woven from nothing, yet is concealing and revealing - but it is his true form . . .

" . . . Look, there he stands - the god. Where? There. Can you not see him? He is the god, and yet he has no place where he can lay his head, and he does not dare to turn to any person lest that person be offended at him. He is the god, and yet he walks more circumspectly than if angels were carrying him - not to keep him from stumbling, but so that he may not tread in the dust the people who are offended at him. He is the god, and yet his eyes rest with concern on the human race, for the individual's tender shoot can be crushed as readily as a blade of grass. Such a life - sheer love and sheer sorrow . . . Thus does the god stand upon the earth, like unto the lowliest through his omnipotent love . . .

" . . . But the form of the servant was not something put on. Therefore the god must suffer all things, endure all things, be tried in all things, hunger in the desert, thirst in his agonies, be forsaken in death, absolutely the equal of the lowliest of human beings - look, behold the man! The suffering of death is not in his suffering, but his whole life is a story of suffering, and it is love that suffers, love that gives all and is itself destitute. What wonderful self-denial to ask in concern, even though the learner is the lowliest of persons: Do you really love me? For he himself knows where the danger threatens, and yet he knows that for him any easier way would be deception, even though the learner would not understand it.

" . . . But the form of the servant was not something put on, and therefore he must expire in death and in turn leave the earth. Though my sorrow were deeper than the mother's sorrow when the sword pierces her heart, and though my situation were more terrible than the believer's when the power of faith fails, and though my misery were more moving than that of a person who crucifies his hope and retains only the cross - nevertheless, if I pleaded with him to spare himself and remain, I no doubt would see him grieved unto death, but grieved also for me, because this suffering must be for my benefit; but his sorrow would also be the sorrow that I could not understand him. O bitter cup - more bitter than wormwood is the ignominy of death for a mortal - how must it be, then, for the immortal one! O sour thirst-quencher, more sour than vinegar - to be refreshed by the beloved's misunderstanding! O consolation in distress to suffer as one guilty - what must it be, then, to suffer as one who is innocent!

" . . . And the learner - has he no share or part in this story of suffering, even though his lot is not that of the teacher? Yet it has to be this way, and it is love that gives rise to all this suffering, precisely because the god is not zealous for himself but in love wants to be the equal of the most lowly of the lowly . . . And the situation of understanding - how terrifying, for it is indeed less terrifying to fall upon one's face while the mountains tremble at the god's voice than to sit with him as his equal. And yet the god's concern is precisely to sit this way."

Be Thou My Vision

2005-09-11T23:47:00.000-05:00

This could very well be my favorite hymn of all time. I find myself resonating with it so much. Maybe part of it is the fact that I, like the song, have Gaelic roots. And in different seasons of my life, I find myself clinging to certain verses so tightly. For a few years now, this song has been a very important reminder of God's power and His love for me.

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me save that Thou art
Thou my best thought by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my Light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord
Thou my great Father and I Thy true son
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my Battle-shield, my strength for the fight
Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight
Thou my soul's shelter and Thou my high Tower
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise
Thou my Inheritance now and always
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart
High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of heaven, the victory won
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Following the pilgrim God

2005-08-26T01:54:00.000-05:00

I moved back to campus on Sunday, and because I'm the only person in our suite all week, I've been taking my time unpacking. I've been putting a lot more effort into organization, and, because of a personal project I'm working on to increasingly simplify my life, I've also been sorting through my things, getting rid of the stuff I know I'll never use (or just don't need anymore).

Today I worked on sorting through and putting away all my clothes. I didn't expect for it to become a spiritual experience, but as I was deciding what to keep and what to throw away, I suddenly realized that what I was doing had to do with more than just clothes.

One of the main reasons why I've decided to simplify my life this year is because it's a necessary preparation for when I leave for seminary next year. I need to better learn thankfulness and contentment, and don't want to be so caught up in the stuff I have (or don't have) that I feel the weight of what I own and carry it as a burden.

As I sorted through my clothes today, I realized that every old t-shirt or pair of socks I threw away was, in a very literal way, lightening the load that I'll have to carry with me when I soon leave this place. But here's what got me: every single thing I threw away (and even more so everything I kept) was the source of some kind of emotional attachment for me. When I threw out old t-shirts, it was hard to convince myself that I wasn't throwing out the memories with them. And I was left having to trust that God would help me remember what I needed to remember, whether or not I held onto the clothes.

And there in my room, I found myself facing the God who bids me come and follow Him, and also found myself accutely aware of my need to trust Him. I hear His call to surrender everything I hold dear, knowing that He will give me a load to carry, but that it will be light -- maybe even lighter than I'd like it to be. But I trust that He will give me what I need, and that my loose grip on things I love too much will enable me to get up quickly, and follow Him on this long (and often uncertain) road with endurance and strength.

Because the truth of it is that as much as this world is indeed my home, I've never been truly settled, and probably won't be until Jesus finishes His work and makes everything right. So my task is not to sink my roots anywhere so deeply that I'll die if I ever come uprooted; my task is to follow my God wherever He tells me to go and to do anything He tells me to do. And like Abraham and his pilgrim children, though I can't see very far ahead, I will travel light and will set up camp anywhere He tells me to. What else can I do but follow this God, and trust that wherever I pitch my tent, I will be dwelling in my Father's house?

As I was thinking about all this tonight, I came across Psalm 84. The whole psalm grabbed me, especially these lines:

Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you.
Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the valley of Baca [the bitter valley], they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.

Abide With Me

2005-08-16T23:52:00.000-05:00

I was flipping through the Psalter Hymnal again today (I can't help myself...I enjoy it so much!), and found a hymn that absolutely grabbed my attention. I've never sung it before (I've never even heard of it before), but I have a feeling this will stay with me for a long time.

I think the main reason why this captures me is because it speaks the words that I often try to say -- the words my heart often prays when I wake up in the middle of the night. And although I'm not nearly so eloquent, I often find myself praying with this same spirit. This song is a translation for my faint and often wordless whispers.

Maybe it will be a translation for yours, too.

[edit: I found all the verses, a little bit of background, and the music to this song on the Cyber Hymnal. It's just a cheesy midi, but the melody struck me anyway. You can go to it here: http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/a/b/abidewme.htm]
-----

"Abide With Me"
-Henry Lyte

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away.
Change and decay in all around I see
O thou who changest not, abide with me.

I need thy presence every passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord abide with me.

I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitternes.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

The Story Room

2005-07-31T23:52:00.000-05:00

For a couple months now, I've been trying to think of a better title for this blog. I haven't been happy with what I've had thus far, because it hasn't really captured what I'm trying to do.

So I've been thinking about what I do here and realized that, basically, I'm telling stories. Whether they're stories of something that has happened to me, something I've been thinking about, or sharing a bit of somebody else's story through something I've read (or sung!), I think we can all find a bit of ourselves in these stories. And I hope that through the telling of and listening to those stories, we can better recognize our place in the great and beautiful story of the people of God.

So...welcome to the story room.

Make Me a Channel of Your Peace

2005-07-20T12:36:00.000-05:00

Here's another hymn that struck me this week. This one's text was written by St. Francis of Assisi in the 13th century:

"Make Me a Channel of Your Peace"

Make me a channel of your peace.
Where there is hatred let me bring your love;
Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord;
and where there's doubt, true faith in you.

O Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace.
Where there's despair in life, let me bring hope;
Where there is darkness, let me bring your light;
And where there's sadness, ever joy.

O Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
In giving to all people, we receive;
And in dying that we're born to eternal life.

Christian, Do You Struggle?

2005-07-16T23:44:00.000-05:00

I was flipping through the Psalter Hymnal last night and came across this song. The text is attributed to Andrew of Crete, written sometime between 660-732 AD. I love coming across Christian texts of long ago, and I was especially struck by the last stanza.

"Christian, Do You Struggle?"

Christian, do you struggle on the battle ground
'gainst the powers of darkness closing in around?
Christian, rise, take armor, soldier of the cross;
for the sake of Jesus count your gain but loss.

Christian, do you battle Satan's power within
all his striving, luring, tempting you to sin?
Christian, do not tremble, do not be downcast;
Arm yourself for battle, watch and pray and fast.

Christian, do you wrestle those who taunt and claim,
"Why keep fast and vigil? Prayer is said in vain!"
Christian, answer boldly: "While I breathe I pray!"
Peace shall follow battle, night shall end in day.

Smelling the sunset

2005-07-13T11:07:00.000-05:00

The following is an email I sent to a friend earlier this week (with minor adaptations to make it suitable for a blog, as opposed to a personal email). Anyway, I was so blessed by the experience I wrote about that I wanted to share it with you all as well:

It was really cloudy down here today. I worked at the pool from 3:30 til close, and it was really slow, because the cloudiness really deterred people from wanting to come and swim.

So, right as I was getting ready to leave at 8:30 tonight, I looked up in the sky, and before me was an absolutely beautiful sunset. Though the sky was blanketed with clouds all day and evening, the sky broke open enough to close the day with a sunset that literally took my breath away. It was beautiful.

Sunsets always do something to me. Every time I get a chance to watch something like that, I can't help but think of God's faithfulness in causing the sun to rise and set every single day. The rising and the setting of the sun sing clearly the song of our Father's faithfulness to me. Every time I see the sun set, I can almost audibly hear the Holy Spirit, in the strong, stern, gentle voice of a father, say to me, "Erin Michele, I have been faithful to you today. In the heat of the day, in the pain, in the joy, in the frustration, and in the everyday-ness of life, I have been with you. I did not leave your side for a second, and I carried you through, till the very end of the day. And let this be a reminder to you that as the darkness sets in, I will be faithful to you tonight as well. Whatever darkness or fear or uncertainty meets you tonight, I will be with you, faithful as I have always been." And in the same way, when I can catch a morning sunrise, with our Father's big arms around me, I can hear him say, "I've taken care of you tonight. Let that be a reminder that I will be faithful to you today as well."

So, as I was walking back to my car from work tonight, I heard His voice again, and I had to literally stop in my tracks, staring at the sunset, and listening to those comorting, familiar words. And I realized tonight that He not only says, "Erin Michele, I have been faithful to you", but He also says, "My sons and daughters scattered throughout the entire earth...the whole world that I have created: I have been faithful to you, little ones. Hunger and thirst for my righteousness, because I have been faithful to you, and I promise you that I will deal righteously in this fallen and broken world, and will restore things and make them right again."

And as I stood there, breathing in as deeply as I could the smell of the sunset-tinted air, I felt God's grace rest heavily upon me...and upon His world.

It makes me think of all the worries and concerns I'd been wrestling with recently, and they were never in such clear perspective as they were then. Now, added to the image I've had of following Jesus at his heels, I now look up and see the huge sky burning with pink and orange, and see our Father stretch His hands over the entire expanse as He says, "As you follow me, I will be faithful to you. Holy and sovereign and mighty...you are under my canopy and in my hands. Remember my faithfulness to you, and know that I will continue to be nothing but faithful."

And then to think that this huge, mighty God, filling the whole earth, would stoop down to whisper in my ear...in your ears...and say, "Daughters and sons, I am choosing you to tell of my faithfulness, and to be an instrument of my righteousness on earth"...wow. How can I respond but to fall to my knees in humble submission and gratitude...and then to rise with courage?

And then as I was riding home, I was playing a Waterdeep song, and the words of Psalm 131 filled my ears. The words are such an appropriate response.

Here's the psalm, in the words of Waterdeep:

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up.
My eyes are not raised too high for Thee.
I do not think on things too great or marvelous
Or matters too difficult for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.
And I have calmed and quieted my soul
Like a weaned child with his mother is my soul.
Oh Israel trust in the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore.

Thanks be to God.

May the grace of our King rest upon you heavily. May His faithfulness cause you to rise in courage.

Angry at Injustice

2005-07-09T23:58:00.000-05:00

This summer, I'm working for our park district's water park. I'm a front gate worker, which means I check people's bags for food and alcohol, work the cash register, and help patrons with any questions or problems they may have.

Tonight, while I was working one of the cash registers, a woman came up to our office. We let her in, and basically she told us, "I found some money laying on the ground, so if anyone comes to look for it, I have it. I'll come by in a little while to see if anyone reported some money missing."

Now, right away this didn't make sense to me, so I told the lady, "Ma'am, if someone's looking for their money, there's a good chance that we won't be able to find you in the park to track it down. We need to hold the money up here in front, so when the person who lost it is looking for it, it'll be right here." And I didn't expect this, but the woman became very upset with me. And with anger in her eyes, she stared at me, trying to intimidate me. It had to have been a solid 10 or 15 seconds where her eyes were locked on mine. I'm used to holding someone's gaze (in fact, I'm afraid I unintentially intimidate people with my own eyes sometimes!), so I just stared back, confident that I was doing the right thing.

One of the other workers in the office broke the silence by asking the lady how much money she had found. "I'd rather not say," she answered quickly. "It's not a lot, but I don't want to say." Hm...warning sign #2. For her to keep the amount undisclosed, it had to have been a significant amount of money.

She wasn't going to budge about giving us the money, so I told her that I was going to grab a manager so he could explain our policy to her. Our manager was only in the next room, but by the time he came into our office, she was gone. And, although she promised to return to see if anyone had reported the money missing, we closed the park without seeing her again.

Now, I'm not a person who's very easily angered; I'm pretty laid back about a lot of things. But even now, a couple hours home from work, that whole situation is still on my mind, and I'm not ok with it. The fact that the woman didn't cooperate with us isn't much of an issue to me...but what deeply bothers me is the fact that she went home with someone else's money. Somebody is going to miss the money they lost tonight, and this woman is going to spend money that she should have nothing to do with...it's not hers.

And although it was only a small incident, my eyes were opened a bit more tonight to the whole issue of injustice in the world. And getting just a small taste of what's behind it made me understand all the more why God hates it. When people care more about the money on the ground than the people to whom it belongs, we know that there's something deeply wrong in our world...even inside ourselves.

I don't mean to rail on this woman. To tell you the truth, my heart goes out to her. If she was that hellbent on going home with a couple extra dollars, she must be dealing with a lot. And I don't know anything about her or her life...maybe she really did need it. Maybe...

And I know I need to be careful because I'm just as capable of committing injustice as this person was. And maybe I don't carry it out in such obvious ways all the time, but I'm guilty of selfishness and favoritism and other vehicles of injustice, too. I'm a broken woman as well.

But I do have a point in telling this story. I'm telling it because I realize how important it is to God that we watch out for one another...and that we love people more than we love things. I never thought before about how committing injustice leads us to so disrespect the God in whose image we're made. Not only do we show little love to the victims of our injustice, but we also forget our own identity as God's image-bearers...His representatives on earth. It makes us forget who we are.

May God have mercy on us.

And may He also give us the heart and strength to live justly, in the knowledge of our identity in Him.

Hello out there...

2005-07-08T16:40:00.000-05:00

I'm just curious who comes 'round these parts. I know some of you who come by and read, but not all, I don't think. So, if you feel so inclined, feel free to add a comment and let me know who you are. : )

More dangerous than I realized

2005-07-04T21:06:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening, after having spent the afternoon reading and relaxing, I got a phone call from my dear friend, Anna. It was so good to spend a couple hours talking and catching up...but she also shared some surprising information with me. Let's back up a little bit...

Back in May, Anna and Amanda came over to my house, and we spent some time rough-housing with each other and my ten-year-old brother, Peter. Near the end of our playtime, Anna snuck up behind me and began tickling me. Being crazy-ticklish, my body reacted to protect itself, and I elbowed Anna smack in the nose...hard (my elbow actually hurt from the impact). Anna was a good sport about it all, but her nose was a bit swollen and bruised for about a week afterwards.

So, yesterday Anna told me that she had visted her doctor this past week, and he informed her that her nose had been broken. It's true...I broke Anna's nose.

Now, for people who know me but don't know the details of the story, it would be kind of funny to tell people that I broke Anna's nose; I might actually seem tough. (OK, probably not, but the thought did cross my mind.)

Hm...It's not that I'm a violent person, but I am a spaz, and I think that sometimes makes me unintentially dangerous. (This same sort of spaziness has also caused me to accidentally fling glasses off of my friend Amanda's face, and even to hit one of my professors, too...and I'm sure there are other incidents I don't remember offhand.)

The moral of this story? Don't mess with me. ;-)

Actually, I just figured you all might appreciate the story. (And may God bless Anna for her kindness and mercy to me!)

Words of blessing

2005-06-19T00:11:00.000-05:00

Throughout this past school year, I've been thinking a lot about words of blessing. It was never something I thought much about before, probably because I wasn't exposed to it all that much. However, for the past few months, I feel like I've been soaked with words of blessing.

I can actually remember the first time a blessing caught my attention. During our fall convocation a couple years ago at school, the professors held out their hands toward the student body as our chaplain offered a blessing for us...and then we held our hands out toward the faculty as he offered a blessing for them.

And as I've been regularly attending services in the Christian Reformed Church, I've come to greatly look forward to the time at the end of the service where our pastor raises his hands and speaks God's blessing to us. It has come to be a source of encouragement, refreshment, and life to me.

And these words of blessing have become so important to me that I find myself offering them to others, often so naturally that I don't always realize I do it. Back at school, when my friends and I part ways, we've often found ourselves raising our hands toward each other a little bit and saying something like, "Peace to you." And the crazy thing is that it's not forced or some kind of expression of false piety; it's so natural that we would have to try in order to not do it. These words have come up in emails a lot, too. As I correspond with fellow students and professors, there is a handful of people who often speak words of blessing and truth to me. Even something as simple as a closing line saying something like, "The grace, peace, and love of Christ be with you" has come to mean so much to me. I know the words are chosen carefully and deliberately, and are expressed in sincerity and deep faith.

I've been thinking a lot lately about why these words of blessing are as powerful as they are. And while it's still largely a mystery to me, I've come to believe that there is something mysteriously beautiful and powerful about the saints of God speaking words of blessing and truth to one another. In these words, we remind each other of the promises God has made to us and the blessings that He does, in fact, give to His children. They remind us of who we are and redirect our focus on the God who is Lord of the world, and of us all.

This past semester I took a class on the New Testament Epistles, and spent a significant amount of time studying the letters of Paul. I'm struck by the greetings and benedictions he offers, always marked by the grace and peace of Christ. I'm also struck by Paul's pervasive theme of being "in Christ", and how our union with Him consequently unites us to each other. And I can't help but think that these words of blessing also hold such power because the words are offered from people who are mysteriously (and in a very real way) united with Christ, and are spoken to others who are also united with both the one offering the blessing, and Christ Himself. It's such a pure expression of love and solidarity between brothers and sisters in Christ.

And it's beautiful.

And now, to the saints in Christ who come to read my little blog:

May the love of our Father, the peace of King Jesus, and the encouragement of the Holy Spirit be yours in Christ.

Thinking of Esther

2005-06-01T12:35:00.000-05:00

When Esther's words were reported to Mordecai, he sent back this answer: "Do not think that because you are in the king's house you alone of all the Jews will escape. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father's family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?" --Esther 4:12-14

I've found myself thinking about Esther quite a bit the last couple weeks.

I'm nervous and also very excited because I'm beginning an internship. I'm already seeing, though, that this is more than just something I'm doing to get school credit. I can see God's hand in all of this, and I feel like I'm going to learn a lot and that He is going to do amazing things through it.

A couple months back, one of my professors told me about a need in his church. The church has been very deliberate about reaching out to the surrounding community, and as a result, there are a handful of people who are involved in the church but who are brand new to the Christian faith. They're eager to learn the essentials of the Christian faith but are unsure where to start. So, the church is beginning a discipleship program whereby they can deepen their understanding and sink some roots into the faith. And the church needed someone to lead them. I'm still so amazed that I get to be involved in something so exciting. Everybody's so eager to learn, and I'm finding myself in an exciting place.

The other day I went on a walk with my friend, Tara, and she asked me about the internship. I was able to think aloud as I answered, and I told her that in some ways, I felt like Esther. In her situation, Mordecai told her that there was a job that somebody had to do. Even though she didn't feel especially equipped or even necessarily called, she accepted the task. If she didn't do it, God would have chosen somebody else to do it, and He would have been glorified. But when God presented Esther with the opportunity, she took it, and God did amazing things through her.

I feel like Esther these days because there is a very real need at this church. Our pastor recognizes that we need to act on this amazing opportunity quickly, before it passes. To echo a phrase he said in service this past Sunday, there is this "urgency of the harvest." A number of people are showing up at the church, eager to learn and literally asking to be taught.

I'm still not quite sure why God wants to involve me in all of this, but I'm very grateful for it. I'm praying that I will be faithful in the task that He's calling me to. And even though I'm nervous about how everything is going to work, I'm praying that God will keep giving me faith, that He'll use me, and that He'll work powerfully in people's lives (mine, too!).

I'm looking forward to seeing what's ahead!

I secretly long to be St. Francis

2005-05-27T22:21:00.000-05:00

OK, not exactly. I'll be honest - I don't know very much about him. But I heard that he talked to animals and preached to the birds, and I'm thinking that if we lived at the same time, I'd be out there with him. I promise I'm not nuts, but I've been talking to animals a lot lately! I've been working hard on training our puppy, reasurring our cat when I took him to the vet today, greeting my fish when I feed him in the mornings, and saying hello to ducks whenever I see them around. It's a part of me I never outgrew, I think.

Anyway, I was flipping through a journal I kept last year for my Life of Prayer class, and came across this entry. I ejoyed writing it, and I think it's relevant here:

"As I'm sitting here at my desk, I'm looking at my red and blue Betta fish, Grandpa. I often (probably too often!) find myself staring at him and watching him swim and make faces at himself in the mirror that's behind his bowl when I should be working on my homework, undistracted. But he does distract me, and I'm captivated by him.

"Sometimes I wonder what Grandpa would be doing if he wasn't in my bowl on my desk, but was instead in the ocean somewhere, or wherever Bettas come from. Would he keep himself in a little pocket of water, or would he swim all over the place, happy for his space and freedom?

"It sounds silly, but I wonder if Grandpa is happy to be living in a bowl on my desk - even though I do feed him, care for his home, and give him attention. I know he's a little fish with a tiny fish brain, but I often wonder what he thinks about his life. Still, I have a feeling he's not discontent.

"I love to take care of Grandpa. Sometimes I wonder why that brings me so much joy. It's amazing to me that changing water in a bowl and dropping pellets of food into the water could affect me the way it does. And it's not like I'm a crazy animal-lover. It's true that I enjoy animals very much, but I'm well aware that Grandpa's "rights" are in some ways very different from my own. There's something that goes deeper than just this fish.

"I recognize that I have authority over Grandpa's life. Although I would hate it, I realize I have the power to squish Grandpa. He's so tiny; his life is fragile. But even though I have the power to destroy him, I'm compelled to care for him. There's something in me that longs to use the power I have to protect and nurture him.

"It makes sense. Through Adam and Eve, God comissioned me to have authority over the land and its creatures. I'd be silly (and out of my mind!) to think Grandpa and I could ever be equals. I take pleasure in my authority over him. God has comissioned me to care for this creature. I know I'm doing my job well when I see his beautiful body and clean water with all those little bubble nests.

"Why does all this excite me? I take pleasure in my authority over this little fish because God is taking care of him through me. I was created in the image of God, and I experience evidence of this when I'm privileged to rule. As God's image-bearer, I delight in being like Him. Sometimes I forget who I am, but in a little thing like taking care of Grandpa, I'm reminded again.

"I'm smiling now, realizing that Grandpa the Betta fish reminds me of who I am in Christ. And it reminds me that in the way I love and take care of Grandpa, God also loves and takes care of us - though so much better.

I'm marveled by all of this."

Now that I'm home

2005-05-23T01:20:00.000-05:00

I'm home for the summer now, and finally ready for it, I think. It's always quite a change coming back here from school. Things at home are good, but definitely different. During the first couple weeks of transition, I almost always find myself doing a lot of thinking about where I've come from, what I've learned, how I've changed, who I am, and where I'm going.

I think one of the biggest challenges for me (and those around me) is adjusting to the ways I've changed over the course of the year. I can confidently say that this year has been an important one, and that I can see many ways in which God has made me more like Christ. I've also changed a lot in my thinking about certain things, and have even picked up a couple new mannerisms (though not on purpose!). I look on those things and am deeply grateful for all of them, because I'm excited about the person I'm growing into. Still, this makes me a bit unfamiliar to some, and they aren't quite as grateful for some of the changes as I am. Even though I'm always me and there's a lot that doesn't change, I've run into people who want me exactly the way they remember me.

It's a tricky thing to be told that who you are isn't really you, and that they'll break you of these things that are new. It can leave you wondering if what they say is true (even if, in your heart of hearts, you know it's not).

My prayer for this summer is to be able to take things like this in stride, trusting God to continue teaching me and making me more and more like Christ. I want to be receptive to those who have known me a very long time and still be true to who God is making me. And I pray that I will be a blessing to them.

Smelling the lilacs

2005-05-18T18:37:00.000-05:00

Due to the amount of brain activity that I've been exerting the past couple weeks, I haven't been able to be as insightful or thoughtful as I'd like to be. However, even as I've been on a sort of "survival mode", trying to get everything done, I've been trying to make it a discipline to just stop for a little bit every day. Even if that means losing time on work, it's been a source of necessary refreshment.

Today, a couple really neat things stand out to me, and I recognize God giving me bits of beautiful things to sustain me:

I had breakfast this morning with a dear friend, and a professor who means a lot to me. It was a source of encouragement that ran so deep that I still find myself reflecting on the morning, like I'm carrying it around in my heart.

Earlier this morning I went for a walk on the Trinity Trail, and periodically stopped to bend over and smell the flowers. I had never done that before. I enjoyed it so much that I've found myself smelling flowers all over campus today.

I just got back from going to the carwash with my same dear friend...we went not only to get the car clean, but to watch the soap and water against the windows. (It ended up being not as relaxing as we planned, and actually a little scary...but laughing was just as good!)

I think I'm refreshed enough to hit the books for the rest of the night.

A quick work break

2005-05-17T13:10:00.000-05:00

I've been working all morning on a paper that's due later this week, and my brain is currently stuck. I think I need to spend a couple minutes being creative to get everything working again... [edit: I looked and saw that my pictures got squished to the left side...but you can still figure out what they are...but they were cooler when they were spaced the right way!]

() ()
..
=<=
U

(that's a mousee)

[] [] []
=========
[] [] [] []

(that's a street with houses)

> >
+ +
(--)
P

(that looks like an unhappy/sick pig)

? ?
..
@
U

(that's a happy pig)

{} []
l

(that's bread and wine...it's the subject of the paper I'm writing!)

Haha...that's really funny to me. OK, time to get back to work...

We got a puppy!

2005-05-05T18:54:00.000-05:00

I just got off the phone with my mom, and she told me that my family bought a puppy today. She's a Shetland Sheepdog, and her name is Tiffy. (I'm not huge on the name, but no worries). Rumor has it that she's so small that our cats look like giants compared to her. Oh man, I'm so excited!

Ever since I was little, I've had a soft spot for dogs. I'm so excited about hanging out and playing with her tomorrow, and helping to train her over the summer! This is honestly one of my childhood dreams come true! (I'm a nerd, I know...)

Woo!

A new level of cool

2005-05-04T13:25:00.000-05:00

So, over spring break, I watched The Incredibles with my family. Overall, the movie was pretty cute, but my favorite part had to do with the lady who designed the Incredibles' superhero suits, Edna. She was, by far, the coolest character of the whole movie. Not only was she funny, but she was short, kind of nerdy, and people called her E. I think that's way cool.

So, I've been thinking lately, I might actually have the potential to reach Edna's level of coolness. OK, I definitely don't have the artistic flair (or the awesome scientific mind), but I'm short, kind of nerdy, and some people call me E. I have a lot going for me, I think.

Time to go and do something cool...

-E
(yeah, that's right!)

Do you miss him, John?

2005-05-03T00:37:00.000-05:00

For over a year now, those words have been echoing in my mind. They're not usually in the forefront of my thoughts, but every now and then I hear them again.

It's actually the title of a poem I'm trying to write (though I don't have anything on paper yet).

Maybe I've been thinking about it more lately because I'm working on preparing a little sermon-thing for a class project we're presenting on Thursday. We have to design a worship service, and since Thursday is Ascension Day, everything in our service centers around Acts 1:1-11, where the disciples are promised the Holy Spirit and Jesus is taken up to heaven.

I'm not trying to be difficult, but this passage is hard for me. I definitely recognize the power and the mystery and the beauty of it. It gives me hope for the future when Jesus will return, and it encourages me now while I wait.

But...

I can't help but imagine the story from John's point of view. He was the one Jesus loved, and out of the Twelve, Jesus was closest with him. What was that like for John, to watch his Teacher, Savior, and quite possibly best friend disappear into the sky? I think about the overwhelming grief he must have felt when Jesus died, and I think about his unspeakable joy when he saw Jesus alive again, eating in their midst. Jesus was back! But a little over a month later, Jesus was gone again. He was alive, but he was gone.

The Holy Spirt came soon after that, so it's true that Jesus wasn't really gone for good. But it was different.

And this is where I struggle, I think. On the one hand, I feel so much joy for John (and the other disciples) because he was a witness of these amazing things, and was one of the first to have the Spirit of Christ living within him. Gosh, in his lifetime God even did miracles through him! But on the other hand, he had to watch Jesus disappear into the sky. What must that have been like?

Did he miss Jesus' booming laughter or the way he laid his arm across his shoulders? Did he miss his poignant but funny stories and the way he called his name? Did he miss his gaze and his embrace? What about all the memories he had? What was he to do with them? When he laid in bed at night, even filled with the Holy Spirit, did he feel the ache of lonliness, missing Jesus so much that he wanted to cry?

Sometimes I think it would have been cool to be in John's shoes, seeing everything he saw and being so close to Jesus. But I also think it would have been so much harder. Like John, I look forward to Jesus' return, but I don't understand what it feels like to miss him. I think I'm grateful for that.

Maybe it wasn't as hard for John as I think...or maybe it was. Maybe John knew more than I know now. Maybe it's something he learned as he got older, wiser. And what was it he learned?

And what are we to learn?

Why this weekend was good

2005-04-25T00:52:00.000-05:00

Wow...even though I did a ton of work this weekend, I had a lot of fun, too. It's amazing how much fun you can have with good friends who share your sense of adventure, joy, and, well, dorkiness. The highlights include:

Not going to formal, and instead eating cereal and sandwiches while working on homework. (It felt like a flash to our futures at seminary!)
Venturing off the proverbial (and literal) beaten path. We crossed the other side of the creek in the Trinity Trail, explored the new territory...and probably trespassed.
Making friends with some ducks. They have names now. :-)
Having a spaz when trying to cross the creek on the way back...ended up knee-deep in water. (Yeah...that one was only me!)
Creeping into the classroom building at 9:00 on a Sunday night, did some imagining and dreaming, and had an unexpected but welcome glimpse of our futures.

In conclusion, I love life and Amanda. Amen. ;-)

I won't be mistaken for a high schooler anymore...

2005-04-18T19:58:00.000-05:00

Back in November, on a trip with our high school students from church, one of the freshman girls who I was responsible for thought, the whole first day of the trip, that I was a high school freshman as well. I thought it was hilarious...for some reason, I really get a kick out of it! (And that's definitely not the only time something like that has happened!)

Now, though, all that is about to change...

I got braces today...now I can be mistaken for a jr. higher. ;-)

(In all seriousness, though, I'm very grateful for being able to begin the final step in my years of dental troubles and treatment; I really appreciate God taking care of me and getting everything all fixed!)

Witnessing transformation

2005-04-08T13:39:00.000-05:00

I've been getting up early every morning this week to take a walk, think, and pray before I enter the busyness of the day. There's a little trail behind the parking lots that runs the length of the campus. There are a lot of trees, a little creek, and a bridge near the end of the trail that's good to rest on. It's not a very long walk, but I enjoy the Trinity Trail because, even though I can see campus through the trees, I feel like I'm in a hidden world. In the mornings birds and bugs and an occasional duck are my company while I sit on the bridge and watch the sun rise.

What's been especially striking to me this week, though, is how much the scenery of the trail has changed in just a few days. On Monday morning, though it was a sunny day, the trail was mostly gray. I was excited about the little sprouts of grass I saw, and was even happy to see the green of the weeds, because that's about all the green there was. Every morning since then, there's been a noticeable difference, even from one day to the next. New trees would begin to sprout leaves, and new plants would begin to bud. Monday morning I saw mostly gray; today it was mostly green. I feel like it all happened right before my eyes.

I think we take pleasure in growth because it's a sign of the presence of God. Whether it's a tree blooming, a baby growing up (or us continuing to grow up!), or anything else, we can see His hand. While we can certainly help produce good conditions for growth, the process itself is a mystery that is beyond us. He alone does the work, and we are left watching in thankful amazement.

Maybe we take pleasure in growth, too, because it's a reminder of a promise that's been made to us. What we are now is not the fullness of what we'll someday be. Like Paul says in one of his letters to the church in Corinth, whether we're alive or dead when Jesus returns, we'll all be changed. With all the beauty and dignity and evidence of God that fills our bodies and our very lives right now, we see only a seed that's about to burst with more vibrance and life and purity than we could ever imagine. Like the trees in the Trinity Trail, we'll still be recognizable - we'll still be us. But we will have blossomed.

I'm excited to see it...and for us to see it in each other. What a hope that is promised, and what a God that will surely make it happen!

Yes, I am truly a nerd...

2005-04-01T20:51:00.000-06:00

I think it's time to go back to school. Spring break is doing funny things to my mind. All day today I've been walking around the house singing my own version of the song Kip sings at his wedding in Napoleon Dynamite:

"I love theology
But not as much as food, you see
But still, I love theology
Always and forever."

My mom told me several times today that I'm a dork. :)

Rising

2005-03-19T16:44:00.000-06:00

Last week I read Lament for a Son by Nicholas Wolterstorff. It's the journal of a father whose son suddenly died at the age of 25. I really appreciate the book because Wolterstorff offers an honest look at death, grieving, and human suffering, and he doesn't settle for the easy answers that we too often come up with in the face of tragedy.

One of the things he writes about is how death is God's enemy. We weren't created to die, and even when though He works everything for good, it was never supposed to be this way. Wolterstoff says that death is demonic...and that's why Christ came to conquer it. But He comes to us in our suffering by taking suffering upon Himself. Our God is familiar with sorrow, and even after His resurrection, His scars remain.

The book ends with Wolterstorff imagining the resurrection, when he will hear his son say, "Hey Dad...I'm back!" He struggles with this, because it seems so unbelievable...but it's the object of our hope.

So I was laying in bed thinking about all this the other night. I believe Jesus will return and will raise our dead and will make things right in this world...but so often, it's like a fairy tale to me. I believe it, but it doesn't seem real.

But as I was thinking that night, suddenly I got it. I was thinking about our bodies being imperishible and filled with life...I was thinking about how this world will be healed and made new...I was thinking about all the people I'll spend time with, and how we'll all be able to spend all the time in the world with Jesus. Maybe we'll even play Frisbee. ;-)

But as I was thinking about this, the imminence of it became so clear to me that I even physically reacted...it was like my stomach flipped. It's not something that might happen...it will happen. This is our hope, and the one who promised it is faithful. Oh wow...

It's appropriate to be thinking about this as we move from Lent into Easter, I think. The reflecting we've been doing about our brokenness doesn't get us very far if we don't have hope for beautiful, fresh, strong, Life. And as surely as He rose from the dead, it's coming.

It's here, and it's coming...

Just to clarify

2005-03-02T13:11:00.000-06:00

Rereading my last post, I realized that it may have come across that I was deeply hurt by this experience. While it did, in fact, suck, I'm ok, and am confident of God's call on my life (and not worried about seminary).

What I was trying to get at was the deeper issue of discrimination in general. It's made me aware of my need to be an instrument of compassion and justice, not one of discrimination (which, sadly, I am too often).

OK...amen. ;-)

My first taste of discrimination

2005-03-01T22:10:00.000-06:00

At the end of my Greek class today, we had a representative from a certain seminary come in to talk to us about considering the school. He sat in on the last 5 or 10 minutes of class, and he saw what kind of student I was (I happened to be participating a lot).

I'm the only female in that class, and this representative kept drawing attention to me because of it. The first thing that really struck me was when he said, "10% of our population is girls." It didn't sit right with me, and it also didn't sit with our prof, who tried to correct him by calling it a "female population." After all, graduate students aren't little girls anymore. This representative also said the female population was as low as it was because of how conservative the school is...he said the more conservative the school, the smaller the female population. It wasn't just unapologetic; it was presented as something virtuous.

After talking a little more about the seminary, he asked our class if they had any questions. When no one responded, he singled me out again and asked me if I had any questions. Since I had already decided not to consider this seminary, I didn't have any questions to ask. However, he felt the need to offer more information, and made it a point to let me know that this school allows women in every program of study except the M. Div. program (which happens to be the degree I want to get). He said, "We don't allow girls to be part of this program because of our stance on women in the church." It was said proudly and forcefully.

Ouch. Even the guys in my class were unsettled by the way this man approached both me and the issue.

I'm not personally hurt, really, because I never planned on attending that seminary, and I know there are other schools (and churches) that would be glad to have me. But there's something deeper that I keep thinking about. This was the first time in my life that I was ever the object of discrimination, but it happens to all sorts of people all the time.

How can a person walk into a room, take one look at someone, and immediately tell them what they're allowed or not allowed to do? How can they shut a door of opportunity in someone's face even when they prove to be intelligent and capable?

And a question that's particularly close to my own heart: How can our world be progressive in so many ways, and yet so many of our churches (which are supposed to be on the forefront of this redemptive liberation) are holding back and repressing potential leaders? And how can Christians allow women to teach theology in their college classes but not in their pulpits?

I was talking about this to my mom tonight and she said, "It makes you feel for people who are looked down upon because of things like their race and their weight, and so many other things, too, huh?" Yes...it really does.

I'm so grateful for my family and mentors...and for places like Trinity, where they really are trying to live out this reconciliation that Jesus brings to his people.

May God make me and you instruments of reconciliation as well.

As promised: Some thoughts on Lent

2005-02-25T21:18:00.000-06:00

Last year, for my Life of Prayer class, I had to journal every single day. I was flipping through that journal earlier today, and found an entry I wrote almost a year ago. Looking back to it now, it puts a new spin on my understanding of Lent:

"There's something about hearing people breathing that really affects me. And it's weird - sometimes I love it,a nd sometimes it really bothers me. But it always affects me.

"I remember when I was little, probably about three or four years old, and my mom would sleep in my bed with me. Sometimes I would lay my head on her chest and listen to her heartbeat and her breath. But even as young as I was, this was never a comfort to me. In fact, it really bothered me. It bothered me so much that I'm still affected by it. And when I was young, I knew exactly why it bothered me, too. It reminded me of how fragile life is. I didn't like hearing my mom breathe because she's the person who, more than anyone else, brings strength to my life. It always unsettled me to feel her weakness.

"Sometimes I wonder why God designed us to breathe. Well, for one, God put His breath in us - the breath of Life. It reminds me that life can never come from myself. I take a breath every few seconds, and can go no more than a couple minutes without it. Sometimes I'm very aware of my breath; most times, I don't even think about it.

"But I need air. I can't see it, and I usually don't feel or smell or hear it. I almost never taste it. But I need it. My life depends on air, coming in and out of my lungs. When I think about breathing, I realize that every single second, I'm dependent on something that I could never produce. Without air, I'll die.

"Two Wednesdays ago, we laid hands on each other at our prayer meeting. While I was concentrating on the words, I was also focusing on my hands, on each of my friends. One thing that struck me was that when my hands were on their backs, I could feel them breathing. And I was acutely aware of my connection to them. It reminded me of how weak we were, but how we were in God's presence.

"I know that probably sounds funny...but it's true. I think it draws me to people because it reminds me of how alike we are. We're all so different, but we're made of the same stuff. We're frail; we need air. More than that, we need Christ, who breathes that Life into us.

"I breathe. My mom breathes. Those who have left me and those who love me are breathing right now. So are you.

"When I think of it, I can't help but be drawn to my brothers and sisters...and to the God who gives us life and holds everything together."

That's part of what Lent's about, I think - recognizing how utterly dependent we are on Christ. We're so weak...we can't even sustain our own lives. And we're all brothers and sisters, in this together. In Lent, as I recognize both the world's frailty and my own, I'm drawn to long for the One who sustains us, makes us whole, and invites us to share in this incredible Life.

I care now.

2005-02-23T13:41:00.000-06:00

I spent this past weekend at Wheaton, doing a lot of listening and thinking about the AIDS pandemic that's going on in our world. Before I left, I really didn't care...it all seemed so distant to me.

I care now.

There are so many things I could share with you all: stats I learned, brand new information, a new way of looking at things. Maybe I'll go more into that another time, but right now I just want to share the couple things that struck me the most.

The statistics about the number of AIDS infections and deaths are numbing...so I won't give them to you. But behind every single number, there's a face. The people who are dying right now...they're us. They're doctors, teachers, students, sons, daughters, parents. They're smart, they have dreams for their lives, and they have stories to tell. They're really not that different from us at all. God knows them just as well as He knows me and you...

And what gets me is that this is an issue that the Church has been silent about. We are the strongest force in the entire world, and sadly, by and large, we don't care. But as God's agents in the world - Christ's Body - we need to take a hand in the healing of our world. We need to be the force of compassion here, and our theologies need to be lived out in this issue of AIDS.

Three major things I really came away with...

-- I need to care, and I need to help others care. (A great place to start is to watch the documentary called "A Closer Walk"...I think it's a movie everyone needs to see...if you're around and want to watch it with me, I'd be more than happy to.)
--Any little thing helps, even if it's just talking to a friend about this stuff, commiting it to prayer, or donating a couple dollars here and there. Everything helps.
-- I'm learning to be more compassionate in my everyday life. How can I love AIDS victims so deeply and not love my neighbor? Compassion seems to breed compassion: the more I'm caring about one group, the more deeply I care about others. It's so cool...

Gosh, I don't want to be preaching here; you guys didn't come for that. But still, I'm convinced that this is something our eyes need to be opened to.

May God guide us all, stirring us to care, and providing us with opportunities to live out the love of Christ.

It smelled like spring today...

2005-02-22T14:23:00.000-06:00

Even though the weather is still pretty icky here, it smelled like spring. Things like that help me to be patient even though winter's still here. I can handle the waiting if I know there's a promise that's going to be fulifilled.

(Oh, and on a totally unrelated note...I drove our school's 12-passenger van tonight, to drive a group over to our prof's house for Bible study. I was scared at first, but I ended up feeling empowered. I know it sounds dorky, but that's because it is. Anyway, I was excited!)

Because I love Jenn (and Matt is my fan) ;-)

2005-02-17T01:04:00.000-06:00

I know I haven't posted in a while...things have been incredibly busy! You know that feeling where you're underwater, and just when you think you'll be able to get your head above water for a minute to take a breath, you get swept underneath again? Yeah...I'm swimming right now.

In spite of my busyness, things have been good. We started a theology club on campus this semester, and I am so excited about it. It sounds kind of dorky, but it's not at all. This week, the group's getting together and talking about how Christians should respond to violence. The emphasis for this meeting, though, is to start out with how it works out personally. Violence is more than hurting someone physically. Gosh, even pretending not to see someone could be an act of violence, in a sense. We're planning on hitting on a lot of relevant and compelling issues, and we're really being pushed to think. I also really appreciate the prof who's working with us on this; he's really challenging us to lead and I appreciate that a lot. I'm being stretched so much, but it's definitely making me stronger.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for a conference at Wheaton College, called Acting on AIDS. A bunch of college students from the US and Canada are coming and we're going to talk about what we can do to help serve the people suffering from the AIDS pandemic in Africa.

To be honest, I'm not looking forward to going...maybe it's just because I've been so overwhelmed with stuff the past few weeks. But I know that God will be with us, and there's a reason why we're going...so I want to be attentive to that. I'll be fine once I'm there, and in a couple days, I'll be back. I pray God will use this weekend.

I've been thinking about Lent a lot. When I get a chance, I want to sit down with some well-thought-out reflections...or at least a quote or something. ;-)

So yes, that concludes my update.

Jenn and Matt, you guys crack me up. Your requests to get me to update this make me feel special!

Anna's a Prophetess

2005-01-29T12:19:00.000-06:00

My good friend, Anna, has been saying for over a year now that I'd go with her to Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids. For the past year, I've been telling her she's wrong.

Earlier this past week, I went up to Grand Rapids, MI with Anna and Amanda to check Calvin out. I had heard a lot of good things about it from various people, but I have to admit that I wasn't expecting to fall in love with it. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I basically expected to be downright intimidated.

I should learn by now that my initial thoughts/impressions are usually wrong. ;-)

I completely fell in love with Calvin Sem. I met some very warm and helpful people, got a lot of questions answered, walked through the seminary building, and found myself amazed at how much I loved the place. I was impressed both with their academic work and the enviornment. Even prices are do-able (though still challenging!).

I guess I fought it so hard for a couple reasons. The first is that I didn't want to go there just because that is where most of our pre-sem students go (though I found out that's not even really the case). The other reason is that at first, I wasn't sure I wanted to be part of a CRC seminary. I've been realizing in the past couple months, though, that my theology is definitely genuinely reformed. It's not like I'm going to call myself CRC (I'm having a hard time affiliating myself with any denomination right now), but I do love the theology. Trinity would be so proud of me: I have a reformed worldview! What's neat, though, is that it wasn't at all something pushed on me. As I've been a student here at Trin, I've been honestly seeking God, and this is where He's been leading me.

Amanda and I were talking on the ride home and she said that for the first time, thoughts of life after Trinity aren't dark and scary anymore; there's a way that seems illumined, and it's exciting. I echo that.

I'm still going to keep praying and seeking God, but this is something I'm really excited about...and something I have a lot of peace about, too. I'm looking forward to what's ahead...

...and another sigh if relief!

2005-01-12T01:17:00.000-06:00

I have seen God's hand today in so many ways...it's amazing.

Last night, Amanda prayed that my nervousness wouldn't keep building, but that it would reach a plateau, and there I would find peace. And it's crazy...I was definitely nervous, but not bad at all.

While I was getting prepped, I was talking to my oral surgeon (who I respect a lot, by the way). He was asking me what I'm studying at school, and when I told him he opened up and told me a couple times how he really needs to have "more religion" in his life. It wasn't just something said out of guilt, though...there was sincere longing in his eyes. And then, he also told me a couple times, "You're a very good girl...I can see that." It was weird...like he saw Something in me. (I wish I could explain it better in words)

The actual surgery went well...I remember talking to my doctor, and then the next thing I knew, the nurse said, "OK, sweetie, you're all done." It was the craziest thing, but cool!

Since I've been home, I've definitely been sore, but I've also been feeling very good. I stopped bleeding a little after lunchtime, and have even been up and around the house. I haven't even laid down yet (due to doctor's orders...mostly I've just been sitting around). I'm happy to be functional! (I even helped my brother with his math homework!)

Last night as I was praying about all this, I asked God to not let me be loopy...I just wanted to be myself through all of it. And it's been so cool - even on my vicadin (well, the generic equivalent), I've been totally 'with it.'

Tara stopped by tonight with lots of soft food, and some beautiful red tulips. Her visit and love made my afternoon! Oh, and my mommy has been so good to me today, too! I love her so much!

I'm still amazed that for the first time in almost ten years (wow, nearly half my life), I'm all better. Years of worrying and prayer have all been taken care of today. There's other work that still needs to be done, but the hard part is over, and it'll be much easier from here.

God is so good...thanks for praying (and listen to me talk so long about my teeth!). : )

Answered prayer and a huge sigh of relief...and a little anxiety yet

2005-01-11T01:19:00.000-06:00

A couple days ago I heard from my prof who was in Indonesia when the tsunami hit. He said his entire family was safe, but asked us to keep the whole region in our prayers still. Thank you guys for all your prayers for him...I know God turned His ear to them. (Whew...huge sigh of relief!)

Oh yes, one more thing. As my friend Katy fondly called it, tomorrow is "D-day" for me (the "d" standing for "dental"). I've been talking about this a lot lately, but it's the biggest medical procedure I'll have ever had...and it'll also be the first time since jr. high that my mouth will be back to normal (after I get my braces, anyway). Even though it's going to be a rough couple days coming up, I am so psyched to not be in pain anymore. So even though anxiety comes with my anticipation for the morning, that too is an answered prayer (as my dear Anna mentioned tonight).

God is good, friends. Thank you for praying, and please keep it up!

Grace, peace, and much love to you.

21 years ago today...

2005-01-06T03:03:00.000-06:00

By the time I'm done typing this, it'll be my birthday. I've been thinking a bit about what that means. It amazes me that at this time 21 years ago, my mom was in labor and I had never seen the world. As I was holding my newborn cousin a couple days ago, I was amazed at the fact that I used to be that little. I'm blown away by how much we change, and in how many ways we change. Gosh, I've changed so much even in the past year!

The whole concept of existence...of life...awes me.

I've also been thinking about what it means that I was born on Epiphany. I believe that God was deliberate about that (especially considering I was born three days late), but I'm not sure how to take it. Maybe I'll post some more thoughts about that later. Right now, I don't have much to say; I'm still just thinking about it.

Father, I'm grateful for being able to see my twenty-first birthday. I don't know what the year holds, but I commit it to your hands. Thank you for being so good to me this far, and thank you for your hand on me in the days to come.

Maybe "home" is changing

2005-01-04T01:36:00.000-06:00

I think I'm growing up.

I've been home the past couple weeks, on Christmas vacation. I've been craving this extended time with my family, but at the same time, I don't think I fit here like I used to.

It's not like spending time here is anything new...even during the semester, since school is so close to home, I'm here at least once a week. But something's different.

I feel like I'm a visitor here. My place at the table belongs to my sister's boyfriend now. I don't have a bed here anymore...Steph asked me if it'd be ok to get rid of it (though I admit, it was my fault for saying yes...it was dumb...I knew it'd make her happy, though). Even when I'm doing everything I can to be helpful, I'm made to feel like I'm in the way.

It's not everybody here who's making me feel this way - mostly just Steph and her boyfriend (who doesn't really live here, but might as well). My parents and brothers have been really cool, and they love having me here. Still, it's getting harder and harder to call this place mine.

I've been trying to think of Jesus, and how he never had a home. I think about Him when I get bumped from my spot at the table, or when I sleep on the couch, or when I'm told that this isn't my home anymore. I try not to care about the things that used to be mine here, but it's hard.

I guess the issue here really isn't my house here, because in a little over a week, I'll be back at school and more or less on my own. The issue is my heart.

I'm learning not to hold so tightly to things that aren't really mine. I'm learning to be at home because of the people I'm with, and not because of the space I have. I'm learning to be grateful for the blessings God's given me instead of feeling sad about what I don't have anymore.

I admit, I haven't been doing a very good job of this so far, and I've been fighting these lessons with many tears. But at night when I'm laying down, I hear God's voice very clearly, and I know His hand is in this, and He's calling me to something new.

I don't want things to change, but they are changing. May God have mercy on me and help me to take it all in stride, finding my home in Him, no matter what else happens.

(And in fairness to Steph, she's been letting me sleep in her bed this week.)

Learning from Johann Arnold

2004-12-31T01:29:00.000-06:00

I read an article today by Johann Christoph Arnold, and this particular section stood out to me:

"For what else is peace, if not readiness to meet God? And if it means readiness, doesn't it have to mean readiness in every aspect of life? Doesn't it mean readiness to forgive the unforgivable; to forget when I would rather rememeber; to reach out to those I've avoided? Doesn't it mean readiness to give everything, and to lay down my life for my brothers?" (taken from http://www.bruderhof.com)

I appreciate how Arnold talks about meeting God not just in the who-knows-how-distant future when we die...it's about how we live now, too. I'm convicted by these words, but encouraged, too. Forgiving, forgetting, reaching out, giving everything - it's the cost of discipleship, living as a sacrifice. It's dying to ourselves every single day, because the life we're called to is more valuable.

I admit that living this Jesus-life like this is hard sometimes, but it's the most beautiful life I know. His Life becomes our life, and even in light of the pain that comes with it, I'd choose this over anything else in a heartbeat.

Asia on my mind

2004-12-29T14:09:00.000-06:00

It's amazing how little a tragedy half a world away affects me. When my mom first told me about it the other night, I didn't realize how big of a deal this was. And even now, though I know how big it is, I'm at a loss for what to do, and even what to think. My thoughts and prayers can't seem to get past, "Oh wow. Father, help them. Good God, have mercy."

I found a prayer by Richard Foster that speaks to this, but what stands out to me the most is the first line: "Stir me, O LORD, to care." Indeed, stir us, O LORD, to care.

One more thing. I have a professor who's from Indonesia and is over there right now visiting family. I think he's on the island of Java (which is a good sign, I think), but I'm not sure. Could you guys please stop and say a prayer for Dr. T. and his family right now? Thanks, guys; I appreciate that a lot.

Grace and peace to you today.

God With Us Here

2004-12-27T00:57:00.000-06:00

Every time I think about Christmas, I think about something that happened to me a few years ago.

My senior year of high school, I was standing outside, waiting for the activity bus to come so I could go home. As I stood in the cold, I looked over and saw a group of boys playing with a hacky sack. I usually don't cry for no reason, but as I watched them, I was suddenly overcome with emotion and without warning, tears started welling up in my eyes. And I remember the words that I heard in my mind as I watched them: "Jesus came for this."

For the first time, I got it.

Jesus didn't come just so we could experience Him in our "holy" moments. No - He came to make our everyday moments holy. Jesus comes and suddenly the secular is transformed into the sacred. He came to live with us, and that goes beyond our church services and private prayer time.

Jesus came to be with me on my way to my grandma's house yesterday, when I was squished in the backseat of our Ford Taurus with my sister and two brothers (It was a lot of fun...only my youngest brother is still the size of a child). Jesus came for times like today when I got frustrated and hurt by someone I love and want to trust. He came for times like now, when I'm sitting quietly on the computer, listening to the tv in the background. He came for the beautiful, the ordinary, and the painful times.

When I think about this, even when I feel all alone, I don't feel so alone.

It always amazes me that God would share His life with me this way, being with me all the time. It amazes me that God lives with me, showing Himself through all sorts of ways, including people near me. Sometimes, as a person makes eye contact with me, speaks to me, or touches me, I know I'm encountering the God who lives in them.

Emmanuel...God With Us, right here. Wow; I still can't shake the amazement.

I've been thinking about Advent a lot lately...

2004-12-19T13:26:00.000-06:00

Growing up, I never knew about Advent. Of course, I knew about the Christmas season, stretching from Thanksgiving until December 25th. But whenever I was in that season, it felt like something very important was missing...but I figured it was just something wrong with me and the way I perceived the season.

When I started college, I started learning about Advent (lit. "coming"). It's a period marked by longing. We remember the longing of the Israelites, awaiting the coming Messiah. Now, situated between the first and second comings, we long for Christ to continually come into our hearts, making our brokenness whole. And more than anything else, we remember that there is more still to come, and we wait for Jesus to come back again, raising our dead and making His home with us in a way that's not just spiritual, but tangible.

This way of looking at the season is a lot more human than trying to be perpetually happy from Thanksgiving to Christmas day, with all the happiness suddenly halting December 26th.

Although I am filled with joy at the coming of Christ to (and in) us, I realize that that joy only has substance because I remember the longing that led up to Him coming...and I still am longing so much.

Personally, I'm longing for a lot of things. With all my dental issues, I'm longing intensely for my physical brokenness to be made whole. I've been accutely aware of my own depravity and fallenness lately, and so I've found myself needing my Savior, making me spiritually whole every day. And as I've experienced death hurt the people I love, I long for the day when we're resurrected just like Christ has been...experiencing in its fullness how Jesus brings us victory over the grave.

What are you longing for?

This is why I love college...

2004-12-08T20:34:00.000-06:00

Every Wednesday afternoon, one of my profs hosts "Honors Tea" in his office. It's a time for all the students in the honors program to get together, eat some food, and enjoy each other's company.

I had so much fun today! At my request, we listened to an awful version of "Leise rieselt der Schnee" (it's hilarious, though!), spent time laughing and telling stories, and watching lots of our profs give each other crap (in the same kind of way my friends and I give each other crap). We also had a rather intense conversation about violence and being desensitized (sp?)...and I really appreciate how everybody's views were welcome and respected even when we disagreed.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but there was something about our time that made my night. It was nothing spectacular, really, but it was an expression of family. (And maybe I'm also just a big nerd and love hanging out with friends and professors!)

This week's epiphany...

2004-12-06T02:22:00.000-06:00

For the first time in my life, I think I know (more or less) what I want to be when I "grow up."

This isn't to say that I'm dead-set on my future; I know things could change at any time, and I'm open to that. But I finally have a sort of direction that I didn't at all have this time last week. I can't believe I never seriously considered it before...

I was sitting in my professor's office last Thursday because I had some questions for him about seminary (when I walked into his office, I was leaning more toward 'no' than anything else, but was trying to be open). Anyway, the things he said about his own experience at seminary put my mind at ease. He asked me what I wanted to do after I graduat from here, and since I had no idea, I just told him about what I see as my gifts, and what I'm passionate about.

When I finished talking he said, "You know you completely described your ideal job, right?" Yeah...I had no clue what I had described. And he said to me, "Erin, look - you know that you'll be working with the Body of Christ, discipling them. You love to teach/preach, but don't have a desire to be a pastor of a church. You love pushing people to think and challenging them in their relationships with Christ. You love college but know you're not designed to be a professor...You just totally described a campus minister."

Holy crap...why had I never seriously considered that before?

It makes sense. I've been thinking and praying about it a lot, and I'm going to just listen and be obedient. But now I have a direction to start walking in. Yep...that means that while I've been fighting with the idea of seminary for three years now, I've come to the point where I really, really want to go. I want to learn more, be challenged, and broaden my horizons. Instead of freaking out about it, I'm really excited.

I don't know what's ahead, but I have a bit of direction and a lot of encouragement. I didn't know how refreshing that could be; wow...

My Grassland Adventure

2004-12-02T01:29:00.000-06:00

This has been a very busy week for me as far as schoolwork goes. I had a major (and very difficult) paper due today, and a bunch of other little projects that needed to be done.

In an effort to cling to our sanity, Amanda (who also has a lot due this week) and I decided to take a little adventure. Earlier in the summer we tried to tackle this forest preserve-type area where the sign at the entrance always said "Closed"...but there were these mosquitoes that went straight for our faces (it was freaky how that was the only area they went for), and so we postponed our adventure.

But on Monday, we decided that it was time to explore this uncharted terrain. It turns out that it wasn't actually a forest preserve (though there were a bunch of trees at the entrance and in some of the surrounding area), but a grassland preserve. I didn't even know there was such a thing...especially out in my area! Bundled up in our scarves and mittens, Amanda and I tackled a couple miles of thorns and swampy grass, saw some deer, got our jeans soaked up to our knees (it was rainy that day), and had a much-need conversation about Advent, longing, and life. It was just what both of us needed.

Spontaneity, adventure, exposing our hearts, and getting wet and dirty . . . I think these are the things we live for, but easily miss out on when we get too wrapped up in the busyness and "urgent" needs of our day-to-day lives.

My grassland adventure reminded me of what it means to live. And if Christ is the aroma of life (2 Corinthians 2ish), I'm pretty sure he smells at least a bit like the Orland Park grassland preserves.

2004-11-27T02:37:00.000-06:00

I spent a few hours tonight reading Augustine's Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love for a paper that's due on Wednesday. I should know by now that God sneaks up in unexpected places like my homework, but it still hits me pretty hard sometimes.

There's this section where he writes about praying the Lord's prayer, and how all the faithful need to do is ask God for forgiveness and He grants it to us...provided that we also forgive those who sin against us.

As I was reading, I realized the beauty of forgivness...God's forgiveness to us, and also our forgiveness to others, and how that's such an act of love.

It also opened my eyes to a couple situations that I realized I never quite let go of, and people I need to forgive. I've cared about myself and my feelings so much that I've gotten defensive and haven't been able to move on from some situations where I've been hurt, even though they seem small looking back on them now. It's time to stop being stuck there.

Father, please forgive our sins, as we also forgive those who sin against us.

Thank you so much, Father. You're so good to us.

Pensive: Characterized by deep or melancholy thoughts

2004-11-13T02:56:00.000-06:00

I stopped by my prof's office on Thursday to grade some papers, and we were visiting for a couple minutes beforehand. We were talking about a book I had read, and he stopped and said, "You seem pensive today...what's up?"

I mentioned some things that were on my mind, and we talked about them and moved on to other things (after I asked him to define 'pensive' for me!). But I've been thinking about it still...and I realize that sometimes I just get this way. Sometimes it's brought about by legitimate things going on, and sometimes it happens when circumstances are great.

I don't know why I get that way, but every so often, I find myself being quiet for no reason. Sometimes I just get pensive. I used to get frustrated with myself because I can never really help it, but I'm learning now just to go with it because it's part of who I am.

Still, I can't help but wonder why I get this way...

You've got to see it...

2004-11-05T03:10:00.000-06:00

http://www.bluelikejazz.com/movie.htm

Wow...

Seven years ago yesteday...

2004-11-02T00:34:00.000-06:00

my dad adopted us.

I know a few of you know the story. Maybe some of you don't.

After a long and painful divorce and a few years of struggle with my biological father, he gave up his parental rights. All the things leading up to it were really hard. But right away, my then step-dad (who I'm proud to call my dad) sacrificed so much, and adopted me, my sister, and my bother. I was given a new dad, a new name, and a picture of Christ more real than anything I had ever seen before. (He's also the one who helped me understand what it meant to have a relationship with Christ.)

I love my dad so much and I hope I can be as generous and supportive to my kids as he is to me.

No wonder Jim Elliot cried...

2004-11-01T01:02:00.000-06:00

We've been reading through the Gospel of John in our Greek class this semester, and tonight as I was preparing for class, I read chapter 19, about the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. I've read this story countless times, but it was different tonight.

As I was struggling through some of the vocabulary and just going through the chapter word by word, I was caught in the story. I wasn't able to read through it quickly and be on my way. It was as if I were reading it for the first time. And in my drawn-out reading of it, I got a tiny taste of how drawn-out that night must have been for Jesus...and for those who loved him. It was like this constant chain of events...I'm sure there was waiting in between, but it was just one thing after another. They took Jesus before Annas, then they took him before Pilate, then the crowd shouted, "Crucify!". They "gave him slaps" and they scourged him, and they took his clothes, and they insulted him, and they crucified him.

I'm writing about it now because I needed to walk away for a minute...it all comes so heavily.

I read somewhere that when Jim Elliot read the account of Jesus' crucifixion for a class like mine, he wept. I can see why now.

It makes chapter 20 that much more amazing and beautiful, too. If the story ended at John 19, I don't know what I'd do. And in light of a death like that...to see Life overcome it overwhelms me.

Things that make me happy

2004-10-31T00:00:00.000-05:00

Here are some things that have made me really happy the past couple days:

Talking about life with people you're just beginning to know (i.e. some freshmen and our new theology prof). We were at a philosophy conference at Wheaton last night, and on the drive home, we opened up. Way cool.
Notes from people I love. I came home to a note from my mentor, Tarne, my 8 year old friend, Katrina (also Tarne's daughter), and my dear friend, Amanda. Unexpected and so welcome. :-)
My mom and sister teasing me. They crack me up. I don't know why, but I get the biggest kick out of people giving me crap. They're so cool.

I've been thinking more and more lately about how the littlest things can be so powerful...like the things I just mentioned. It's amazing how life is bursting with such an intense beauty. I love that!

It's so simple...right?

2004-10-26T01:16:00.001-05:00

I just finished reading a post on theooze about telling a person you like him or her. It wasn't even about dating relationships at all...it was about how even platonic relationships can leave you wondering, "Do they really like me?"

It's amazing to me that telling a person you like them takes so much courage. I don't quite understand why, but it really puts us on the line. I wonder why it is that telling peopple that you appreciate who they are and genuinely like them is so hard? Why does that put us in a tough spot?

At the same time, though, it's meant so much to me when someone has approached me and told me that they like me. Especially when it's left at that, it makes me feel so appreciated and special. It's a way God constantly reminds me of the value He's put on me...and plus, it just plain makes me happy.

I want to do the same for others...letting the people I care about or respect or even admire from a distance know that I like them.

Time to pray that God gives me the guts to tell some really cool people in my life that I like them...

When I'm feeling overwhelmed...

2004-10-21T03:01:00.000-05:00

"Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD." (Ps 27:14)

OK, Daddy.

Soul connection and begging for money

2004-10-18T00:54:00.000-05:00

I just got back from a weekend trip to Orange City, Iowa, with Sara and Amanda. I had no idea how much I needed this weekend until I experienced it.

Every night we hung out at a coffee shop that the Northwestern students hang out in. I experienced community unlike anything I've ever experienced before. It didn't matter who we were, where we were from, or what type of people we were...we were all genuinely welcomed and accepted. I've never experienced an entire group of people that listened so intently and loved so freely and unconditionally. (I've met individuals like that but had never experienced a community like that.)

Even though we were only around for a few days, we connected deeply. I even had a dream that one of the guys there was my long-lost brother. Through simple things like their words, their hands, and their eyes, they communicated this sincere love and desire to know one another. Through this brilliant yet ragtag group of people, I hung out with Jesus. That had to have been what it felt like for the people who hung out with Him back in the day.

No wonder Jesus tells us to love each other so deeply. It was the most amazing gift I ever could have asked to receive. Human relationships continue to amaze me more and more every day.

And it shows me the kind of person I want to be. I want to give that freely, listen that intently, and love that gently.

Oh yes...another cool thing about the weekend - the three of us and Sara's friend, Tony, drove down to Omaha on Saturday. We spent our time walking around the art district, checking out shops and enjoying the day. We walked on cobblestone streets! The best part about Omaha, though, was when we all sat down in front of an abandoned building, Sara and I took turns playing guitar, and we all sang. Lots of people smiled as they walked by (including a police officer!), a couple stopped by to talk, and a few people even gave us money. It was such a neat experience.

I wan't expecting to leave my heart in Omaha, but it's a place I'm definitely going back to. I'd love to live there someday.

Again, what an amazing weekend.

Now I'm off to love and give and live in the moment.

Oh yes...I am definitely a big nerd...

2004-10-14T01:05:00.000-05:00

I just sent this as an email to a friend, but it struck me so funny, I had to tell the world...even at the risk of you guys thinking it's just a weird Greek story. It's too funny not to share...

I'm such a big nerd. I was talking with Amanda, tonight about something that happened in our Greek class this morning, and it was so funny, I wanted to share it with the world. However, I don't think it'd be funny to most people...they'd all be like, "Yeah, you're a nerd, Erin." However, that's a risk I'm willing to take.

Amanda and I are the only girls in the class, and the guys were all trying to outdo one another: ("I can translate without looking at my notes very much" . . . "Well, I can translate without using my notes at all..."). My prof, Dr. Rozema, is just amused at the whole thing. So finally, after watching them all compete with each other for a minute, he calls on our friend, Henry, to translate.

Henry gets excited easily.

So he's translating from John 12, and he keeps getting stuck on this one part. So Dr. Rozema starts asking him to think of the syntax of this particular participle. And Henry just starts shouting out all sorts of answers...and that seems to excite Dr. Rozema...so Henry keeps shouting all his guesses louder and louder...and Rozema keeps writing on the board faster and faster...It was Greek class filled with adrenaline!

It felt like I was watching "Win, Lose, or Draw"...but in Greek. I could just picture it going on, and finally Henry shouting "GENITIVE ABSOLUTE!!!" and then having his team win a bunch of money or a new car or something.

I love Greek class...I need a life. ;-)

This is so wonderful...

2004-10-13T00:01:00.000-05:00

I seriously must be in the best place on campus right now. My room overlooks a courtyard and right now, 7 or so students are outside...some playing guitars, one playing hand drums, and all of them singing. It's midnight right now, and they show no signs of stopping. They've been at it for almost an hour already. And it makes me happy.

I love the community that I'm seeing and hearing right now. I'm witnessing the Kingdom on Earth...the Body of Christ. I'm eavesdropping on joy and freedom. And even though right now they're out there and I'm in here, our hearts are in the same place, and we're really all together.

"You are beautiful, my sweet sweet song...I will sing again" (what they're singing right now)

Again, I'm smiling.