Past, Future, and Grief

I'm nervous about visiting my great Aunt Lote when I return home. I haven't seen her since the beginning of last summer, before I went to Denver. In that conversation, she must have asked me about my plans for the summer a half-dozen times. When I told her that I was taking a ten-week internship in Colorado, her eyes lit up with surprise as she said, "Really? What will you be doing? That's great..." each and every time. For her birthday over the summer, I wrote her a letter, but I did so hesitantly, fearful that her feelings would be hurt because she would think that I neglected to tell her I was even going to Denver. I grieve the loss of my aunt's memory. Probably, from now on, I will no longer grow in her mind. I, for the rest of her life, will be a teacher and a seminary student. I will never be a seminary graduate, I will never live anywhere besides St. Louis, I will never be in my thirties, I will never be married.

I'm nervous about visiting my Grandma when I return home for the holidays. She's on oxygen now. I've never seen her on oxygen. She becoming less mobile all of the time. She can't reach up very high anymore. She walks very slowly with her cane. It wasn't too long ago that she was moving all over the house, up and down the stairs, carrying laundry, setting the table, vacuuming. She was a RN at a nursing home, giving patients their meds, helping dress and undress them, pushing that cart. Now, she gets so out of breath walking from one room to the other that she has to set and rest once she's reached her destination. I miss the Grandma that I grew up with. I miss the Grandma that I could play with, cook with, and depend on. I miss the Grandma that took care of me.

It's not that I'm unwilling to take care of my grandma and my aunt. I love them. They have given so much to me, I would sacrifice anything to give back to them. But, I am saddened by the change. In a society that worships youth at the expense of the wisdom that comes with age, I'm hesitant to say anything negative about aging, for I think we should learn to embrace the experience that comes with years, not resent it. Also, there are so many ways in which we as a society demoralize older people: we force them into retirement instead of valuing their wisdom, we complain about their driving, we talk to them like little children when visiting them in the nursing homes, we don't seek their advice. However, while I exhort myself and everyone else to seek the wisdom of older people, and, even when their minds cannot recall the knowledge they gained in their younger years, to still to honor them, I am convinced that the deterioration of the mind and the body is not the way God intended it to be.

So, I ache as I think about what used to be compared with what is now. I ache as I think of Grandma sitting on the sidelines watching her children and grandchildren zip back and forth. I ache as I think that Aunt Lote will not even remember the visits I make over the holidays. But it is comforting to know that I ache, not only because things are not what they once were, but also because things are not presently the way they will be in the future.

There will be a day when suffering will end, when our bodies will not constrained to gradual deterioration and death. There will be a day when all of the pain and aching that come along with a world where death exists will be gone. God has redeemed this place. He's going to make it new. Death is going to be shown the way out. The way things are supposed to be will someday be. And nothing will be able to destroy it.

Keeping Warm

“The cold brings us back to reality, and the reality is we are very lucky,” or so says Garrison Keillor. While walking home in the cold tonight, my mind swimming with thoughts of church splits and broken hearts, my memory somehow stumbled on Bethel Church of my hometown. I’ve never been inside that tiny white frame church, and I can’t recall a soul who ever attended church there, but I remember Reverend and Mrs. Badger standing over the tomb of the unknown soldier and leading our community in “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” each and every Memorial Day. The frail Rev. Badger would remind us of the words as Mrs. Badger wielded an accordion twice her weight. Rev. Badger would play his trombone during the chorus. Neither one of them would sit down. Everybody would sing. The reality is we are very lucky.

As the leaves are beginning to turn, I find it eerie to think that by the time the trees blossom, I will be preparing to leave seminary and start over again, somewhere different, doing something new. I'm not comfortable with this.

Everything is Illuminated

I love this film. It gets better every time I watch it. And though I had watched it, studied it, and prepared to lead a discussion on it, tonight, as I talked about the movie with others, they offered insights that I never would have obtained on my own. It is just more evidence that the world around us should not be contemplated in isolation. We need each other for better vision.

Everything is Illuminated teaches us this. The movie is so full of symbols, meaningful glances, and purposeful choices of color, music, and camera angles, it is unlikely that anyone would be able to catch everything of significance on her own. And the characters themselves - they need each other for illumination. They need each other to understand the past; they need each other to understand the present.

I love movies like this. There is plenty on the surface to laugh and cry over, yet the depths require careful thought and, though often neglected, discussion. I don't discuss enough. My opinions, my responses to art, my interpretations of the world around me are too much the product of my own mind, even if unconsciously fed by status quo's and dominant cultural philosophies. My vision is limited. Illuminate me, please.

narcissism and so much depending on a moment lacking solitude

I'm studying William Carlos Williams right now. You probably read his "The Red Wheelbarrow" in high school.

So much depends upon
a red wheelbarrow
glazed with rain water
beside the white chickens.

The way he bestows dignity on the ordinary has made him my favorite poet of the early twentieth century, if not my favorite poet overall. He was a physician and poet, often writing his poems in the car on his way from one house call to another, weary from a flu epidemics and measles outbreaks. Early in his career, he longed "to get away" from the urgency of every day life so that he could concentrate on his poetry. Somewhere along the way, however, he realized that his poetry could be written - in fact, must be written - within the clamoring and stress of his hectic life.

Perhaps this is why I have not been blogging lately. I have several half-written posts, yet, as I have sat here at my desk and have written at the end of the day, the ideas typed on the screen seemed to be of little importance - hardly relevant to myself, let alone someone else. What was vibrant in my mind during a car ride or a conversation or a church service hours earlier fell limp as I tried to convey an emotion or thought in quiet solitude.

So, as I type in the silence of the end of the day, I do not know how to share my insights or thoughtful meanderings in a way that will interest any of you. I've always felt slightly narcissistic in my blog writing as I've assumed that people are interested in reading about me. Yet, I'm interested in reading about others, so I assume it all eventually works out for everybody's good. So, everyone, things are going well. I've loved my time here in Denver, and yet I look forward to returning to the sticky Midwest again soon. Thanks for putting up with my narcissism; I look forward to putting up with yours in return.

Genesis 3

PC's are part of the curse. I'm sure.

Beauty

United Methodist turned Independent Christian dabbling in the Southern Baptist Conference now interning at a Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) church while also going to a PCA seminary. And I thought I took care of all my identity crises in college.

There are customs in this reformed, liturgical Presbyterian tradition that I have grown to cherish. It has opened my eyes to the beauty of historic Christian faith and has taught me to turn a teachable heart towards the celebrated men and women of God in the past. I have gained a new appreciation for liturgy, a practice I formerly considered mindless and infantile. Reading the prayers and proclamations of others provides fodder for my own prayers, my own journaling, my own conversations with God. Yet, not for individual practice alone, the liturgy helps my heart bind itself to the people around me, to the people standing on either side of me, their voices primary against the chorus of the congregation.

However, there are things I miss from my Independent Christian churches - Christian Campus House and Hope Christian Church, like the celebratory atmosphere surrounding baptism. I'm still wrestling with the denominations' differing and often sparring doctrine on infant baptism versus believer's baptism or baptism by sprinkling, pouring, or immersion. I'm not going to deal with that struggle in this post, though I probably will in another in the future. What I'm addressing here is something else. It has less to do with the doctrine of baptism than with the sights and sounds and tactile expressions of rejoicing at someone's salvation. I miss the worship music and the testimonies beforehand and the cheering and clapping afterwards. I miss praying for that person and then getting in line to give that sopping wet brother or sister a great big hug, getting yourself wet in the process. I miss being holistically involved in the welcoming of a brother or sister into the family of Christ, whether I knew them well or not.

There are a lot of beauties in the tradition I'm experiencing right now, but, sometimes, I just want to share something precious from a tradition of my past. I know I'm a minority at my seminary as far as Christian tradition goes, and incorrect assumptions and presuppositions are to be expected. But, when people ask me about what denomination I come from, and then ask me questions about it, they more often point out why my former tradition is doctrinally unsound (I still don't believe my former tradition was doctrinally unsound, by the way) rather than search for any precious gems within it.

Seeking beauty doesn't come naturally - or at least it doesn't for me. So often I have to be overcome or immersed in beauty to appreciate it. I make conversation to be social or to find out what I disagree. I rarely talk to someone with the intent to seek and find what it beautiful about them and their experiences. I need to do that more. Maybe people would do it in return.

Psalm 103

Praise the Lord, O my soul
all my inmost being, praise his holy name
Praise the Lord, O my soul
and forget not all his benefits
who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases
Who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion
He satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's

My good friends know that when I start scribbling these verses on stray scraps of paper, I'm not responding to a heart brimming with thankful emotions. More likely, I am trying to wrestle my heart into submission, prying its fingers off of self-pity, begging it to let go of questions starting with "what if" or "why not." "Praise the Lord, O my soul. I mean it - praise him! " I say as if rebuking a child to clean his room. I remind myself, He has rescued your life from the pit. You wear a crown of love and compassion. You are beloved. You are beautiful. You are treasured. You have not been denied anything you need. You will taste the sweet joy of desires redeemed for good and youth renewed with hope.

I get lonely sometimes. I sometimes feel as if there is little constancy in my life. I don't know what I will be doing one year from now, but I fear it will involve starting all over again in a new place with new people. I've done it before, and I survived. In fact, I became an adult in that experience and knew the mercy and compassion of God in ways that strengthen my faith even now. But, it wasn't fun. It was hard, tearful, terrifying work. The days were long, the loads were heavy, and I felt as if there was no one to help share the burden. There were wonderful people at church and at work that I eventually grew to depend on, but, at first, you don't know who to trust and who to avoid. I see those days coming again, and I just sigh. No one listens to your stories at night, and in the morning, when people ask you how you're doing, they're onto the next task before you can answer. It just leaves you empty inside. I will face those days again, but I do not look forward to their coming.

It is with this in mind that I say, "Praise the Lord, O my soul / All my inmost being praise His holy name." I tell myself not to forget His forgiveness, His healing, His restoring. I tell myself not to forget His power. I have to remind myself again, again, and again my Lord is the Lord of the Resurrection. Nothing is too hard for Him. My soul will be steadied. My desires will be conformed to His, and they will be sweetly satisfied. My youth will be renewed, and the Lord's faithfulness will be abundantly evident.

Still stuck

My care is stuck in park again. Anyone have an idea of how much a tow costs? My insurance company will pay $100 towards a tow and a fix. I'm trying to decide whether I need to pray over my car until it shifts out of park or if it would be cheap enough just to go ahead and get a tow.

I asked my Dad to talk to our friend at the dealership in Clinton in case he had any ideas what could be wrong with it. Our friend told us to call a locksmith. I called a locksmith. He was very nice, but said they deal with ignition problems, not transmission problems. I said I know, but sometimes the key won't come out of the ignition either and that my dealership thought it was all connected and had told me to call him. He got his manager, who radioed his top technician, who said that it wasn't a problem with the cylinder in the ignition but rather something to do with the track in the console moving back and forth. Okay. No locksmith.

So, now I'm looking at a NAPA autocare shop. I'm very sad and frustrated right now, not to mention stuck, and really need some people to hang out with.

That's all.

A little beaten down

It hasn't been the kind of day that leads to pleasant dreams. My car is still overheating and needs a costly repair. My car wouldn't shift out of park this morning and is still stuck in the garage, but that's not what is bothering me. God will take care of my transportation needs (although I will be disappointed if that means depending on other people for rides for a whole year) and it'll be okay. Right now I'm just really longing for a conversation with someone who's not a seminarian - or at least someone who isn't going to act like a seminarian for a little while. Theology matters, I know, and it is good to come to conclusions even on what is not explicit in Scripture in order to discern false teaching or misguided methodology. However, sometimes I'd just like to hear someone say "I don't know" or "I don't understand" and acknowledge the mystery of God's ways. When hearing about my background, I wish someone would engage with me a little bit and try to draw out some strengths of traditions I come from instead of ignoring them or laughing at perceived flaws in them. And, just from overhearing conversations, I'm thinking that there are few people harder on people in ministry than people in ministry.

I'm tired, and I know it. Plus, this is not a typical week. My main mentor/boss is out of town this week, so I'm working with other people. Plus, Debbie and Eric aren't home this week, so I'm all by myself. I know that simple isn't necessarily more holy, but I long for a conversation with someone who doesn't seem to have it all figured out.

Sidewalk

A little girl with blond pigtails and silver sandals practicing jumping over sidewalk squares.

A homeless man with a swollen backpack and a taut stomach.

A toddler riding on the shoulders of a young man in flip-flops

A man in an electric wheelchair walking a golden retriever.

Four hot Starbucks drinks and two folded cardboard boxes balanced by a woman in a black dress.

Two girlfriends sharing a cigarette.

Three boys practicing gymnastics over a mail box. One is good. The other two are pathetic.

Backpacks, briefcases, hobo purses, dogs on leashes, strollers, I-pods on joggers, and a cell phone gracing the ear of every third person, this city-street window is by far the most engaging work space I've ever enjoyed.

Happy Dance

I'm all by myself right now, but just imagine me doing me I-got-my-late-fee-on-my-credit-card-removed dance.

Disclaimer: No, I'm not in the habit of paying credit card bills late. I was a mere 45 minutes late in paying this one on time - and I payed it in full.

GPS, head gaskets, and other things I don't really understand

After not being able to find the POST OFFICE today, I've decided that's it, I'm getting GPS. It'll cost me $10.00 a month plus air time on my cell phone, but I don't care; I'm sure I spend at least that much on gas while driving up and down the foothills of the Rocky Mountains trying to figure out where I am. The other night, while I was lost, I realized that I was in the mountains and I thought to myself, Why am I in the mountains. I live east of the mountains, not in the mountains. Why am I in the mountains? Plus, my car is acting up and is getting close to overheating on a regular basis. Eric says there is oil in my coolant system, which he says is really weird since there's not coolant in my oil. But that's apparently good, for if there was coolant in my oil that would mean there's a head gasket problem (whatever that is) and that kind of problem costs several hundreds of dollars to fix. So, let's just hope the WalMart guy accidentally got some oil in my coolant and all it needs is a flush. Here's to the adventure of waiting on the Lord for finances. (I still think $10.00 a month over the summer for GPS is a good investment though.)

Meanwhile, it's been a pretty good week here. It's hot, but not unbearable, and elk, moose, and prairie dogs are exciting diversions for an Illinois girl. I'm searching for a place to do my work when I don't have to go into city office, and I have not yet found it. I think the best place I've found so far is Panera, though when I walked in today looking for that perfect nook, table by table looked up and stared, I mean stared, at me as I walked by. And then once I was outside the restaurant an angry goose came out of nowhere and raised its wings up at me, squawking at me and drawing the entire parking lot's attention. As far as I know, there was no toilet paper streaming out of my pants or blood pouring out of my nose.

Bri and Jared are getting married in an hour and a half, and I'm so sad that I'm not there right now. A few years ago when I first heard Bri had a boyfriend, I disliked him immediately because I knew no guy could ever deserve Bri and I was sure he did not appreciate her for all that she was. I was wrong, though. The first time I met Jared I realized that he was probably the only guy in the world worthy of her and possessing the mind and heart to treat her as she deserved. They've waited a long time for this day, and I rejoice for them even though I can't be there. Their exchanging of vows is going to be one of the most beautiful moments in the world today.

Things I have learned:

Ninety-seven degrees in Denver is not like 97 degrees in Illinois.
Despite, or probably because the lack of humidity, the Colorado sun will broil you to a crisp.

in denver now

I'm exhausted. And feverish. And slightly nauseated.

I shouldn't be surprised, for things have been a bit of a whirlwind since Wednesday morning. Dad and I drove to Nebraska Wednesday and completed the trip to Denver on Thursday. I found my place (which is incredible, by the way), found a K-mart, a US Bank, and a grocery store. Dad and I spent Friday in downtown Denver and Saturday in the mountains. He left this morning, I went to church, out to lunch, and then to a church barbeque tonight. Sorry for just the stark facts; I really don't have the energy to elaborate. A lot of it is emotional exhaustion, and I'm frustrated in my confusion about God right now, so my heart can't rest. We sang "It is Well with My Soul" this morning at church. The second line reads, "Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate and has shed his own blood for my soul," and I am finding more pain than comfort in those words. I'm having such a hard time saying, "It is well with my soul" when it is not well with so many other souls. How do I rejoice in my salvation when so many others do not know Jesus? Where is joy while others are perishing? What about others' helpless estates? How am I not haunted by their destiny? I love the Lord, and I know He will help me understand this or at least lead me to peace in the not understanding; but right now I just hurt and am sick with worry and grief. Paul said, "I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in death..." I need to know the power of His resurrection if I am going to survive sharing in his sufferings. My heart needs to change, for my confidence in that power is weak right now.

Asleep in the home of Arbor Day

Guess what, folks? Iowa looks just like I've always imagined it, except grain elevators were conspicuously absent. Hmmm...anybody have an explanation?

Also, I have confirmed that Nebraska really does exist. I'm spending the night here in Lincoln, and Dad and I will continue on to Denver tomorrow morning. I'll let you know if Nebraska really is as long as it looks.

Time to go

I'm not a person who likes leaving places. Maybe that's why I'm always late. I tend to want to stay wherever I happen to be at the moment. After all, there is always something more that can be done, someone else to talk to, or another minute to enjoy; and, therefore, I let go of the present regretfully. It's nice, therefore, to feel like it is time to go. That's how I feel tonight as I prepare to drive to Denver for my summer internship tomorrow. I've spent the past two weeks with my parents, which from the bright morning sunshine spilling light over my bed to glimpses of comets and stars peeking through tree top canopies, has been beautiful. I hate leaving home, for it is never just for a short while. Yet tonight, I'm ready. Mom and Dad are ready to have the house and their lives back to themselves. I'm ready to be busy with some endeavor again. It's time.