No One Warned Me About These Things!

I think I've reached another adolescence of some kind. Another bodily adolescence. It occurred to me a couple weeks ago when I made a joking comment to D that when I look in the mirror, I don't recognize the middle-aged woman looking back at me. I thought I was completely kidding--but as soon as I said it I knew it was true.

The change sneaked up on me. I swear it was only a year ago that I was lamenting still getting carded when buying wine at the grocery store! And I don't mean that as in "It seems like just yesterday..." I really was getting carded last year!

Maybe it's the short hair now. Or getting a little rounder in recent months. Or the strands of gray which seem to be proliferating. Or the laugh lines that are crinkling around my eyes. I guess it's all of those put together.

But the result is a sort of strange unfamiliarity with myself. Clothes which seemed to fit--not only size-wise, but personality-wise, too--now seem strange on me. But when I shop for new clothes, nothing hangs on me the way I expect it to. I pick up things I like on the hanger, but once I try them on...they're just not right. Who is that gazing back at me?

We recently discovered some outlets near us which have some cool clothing. Beginning my new job this July, I truly am in dire need of professional looking clothing. I'm well aware, too, that I'm in the midst of crafting my image as "professor": I don't want stodgy, or frilly, or conservative, or plain. I want something that seems to flow on me, that has flair, something that I can move comfortably in, but also something that's clearly dressed up--not casual.

Eventually I found a lovely, simple linen dress in a coral color. And another linen skirt and blouse in light blue. But my favorite purchase of the day was my hippie shirt. Here's a shot of it from the website of the store. I'm not sure it's something I could wear teaching, but it will make me happy to wear it on my days off.

In my early twenties, shortly after I got married, I was astounded to discover my body changing in ways I'd not expected. I remember commenting on it to a friend of mine who was about ten years older than me. "It's your second puberty," she told me. "No one ever talks about it. No one warns you it's going to happen. But it does!" Well, now I realize that a third one happens in your late thirties, too! Who knew?

The trick is to try and befriend this new body--even, hopefully, with more kindness than I've managed toward myself in a long time. It is truly a wonder and a mystery--living into this life and this self. I so much want to live into it with grace: roundness and wrinkles and all.

Simple Pleasures

The other day I had the pleasure of a phone conversation with my Mom. She happened to mention that she had walked a total of 60 miles in the month of April. It was just the thing I needed to light a bit of a fire under this lazy butt. Not to mention that my father-in-law, who had major back surgery just before Christmas, is also putting up phenomenal numbers of miles walking each day. I decided it was time to stop thinking about walking for exercise and to start doing it.

So on Monday, and again today, I headed to the Bay to take a nice walk. The first day Monk volunteered to go with me. And today, I managed to rally both my guys to go with me. And, boy, is it good for the soul. There is something truly amazing about the opportunity to walk by the water, only a half mile or so from our home. Today the wind was really strong coming off the water--so that my ear ached after a while. The wind was causing little white caps and waves--and at one point I felt the spray of a bay-sized wave as it crashed against the rocks. We also spotted a small family of geese--a few adults and maybe ten goslings! All floating in a nice row, heading out for their own little exercise session.

The great thing about having a nine-year-old along for a walk is that it's never really about the walking. On Monday he had the two of us doing skipping and galloping races. And today he interspersed short jogging sessions on the return trip--certainly enough to get the heart rate up there! And something I don't think I'd ever make myself do on my own!

Now for a quick dinner. Then off soon to Monk's fourth swimming lesson. He's doing just great with it. His face just lights up when he's in the water. I think this is really, truly going to be the summer he finally learns. Our boy.

Today we also are celebrating Felix's fourth birthday! (Felix is our wonderful cat.) Last night about midnight he started meowing like crazy, desperately wanting to be let out for the night. He had completely stopped going outside at night almost eight months ago! But last night he was absolutely insistent. I finally gave in, and regretfully watched him as he disappeared into the cloak of darkness.

This morning about 5:30, I woke up a minute or two before a huge downpour started! Felix is one of those crazy cats who adores the rain. Sure enough, not long after the rain stopped, I heard his loud meow at the front door. He was sopped through. I grabbed a towel and dried him off while he purred away contentedly.

Later, when we remembered it was his birthday, we joked that he'd insisted on going out because the cats in the neighborhood had planned a party for him. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if this were somehow true. I've never known a cat to make as many cat-friends as Felix has.

Swimming Lessons

When Monk first started talking about having a desire to be baptized, last January, he was curious about the process. And he wanted to know how D and I were each baptized. I was baptized (the first time, I admit with some chagrin) in a Methodist church when I was twelve years old. My brother and I were baptized on the same day; he needed to be "done" so he could get confirmed later in the same service. (Clearly our Methodist church hadn't engaged with the liturgical renewal movement yet and didn't know that one does not need to be "confirmed" if you're baptized as a believer. But that's another point altogether.)

So because we were Methodist at the time, I was baptized by pouring--a small amount of water dribbled carefully on my head. I remember my hair was pulled up and back into a bun that morning. And I feel like I can still go back to that moment, the gentle graciousness, almost caress of the water as it trickled through my hair and down along my neck. Ever play the game where someone pretends to break an egg on your head and they run their fingers gently over your head and onto your neck before you squirm away?

When I told Monk about this, he immediately exclaimed: "Can we become Methodists? Can't we get a Methodist pastor to baptize me?" The idea of being dunked under water in our big baptistery felt pretty overwhelming to him. And, in fact, with good reason. It's one sign the Baptists definitely get right.

But we wanted to pay attention to his fear, too. Not just dismiss it or try to simply talk him out of it. There is something to fear in our baptism, I think. Our participation in the death and resurrection of Christ is overwhelming. Even God's grace is overwhelming. If we cozy up to these kinds of things too much, then we have lost something of their meaning.

We knew that the greater part of Monk's fear, though, lay in his increasing discomfort at not being able to swim yet. Although he's had lessons each year since Kindergarten through his public school, they have never been sustained enough to get him comfortable in the water. Last summer would have been the ideal time for us to get him swimming lessons, but we were at a loss about how to do it. We don't have a pool, of course. And we don't belong to a swim club. And, frankly, it's pretty darn cold in this part of the country in July and August.

But sometime over the past year, swimming morphed from a fun thing that he wanted to learn to a frightening thing that felt just plain dangerous. And this danger, it was clear, was represented by the baptismal waters as well.

I shared some of this with my students a month or two ago in our class on baptism. Afterwards, one of my students came up and suggested that we intentionally tie the two together: Give him swimming lessons as his baptism gift. She said that for her, learning to swim was the most empowering thing she felt she'd ever learned to do. Why not link the empowerment of learning to swim with the powerful moment of baptism? The idea seemed brilliant to me.

So classes start tonight. In fact, in a few minutes--so I have to run. But I'll try and write some more later...

Interiors

D and Monk left a little while ago to go to Monk's hockey practice. D is officially one of the Assistant Coaches for this next round--last time I think he was just skating with the kids and helping out to be nice. But the organizers of the league have turned it into a more official role. It's a neat thing, really--he's great with the kids and able to help the ones who seem the most uncertain with the whole thing. And I think Monk loves having him out there.

I'm taking the opportunity to have some quiet time on my own at home. Living in such a teeny-tiny apartment makes it quite difficult to ever really be alone and home at the same time! I love my guys dearly. But sometimes it's also nice to be alone, too.

I hope to get some reading done for Tuesday night's class. I can't believe we only have about four sessions left! This semester has flown by and been truly wonderful. And I can't believe that I'll get to do this now for the rest of my life. How I love teaching!

But before I do the reading, I think I'm going to spend some time cleaning up around the apartment. I just wrote to a friend of mine that my least favorite rhythm in life is the Neat-to-Messy-to-Neat rhythm. There seems like there's got to be a way to end the vicious cycle! It is a daily rhythm (messy by the end of the day), the weekly rhythm (a mess by Saturday), the monthly rhythm (too much junk mail and other papers on every surface), and for us a semester rhythm (the later in the semester it is, the more of a wreck the house is in)!

Over the years I have become increasingly convinced that being able to create a comfortable, neat, and beautiful space inside our apartment lends to a sense of peacefulness and creativity that is otherwise squelched in a messy home. In fact, a messy home I think is one of those, as I call them, white-noise stress inducers--like white-noise, below the surface but keeping a low-grade level of stress constantly present.

Lately I have been considering painting one of our walls in the apartment a rich, dark color--something other than the glaring white of apartment living that has been our constant environment for, well, most of our adult lives! I'm tired of white walls! Technically we're not permitted to paint the walls, but I think as long as we're willing to repaint it white again when we move out then we could get away with it. Any advice?

Yesterday I met with my spiritual director and talked about a growing desire to deepen my spiritual "disciplines"--such a strict word for such a gentle practice! As we talked about it, I became aware that I think of four tiers of spiritual practices that seem to be intertwined: daily prayer, spiritual reading (non-academic, inspirational reading such as writings of the mystics, for instance), writing, and making retreats. As I prepare to begin my teaching position this July, I'd like to have all four of these in place--so that I begin in balance. Patterns started early tend to carry through. So it's best to begin the patterns intentionally.

So I suppose I am working on interior spaces right now: the one I live in and the ones within me. I guess that makes sense at a time of major transition such as this. Like "nesting" as a pregnancy nears it's birthing.

Some Good News to Share!

I am truly thrilled to share some very exciting news with you. As of Wednesday afternoon I accepted a position as an Assistant Professor in my field at By the Bay Seminary. (Trying to announce this exciting news while not revealing exact details!) :)

This has developed quite quickly over the past month and a half or so. And although we all thought we would be heading back home this summer, we are really very, very happy.

I have been on a long journey since I started seminary in the fall of 2000. I have tried to follow a sense of where I was being led, but it honestly never made any practical sense. My denomination historically has downplayed the importance of studying worship on the seminary level (though we've certainly emphasized preaching!) And it was truly a leap of faith to go ahead with my oddball degree in Liturgical Studies, despite every sign that it would only leave me unemployed at the end of all these difficult years.

Now I am in awe of how quickly this position came about. And that my destination has finally become clear. I am so thankful.

A really wonderful benefit of these past couple days has been getting to share this news with loved ones who have been such an important part of my journey all these years. As notes have poured back, I've been more aware than ever of how many mentors I've had along the way. What a joy to hear back from quite a few people who feel at least in part responsible for this success--and rightly so! I'm more aware than ever of the reality that I did not accomplish any of this alone, but only together with family, friends, teachers, spiritual guides, and loved ones.

Today D and I "celebrated" by taking the day off from work and overhauling our apartment! After years of being prejudiced against renting storage space (it's always felt like a uniquely North American "problem" of excess), we decided that our teensy tiny apartment just could not be comfortably home with every nook and cranny filled with boxes. We realized that our frustration was going to ultimately resolve itself by having us decide it was impossible to live in such a small place (and thereby increasing our rent by several hundred dollars a month) or by renting a little extra space for a fraction of that cost.

After doing some online research, we headed over to a place that's only a couple blocks from here, and rented a small unit immediately. We proceeded to take over three loads (in our little Nissan). Then spent the rest of the day really cleaning and re-organizing the space.

The decision felt great. It was a sense of settling in on a deeper level than I think we'd allowed ourselves to do before.

Now I'm a good, bone-weary tired. The cat has curled up across my legs. (It's warm enough this evening that we have all our windows and the front door wide open and I'm still wearing shorts!) The coffee table in front of me is completely cleared off (for the first time in over a month) except for a lovely candle with a sturdy flame. I can hear a soccer game being vigorously played in the park across the street. It is a good night.

Preparing for Baptism

Last evening we had a long conversation with Monk about his desire to be baptized. We're still trying to get a sense of his desire, wanting to make sure that he is not asking to be baptized simply because he senses it would please us or make us proud. Monk is going to be turning nine years old in just a couple weeks. So he's really at about the youngest I would think he ought to be baptized. That is, speaking from my Baptist perspective. If I switch theological hats, back to my Lutheran one (where I went to seminary), I'm perfectly fine with infant baptism. But we are Baptists--so I feel it's important to be respectful of that tradition in this case.

Several of Monk's thoughtful responses were very beautiful to me and I decided I wanted to share them here. As much to have some friends and family aware of how he's feeling about things these days as to have me remember these "thick" days myself someday.

When D asked why he was feeling he wanted to be baptized, Monk responded: "I feel as though Jesus was a really important person who made very good decisions in life. And I want to live my life in a way that follows Jesus' example. And I figure baptism is the place to begin."

Monk also said that he wanted to be able to tell kids that he was a Christian and not to be embarrassed about that, but to simply be able to tell them that that was a part of who he is.

When we asked what he thought it meant to follow Jesus' example, he answered: "To live in a way that is kind to other people, to be thoughtful, and generous, and loving. To help people. And if I get signed someday as a hockey player for millions of dollars that I would give away half of it to help other people. Because it's not right that I would have so much when other people don't have enough food to eat every day."

Then D asked Monk: "A lot of people talk about Jesus dying on the cross for our sins. What do you think that means? Is that something you believe?"

"Not really," Monk answered. "I think Jesus was killed because the Roman government thought he was a real threat to their power. And that worried them a lot. When he wouldn't back down, then they killed him to set an example for all the other people in case they were thinking of resisting the government, too. The Romans thought they had won, but then God proved to them that love is stronger than death."

Because we're reading the Bridge to Terebithia right now, we had just the night before encountered the scene where May Belle is worried that if Leslie doesn't believe in Jesus that "God would damn her to hell." Monk giggled every time I'd read the line, because all he heard in it were the curse words. But last night I explained to him more about why May Belle would say that. "Some people are taught a theology that if someone doesn't believe in Jesus then God will send them to Hell."

"Do you have that theology?" he asked.

I told him I did not. D admitted that when he was baptized, he did believe that. But that he didn't believe it anymore.

"Well, I think that's a pretty dumb theology," Monk said. "I mean, God created different genders, right? And God created different species. And different continents. And different vegetables. And different kinds of people. Why wouldn't God also create different faiths? Doesn't that just make sense?"

So that's where our boy is right now.

Watcha Doin'?

It's been ages since I've participated in a RevGal Friday Five! But I'm delighted to take on this easy assignment of listing five things on my To Do List for today! :) How 'bout you?

1. Go watch Monk play recorder with The City Symphony at his school! :)
The kids (K-5) have been practicing on their instruments for months now for this special concert. Now how cool is that?

2. Finish planning Sunday's worship service and put together the bulletin.

3. Read for pleasure not for work!
I'm in the midst of Barbara Brown Taylor's Leaving Church. An enjoyable read, especially as one who straddles the church v. academic world.

4. Go buy a sack of sand!
I think I want to do a "station" at church on Sunday where people can come forward and place long taper candles in a big box of sand--in prayer for those at war in the desert regions of our world. (Gifts in the Wilderness and Rivers in the Desert is our theme for Lent this year. Given that this weekend we commemorate the start of the war, it seems important to be especially aware of not over-romanticizing the desert experience. I've got the candles. Now I just need the sand...

5. Go to a Sake Tasting session at our sake museum right down the street from us!
Yummmm.

Random Entry

1. We are loving our new Mac computers! The latest hit in our house has been creating songs on Mac's Garageband--a program that comes already installed which allows you to compose songs using either original creations or by putting together a series of loops in fun and interesting ways. Monk has lately been composing a song a day--starting out with some moody, new-agey sounding songs, moving to the genre of Techno (calling his first creation in that genre "TechnoMonk"), then to world music with my current favorite of his "World Fusion" where he combines Congo beats, Nordic flutes, Indian tablas, orchestra strings, tambourines and more into a truly fun song. He's also written one song called "Stick It (to the Man)" which cracks me up, coming from our dear, almost-nine-year-old, boy. Yesterday we burned our first cd with all his creations and listened to them on our way to church. Now, how cool is that?

2. I preached on Sunday. I had gone into my weekend thinking it would be no problem to churn out a sermon given that I've been preparing weekly lectures for the class I'm teaching this semester. Well, I came to find out the Holy Spirit does not appreciate such arrogance when it comes to sermon preparation. Preparing last Sunday's sermon just kicked my butt! Eventually, the words and focus came, but not after hours and hours of struggle. My favorite part of Sunday's service was when we invited folks to come forward and receive figs! (One of the texts was from Luke 13, where a gardener manages to buy another year for an as yet unproductive fig tree to put forth its fruit.) We had both dried figs (couldn't find fresh ones at this time of year) and fig newtons. Four of the kids in our congregation stood up front and said, "Taste and see the goodness of the Lord" as people took one of the treats to eat. It was cool. A couple weeks ago we did something similar, with the people receiving apples and dipping them in honey. (That was the week we read about the promised land flowing with milk and honey.) I'm trying now to think of a way to end this week's service. Food again? The Prodigal Son story certainly ends on a big feast--though I'm not planning on roasting a calf for church this week!

3. Our son continues to want to be baptized this Easter. I'm so happy about this. But I'm also concerned that we do it "right"--whatever that means. How do we prepare him for the day in an adequate way? And I also feel very sad that he won't be baptized with his extended family there as well as his church being present. When he was dedicated as an infant, Monk filled two very long pews with friends and family members! I wish that could be the case for this big moment, too--the 'first fruits' of the catachesis he has received since he was dedicated at 8 months old.

4. Last night I led the second of a four-week class called "Beginning to Pray" in which I am introducing folks to the practice of contemplative prayer. I start folks out with a brief time of instruction, then we practice the prayer together. Last week's class focused on praying in silence. Last night I used a more guided method based on Ignatian spirituality-following the form of Sacred Space. As a result, I wasn't really able to participate in the prayer time as much as I had the previous week when we all kept silence together. The meeting time isn't ideal--as lots is going on at the church on Wednesday nights. That's when we have our weekly kids program, as well as a parents' group that meets off the sanctuary. So lots of sounds and distractions. I think I'll try the group again when things quiet down again on the church campus. It feels like such a privilege to lead this experience for folks. Contemplative prayer has a large role in where I am in my life today. It's a joy to see people opening themselves up to trying this out themselves.

5. I am grateful this week for the ways in which my discernment about my life and ministry are coming to great clarity. I hope that by this time next week I will be able to share publicly some very good news that will be an affirmation of all these years of stepping along a dark path-- where there has been no clear destination in view--only a sense that I was supposed to be on the path itself, wherever it was leading.

6. A couple days ago I received an invitation to a twentieth high school reunion! It shocked me to discover that this year I mark twenty years since I graduated high school! Funny thing was, though, that the invitation was from a high school I didn't, in fact, attend! This got D and I to thinking that we ought to attend it anyway. Now, wouldn't that be a hoot?!

Sabbath Stirrings

Last night I had an evening event which wore me out a bit. I came home feeling tired and cranky--the second night in a row where I was out past 9:30, which means not being home to tuck Monk in at bedtime. (I teach on Tuesday evenings until 9:00 and can sometimes make it home in time to kiss the boy on his head before he's drifted off to sleep.) My day always feels unresolved when I'm not here for Monk's bedtime.

When I got home last night, full of grousing and grumbling, I discovered D looking awfully worn out himself. Turns out the Boy (Monk) had had a pretty hard night, too. He'd broken down into tears several times while at his usual Wednesday night church program (our church has a Wednesday night Logos program for kids). As I heard the report of what all had happened--little things, but with a wallop of a cumulative effect)--I understood how he could have lost it by the end of the night. But I also noticed that woven through the evening, for Monk, was a recurring theme of his growing anxiety that he hadn't yet gotten his homework done (or even started) for the week.

D and I blinked at each other, once we both got done sharing about our evening's stress, both of us a little too worn out to be much help to one another. It was just one of those nights that was better dealt with by ending it--worn out, it was time to turn in for the night and try to get some rest.

This morning I woke up thinking about that need for rest. A friend of mine is leading a Lenten series on Sabbath this year. And this morning it occurred to me that my experience last night points to my own need for sabbath. I've discovered this past year, as I've cobbled together my two "part-time" (in pay, not in hours!) jobs teaching at the seminary and serving in a church, that the week's schedule never allows for natural downtime. Once the academic work slows (on Wednesday morning), then the church work kicks into high gear. When the church work slows (on Sunday evening), then the academic work kicks into high gear.

I think my forbearance was low last night because I was supposed to be taking the day off yesterday, but instead found myself out until 10:30 at night. When we're spread too thin, we lose a generosity of spirit.

I think that was partly, even, what was going on with Monk yesterday. I'm a little ashamed to say that I think we've fallen into the trap of overprogramming him: aiki-jujutsu two to three times a week; Logos at church on Wednesdays; Chess on Fridays; Hockey on Saturdays; Church on Sunday. I've gotten into a habit of letting him put off his homework until the last minute because I can never bear to make him do it during the week in his downtime moments. But his anxiety goes higher and higher, it turns out, as the week goes on. Letting him put off his work is not a favor to him.

I marvel at how easy it is to overprogram our kids. I honestly never thought I'd be the kind of parent to do that--I don't think of myself as the SoccerMom type. But little by little, interest by interest, we've added to his daily schedule enough to keep him going most of the time. Right now it feels like something's gotta give.

This morning all of our spirits were in much better places. Monk and his Dad woke up at 6 and Monk diligently and determinedly knocked out nine of his fourteen pages of homework. He headed off to school feeling much more in control of things, not overwhelmed by them. I was able to laugh at the things that had peeved me last night. And feel restored at least enough to have written this entry here (which is no small thing, to have energy enough to write).

But I want to keep turning over this notion of sabbath--for me, my son, my family. The press and the push to accomplish, perform at our best, stay busy all the time can be a demonic push that keeps us distracted, distressed, and dispersed. To stop, in such a way that we can become open to God's presence in our midst, now that takes a leap of faith.

Edited to Add: Monk came across this blog entry on my computer this afternoon. After reading it he said solemnly: "Mom, something's gotta give." -beat- "And I think it should be school."

Starting Over?

Well, gee, I feel like I need to practically start over from scratch here on the old blog. I've probably lost nearly all the folks who used to stop by here regularly. And I do apologize for my absence this past little while. Bit of a sabbatical I suppose.

Things are actually going exceptionally well these days. Some exciting possibilities are in the works, which I hope to be able to share here, soon.

One exciting development in recent days has been that D and I invested in a couple new computers. Although the expense was large, it was also a very real necessity for us. The two of us do all our work from home (D is freelance and I, of course, teach and study), so our computers hold our whole lives (and livelihood)!

After much consideration, we decided to make The Switch--and we left our PC lives behind and joined the world of Apple! After a weekend of trying to familiarize ourselves with the new operating system, I'd say we're doing pretty well. And we love the machines. They sure are beautiful.

This week has been consumed by Lent preparations. We doing a very unique, celebratory Lenten series this year drawing out all the beautiful (mostly Hebrew scripture) passages of promise that fill our lectionary texts these season. One of my favorite things that we've done is moved the large (4-foot) fountain in from the courtyard outside into the sanctuary. The sound of the water burbling throughout the worship service was really beautiful.

Well, I guess that's it for now. I do promise to try and be a bit more consistent here than I have in recent weeks.

Ready or Not!

On Saturday late afternoon, I received a phone call that the person who would be leading Adult Sunday school had to cancel due to illness. (She actually ended up in the hospital Sunday morning, so keep her in your prayers!) So I had to be sure to prepare the class in addition to making the many last minute arrangements for the rather complicated worship service I had planned.

In the end, the two needs ended up being addressed at the same time. I recruited the extra readers I needed for the service during Sunday school--which felt rather like a brilliant move on my part if I do say so myself. :)

Although our congregation does follow the lectionary, yesterday we departed from it (for the most part) in order to have a service to celebrate the witness of Martin Luther King, Jr. (We kept the Corinthians text, but substituted other texts in for the two other readings.)

However, in Sunday school we were studying together the gospel text (John 2:1-11) of the Wedding at Cana.

I had some great resources to help me prepare for the lessons. Our church uses the Seasons of the Spirit curriculum put out by the United Church of Christ. Their emphasis for the lesson was on the abundance of God's love--reflected in the abundance of wine that Jesus creates out of water. Believe me, I'm all about abundance, especially when it comes to God's love. But something was not satisfying me about this direction. I decided that what I really wanted to do was somehow connect the gospel text to Martin Luther King.

Very early on Sunday morning, I turned to the RevGalBlogPals for inspiration--checking out the comments on the 11th Hour Preacher's Party. There, I came across a comment left by Rev. Maria (who writes on the blog Jubilee). In this particular comment, she wrote that she was planning on drawing a comparison in her sermon on Sunday between Jesus' reluctance to perform his first miracle and King's experience at his kitchen table over a cup of coffee during the Montgomery Bus Boycott. Both men were reluctant to take the first (and in some ways final in the sense of irrevocable) steps toward their public ministries. And yet, both men were being called out, in some sense, to begin--despite not yet feeling ready.

The direction resonated with me on so many levels--although I was not yet familiar with King's coffee cup, kitchen table epiphany. I pulled out my old, ginormous copy of Parting the Waters. After much searching (the index didn't include a listing under coffee!), I managed to find an account of the experience. Taylor Branch describes it this way:

The limitless potential of a young King free to think anything, and therefore to be anything was constricted by realities that paralyzed and defined him. King buried his face in his hands at the kitchen table. He admitted to himself that he was afraid, that he had nothing left, that the people would falter if they looked to him for strength. Then he said as much out loud. He spoke the name of no deity, but his doubts spilled out as a prayer, ending, "I've come to the point where I can't face it alone." As he spoke these words, the fears suddenly began to melt away. He became intensely aware of what he called an 'inner voice' telling him to do what he thought was right. Such simplicity worked miracles, bringing a shudder of relief and the courage to face anything. It was for King the first transcendent religious experience of his life.... For King, the moment awakened and confirmed his belief that the essence of religion was not a grand metaphysical idea but something personal, grounded in experience--something that opened up mysteriously beyond the predicaments of human beings in their frailest hopes. (Parting the Waters: America in the King Years 1954-63, p. 162)

I also found this account from Albert J. Raboteau in an article comparing the spiritualities of Thomas Merton (one of my patron saints) and MLK, published in the Winter 1988 edition of Spirituality Today. You can find the article here. Raboteau relates the moment in King's own words:

"And I discovered then that religion had to become real to me, and I had to know God for myself. And I bowed over that cup of coffee. I never will forget it.... I prayed a prayer, and I prayed out loud that night. I said, "Lord, I'm down here trying to do what's right. I think the cause that we represent is right. But Lord, I must confess that I'm weak now. I'm faltering. I'm losing my courage. And I can't let the people see me like this because if they see me weak and losing my courage they will begin to get weak. And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, "Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And I will be with you, even until the end of the world." ...I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone. No never alone. No never alone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone. Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainly disappeared." (See A Hidden Wholeness: Thomas Merton and Martin Luther King, Jr.)

In the story of Jesus changing the water to wine at the Wedding at Cana, I always imagined that Jesus was reluctant to perform the miracle because he knew that it truly wasn't supposed to be the time for his public ministry to begin. He has always seemed terribly irritated in this story when he turns to his mother and snaps: "Woman, what does this have to do with me. Don't you know my time has not yet come?" But Mary doesn't flinch. In fact, she doesn't even respond to Jesus. She merely turns to the servants and instructs them to do whatever Jesus tells them to do. And Jesus follows through--just as she knew he would.

But for the first time, thanks to Rev Maria, I now saw Jesus as reluctant to perform this first miracle because maybe, just maybe, he didn't think he was ready. Maybe he didn't feel like he knew enough to put himself out there. Maybe he was reluctant because he was afraid--not just that he may not be able to do what he wanted to yet, but because if he did accomplish it, there would be no going back.

Raboteau writes as much about King. He says that it was King's epiphany at the kitchen table that caused him to "commit himself to the movement completely despite his growing realization more certain as the years went by -- that it would cost him his life."

I find such hope in these stories of reluctance. Indeed, I take courage in King's "weakness" as he sits at that kitchen table in the middle of the night, in desperate need of hearing God's assurances to him. And I take comfort in the image of a young Jesus who doesn't feel ready quite yet. A Jesus who feels like he needs to maybe read one more book before saying for certain what he thinks. Or needs to take one more retreat. Or simply needs to hang back just a little longer before he takes that first step.

We concluded our Sunday school time relating our own experiences of feeling not quite ready to take on all that we have to in our lives. And yet we find we simply have to step forward, ready or not, and face what we can with what we have. And in every moment, ready or not, we have to open ourselves to God's leading--in hopes of aligning ourselves with the Presence of Love in our midst.

Throughout all of Advent, I emphasized in worship the notion of God With Us, Emmanuel. Far from pretending that the Christ child has yet to be born, our congregation celebrated throughout Advent that God is Already With Us, accompanying us in every time and place.

And now, in this season after the Epiphany, I have encountered God's continuing assurance, through the epiphany of the prophet Martin: "I promise never to leave you, never to leave you alone. No never alone. I promise never to leave you, never to leave you alone."

Ready or not. No never alone.

Why Do Today What You Can Put Off 'Til Tomorrow?

When I was in the fifth grade, my grades took a nosedive. It was the first year of middle school. I was finding it more difficult than ever to tame what my kindergarten teacher had called my "free spirit." I'd gotten mixed in with the bad kids. I'm pretty sure a couple of them dropped out of school eventually. I didn't get along with my teacher at all. Somewhere along the way, I seemed to stop doing my homework completely. I remember lying in bed at night, dreading the next day.

About the middle of the year, my Mom was called in for a parent-teacher conference. My teacher looked at her gravely and said, "JWD has a real problem with procrastination."

Mom, without missing a beat, said with a twinkle in her eye: "Oh, I'll talk with her about that next week."

Mom never tamed her free spirit either. And my teacher was not amused.

So it made me laugh when I came across CNN's headline yesterday "Procrastination Report Released Five Years Late."

I tested positive for Emergent/Postmodern

With thanks to RevEm, who also happens to be Emergent/Postmodern.

You scored as Emergent/Postmodern. You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.

Emergent/Postmodern		75%
Neo orthodox		68%
Roman Catholic		61%
Classical Liberal		50%
Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan		50%
Modern Liberal		36%
Charismatic/Pentecostal		36%
Reformed Evangelical		11%
Fundamentalist		0%

What's your theological worldview?
created with QuizFarm.com

Keeping Time

I turned 38 a week ago. A delightfully curvaceous pair of numbers, wouldn't you say? I never mind, at least so far, turning a year older. It's better than the alternative, as my grandmother would say. But more than that, I like its reminder that time is passing.

I like the way age is phrased in French. J'ai trent-huit ans. I have 38 years in my life. In some ways, the English phrasing is accurate--but it's a bit presumptuous: I am 38 as if 38 sums me up.

I received a wonderful gift from my friend, srf, for my birthday. It's called the ECOlogical Calendar: A New Way to Experience Time, created by Antenna (a theater company) and published by Pomegranate. The ECOlogical Calendar emerged from a project by Antenna called AllTime in which they try to refocus our attention on the age of the universe rather than our usually constricted notion of time as counted out by the Gregorian Calendar. If you want to know what time it is, click here.

The ECOlogical Calendar incorporates many different ways that we experience the passing of time on earth: changing seasons, phases of the moon, changing tides, shifts in weather or winds, shifting biological behavior of plants and animals, seasonal stars, visible planets, and more. The calendar seeks to release us from our constricted, industrialized notion of time. In the introduction to the calendar they write: "As societies grew increasingly urbanized and diversified through industrial and technological progress, the calendar became more like a clock: a continuous, never-ending march of numbers, a business machine telling us when to be where, with appointments to keep and obligations to be met."

Aside:
As for me, I've never primarily experienced time in terms of numbers. I never experience anything in terms of numbers, not even math! Which is why I suck at math! :) When we did word problems in the sixth grade, I was always much more interested in the stories behind the problems. "Ann and David are traveling on two trains to Washington DC. Ann's train is going sixty miles per hour and her destination is 120 miles away. David's train is traveling 90 miles per hour and his destination is 240 miles away. Who will arrive at their destination first?"

That was the least interesting question to ask, as far as I was concerned. Why are Ann and David traveling on two different trains? Do they know each other? If not, will they meet? Why are they going to Washington DC? Who are their seat mates? How early did they each have to get up to catch their trains? Are they being reunited after being apart for a long time? Are they going home? Or leaving home? When Ann looks out the window, does she catch the reflection of someone else (a man? or a woman?) who is gazing at her? Is David reading a book on the train? Does he fall asleep and miss his stop? How would this affect who gets there first?

Needless to say, I had to go to the math tutor for extra help with word problems...

So one way the ECOlogical calendar undoes the sense of time as an endless progression of numbers is that they rename every day of the week to be something different--all 365 days! The names are lovely, whimsical, and rooted in the seasons (at least on the northern hemisphere). As you gaze across the week, a poem of sorts begins to emerge. So, for instance, this week, beginning on Saturday, the names of the week are:

FrozenSeas
DistantSilent
BarrenTrees
AlpineLake
HowlGale
WindBreak
SquirrelTail

That just makes me smile. And it's such a pleasure to check the calendar every day to find out the day's name. (Now to get these names embroidered on my days-of-the-week undies!) :)

Thing is, I constantly notice many of the things around me all the time. When I walk outside at night, for instance, the first thing I do is look at the sky to check for stars, the moon, clouds, or the silhouette of trees against the sky. But what this calendar has helped me realize is that in noticing these things, I am keeping time.

Because my calendar is an engagement calendar, each day has a few blank lines next to it. I've taken to writing brief notes on each page of something I happened to notice that day. I'll leave you with a few of my entries. I'll use the Gregorian date as well as the new day name.

Jan 3, LusterNight: beautiful moon!
Jan 4, Snow: Windy day, D arrives home
Jan 5, EarthGlow: Monk writes his first page of cursive for homework
Jan 7, SleetGlint: birds singing outside the Safeway
Jan 8, FrozenSeas: Spying constellations with Monk and D (Orion, Bootes, Gemini, Cassiopeia) Beautiful, half moon (lying on her back) at the horizon. HUGE!

Worship Celebrating the Witness of Martin Luther King, Jr

I'm working on planning worship this morning and am considering setting the day's service aside to remember the witness of Martin Luther King, Jr. In my travels on the web, I've come across an excellent online source for King's speeches--which I thought I'd share in case anyone out there is also looking for texts for this week. You can find it at MLKOnline.Net.

Even if you're not planning Sunday's worship, why not stop by the site and read the inspirational and challenging words of one of our most recent prophets.

Coaxing the Light

We celebrated Epiphany at church yesterday--a day late, I suppose. But Baptists have great leeway when celebrating any festival of the liturgical year. You're lucky we celebrated it at all, quite frankly.

For the first time, as I prepared the service, I was impressed with how expansive epiphany really is. The readings for the day all celebrate the expansive grace of God which pours out beyond any barriers we might have set up over time. God's grace is for all people. And God's love will not rest until all are brought into God's embrace. (Indeed, nothing is beyond God's embrace!)

The magi who came to meet the Child of Grace were among the first to recognize this expansive salvation. (The Hebrew word for salvation also means spacious, by the way!) Anna and Simeon, in Luke 2, also recognize it when they encounter the Little One on his eighth day.

I was aware of these things as I prepared the service earlier in the week. But by the time I'd gotten to Sunday morning, my own heart was heavy from a week's worth of accumulated burdens. I was cranky yesterday morning. My son was sick. I didn't have everything done that I needed to be done. I was running late. My computer was giving me troubles. I left the house already worn out and not the least enthused about going to--much less leading--worship.

Thing is, I needed worship. But what I need is rarely what I want. Besides which, I'm still getting used to the idea of needing worship as a worship leader. Precisely because I don't feel centered yet. I feel like I'm in the shallow end. Or up in the high gales. I'm not deep in the calm waters, or far below the bending branches in the quiet beneath. I guess somewhere I'd gotten it into my head that to lead worship with integrity, one needed to start from a place of wholeness. I'm starting now to think the opposite may be true.

My worship started in an unexpected way, though. It began when I was readying the sanctuary before the service started. I decided to take down the Advent Wreath. Though we could have justified using it through the season of Epiphany, in fact the blue candles were becoming mere stubs--and folks would be so distracted wondering if the wreath would go up in flames at any moment that the symbol wouldn't be able to function effectively anymore!

So I moved the wreath into the closet and picked up our nearly brand new Christ candle (lit only twice) to find a new, prominent position for it. As I did so, I noticed that the last time I'd snuffed the candle out, the wax had managed to completely seal over the wick--so that it could hardly be perceived at all!

Well, our Epiphany service was sopped through with Light imagery. And if there was ever a day we needed the Christ candle lit, this was it!

So for the next ten or more minutes, I gently, carefully, and diligently eased the wick from the candle. First using match after match, I would slowly melt the wax around the wick, then gently try and press it away. I was always aware of how delicate a wick can be. The slightest tug can rip off it's tip--resulting in a pathetic, tentative flame. After a while I abandoned the individual matches for the larger candle-lighter--those huge brass things you only ever see in churches. I could hold the flame to the wax a bit longer that way. Then I could set my finger into the hot wax and gently shape it away from the wick.

It was only after I'd been at it for quite some time that I started to become aware of the gift and privilege in this task. Coaxing the light on Epiphany.

The buried wick wasn't so different from my experience that morning. (Or last month, in my state of exhaustion for that matter!) Nothing could be forced in that time. But the gentle coaxing with the warmth of a flame reminded me of what I most want, to burn bright. There was something truly beautiful, in those moments of preparing the space for worship, as I slowed my pace to the attention of one detail. It was in that moment that my worship began--when I attended to my own need for the light of Christ.

Things That Are Bringing Me Joy These Days

1. Reading the Bible with Monk every morning
Just before Christmas, my parents-in-law sent Monk a cool new Bible published by Zondervan. It's called a Sports Devotional Bible. It's includes daily Bible readings and devotionals that always use a sports metaphor to explore biblical themes. Now you may feel sports metaphors are overdone, but for our eight-year-old they're exactly the thing to get him engaged with these ancient texts and to help him feel like they matter. Maybe as a result of reading the Bible together, Monk has started talking this week about wanting to get baptized. I truly celebrate his growing relationship with the Holy, Compassionate One.

2. Doing my own Bible reading again
Last Spring I started trying to Read the Bible in 90 Days. You can see the beginnings of the effort at my Travelers Together blog. I managed to make it just over half way through when I gave up the effort. With the start of the new year, and inspired by my son's enthusiasm, I've picked up with my reading again and hope to finish it out. So, reading the Bible in two sets of 45 days, I suppose. This time I used some birthday money from my Mom to buy the Bible that divides things up for you in easy twelve-page installments. Last time I did a lot of my reading online, which ultimately made me feel like I wasn't really making any progress. Call me a sucker, but the marketing of the Bible specifically for this use worked for me.

3. Lest you think I'm too holy for my own good--Watching Battlestar Galactica!
I started watching BSG at the start of the third season this past fall. I absolutely loved it, but felt completely lost. In December, a friend (SpiritMist) lent me season 1 on dvd. To his credit, D started watching the show with me--SciFi is not his usual cup o'tea--and now we're both totally hooked! He gave me season 2.0 and 2.5 for Christmas and my birthday. And I have been self-indulgently and joyously watching at least one episode every night since. In fact, I'm so hooked on the show that I used my Amazon gift certificate from my brother to purchase the cd of the soundtrack of BSG from Season 2. O happy, happy me!

4. Reading Thunderstruck by Erik Larson.
A fascinating tale about the beginnings of wireless communications (wireless telegraphy and I think, ultimately, the radio) overlapping with a murder mystery--all of it nonfiction.

5. Anticipating reading Pigeons: The Fascinating Saga of the World's Most Revered and Reviled Bird by Andrew D. Blechman. [Link to NPR Story on the Book]
Again, my brother gave me this book for my birthday. It is absolutely perfect for me. He gave it to me because when I was in second grade, my class went on a field trip to the Big City Zoo. We saw everything there was to see: Elephants, Lions, Tigers, Zebras, Giraffes, Snakes, Bats, Giant Turtles, Kangaroos, Polar Bears. Everything! When we got back to the classroom, we were asked to draw a picture of our favorite animal at the zoo. I drew a picture of a pigeon! When asked why pigeons--of all the wonderful animals we saw that day--were my favorite, I answered "Because they were the only ones that weren't in a cage! They could go wherever they pleased!" I've always claimed that story as being one of my self-constitutive stories. And for years, whenever I would visit a city for the first time, I would be sure and take a picture of the first pigeon I saw. I'll never forget my first time in Trafalgar Square when the pigeons flew all around me. I was ecstatic! I'm hoping this book will answer a question my brother raised once and has bothered me ever since: with all the pigeons we see all the time, why have we never seen a baby pigeon?

6. As of today I've updated my CV and sent a letter of introduction to my alma mater in hopes of securing an adjunct position back home as I write my dissertation.
This was harder to do than I anticipated it being. As easy as I find writing to be, I don't like writing letters that sell myself! But now that it's done and on it's way, I'm delighted with it.

7. Getting used to the idea of moving home.
Hard to believe, but I do think we've made up our minds on this one. Now it feels like everything has shifted. Things here are coming to an end. We've moved into a time when we need to savor what's around us, drink it in, experience the things we've put off. And we're dreaming again of life with our longtime friends, companions, and family. Discernment is such a beautiful thing. And when it's right, everything seems to sing. That's how things feel right now.

Becoming Place

I am feeling life returning again.

Though I've certainly been busy with holiday things, as well as concerns about my father-in-law who had back surgery about a week ago, these past couple weeks have been slowly and gently restorative for me. I came into the month of December physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted after an all-too-full Autumn.

Little by little, though, because of more moments of quiet and peace woven into my days, I have felt life returning again. This is such a good thing.

Somewhere in the midst of these past couple weeks, we have started to talk about the possibility of moving back home this summer. The more we've talked about it, the more I think we're starting to count on the idea. Though, I guess ultimately it will depend on whether it seems like I will have an equal or better chance of finding a teaching and/or pastoral post back home as here, once my dissertation is complete. (I do like the sounds of that.)

Already, I have felt the bittersweetness of walking through our beautiful city here--feeling that gentle pulling up of roots again from a place we'd started to think of as home. The sights, sounds, the smells here--eucalyptus trees, the hills and water, street performers, the train that rumbles by a few blocks away, rosemary bushes--all of them are part of what makes us up now. They've been shaping us for almost four years.

The other night, though, as a family we went to see Rocky Balboa. (A fantastic movie, by the way!) At one point, Paulie turns Rocky and says: "Once you stay in a place long enough, you start to become it." (Wendell Berry would love it!) Well, for us, seeing the sights of Philadelphia in that film was like reminding us of our place, what we had become over time. Even after these years away, it seems apparent that who we are is not fully here. Who we are is back there.

At least this is how I'm feeling these days. Though nothing is certain, yet. We're beginning once again to live into that in-between space of possibility.

Rockin' Christmas

Now I know we pray for God to "stir up" during the season of Advent, but this is getting a bit ridiculous around here! We've had four earthquakes rumble our tiny apartment in as many days--one this morning (3.5), two last night (3.7 and 2.2), and one two days ago (3.7)! All of them coming from the same spot on a fault that's about three miles from here (and six miles below the surface).

When we first moved out here I was very anxious about earthquakes. Since then, for the most part, I have loved every single one. I've been amazed at how different each one feels from the other. The first earthquake I ever felt, about two years ago, was as if the earth sighed. Another one felt like a shudder. Another was more of a harumph. And there was one that was just a loud bang and a settle, as if we just dropped a foot in our height above sea level.

The other evening when we felt our first 3.7 quake, Monk and I whooped and hollered and gave each other a high five. It is an amazing thing, a transcendent thing to feel the earth move--this all-too-solid foundation that I grew up thinking we could count on it staying put. The bedrock of the East Coast fills you with false expectations. But the temblors of the West Coast remind you that nothing stays the same!

Our second 3.7, at nearly 11 pm last night, was enough to draw me out of bed. I had to put my hand on Monk's bedroom door to stop it from swaying. That one brought tears to my eyes for the first time--a shock of fear moved through me, maybe because we were in bed and everything is supposed to feel safe then. But also because I experienced last night's quake as being utterly indifferent to us, having nothing at all to do with us. I felt for the first time the dispassionate and fantastically destructive potential pent up in the earth below me. I knew last night that it's release, however violent and life-changing for me personally, would not take me or anyone I loved into account. We don't matter in the least to this earth below me.

This morning the same fault shook itself again, measuring a less vociferous but certainly undeniable 3.5. We were able to take this one in stride again, but I'd be lying if I said we weren't getting a bit anxious about all this earth upset.

So I think I'll hold off on some of these Advent prayers and skip ahead a day or two to the more peaceful, silent night variety. And I admit to wishing for a good old fashioned East Coast White Christmas more than our West Coast rockin' one.

Charlotte's Web Lost its Magic

Today I went with my son's third-grade class to see the new Charlotte's Web movie. His class had all read the book together and this was their big reward. I love the book. We'd read it a couple times to Monk when he was still three years old. I'm quite fond of the old animated movie version (1973) of the classic story.

After hearing some great reviews of the new movie, I was quite disappointed by it. Overall, I found most of the performances to be cold and disinterested. It was as if the actors themselves never even bought into the story.

In the opening scene when Fern (played by Dakota Fanning) confronts her father who's about to do away with the runt piglet, you never get the feeling that these two characters actually have a relationship with one another. Fanning plays the moment as if she has no doubt that the father will do exactly as she wishes. Though she verbally protests, she seems emotionally unmoved by the prospect of the piglet's death. It's an odd combination--to see an empathetic character being played by a non-empathetic actor.

The quirky animals in the barn never take on dimension. Mostly you get the feeling that it's a poor remake of Babe. The characters' lines fall flat and seem strangely stiff. Maybe a result of updating the film to a contemporary setting without really updating the language. The only character who seemed to show any life was the rat Templeton, played by Steve Buscemi. Though admittedly he would only shine when he seemed to be doing his best impression of Paul Lynde's nasal-toned, self-absorbed ramblings of the same character 33 years ago.

Julia Roberts as Charlotte never seems to add any warmth or depth to her voice. She sounds as if she's reading her part distractedly. I never could shake the feeling that she remained aloof to the whole enterprise--as if she were just putting in time to collect a check at the end of the day.

Sam Shepherd's folksy voice as the narrator had the greatest potential. Ultimately, however, the writing seemed so bent on creating a sense of the "ordinariness" of this town, the animals, and the people that you had the feeling no one behind the film had ever lived a day in an ordinary town. Certainly, no one on the cast seemed capable of imagining--or worse, believing in--the everyday magic of the ordinary. As a result, the whole project fell awfully flat.

If you want to enjoy the story of Charlotte's Web again without reading the book, go back to the older animated version. You'll find a lot more life there then you will in the current release. If you're looking for a fun movie with animals, you'd be better off watching Babe. Or find a copy of the wonderful Adventures of Milo and Otis.