a slow migration toward glory

Have you ever looked at the sky on a day when the clouds more than blanket the eart - when they seem to create a luminescent ceiling for the earth? Have you noticed their slow, methodic movement - like an ancient migration? As you speed down i-5 maybe you feel like you are moving faster than the clouds, but their slow movement is so great that, paced as it is, it moves as though you were standing still. You know, something much much bigger than what i see or what i am is moving.

times like these, i remember God moves in much bigger ways that i can ever speed to keep up with or even fathom - God is simply there and moving.

Yesterday, i saw such clouds in my life. they were dark, but comforting. though they hid the brilliance of the sun (of course there is the hideous pun here "son"), the told me that the kingdom of God is moving beyond my understanding.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

at 1pm, the first funeral guests arrived. they greeted me with love and community
"hey, where's your black hoodie? deacon always wore back hoodie. you should have too. oh well. do they really let you work here with facial piercings? a tattoo too? wow. have you ever been a camp counselor? i go to camp to ride the horses. my name is peaches, but my real name is felicia. we have to let people know our real names. we have to stick together."

"hi, i'm trinidad, but really my name is josh. i want people to know that now. i'm not wearing any candy because deacon never did. it's in his memory."

at 2, the funeral started. around 2:30, the mic was opened for anyone to share a story about "deacon"

raver after raver after raver came to the mic. their words were holy. the experience was as vivid an experience as i've ever had of the kingdom of God.

at 3:30 (ish) my pastor stepped in to end the endless line of articulate mourners. he informed us that "deacon" was the one who held the door shut. he died saving the lives of many.

he then talked about how Chris' rave name was "deacon." He was a deacon at the church. he pledged an oath to serve the church and community with energy, intelligence, creativity and love. through the stories we heard, we knew he took this vow seriously. and so he is remembered as "deacon."

________________________________________________________________________________________

none of it makes sense yet - but i see the clouds moving. i know God is working, slowly, tenderly, mightily and presently.

here is to waiting and watching as the clouds give way to a glorious painting in t he sky.

thank you

i came home from the funeral - trudging through traffic.

i fell onto the couch and watched the news coverage of the event i'd just seen.

realizing i had an hour to get back to church and traffic was bad, i went to my room to change clothes.

while in my room, i decided to check my email. nothing. all day on a day i needed others and there was nothing. i thought to myself, "some day Becky, you'll realize no one's going to email you. no one's going to care what your day is like. no one is in your corner." melodramatic? yes. but i'd just returned from the funeral of a 21 year old killed in a massacre so, i'm allowed melodramaitc if it's what i feel.

a part of me still held some stupid hope that at least one friend would care. i hit refresh and was overwhelmed by what i saw - message after message of support and care - largely from people i've never even met - thank you annie!

i just burst into tears.

thank you all so much. there are no words. just thank you.

the funeral is today at my church at 2pm.

please pray for all who come - and those who decide not to.

Remember God is Using You

This post is for you my friend - you know I would never quote a Christian song on my blog except for you!

There is no pain. Jesus can't feel.
No hurt he can not heal.
All things work,
according to his perfect will.
No matter what,
your going through.
Remember God is using you.
For the battle is not yours.
It's the Lords.

There is no sadness.
Jesus can't heal
and there is no sorrow
Jesus can't feel.
All things work according to
the Masters Holy Will.
For the battle is not yours.
It's the Lords

(It's the Lords)

It's the Lords.
It is the Lords.
Hold your head up high.
Don't you cry [this part is total bullshit! cry! lots!]. It's the Lords.
No matter what. Your going through
remember God is using you.
For the battle is not yours. It's the Lords
-Yolanda Adams

no moment of transformation, of encounter, of redeeming love, of birthing hope amidst dispair comes without God orchestrating it.

i found this to be true tonight as my compassion for a treasured friend drove me to the grocery store to get her a boquet of flowers.

"hmmm....roses? spring flowers? how much money do i have? can i get her both? oh...i have more money than i thought.
hmmm...wouldn't it be awesome if it was overwhelming? i'll get tons of flowers.
oh and candles! lots of candles.
you know what i'll do, i set the candles up outside - oh and some rose petals! yeah! then she can come in and see the rest of the flowers!

by the time i left safeway, a simple flower arrangement had morphed into an elaborate set up. as my friend met this surprise, it was, to her, a prophetic and hope-giving experience that i could never have planned or known. only God could have given her that gift.

how great it is and was to playfully, whole-heartedly live into loving a friend only to find that God orchestrated my heart into God's exquisite painting for my friend.

we interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post for a piece of broken news

no quotes of context today. the context of this week leaves no space for it.


today I organized a youth event.
whirley ball?
movie night?
the spring retreat?
no. a youth group trip to a memorial service.
this should not be. this must not be.
someone told me recently, "no one is equipped to handle death. we were not designed to handle death."
this is true - but fuck, there it is. so, what now?
i become angry at God.


why couldn't the police officer happen by fifteen minutes earlier and stopped him before rather than after?
why the face?
why did he go to that rave to give people his phone number...i have his phone number in my phone - i have a dead man's phone number in my phone.
no - i'm not designed to handle this. and here it is, for me to handle.
so, i need God. where is and who is God?

i see myself like a little girl in her father's arms. she is angry and pounding his large, sturdy chest with her small, weak fists.

"I hate you! Don't hug me. Leave me alone. You did this. You did this. Why didn't you stop him!?!"
My fists slow and the intense embrace of my father grows tighter. I continue as the intensity of my voice dies.

"Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you stop it in the fucking garden? Why didn't you protect him? Why didn't you protect me? You didn't protect me. I'm scared because you didn't protect me.

My fists come to a stop, nestled in his chest as his arms clamp even tighter around me. Yelling turns to sobbing as my tears pound him with the same smallness and weakness of my fists.

"I'm scared. I'm scared Daddy. It's so dark. It's so evil. They shot him in the face - the face Daddy. I'm scared. I'm alone and scared."

My fists release their grip and I gently push my father away enough to see his face. He is crying. His tears intertwine with the residue of mine. His large, powerful hands grip my small arms as he pulls me close again. My arms rap around him and his encircle me. Together we cry.

He says to me:
"It is dark out there. It is evil. They shot him in the face. They shot my baby in the face I made for him - the face I put myself in and my thumbprint on. You are scared. You are not alone. Hope is here. Redemption will come...but today, let's cry together.

He rests his weighty head gently on mine as his tears annoint my head like a calling, like a balm, like cleasinig water. I am baptized in his grief. He holds my hand - so small in his that I hold only his index finger, like a baby learning to walk. Together, we sob and walk into the lives of others, so desperate not to be alone in the darkness, the evil, the fear.

And so is my calling - to lead as a child - to grieve and wail and to invite all God's children to be bathed in God's tears and clothed in his embrace.

___________________________________________________________

This reminds me of a poem I wrote last August:
flying away
from the work you've given
into the rest you've invited
my eyes accidentally meet yours
majestically burning, washing, and watching above the world you redeem

my mind rushes to accusation and projection
my heart tosses in a sea of question and distrust
my soul is drawn in and repulsed in a nausiating instant
my strength is gone and so does nothing

our heads are hung and our eyes are weepy
as we stand in a moment of tense experience

you speak silently:
you stand in a shadow of disappointment
of things waited for
the dark, loveless, graceless shadow
in whose darkness you hide
it is not my shadow
it is not the shadow of who i wait for
it is the shadow of the you that you are tired of waiting for.

do not create me in your image

i look again,
you stand regally over the world
with open hands
your weepy eyes weep
not with exhaustion....as mine do
not with disappointment...as mine do
not with pity...as mine do

they weep with perfect and present love
i see you
i adress you
i am adressed by you

encounter

how long have you been there
waiting for me
to peer honestly into your fire and ocean eyes
to be in present love

de-humanization

today in church, the children's story was Judas' Kiss. It wasn't the betrayal or the swords and clubs - it wasn't the hord of enemies he brought in tow - it wasn't really even the kiss. it was the intimacy, the coming near, the lips touching skin and saliva annointing the face of another that brought me to tears this morning.

i thought to myself, this is not what a kiss is for.

today in church, the first story i heard was death. one of the youth (now 21 - who has not been in the youth group while i've been there - but who has come many times) from my church was killed in the zombie massacre saturday. his mom was at church saturday night when she found out. she didn't find out until late because it took the police all day to identify the victims. it took the police all day to identift the victims because they were shot in the face.

again, tears - sobbing.

i thought to myself, this is not what a face is for.

_______________________________________________________________________

after church, i heard one woman - who i always struggle with - laughing and saying, "you have to trust that God is soveriegn in this."

do you? today?
do you have to laugh? today?
does life have to go on? today?

the story of Jesus does go on. but today, i grieve the kiss.
life, will go on. today, i grieve the death - i grieve the de-facing - i grieve the de-humanization of those i love, who were created in God's image and deserve so much more than a betraying kiss and a violent death.

ladner out of context

Liz: last night Jesus was in my dream.
Annie: Oh (tilts head as she sighs like a little girl over a puppy dog or a pre-teen over a heart throb), was he as ugly as the Bible says he is?

Five months and counting...

I have four and a half months - or less - left at my current job.

It seems a good time to start imagining what Sinners and Saints Seattle will look like.

Questions swarming my mind as a procrastinate on an exegesis paper:

Where will we be located? Missionally, I'd love to live in White Center - practically, none of my friends do.

Will we be connected with a denomination? Mennonite?

What will our connection with Sinners and Saints look like?

Who will be a part of the community?

Will we have children?

Will we have a diversity of age?

What will we teach first? How will we teach? Will we teach?

What social service organization can we be attached to?

What high-needs community members will we be blessed with?

How will we care for eachother?

What kinds of art will be birthed from our engagement?


As I thnk of September, I find myself praying for the family members I'll find and for the beginning of our weaving as a family in Christ.

to honor the multitude with mourning

29,000 die of hunger every day. That’s 29,000 faces that reflected God’s face. That’s 29,000 portions of the image of God. That’s 29,000 stories God wrote that are lost to us this side of Heaven. That’s 29,000 of God’s children. 29,000 of God’s friends. 29,000 of Christ’s brothers and sisters. 29,000 of God’s paintings. 29,000 of God’s gifts to us.

Will we seek their stories? Will we do everything in our power to save their lives? Will we remember them? Will we mourn their souls, their eyes, their finger prints, their unique DNA, their laughter, their faces? Will we treasure them?

In the kingdom of God, does a sparrow fall so idly? Does a human being fall idly? Do 29,000? Daily?

I want to invite the community around me to a week of mourning – wearing black, not wearing makeup, not celebrating, only painful laughter – a week of holding the 20 lives lost every minute in our minds every minute that passes.

Anyone who would want to join me in mourning, I invite you to comment on suggestions of a week and what that might look like – meeting every night to watch films or hear voices of the ongoing tragedy? A community blog? Service?

where my tax return will go

quotes out of context, season two episode 8

My glasses are the problem.

Now listen idiot. Listen you little jackass recently graduated with an MA in what? from where? I will eat your flesh.

I will let people know what an idiot you are.

You shouldn’t be afraid of death. You should be afraid of me.

I can smell your breath.

Will you now go and get a cold glass of water?

I am the man.

Additional quotes out of context:
"I love shame."
Nick Sagnibene

"The Princess Bride is the Christian sub-culture's Star Wars."
-Emily Thomas

shit

i've said "shit" many times tonight.

shit i have a lot of work to do

shit my cousin's mad at me because i'm not helping with the wedding too much

shit there's nothing vegetarian on this menu

shit how do i write this tough paper about my family

but then came the painful one

shit

my parent's don't care about me

they don't love me

they use me

they, in fact, hate me

shit.

biers out of context

"washing people's feet in the dark? that's not good. that's like havin sex in the dark."

"suing is one of the greatest things we can do."

out of context -- and out of print.

the quotes tonight were irresistable...but....so irresistable that they are better not put on the internet...

so, here's a photo out of context (courtesy of eagle and child) in their stead.


okay - here's the g rated quotes:

“You are desperately young and that is not your fault.”

“You are old compared to a fourth grader.”

“If you could do four jumping jacks, it would be clear.”

“Don’t pirate CDs. That’s a public service announcement brought to you by Mars Hill.”
-Misty Anne

congrats to my roomie on her handsome nephew!

Requiem

Today could be your burial
Rain pounds the ground like too many unshed tears
Umbrella up, narrowly protecting me as I stand
Still drenched as heaven wails
My high heals sink into the deeply dampened ground
Now your home
And I never knew you
I never heard your story

Today could be your funeral
The pastor’s face sags as though he knew, loved, and lost you
Boredom like a wall barely protects my hardened heart
Still broken as heaven mourns
My hands artificially raise, pointing beyond vaulted ceilings to heaven
Now your home
And I never knew you
I never heard your story

And you were
And I wish I was
And we’re all supposed to be
More and more
Human

I heard of your death like everyone’s
On cheap newsprint
Their pictures
Their stories
Their grieving families
And charities in lieu of flowers

No picture
No story
No grieving family
Just a number: one in 29,000
And a charity anesthetic for the pain

And you are
And I wish I was
And we’re all supposed to be

Supposed to...

But you left
And I wish I could
And we all tend to be
Less and less
Human

to be (un)told

i'm looking for stories of the lives of african, southeast asian, and south american children.

i've been looking for three hours.

i've found 4.

what i've found hundreds of are children's stories from these areas.

apparently, a story written by J. Smith about a playful Monkey is a story "to be told," and a life lost to hunger - 29,000/day - is not to be told.

those stories that i have found are one paragraph of information on the child's life before x charity came and offered hope. this is beautiful, but seriously, what about the other 28,999 children? couldn't there something beautiful in telling stories of children - even if it doesn't end up helping them? sure, that's not enough. it is grossly not enough. but, still, simply to tell a person's story in honor of that person - this seems an upholding of the imago dei in children whose lives have not been celebrated.

mars hill students: what if we planned a trip to aftica either in january or next summer with the purpose of setting up a website that honors the stories of african children? would anyone be interested in that?

will the real Jesus please stand up?

every year for 30 years my church has gone to othello, wa to work with migrant farm workers' children. the children are mainly from mexico and guatamala.

every year for 30 years, my church has used flannelgraph to tell these children bible stories.

every year for 30 years, my church has used WHITE flannelgraph characters, with every angel being blonde with blue eyes to invite these latino children into the community of faith.

enter me.

i can't live with that. so....

yesterday i made the suggestion - ok, maybe sternly stated that we need change - that we use either jewish looking flannelgrpah characters or latino ones.

the response: an enraged glare and near-shouting proclamation "latino characters would be highly inappropriate because we are talking about jewish culture here!"

my response: "well, a white jesus is highly inappropriate too, but we've used that for years."

the leader who spoke up sat outraged, rolling his eyes and fuming in the corner for the rest of the meeting.

no amount of explatives can express how i feel. i want to give up, but it's not my church i'm fighting for here, it is young children who need to be able to see themselves in the biblical stories.

how do we make it clear: Jesus is not white!

Image, Community, Christ, and Gender

what is the weight of our understanding of humanity and of the image of God? how could re-visiting and highlighting this subject dramatically alter our lives?

given the Barthian understanding of the imago dei as the potential of i/thou relationship, and actually taking that a step further via the two great commandments, it seems obvious that the imago dei is in the potential for i/thou relationship with God and with humanity - and, actually, that the imago dei is untwisted from the fall in mutually loving relationhips between i/thou and i/divine thou - (wow this is getting to be a long and confusing intro to the question i want to ask - and sincerely hope you will comment on!) - we can conclude that to be imago dei - which is to be human - is to be communal.

we can, then, further conclude that no single human being can be "human". rather, a communal collection of beings become human as they are relating.

given this, as we look at the necessity of Jesus' humanity, the question becomes, can Jesus be human without the community of those around him? can we conclude that God, genuinely needed certian human beings in order to become fully human? did Jeus need the disciples (12 apostles and other - including women) in order to be a human and thereby redeem humanity?

ruminating further on the imago dei, genesis 1 makes it crystal clear that female and male are communally needed for the fullness of the imago dei, and therefore for humanness.

what does this mean for the humanity of Jesus? does his gestational community with Mary become key in his humanity? do the women who follow and love Jesus provide fuller humanity to Jesus? does their remaining at the cross play a role in Jesus' being human at the moment of crucifixion?

more applicably, does this, then, mean that when we make ministry an entirely male vocation, do we de-humanize leadership in the church? do we de-humanize our leaders? does becoming Christlike mean becoming human? and, if so, does this, then mean engaging more and more perichoretically with gender until our perichoresis mirror's God's and, in our humanness male and female and co-existing in loving community?

the obvious, though distateful from my unmarried point of view, is that we are most human in sexual encounters when the diversity of male and female work together to bring about mutual pleasure for the glory of God (or love).

what does that mean for ministry? male and female ministerial partenering? the importance, and even utter centrality of a theology of sex? what does this speak to the issue of homosexuality? modes of preaching? the theological texts we pick and choose to read from? who seminaries hire to instruct in ministry?

if male and femaleness are so utterly necessary to reflect - and thereby glorify - God, how does this change our theology? what life does it invite us to live? what becomes our catechesis?




so...there's some theological vomitting for you to sort through and begin to reflect on. please, please discuss this!

Naomh Pádraig setting the stage for saint patrick

Neither a lamb nor a lion, today is a bland though grey day in Seattle - but a Seattle spring is approaching. So begins the countdown to the biggest day of the year: Saint Patrick's Day.

Over the next couple of weeks, I'll be sharing Saint Patrick's Story with you in a five act play.

We begin with prologue – the already in motion story Patrick is born into.

Without mentioning anything else of the background, we must start where Patrick does: God. In his Confession, he writes, “God himself is the beginning of all things, the very one who holds all things together, as we have been taught.”

Stepping out of this universal yet intimate beginning, we encounter his family:
Patrick’s grandfather, Potitus, was a priest , basking in the recent ecclesiastical freedom and privilege initiated by Constantine and owning land both in the city and one the countryside.

His Father, Calpornius , was also clergy, a deacon, and a imperial tax collector.

Patrick’s family foreshadows greatness – but not the type which Patrick’s journey leads him to.

Taking yet a step further, we find the prologue making room for a small Roman town on the Western coast of Britain named Bannaventa Berniae. The town, like his family, likely prepare to provide Patrick luxury and safety. Walled, as most cities were in that place and time, and supported by slaves, also fitting the place and time, the city offered Patrick the start he achieved: “An atheist from childhood.”

With one last step, we conclude the prologue: Patrick was born into a Roman Britain at time when the British proudly referred to themselves as Romanus and when Christianity freely existed and had been made the only legal religion by Theodocius.

Quotes out of context, volume two, chapters three and four

Last Week:

“The absolute most logical question [for me to ask] was ‘Am I pregnant?’”
“I’ve given birth three times.”
“[If] you say “I love this community,” well then you must be very new.”
“You found the right church; it fits you; it’s wonderful. Give it time.”
“People in this church will say things that hurt you, that do you harm, and you will need batteries.”
“Once a child is mobile, it is an opportunity for a new kind of suffering.”
“Why do I want to hurt you?”
“You are meant to be a therapist. You are troubled.”
“I should have been wise enough to [ask my wife] ‘How much money do you want?’”


This Week:
"God be with you all and Tiny Tim."
"They will only come to you if one person of their family will start lighting themselves on fire."
"[There is] too much libido in chocolate chips."
"You fanaticize about lighting your own couch on fire."
"Your first child is your throw-away"

phones

so, my phone is broken. because it fell off of my car two weeks ago - and broke a half week ago - tmibile won't honor the warrenty. so....i can sell my cell phone soul to the tmobile devil for another 24 months - totaling 4 years now and pay $24 for a new phone, or i can pay $100 for a new phone.

ahhhhh!

all this, and either way, it's a week until i get a new phone.

so, i (with a fellow student, Jon) preached today in my "preaching" class. only we didn't really preach, we "crafted a transformational moment." i wasn't trying to be overly creative or, as my professor termed "experimental," but that was what happened. it was midrashic, intimate, participatory, serving, it gave me more than it gave my words, it was being rather than doing, it was post-modern, it invited the class into the shared experience, it met different people at different time and in different ways, it was a sensory experience.

these things could all go on the list of thing i have fought to be. and if i was ever seen as these, i would think to myself, "i've worked hard to be this person."

today, i was me - a very sick, weak, empty of energy me. and this is what was.

there is really something to being who you are and not striving for something else. it feels like trust and like admmiring an Artist's on-going work.

Does this mean that I do not try to become more, to grow in the likeness of Christ? no. But it also means I rest and recieve God's pleasure.


When Jesus said to Peter, "On this rock I will build my church," Do you think he meant "With what I can change this rock into, I will build my church." Or, do you think he meant something like Michealangelo meant when he crafted David - "There is something in this rock that I will free, but on this rock - and it can be no other rock - and it does not need to be a different rock - i will build my church."

phone = found, returned, NOT GETTING SERVICE

phone = found and returned!

Do Bush and Bono really constitute two or more?

Scripture tells us that where two or more are gathered, God is there. Well, Bush had a national prayer breakfast, Bono came, and looking at his words...so did God.

I invite you to mull over these words and allow passion and heart ache to capture you - may we, as a blogging (or blog reading) community pray these words together.

"I'd like to talk about the laws of man, here in this city where those laws are written. And I'd like to talk about higher laws. It would be great to assume that the one serves the other; that the laws of man serve these higher laws ... but of course, they don't always."

"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house ... God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives ... God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war ..."

"... justice is a higher standard. Africa makes a fool of our idea of justice; it makes a farce of our idea of equality. It mocks our pieties, it doubts our concern, it questions our commitment."





ps...who'd guess that I'd ever post quotes from a prayer meeting Bush convened?

What's In a Name

This week's edition of quotes out of context has been pre-empted to bring you a heart-felt post. Don't worry, quotes out of context will return with this week's quotes and next.

Jaguar. Doubtlessly, that word does not conjure the image of a toddling toe-headed baby girl with an intoxicatingly loving smile. Yet, that is her name. For the first few months of my friend’s daughter’s life, I refused to use her name. It was incongruous and, well, unfortunate. In no way did a word used to denote a stealthy, spotted, rainforest-dwelling cat represent the precious child I alternately called “Sunshine.” However, as months passed and she and I began to share a saga of relationship, a narrative of meaning attached itself to the term Jaguar so that her intoxicating smile is the first image I see when I hear the word. In short, the narrative of the last year and a half has produced inextricable meaning for her name.

With this said, her well-meaning parents cannot be let off the hook of imperfect name choosing. There is not much outside of the meaning making of her on-going story to exegete in her ill-begotten name. What, however, if her name was self-given? What if she happened to know herself better than any other being has ever known herself? What if out of that self-knowledge and out of a gracious and sincere desire to be known by those who would grow to love her, she named herself? And, what if that name remained as incongruous a name as “Jaguar”? Would we laugh at it? Would we wonder what she was thinking? Would we set it aside as some sort of a holy word assuming we cannot understand it? Would we attempt to understand it? Would we make it so holy that we could not call her by that name and begin to call her “Sunshine” in an effort to protect the holy word “Jaguar”? Would we use her name to connect her with the animal because we enjoy studying the animal – even though the animal may have nothing to do with what she meant in naming herself?

As doubtless as the word Jaguar does not conjure a picture of my precious friend and most beloved child, this seems a silly and near worthless blog entry. But, let’s wonder further. Is there one who knows ones’ self well enough to bestow upon the self the perfect name? If so, how have we treated that name?

What is Yahweh? What is “I am”? Do we jump from it to the seeming fruitful world of the Greek understanding of ontology? Do we hallow it then leave it alone? Do we run to calling Yahweh “God” until we have forgotten the name we’ve hallowed? Do we exegete the term, combing it for every ounce of self-revelation Yahweh provides in it? Do we meet it as though it were a invitation to relationship with an otherwise unknowable Creator, Re-Creator, Beloved, and Friend? Do we study it as an object for paper writing, or do we relate to it as an uncontainable, though knowable “Thou”?

Jaguar is an unfortunate name that I tend to toss aside, apart from the narrative that unfolds as a relational saga between my I and her Thou. However, God has given us God’s true name. To the one to whom much is given, much is required. What have we done and what will we do with the extravagant blessing of the True God’s True Name?




So…now would probably be a good time to push the book I just read: “The Named God and the Question of Being” by Stan Grenz. This book is a thick read, filled with historical explorations and proofs. It is not quick. But, it is immeasurably valuable in the pursuit to engage the name of God.

lost and found

sure, i lose things A LOT! (ie my cell phone today), but sometimes it comes to immeasurable good.

when i was as gcts, i had an ethiopian friend whose wife had a baby back in ethopia. he had never seen his son and didn't know when he would.

meanwhile, i lost my digital camera. it was a gift and i felt bad, so i bought a new one. then, i found my camera. what was i to do with two cameras?

i gave one to my friend so that he could mail it to his wife who could mail it back to him with pictures and even video of their son. the first time he saw his son was on the camera i lost.

today i recieved this email - and i guess i'm okay with losing my cell phone:

"Dear Rebecca,

Greetings to you in Jesus name. This is your Ethiopian friend from Gcts. I am still in Boston doing ministry with Ethiopian immigrants. My wife and son just joined me from Ethiopia. I am still using the Digital Camera you gave it to me. Thank you again. Let me know how things are going on for you.

blessings,

Aboma Dirbaba"

Hinges of History, Wyle E. Coyote, and Gravity Lessons

I never understood how it worked, but it happened every time. Before Wyle E. Coyote held up a sign reading “Ahhhh” or something else in the category of a silent panic, and fell hundreds of feet to turn into a mushroom cloud with the Road Runner smirking and Meep-ing on the bluff above, before all this, he would run at least six feet on air. Then, as he realized there was no ground beneath his feet, he panicked and, inevitably, fell. I always wondered, “Did he fall because there is no ground beneath him, or because he realized it? If he didn’t realize it, could he have walked to the next bluff? Or, if he realized it, but didn’t panic, would he have calmly, though cautiously, continued to use his mind to create ground to walk on? At twenty-four with a Master’s degree under my belt, these questions still plague my mind. And, for the first time, they seem significant.


Last year, a friend and I sat down for coffee and conversation around the emergent church. Both being fans of Cahill, we saw the coming (present?) postmodern era as a hinge of history. The problem is, we live on the hinge, but the other side of the hinge, the land beyond the scenic bluff, doesn’t exist yet. The question beaconing us, as a church living on the hinge is this: Do we try to run back and clasp our weak fingers on the edge of the bluff called Christendom, hoping if we cling long enough and tight enough, we’ll not have to risk? Or, do we step off the bluff and, like Wyle E. Coyote, walk confidently on the air? Or, do we not panic, trust, and begin to create new ground on the other side of the hinge?

I'm in a class called "crafting transformational moments." However, a more appropriate title might be "re-imagining preaching workshop." Even in the class, we find ourselves re-imagining what a preaching class is like. Some days, we seem to fail. Others are glory. We're creating new ground, and I couldn't be more excited for the chance to a) create something new, and b) sometimes let that something new fail - fall - and get up, chalking it up to gravity lessons.

more naked, alone, and abandoned than anyone in history

what can you think of a God who leaves a righteous man naked and alone in his darkest hour - even though the betrayed man calls tenderly, like a child, for God?

This God sounds evil.



what can you think of a God who sacrifices everything and is humiliated as he dies for the sake of his very murderers?

This God sounds beautiful.



what can you think of a God who does both these things in the same instance?

This God is a mystery....but we must never forget this mystery is named love.

Fasting from eternity and waiting for the sun to set

The sun is still high in the sky. I want so badly for it to set. Please, please, please set so I can feast! The feelings of hunger invade my concentration and make the sight or smell of food a passionately ambivalent swirling of longing and hatred for the pain of lack. I smell more with each moment of fasting. The feasting around me becomes vibrant and holds my gave so covetously that I cannot avert my eyes as I voyeurously look on, participating in my heart.

When will the sun set? Five o-clock maybe? What will the sunset look like? Will it be brilliant and marked? Will it be subdued? Will it be purple, orange, yellow, or vibrant red? Will there be clouds or simply color smeared across a blank canvas sky?

I am curious, expectant, and longing.

Is this moment bad? Is there no good to be had simply because the feast is not here yet? Did I not passionately enjoy the juice I just drank? Did I not revel in it? No. no. Still, something better and bigger comes and the sunset and I will not be satiated as long as the sun remains in the sky.

Hmmm… are these eschatological feelings? Am I this hungry for the true feast? Does the hint of eternity sensuously and seducingly come to my nose and captivate my senses so that I cannot shake the thought of the feast to come? Can I look at the sun and revel in a beautiful day while longing for brilliant sunset and the feast that ensues? Do I see microcosms and tastes of eternity and find myself raptured in them? Do I feel hunger – see starving children (29,000/day), AIDS orphans, Bush/Cheney administration etc. – do I see the painful things and turn my eyes to the sun, waiting for it to set? Waiting for the eschatological end of hunger? And do I look for juice – for some nourishment to ease, though not quench the hunger residing in the now in wait of eternity?

How happily and unthoughtfully I fast from that which I was created for – and yet, how difficult it is for me to give up the material pinings of an only partially redeemed reality.

An “Honorific” Edition of Quotes out of Context

I’d like to begin this edition by saying that I greatly respect and admire Dan Allender. I am immeasurably blessed by and thankful for all he give me as a professor and school president. And, I am amazed at his intellect and wielding of words – ie, who would have guessed that “honorific” is actually a word – surprised me!

This man is amazing and “honorific,” but he does say some funny things!

Anyway, here you go:

“Do you love the way thorns and thistles feel as you weed your garden? If the answer is yes then we are in the realm of sexual disorders.”

“Sit here and watch Jerry Springer with me.”

“The task of a woman is to be a nuisance to her children.”

“I think they are involved in connubial bliss.”

“Am I for the hippopotamus?…This is not suitable for me.”

“My wife makes me cry a lot.”

“I like avoiding the conflict I tend to create.”

“Balance: obviously I’ve never achieved it and, therefore, do not like the word.”

“[All the Rambo movies were] bad, really wickedly stupid.”

“I am not claiming to be a completely mature human being.”

“Frankly my wife scares me to death.”

grieving great loss

I had drinks and painful moments with good people tonight.

I had really disconnected with the pain of being a woman going into ministsry. it really hurts.

it seems there is something important and beautiful in actually sitting in a sense of "woe is me that I am called to minsitry and get chastized for it when my brother is lauded for it." to actually sit and be in the depth of loss for myself and my sisters in the Kingdom that our brothers are embraced and even prodded into ministry and we only emerge through struggle - struggle that, as I experienced it, is numbing.

i have been deeply wounded, and pretending it away is not strong, but actually weak.

away in lake city, no place for a bed

sitting in a four hour meeting that should have been two hours, but everyone has an opinion and everyone's opinion is, apparently, worth more than families, than my school work, than health, than sanity, than the tireless work of underpaid ministers...so, it was a four hour meeting.

as the committee began to argue about increasingly petty things such as where and when coffee is served, my mind, under nourished - i made the faulty assumption that a 6-10 meeting would include dinner and hadn't eaten much more than carrotts all day - began to wander.

for a moment, i began to hold the good people have seen in me without dismissing them as uninformed or untruthful. i began to transport all the passion and hope i can feel when steeped in theology into the place i once hoped could be a community where theology lives. i began to feel a strange thing called confidence.

for a moment, i began to hold these things - i began to hold myself.

then, holding myself, i looked for a place to take and offer me. like a child, over excited about having bought the perfect gift, i looked with wide eyes for someone to take the gift and together marvel over it.

no one wanted it and, in fact, it disappeared behind some fogged curtian. i still saw its shadow as it left my hands and floated off to wherever it had been hiding.

why am i not that person? why is my ministry not that ministry? why do i have potential that seems to be imaginary or an optical illusion?

there's no space for me here. no space.

when i went on a mission trip to ireland, my mission team said they were amazed at how i moved into a place and a people and gently but firmly made space for myself.

and here, there is no space.

even as i hold myself, the space in my hands expires as the pain of wanting so desperately to give myself only to be rejected grows too bitter and intense and somewhere inside, i wish myself gone. i obediently disappear like a magic trick in a cloud of illusion.



then, who is our God?
our God had no place to be born, so Jesus came in a stable
our God's people had no place to live, so they prayed and marched and blew triumphant horns until walls fell and land became theirs.
our God was bannished to the point of death - not in a mystical cloud, but on a too real and ultimately cruel cross.
three days later, our God returned to embrace those who bannished "God with us."

quotes out of context, volume two, chapter two

Odd and deleterious things are coming out of [my] nose and mouth.

If I had my mind back, which I’m not sure it really was there ever, but I certainly don’t have it here right now.

If you want agony, be married.

My head is not fully on today.

You have 20 years to waste.

[Urination] for a male, is something he can stand almost completely apart from and yet participate in.

I got into a 15-minute discussion with a fellow urinator.

I really want to go to bed. I want to take a walk. I want sex, or I want something to eat.

You’re ridiculous. I should have just said that, you are ridiculous.

The night, actually, is fairly dark.

The suburban world kills marriages

You will have bloody hands every day of your life.

Imagine a Bitter Taste in Your Mouth

There are somethings that only some voices can share. I'm really tired of being "a women in ministry" because I just want to be a person in ministry - but, maybe it's important for people to see what pain following my calling and gifting has brought me...so, take a deep breath and begin to imagine being a woman called to ministry in middle class white America:

Imagine a decade of everytime you tell someone your dreams for the future, cowering like a beaten dog, wondering what chastization is coming your way.

Imagine being in high school and every time someone asks you the usual, "what are you going to do when you grow up" question, being scared - and meeting with not only disapproval of you, but even conversations with your parents about how they can fix the rebellious and sinful problem you are.

Imagine fianlly breaking away from that to dread the "what's your major" question in college.

Imagine your church praying for you to get married to a pastor so that you'll be satiated.

Imagine your friends all concocting some sort of career for you where you are not a pastor since "you've wasted all that education already."

Imagine just going to the cafeteria of your undergrad to eat lunch and having five or six people tell you that their pastor said that if you are a woman going into ministry, you need to repent and find a husband.

Imagine leaving everyone you know to cross the nation and arriving at a school where your first contact asks you how many women are in the MDiv and says the number scares him - you breathe a breath of rare hope - then he says he can't believe that a school like ours would let women into the MDiv program.

Imagine finally finishing that degree to be turned down for jobs because you are a woman - and worse - a single woman.

Imagine finally getting a position and being constantly mistreated by older men because you are a young woman.

This is only a taste, but maybe you see how a taste of something so bitter could be embittering.

Impressing No One

Who are we trying to impress? Who are we running for? Is God the evil scientist who places us in a rat race and watches us run around after some cheese that is, after all, just on the otherside of a piece of wood in God's maniacal maze?

Of course we know this is untrue. Of course we know God is love, God is personal, God ultimately sacrificed God's self for us - not so that we could be rats, but so that we could be more human - restored to God's image.

So, we are back to the question, who are we trying to impress - and what are we running for?

For the last two semesters, I worked full time at church and took a full load at school. Last semester, I even took my final class for GCTS. This semester, the work-aholism bug seems to have nuzzeled its way under a dear friend's skin and left her running from one job to the next. The only day she has off, she spends eight hours in class. Who are we trying to impress?

I am now only working 20 hours a week, but last week I worked something more like 60. This week I'll be at at least 30. Plus eleven credits. Who am I trying to impress?

Last night, I realized that I had been assigned 10 papers and probably close to 400 pages of reading due tomorrow. The syllabus arrived in my in-box on the 25th. A week and two days. There's just no possible way that can be done. So, I make plans not to sleep and break all my other engagements.

Then, it hits me: am I still a human being? Is my friend still a human being?

Somewhere, burried beneath the yoke we've opressingly put upon ourselves, we are still human. We are still creative, playful, tender, relational, and restful. We still possess the ability to enjoy something other than a late night television show before we rush to bed and start the rat race again.

So, last night, the human being deep inside me refused the old yoke. She stopped running the maze in search of not-even-God know's what. She stopped, and looked up at whom she had mistaken for an evil scientist and said, "I want to love you more than I want to do all this. I'm tired - bring me Sabbath!"

So, this morning I woke up, diligently and carefully chose an outfit for the day, enjoyed breakfast, refused to wear my painful high heels, and am now ready to go do the unthinkable: drop a class.

Today I will enjoy being human. I will savor minutes without fearing their end.

Today if you ask, "Who are you trying to impress?" My answer will be "No one. I'm just spending this day with God."

sin in general: be saved from this perverse generation

This weekend, I had an interesting conversation with a friend. We were discussing, in a geriatric style, the issues that face kids today versus other generations.

My friend said it’s all the same because it’s all “sin in general.” I told him that I think the issues facing our youth are much more difficult than in the past. To his surprise, I was not talking about drugs, sex, or alcohol. In fact, when I tried to explain that the tough issues facing our youth are much more though than the traditional problems he called “sin in general,” he seemed to completely ignore my response. It didn’t begin to marinate in his mind that other issues are more detrimental to an entire generation. Compassionately and passionately, I reminded him of global poverty and the AIDS pandemic. He clearly had no understanding of that meant. I threw out a stunning number: 18 million – the number of AIDS orphans expected by 2010. I further explained that, by 2010, it is expected that AIDS orphans could hold hands and circle the globe five times.

His response?

“What is that? I always hear stuff like that, you know, “these people could hold hands and go to the moon and back…[caloused and cynical laugh] it doesn’t mean anything.”

Sure, sure, maybe it is a little less meaningful than we might desire – at first. Then, imagine the faces – imagine them one by one until you’ve imagined 18 million sorrowful faces. Imagine their eyes – 36 million eyes - heavy with loss and fear, their hands, tired from caring for younger siblings, their ears, ringing from waling, their foreheads, un-kissed and naked to the trial of living amidst the greatest plague in human history. Then, suddenly, they all disappear as an American Evangelical announces, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sin in general. Sin in general….what does that mean? I don’t want to say it means sex, drugs, alcohol etc. I don’t want to say it means high crimes or even commercialism. I also don’t want to say, “it doesn’t mean anything.”

Maybe the toughest issue facing adolescents today is a “sin in general.” Maybe it is apathy and the removal of the image of God from the faces of the global suffering – especially children. Is this not the worst of all murders? Is murder not far worse that alcohol, sex, or drugs? Is apathy not a even greater and more destructive pandemic than AIDS?

Daily, we encounter verbal fornicators, ravaged by the disease of apathy and spreading it. I want to put a protective condom over my heart and require an apathy test of all that share intimate moments with me…and yet, that’s not right.

In Africa, there is a horrid rumor: if you have sex with a virgin, you can get rid of the disease.

Maybe, here, that is true. Maybe the cure for the apathy pandemic is deep and unique intimacy with those few resistant souls who press through cynicism to hold hope. Can hope and compassion be the cures to cynicism – which is, of course, the virus that turns to deadly apathy?

So, to this, I say, save me from “sin in general.” And to my beloved readers, in the words of Peter, I pray and urge, “Be saved from this perverse generation.” (Acts 2:40)

out of context again

here i sit, back in Dan's class, and with this return to Monday night disruption comes the triumphal re-entry of quotes out of context:

"the pink, the blue, and the yellow packets are not only carsonogenic, they are made by the devil. In people over 50 they are guaranteed to increase impotence, forgetfulness, and the ill effects of syphilis. well, i love spenda. in fact, i could eat it raw."

"All meat is good."

"It is impossible to scream and retain ellogance. i want you to hear, one cannot look good and yell."

"I'm fine with quiet times; I'm fine with noisey times; I'm fine with flannel graph."

"The nuclear family is crazy."

"You've got 2.2 this, and 2.2 that and the right kind of dog your particular culture says is acceptable."

"Please take out your check books and write a check to the Dan Allender yatch fund."

"I never go to a movie with out a book. I never go to a movie without a pen light to read my book. And I do it why? It infuriates my wife."

"Look, I don't like the Bible."

"Conversation between a man and a woman is never good. NEEEVVVEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRR!!!!!"

"I am willing to mess with you for literally years and years and years and..."

"I don't know what to do with my wife, she doesn't know what to do with me; the tv works."

desperately single amidst despairing divorce

pining, pining
rocking in a chair
like on a wave
come near, come near
leave me
not
alone

not alone

dining, dining
rocking in your arms
like on a wave
stay near, stay near
leave me
not
alone

not alone

dreaming, dreaming
rocking in my head
like on a wave
come here, come cheer
leave me
not
alone

not alone

scheming, scheming
rocking in my heart
like on a wave
come hear, come hear
leave me
not
alone

not alone

screaming, screaming
rocking in my own arms
like on a wave
come fear, come fear
leave me
now
alone

now alone

rocking on gentle waves
rocking in the high sea
wishing for peace

standing on placid oceans
stranded on currentless waters
wishing for some movement

woo and destroy
marry and divorce
wax and wane
it's all the same
it's all insane

and we're all
not
alone

not alone

so i stand, on the placid sea
i pray to be rocked
and grow nauseous at the thought of waves

The next film I watch will be: Gumnaam

"Billed in its outlandish trailer as "India's First Horror Thriller," Gumnaam follows the common Bollywood tradition of adapting a familiar convention or story into a psychedelic feast of music and mind-warping genre collisions. Up on the chopping block this time is Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians, first filmed as And Then There Were None, which is followed with surprising faithfulness despite the frequent detours along the way.

A planeload of random passengers is forced into an emergency landing on a very large island with only one spooky house offering refuge from the torrential rain. Representing a cross section of society, the bewildered guests include a doctor (Madan Puri), a perpetually happy dancer (Nanda), studly would-be heartthrob Anand ('60s singer and director Manoj Kumar), and most memorably, a drunken showgirl named Miss Kitty (Bollywood favorite Helen). Inside the house they see a shrouded body which turns out to be the prankster butler/cook (Mehmood, with an odd Hitler moustache), who indicates he has been expecting them all to arrive and shows them into the dining room. There they find a book indicating that each person has committed murder at some point in their lives but escaped conviction, so their mysterious host has now decided to dole out punishment. One by one the visitors die over the following two evenings, but that doesn't stop them from indulging in a little beach party, a drunken duet, and an elaborate MGM-style dance fantasia in between all of the screaming and dead bodies. Christie fans, of course, shouldn't be remotely surprised by the way it all turns out."

Description from "www.mondo-digital.com/gumnaam.html"

crafting transformational moments and transforming fear

Did I hyperventalate? Not quite - but almost.

For months (okay, a month and a half), I've been dreading the arrival of a class: crafting transformational moments. When I read the title, excitement filled my naive mind. To top it off, the professor is from - or spent time in - IRELAND! I was nearly beyond my capacity for excitement.

Then, one deflating night, I talked with my dear friend Emily about the upcoming semester. I asked her what courses she was taking, "Crafting something or something like that - but it's really preaching."

"Shit." I said in my now anything but excited mind. It was not a "shit" of resignation, ambivilance, defeat etc. It was a deeply birthed cry of pain. Fear replaced my excitement and overcame my capacity even for fear. My mind and pulse raced as I attempted to make some peace with the fact that I would be in a preaching course. I never achieved that goal - at best, I achieved moments of denial and purposeful forgetfulness.

So, finally, today I went to class - with dread in hand and soul.

Several times, I breathed deep, and fearful sighs, but, over all was amazed at the gentle man who filled the threatening role of homeletics professor. In the midst of my phobia, I felt cared for. I sensed his desire to lead us as a group as we struggle to find voice for proclaimation in a post-Christian world.

Still I'm scared. Still I might hyperventalate - that may remain a possibility every Thursday throughout the semester. But, Hadden Robinson is miles away - along with his cold and frieghening critique. In his stead sits someone who is honest about struggle, gentle with fear, encouraging, collaborative, and so many other things I never dreamed a preaching prof to be.

Again, I am taken by the extravagent blessing of being a student at MHGS.

welcome back "Adventure," my friend and foe

the return of mars hill hit me tonight.

i was enjoying a quiet drive home from an eveing with jen, caleb, jaguar, and ocean - who proclaimed many many times "i don't want to see becky either!" sure, he's barely three, and therefore still acts as though he's two, missed his nap, and was overdue for bedtime - but it still hurts. anyway, i was driving home in my quiet (my cd player broke) car when questions of grief, presence, hope, story etc. invaded my head without warning.

"ahhh" i said to myself, "and so ends vacation. so many things to think about. so much disruption. so little time."

i journaled briefly in my car, having parked but not gone into my house yet, cataloguing the many stories and questions that met me, announcing the beginning of spring semester. then, i boldly though haggardly stepped out of my car and into my home (ok, there were some steps between the two as i do not park literally one step from my door).

the odd thing is, i had a soft and somewhat confident smile on my face. to quote bill murray, "this is an adventure." to the adventure i say, "welcome back - can't say i missed you much, but i'm glad you're here and will follow you wherever you lead."

stubbornly driven - pleading for freedom

"God leads; Satan drives."
Good words from Lisa Domke, my happily former (for her sake - meaning I am infinately glad she made her freeing exodus from my church) associate pastor.

I have been hoping and planning to leave my church as early as Easter and as late as August. I want to start a house church and begin working (probably volunteer to start) with street/at risk youth. This dream began to re-awaken hope, passion, vision etc.

Then, one of the congregants of my church decides to start a rumor that I won't stay longer than spring.

Crap. So, do I leave? Do I let him be right and continue his destructive way of being? Or, do I follow my heart?

I find myself revisiting Lisa's words and praying for less stubborness and more freedom.

a farewell to dearly loved SAM: why i am in deep depression today

sad, sad, deeply grieving news as the construction blight spreads:

I was all ready to go to SAM today - a bit sad that Louis Comfort Tiffany was no longer there, but still stoked for free Thursday (the first thursday of the month). Then...my roommate knocked on my door and, from the darkness, in an ominous voice, she bayed: "Starting today, SAM is closed for a year." By the time I got to my door, she had returned to her room, so that it was as though a ghost had come to speak doom then slink back into the depressing underworld.


Not only is my church plagued with construction that is at least six months behind, has left the church freezing cold with no heat, has pushed the youth from three different rooms and put two used toilets in temp youth room #3 during a lock-in - construction has not claimed another, more glorious, more joyously life-giving victum:
Seattle Art Museum is closed for a year - for construction -

so, it's everywhere.
okay, maybe that is a gross generalizaton - but
construction seems to disrupt many lives and much beauty.

So, goodbye dear SAM. I wish I would have known you were leaving. Why didn't you have a going away party? Every time I drive past the working man, I'll shed a tear for your absence - until we are gladly re-united.

To quote Michael W. Smith:
Packing up the dreams God planted
In the fertile soil of you
Can’t believe the hopes he’s granted
Means a chapter in your life is through
But we’ll keep you close as always
It won’t even seem you’ve gone
’cause our hearts in big and small ways
Will keep the love that keeps us strong
...Though it's hard to let you go
In the Father's hands we know
That a life time's not too long
(no a life time's not too long)
A life time's not too long


To live as

Friends

preparing for re-entry

i'm packing up and preparing to leave the bazaro universe known as disney world. no more haunting christmas music at every turn. no more cheesey and offensive approximation of diverse nations within mere footsteps. no more cartoon characters walking up to me and expecting that i will go crazy because they are waving a big, white foam hand in the air....and, no more enormous seas of people! yeah!

other things i'm leaving: spending 100% of my time with my parents and commercialism gone crazy, my dad (i know i already mentioned parents, but i think my dad deserved a second metion)

thing's i'm sad that i'm leaving: surprisingly good (though grossely over-priced) international wine, the span of a nation between me and my chuch/job, having my brother as a permabuffer between my parents and i.

the good news is, though, that in 12 hours, i'll be able to attempt some sort of real life again, without running to sacrasm and false laughter for defense at every turn.

my friends in seattle should know that the literal sea of people here has driven me to this decision: locking myself in my room for the majority of next week.

saturday i have a lock-in at church.
monday i'll be at greenlake - as always
tuesday and thursday i have youth group.
somewhere in there, i'm going to chill with jen.
other than this, i'm in my room and away from people - just a little detoxification time!

duet with jesse katsopolis

tonight, i sang with uncle jesse.

that's right, john stamos, formerly - and forever - uncle jesse from full house, and i had a sing along...with about a thousand other people....and only for one song in the middle of a choir concert he was narrating.

oh yes, the cheese is beyond mesaure here at disney world.

yesterday, we went to epcot. it was everything the simpsons spoofed and worse.

today we went to the animal kingdom. we saw numerous endangered species on a driven tour. the entire time, though, our "cast member/tour guide" (they call everyone who works here a "castmember") kept our minds on "big red" and "little red" - two fictional elephants who, in the end, are just like every other 1970's animatronic cheese-ball in disney world. depressing.

tomorrow - the magic kingdom.

the good/bad news: i've been in this non-sarcastic mood - trying to be present to the moment and not outside of it, judging it, and laughing rather than participating. in general, this is a good way to grow. the problem is that, at disney world, the moment is so ridiculously boring that being present to the moment means nap time. so.....i've reached new sarcastic heights and, paired with the biggest smart ass i know (my brother) i think tomorrow should be great fun!

i'll return to you with hokey photos and sincere posts once i return home and separate from my parents!

until then, dream sarcastic dreams for me!

free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, i'm free at at last!

over 100 pages - single spaced, but it's done and on a plane to Boston!

my final project from GCTS is finished and i am no longer a bi-coastal seminarian - just a mono-coastal one!


PRAISE GOD!
thank you friends for all your help and prayers!

look for a kick ass party in late january!

"You sit on a throne of lies."
-buddy the (not) elf

"liam neison is god"

-my intern neal

the day the lord has made

My mom and I can’t watch television together – least of all the news. She is drawn into the stories, makes dogmatic postulation and pronouncements of both judgment and affirmation. I laugh and constantly critique the information given and its validity. With local news, this is a laughable interaction. When we two step into the sacred world of Scriptures, on many levels these attitudes are troubling obstacles to relationship – both with each other and with the text. Put simply, this tectonic collide is a poster child for the meeting of modernity and post-modernity. If a mother and daughter who struggle so valiantly toward friendship abandon that sinking ship to the safety of separate shores and avoidance, where is unity? Beyond this uniquely unified relationship of mother and child, what hope is there for an already divided church? What does a church, who is one, do in the face of such a polarizing paradigmatic shift.

I am in the process of leaving an elderly church where I have been the youth minister for an agonizing year. In a conversation I recently had, I began to rage at the God who put me in this time – this desperate holding cell between modernity and post-modernity. Not only did we disagree, but our languages, though American English, were foreign. As in the wake of Babel, we were incapacitated to communicate. Like in Babel, our divergent generations seem hopelessly scattered. As these plates collide, the Himalayans are formed and old and young cry out on opposing sides – but with no language to be heard by each other.

Again, I wonder why I am here in this transition. Again, I wonder why I must inhabit the quick-sand between yesterday and tommorow? Then, again, is not the task of every servant, every generation, every morning which sun beakons, to live today - no matter how tattered the wake of yesterday and the pull of tomorrow may seem? Today may be a frustrating, paradoxical, and often strangling day to live - yet it is the day the Lord has made.

a broken heart for a broken world

i'm sitting in my office, sobbing uncontrollably.

today i recived my "one life revolution" resource packet. i watched some of the videos that come with it and my heart just broke.

where is God in a world where 20 million children are orphaned by aids?

where is God when a six year old contracts aids from caring for his dying mother's wounds?

how long have you been on the internet?
14 minutes? then one person has died of aids since you logged on.
28 minutes? less than a half an hour and two people are gone.

it's just too much.

how do you live in a world like this?
how do you worship God in this place?

job's life looks perfect in comparison.

what do we do?
how do i pay $13,000/year for school in the face of this?
how do i have netflix membership when that's nearly enough to care for an orphan?
how do i drive a car when one month's gas could send an orphan to school for a year?

more than one in three people in swaziland has aids.

how do you live?
how?

and in this, i want nothing to do with a God who allows such sorrow ---

------still, somewhere inside, i know that the ache i'm feeling right now is not mine, but Gods.

quotes and mullets: always beyond context

i went to everett yesterday - ooohhh the mulletude!

and....quotes out of context:

"Theraputic Llamas"

“Some of you eat, Some of you read theology. Again, how is that different than masturbation. Don’t fault me for occasionally pleasuring myself.”

“I think you find me attractive.”

“I’m not going to deny that I vomited 40 times.”

“I will eat you.”

Paraphrased: I hope the mariners beat the eagles tonight.

being kind to myself

here's my morning:

fear: shit. how did that happen? it's 10? at 3 i crawled into bed for a two-hour nap. shit. i'm so screwed!

resignation: there's no way i can get this project done.

frustration: [checking email] the church wants me do do what? before the 10th? do they even care that my final project is due then? why does no one there care about what they are doing to me?

fortitude: no, you know what, i am going to get this project done just so that i can get my masters and never end up at a church like that again.

resignation: who am i kidding. maybe if i hadn't gone to bed last night but...

epiphany: what if i weren't graduating? then i'd have an extra 8 days - 2 days after mhgs is finished.

budding hope: can i do that?

cynicism: probably not.

persistant hope: i should call them though.

[long confusing phone conversation of pulsating highs and lows as i eventually realized the girl i was talking to didn'y know what she was talking about and she finally knew too. finally, she asks someone else]

unbridaled enthusiasm: really!?! so all i do is fax you and tell you i'm not graduating in january and i get not 8 but 11 extra days! awesome.

cyncism bringing questions: one last question - i'm sorry - if i don't graduate in january, the only diffrence is that i don't get my diploma until may right?

unexpected glee: so i wouldn't get it until may again and since i'm not up for ordination or licensure, there absolutely no benefit to graduating now [brief moment of realizing how little my degree means - grieving that, but not caring since, no i get to sleep] awesome! thank you so much.

so, i'm not officially graduating in january.
seems a small thing...but if you know me, you know how driven i am.
so, i'm being kind and allowing myself to say, "who cares?"

scattered

"sounds like your life is pretty scattered," he kindly said - a wise understatement.

i am in constant motion passing from work to school to school work to my other school's work to a brief nap on annie's bedroom floor each night - only after forcing her to promise that she will make me get up at the end of my nap - to working on my arts organization. i want to scream most of the time, but don't simply for the lack of time.

again...prayers between now and 2006 are greatly appreciated.

to do lsd or to encounter - this is the question

“I wish you would try LSD.” I was lost in the wake of the words falling like pins off the tongue of my friend. One by one they had dropped – unheard. Suddenly, as the cumulative falling turned to a cascade, an unheard pin drop became a violently loud sound demanding response. She retreated from her shyly voiced hope, “But I know you never would.” My mind flew to many places. I remembered who I had always been. I remembered my negative morals, “I will never smoke. I will never drink. I will never have sex outside of marriage.” I remembered where these came from: my dad. More specifically, they came from the placard he placed on our door, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” More specifically yet, they came from the oft repeated phrase, “We don’t do that, we are Christians.” I realized that my old identity was buried deep within the bounds of a sturdy wall between us and them. More than the words my friend so cautiously spilled on the floor between us, I was lost in the wake of that identity. I seriously stumbled over the question, would I do LSD? Why? Why not? As I worked to catch my balance on the issue, I met the meat of the interaction, knowing the point at hand was not whether I would do LSD but whether I would abandon old scripts in the name of encountering my friend.
Sometimes my gratitude for eternity encasing itself in a single tense moment is beyond measure. I had time to collect and reach out to her, “Hmm. I’m wondering why you are inviting me to this?” This intentional turn opened up dialogue and meeting as she faithfully recalled our greatest story. Late one night, after I read Buber the first time, we found ourselves in the most exquisite encounter. “It’s like that all the time when you’re on LSD – you feel this weird connection. It reminds me a lot of all that Buber stuff you talk about.” There is the dilemma: I don’t know why I won’t do LSD, and I do want encounter. Then, suddenly, I do know why I won’t do LSD: all the tumultuously transformational words that accompany encounter – mutuality, reciprocity, understanding, and care.

the last sunny day

The rain had pounded the earth with soothing violence for days. Fog had muddied vision and left us living in a haze. Today, however, the sky was blue and the sun was warm. As what seemed like a chilly spring day met with the fresh scent of fall-turning-winter rain, we sat outside of Caffé Ladro on top of Queen Anne. She struggled as always to avoid eye contact. I wanted to dive into the deep corners of her life, but I also didn’t want to. She wanted to be seen, but also didn’t want to, so we shallowly danced.

“It’s a beautiful day. I didn’t think we’d get another one of these.”
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
“How’s running start going?
“It’s really hard.”
[Shit. I told her it was easy. It was easy for me…but then I’m hoping to get a PhD…shit. I need to stop telling people what to do, or that things are easy when they aren’t. shit.]
“Oh, maybe we could study together sometime.”
“That’d be nice.”
[silence]
“Yeah.”
[silence and multiple sips of our respective hot chocolate and soy medici]

I don’t remember how the dance became something intimate. I don’t remember how we got there, but before I knew it, I found myself telling a 16-year-old, whom I am paid to teach to love God, to be angry at God.

“Please be angry at God. You have every right to be angry with God and I would hate for you to flee this moment of anger in thinking you should not be angry at God.”

I watched as those words somehow spoke some magic word that opened the door to her heart. “Speak friend and enter.” Her fast and dodgy eyes quit darting and held mine as we entered that space between us. When her eyes steadied, something left. Or, maybe when something left, her eyes could steady.

For years she had shown a perfect Christian front, fundamentalist, Bible-reading [bashing?], finger pointing, judging. For years, under that, she had been angry. Under that, she was ashamed for her anger at God. Present to her heart, I invited her to accept that anger, in response, she invited me to share that anger. We sat in transformative silence, both of our eyes dampened with the rain that wasn’t in the sky this day.

belated thanksgiving and early christmas

I am staring out the window and all I see is the foreground. In the foreground stands a desolate tree. Her leaves have forsaken her and left her with nothing but exposure. Her depressing grey brown bark is covered with patches of moss, the greenery that grows when the sky rains tears and the earth seeps dew-drop tears leaving the surface drenched with seasonal sorrow. The tree stands as a prophetic marker for me and my heart sinks with the idea of winter.

There is history to this sinking. The two worst seasons of my life were winters at Gordon-Conwell. Once the trees lost their friendly foliage, it was gone for months. The first snow came before Reformer’s day then the snow and bone-chilling cold stayed for six months. The first year I was there, my friend and I banned together to find the white witch and kill her so that winter would end. By the time the leaves returned, they reflected my mood, as I would be traveling home to my beloved, green Seattle.

Barren trees have come to mean death, fear, isolation, dry and weary days. So, as I gaze at this pitiful lifeless tree, I see in it dark days, and, addictively, I give into the Seattle scene depression.

Still staring out the window, I notice a host of green leaves still clinging to trees. They are still sprightly and still alive. Some have turned yellow, but those are still clinging to the tree in an act of loving defiance. I sigh a slight breath of relief then let go. They will soon be bare as well. Their presence does not ward off winter.

Staring further out the window and encountering the landscape, I hear the voice of a further friend. Behind the green leaves lives my forever and for-granted friend: the evergreens. Every weary day, they will be green. Their tone is not sprightly. It is not breath-takingly bright. It is not something to get high off of like a spring or summer day in Seattle. It is simple and constant. It is nourishing. It asks of me, walk with me, in soft peace.

This time of year, we ask what we are thankful for. I am thankful for a God who is near, who is a deep and consistent green. Who will not forsake me to the winter. Who is always there, and so, always for-granted. Where, I tend to want your love only if you threaten to leave me, only if it is a game, only if your presence sends me grasping for unsatiating more and more – this season, I am thankful for a God whose love endures even when my eyes are glued to the barren tree in the foreground of a forest of brilliant evergreens.

May I encounter you, my steadfast friend and father, as often as I see your faithful green trees this season.

Psalm 75:1
We give thanks to you, O God, we give thanks, for your Name is near; men tell of your wonderful deeds

I Chronicles 16:34
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.

i would write something better...but i'm tired.

there are so many meaningful things i would write---if i wasn't utterly exhausted.

instead, two meaningless things:

people have expressed that i should clarify why rockibilly boys are a problem. it's not because i don't like rockibilly boys. it is because i do like them.

pray for me. i have like zero down time for the next three weeks. then i have a week of church and family parties. then i'm going to florida with my immediate family for a week. if i make it to 2006, i've done well.

day dreaming

i was driving in my car and tripped into a memory. as my car sped on auto pilot and my mind wrapped me up and delivered me to a small dank office with 1971 carpetting, a slow and familiar voice tiptoed into my ears.
"Wooooww Beeeeccccky, thaaaaatttt iiiiissss aaaa lloooootttt tottttttt thhhiiiiinnkk aaaaabooouuuuttttt. Iiiii'mmm veeeeerrrrrryyy exciiiiiiited fffoooooorr yooouuuuu." Even his memory annoyed me as Dr. Schutz made each and every syllable stretch into eternity. "Could I praaaaaayyyy foooorr youuuuuu now?" I nodded my head and in my memory, the lights faded as my eyes lids dropped like curtians.

I'm not sure where I was, but I know I was no longer in that dank little office. I was somewhere, somewhere open, sacred, close, with God. I lost track of Dr. Schutz's words as even time seemed to fade into the background. I knew I was loved and that God was going to heal the fear and anger that had attached themselves to me by occupying the hole my illusion of a father left. I felt peace.

Then these words pounded in my ears and brought me fearfully back....

"I'm getting a word from the Holy Spirit." Dr. Schutz spoke quick and crisp and may as well have had a finger to his ear as he sounded like a network news reported about to say, "this just in." He continued, "Yooooouuuuuu..." the slow Schutz returned making each sound excruciating in its pregnancy, "aaaarrrreeee gooooiinnggggg tooooooooooo."

what!? what!? what am i going to do - ahhh you're killing me. just say it!

I remembered the feeling, but as I was driving, the dvd of this ministry skipped. i couldn't remember what Dr. Schutz said I was going to do.

"giiiiiivvvee"

come one!, come on! I'm waiting, get to the point - I can't handle this!

"biiiirrrrtttthhhh"

WHAT! never mind. stop. stop right now. don't you dare finnish that sentence. if i have kids, they are going to be adopted. NEVER WILL I GIVE BIRTH! stop!

"too maaaaaaaaaaaannnnyyyy [slow happy chuckle]"

MANY? fuck no!! do not finnish what you are saying. there is no fucking way i'm giving birth to many anything. no. No. [insert trembling and more fear than i remember feeling in my life].

I remembered all of this as the DVD became unstuck with the feeling of fear and hilarity as i related this story to friends: the fear of many children relieved as he said the next word....but i could not remember what the next word was. i remember that i sighed a breath so deep i cold feel it all over my body - but i could not remeber the word. i tried and tried. I was no longer in the room, but in my car pounding the steering wheel..."many what? this is so fucked up. someone prophesies over me and i can't remembere what he said. shit. many what?"

finally I remembered - and as I remembered, i began to cry.

"miiiiinnnniiiiiiiiiiisssstttrrrrriiiiiieeeeeeesssss."


now to remember. now to have faith for the future. now to work with the end in mind.

i may dream many far fetched things, but that doesn't mean they can't come true.

the (non) future of food

please watch "the future of food" - a documentary on food production in america and it's world wide tyranny.

walk the line

i got all dressed up in black and went to the midnight showing of "walk the line."

i have three things to say:

1. A movie full of rockibilly boys is too much. i love seattle, but there are no rockibilly boys here - which is probably actually a good thing for me. :(

2. "Your fans are good Christian people, they don't want to hear you singing in a prison trying to cheer up a bunch of rapists and murderers." "Well then they aren't Christian."

word. there's a pastor in Bellevue who needs to hear that.

3. over all, the movie was pretty disappointing.

never, never, never, never, NEVER, N-E-V-EEEEEEE-RRRRRR fly sun country!

As I type this, I am listening to a 1983 version of Broadway while sitting on a slightly padded vinyl seat and drinking a $7 Mike’s Lemonade. The cheese of the music is an intimidating mass of cheese topped only and brilliantly by the airport bar. Why, you may ask, did I spend almost enough for a Martini at the posh Martini bar across from Caffe Minnie’s in Seattle on a Mikes. The clever bar tender was wise enough to name the steep price after handing me the drink and letting me take my first, expensive sip. Why, you may ask, at 4:00pm was I that desperate for a drink? Why, you might also ask, are you experiencing a premenition of yet another sarcastic rant? These are all good questions and to each of them I offer this answer: Sun Country Airlines.

I am in the drawn-out process of returning home from a children’s ministry training, so in the name of this event, I will describe my Sun Country experience via an acrostic.

Seattle eludes me remaining my beautiful home but ever

Unreachable across mountains and snow – and once I return.

Never again. Never will I leave my love on a craft painted with the words Sun Country

Couldn’t I have paid the extra $50 for a ticket
On
United Airlines?
No doubt a minimum wage job would have made up the price on time I have spent on hold, in a holding pattern, or waiting for a grossly
Tardy flight to finally deliver me to a destination
Really
Y would I ever fly Sun Country again?

Sunday night, unexpecting, I rushed to the airport – thinking I might be late. A breath of relief surged through my tense body as I read that my flight was delayed. How long? An hour and a half. I calmed myself and optimistically thanked God for the extra time to work on a paper that never had any hopes of being worthy. Finally the plane boarded and thanks to Christian morals, my ride to Still Water was waiting for me at 2am – 3am to her.

Three days later, I show my apparent learning disability as I rush to the airport – thinking I might be late. A breath of relief surges through my body as I realize my clock is wrong and I’m on time. A sigh of helpless anger brings an aftershock, returning every ounce of stress as I see the sign, “Sea 7:15.” At first, I wonder – ok I’m pretty dumb sometimes – “Who has a flight to the sea?” Then I realize Sea is short for something… “Sea…l? Sea….ting? Sea….first? Sea…fair? No. I shook my head and laughed – Seattle. Is that the time in Seattle? That’s not right. Seattle’s BEHIND Saint Paul. They’ve got it all wron….no. No. Shit. Shit. SHIT! That’s my flight. That’s my fucking flight. THREE HOURS DELAYED!! What am I supposed to do in this dinky air port for THREE hours!? Are you kidding me? Ok, fine, I’ll go to the bar.

So, here am I. Here I will be for three hours – a time barely surpassing the time I spent on hold working out mistakes the airline made on my ticket.

Like I said, never! NEVER NEVER EVER! fly Sun Country Airlines.


Post Script:
By the time I actually arrived, my flight was going on 5 hours late!

an ego

dear and beloved male friends, please do not take this as male-bashing or as anything against you.

egotistical men in a circle of women make me want to scream. they are right in all they say. they are experts on every subject. when they aren't experts, they tell you they are smart or that they know someone smart or that they've read some book by a smart person and therefore, they now know more than you.

why is it so hard for a man to admit a woman knows more than him on any subject other than the ones he has relegated to his wife - and in such a case, his wife knows more than you.

there is not an inch to live in. there is not an ounce of respect. there is no permission to retain your own thoughts, opinions, or convictions in light of theirs. there is no room for me - and in that i pitty such men because they will never have an i/thou moment with a woman because no woman is allowed to be thou.

in the wake of one such man, tonight i find my self in rage and sorrow. i feel as though when he pushed me out the door, something of me left and it will take a couple of days to find it again. i'm sad. just sad.

transversely, i met another man today who empowered and blessed me. when we parted and he said he'd pray for me and that he wanted to know where my life goes from here, i believed him....well, i guess i believed the other man when he said the same thing, but i think he wants to know where i go so that he can add any greatness i meet to the long list of stories that make him cool. the other man had enough compassion for meeting and enough cynicism to know nothing is as simple as we can make it seem.

i guess i don't really have a point...just frustration.

incarnation as the beginning of a new song

A recommendation:
Listen to the album War
Then listen to Yahweh from How to dismantle an atomic bomb
The lyrics say:
“How long must we sing this song?”
“I will sing a new song.”
“How long to sing this song?”
“Bodies strewn across the dead end street.”
“A new heart is what I need. Oh God, make it bleed.”

War laments yet hopes amidst Irish desperation.

The latter album is named for the hope of peace.
The lyrics say:
“Take these shoes clicking clacking down some dead end street. Take these shoes and make them fit.”
“Take this soul and make it sing. Yahweh.”
“Still I’m waiting for the dawn.”
“The Sun is coming up on the ocean. This love is like a drop in the ocean.”
“Take this heart and make it break.”

It feels as though Bono has found a new song.
It feels as though the not yet of the already not yet is beginning to be found.
It feels as though the questions of War are beginning to be answered in How to Dismantle and Atomic Bomb.
Maybe Bono asked for a new song and through the years has found that the life he lives – the life he co-authors with God is the new song we wait to sing,

Are our lives how to dismantle an atomic bomb?
Are our lives the answer to war?
Are we the already of the already/not yet?
Certainly the incarnation is.

My prayer for all of us: Let Jesus be born in us each day. Let us be makers of Shalom.

the body of christ - "i think i broke it"

as i am quitting my job and realizing how "broken" the church has made me...

picture "I think I broke it" from www.explodingdog.com

old wounds

ocean (my best friend's two-year old) fell and hit his chin so badly that he needed stitches a while ago. now, even though it's healed, every time he hits it slightly, it bruises.

old wounds are often that way.

today i walked into whole food and assumed i was safe. i have forgotten how often i am safe now that i live in seattle and am attending mhgs. the only bambi experiences* i have are at church - and i avoid that a lot. i live a safe life. so, i'm in whole foods, happily assuming everyon there is either a pagan or at least a liberal. i feel warm, like under a down blanket on a cold night, in the thought of an evangelical free zone - no one to pounce on old wounds.

in my confidence, i struck up conversation with the woman in front of me. already posing to apologize for being a part of the tradition that is soooo far from Christ, i stepped gently around the name of my school. when i finally said the words, "mars hill," her eyes rolled. i assured her that the school has nothing to do with the church. she said, i know, i go to the church. three or four sentences later, my safe grocery store visit turned into yet another condemnation for being a woman and a minister.

fuck. when will that end? if whole foods is not safe, is there a safe place???

it occurs to me, though, that i was ready to apologize for being christian, but not for being a minister.

like i said, old wounds are like that sometimes.



* a bambi experience comes from the scene where his mom tells him not to step out into the thicket - it's not safe there, hunters can see you there. when you step into unprotected ground with condemning evangelicals, that is a bambi experience. ie last year a friend and i were at gordon conwell joking with our friend johnny that he'd better shave his head now, because when he gets married in a couple of weeks, his wife won't let him. "Do you think that's what marriage is about? No. I'm not going to get my jollies before I get married...." he lectured us. Arrow in the heart - a bambi expereince.

manger art

December 3rd, 5:00pm-Midnight
At my house
$5 Suggested Donation
Live music
Art
Food
Espresso
Wine

Good times!

Artisan items for sale - good for Christmas gifts!

All money goes to benefit World Vision.

Manger Art is part of my small arts organization, "Work of Art"

Work of art seeks to affect global change on an organic, interpersonal, local and tangible level, putting faces on poverty and stories to injustice as we make the intangible tangible and the seemingly insurmountable within reach.

We desire to engage a generation emerging into adulthood in communal stewardship of time, talent, and finance by encouraging a life that engages global issues and values the beauty and voice of art.

warning!

i've been on hold the third time for 15 minutes.

never fly sun country airlines!

true confession

some time ago, i posted a link to one of dr. james' posts about reconciliation through confession. i asked people to envision what this might look like in seattle. dr. james lives in the town next to the infamous salem, ma, so confessing to witches was the proper confession for his context. what about seattle though? sure, we could confess to witches, and maybe we should, but my friend marilyn and i were talking yesterday and thought that the homosexual population in capitol hill might be a better fit.

i'm too busy to start dreaming about this until january. but, please start thinking about what that would look like.
* what community would the confessors come from?
* what would we confess?
* how do we bring sincerity to this rather than making something contrived?
* should we first study the history of the issue in capitol hill?
* what would something like this mean for our lives?
* how would we incarnate God in this?
* can we see God incarnated in those we confess to?

for james, kellie and jeff (not gentry - the one who was there), what do you think of this? for anyone from beverly or salem, what would be your wisdom in this regard?

dreams versus plans

a friend challenged me this week to dream and not just visualize.

dreams are often lofty, unatainable, wild etc. dreams rarely come true. but, the question is this: will the fact that dreams will not come true inhibit me from dreaming? the answer a friend offered was "no."

i can dream of a future or of a house church or of an art show that is far beyond my most insane hopes of reaching and allow that dream in itself to be art. i can allow it to testify to the image of God in me. i can allow it to testify that we are created for things better than this world could possibly offer. then, i can allow the dashed hopes that stingingly follow lost dreams to be prophetic testimonies against a world that destroys hope.

so, rather than visualizing what it possible and attempting to stretch it another step, i will attempt - dare - to dream....then maybe mediate the dream with a dose of reality.

i'm glad a house church is months away - time to dream before time to plan!

surprise

sometimes...just sometimes...growth doesn't have to hurt as much as you thought.

a cancerous body

with every passing day, i lose more hope for the church
do i lose hope for whose body she is?
with every passing day, i am bruised more deeply by the church
do i blame whose body she is?
with every passing day, i see her for more of a whore.
where is the fool whose bride she shall be?

with every passing day, she is more murderous.
with every passing day, she is treaterous
with every passing day, she further defaces me
until i am unrecognizeable

where is the face who held passion
where are the eyes in who's pupil was reflected a vision of hope
where are the cheeks that were rosey with the contentment of true love
where is the steady brow of faith
where has the voice of the prophet gone?

murdered. murdered. murdered. MURDERED!

"we have so long lived in the dark night of the soul that we know no light
if you bring it near us, we will kill you
in order to extinguish its faint but piercing glow"

and so today i declare my independence.
though i am you, you are nothing to me
and in that separation, i find an inch to breathe

may God raise me from the shallow grave you dug for me

may i, resurrected, one day have life enough to rejoin you
may i return to the body that has abused me
may i be rejoined to the dysfunctional family that has utterly destroyed me
may i find my face
may i find courage to live

another day

hoping

in

for

with

the cancerous body of Christ.