My Sunday Sermon

I'm posting my sermon from last Sunday, a small part of which is taken from an earlier entry. Our priest, Fr. Charlie, was on vacation, so we had morning prayer and a quiet time instead of a usual service with music and Eucharist. The talk is still appropriate as we head into the last days of December, and the shelves at the stores are pretty bare with just scraps of Christmas sales left. At least here in Chicago, we have some snow on the ground, and people still have their lights up to make things a little more cheerful in the 17 degree weather!

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Opening Prayer:

Lord, we bring before you our hearts and minds in thankfulness that you came to us as a human being to share life with us and to save us from sin and death. Open us to your message and love. Amen.

Isn’t our church beautiful this season? The garlands, poinsettias, bows, wreaths and candles all help us feel festive. We all get excited seeing the lights in our neighborhoods, the shiny decorations in stores, the silly antlers and red noses on minivans. There’s always a charge in the air as Christmas comes closer. People smile more, chat in the long lines, and are happy to check the mail knowing there may be more than just bills tucked in the box. I love the season for all these little things. And I am okay with putting all the cards and bows and ornaments away knowing how happy I’ll be to see them again in about 11 months.


We’ve all heard the clichés about keeping Christmas in our hearts all year long and remembering what and who Christmas is all about. Some churches, including ours in past years, use the title "Christ-Mass" which is closer to the Middle English spelling and is probably used as subtle reminder to us to remember where our priorities should lie. There are magnet bumper stickers about "Keeping Christ in Christmas," and people who lament that Christmas has become all about gift giving and getting the latest toy or cell phone. Even Lucy in the Peanuts comic back in the 1960s noted that Christmas has become a "big commercial racket." It's nothing new. And all those sayings about Christmas lasting all year are just clichés, overused phrases that have come to be almost meaningless. Some people even say that Christmas shouldn't be a holiday. That’s just silly. The word “holiday” comes from the words "holy" and "day." But that word, too, has lost its meaning.

It doesn’t help that now, just a few days after Christmas, we are back in the first few verses of John’s gospel, and through the rest of the winter and spring we’ll follow Jesus’ adult life in Luke’s gospel. Christmas is a time of birth and all the joy that comes with welcoming a baby into the world. But we’ll be jumping pretty fast into Jesus’ preaching and gathering disciples, and before we know it, it will be Palm Sunday when we walk with Jesus to His crucifixion. I don’t mention all this to put a damper on our festive celebration of Christ’s birth, but that is part of why we celebrate his coming to Earth, isn’t it? He came not to live a long life and die after years of preaching and building communities of faith, but to get things started, and then to die to save the world from sin.

That might be part of why it’s so hard to keep the spirit of Christmas going for long after the decorations have been put away. Epiphany will last only six short weeks, and then Lent will be here. Easter barely gets us through May, and then it’s on to the longest season: Pentecost. By the time we reach the fifth Sunday of Pentecost, we’re halfway back to Advent. I don’t say this to get everyone in a panic that 2010 is over before we’ve celebrated New Year’s Day, but just to show why Christmas is so hard to hold onto. We only get two Sundays after Christmas day to celebrate, while all the other seasons are minimally over a month long.

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to keep the joy and peace and love of Christmas with us through the rest of the winter, spring and summer. My mom used to break out her favorite Christmas album on June 25th as a mark that we were halfway back to the holiday. If I hadn’t grown up in the hot Tucson desert, she probably would have turned the oven on and baked a batch of spritz cookies. But even the Muppets singing “Silent Night” in the middle of summer vacation, it wasn’t easy to keep remembering that Santa, and God, were always watching to see how we were behaving.

I encourage everyone to live beyond the clichés, to just smile more and be happy knowing God is in you and in everyone. Know that we have to put away the decorations so we can be excited to see them again next year. Know that all the people who needed help and charity won’t cease to need those even when it’s not dark and cold out. Know that every baby who is born will grow up to suffer, laugh, live, love and die. And that’s okay since one baby came to save all the rest of us and give to us the best gift of all, one that’s with us every day of the year— life everlasting in Him.

Ending Prayer:

Lord, we thank you for all the gifts of this life, gifts that can’t be wrapped and opened, broken or lost. Help those who seek your blessings, light the flame in their hearts that illuminates all good things. Keep this light alive us in all. In your name we pray. Amen.

Looking back on the year

I started 2009 praying about whether or not I should work toward being ordained as a deacon. Just after New Year's Day, my discernment committee met for the first time, and the journey was officially on its way. But, like any trip that starts out without a map, an itinerary and a plan, there was no way to know exactly where I'd go or where it would end. I started the year feeling pretty uncertain, but open to whatever lay ahead.


The year went by pretty fast. Just looking at the discernment process, we finished meeting in May, and the group felt that God was calling me to move forward, but that I also needed to keep praying, and keep working on some things. In May, I started meeting with a spiritual director. By July, I had taken all the tests I had to take and was waiting for further news. By the end of July, I was feeling something was not going right, and was praying for sight to see what God wanted me to do. By August, I had decided to stop and wait and not go forward with the meetings, tests and retreat. And by October, when I met with my friend Deacon Debbie Harrington, I had become so focused on my work in Trinity and at school, felt so at peace within myself, that when she asked me if I was having any regret about withdrawing from the process, I had to stop and think. No, there was absolutely no regret, just a feeling of abiding peace and happiness at the direction my life was headed.


I am looking forward to 2010. I have two new projects at Trinity that will start in January. One is a weekly Bible study group and another is a quarterly book group. Both will use my talents as a teacher, talents others have seen in me as my true calling from God. And Bible study will hep me fulfill one of the weak areas in my spiritual life-- having a good understanding of and familiarity with God's Word.


I've also made room in my life for more peace and less stress. For the past few years I've taken on more and more administrative tasks at my work and been teaching less. The admin. stuff is not where my heart lies, and while I'm good at it, it's stressful and not fulfilling. I'll go back to full-time teaching this spring while letting most of the admin. work slow to a trickle. By the summer, I plan to be a teacher alone, with minimal committee work. This also fills my heart, knowing I'll be connecting with my students even better and without the burdens of the other work on my back.

The past year has also been fulfilling with my family and friends. I grew closer to my sister as her wedding approached, and it was wonderful to see her and her husband so happy on their big day. I also reconnected with my dad this year, and continue to have a great relationship with my mom. All three of them were very supportive as I went through the discernment process. This journey also opened up new conversations between my husband, Paul, and I, and even with my other family members as I kept them updated on what was happening with my tests and meetings, and asking them for prayers and advice.


I've made wonderful new friends through Trinity this year, and been with new and old friends through good and bad times. I've prayed with friends who have lost close family members and continue to struggle with those losses. I've celebrated as old friends have safely returned from far places and dark places. I've reached out to newcomers who have become close friends, and let go of some people who were ready to move on. All of them have been blessings to me, and I pray that I've been a blessing to them.


A lot of people take stock this time of year, looking back at the events of the past, and looking forward into the dim light of the new year. This year I know I'll grow and change and have good and bad experiences. I'll make mistakes and learn from them. I'll help people and try not to hurt anyone, although that's probably bound to happen, too, no matter how hard I try. I might move forward with the ordination process, or I might find that my work in the church and world is just where I need to be. Every new year is a mystery. But what a wonderful mystery! I pray for all the best for all of you, and the understanding that no matter what happens, God is always with us all.

Christmas

I'm soooo excited! Tomorrow night, Paul and I and our friends will meet at church at 10:30 p.m. We'll sing carols as more people gather, and we'll have the accompaniment of our choir, and the organ, and a brass section helping out. We'll get bulletins and candles from the ushers, and hug people and smile at newcomers, and wish them Merry Christmas. And at the end of the service, around midnight, we'll light our candles, the church will go dark, and we'll sing Silent Night as we kneel in the circles of light that glow from our candles.

I'll probably cry, as much from the feeling of being surrounded in God's love and the love of those we gather with as from knowing that this baby boy who was born, and is born in each person, came for me. I can barely remember most of the people I went to high school with, but God knew all of us before we were ever conceived. He came for me, and you, and all the people of the world. People who don't know Him and maybe have never heard of Him. People who have forgotten they once knew Him. People who know Him, but are in pain looking for Him, or worse, ignoring Him. He came for me even though I was a pain-in-the-ass kid who lied constantly and ruined a Christmas snooping for presents with my four year-old sister. He came even though I'd spend years thinking He was no more real than Greek gods were to the Greeks. He came even though I still sometimes act like a stupid kid, or don't do what's right out of some sense of spite. He's here with me now and always, even when I forget it. And it's that way for everyone.

I'll cry because this event is so run-of-the-mill and yet so special. Babies have been born for thousands of years, and His birth was no different. Mary probably cried and screamed and moaned and wondered what the heck she was thinking saying, "Yes," to an angel. She couldn't blame Joseph, but did she get a little mad at God for choosing her, giving her so much pain? Jesus was born in the same mess as all of us, cleaned up and wrapped in fabric. It's normal and ordinary, and yet every mother will tell you that birth is a miracle. He would later perform miracles, but isn't this the biggest one of all? God and man? Wow.

I'll cry because of the times I missed Christmas, when I was an angry teenager, when I was in college searching for something that was already there, when I was too drawn up in myself to care about what was going on with other people in the world. I'll cry because of the joy that those times are behind me and I can go ahead in life with my head up and aware and full of prayer. Most of the time.

I'll cry for the people who don't have all that I do, who aren't surrounded by love and friends and family, who don't have a house or apartment or a room, who don't have enough to eat. I'll go home to a warm house with barking dogs greeting me, and a bed and a shower and blueberry french toast after opening a few presents in the morning. There are people who give a finger for a good candle to light their way in whatever darkness they have to live with, and all I have to do is move my finger to be surrounded in light.

I pray that everyone gets a tear of joy and one of just a little sadness too, this Christmas. I know I'll be busy with friends and family inn the next few days, and I pray that you will be too. But remember there are people, like Jesus, who are huddled and alone, who face living in an uncertain world that is hostile to them, who were babies once, just like you, me and Him.

Advent

Christ is coming!

One of the strange things to me about religion is some of the ritual. Christ is long gone from our world. He was born, he died, he rose. All past tense. But we are awaiting his coming, which is present progressive tense. Remember, I'm an English teacher. And it's not like we talk about this as the second coming during this time of year, but the birth as if it were happening again.

I also have a good imagination, and understand that we are pretending, acting out the coming birth in Advent, just as we will act out his death in just a few months. I can go along with this, but still, it's just a little weird how we Christians reenact the emotions that go along with these events. I'm not saying we shouldn't be emotional, just that...well... God made us into some pretty interesting beings, no?

I am always excited about Christmas coming. I love the decorations. I have trees and Nativities all over my house. I get choked up seeing the lights all over the city. I love the movies, and got choked up last night at the Music Box Theater's annual double feature. My husband, Paul, wrote about it better than I could. I love the music and carols, or most of them, and the way that people get a little friendlier. Midwesterners are pretty friendly folks all year long, but they open up more with the bell ringers, and cold weather and other things that we all share as we go about our days. And I am excited knowing that Christ was born a beautiful baby boy, even as I will grow sad in a few months knowing he must die a horrible death to save all of us.

There are all the cliches about keeping Christmas all year long and remembering what/who Christmas is all about. In past years our church bulletins and announcements have used the title "ChristMass" which is closer to the Middle English spelling and was probably used as subtle reminder to us to remember where our priorities should lie. (Again, English professors love etymology as much as verb tenses.) There are bumper stickers about "Keeping Christ in Christmas" and people who lament that Christmas has become all about gift giving. Even Lucy in the Peanuts comic back in the 1960s noted that Christmas has become a "big commercial racket." It's nothing new. Even the idea that Christmas shouldn't be a holiday is silly. Holiday comes from the words "holy" and "day." We just forget that too.

So this week, I'll be getting the last-minute wrapping done, and picking up the holiday ham, and hoping I haven't forgotten anything. And I'll be smiling at people, like I do all year long. But I'll be adding some "Merry Christmas" greetings in there, and putting some money in the Salvation Army pots. But what I'm really looking forward to is Christmas Eve Mass, feeling that closeness to my family and friends, celebrating the joy of a new baby coming into the world, one who probably smelled of fresh hay and wool blankets, who blinked his new baby eyes and had those cute pink baby lips made for sucking at his mother's breast. One who had such a big job to do, but whose mother and father protected and loved him, even as they wondered what would be happening in his future. Even though we know the story, we can share that wonder too.

Belated Thanksgivings

I just saw that my last post was at the end of October! This is what happens as the semester draws to a close. I'm busy grading research papers, and getting ready for the holidays, and my birthday arrives, and the getting ready for end-of-the-year stuff at church and work, and before I know it, the semester is over and we're facing the Christmas/New Year holidays!

So I missed blogging over Thanksgiving. And since I did, I'm going to have a brief entry here about what I'm thankful for. I heard a story on NPR with Maya Angelou about her being mopey one day about the state of the world, and her son gave her paper and a pen and had her start a list about all that she was grateful for. She went back to that list whenever she started to feel sorry for herself, or bad about all the events in the world she had no control over. I think it's a good practice, and even thought Thanksgiving is over, we should all take time to make such a list.

1. my family, immediate and not-so-immediate, in-laws and those members I adopt
2. my friends at church, work, from writing circles, from past lives as a student
3. all the students whose lives I've touched, whether I knew it or not, whether they realized it at the time or later
4. my opportunities to love others, from the acquaintances who just need a smile, to those who I get to share the most intimate moments
5. my work which changes, challenges, excites, frustrates, teaches, and expands me
6. my talents from writing to cooking to crafts to telling silly jokes and making fun of myself
7. my faith that upholds me when times are tough, and reminds me that I am not and never will be alone or unloved
8. the opportunity to worship in that faith in a country that allows me to do so freely
9. my voice and thoughts which I am blessed to have full use of in the United States
10. my home, my pets, and the food that's in my cupboard and fridge
11. music, art, literature, plays, all the creative ways that people express themselves
12. caring people who will smile back at me, say a word or two, and remind me that God is in everyone
13. the painful parts of life, without which I would take all the good times for granted
14. Christmas lights, chocolate, hot cider and good wine!
15. the people who I pray for each night, people I don't even know and who I will never meet, but who need my prayers, and the prayers of others.

This list could go on and on, but it's a start. I hope in this season when we tend to rush around, you will think about your own list, and what is important to you. Blessings!

Top Ten Reasons to give to Trinity (or any other places that do God's work in the world!)

10. I like to be warm in the winter and see when it’s dark. Paying utility bills helps that.

9. I think our wine is pretty good. The regular Sunday stuff isn’t bad, and at holidays we get good port. Anyone want to have to drink Mad Dog or Boone’s Farm? I think not.

8. Books. I love books. I like that our hymnals and prayer books are in good shape without coloring, split bindings, etc. We are able to replace books when they get really ratty because we have some budget for that. Otherwise, we’d be taping pages in and hoping for the best when Fr. Charlie calls out page numbers.

7. Napkins and coffee. We can wash our reusable coffee cups and dishes, but who wants to reuse coffee grounds? And cloth napkins, while elegant, would be impossible. Yeay for napkins! And that brings up

6. Toilet paper. Definite hooray for toilet paper!

5. Fr. Charlie’s sermons. While services would much shorter if we didn’t have a priest, and that might be a blessing on really hot days in summer, I learn a lot from Fr. Charlie’s sermons. Come to think of it, I enjoy Fr. Charlie for other things too. And he gets paid for this. Without pledges, we wouldn’t have him, so I’m also adding

4. Fr. Charlie’s blessings at the altar rail.

3. Fr. Charlie’s being in his office during the week to help keep things going around here.

2. Our buildings. I love old buildings, but Paul and I didn’t buy an old house because we knew that they cost a lot to upkeep and we are not talented at things like plumbing and electrical work. I help Trinity with my pledge to keep the furnace running, the roof on and water running. No one wants me to climb to the ceiling to repair lights, but I can help pay the person who gets hired to do that.

1. I am called to pledge. Even when things are tough, I know I am called to help Trinity as part of my community. The Sandwich Board, the immigration help, the coffee hours and potlucks, the dances and classes and retreats and conferences and meetings and my friends here at Trinity need each other. And they need financial help. Even though my husband Paul lost his job this year, we kept up with our pledge because Trinity means so much to us. It can be hard, but it makes us feel good knowing that we help keep Trinity afloat. Please pray for Trinity. Pray about giving of your time and talent. And pray about how much to pledge to Trinity this year. Even a small monthly amount can add up. Trinity needs me and you to help keep going and be a beacon of hope in Aurora.

To give to Trinity, go to Trinity's Website

Giving Again

It’s that time of year again. Chicago Public Radio just finished trying to raise 10,000 members during its ten day pledge drive. I’m getting letters from places like the Denver Food Pantry, The Academy of American Poets, and the Greater Chicago Food Bank, all non-profits I’ve donated to in the past. This will only continue as the Christmas giving season approaches, and people make last attempts to get tax-deductible donations before the new year comes around.

Fundraising is also going on at a lot of churches as the fiscal year comes to an end and annual pledges are tallied. And a lot of churches are struggling, especially those with small congregations or those not affiliated with a national or global denomination.

Trinity Episcopal, my church in Aurora, has been struggling for some time. We’ve had help from grants to pay for our parish priest’s salary and upkeep on our historic buildings, but by and large we lean on the pledges from congregants. For a long time, we’ve been able to tap into money left by past members, people who willed money to the church. Long ago, Trinity was a church of wealthy business owners in Aurora. If you look around the neighborhood that Trinity shares, there are lots of beautiful Victorian mansions, the huge stone Masonic Lodge that can be seen from miles away across the west side of town, and it’s only two blocks from what was once a bustling river community of shipping, manufacturing and trade. but now, many of the buildings are chopped up into lower-rent apartments, the Lodge has been under renovation for so long that it almost looks condemned, and the businesses are struggling to survive with many storefronts left vacant or under constant change of ownership. The stained glass windows in Trinity were donated by the same families who built their large homes here and did business in the two-story brick buildings lining Broadway. But many of those families are gone, and their legacy donations have been spent and are dwindling.

I haven’t been able to give as much as I would like to my church, and it needs money for the work it does. We offer a lunch to the homeless and low income people of Aurora every Thursday with the help of other churches in our area. While the food is donated and the people who run the soup kitchen are volunteers, Trinity has to pay the electric and gas bills to cook the food and keep the lights on. We also stock the bathroom for our guests, and have to insure the building and parking lot for all those who visit. We also offer immigration help with the volunteered hours of Linda Barber, our parish administrator. But her computer, copier, paper and other office supplies have to be purchased. Our greatest asset, and our greatest expense, is our priest. Maybe we could get along without him, but would we want to?

I was asked by our finance committee to speak at church last week about giving. I felt bad accepting, knowing I don’t tithe and give as much as some of our other members. But I give what I can after the mortgage, student loans, our utilities, food, cars, and list goes on. I encourage everyone to pray about giving to church, and if you don’t go to church, helping to support God’s work in the world, like helping the homeless and hungry whether in your community or elsewhere. Give regularly, and you will receive untold benefits. You’ll feel good about it, for one. You’ll be helping out people who don’t have as much, even if you never see them. And there will continue to be places that serve as oasises for those who need God’s love and peace and healing presence. And really, doesn’t everyone need more of that?

The Prodigal Son

Carol, my spiritual director, has asked me what my Bible study is like. I don’t like to admit it, but it’s pretty weak. I grew up Catholic, and there’s not a lot of emphasis on Bible study in that religion. Even though I went through nine years of Catholic education, I don’t remember once being asked to read something from the Bible for school, only to memorize prayers. I told Carol that I do have some favorite stories and Bible verses, though. I like “My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you.” Sorry, but I don’t have the book, chapter and verse number memorized, just the passage. But my favorite Bible story has always been the parable of the prodigal son. I had a child’s book of it with illustrations when I was a kid. I remember there was a picture of the son sitting in a pen of pigs, and the pigs were eating these big, juicy-looking ears of corn. Aside from the pictures, the most compelling part of the story was that even though the son did wrong, he was welcomed and forgiven when he got home.

Carol sent me home with her copy of Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son. Nouwen traces his discovery of Rembrandt’s painting of the parable and how the painting has moved him, and what questions it raises and answers. The painting is very straightforward in depicting the father embracing the son who has returned, while the son who stayed home, and some others, look on. Nouwen proposed that the different characters can symbolize different people in the Bible. There are the Pharisees and others who the story is directed at, but Christ also had to leave His father, live a life of hardship, and then return to Him. And we leave God our Father and return to Him when we sin and ask forgiveness, or stay with Him and feel twinges of anger when others get better things in life than we do when we’ve been doing right all along.

Nouwen asks readers to explore where they would put themselves in the picture. There are many, many times where we find ourselves as the prodigal son, wallowing in self-pity and misery, caught up in a mess we have created for ourselves. We have done this because we were selfish and didn’t think of anyone but ourselves, or because we were lazy, or because we just didn’t want to deal with life. But, we know deep in our hearts that we can change, turn back home, and return to God and ask forgiveness. And as the story tells us, we will be welcomed with open, loving arms if we are willing to be embraced.

But, we can also be like the son who stayed home. We do what is expected of us, follow the rules, and don’t cause trouble. We aren’t treated badly at all— in fact we enjoy the things we have. But we also take those things for granted, or don’t think to ask for more than what we are given as our lot in life. And then, someone else gets more than what we have, or better, or something we would have liked to have ourselves. We feel angry that we aren’t given what we think we’re due, and jealous that someone else less worthy is given something at all. But we also feel guilty, knowing we should behave better. Nouwen points out that the brother figure in the painting has an ambiguous expression and holds his hands where we can see them, but clasped. He has the chance to open them, but will he be able to given the battle going on inside him?

And sometimes we feel like the father. We forgive with a generous heart because we know that people make mistakes, because we love our family and friends even when they do wrong. We are happy that they come to us, ask us to help them. We are able to share the goodness of God’s love through ourselves, a shining light in a dark world.

At times we move back and forth from one figure to the other. For months I stray from prayer, or I do something I know is wrong and am riddled with guilt. But I return, knowing that I will be taken back into God’s love. But other times, I do what I should in my work, my family and my church. I give of my time, talent, and money. I bite my tongue when I want to say something mean. I forgive people for all sorts of things. And yet, there are people who will get away with lies, or meanness. And they have “more” in life than me, more financial security or better health or less stress. And yet, I know that when I act in love toward even the people I dislike, when I look for God’s light in everyone and open my arms to the possibility of love and forgives, I’m the happiest and nothing else matters.

Nouwen goes into much more depth than this, and explores many more facets of the painting and story than I can here, but the exercise is a worthwhile one. Where are you in the painting? Where do you want to be?

So Grateful

Don't. Ask. For ANYthing.

This was the refrain that my mom would recite when taking me and my sister into a store. Grocery store. Clothing store. Convenience store. She was kind not to torture us with toy stores unless we could get something, but that was rare. This has been so ingrained in me, that I have a hard time asking for things in general. There might be other reasons, but this seems logical.

Like when my dad took my sister and Paul and I up to Estes Park one summer day a few years ago. Estes is a tourist town with lots of little shops. Alicia and I admired jewelry and some art, and Paul liked a sports shirt. Paul asked me if he could get it, and I said no because we weren't making much money then. My dad got it for him. Alicia and I, who hadn't asked for anything, didn't get anything. It never occurred to us to ask. So we just jokingly pestered Paul for weeks afterward about how Dad liked him better than us.

That's maybe not the best example, but it's pretty representative. I don't like to ask for help, for gifts, for anything. I can do or get things on my own, and if I can't get it for myself, I don't need it. This drives Paul crazy, because I'm stingy with myself. If Paul says he needs a pair of jeans, we go get them. I'll live with my jeans until they fall apart. I just realized this week that my one black skirt is getting a little worn. I've had it for seven years. Who knows when I'll get around to getting a new one, as long as I can make this one work.

You might be wondering what this has to do with a blog on discernment. (Sorry, awkward segue.) But, this affects my prayer life too.

I keep a prayer journal. Every night, I write kind of like Anne Frank did to her diary Kitty, but I write to God. I start with being thankful for something from my day, and then I ask for things, always for others. For example tonight's entry will probably look something like this:

Thanks for the warm fall day today, and the cool night last night. Sleeping with windows open is great! Tonight I pray for ____, my single friends who want companionship, my family, ____, Trinity, and for my student who's having a rough time. Thank you for all the blessings I have, like my marriage and my pets who are cuddled around me.

Sometimes my entries are longer, but for each prayer, I hold the person or people in my heart for a moment before writing the next prayer. The closest I get to asking for things for myself is usually to ask for things for both Paul and I, like help with budgeting, or with s fight we've had.

It's not that I don't need anything. Far from it. And it's not that I am so great I can't use some help. In fact, there are a lot of things in my life that only God can help me with. Like being patient. Or keeping a reign on my swearing. Or knowing what to do in any given moment. Or being kind to people who really, really bother me. There's plenty. But for some reason I find it hard to ask.

I talked about this with my spiritual director, Carol, today. She's written a book on prayer, and she's working on one about personal prayer, asking for God for things for ourselves. She admitted that it can be hard to pray for ourselves, for as easy as it is to pray for others. I at least seven people, if not more, that I pray for each night, and sometimes whole groups of people, like Iraqis or soldiers if I've heard that there's been an attack or a disaster somewhere. But it's hard for some people to tell God, "Hey, I need some help with this," or admit that we're worthy of the same help we ask for others. I think part of it is that I know I've got it good in this life. I have a house, a husband, health, food, and fun stuff. I have friends who are missing any one of things, and thus, I'm not as worthy of prayer as they are.

One of the blessings of spiritual direction, is that the person doing the directing is also doing a lot of praying. Carol starts our sessions with silent prayer, and usually I start talking to god as I do in my journal, saying thanks for things, and thinking about the people who I know need prayer. But at the end, after we've talked about what's going on, and she's given me some ideas, she prays aloud for me. She says my name, and asks God for all things we've talked about. She asks God to give me patience, and wisdom and blessings. She asks for help my students to be open, for me to know how to help them. And it feels so good, like getting a present, for her to do that for me.

I'm going to start trying to ask for things for myself, not extravagant things, but things I need, like patience and wisdom. We'll see how it goes. Who knows, maybe I'll get used to it, and see where things go from there.

My Little Sister's Wedding

My little sister, Alicia, got married Labor Day Weekend. Paul and I drove out the week before to spend time with his brother and sister-in-law, and then made our way down to Colorado Springs to help Alicia and David get ready. Like any wedding, things were a little stressful. Alicia had been working evenings, and David from the early morning to the afternoon. They hadn't spent much time together, and things still needed to be done. In addition, they had just bought a house a few weeks before the big day, and had some things left at the their old place, as well as boxes still unpacked at the new house. It goes without saying that emotionally, they were less than perfect.

But it was wonderful seeing the two of them work together. Alicia would ask David to do something, and given his personality, he'd need to consider the best way to get whatever she needed done, done. And Alicia, who likes things to be done a certain way, and efficiently, would stop and breathe and not yell, giving David time to think. In fact, the whole time I was with them, no one raised a voice in anger. I prayed for patience and insight for myself, to know when to say something and when to keep my mouth shut, as well as patience and calm for them. I offered to help as much as I could, and enjoyed spending time being a part of their relationship and getting their celebration ready.

My sister and I have always been close. Well, maybe not always. We are five years apart, so I spent the first years of my life being an only child. I still remember my dad carrying me across the street to stay with neighbors the day Alicia was born, and then bringing her for show-and-tell while I was still in Kindergarten. When she started walking, pulling my hair, coming into my bedroom uninvited, I started to get a little turned off on the whole big sister/little sister thing. Alicia wanted to be a part of whatever I was doing, and I didn't really want her around all time. But we still played together, confided in each other, and relied on each other in a lot of ways.

So, seeing my little sister, the pest, the artist, the athlete, the long-light-brown-haired-hazel-eyed beauty I was so jealous of growing up, change into a partner and spouse over the week, was just amazing. For a while, a lot of us, friends and family, wondered when Alicia would find the right person. She didn't live in a culturally diverse area, and she commuted to college, so how would she meet someone? Of course, God has plans for us all, plans we can't see or know until they've happened. David and Alicia met at an Irish bar listening to Irish music. Culture and good beer are two of their commonalities. God knew what He was doing.

As I watched and listened to them repeat the vows they wrote, saw my sister tear up, and David smile at her so lovingly, I knew Alicia was doing the right thing. I haven't seen her so happy, maybe ever. I haven't seen her cry for joy, maybe ever. I have never seen her look so beautiful and poised and thrilled, never ever.

I pray that Alicia and David will always see each other as they saw each other on their wedding day, as a beautiful young couple in love. I pray that when they are angry with each other, they take a deep breath and stop and think about what they want to say to each other. I pray that they take time alone to enjoy their marriage, and that they make time for each other every day. I highly suggest a practice Paul and I have, where every day Paul tells me I'm cute, and I reward him with a hug. God will bless their marriage, I know. I was there when He blessed it with a beautiful blue sky, white clouds the shade of Alicia's satin dress, and mountains in the background as strong as His love, and theirs.

9/11/09

Eight years ago, I was living in central Texas with Paul, and teaching full-time at Temple College. I had driven the 30 miles or so to work, put my bag in my office, and had started brewing tea. A fellow teacher, Riley, came in to ask if I had heard the news about the World Trade Center. I went to his office with him, where his office mate had set up a tiny TV he kept under his desk. We watched as amateur footage showed one plane, and then another, slipping into the tops of the skyscrapers.

I was stunned. I remember saying that going to teach my class of freshman composition students seemed really pointless given the death and destruction and chaos that we were seeing on that small screen. Riley said something like, "It isn't any more pointless than it is on any other day."

The school administrators hadn't yet decided whether or not to cancel classes for the day, so I went into my class and taught. I started by saying that I knew about the morning's tragedy, and asked my students to pray for those people and their families. But then I got into my rhythm, and we got through the class. After that first class, the rest of the day was cancelled, and everyone went home.

I had a long drive home. At the time, we were living in Killeen, which is next to Ft. Hood, the U.S.'s largest military installation. Would the post be attacked? It made sense, given the number of soldiers and equipment. Every radio station was giving news of the attacks. I got home, and turned on the news. Over and over the footage of the planes, both the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, scrolled on the screen. I remember falling asleep on the couch, not out of boredom, but just the exhaustion of watching so much suffering and chaos going on in my country.

Classes were canceled again on the 12th. By then, everyone was scared. Even though no one had attacked Ft. Hood, wouldn't the troops be sent out to defend our country? Who would be sent? When? Where? There were all the rumors of what might happen next, what had happened, who was to blame. We were all shocked and stunned.

But I thought when I returned to school just a few days later, about what Riley had said to me, that my job as a teacher was just as important on 9/11 as any other day, or as some pessimists would say, just as useless. Today I drove to school listening to the voices of family and friends reading the names of their killed loved ones. I walked past a ceremony on the school lawn as I went inside to grade papers. I listened to the national anthem before the start of the Cubs game. And every time, I said a prayer. I pray for those who aren't educated and have nothing to live for besides death. I pray that the people whose lives I touch in a classroom will learn tolerance and patience. I pray that our soldiers will fight for what is right, but also serve our country with dignity and justice, not hate and vengeance. My job as a teacher isn't pointless on any day if I inspire others to live peacefully, with laughter, acceptance and cooperation.

Not a Final Destination

Every road trip I've ever been on has had an end destination. We traveled back and forth from Tucson to northern Ohio during the summers when I was a kid. We drove to Disneyland. I drove to my mom's house in Colorado from northern Wisconsin and Minnesota when I was in college and grad school. Paul and I have driven all over the Midwest and parts of the south. But I've never had one of those road trips where someone leaves the house without a map, without a final destination in mind. That's mainly because I'm type-A and I wouldn't like that.

That's also probably why when I started questioning my path to deaconhood, I felt really queasy. I had felt like there was a map in my hand, pointing me to a final destination of ordination. But all of a sudden it was like the map was swept out the car window, and I didn't have GPS or OnStar or even a passenger to ask for help. There were no roadsigns, and all I could do was stop at the gas station and get quizzical looks from attendants, all of whom had different ideas on how to find my way.

I had emailed a lot of friends and asked family for insight. All of them said to listen to what my heart was saying, to God in my heart. But it felt like God was being really quiet. He was like a passenger who falls asleep while you're driving. He's there, but He's not giving input. Plus, He doesn't wake up for just anything.

I decided after all this questioning to take a break. One of the concerns my discernment committee had was that I've been moving so fast, and while I was making time for the deaconate training I'd undergo, I might burn out. My mom is always one to tell me that I take on too much. Paul does too. Part of me felt guilty, that I was letting Trinity down, or the discernment group, or Fr. Charlie, or even myself. But my health and well-being need to be taken care of. I won't help anyone if I don't help myself first.

I made this decision before school started back, but life has been hectic. School starting, my sister getting married, and just everyday life have kept me running, and kept me away from the blog. I'm praying that I will find time to reflect and keep moving on this journey. I'm looking at this as a stop at a really cool roadside attraction, but definitely not the final destination.

Speed Bump Ahead

My neighborhood is full of speed bumps. Not those asphalt ones parking lots have that jar passengers’ teeth, but wide rises in the road that gently lift the car up and over. When we first moved here, we had to be attentive and go really slowly over them, but now that we’re used to them, we slow down without even thinking.

I’m using a lame metaphor here for the bumps we have in life. I’ve had a busy, busy life for several years in a row now, more busy than I’ve been ever before. I’ve been used to hitting a bump, ignoring it, and moving on. I double scheduled meetings? One quick call usually settles that. I somehow signed up for coffee hour the same morning I’m helping on the altar and doing the readings? No problem. I’ll just ask someone for help and push through.

I’ve finally reached a bump that’s made me take some notice, that’s sent my shocks squeaking. It’s not a bump that I can just smooth over with a phone call. I suppose it’s one that I could push through, but the consequences of doing that will be more than just a rushed Sunday morning. I’ve come to a point in my discernment process that is making me stop and wonder if I should keep moving forward.

I can’t go into too much detail, but the bump has to do with one of the many tests that I have had to take. The results came back showing the need for another longer, more in-depth test to get some new results to help the diocese make a decision about my strength in going into holy orders. I’m not opposed to taking more tests, per se. It’s not that I don’t think I can do it and do well. It’s just…well…this nagging feeling.

I’ve had some nagging feelings from the beginning, but they were quieted after talking to other deacons, or after being encouraged to move forward, or after people said they had faith in me. But I’ve moved on, trusting that the right things would happen. This snag has been one that is calling me stop, listen to God, and pray really, really hard.

I’ll be listening, praying, and asking for insight from friends and family. I have to come to a decision soon— there’s a deadline looming.

I love being outside, especially doing things like hiking. I was out visiting my sister and her fiance, David, in Colorado Springs last week, and we drove up in the mountains for a hike at Mueller Stat Park. It was a gorgeous day, and since there's been rain almost every day there for a few weeks, the pastures are really green and full of wildflowers.

When we were kids, our parents took us camping and hiking for vacations all the time. We'd go for a weekend, or for as long as over two weeks. We had a pop-up camper and a pickup truck we'd pack with food and water and sleeping bags. When I was older I had my own pup tent. We never took radios, and our camp sites were quiet, unless an unruly band of college kids or a raucous family camped near us with a boom box. We regularly primitive camped where there was no running water or electricity, and almost never other people. Dad and Mom wouldn't turn on the truck radio except to get weather reports or news once in a while. I grew up appreciating quiet and solitude in nature. It was like church, only better since there were birds and wind in the pines and running streams.

So it felt good to be out in that kind of quiet again last week. I don't get it very often living in the suburbs, and most of my time outside the suburbs is spent in Chicago, where it's even more noisy. We hiked along a mountain edge with views of distant mountain ranges. Where the trail ended was a rocky outcropping that looked down to a gorge and across to several ranges to the south, west and north.

My hackles were raised as soon as we arrived, though. There was a big group of people talking way too loudly for my taste, and a teenager was standing on the rocks with the best view talking into his cell phone. I wanted to go up to him, gently take it from him, and chuck it down the rock face into the gorge. I didn't, but I sure wanted to.

Alicia and I climbed up on the rocks and took a seat. Eventually the people packed their baby in its stroller and trooped off. I don't know how they got a stroller down the somewhat washed out and rolling path, but we weren't going to ask. When they left, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer, asking God to be with us.

As I finished my prayer and stayed silent, a breeze kicked up and washed over us. We could hear it swishing through the pines and aspens, and feel it pushing against us as we sat in the warm sun. I opened my eyes and watched as a storm approached from the north, with rain falling from the darker clouds that floated miles away. We could see a little pond hundreds of feet below us, and the granite rocks we were sitting on shone in the mottled sunlight as white clouds passed overhead. Alicia and I sat quiet for a long time, enjoying the warmth and quiet interrupted by a bird now and then. God was surely with us.

Testing...testing...

Do you get all queasy and uneasy before a test? The bad night's sleep the day before, the upset stomach, the sweaty palms, the urge to run out of the room once it's started? I don't have these problems, and I've always counted myself lucky. Either I know what I need to do, or I don't. Either I'm going in the right direction, or I'm not. I knew there were going to be tests in the process of discernment, and I've had the same faith with the required tests as I have taking any other tests in my life.



Last week and this week have been The Weeks of Tests. It started last Tuesday with a Diana Screening. I went to a counselor's office for this one. I had to answer some multiple choice questions about my hobbies, interests, career interests, and about my interest in children. I love kids when they are well-behaved and someone else's who can take them away when they aren't well-behaved. So I said I rarely enjoy teaching kids things, and rarely want to spend my free time with them. Kids are not my calling. Then I had to look at a lot, something over 200, photos of people of all shapes, sizes and ages in bathing suits. And some occasional photos of women's underwear, and a couple of creepy ones of men's hands on women's tushes or people fully clothed but tied up and looking very uncomfortable. I had to rank the photos as being sexually unattractive or attractive. I'm not turned on by small children, men's hands on women's tushes, or people being tied up. Yeay for not being a pedophile, a creepy old man, or a sado-masochist.



After that test, I hoofed it over to my internal medicine doc for a physical. She gave me a hearing test she said she's never been required to give. She chalked it up to the Bishop wanting to know I can hear grumbling old ladies across the parish hall. My reflexes and all my stats were fine. I did the standard blood and urine tests. All normal, no worries. Passed everything with flying colors, so I can stay on my diet and exercise plan, and keep going about my business.



Then this week Monday, I went for my psychological tests at church. Fr. Charlie proctored them for me, and the company that scores them had sent him all the test materials and directions. I was told in my paperwork that the tests would take 4-6 hours, and that I would be given a quiet place to take the tests. I didn't think it would take that long, and I wasn't worried about the quiet place. In fact, I was running late from a leisurely morning spent reading, writing poetry and window shopping, so my hubby Paul dropped me off at 12:30 without my having had lunch. I found a big piece of cake leftover from coffee hour, got a glass of water, and found Fr. Charlie.



He is so sweet. He set up a "desk" for me in the upstairs choir room with a great view of the church garden and street, with a pile of scrap paper, pens and sharp pencils. He came up and asked if I had any questions, and went over the directions. I said a quick prayer before I dove in. I had ten minutes for each of the first two tests. One was a 30 question multiple choice vocabulary test, and the other asked me to complete 30 sentences like "My ideal man ____," and "Depression____." I was done with both in less than ten minutes. I know lots of words, and the sentences end with "doesn't exist," and "sucks" respectively.

Then, I had to a 650 true/false personality inventory called the Minnesota Multiphasic personality Inventory. That was fun. It's the kind of test that keeps asking the same exact questions over and over with some different ones tossed in so that it can see if you are consistent in your answers. Do I want to a be a nurse? No. Did I change my mind 50 questions later? No. Do I think about my poop often? No. Did I want to change my answer two pages later? No.

To my delight, I got to do a 400 question true/false personality test almost completely identical to the MMPI, called the California Psychological Inventory. The CPIU asks a lot of the same exact questions as the MMPI. Do I want to be a nurse? Still, no. Do I think a lot about my poop? Again, still no. At least this one was 200 questions shorter than the MMPI. Yippee!

There were a couple of other tests in there too. One was an adjective test where I just marked boxes next to adjectives I'd use to describe myself. Smart-ass wasn't on there, but sarcastic was. I checked it off. I'm honest. I can't recall the others too well except for an analogy/matching/pattern test, but about 90 minutes in, I was done, cooked. I finished all the tests in just two hours. This was supposed to take 4-6 hours, remember? No way.

So, I'm thinking that the tests will come back and say that I'm pretty good with words, not so much with numbers. I don't want to be a nurse/cop/surgeon, but I like science. I am not overly concerned with feces, sex, or children. Tah-dah!

I get a breather from tests for a bit now. I think at this point, I wait for the Bishop to call me. "Kristin, I know you're not psychotic, so could you come and meet me for a conversation this week?" "As long as there's no tests," I'll say. I feel kinda queasy.

Keep Puttin' It Off

I keep trying to work on this entry, the one about the reservations the discernment committee had, and it keeps not coming out right. I keep starting and revising, and then throwing away my draft and starting over. I finally asked myself why I am doing this when my husband asked me when I plan on posting again. I can't write a new post until this one is done. And I don't want to do it.

It's hard to face our faults. I mean really face them. It's easy to say, "I have a sweet tooth and can't steer clear of chocolate," or "I really need to exercise more," when we try to put on a pair of jeans that's a little too tight. But to bear our inner faults with the whole cyber-world that might stumble upon it and judge me? That's a bit harder.

I have two faults that I have always struggled with in my life. One is my lack of enthusiasm for authority for authority's sake, and the other is that I don't think before I speak. The latter isn't a huge problem since I rarely run into those kinds of authority figures anymore. My job is pretty autonomous thanks to a little thing called "academic freedom" whereby my department chair and other bosses don't micro mange me. But when I was a kid, teachers, principals, most adults and their, "you have to do this because you're a kid and I'm an adult and I said so," never flew with me. I spent a lot of time being in trouble for resisting, pretty needlessly, the very people who wanted me to succeed.

But being a deacon means being a servant, and sometimes to people who can rile me, aggravate me, or just push my buttons. I'm not going to like everyone I encounter on this journey. But, I take comfort in knowing that I don't like all my students, but I manage to put on a smile when I walk into class and treat them all with respect, whether they respect me or not. So I think I can pray and be led in the right direction as far as knowing I need to lead and follow, not just lead.

The other part is harder to deal with. As I just said, even though I don't like all my students, I manage to be respectful to all of them. But thinking before I speak? It's like asking an ocean wave to please not come so far ashore. It's like requesting a dead skunk not to smell. It's like telling a wolf not to eat you because you're not going to taste good. It's like..... well, you get the point.

I say things I shouldn't on a daily basis. I do it everywhere and at any occasion. I'm a non-biased put-her-foot-in-her-mouth-gal. I have angered people because of this. I've probably hurt many people's feeling because of this. It was usually not intentional, but whether it was or not, it's something I need to work on. Silence and consideration of my words.

So I'm praying for help with this, and everything else in this process, as I wait the next phase. Right now, all my paperwork, including the committee's, Fr. Charlie's, and the vestry's reports, and my transcripts, and resume, are waiting in a file. Someone is running background checks, and credit checks, and I'll be called at some point for a physical and psychological examination. Then I'll meet with any series of people at the diocese, from the Archdeacon to the Canon to the Ordinary to the Bish himself. And I'll have to answer their questions, thoughtfully and carefully, not flying off the handle about anything.

So please pray for me and my big mouth. Not that it needs to be smaller, just a little more shut a little more often.

First Gate Cleared!

My discernment committee has deciphered the call that I'm receiving as a call to the deaconate! Yeay! Woohooo! Yowza! Ha cha cha!


Okay, now that that's out of my system, let me clarify what they said. There were no balloons, or confetti, or uncorking bottles of bubbly. I came to the meeting after the group had already convened to make their final decision. I got to Rick's house (Rick was the chair and the host for the meeting), was greeted and ushered into the living room where everyone was chatting. I sat down after our hellos, and Rick said they had come to a decision. I said, "okay," or something like it, equally lame, and someone asked if I wanted to know what the decision was. It was going to come sooner or later, but part of me was really scared of knowing. Move forward? Is that good? Go back? It that better or worse? But I mustered a smile, and said, "Sure," and they said I should keep going. But...


Let me emphasize the "but" here. The group has reservations about my moving forward. Now, I've had many people express reservations about me, so this is not a new sensation. I almost had to do first grade over again because my teacher wasn't sure I was ready because I wouldn't do my work-- I'd hand in blank worksheets. I almost didn't make it out of of fifth grade for the same reason, and I told my teacher off. I was allowed to get my first master's degree, but with the caveat that I not go on for Ph.D. work because the faculty didn't think I was ready for that. I got tenure at JJC, but with the Vice President's concern that my teaching practices were unorthodox and of concern to him.

So I get to move on to the next step, applying and meeting with the Canon to the Ordinary (assistant to the bishop) and the bishop. I'll write more about the reservations soon, but I wanted to get the good news out. I'm moving forward! Praise the Lord!

The Ride

I was on a rollercoaster once when I was about 10. It didn’t make me sick until I had a nightmare about it that night, and I had to get up to run to the bathroom. My family and I figured I wasn’t rollercoaster material, and I didn’t ride one for years. Then, when I was 28, Paul and I went to Six Flags for our anniversary. I wanted to try riding a coaster, and we got in line for the first one we came across—Mr. Freeze from the Batman comics. We had to go into a building to get in line, and the cars came into the building, shooting out a tube, and then returning the same way. So you went out facing forward, and shot back in facing backward. I wasn’t paying attention at all to the cars or how they came and went, but Paul was, and he knew better than to say anything and risk my freaking out and not getting on. So we strapped in, and then were shot out a tube going 75 m.ph. There were two corkscrew turns that left the cars shooting up a spire, then back down in reverse. The whole ride took about 30 seconds. For the whole ride I screamed things I don’t care to print here. I was shaking when we got out off the ride, but figured no rollercoaster could be worse than that, so I rode a bunch more that day until neither Paul nor I could get on one more without being sick.

The past few weeks have been like a rollercoaster-- one like Mr. Freeze. I can’t blame work, which has been smooth, or my husband’s being laid off, which we were praying for. It’s all been about the discernment process, which has taken me places I had not expected to go.

Looking back at my first entries (see “Trepidation” in November 2008), I had written about my concerns about the discernment process, and my path to being a deacon. Two of the problems I had were that I knew I might have to change as part of the process, and also, that I don’t need to be a deacon. I think these were the two biggest obstacles, but at the time, I wasn’t sure that I even had obstacles. I’ve been telling myself this whole time that the call to be a deacon didn’t come from me—it came from the Holy Spirit working in others. I rationalized that this meant that I wouldn’t be heartbroken if I kept to my current way of life as a lay person if the discernment process led me and the committee to believe that deacon-hood isn’t for me, at least for right now. But things have changed. I have changed.

Here’s where the rollercoaster metaphor comes in. On the old-fashioned wooden rollercoasters, you can see, pretty much, where you’re going. There’s the big drop after the first rise, but you can see the bottom, and the first curve coming up. On Mr. Freeze, part of the thrill is there is no drop, and it moves so fast riders can’t tell where it’s going. As I strapped myself into my seat for the discernment process, I thought that I would answer questions honestly, the group would think about my answers, and we’d move through the discussion discovering where my life should be going. I told myself I was open to whatever decisions and curves came my way. If the ride ends with me getting off and going home, that was fine. If it ends and I get to go back in line for another ride, that’s great too.

But the ride has gone on for much longer than I expected. Not that I didn’t know this process would last through June, but you know the feeling when the stomach and body say, “Enough, we want off this ride,” but you’re not near the end? That’s the way I’m feeling. I have answered the questions I’ve been given honestly, but then I wonder if I couldn’t have answered them more clearly, more succinctly, more coherently. Did I even answer them at all, or did I go off on a tangent? Was my tone rational and even as I gave an answer? Should I have been more emphatic or less so? Was it okay to be emotional? Why did that question make me so edgy?

But while I want off the ride, I also want to get back on again, for another shot at it. Somewhere along the line my whole attitude of “whatever the Holy Spirit wants” and “this isn’t coming from me, so I don’t mind if it ends” has changed. I want to be a deacon. The call that originated outside of me has awakened the call within me. I will mind, at least a little, if the group comes to the conclusion that I’m not ready yet. And there are good reasons for me not to be ready yet. I’ve filled my life with work, and while I am making real progress to not fill it up any longer, there’s a risk that I will shift back that way. But, I know in my heart that I want to fill my life doing God’s work, not just work-work. Another problem I have is that I sometimes (okay, oftentimes) speak without thinking, which can mean I step on people’s toes sometimes, or that I put my foot in my mouth. I can try to work on that too, but even then, no deacon is perfect.

So I’ve been feeling a little queasy about the process lately, but it’ll pass. I can’t believe how fast time has gone, how much I’ve grown both in this call and in my prayer life and my life as a whole. I have been listening to God and the Holy Spirit in ways I never thought I would. I’ve changed for the better, so no matter what path I am on, I’m moving in the right direction.

A Prayer I was Given

A woman on my discernment committee brought this prayer to our last meeting. I thought I'd share it here. The one she brought was written in plural (we and us) but I changed it to singular (I and me) for my own use.


Lord God, You who know me and the secrets of my heart,
Come now and fill me with the spirit of sincerity as I pledge myself to You and to the coming of Your Kingdom.
Lord, I desire to serve You with my heart, soul and strength.
I seek to surrender myself to Your holy plan.
May I strive to live within the spirit of holy poverty, living a simple way of life.
May my greatest possession be Your love and the love of those around me.
Help me to strive for excellence in loving.
Help me to be obedient and open to the mystery of Your voice within me, willing to embrace whatever You ask of me.

Lord and Friend, I rededicate myself to a life of prayer and worship of You.
May a song of praise be the constant melody of my heart.
I re-commit myself to serve the needs of those around me and the needs of the world.
May I find my salvation here at this time and in this place where I live.
May my union with those who share my commitment be a source of confirmation and inspiration.

Lord, I marvel that You, in Your divine wisdom, have chosen me to be the an instrument of Your creative salvation.
May all the works of my hands be leaven to make that much desired kingdom a reality.
Bless me now in Your abounding love as I promise to be Your friend, servant and holy minister. Amen.

Losing a Friend

On Monday night, my friend Jean died. She had had three strokes last year, and I had been visiting her at her home for several months, often with my two dogs in tow. We talked about American pressed glass, which we both collect, traveling to Europe and cities in the US, our families and friends. Jean was an airline stewardess, so she had been to the cities I love, Paris and London and New York. She loved beautiful things like crystal and glass and enjoyed showing off her collection. She also appreciated that I would bring some of my collection to her to look over since she couldn't come to my house with all its wheel-chair-unfriendly stairs.

She could be a pretty cranky lady, and she had no patience for people who couldn't be bothered to do a thing well. When she asked me about Notre Dame Cathedral and what I liked best about it, I told her about the stone-carved, beheaded saints whose still open eyes look down on church-goers. But I liked Chartes Cathedral better, with its Blue Madonna stained glass and huge sundial. She agreed. She wouldn't put up with vague, "Oh it was beautiful," comments. She wanted details. She wanted to know that I had thought about the places I had been. This also meant she had little patience for herself as she tried to say the words that would form in her brain, but that her vocal muscles refused to push out. She would hit her leg and curse her body for its failure.

Jean reminded me of my grandmother, another woman who liked a job to be done well, no matter how inconsequential it seemed. And my grandmother could also be pretty critical of people, and often sound like she never had a good word to say. Like my grandmother, as Jean got sicker, she also got softer. She would let us know very clearly and vocally when she was done with coffee hour and ready to go home, but she would also smile a little more and be more forgiving.

Unlike my grandmother, Jean left us pretty quickly. I noticed on my visits to her she was getting weaker, sinking deeper into her chair. When she went into the hospital just over a week ago, I went to see her in the ICU. She was like a baby bird in its nest. Her tiny frame was supported by pillows, her mouth open as she slept, her eyes in relief against her pale skin. I prayed with her, spoke with her, just in little bits. I brought a picture of my dogs, and she lit up a little when I showed it to her. I stroked her hair and told her about my memories of Ireland, how green it was, how I hoped she was dreaming of Dublin. She held my hand and called me Friend. I told her I loved her, and I meant it. She said she loved me back as she drifted back to sleep.

Fr. Charlie called me Monday morning to tell me that Jean was able to go home before she died, so she was able to go on her terms, in her house as she wanted to. But I wasn't sad. I had cried when I said goodbye to her when I left her on Saturday morning for a conference, and my prayers had been for God to please, please take her and end her suffering. She had cancer eating away at her body. She was on morphine to control her pain. It was no way to go on. I am relieved that she is with Jesus now, that all her frustration and pain are over.

I am writing this here because this is not the last time I will sit by someone's chair in her home, or at her hospital bed, and watch her die. That I will tell stories and listen to stories, be a friend to a person whose life will not last a year, or two, or ten. My grandmother sits in an assisted living apartment in Ohio, and I cannot be with her to talk to her, to help her go to her death. When I do get to see her, she doesn't remember me. She's closer to her childhood now than to the present, and picks up the paper several times as day as if she hasn't seen it before. I pray for her not to suffer, and I pray that I can serve her spirit by serving others. I pray that someone speaks to her each day as I spoke to Jean. I pray that my friend will look down on me and continue to see herself, her best self, in me.

Happy Easter!

We made it through Lent! I don't know about you, but this year's Lent was a contemplative season, even though it was busy. Taize services on Tuesday nights kept me centered on silence and God's peace. Sunday sermons kept me on track with my goals and where I should be (Thanks Charlie). I fasted on Fridays to connect with the suffering of so many of God's people. Maundy Thursday was humbling with an Agape meal and foot washing in our dimly lit parish hall before the symbolic stripping of the altar. As the perpetual light was taken down, snuffed out, and taken away, I had a huge lump in my throat that lasted through much of my time spent sitting up in the silent chapel during my wait with Christ.

But today, the church was filled with flowers, music and singing. Our congregation stood outside laughing and joking for a group photo before the kids went for an Easter egg hunt, and we all ate brunch together as one big family. But the best part, the part that brought me to tears, was saying and singing the Alleluias. They're back! Thanks be to God!

The BIG Question

We’ve been through two un-shepherded discernment meetings so far. The first one covered my spiritual autobiography and prayer life, and the last one, just this past Monday, covered my physical and mental health. I won’t go into all that here, but one of the members (who knows me well) had poked a little fun saying that my mental health is a little touch and go. This was meant in a positive way (see my last entry), but I also alarm some people. I’ve been known to read dessert menus aloud as if they were some sort of sexy romance plot. I don’t do this to strangers, but still… it’s a little strange.

Anyway, at the end of the meeting, after we had talked about my exercise, diet, drinking habits (social and not too often), my occasional need for therapy and bouts of depression and stress, one of the members said something like, “Next time I want to know THE answer to the BIG question. Why do you want to be a deacon?” I said, “Sure,” in a cheerful voice, but really, it’s not an easy question to answer.

I’ve been asked this question by a few people recently, all from my parish, and all inquisitive and positive people. I tell them about Trinity’s need for more leadership, about our priest’s need for help, about my own spiritual growth. But these were all short answers given to slightly curious folks who just wondered. The question in the discernment committee is a big one. And as my husband, Paul, said, if I don’t have a good, specific answer for this, why am I going through all this and making other people take time each month for it as well?

So I’ve been praying about it, and the Holy Spirit has been giving me some ideas. When I’m wearing my professor hat at Joliet Jr. College, I have three areas where I am asked to set goals: my professional career, my department and the college as a whole. So I go to conferences for me, and to bring back ideas to my department. I serve on committees for my department and my college (I don’t get a lot out of meetings for my own well-being). What if I look at my deacon calling in the same way? What do I feel called for personally? What about for my church home? What about the diocese?

Personally, I love serving people and God in them. Serving others feeds my soul. I’ve been taking my dogs to visit a woman named Jean in our parish who suffered from a series of strokes. She loves dogs but can’t have one of her own due to her abilities right now. I love to talk to her, to see how happy my little pups make her. But when other people in my parish find out I go to visit her, they tell me how kind I’m being. Maybe it is kind, but it’s not a burden. I like spending time with her and her friend Grace. So, being a deacon will bring me to more people in the world who need someone to talk to, who need healing and prayers. And by being with those people, I am also healed and brought closer to Christ.

My church is a small but vibrant and growing church. We have one priest who has to do most everything. Being a deacon will allow me to help him out in some ways that I can’t right now. We have a growing population of older folks who are home-bound or in nursing homes. Wearing a collar will enable me to be available in hospital settings where not just anyone is allowed to visit with patients. And since I don’t know a lot of our parishioners who aren’t able to attend church, a collar might make me more “official” as a church visitor than just some woman who stops by to say hello and say a prayer. I already serve on the altar, but I’ll serve in a slightly different capacity if I’m a deacon. The same goes with committee work or serving in our community. When we go into the community to volunteer, people know Fr. Charlie’s our priest since he’s wearing the collar. But unless the rest of us have t-shirts on that say “Trinity Episcopal Church,” we lay people aren’t as visible. I’d be one more visible person serving our community.

Deacons answer to the Bishop and are considered to be part of “The People.” They are liaisons between the world and the church. I pray, and am pretty certain, that if I’m allowed to become a deacon, I’ll be able to stay in my parish and serve. In fact, I’d be the only deacon in Aurora, IL since our other Aurora parish, St. David’s, doesn’t have a deacon either. I’d be able to be a voice for the people of Aurora in the Diocese of Chicago. That is a huge responsibility, but our city is one of the largest in the state of Illinois, and also of the suburbs of Chicago. I pray that more deacons will come to Aurora to serve the many populations here that are in need of help and prayers. But one person is a starting point.

I don’t know that these answers will be the ones that satisfy my discernment committee when we meet again on April 27th, so I’ll continue to pray about them. But this is a starting point. If you read my first couple of posts, you’ll see that this call didn’t come from within me. When asked why I should be a deacon, part of me wants to say, “I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, my priest was thrilled when I asked him about it, and then a deacon said I should move ahead.” But I know too that I need to hear the calling within me as well as without. And that call is growing more steadily and becoming less uncertain as I move forward in the process of discernment. This is a celebration of my work in the world and a confirmation that God is calling me to witness in His creation.

Missing the Alleluias

Lent is difficult. There are the days of fasting, the extra services, the reminders of the Crucifixion, the litanies and confessions of sin. It can seem really, really depressing, even knowing that all of the preparation is for something mysterious, magical and awe-some.

But really, what hits me the most, is the lack of Alleluias. I keep starting to say them at the Eucharist, at the final blessing. And it chokes me up that they aren't there. Even now, just typing this, I'm welling up. Part of it is that I personify things like Alleluias. I'm a poet, and we do weird things like that. I picture them as golden, curvy words floating around ethereally, enjoying God's presence and spirit. And when we say the word, it lifts them up and makes God happy. I told my husband as we were walking out of church a couple weeks ago, when I first missed the Alleluias, that someone must have caught them in a net, wrapped them in tissue paper, and put them away in a box in a closet in the choir room. I thought they must be sad to be in the dark, and maybe even be wondering what they did wrong. Paul, as usual, rolled his eyes and told me I'm strange. Strange in a positive way, but strange nonetheless. I'll be so happy on Easter Day when they get unwrapped again and can come join us in church, in songs and responses. And I think God will be happy too.

I made it through February, but...

The discernment committee had its first meeting without any help from shepherd or rectors just over a week ago. We did pretty well. We picked/elected/volunteered (depending on who you ask) a scribe and a leader. We had to go back and consult our list of strengths that we had talked about at the last meeting, but we found someone task oriented to lead us, and someone detail oriented to take notes. And we mapped out the dates for the rest of our meetings, and got down to business.

Business consisted of one member saying, “Kristin, I still don’t feel like I know you, yet. Tell us about what you like to, don’t like, what work is like…” and I jumped right in. I’m an extrovert, so I can talk, and talk, and talk.

I filled everyone in on my current family. That would be my husband Paul, my two cockatiels, and two Chihuahua mixes. Some days I feel like I am the leader of all these people/creatures, and some days I am a partner with a Chihuahua or a person. Never a bird. Birds don’t make good partners.

And I told everyone about my life at Trinity. I do most everything I can, much to Paul’s frustration at times. I have a hard time saying, “No,” when I see a need and no one jumping in to get it done. But I’m getting better. So, I used to serve on altar guild, but because of scheduling, I’m now just a fill-in person. I have helped out once or twice in the Godly Play room and nursery, but I used to do Godly Play as a regular teacher at a previous church and discovered I am not called to that ministry. I’ve tried to stay clear of that area unless I’m really needed. I lector, but that doesn’t take much time and the same goes for serving on the altar a couple of times a month. I do coffee hour every couple of months. Really, my time goes into chairing the Ministry Committee, leading seasonal Taize services, and during Lent I’m leading an adult formation class after Taize. And now, I’ve been elected to serve on the Vestry. I think my calling there is being the light fizzy bubbles in what can otherwise be a heady drink. For example, during this week’s presentation from the finance committee, I asked about lottery tickets. I think some folks might be thinking getting me on vestry wasn’t the best decision anyone ever made.

And my work life, is well…work. And that’s another place I have a hard time saying, “No.” It’s because I’m a teacher, and I really care about students and my teaching. But, again, I’ve been trying to let others carry the staff so I’m not getting pooped from hauling it everywhere. And teaching means really uneven time. When I’m on break, I have LOTS of time. But when I’ve got a few classes going, and committee work, and grading, and prep, and meetings to tutor students, and projects, and conferences, and meetings about what kinds of desks we should have in the classrooms, and people emailing me for information about assessment of student learning, and books I need to read, and…and…and… Well, you can see where this is going.

And this is part of a roadblock to my discernment journey. I can’t do everything I’ve been doing at work for the past two years AND do all I need to be doing at church. This came to a head last month. You can read my last post to see how crazy it was. So now, two weeks into March, I’m just starting to recover. Last Sunday, Fr. Charlie came up to me at coffee hour and said, “Kristin, you look like yourself! You look great!” I was getting pretty haggard and had dark circles under my eyes by the end of February, and I wasn’t smiling much. It’s good to know I’ve started to come back to life.

This time crunch has impacted the discernment committee in a couple of ways. One is that they know if I can’t take care of myself, I can’t help take care of others. Self-ministry is really, really important. Secondly, they have taken some of the brunt of my entropic scheduling. I thought I would be back from Spring Break in time to have a meeting in two weeks, but I got my schedule wrong, and we have to reschedule the next meeting. This throws off our schedule, and it inconveniences those five other people. What if it had been something related not to me, but to my ministry in the future?

So, I’m working on this, with God’s help. He got me through that awful month of February that I made for myself, but I don’t think He’s always going to be so flexible. I’m renegotiating my work load. For the past two years, I’ve held two jobs at once: teaching and leading student learning assessment efforts at my college. I have never been able to do both well. So next fall, I’m going to focus on the assessment efforts and help hire someone else to do the bulk of the work load. In the spring, I go back to a normal teaching schedule with just one committee to chair, and I only need to chair it for a couple more years. This will allow me to have a regular work day instead of the ten hour days I’ve been putting in and still not being able to get my work done, ever.

I’m also working on not saying, “Yes,” to everything at church, and to doing more to nurture myself. During Lent, I’ve been leading Taize and adult formation on Tuesday nights. In the past, we had a new Taize service for each of the nights we gathered. This time, there’s one service repeated each time we gather. For the adult formation, I’m relying on discussion rather than memorizing a bunch of material for a lecture. It’s working well, and I’m enjoying the services and the discussions as much as if I were just a participant. Plus, I’ve been attending Wednesday morning Stations of the Cross to help center myself for the season. And I’m fasting on Fridays. I’ve been so much more relaxed, at peace, and able to deal with the problems that come up during the day. I’m not as frazzled and panicky and short-tempered. It’s so much better.

I’ll keep checking on myself and reevaluating where I’m at. And really, I know that if the committee decides this isn’t the right time in my life, that the call should wait a bit until I’m less scheduled and more on top of things, I know it’s for the best. God’s will will be done no matter what.

Another lesson...

Well, I’m through the “training wheels” stage with my discernment group, and we’re on our own next time. During our last meeting, we had sharing time, and we all told stories about a time we felt close to God. I told my happy story about finding my first Episcopal Church when I had graduated from college and had moved to a new town to get settled and start graduate school in the fall. God knew I’d be lonely all summer without Him, and since we’d been apart while I was an undergrad, the Holy Spirit saw to it that I got my butt back to church. This happened via my mom taking me to a church near my home for a look around before she left, and then the Holy Spirit getting me up early on Sunday morning after she and my sister had left. I went to the service that morning, and the rest is history.

One of the members of the group also brought a prayer shawl she had made for me, and everyone prayed over me and Fr. Charlie blessed the shawl. I’ve never had a prayer shawl, but my friend, I think I can call her that now, said to wear it when I needed a “hug” from God, when I need a quiet moment, when I feel prayerful or vulnerable. I love it, and I’ve been using it. I’ve needed hugs lately!

This brings me to my real thesis for this entry. I’ve been very overwhelmed this month due to over-scheduling myself. I do this often, even though I’ve been trying to stop. It’s hard to break a habit, but I say “yes” to too many things, and before I know it, my calendar is filled with too many responsibilities. This past week, I had a poet visiting my college on Tuesday, which meant picking him up in Chicago, getting him to my class, to a reading, and then back to Chicago. We had a wonderful time, but it was a busy day. Then, Wednesday, I had to finish planning a one-day conference I was running on Friday, and then go to another conference in Chicago that afternoon and evening. Thursday I was at that conference again, driving in and out of the city. Friday, I had to be to work at 7:30 to run the conference I had planned, and then I went back into Chicago for the conference I was attending. Saturday was another trip back in. Saturday night I had houseguests, who are friends and low-key and relaxing, but I wasn’t what I call “deflating.” Today has been my day to recuperate, but this week isn’t what I’d call a relaxing week. All that I said, “Yes,” to was fun, but exhausting and draining since it came one thing upon another.

I should note that I’ve missed evening of writing in my prayer journal because I’ve been too tired, that I haven’t read anything related to my spiritual life in weeks now because there are too many other demands on my time. I’ve gone all month without seeing my prayer group, and I won’t be able to until March at this point.

So here’s one of my lessons that I need to learn and quickly. These demands on my time for things that I want to do, and love to do, need to be prioritized, otherwise I’ll burn out and lose sight of what is really important in my life. I need time to be quiet and prayerful, time to reflect, time to be myself and not a mechanical wind-up toy that never gets to be still. One of the shepherds who was training my discernment committee said I need to put some favorite scripture passages to memory. Mine this month has been,” My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as this world gives to you do I give to you,” from Jesus’ words to his disciples in John’s gospel. I may be able to go get a massage and take a sick day, but I need to have peace in my heart and soul or I won’t be lasting long spiritually or physically!