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.