Always I go from gate to gate
rained on, scorched by the sun,
suddenly I press my right ear
into my right hand.
And now my own voice comes to me
as if I'd never known it.
So that I'm not certain who's crying out,
I or someone else.
I cry for a pittance.
The poets cry for more.
At last I close my face
by closing both my eyes,
lying so heavily in my hand
it almost looks like rest.
So they won't think I hadn't
a place to lay my head.
~Rilke.
Of The Best Stuff, but Cracked
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
Waiting for notification. The Letter From The College, and other things, too.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Prayers, please
My (big) little brother, age 20, has had Viral Myrocarditis that went undiagnosed for over a year. The past month he's been under treatment, but had to rush to the ER today with severe chest pains. I'm awfully worried about him, even though he is so big and strong. I hope he is okay. It is hard to be so far away.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Rememberance
A few months before the final end of my ill-starred marriage years ago, I had a temp job at a big Halloween-costume factory store. It was a fun job, wearing costumes, counseling customers around their disguise, getting side-jobs as a makeup artist.
I met two people there.
One was a beautiful woman, whose name I am ashamed to say I do not remember. She, like me, was in an abusive marriage and afraid to get out. Somewhere inside me I found the courage to help her do what I could not. There were several weeks of bargaining and wavering. I helped her get away, and I stayed several scary nights with her in her apartment while her ex beat on the door. We cowered in her bed and turned up the volume on 3am Oprah re-runs. Eventually he gave up. There were several weeks of tears and I made her a birthday party a week later to help her cheer up. In helping her I learned about what I could and would do when my time came.
I don't know where she is now.
I prayed for her tonight.
Another was a beautiful boy named Jesse. All the blond cheerleader teenage employees were drooling after him, being too young and innocent to have any sense of gaydar. Jesse and I somehow bonded instantly. He was a mess, lovely and vulnerable, also with a taste in abusive men. He was funny, bold...lovely, lovable, fragile and joyful and childlike despite his almost thirty years. I was a mess, a child bride, frightened, lonely, overworked with no sense of fun. I found in Jesse the solace and attention and care-free, strings-free love I had always missed, and he found in me a confidant, a protector, a loyal and gentle friend. Jesse gave me the adolescence I'd missed along the way. I got to pretend to be bad, after so many years of being the good one. We played jokes, we walked around the mall wisecracking. He took me to my first drag show. We shared cigarettes outside unspeakably filthy bars. I got into my one and only physical fight defending him in a bar fight. (I won, though I still bear the scar to prove it.) One of the few gay bars in our southern town was also the only goth bar, once a week. We'd dress up in baby-goth drag, calling ourselves the "Dark Children," both skinny kids, me a dapper, hip young man with huge eyes, and him my slithery date in too much eyeliner. We'd go out and dance till 3 am. I was still underage, so he'd buy gin and tonics and we'd share them, giggling, in adjoining stalls in the men's room, passing the glass back and forth under the partition. I loved him. When I finally fled my terrible, abused existence, we lost touch.
I don't know where he is now.
I prayed for him tonight.
I've been grieved many times over the fate of these troubled lost friends. My prayer is that they have both been somehow lead to a place of faith and healing, like me. Slowly, step by step.
I pray for them tonight.
I remebered the first friend's name. It was Diamond.
I met two people there.
One was a beautiful woman, whose name I am ashamed to say I do not remember. She, like me, was in an abusive marriage and afraid to get out. Somewhere inside me I found the courage to help her do what I could not. There were several weeks of bargaining and wavering. I helped her get away, and I stayed several scary nights with her in her apartment while her ex beat on the door. We cowered in her bed and turned up the volume on 3am Oprah re-runs. Eventually he gave up. There were several weeks of tears and I made her a birthday party a week later to help her cheer up. In helping her I learned about what I could and would do when my time came.
I don't know where she is now.
I prayed for her tonight.
Another was a beautiful boy named Jesse. All the blond cheerleader teenage employees were drooling after him, being too young and innocent to have any sense of gaydar. Jesse and I somehow bonded instantly. He was a mess, lovely and vulnerable, also with a taste in abusive men. He was funny, bold...lovely, lovable, fragile and joyful and childlike despite his almost thirty years. I was a mess, a child bride, frightened, lonely, overworked with no sense of fun. I found in Jesse the solace and attention and care-free, strings-free love I had always missed, and he found in me a confidant, a protector, a loyal and gentle friend. Jesse gave me the adolescence I'd missed along the way. I got to pretend to be bad, after so many years of being the good one. We played jokes, we walked around the mall wisecracking. He took me to my first drag show. We shared cigarettes outside unspeakably filthy bars. I got into my one and only physical fight defending him in a bar fight. (I won, though I still bear the scar to prove it.) One of the few gay bars in our southern town was also the only goth bar, once a week. We'd dress up in baby-goth drag, calling ourselves the "Dark Children," both skinny kids, me a dapper, hip young man with huge eyes, and him my slithery date in too much eyeliner. We'd go out and dance till 3 am. I was still underage, so he'd buy gin and tonics and we'd share them, giggling, in adjoining stalls in the men's room, passing the glass back and forth under the partition. I loved him. When I finally fled my terrible, abused existence, we lost touch.
I don't know where he is now.
I prayed for him tonight.
I've been grieved many times over the fate of these troubled lost friends. My prayer is that they have both been somehow lead to a place of faith and healing, like me. Slowly, step by step.
I pray for them tonight.
I remebered the first friend's name. It was Diamond.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Another dream:
I was at a meeting for worship and it began with random people blessing each other with water and setting up for a mock-mass. I was horrified and left the meetinghouse and sat outside with my family, who appeared out of nowhere. I was very upset that the meeting was doing this, and decided my time would be better spent with my family, since this meeting was obviously going to be terrible, and my time with my family was limited. So I chatted uncomfortably with my parents and cuddled the little kids.
After meeting a group of weighty Friends surrounded me and began to elder me "If you're serious about joining the meeting you are going to have to submit to the sense of the meeting, even if it includes sham sacraments." I was torn and confused and felt ill. My parents seemed triumphant at this failure of Quakerism, and I felt shamed in their sight and the meeting's.
And then I woke up.
Gah! Commitment-phobia, anyone?
I had a (much!) better real-life time with Quakers tonight, getting together with Liz Opp, Robin, Will Taber, Rob, and many other wonderful Friends for a lovely dinner of pizza and conversation. There was a traveling Friend from El Salvador with us, and for some reason I was deeply moved by the rhythm the conversation took on from the process of translation--rather than being choppy it seemed more quietly fluid, with the natural pauses for the translation giving a graceful, thoughtful sway to what was being said. Translation of conversation is very different than translations of speeches or messages, I think. I am not sure why. But there is an added earnestness for understanding and listening and clarity that stirs my heart. Thanks, God, and Friends, for a beautiful evening.
After meeting a group of weighty Friends surrounded me and began to elder me "If you're serious about joining the meeting you are going to have to submit to the sense of the meeting, even if it includes sham sacraments." I was torn and confused and felt ill. My parents seemed triumphant at this failure of Quakerism, and I felt shamed in their sight and the meeting's.
And then I woke up.
Gah! Commitment-phobia, anyone?
I had a (much!) better real-life time with Quakers tonight, getting together with Liz Opp, Robin, Will Taber, Rob, and many other wonderful Friends for a lovely dinner of pizza and conversation. There was a traveling Friend from El Salvador with us, and for some reason I was deeply moved by the rhythm the conversation took on from the process of translation--rather than being choppy it seemed more quietly fluid, with the natural pauses for the translation giving a graceful, thoughtful sway to what was being said. Translation of conversation is very different than translations of speeches or messages, I think. I am not sure why. But there is an added earnestness for understanding and listening and clarity that stirs my heart. Thanks, God, and Friends, for a beautiful evening.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
I promise not to make this a diet blog!
But this is a big part of my life right now, and I feel the need to talk about it.
I am using www.sparkpeople.com to track my food intake. It's pretty eye-opening. I thought I was pretty good about portion control, but it turns out that I've been eating a lot more than I thought I was. It's also very good for me as a vegetarian, because it's confirming what I suspected: my fat intake is pretty good, but I consume way more carbs than I need and way less protein than I need. Maybe if I ate more protein I'd be less exhausted all the time. It's hard for a veggie on the go to the get the protein she needs. It's much easier to grab a cookie or a bagel than to cook up beans and lentils and tofu. I think I will be eating more hard-boiled eggs. It's hard to stay in the recommended calorie allotment, too. I think it's a matter of re-training the body. Anyway, tracking my intake and nutrients this way is educational, even though it's hard.
I am hoping to use this diet as a bit of an exercise in simplicity. Not surprisingly, the packaged and take-out foods my regular diet relies on are high in calories. It's no secret that good home cooking, if you're gentle with the butter and cheese, tends to be better for you (and often, the world.) I'm working on buying less processed ingredients and making the time to pre-pack lunches and breakfasts, and even dinners for school days, where I often don't get home till 10pm. It is a struggle, but it's good stewardship in more ways than one.
I'm also having to cut down my alcohol calories. I'm not a big boozer, but my delicious beer is at least 200-300 calories a hit. Gone are the days where I could absentmindedly spend a few hours in the pub with some friends and slowly down 3 pints. That's most of my daily calorie allowance! And that sort of liquid diet's not overly recommended.
Ah me.
Anyhow, maybe I'll save some money and spend my time a little better while I'm being careful about what I eat.
I'm waiting on a dreaded scale to arrive.
I am using www.sparkpeople.com to track my food intake. It's pretty eye-opening. I thought I was pretty good about portion control, but it turns out that I've been eating a lot more than I thought I was. It's also very good for me as a vegetarian, because it's confirming what I suspected: my fat intake is pretty good, but I consume way more carbs than I need and way less protein than I need. Maybe if I ate more protein I'd be less exhausted all the time. It's hard for a veggie on the go to the get the protein she needs. It's much easier to grab a cookie or a bagel than to cook up beans and lentils and tofu. I think I will be eating more hard-boiled eggs. It's hard to stay in the recommended calorie allotment, too. I think it's a matter of re-training the body. Anyway, tracking my intake and nutrients this way is educational, even though it's hard.
I am hoping to use this diet as a bit of an exercise in simplicity. Not surprisingly, the packaged and take-out foods my regular diet relies on are high in calories. It's no secret that good home cooking, if you're gentle with the butter and cheese, tends to be better for you (and often, the world.) I'm working on buying less processed ingredients and making the time to pre-pack lunches and breakfasts, and even dinners for school days, where I often don't get home till 10pm. It is a struggle, but it's good stewardship in more ways than one.
I'm also having to cut down my alcohol calories. I'm not a big boozer, but my delicious beer is at least 200-300 calories a hit. Gone are the days where I could absentmindedly spend a few hours in the pub with some friends and slowly down 3 pints. That's most of my daily calorie allowance! And that sort of liquid diet's not overly recommended.
Ah me.
Anyhow, maybe I'll save some money and spend my time a little better while I'm being careful about what I eat.
I'm waiting on a dreaded scale to arrive.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Blog and it shall be given unto you.
Hey! SAT scores and an email saying the old transcript is on its way! All in one day! Whoo!
Thanks, Universe. I needed that.
Thanks, Universe. I needed that.
Dream dream dream
When I do sleep, I have intense dreams. They are always very specific. These days they are often medical, which I think is a combination of my hopes for medical school, my general physical health, and a sense of continuing healing/sickness around my emotional life.
I had a very detailed dream about having leukemia last night. And it was so matter of fact. I just went in, was diagnosed and listened to what they told me I'd have to do. Then I sat down and rolled up my sleeve and got the IV push of drugs while watching some sort of historical romance movie on a tiny, tiny television. And then I went and laid down outside. I felt spinny, like I'd had too much to drink or had stood up too quickly. The ground was damp but the sky was blue, and I closed my eyes to rest. And then I opened them and I was awake.
Very strange.
I had a very detailed dream about having leukemia last night. And it was so matter of fact. I just went in, was diagnosed and listened to what they told me I'd have to do. Then I sat down and rolled up my sleeve and got the IV push of drugs while watching some sort of historical romance movie on a tiny, tiny television. And then I went and laid down outside. I felt spinny, like I'd had too much to drink or had stood up too quickly. The ground was damp but the sky was blue, and I closed my eyes to rest. And then I opened them and I was awake.
Very strange.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Cloudy today
But still with a warm breeze. La la la see me blog about the weather.
Giant but exciting project at work is eating my life. It should be over this week, God willing. Also, the ballet theatre has a show opening this Friday. I've been too sick and tired to do anything about it until now (my involvement was supposed to be minimal anyhow) so we are kind of scrambling to get costumes together. As usual. It's a ballet I have done with them before so I know my way around the costumes. I was hoping to do some fun embellishment stuff with them, back in the planning stages, but I think as of now we'll just be glad if everyone fits in something before we push them out onstage. I was there first thing this morning with my measuring tape and pins, and now I am drooping a little at my desk. I am still intensely sleepy and hoping to find some time for a nap between work and class tonight.
Mmm. Nap.
You know, I was really annoyed with the time change, but last night, when quitting time came and I could still see my hand in front of my face, I was happy for the extra daylight. So I am grudgingly approving Daylight Savings Time, even though it doesn't make the giant task of waking up any easier.
Hey, I think I see a little sun peeking through. A square inch of sun!
Now I need to go climb into the library and photocopy my boss's essays out of a book that does not circulate. Sometimes I wonder if repeatedly photocopying one's head would be an antidote to SAD.
Not that I've ever been diagnosed with SAD. I just wonder.
I had some nice quiet time over my sandwich this afternoon and did some praying along with my chewing. Mostly just holding-so-and-so-and-this-and-that in the Light stuff. Not any deep conversation with God or anything. But still nice and grounding.
Okay, off to the books and the photocopier bay. Maybe I can catch a few Zs in the stacks.
A Prayer in Spring
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.
~Robert Frost
PS. Perfect A on the midterm! Hurrah!
PPS. Sun came all the way out! Double hurrah!
Giant but exciting project at work is eating my life. It should be over this week, God willing. Also, the ballet theatre has a show opening this Friday. I've been too sick and tired to do anything about it until now (my involvement was supposed to be minimal anyhow) so we are kind of scrambling to get costumes together. As usual. It's a ballet I have done with them before so I know my way around the costumes. I was hoping to do some fun embellishment stuff with them, back in the planning stages, but I think as of now we'll just be glad if everyone fits in something before we push them out onstage. I was there first thing this morning with my measuring tape and pins, and now I am drooping a little at my desk. I am still intensely sleepy and hoping to find some time for a nap between work and class tonight.
Mmm. Nap.
You know, I was really annoyed with the time change, but last night, when quitting time came and I could still see my hand in front of my face, I was happy for the extra daylight. So I am grudgingly approving Daylight Savings Time, even though it doesn't make the giant task of waking up any easier.
Hey, I think I see a little sun peeking through. A square inch of sun!
Now I need to go climb into the library and photocopy my boss's essays out of a book that does not circulate. Sometimes I wonder if repeatedly photocopying one's head would be an antidote to SAD.
Not that I've ever been diagnosed with SAD. I just wonder.
I had some nice quiet time over my sandwich this afternoon and did some praying along with my chewing. Mostly just holding-so-and-so-and-this-and-that in the Light stuff. Not any deep conversation with God or anything. But still nice and grounding.
Okay, off to the books and the photocopier bay. Maybe I can catch a few Zs in the stacks.
A Prayer in Spring
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.
~Robert Frost
PS. Perfect A on the midterm! Hurrah!
PPS. Sun came all the way out! Double hurrah!
Monday, March 12, 2007
Spring! And things.
After several weeks of hellish coldness (heh.) today has a warm wind blowing. It is lovely.
I am doing some great Quaker reading that I hope to share about soon once I've done some more processing. Going to Business meeting has done a lot to re-invest me in my search, and I'm really glad that I started that again, though there are so many frustrations and heartbreaks to be had down those lines, as well.
One of the main reasons my blogging has been so sparse is that I'm just exhausted. I've always struggled with fatigue, but this no-sleep-without-pills or 12-hrs-of-sleep's-not-enough-with-pills cycle is pretty merciless. I have a good new doctor and I am hopeful that things will straighten out someday soon. I have already found my mood greatly improved, and I think the new medicines combined with the return of the sun are responsible for that. I haven't had a meltdown or any big Days of Darkness in months, and that's amazing. So, if I could just not be tired, that would be so great. Right now sleeping is my main leisure activity, before knitting, cooking, even reading. And that's not a great way to be burning calories.
Speaking of calories, thanks for the words of wisdom on the last post. One of the great things that came out of my foray into plain dress was a certain degree of freedom from worries about my looks. Though, as Cat says, simplicity may be cuter on a size 6 frame, I haven't been a size 6 in years and don't really expect to be again. Wearing one of three generously-cut, un-sized dresses every day made obsessing over pant-size irrelevant. I wasn't likely to notice small day-to-day fluctuations in weight. None of the three dresses "made my butt look big" and that was that.
I stepped away from traditional plain dressing because I grew increasingly uneasy with the fundamentalist politics the dress seemed to broadcast. Traditional plain-dressing, especially for women, came to seem inextricable from certain ideas about gender-roles and misogynistic sexual morality, wherein some man has care of rationing out a given woman's virtue. And to be honest, with a new desk-job, it no longer felt at all suited to my way of life. I didn't feel as though I was witnessing, I felt awkward and out-of-place. I could have just switched to wearing less distinctive plain dress, but instead I simply drifted back into regular clothes, though 99% second-hand.
I'm not blaming this switch, because I DID gain 60 lbs. And I am fairly content with my wardrobe as it is. But it is interesting to me how quickly I can fall back into freaking out about a pant-size. I know there is vanity involved, certainly. Not so much about the way I look, because I am tall and I don't look that different, especially in the still fairly-plain clothes I wear day-to-day (I'm not trying to fit into a mini-dress or hip-huggers.) But I think I am vain just about the "thought" of my weight. Maybe I was proud of the old one.
Still, I want to lose it, for health-reasons and for self-esteem reasons, even if there's some vanity involved. So it's something I am thinking about.
I've also been dealing with huge frustrations with my application to school. I've got my heart set on it more than I should, and I am trying to let go a bit and just wait and see if way opens. In the meantime, way is being continually obstructed by bureaucratic idiocy, not on the part of the school I want to go to, but on both a larger and smaller scale. The school I went to (where I flushed away my anti-depressants and then proceeded to waste the next three years of my life in a miserable abusive relationship) no longer really "exists" and getting paperwork from them is like pulling teeth from a chicken. I'm angry that I have to think about it so much. The process is reminding me of my divorce: the impossible paperwork, the indifferent and unresponsive other party, the dredging up of horrible memories, and the drawn-out aggravation. Also, the College Board has hung me out to dry for over a month as they do an "archive search" for my ancient (6 year old) SAT scores, which they wouldn't need if I had gone to a "proper" highschool with a "proper" transcript, instead of reading the Western literary canon at home while helping to raise a passle of children. Everything has to be official, ratified, signed, undersigned, cataloged, numbered, ordered, serialized and stamped by some Authority, and it's making me crazy. I am running out of time to get these documents and can't help feeling annoyed that I even need them. I am smart! I work hard! Why is that not enough?
/rant.
This is not ruining my life, despite my vehemence. I'm feeling pretty happy, believe it or not. But it's sure taking away a lot of my energy.
But then, I saw a crocus today.
I am doing some great Quaker reading that I hope to share about soon once I've done some more processing. Going to Business meeting has done a lot to re-invest me in my search, and I'm really glad that I started that again, though there are so many frustrations and heartbreaks to be had down those lines, as well.
One of the main reasons my blogging has been so sparse is that I'm just exhausted. I've always struggled with fatigue, but this no-sleep-without-pills or 12-hrs-of-sleep's-not-enough-with-pills cycle is pretty merciless. I have a good new doctor and I am hopeful that things will straighten out someday soon. I have already found my mood greatly improved, and I think the new medicines combined with the return of the sun are responsible for that. I haven't had a meltdown or any big Days of Darkness in months, and that's amazing. So, if I could just not be tired, that would be so great. Right now sleeping is my main leisure activity, before knitting, cooking, even reading. And that's not a great way to be burning calories.
Speaking of calories, thanks for the words of wisdom on the last post. One of the great things that came out of my foray into plain dress was a certain degree of freedom from worries about my looks. Though, as Cat says, simplicity may be cuter on a size 6 frame, I haven't been a size 6 in years and don't really expect to be again. Wearing one of three generously-cut, un-sized dresses every day made obsessing over pant-size irrelevant. I wasn't likely to notice small day-to-day fluctuations in weight. None of the three dresses "made my butt look big" and that was that.
I stepped away from traditional plain dressing because I grew increasingly uneasy with the fundamentalist politics the dress seemed to broadcast. Traditional plain-dressing, especially for women, came to seem inextricable from certain ideas about gender-roles and misogynistic sexual morality, wherein some man has care of rationing out a given woman's virtue. And to be honest, with a new desk-job, it no longer felt at all suited to my way of life. I didn't feel as though I was witnessing, I felt awkward and out-of-place. I could have just switched to wearing less distinctive plain dress, but instead I simply drifted back into regular clothes, though 99% second-hand.
I'm not blaming this switch, because I DID gain 60 lbs. And I am fairly content with my wardrobe as it is. But it is interesting to me how quickly I can fall back into freaking out about a pant-size. I know there is vanity involved, certainly. Not so much about the way I look, because I am tall and I don't look that different, especially in the still fairly-plain clothes I wear day-to-day (I'm not trying to fit into a mini-dress or hip-huggers.) But I think I am vain just about the "thought" of my weight. Maybe I was proud of the old one.
Still, I want to lose it, for health-reasons and for self-esteem reasons, even if there's some vanity involved. So it's something I am thinking about.
I've also been dealing with huge frustrations with my application to school. I've got my heart set on it more than I should, and I am trying to let go a bit and just wait and see if way opens. In the meantime, way is being continually obstructed by bureaucratic idiocy, not on the part of the school I want to go to, but on both a larger and smaller scale. The school I went to (where I flushed away my anti-depressants and then proceeded to waste the next three years of my life in a miserable abusive relationship) no longer really "exists" and getting paperwork from them is like pulling teeth from a chicken. I'm angry that I have to think about it so much. The process is reminding me of my divorce: the impossible paperwork, the indifferent and unresponsive other party, the dredging up of horrible memories, and the drawn-out aggravation. Also, the College Board has hung me out to dry for over a month as they do an "archive search" for my ancient (6 year old) SAT scores, which they wouldn't need if I had gone to a "proper" highschool with a "proper" transcript, instead of reading the Western literary canon at home while helping to raise a passle of children. Everything has to be official, ratified, signed, undersigned, cataloged, numbered, ordered, serialized and stamped by some Authority, and it's making me crazy. I am running out of time to get these documents and can't help feeling annoyed that I even need them. I am smart! I work hard! Why is that not enough?
/rant.
This is not ruining my life, despite my vehemence. I'm feeling pretty happy, believe it or not. But it's sure taking away a lot of my energy.
But then, I saw a crocus today.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Oh my goodness
This has nothing to do with Quakerness, but maybe to do with Lent. I just went to the Dr. and I have gained almost 60 lbs in a year! A lot of it has to do with meds, but still! WOAH.
Man.
I am trying to figure out a response. Um, gym, much? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH/
In other news, after several trying meetings for business, God told me to apply for membership.
Well, okay.
So I did. I am now nominated for Care and Support, pending my membership. I feel like maybe this is where my gifts lie, if I can ever stop thinking/talking about myself.
(ME = MOST FASCINATING SUBJECT EVER)
Oh god.
I think If I felt more honest I would blog every day. But I am afraid of the family and friends. Maybe I should go back to anon blogging. Who knows.
Life seems suspended until April, first week, when I learn if Welles*ey wants me or not.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Could I be more obsessed with myself?
SIXTY POUNDS. FIVE POUNDS AWAY FROM OBESE. HOW CAN I BE DEEP RIGHT NOW?
Man.
I am trying to figure out a response. Um, gym, much? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH/
In other news, after several trying meetings for business, God told me to apply for membership.
Well, okay.
So I did. I am now nominated for Care and Support, pending my membership. I feel like maybe this is where my gifts lie, if I can ever stop thinking/talking about myself.
(ME = MOST FASCINATING SUBJECT EVER)
Oh god.
I think If I felt more honest I would blog every day. But I am afraid of the family and friends. Maybe I should go back to anon blogging. Who knows.
Life seems suspended until April, first week, when I learn if Welles*ey wants me or not.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Could I be more obsessed with myself?
SIXTY POUNDS. FIVE POUNDS AWAY FROM OBESE. HOW CAN I BE DEEP RIGHT NOW?
Thursday, February 22, 2007
My application is in!
I've worked so hard on these entrance essays, and learned so much in the process that I want to blog them. They'll be slightly edited for confidential content, but largely intact. Without further ado, I present:
Essay one: Autobiographical statment discussing previous academic experience and the reasons for interuption in education:
I spent my home-schooled years in
At eighteen, my passions were split cleanly three ways. The first was science. I’d tasted the possibilities in local classes and teetered at the edge of pursuing a degree in computational chemistry. But left to my own devices with a dry textbook, I’d floundered in math and doubted my ability. Worse, a warning rang in my head: “A doctor? Why spend nearly a decade in school when you’ll be staying home with your children in the end?”
Directly opposite lay my desire to perform. In the last months before college, I’d won a place in a regional theatre camp: eight blissful weeks of eight-hour-a-day immersion in improvisation, choral singing, stage-fighting and prop-building. Joyfully, I imagined four more years of the same. I was accepted to UNC-Greensboro, intending to double-major in music and theatre.
Superseding even my love of science and theatre, my Catholic faith was the underlying principle of my life. Throughout my intensely religious childhood I had courted the possibility of a religious vocation. The seeming hugeness of this first life-decision (magnified in my mind by its potentially eternal consequences) haunted me, and I was racked with doubt over my choice. If this life was simply preparation for a heavenly career, it would be a terrible vanity to waste my time with art! Mere weeks before check-in at UNC-G, I performed a repentant about-face. A flurry of paperwork and phone-calls secured me a place in an extremely conservative Catholic college. It promised a rigorous liberal-arts education and daily religious formation: a chance to steep myself in both books and faith until God decided what to do with me.
My first year broke my resolve and my heart. It truly was a school for full immersion in a certain worldview. It was the worldview I’d assumed I’d always hold, but as the straight and narrow path closed in, I stumbled against the restrictions. I was scolded for reading Joyce (“a mere profane stylist”) and forbidden to produce a play by (“the scandalously homosexual”) Wilde. Turning to the library for comfort, I found that it lacked even Yeats (“a known occultist”). Disappointed and confused—in the throes of my first crisis of faith—I withdrew my heart and my mind from my studies. Ready to flee one disappointment for another, I left school behind.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Nap time?
Alas, it is not. I am at work during a slow period where my only duty is to man the phone. I have been a busy girl, though. Yes, I have.
I've been writing and re-writing my personal statements. I think I am almost there. I've found two references and am pondering the third. I have copied, researched, emailed, typed, faxed, labled, mailed and fed-exed nearly non-stop. I've dredged up the ancient memories of my unschooling homeschooling experience. It really wasn't that long ago, but I feel as though I've had so many lives between now and then--it is like stretching back into the dark reaches of time. It's been an exciting and exhausting experience, but I have to say I am feeling proud of myself. None of this sort of thing comes easily to me. I can write a thousand exposés of my life: pulp fiction, inspirational fiction, narrative non-fiction, whatever. But to truthfully share the light and dark of those times in a way that is quiet, calm, measured, and mature takes a great deal of thought and strength. It's been a good exercise, and I'm not done yet.
A week after I first learned about the main program I am applying to, I had my first dream of flying. Most accounts of flying dreams seem to feature soaring, swooping, and watching vivid scenery flash by far below. When my dream began I was standing still in a dark place, looking at my feet. I had gone to bed with aching shoulders from several days of shovelling and ice-chopping. In the dream I was very aware of my arms, but when I looked at them, they had been replaced by the huge, soft, strong white wings of a snowy owl. The atmosphere was cold, thicker than water. I raised my wings above my head with great effort and slowly brought them down through the congealed air. The physics of dreams are uncertain at best, but I rose a few inches from the ground and hung suspended, resting. Each time I repeated the action I rose a little higher. It was extremely difficult, and sometimes I would stop and rest in mid-air for whole minutes at a time. As I gained altitude the air grew more clear and bright, and my wingbeats more free and easy. Before I woke up, I had reached no final destination: the only direction was a slow staccato ascending.
Waking from the dream, I lay very still and heard the phrase "trample down" resting in my mind.
Go through the work, and be valiant for the truth upon earth; tread and trample down all that is contrary.
--George Fox
I seemed that in the dream I was pushing down this dark air, but it was beyond a mere trampling: the dark air was also the means by which I rose above the worst of it: the resistance was necessary.
It was a fruitful dream, and I find it interesting that past transformative dreams have also featured large white birds.
And I know other people's dreams can be boring, but I had another meaningful one: I was dying of a blood infection. A doctor came up to me and told me I was septic, and that doctor was also me. Doctor-me gave patient-me a transfusion and I was cured. The end. Huh.
And I know other people's dreams can be boring, but I had another meaningful one: I was dying of a blood infection. A doctor came up to me and told me I was septic, and that doctor was also me. Doctor-me gave patient-me a transfusion and I was cured. The end. Huh.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Step up to the line
I've been tangled in a morass of possibilities these past few days. My iTunes are echoing my reality...
But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile
And you'll be better
You'll be smarter
More grown up and a better daughter or son
And a real good friend
And you'll be awake
You'll be alert
You'll be positive though it hurts
And you'll laugh and embrace all of your friends
And you'll be a real good listener
You'll be honest
You'll be brave
You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful
You'll be happy
I am busy being an insomniac and making insomniac promises to myself. I am applying for two "non traditional scholar" programs now that I am finally elderly enough and quailing before all the lines and lines and lines and lines of self-aggrandizement and assessment required. How many qualified people can check the "exceptional" box for me? What has my life been up till now (and from now)? Can I explain myself in 250 to 500 words? Can I make an account of the blessed disaster of my past five years? Can I tell them what I thought would happen to me at eighteen, what happened to me at twenty-one, what's different at twenty-four, and what I hope for myself at twenty-nine, all in the space allotted? Can I plead my case? Can I beg forgiveness, earn a second chance? Can I prove that I was worth it all this time? Can I compress my years of pain and doubt and fear and hatred and coffee-shops and learning and growth and despair and hope all into one essay?
I don't know. In the meantime I think I will cry a little bit. Heh.
In my dreams
I see myself hitting a baseball
In a green field somewhere near a freeway
I'm all tan and smiling and running from 3rd base
And it's hot and
The kids keep on playing the driving game
And they're singing the same goddamn refrain
And the sky is a blueish grey.
And its become just like a chemical stress
Tracing the lines in my face for
Something more beautiful than is there
I've barely been gone.
In my dreams
I see you at the foot of some mountains.
And we're taking some pictures or something
And we'd better hurry up
And it's late and
The sun keeps on shooting through pine trees
And the grass stains are wet on your new jeans
And we'd better hurry up
And I've become just like a terrible mess
searching the lines in my face for
something more beautiful than is there
the crowds keep me coming back. Cheering.
In my dreams
I see you asleep on a twin bed
The covers pulled up over your head
Am I asleep or awake?
And it's morning
And the captain is playing the radio
And hes just put the paint on his new boat
Am I asleep or awake?
And it just feels good when you're waking up
And it just feels good when you're next to me
And it just feels good when you're coming home
And it just feels good when it's waking up
And I've become just like a chemical stress
Tracing the lines of my face for
Something more beautiful than is there
I've barely been gone
and I'm not a failure
I swear
I wish you could see it from over there
I've got a lot over here without you
I've barely been gone
gone
dreaming
(All lyrics courtesy Rilo Kiley)
But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile
And you'll be better
You'll be smarter
More grown up and a better daughter or son
And a real good friend
And you'll be awake
You'll be alert
You'll be positive though it hurts
And you'll laugh and embrace all of your friends
And you'll be a real good listener
You'll be honest
You'll be brave
You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful
You'll be happy
I am busy being an insomniac and making insomniac promises to myself. I am applying for two "non traditional scholar" programs now that I am finally elderly enough and quailing before all the lines and lines and lines and lines of self-aggrandizement and assessment required. How many qualified people can check the "exceptional" box for me? What has my life been up till now (and from now)? Can I explain myself in 250 to 500 words? Can I make an account of the blessed disaster of my past five years? Can I tell them what I thought would happen to me at eighteen, what happened to me at twenty-one, what's different at twenty-four, and what I hope for myself at twenty-nine, all in the space allotted? Can I plead my case? Can I beg forgiveness, earn a second chance? Can I prove that I was worth it all this time? Can I compress my years of pain and doubt and fear and hatred and coffee-shops and learning and growth and despair and hope all into one essay?
I don't know. In the meantime I think I will cry a little bit. Heh.
In my dreams
I see myself hitting a baseball
In a green field somewhere near a freeway
I'm all tan and smiling and running from 3rd base
And it's hot and
The kids keep on playing the driving game
And they're singing the same goddamn refrain
And the sky is a blueish grey.
And its become just like a chemical stress
Tracing the lines in my face for
Something more beautiful than is there
I've barely been gone.
In my dreams
I see you at the foot of some mountains.
And we're taking some pictures or something
And we'd better hurry up
And it's late and
The sun keeps on shooting through pine trees
And the grass stains are wet on your new jeans
And we'd better hurry up
And I've become just like a terrible mess
searching the lines in my face for
something more beautiful than is there
the crowds keep me coming back. Cheering.
In my dreams
I see you asleep on a twin bed
The covers pulled up over your head
Am I asleep or awake?
And it's morning
And the captain is playing the radio
And hes just put the paint on his new boat
Am I asleep or awake?
And it just feels good when you're waking up
And it just feels good when you're next to me
And it just feels good when you're coming home
And it just feels good when it's waking up
And I've become just like a chemical stress
Tracing the lines of my face for
Something more beautiful than is there
I've barely been gone
and I'm not a failure
I swear
I wish you could see it from over there
I've got a lot over here without you
I've barely been gone
gone
dreaming
(All lyrics courtesy Rilo Kiley)
Saturday, February 10, 2007
How to shed 20 years in 20 seconds
Oh man. I just spent a few minutes on youtube watching commercials from the 80's. It is amazing how nothing else can take me back so forcefully. GI Joe, Transformers, My Little Pony, Care Bears, Rainbow Brite, The Chipmunks, My Pet Monster, Teddy Ruxpin, "The Real Ghostbusters"!
One 20 second commercial and I'm once again below the age of reason.
Wow.
(I know these latest posts haven't been too heavy, but this one is for real! How is it that an entire childhood can be summoned by a few flashing images and a theme song? Eek! And this was TWENTY YEARS AGO. OH MY GOD.)
Also, every single animated series of the period seemed to be a 20 minute commercial for the matching toys. Sigh.
What Generation am I? Somewhere in between X and Y. (Born at the tail end of 1982) Whoever we are, somehow it seems like we got the biggest blast of unadulterated commercialization, before irony and savvy marketing caught on. I think maybe we did have it balder (but maybe better) than the target-marketed kids of today. (Even if I did own 10 My Little Ponies, and even if I did constantly try to trade them for Transformers!)
One 20 second commercial and I'm once again below the age of reason.
Wow.
(I know these latest posts haven't been too heavy, but this one is for real! How is it that an entire childhood can be summoned by a few flashing images and a theme song? Eek! And this was TWENTY YEARS AGO. OH MY GOD.)
Also, every single animated series of the period seemed to be a 20 minute commercial for the matching toys. Sigh.
What Generation am I? Somewhere in between X and Y. (Born at the tail end of 1982) Whoever we are, somehow it seems like we got the biggest blast of unadulterated commercialization, before irony and savvy marketing caught on. I think maybe we did have it balder (but maybe better) than the target-marketed kids of today. (Even if I did own 10 My Little Ponies, and even if I did constantly try to trade them for Transformers!)
Monday, February 05, 2007
Hee
In class again, during Q&A, and I just found this quote, which made my evening.
"Adults are just outdated children, and the hell with them." - Dr. Suess
"Adults are just outdated children, and the hell with them." - Dr. Suess
Monday, January 29, 2007
A Few Things
1.) Thoughts on laptops in class:
a.) good! taking notes is awesome with typing ability.
b.) good! can ignore people who are asking boring questions by blogging.
c.) bad! blogging during class bad!
2.) Thoughts in worship:
a.)"It can be hard to tell the difference between a stomach ache and a message."
b.)"I think I have both."
c.)"Meeting is too chatty to tell for sure."
3.)Oh my crap:
a.)Most boring guy in last semester's class who asked the most inane questions is here!
b.)Asking the same questions again!
c.)And making the same inane comments!
d.)Will never stop talking, which is why I am blogging.
e.)He is still TALKING.
a.) good! taking notes is awesome with typing ability.
b.) good! can ignore people who are asking boring questions by blogging.
c.) bad! blogging during class bad!
2.) Thoughts in worship:
a.)"It can be hard to tell the difference between a stomach ache and a message."
b.)"I think I have both."
c.)"Meeting is too chatty to tell for sure."
3.)Oh my crap:
a.)Most boring guy in last semester's class who asked the most inane questions is here!
b.)Asking the same questions again!
c.)And making the same inane comments!
d.)Will never stop talking, which is why I am blogging.
e.)He is still TALKING.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Some poems to take into worship
1.
Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape. Walk out
like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You are covered with think cloud.
Slide out the side.
Die,
and be quiet.
Quietness is the surest
sign that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
The speechless full moon comes out now.
2.
There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplied silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.
3.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you truly want.
Dont go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill.
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
~Rumi
Trans. Coleman Barks.
Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape. Walk out
like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You are covered with think cloud.
Slide out the side.
Die,
and be quiet.
Quietness is the surest
sign that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
The speechless full moon comes out now.
2.
There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplied silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.
3.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you truly want.
Dont go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill.
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
~Rumi
Trans. Coleman Barks.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Borderlines
I am being all skittery about changing to the new google blogger. Darn all these ongoing innovations.
It's interesting times here. Trying to get a grip on the monster final paper due tomorrow. I also just realized we're supposed to go out for drinks when we hand it in, but I'm down the dregs of the bank account. Poop. I am working on fixing up my financial life so that I don't spend so much of my mental area chanting almostfridayalmostfridayalmostfridayalmostfridaaaaay... though I've been financially independent (oh, so very different from independently wealthy) for six or so years now, I still generally end the pay cycle with -3.98 plus -58.00 bank fees. Eeep! Enough! I need to work my way past my financial puberty and become some kind of fiscal grown-up. I'm also trying to tidy up some messes left behind with ancient unpaid medical and cell phone bills and other things that make for ugly credit. And trying to get one of those “build your credit” credit cards without a billion dollar annual fee. Yawn! Why am I still typing about this? I bore myself. Ick.
I went to my first business meeting at the "new" meeting (the one I've been attending for 18 months and living at for 12? Yes. That new meeting) It was pretty powerful and I've resolved to go more often. Several long-long term weighty attenders applied for membership this round, which made me feel like less of a waffler. Other people wait a long time to join, too! Nyah! Ahh, defensiveness.
The "thereness" of my spiritual life waxes and wanes with my moods. I am still battling chronic depression, but I'm well armed this time with therapist and other helpers. Okay, lots of unquakerly word choices there. But it gets the point across. A lot of the time it is a battle, with all the weariness and bloodiness the word implies, but hopefully, in the end, with a much more positive outcome. It is kind of depressing, how much energy it takes to be depressed. Or, rather, to try not to be depressed. Sometimes I think that if I didn’t have to spend most of my time managing my mood, I would make a million dollars and take over the world. Le sigh.
I've been spending a lot of time sinking into a search for the core of my spirituality…sort of plumbing the depths to see what’s in there, what’s solid. I am always sort of doing this, but recent events have driven me to a deeper, more methodical exploration. As usual, I’m not entirely sure what I am coming up with, but I am getting an idea.
Christmas was a very hard time. I was physically depleted by a violent attack of viral gastroenteritis that left me sniveling and shaking on the bathroom floor and delaying my flight to NC. There was also had a big emotional and spiritual purge that left me feeling similarly drained and shaky: my parents, who love me very much, informed me that any hypothetical Quaker wedding of mine with my dear, Queer friends invited will be unattended by the family.
Which, while still hypothetical, is really, really sad. It has been hard to work through the initial shock and grief into a better place of spiritual adulthood (not that I am there, yet.) It left me feeling a bit orphaned, though I know my family meant nothing of the kind. But I guess a line was finally drawn, a wall was finally raised, and in the end, I found myself standing outside.
It is a perplexing reality that my parents and I are standing on opposite sides of the same Bible verse:
Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me
and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.
with both parties feeling a little bit crucified. I cannot deny the truth I feel is revealed in my heart without being unfaithful to my revelation of Christ. My parents cannot deny the truth they feel is revealed by the Church without being unfaithful to their revelation of Christ. I can feel their pain because I'm sharing it, but through the looking-glass.
Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother...
What does this even mean? I've always struggled with this text, but unlike other trying verses, I've never been able to properly discard it. Obviously a loving God can gain no satisfaction from family strife. In a sanctified world, there would be none.
I know I am growing, in many ways, because of this separation, and I know that is good, and holy. But what a price.
And it is a separation. Even though we are still communicating with love, and still trying to be there for each other in all tenderness, there is a breach. There is a tear. There is a wound.
When the news hit, the first warning that my heart gave me was the extreme importance of not snapping up a martyr role. (Woe is me, as I suffer for my faith!) The second was to examine my soul and make certain that I was sure. Sure of what?
Of my conviction that I have found a true and fruitful spiritual home outside of the Catholic church, one which is founded on solid ground, no matter how fragile my day-to-day practice. Of my conviction that God blesses each and every relationship founded on openness, generosity, and deep love, that the fruits of love are holy, and that all true love is sacred in the eyes of God, without regard to exterior gender or preference.
And the answer is, I am sure.
I am ashamed, in a way, that it has taken me this long to post that. I have hidden much of my own declaration of faith, especially the part about the equality of same-sex relationships, out of fear of rejection and outright condemnation from my family. I have not denied, but I have not affirmed.
I am blessed that my family does not reject me or condemn me outright. Their love for me is strong, and I have great faith in that love to keep our relationship intact over these walls and these seeming chasms of difference in faith. Their courage in drawing the line as lovingly as they can has lent me the courage to examine and declare where I stand. In my deepest heart, I wish that this were a simple matter of difference of opinion, as I had hoped it might be. I would give up my attachment to a great many opinions for the sake of my family, and I think they would do the same for me. But in the end, this is not a difference of opinion, but a difference of conviction.
Please pray for us all, friends.
It's interesting times here. Trying to get a grip on the monster final paper due tomorrow. I also just realized we're supposed to go out for drinks when we hand it in, but I'm down the dregs of the bank account. Poop. I am working on fixing up my financial life so that I don't spend so much of my mental area chanting almostfridayalmostfridayalmostfridayalmostfridaaaaay... though I've been financially independent (oh, so very different from independently wealthy) for six or so years now, I still generally end the pay cycle with -3.98 plus -58.00 bank fees. Eeep! Enough! I need to work my way past my financial puberty and become some kind of fiscal grown-up. I'm also trying to tidy up some messes left behind with ancient unpaid medical and cell phone bills and other things that make for ugly credit. And trying to get one of those “build your credit” credit cards without a billion dollar annual fee. Yawn! Why am I still typing about this? I bore myself. Ick.
I went to my first business meeting at the "new" meeting (the one I've been attending for 18 months and living at for 12? Yes. That new meeting) It was pretty powerful and I've resolved to go more often. Several long-long term weighty attenders applied for membership this round, which made me feel like less of a waffler. Other people wait a long time to join, too! Nyah! Ahh, defensiveness.
The "thereness" of my spiritual life waxes and wanes with my moods. I am still battling chronic depression, but I'm well armed this time with therapist and other helpers. Okay, lots of unquakerly word choices there. But it gets the point across. A lot of the time it is a battle, with all the weariness and bloodiness the word implies, but hopefully, in the end, with a much more positive outcome. It is kind of depressing, how much energy it takes to be depressed. Or, rather, to try not to be depressed. Sometimes I think that if I didn’t have to spend most of my time managing my mood, I would make a million dollars and take over the world. Le sigh.
I've been spending a lot of time sinking into a search for the core of my spirituality…sort of plumbing the depths to see what’s in there, what’s solid. I am always sort of doing this, but recent events have driven me to a deeper, more methodical exploration. As usual, I’m not entirely sure what I am coming up with, but I am getting an idea.
Christmas was a very hard time. I was physically depleted by a violent attack of viral gastroenteritis that left me sniveling and shaking on the bathroom floor and delaying my flight to NC. There was also had a big emotional and spiritual purge that left me feeling similarly drained and shaky: my parents, who love me very much, informed me that any hypothetical Quaker wedding of mine with my dear, Queer friends invited will be unattended by the family.
Which, while still hypothetical, is really, really sad. It has been hard to work through the initial shock and grief into a better place of spiritual adulthood (not that I am there, yet.) It left me feeling a bit orphaned, though I know my family meant nothing of the kind. But I guess a line was finally drawn, a wall was finally raised, and in the end, I found myself standing outside.
It is a perplexing reality that my parents and I are standing on opposite sides of the same Bible verse:
Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me
and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.
with both parties feeling a little bit crucified. I cannot deny the truth I feel is revealed in my heart without being unfaithful to my revelation of Christ. My parents cannot deny the truth they feel is revealed by the Church without being unfaithful to their revelation of Christ. I can feel their pain because I'm sharing it, but through the looking-glass.
Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother...
What does this even mean? I've always struggled with this text, but unlike other trying verses, I've never been able to properly discard it. Obviously a loving God can gain no satisfaction from family strife. In a sanctified world, there would be none.
I know I am growing, in many ways, because of this separation, and I know that is good, and holy. But what a price.
And it is a separation. Even though we are still communicating with love, and still trying to be there for each other in all tenderness, there is a breach. There is a tear. There is a wound.
When the news hit, the first warning that my heart gave me was the extreme importance of not snapping up a martyr role. (Woe is me, as I suffer for my faith!) The second was to examine my soul and make certain that I was sure. Sure of what?
Of my conviction that I have found a true and fruitful spiritual home outside of the Catholic church, one which is founded on solid ground, no matter how fragile my day-to-day practice. Of my conviction that God blesses each and every relationship founded on openness, generosity, and deep love, that the fruits of love are holy, and that all true love is sacred in the eyes of God, without regard to exterior gender or preference.
And the answer is, I am sure.
I am ashamed, in a way, that it has taken me this long to post that. I have hidden much of my own declaration of faith, especially the part about the equality of same-sex relationships, out of fear of rejection and outright condemnation from my family. I have not denied, but I have not affirmed.
I am blessed that my family does not reject me or condemn me outright. Their love for me is strong, and I have great faith in that love to keep our relationship intact over these walls and these seeming chasms of difference in faith. Their courage in drawing the line as lovingly as they can has lent me the courage to examine and declare where I stand. In my deepest heart, I wish that this were a simple matter of difference of opinion, as I had hoped it might be. I would give up my attachment to a great many opinions for the sake of my family, and I think they would do the same for me. But in the end, this is not a difference of opinion, but a difference of conviction.
Please pray for us all, friends.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thoughts on John 14 in times of Loneliness
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.
And you know the place where I am going...
I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.
In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live you also will live.
On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me and I in you...
I have said these things to you while I am still with you
But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all I have said to you.
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid...
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.
And you know the place where I am going...
I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.
In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live you also will live.
On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me and I in you...
I have said these things to you while I am still with you
But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all I have said to you.
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid...
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