Countdown

After three years of study and training and formation, graduation is now only three days away. And though it seems amazing to say, I'm done. The last paper written, the last project handed in, the last presentation given only a few minutes ago. It's a very odd feeling, not to have a load of schoolwork leering over my shoulder, waiting to pounce if I take any time off. Odd. . . and freeing, and grand, and lovely.

Please understand, this does not mean that I have nothing to do for the rest of the week. Far from it! I have a sermon to preach tomorrow morning, and Evensong to sing tomorrow evening, and a dorm room to finish packing.

And then there are people. Our senior dinner is tonight, and we will likely laugh and cry together, and truly begin the process of leavetaking. Then, friends and family are coming from out of town. Some dear people are already here; still others are inbound as I type this. These are folks I see far too rarely, and who will be here far too briefly.

So I think that, other than posting my sermon tomorrow, I won't be blogging much for the next few days. It's time to spend some quality time reveling in corporeal reality.

See you on the flip side, my friends.

Anniversary

On this date (and in fact, right around this time) back in 1983, my father turned to me as we stood at the back of the church and said, "Are you sure you want to do this? Say the word, honey, and we're out the door. It's not too late."

I said, "I love you too, Daddy. Yes, I'm sure."

Twenty two years later, I'm still thinking that was a pretty good choice.

"I'd like to thank the Academy..."

Awards Night is a ritual we share every year here. First we celebrate a formal Eucharist, which incorporates various academic and leadership awards granted by the seminary. Graduating students are also given Seabury cross pendants. In most cases, students also give smaller crosses to spouses and children; after all, they have worked as hard and sacrificed as much in the last three years as the graduates have done, to support and manage this trip through the adventure that is seminary education.

Then we move to dinner, entertainment provided by the senior class, and distribution of more prizes-- these developed by the students, and ranging from amusing to affectionate to plainly ribald. Last night, the after-dinner theme really was about awards-- the Academy Awards, Seabury style. Instead of Oscars, there were little Jesus nightlights given out for various performances in our time here-- awards that were loaded with inside jokes, and double entendres, and love.

I did not earn any of the former prizes this year; but I was remembered by my classmates during the latter festivities. In addition to my statue, I was given a mask and purple cape as I was named The Best Actress in a Film Adapted From a Book: for performance as the buxom yet wholesome Indiana farm girl who discovers the magical powers of scripture in "Bible-rella."

Well, you gotta start somewhere. Wonder if this should go in my Church Deployment Office profile... ?

Winding down

That's pretty much the theme of the week here. Classes are still in session, services are still on the regular schedule in the chapel and all; but we are beginning to move into a series of endings.

Yesterday I was one of the cantors at Evensong: the last time my name appears on the rota to do that, here. It felt very good, to chant the plainsong psalms; but I found myself having to force the last hymn through a suddenly swollen throat. Only for a moment; but it was there.

Today I finished my last academic paper: a reflection for our liturgical practicum course. It's not really due for a few days yet, but I dropped it off in the professor's mailbox anyway, to get it off my plate. Not so much choking up over this one.

Then this evening, I picked up Mark at the airport. It's more than a week before Commencement, but he needs to use up some vacation time, and so he came in early (now you know why I was getting that paper out of the way!).

Somehow, this is all beginning to feel real.

Logic lesson

Want to know what I learned today?

• If masses (or anomalies, nor nodules, or lumps... pick your synonym) found in the breast can be aspirated (drained with a needle), then they consist of some sort of fluid: cysts, either "simple" or "complicated."
• Cancer is always a solid. Always.
• Therefore, anything which can be aspirated is not malignant.

Logic is a beautiful thing.

Thanks be to God.

Trinity Sunday

Genesis 1:1-2:4a
Psalm 8
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20

This gospel today contains one of the most famous passages in the Bible. It even gets its own name: “The Great Commission.” Seems like in Christian circles, we talk about it all the time. A few years ago, this was even the theme of my diocesan youth summer camp. The program and projects centered around The Great Commission, tied in with Dr. Seuss’ book, Oh, the Places You’ll Go. As it happens, I even rewrote the scripture for use that week. A different sort of RSV: the "Revised Seussian Version:"

Go, therefore—yes, you! Now go right away
To make disciples (that’s followers of Jesus) today.

Tell all kinds of people, from all kinds of places
All shapes and all sizes, all colors of faces.

Baptize them then, using all of God’s names:
The Father, the Son and the Spirit who came.

Teach them all to obey everything I have taught;
To believe and to follow, just as they ought.

Remember now, each of you, as you walk as my friend
That I’ll always be with you, from now ‘til the end.

Now, the reason we did this with the kids is that this is important. This is our mission statement, if you will, handed down by upper management. As Jesus’ disciples, this is what we are to be about: sharing the Good news of love God has for us, and the salvation Jesus’ life and death and resurrection make possible, and the grace and strength and healing mercy that exist in the presence of the holy Spirit.

Easier said than done, isn’t it? Truth be told, we often don’t do this very well at all. Sometimes, it’s that we (and I say “we” advisedly; Episcopalians are especially famous for this one) don’t want to be “pushy” or aggressive about forcing faith on another.

Sometimes it’s that we get caught up in the internal efforts of discipleship (church activities, and prayer groups, and various ministries) on top of the busy-ness of our daily lives, that we lose sight of the God-given imperative to reach outside ourselves, to offer what we’ve found to others.

And sometimes, it’s a lack of confidence. Our faith seems faltering, or uncertain, or insufficient. Doubts creep in; and how can we share that?

Let’s look at the passage here again. “The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them.” the Bible we're reading says. And “when they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.”

I want to take this one step further; bear with me while we have a Bible geek moment. There’s a translator’s interpretation here. In the Greek, that word “some” is not present. The verse literally says “And when they saw him, they prostrated themselves, but (or and) they doubted.”

The word some is not there.

With the help of my NT professor, we did a little checking on this; and we discovered there is not a universal consensus about this. Some translators feel justified in adding it, while others do not.

Let’s think about the implications of this. Here you have the eleven remaining apostles, who have lived through the crucifixion of their beloved teacher. They have, according to other Gospel accounts, been hiding in fear for their own lives for several days. Then ( just a few verses earlier) they have some women come to them with this fantastic story of eathquakes, and angels, and an empty tomb, and orders to go to Galilee to meet Jesus. So they go, climbing up the mountain to which Jesus directed them. And sure enough, they find him there, just as they had been told. There he stands, the fulfillment of all those promises. And what is their response?

They fell on their faces in worship... and they doubted. All at the same time.

Faith and doubt. . . these are not such opposites, really. Seems to me that one rises out of the other.

I think of my husband, for example. He’s an intelligent man; he knows a great deal about any number of things, and has some well-informed and strongly held opinions. But if you ask him what he thinks about one topic or another, the answer you'll get will almost inevitably begin with, “Well, it depends...” He is confident in his abilities, and in what he knows; but he’s not arrogant. He retains a healthy skepticism that lets him be open to other factors: to the possibility that he might be wrong, or not have all the information he needs to make an accurate judgment.

Faith, tempered by doubt.

It goes the other way, too. I’ve been on something of a medical merry-go-round, the last few weeks; tests and doctors' visits... good news and bad news and no news... overall, a distracting time, and not without anxiety. There have been moments where what I've been tempted to do is to crawl in a hole, and wrap myself in that anxiety like a blanket; to feel pessimistic and forlorn and alone, waiting for something else to go wrong. But thanks be to God, I have folks around to remind me that I am not alone: that I am loved, far better than I deserve; by God and the community of saints and disciples in which I live my life.

Doubt-- not eliminated, but overcome by faith.

I think this is part of what is behind Jesus’ commandment. I believe he knew what was in the apostles’ hearts. I believe he knew of the doubt muddling their worship. But he did not chastise them for it. Instead he gave them a gift, as his final word with them: along with his instructions, the reassurance of his presence with them “always, even to the end of the age.”

It’s the same today, my brothers and my sisters. Today is designated Trinity Sunday; the day we celebrate a Christian doctrine that has confused and raised doubts for millennia. And we’ve been trying to explain it, and falling short, for almost as long. One in three and three in one? Father, Son and Spirit? Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier? All of these expressions contribute in some way to our understanding; but they also fall short of being able to express the diversity and the unity of God. And so we wonder, and we question: how can this be? It doesn't make sense.

And truthfully, I have no answers. I cannot say how God does this, or that trying to contemplate this mystery has not confused and challenged me. It still does. I do not understand, and sometimes it seems that the more I think about it, the less I understand.

But just as the disciples learned on that mountain in Galilee, I have learned this: God knows of our doubts and fears, and is not diminished by them, and does not leave us alone in them. Jesus calls us to service in the face of them. And the Spirit remains with us, in the midst of them.

This is the faith, which balances the doubt.

This, my brothers and sisters, is the reality-- the gift-- of the Triune God to which we as Christians witness.

For the birds

So, my daughter and her friends were discussing state birds this afternoon. Why? Don't ask me-- these are teenagers. It is not my job to understand them. My job most days is to a) feed them when they're here and b) wonder what they're up to when they're not.

In any case, there came the question: "Mom? What's the state bird of Kentucky? Or Michigan?" How should I know this? We live in Indiana. I know Indiana's state bird: the cardinal. Did they ask me about Indiana's state bird? Noooo, that would be too easy.

So, I did what any self-respecting mom with her laptop open would do: I did a Dogpile search on "state bird."

We learned that the cardinal is also the state bird of Kentucky (and five other states besides Indiana), while Michigan (along with Connecticut and Wisconsin) point with pride to the robin.

I also discovered that there is often very little logic in the choice of state birds. There is, for example, a lovely little bird called the Missouri Meadowlark. It is not, however, the state bird of Missouri. That would be the bluebird.

Instead the Missouri Meadowlark is the state bird . . . of (among other places) Montana. Care to explain this one, Ref?

So, how was your day?

By comparison with yesterday's frustrations, today has been grand here. It's Friday, of course, which means I woke up in my own bed at home instead of the twin bed at school. Always a good thing.

After the kids went out the door, I got myself over to an appointment for a post-op check with the doc. This may be the shortest medical appointment on record; in and out (including waiting room time, mind you) in under 10 minutes. Then I stopped on the way home for a few items, and found they were on sale. Thou shalt not pay retail... words to live by.

Spent the rest of morning parked in a desk chair (figuratively speaking-- this is a laptop, after all), chatting with friends and working on this and that. A bit of diligent effort combined with some good conversation turned out to be a lovely way to spend a couple of hours.

After lunch I trotted off to get a tire replaced. Not only were the tire dudes nice, they were quick and comparatively inexpensive. Good folks at the Tire Barn.

Then we took the kids to see "Revenge of the Sith." Okay, who am I kidding-- we went to the movie, and were kind enough to let the kids come along. Review: It was a good movie, I thought, though it doesn't measure up to the original trilogy's standard. Lucas is great at plot and special effects, but his characterizations do tend to be a tad 2-dimensional. Still, it was worth the price of admission. And I did enjoy the Dots I smuggled in. I know, tacky; but it's a necessity. The theater doesn't sell them, and they're a family movie tradition-- my dad got me hooked on them years ago.

Now, it's bedtime. And though it maybe doesn't sound like much, I find I have a lot for which to be thankful today, as I say my prayers this evening.

HIPAA

The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act. It is the excuse for some of the lamest medical rules and procedures...

Yesterday, I had to pick up some test records at the clinic, to take for a doctor's review. Should be a simple task, yes? Simply walk in, maybe show some ID to prove I am in fact me, and whisk away with the requisite films and reports.

Not. Even. Close.

Oh, I called in advance to make arrangements, of course. In fact, I spent more than half an hour on the phone, being transferred to no less than eight different people, in and out of three different departments, before they were able to be clear on exactly where I needed to go, and what I needed to do when I got there.

Turns out I needed to make two stops. First at the Disclosure Desk (no, I am not making this up) to pick up the reports; then back to the x-ray department, to get the actual films.

Okay, I can do that. All I asked was that they be ready for me to pick up. "No problem," I was assured.

On the way to the clinic yesterday , I called again-- to let them know I was on my way, so that they'd be ready. "It will only take a few minutes," the clerk told me.

Liar.

I got to the Disclosure Desk, and was handed this form to fill out. A whole page full of empty blanks. Name, address, phone, social security number, type of report requested, date of service... I don't remember what all they needed to know. Criminy, maybe even height, weight and and bra size, for all I know. It went on forever. I didn't argue, I was in a hurry. I just filled in the blanks.

I finally handed it back to the clerk, who checked it carefully to make sure it was alll filled in (wouldn't want to miss anything!), scrutinized my driver's license, and printed out the reports. All right; one down.

Then I went back to the x-ray department. Where I was handed another form to fill out.

The Exact Same Form.

Absolutely identical, every silly question and empty blank to be filled in, exactly the same way. Noooo, it was not sufficient to make a copy of the other form; each needed to be originally hand-scribbled and signed (records for HIPAA compliance, you know).

Then, I waited for twenty three minutes (yes, I counted) while the films I needed were retrieved from the records department and copied. Because the clinic rules state the clerks won't budge out of their little padded chairs until the requester is present and the form is completed (maintaining HIPAA privacy, you know).

Then why didn't you tell me that on the #$%^ phone, you HIPAA crazed, overzealous bureaucrat!!

I loathe HIPAA.

Preaching exilic hope

In Frank's Old Testament class, we were asked to put together a sermon or Bible study based out of the exilic prophets and themes we've been studying. This sermon, based on Isaiah 52:7-10, was my contribution.

*****************

There’s something about this passage from Isaiah that I’ve always loved. I can’t even read it without smiling. I suppose that part of the reason is obvious: there is such joy here! Such a ringing thrill in the promises of peace, and salvation, and the return of a comforting, redeeming God. You can almost hear the music in the prophet’s voice as he delivers the proclamation to Zion: “Your God reigns!”

But the part that catches my attention is the very first verse of this reading. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger...” Doesn’t that sound funny? Wonderfully earthy, and joyfully odd. Here comes a messenger with a word that an exiled people long to hear-- a word of delight, about the love and favor of God towards banished exiles-- and the first thing we’re supposed to notice is his feet?? Where does that come from?

And hey-- if you think that sounds odd, imagine how much more startling must that phrasing have been to those who first heard it. In ancient times, remember, there was very much a hierarchy of the body. The importance, and indeed the respectability of one’s anatomy worked strictly from the top down. Heads were anointed by priests, as a sign of God’s favor and a recognition of authority. This was a mark of honor given to royalty, and to those specially set apart. Feet, on the other hand, were washed by slaves-- and the lowest slaves on the household totem pole, at that. Further, the word for “feet” was also used as a euphemism for genitalia-- for parts of the body that were simply not discussed in polite society. In other words, they were never seen as anything remotely appropriate to include in public discourse.

Yet here’s Isaiah, beginning this announcement by deliberately drawing our attention to the messenger’s feet-- no doubt tired and worn, with dirty toes and calloused heels. The prophet steps out of the bounds of propriety, intentionally points to them, and calls them beautiful! Why do you suppose that is?

Then I discovered that this passage was one of those chosen to be read at Christmas by the good folks who put our lectionary together. And I believe there’s an insight we can take from that. Christmas is when we celebrate the birth of Jesus-- the moment when God begins the work of salvation, the Lord coming among the people to offer holiness, and redemption. And yet, what an odd, unexpected, improper way to accomplish it!

Think about this: Almighty God-- creator of the universe and everything that’s in it; the very essence of power, and glory, and love beyond our ability to describe-- this God began the redemption of humanity with the birth of a slippery, squalling baby in a shabby stable, outside an overcrowded hotel filled with oppressed, conquered people (no doubt many of them unwashed, in that era) waiting to be tallied like the sheep some of them tended.

And yet, this this is the earthy reality that causes angels to sing, and shepherds to worship, and wise men to offer gifts both costly and rare. Just as in Isaiah’s proclamation to the exiles, the message is so glorious that even the basest part of humanity is made beautiful in the moment.

Remember that message? That proclamation of salvation, and redemption, and comfort? Oh, there’s something to pay attention to. “Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy.” Isaiah says; and then calls the listener to join them: “Break forth together into singing, you ruins of Jerusalem.”

Do you hear that? The messenger’s good news is more than an announcement of the reign of God; it is also a call to action. “You have heard the message,” the prophet tells us; and now it’s our turn, beginning here and now-- to proclaim glorious news right in the middle of whatever earthy, improbable, inappropriate mess we may be in. That is the work set before us; the task to which we are summoned by God, and God’s messengers.

Howard Thurman's writing about “The Work of Christmas” says well how to do this:

When the song of the angel is still,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their sheep,
The work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among people,
to make music in the heart.

It is in this way, my brothers and sisters, that improper humanity is made beautiful, and holy; “and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.”

Oh, wow.

Last night, I visited Nirvana.

Okay, I know-- I'm Christian; but go with me for a minute. Heather took a few of us out for dessert last evening, as a graduation/going away present. She didn't tell us where we were going-- said she wanted to surprise us.

We ended up at a place called Ethel's Chocolate Lounge (the link is to an outlet in Chicago, but there's also one up here in Evanston). It's all painted in shades of pink, which doesn't do it for me; but it worked there, in a candy box sort of way. And they had comfy chairs and loveseats grouped together to sit on, in addition to standard table/chair arrangements, which was nice.

And then, the server brought out maybe half a dozen plates and bowls full of goodies-- fresh or dried fruit, marshmallows, various cookies, pound cake... I don't know what all, to surround this little fondue pot full of dark chocolate (they also do milk chocolate, but we were going for the gusto). So we all pulled out our little fondue forks and dived in.

I had a lovely bowl of the reddest, juiciest strawberries I've seen yet this season parked in front of me, so that's where I started. Selected a likely candidate, swirled it around in the smooth, warm chocolate, and took a bite.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I should not have had dinner, and I didn't want breakfast this morning, and it was . . . well, the only fit description I have comes from my classmate Jenni's usage:

"Foodgasmic."

Sharing that bit of chocoholic ecstacy with those 3 women, while we talked and laughed and shared together (including a moment of blessing in the parking lot afterward, for which I am incredibly grateful), was the finest time I've spent in quite a while-- and precisely the bit of grace I needed after the last few days around here.

Thanks, ladies. For everything.

The latest quiz

(with props to Peripatetic Polar Bear and Songbird)

Three names you go by:

• Mom
• Jane Ellen
• Pastor Jane (the kids at my parish)

Three screen names you've had:

• j(lastname) - that's it, really

Three physical things you like about yourself:

• Blue eyes
• My dad's crooked smile
• I'm taller than average, with long legs

Three physical things you dislike about yourself:

• I'm out of shape-- seminary has contributed significantly to flab accumulation
• My lower back, and the way it acts up at inconvenient moments
• The bump on my nose

Three parts of your heritage:

• English
• Scottish
• Italian

Three things you are wearing right now:

• Denim overalls
• Light blue fitted t-shirt
• Big, multi-colored cotton sweater

Three favorite bands/musical artists:

• Mary Chapin Carpenter
• Billy Joel
• The Eagles

The last three songs you listened to: (iTunes on shuffle again!)

• "Some Kind Of Wonderful" - Grand Funk Railroad
• "One Way or Another" - Blondie
• "Breathe Your Name" - Sixpence None the Richer

Three things you want in a relationship:

• Honesty
• Touch
• Laughter

Three physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to you:

• Clear eyes
• Strong hands
• The view, walking away ;-)
  

Three of your favorite hobbies:

• Sewing
• Singing
• Reading

Three things you want to do really badly right now:

• Finish school
• Get back to sewing, regularly
• Eat breakfast

Three things that scare you:

• Teenage choices
• Being trapped
• Not knowing

Three of your everyday essentials:

• Food
• Physical contact
• Hair mousse

Three careers you have considered or are considering: (besides ordained ministry, you mean?)

• Steelmaker (been there, done that; great fun!)
  
• Teacher (I subbed for a while; also fun)
  
• Lawyer (considered, and didn't)
  

Three places you want to go on vacation:

• Hawaii
• Australia
• Pacific Northwest (we get to do this one soon!)

Three kids' names you like: (besides the ones I used on my kids)

• Sarah
• Hilary
• Kathryn

Three things you want to do before you die:

• Live outside the midwest
• Drive a semi
• Travel overseas

Three ways you are stereotypically a boy:

• I like to play with power tools
• I'm good at math
• I carry a pocketknife

Three ways you are stereotypically a girl:

• My voice-- I'm a definite soprano
• Hair and makeup-- I keep it very simple, but I do it every day.
• I like wearing skirts

Three celebrity crushes:

• Sean Connery (I don't care how old he gets; he will always have it goin' on)
• Harrison Ford
• Halle Berry
  

Three people I would like to see take this quiz:

• Nah; feel free to choose among yourselves.

Introvert or extrovert? Or something like that.

It's not an exclusive thing, but I do tend to fall more toward the introvert: social interaction takes energy for me. Sometimes it's worth it-- I do enjoy Sunday morning worship and coffee hour, for example, or going out with friends. But such activities can also leave me exhausted and wanting nothing so much as a nap.

More and more, I'm aware of how this understanding effects both how I see the world, and how I react to it. One thig I've learned is that it's not an either/or situation; it's a spectrum. And where I fall on that spectrum can vary.

Like an extrovert, I do sometimes need to "process out loud," but I do so more selectively than many extroverts will. I need to know somebody pretty well before I'll share anything. . . well, anything beyond surface conversation. And even then it's not always easy to open those "doubts and fears" places, or things that weigh upon my heart. Of course, another part of the reason is that the folks I care about and trust enough to really confide in, are also the last people I want to cause concern. I tend to figure they have enough on their plates without fussing over me as well.

That being said, I give thanks to God for those generous, loving, benighted souls who put up with me when I'm not at my perky, confident best, and who are willing-- however far-flung we may be from one another at any given time-- to take the time to listen, when I need them.

Thank you.

Lists

I am a maker of lists. It's what I do-- to keep track of things, to get organized, to remember and to prioritize... it's all part of how I approach the world. Vacations start with lists of what to pack; domestic errands are listed (and sometimes sublisted, with things to be done at each stop) so I don't forget important stuff. Planning is half the fun-- or at least makes the work easier. And there is something really soul-satisfying about crossing things off a list.

After my husband's clever work yesterday, and inspired by Rev. Ref's diligent efforts out in the hinterlands, I started thinking about all the things that need to be done around here. No, I'm not starting anything today. I'm still taking it a bit easy; no heavy lifting or strenuous activity. But now that school is coming to an end, there are a goodly number of projects, postponed for varying lengths of time, that need to be completed. And a few more that aren't strictly necessary, but would feel really good. Besides, if we're talking about moving in a year or so, we need to get this place into the sort of shape that someone might actually consider buying.

So, it's time to make a list!

Outdoors

• Landscaping: weeding, removing dead leaves, pruning back and mulching around the house
• Edging and trim work (especially around the fence)
  
• Reattach the bat house (Yes, you heard correctly. Anything that can eat 600 mosquitos an hour is welcome in my back yard)
• Sweep out and scrub down the back porch and patio
• Clean out the garage.
• Maybe even till out the long-fallow vegetable garden...?

Indoors

• Redoing second bathroom (actually, the teenager has begun this one: the old wallpaper has been stripped off, and walls were scrubbed down yesterday. You go, girl!)
• Clearing out the basement-- Trash and rummage, begone!
• Wash the windows
  
• Living/dining room-- install woodwork, hang curtains
  
• Finish mudding drywall, prime and paint master bathroom
• More painting-- front and back hallways, and the boy's room ("Can we get rid of the baby trains? Please??" Sigh. Yes, honey, we'll do that.)

Recuperating

Coming along nicely, thanks.

Yesterday afternoon and evening I had an unpleasant spell-- the result of some mild overdoing earlier, when I was feeling better sooner than I expected. Yes, I should have known better; evidently I'm not that smart. Be ye warned, therefore, by my poor example: rebound discomfort is not fun. Don't go there.

But today life is gradually moving toward its usual pace once again. I'm back into regular (albeit loose-fitting) clothes, and doses of ibuprofen are covering the residual effects. I was able to make it to the boy's soccer game this morning (he carried Mom's lawn chair to the field), and to keep a long overdue lunch date with my friend Cindy (who picked me up and did the driving, bless her). Then I had a much-needed nap.

I woke up to find that my multi-talented spouse had installed a new kitchen faucet. The old one has been broken for some time, and we had finally stopped off earlier in the week to buy a replacement. I had expected to be putting the new one in next weekend (yes, me-- I'm actually pretty handy, and I like doing that sort of thing), but now it's all done-- with no leaks, and the hot water in the right direction, and even the spiffy new soap dispenser that came with it, put together and fastened in and filled up. Lovely!!

And now, it's dinnertime.

Medical adventures

This morning I'm headed over to the hospital for an outpatient procedure (hydrothermal ablation, by name) that will hopefully correct some problems I've been having. I will spare you the gory details; suffice to say that it has not been fun, and I'm looking forward to a cessation of hostilities.

I'm not especially nervous about the procedure itself. Okay, so it's not my idea of a good time; all things considered, I'd rather be any number of other places. However, the only part that really concerns me is the prospect of general anaesthetic, as I've been known to get seriously nauseous afterward. This thought does not make me happy. However, the doc assures me they have new and improved varieties of meds that make that much less likely than it used to be, so I'm hopeful we can avoid all that unpleasantness.

I'm scheduled to be in the OR around 12:30 pm, CDT. If you have a spare prayer lying around about then, I'd appreciate it. Thanks.

(Later. . . Home now. No nausea, just slightly crampy and quite tired. The doctor seems pleased, and I'm going to bed. Thanks, folks.)

All in a Day's Work

Today I climbed into clerical garb, braved the intricacies of the Tri-State tollway during construction season, and made my way up to Northern Baptist Theological Seminary in Lombard, IL. I joined Tripp and Larry in front of a class taught by Robert Webber; and there we spent a couple of hours as invited guest speakers, answering questions about our multi-denominational efforts with the Church of Jesus Christ, Reconciler. Talking about how we're learning to work and worship together. . . to speak theology and seek truth together, in the face of denominational differences.

I was a bit nervous about this; there's always this "who died and made you the expert?" voice in the back of my head, reminding me how very little I know about so very many things. But the students were very interested, and asked lots of good questions, and it turned out we had the answers for most of them. Believe it or not, answers that generally seemed to make sense, without trying to oversimplify things that are "more complicated than that." We decided that AKMA would have been pleased with us.

After class we joined the students in worship. Then we walked over to the local Starbucks, where Bob bought us lunch and we continued the conversation. Questions and challenges and discussion; food for the body as well as the soul.

It was a good day.

Monday observations

• There are few things more beautiful than a sleeping baby. This does not cease to be true when the babies are 10 and 17.

• I loathe the job of deep-cleaning the bathroom (read, removing hard water rust stains and scrubbing grout). There is no way I've ever discovered to do it properly without ending up all wet and coated in cleanser. But the feeling of showering afterward in pristine conditions is almost worth it.

• Some phone calls inherently trigger joy. Calls from old friends or new jobs fall into this category. Calls from the school nurse or the mammography department at the clinic do not.

• Bookstores are great distractions, especially in good company. So is walking in a warm rain.

• Dandelions are pretty. Of course, they're especially nice clutched into a clumpy, chubby-fisted bouquet; one gift that I'm pleased to note has not been outgrown at our house. Growing in the lawn, their sunshine yellow presence makes me smile. Even the gone-to-seed puffball heads have a certain charm. But the naked stems that follow the spring breeze just make the yard look messy.

• No matter how well or poorly the day goes, coming home at the end of it and snuggling into sweats or flannels is a fine thing.

• Chocolate chip cookies are enhanced by baking them with a buddy.

So, how was your day?

Mother's Day gifts

Today the gifts I've received have not, by in large, been tangible. I had time with family (including my brother's children, who stayed with us last night; this meant a preschooler to chase, and a baby to spoil!), which is the best gift of all. Then a solid, quiet nap; lovely conversations with my father, and my mother-in-law; the opportunity to do some cooking; and a share in some relaxed worship.

Then this evening before bedtime, our son brought me a homemade card, a foam flower with his picture in it, and a poem, typed on flowered paper. They've been working on poems at school; this became part of my Mother's Day present from him. He gave me permission to post it.

Caring, thoughtful, loving and kind,
Mother of Carolyn and Kyle,
Lover of Burger King, iChat and reading,
Who feels happiness when her kids are around
excitement when she's iChatting,
and fun when she goes to Seabury,
Who needs more quiet time
time to herself
and to stay home more often,
Who gives time to be with us,
love to our family,
and enjoyment to other people,
Who fears hurricanes and tornadoes
Who would like to see the end of wars
and our rooms clean
And who lives in a brick house.

Happy Mother's Day, y'all.

So. . . is it me?

My Unitarian Jihad Name is:

Sister Hand Grenade of Enlightened Compassion.

Get yours.

Random access

Karen, in a moment of Saturday silliness, shuffled the music on her iPod, just to see what would come up. Not a "Top Ten," but simply a "First Ten."

I don't have an iPod, but I do have iTunes on my laptop. It offered up the following:

"Sympathy for the Devil" - Rolling Stones
"Can't Take My Joy" - Michelle Shocked
"Come Next Monday" - K. T. Oslin
"Sad Eyes" - Bruce Springsteen
"Lookin' Out My Back Door" - Creedence Clearwater Revival
"Box #10" - Jim Croce
"Painted Desert" - Pat Benetar
"When I'm Gone" - 3 Doors Down
"And So It Goes" - Billy Joel
"A Hard Day's Night" - The Beatles

How about you? What appears when you shuffle?

"Stay in Car Mom"

My first day home (for several days in a row-- next week is Reading Week, with no classes!), and that's pretty much my description today. The errands included:

• A visit to the clinic for some routine testing, including the annual mammogram. Whee.

• Two estimates for repairing a dent in my fender. One was "You have got to be kidding!" while the other was merely pricey.

• Local Giant Retailer, for various sundries and supplies.

• Multipurpose Craft Center, to have my ordination certificate framed.
  

• Grocery store. The cupboards were bare at Casa Hoosier.

• Dry cleaner, with a suit to be cleaned.

So, there's my list of Friday adventures. Never a dull moment out here.

Excommunicated Baptists? For WHAT??

Micah told me about this story early this morning: an independent Baptist church who has "excommunicated" (I know the word does not apply, but it's their usage) members for being Democrat. No, I'm not making this up; you can also read about it here.

The comments that occur to me to make, keep coming out salted with my steel mill vocabulary. So let's just say I'm simply appalled, and leave it at that.

Shameful. Just shameful.

And while we're ranting...

You know, for the three years I’ve been here at seminary, I’ve seen lots of ups and downs-- personally, as well as in the larger community. And I’ve listened, and participated in the work, as we’ve struggled with the wide variety of issues, with varying levels of success. Race, gender, sexual orientation. . . the same things that face our national church, and every congregation in every denomination across the country, appear here in microcosm.

The one that’s pushed my hot button today, though, has to do with age. This has been a sore point rearing its ugly head with alarming consistency here. Not surprising, I suppose, in a seminary community with students who range from 22 to 60-something, all here on an equal footing and trying to understand themselves and one another as we train for ordained ministry.

The complaint I hear, over and over, comes from younger classmates. They are irritated by perceived slights and patronizing attitudes of the older students, who seem to have insufficient respect for their gifts and talents. Now I’ll be the first one to say that some of the fuss has been entirely legitimate. I have heard more than one condescending reference to “the kids,” or a seen a group of older students who, in one way or another (academically or socially), fail to accept and treat their younger classmate as a peer and colleague. I have said publicly more than once, in person and on this blog, that this is inappropriate and unacceptable behavior. God calls whom God calls, and in God’s own time; and we all have a great deal to offer one another on the road of discipleship, at whatever age we are. It behooves us to remember that, and to respect one another in the face of that reality.

But you know what? The road travels both ways, my brothers and sisters; and if you don’t care for the way you’re treated because you’re under 30, then I’d suggest you consider the ways that you treat your classmates who are over 30. And if you don’t like being on the receiving end, then with due respect, knock it off.

And now we return to our regularly scheduled homework.

Proclamation. . . of what?

One of my classmates walked out of chapel today, during the sermon. Near the beginning, actually: after the preacher made a political reference that occasioned an audibly negative response from the congregation.

I was one of those. I heard the words "premillenial dispensationalism," and laughed-- a teasing response born out of 3 1/2 hours of sweaty composition on that topic during the GOE's. I did not intend in any way for that laughter to be related to the connection the preacher made, to specific government policies and officials. However, when our brother fled the chapel, I understood that my reaction had been unthinking, and could easily have been misconstrued to be a personal slam against the named officials in question. Now understand, my friends, that would be behavior I would find untenable in any circumstance; but especially in the context of worship. The thought that my actions were possibly perceived that way is appalling.

I was wrong not to consider the possibility that my response might be misunderstood; and if it came across that way, enough that someone felt impelled to leave, I'm sorry. And as soon as I can find the student in question, I will tell him so.

At the same time I was also embarrassed, because the preacher's response to his departure was audibly cavalier. It felt inappropriate, and glib, and disturbed me almost as much as the discomfort I felt at the departure itself. I squirmed uncomfortably about that for the rest of the service.

In talking about this incident afterward, another classmate made a comment that sticks with me. "Today I learned a lesson about the difference between a liberating pulpit and a bashing pulpit." It is way too easy to lose sight of the power that preaching wields, and the damage that can be done thereby if we are not careful.

Always be ready to make your defense to those who demand an accounting of the hope that is in you; yet do so with gentleness and reverence. 1 Peter 3:15.

If I ever show signs of forgetting this, remind me, please. With a 2x4, if necessary.

Fun and Games and Memories

The other night after supper, the boy got to rooting through the hall closet where we keep toys and board games. He pulled out this suitcase-looking set that we've got, one that contains several games: boards and pieces for chess, checkers, or backgammon. He's discovered chess this year, and cornered his dad to play.

After a game or two, he cleaned up the pieces, and then pulled out my old cribbage board, which also happened to be stored in that same case.

"What's this, Mom?"

I played cribbage a lot, when I was younger. My mother loved the game, and we played fairly frequently-- enough that the board in Kyle's hand was one she and Dad gave me when I went away to college. There, I actually got to win once in a while; I don't think I ever beat Mom, not once.

I taught my husband to play when we were dating (or newly married, I forget which), but it never caught his interest--rather like chess has never been my thing, I suppose. So we grew into the habit of pulling out other games instead (backgammon was popular at our house for a very long time). In addition, there aren't too many folks out there, it seems, who are familiar with the game; and my board is not a large one, designed only for two players, so if more are present it's not really an option.

As a result, I hadn't seen that board in a very long time-- literally years, I think. Even though it is, in a way, part of my family heritage, it's a part I've neglected, judging from the boy's question.

"That's Mom's cribbage board, sweetheart. Would you like to learn how to play with me?"

And so we did. He'll need help counting the cards for a while, of course; that's a lot to remember, when it's new and you're only 10. But we had fun; and we left the board out on the fireplace mantel for next time-- which hopefully will be much sooner.

Thanks, Mama.

Senior retreat

Last Saturday the Seabury graduating class and their spouses/significant others (or most of us, anyway) gathered at a local Episcopal church, on a day-long retreat: a time, as we wind down our seminary career, to both look back on the experience of the last three years, and to look forward to what's happening next. During both morning and afternoon sessions, were led in scripture meditations by our newly installed dean. Following those, we broke into two groups for discussion: students chatting with the dean, S/SO's with his wife.

In our spare time, we ate (goodness, can seminarians eat!! "Never turn down free food" is an ingrained ethic) and played this game that Dave brought with him. Whether it was truly that good a game, or whether it was simply the company, I'm not sure; but it was fun.

Finished the day with Eucharist, and Chinese food ordered in for dinner. It came complete with fortune cookies, of course, and I don't care that they are not part of authentic Asian cuisine; I still find them entertaining-- especially when reading them in the silly fashion we used.

All in all, it was a decent day. I'm glad I went.