Aqui, Ahora

The Heart

2012-02-09T21:51:00.002-07:00

"The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?" ~ Jeremiah 17:9

There is a
divided highway
that bifurcates my heart;
runs
right
through
it.

Tell me, God.
Did I inherit
the Psalmist's ambivalence?
Extreme moods,
impassioned actions?

Since when did
Affection and Anger
become identical twins
so fond of playing tricks
on their teachers.

I confess that they dwell within me.

My heart is a lump
of cookie dough, at times
in need of thawing.
But when thawed, Lord,
it is raw and dangerous.
Trustworthy? Maybe --- not.

Where must we live, God, where?

Is it in the seam of healed skin,
that scar, between brokenness
and sealed-off-ness of the
heart's landscape?

You know,
The Psalmist says,
(according to chapter thirty-two),
that he hides -- in you.
Maybe I'm asking
that you let me hide there, too.

Tear in Your Hand

2012-01-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever favored a particular musician such that you've listened to them for half your life? For me, it's that way with Tori Amos. She's the artist I lipsynced to in my lengthwise mirror as a ninth grader. Over the years her music has morphed and shifted and I still listen to it.

One of her songs has a line in it: "You don't know the power that you have with that tear in your hand." (Incidently, the song is called "Tear in Your Hand.")

Some song lyrics echo in my brain long after I've heard them sung. This one has been lingering in my brain lately. I agree that there is power in the possessor of the tear-dampened hand. What does that beholder look like? Maybe one who offers a shoulder to cry on, maybe a priest or confessor, perhaps a therapist whose office contains an endless supply of [non-abrasive] tissues.

I would like to argue that, similarily, we carry this power as women, as mothers.

Yesterday I read "Deborah's Song." You can find it in the Old Testament, Judges 5. Deborah is a prophetess and judge, charged to provide military protection and spiritual guidance to Israel as they struggle under Canaanite oppression. In her song, Deborah praises another woman, Jael, a tent-dweller who ends an army commander's life by luring him to her tent, offering him spoiled milk (a strange cocktail -- meant to lull him to sleep, or poison him? Hmm...) and when he is most vulnerable, she taps a tent peg through his temple. (Nighty-night!)

Perhaps I'm behaving gingerly with this text but the truth is that Sisera, the commander of the Canaanite army, would not have submitted himself to a tent-peg-through-the-temple were it not for the illusion of hospitality. (What did he think would happen in that tent? I am quite curious. However, that inner dialogue didn't make it into the biblical text.)

Last year I viewed the foreign film, based on the book, "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." I would like to see the Americanized version, but am hesitant because of two particular scenes. They are scenes of sexual violence - one act of abuse of power, one act of revenge. Perhaps these are the "dark sides" to the power of "the tear in your hand." When do we misuse the vulnerability intrusted to us? When is a vulnerable moment an opportunity (as in the striking end of Sisera's life) to bring about justice?

There's got to be an upswing, right? I'll stick with music references. My friend Shannon (who I mentioned in my last post) introduced me to a new musician who kind of messes with all of my preconceived notions. MC Yogi's style is "yogic hip hop," so, the artist raps --- about Hindu faith. Yogic chants are woven in with rhythmic, clever beats. One of MC's songs is called "Son of Shiva." It is the story of Ganesh, the child of Shiva and Parvati. Ganesh, before he is called Ganesh, faces his own tragic end. He is guarding the path to where his mother is bathing. (This is all according to a hip hop song, so, bear with the gaps.) Meanwhile, after being away for some time, Shiva comes home and tells the boy to move. Out of obedience to his mother, the boy refuses. In his anger, Shiva beheads him. Parvati is crushed. But, as the story goes, the gods look out for this family and provide the head of an elephant for the decapitated boy. Parvati affirms that the head fits, and goes back to loving him. "Son of Shiva" becomes "Ganesh," a deity known for "removing all obstacles." His beginning is born when you are quite certain his life is over.

What the heck does this have to do with anything? I'm still working on a connection. But I think the link I want to make is that Parvati birthed her son and wasn't done with him -- even as he appeared to be dead, and headless. She took a gift from the gods of an elephant head, awkward as that may have been, and continued to love her son. Maybe her love empowered the boy who died to become a deity whose narrative lives on in the consciousness of billions of Hindu people worldwide. It's a thought. (And probably not an original one.)

Tears. Vulnerability. Temptation for Revenge. Actual Revenge. Anger. Destruction. These all can seem like ends. They all reflect the power, or can, of that "tear in [one's] hand." But they can also be beginnings. New starts to amazing transitions and new narratives. What if my head were cut off, and a new one were supplied? Not going to happen, literally, but I wonder -- would I accept the gift? Would I even have a choice not to? Oh Ganesh. You are making me think too much.

Thanks for Reading.

Reflections on Retreat: Re-mind, Re-new.

2012-01-22T11:29:00.000-07:00

Shannon and Kendra, contemplating...

Last week I attended a conference at Phillips Theological Seminary in Tulsa for clergy renewal and continuing education. But the fun began and continued even after the alotted sessions on campus. I have a fondness for car conversations. Shannon and I had several good ones along our Kansas-Oklahoma commute. One of my favorites involved our review of the conference. In a presentation by Diana Butler Bass, we were asked to consider our identity. She asked the question: "Who's are we?" Shannon brought this question up in the car, she wanted to know how I would respond. My answer unfolded as I gave it but I began with the liturgy spoken to baptized children in the Lutheran church. (Something like: "you are a child of God, marked by the cross of Christ, sealed by the promise of the Holy Spirit forever, no one can take that away from you...") I added that I came from Texas ruffians and Pennsylvania Baptists. I am my mom's daughter, my dad's kid. I am a sister, a wife, a friend, an auntie. I have so many belongings. I belong to the Kansas Disciples, too. Shannon had her own answers, some that overlapped with my own. One that was unique from mine is that she said she belonged to the planet. That inspired me.

Sometimes the cup of blessing....is disposable.

Shannon arranged for us to lodge with her friends in Tulsa for our overnight stay. [Shannon took care of a lot of logistics. Basically, Shannon rocks.] Anyway, I was a little nervous about staying with people I had never met before, but I had no need to. Shannon's friends were incredibly hospitable, delightfully conversational and their home had peaceful energy. I took a picture in their bathroom. (I am weird like that.) But I was impressed that their "bathroom cup" was a disposable cup they obviously didn't replace everyday.

I named this image 'Starfish Worshiprize'

The conference had two times over two days for worship together. On the first day we were invited to pick a rock up off the communion table and keep it until the next day. The following day, we walked it back to the communion table while the musicians (complete with djembe drummers!) soulfully and repeatedly led us in a rendition of "Veni, Sancti Spiritu." Preaching both days was powerful, impressive, thought-provoking. In my mind, equally powerful were the prayer experiences like the one I mentioned.

The pillow on the stack of yoga blankets says:
"A friend is a gift you give yourself."

We had some breaks during the conference. The first one kind of overwhelmed me - I wasn't ready to non-awkwardly mingle. So, I was grateful that Shannon needed "carrying help." Shannon is a certified yoga instructor (as well as a minister-in-training) and plans to offer yoga classes to PTS students and community starting this week.

Extremely. Serious. Adult Human Subjects.

It was a delightful surprise to run into not only my Committee on Ministry representatives, (Karen is one), but also my "Kindred Weirdo" running partner's dad (that would be Robert). Karen and Robert are "Kansas Disciples," like me, and they are also the parents of my good friend. I texted this picture to Bethany so she would know that we were all behaving like serious adults at our conference.

Oh, there's more I could say. (You know -- like something about the content of the conference!!) But instead, I won't. For a description of the content and presenters visit: http://ptstulsa.edu/RemindRenew

But before signing off, I'll give a shout out to Phillips Theological Seminary for this conference. It was reasonably priced - $90 or free if you're a PTS student. And the seminary community wove the registration experience, the space, the speakers, food, worship and breaks into a tapestry of spiritual growth and mindful reflection. For that I am quite grateful.

Thanks for reading.

I'm Glad I've Somewhere to Go

2012-01-14T17:10:00.000-07:00

Not much to say, but....hmm. I'm in an interesting season of my life. There is much that is transitory. I cannot ruminate on the past, I shouldn't dream the future in its entirety just yet. There are loved ones I hold dear who are hurting and figuring out their own journeys. But I cannot walk those for them. So, on this day, an ordinary day, I am thankful. Thankful for a place to go. A sanctuary without pews. A place of quiet where the Holy Spirit whistles to my soul....and, at least today, my Kansas family is with me.

Thanks for reading.

Bless Our Father

2012-01-10T14:09:00.001-07:00

For Our Father and My Dad (or My Father and Your Dad)

How many fathers
does a willow tree
carry? Too many.
Father Abraham
only counts his
sons, but maybe
his calculator
is off. I have a
father who makes
bets with peanut
butter but I also
have a dad who
lives in my heart.

A Riddle of the Lord

2012-01-10T03:42:00.002-07:00

for Clementine

The Holy Spirit has a twin
her name is Fran and
she's your mom's sister
or maybe she's your
sister's mom or
maybe she's mom's brother
in drag. Sometimes she's
evil, sometimes she's good.
She's totally a shapeshifter
and has a fondness for
clever games. Have you
met her? Betcha can't tell
if you love or hate her. She
has a heart and a garden, too.
She may ask you questions that make no
sense at all. "Remember when
you met me at the flea market in Tulsa?" (uh, no...)
When she has a stroke she'll squint
her eyes to the heavens, "good heavens!"
and say, "is that all you got, Lord?"

haiku

2012-01-07T03:58:00.002-07:00

is all of life mid-
rash?* Maybe so but it hurts,
sometimes. It hurts...hurts.

*Midrash is a Hebrew word and biblical term for study through argument. But it also fascinates me (after looking at this haiku) that it contains the word "rash."

Gertrude Anna,Grandma! "GG"Trudi and Gertie, too

2012-01-06T05:25:00.000-07:00

Here she is -- MY grandma. But maybe she's your grandma, too.

This is a picture of grandma. It's true, she is my grandma, but before I get too possessive I should remember she's not mine exclusively. (As her names in the title will show you.) But I am excited about helping my grandma with a project.

Trudi is eighty-four years old. When she was eighty, she sat down and penned her life story. Then she forgot about it. Weeks ago when she was cleaning her apartment, like a lost coin or something, it appeared.

I read her story and fell in love.

Gertrude Anna Woleslagle Resig Slavin Trailer is a force to be reckoned with. All four foot eleven and one half inches of her. And her story is one of love, risk, family, work, heartache, war, faith, and and and....

...well I guess you'll have to read the book to see how it turns out!

Anyway, Grandma let me read her story. I told her that we should type it up. I offered to do this but was also apprehensive about removing her careful manuscript from her apartment. (She lost it once already.) So, I told Grandma I'd come over and bring my compact computer and we'd get to crackin.

Well I said all of that and then I got caught up with other things. She called me the next morning, late morning. "Well, are you coming over?"

When I arrived Grandma had taken boxes down from her bedroom closet. The shoebox she lovingly holds in the above picture contains letters that my grandfather wrote to her before they were married and when he was in the service.

I'll add that since about mid-December I've been experiencing writer's block. It is hard to not internalize this experience and make it feel shameful or like pathology: it just is what it is. But I am grateful to have a project with my grandma. I don't need to be a writer for this one. Just a listener. A careful interviewer. A scribe.

So that's what I'm up to.

Thanks for reading.

Collaborative Creativity Project between Two Friends

2012-01-05T14:51:00.001-07:00

My friend Sherry and I met because one of our school years at Lewisville High overlapped. Sherry and I are both creative. That's an understatement. She is a soulful photographer and video artist. I am an impassioned writer. So, it is interesting the way that we collaborated on this project. The original assignment was to create a representation of the Holy Spirit -- out of trash. We both began working on visual pieces. Sherry also wrote a poem. We got together over Christmas break. That was when, for the first time, I showed her what I had made and she shared what she had written. What we gave to each other seems like it goes together. See what you think:

Holy Spirit

the gentle glow

whispers silently

into the inner chamber of your heart

again

and again

awaken this love you have for me

ride with the dove in flight

awaken my love from slumber

connecting your heart with mine

a blood transfusion

Name Poem

2011-12-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

Dad asks.
"Kareem,"
our waitress tells us.
"It's a Muslim name."

Gets me thinking.
If I had one would I
wear my Muslim name proudly -
like a thick black cloak
or a pensive look?

"I'm four foot eleven,"
the waitress says with smiling eyes
and Latin accent. "Named for
a six foot basketball player -- a man!
My mother liked the name."

And what about me?
Named after
a pregnant woman in distress:
with an intriguing name
who liked goldfish crackers.

Could this all be
an omen for me:

Discomfort in maternity,
temporary relief
in fish-shaped crackers
a misfit name,
borrowed from a stranger?

Whatever the case,
I was given a gift: my name.
unwrapped and revealed
like eyes framed in dark felt.

Christmas Eve Nostalgia

2011-12-24T11:59:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I'm a sucker for nostalgic things. And I'm also fond of dawdling. And it's Christmas Eve. Even if you aren't a kid awaiting Santa's loot, there's still so much to be excited about! There's so much anticip-anticip-anticipation!

So, here's what I'm doing with my dawdling time and anxious energy: (When I probably should be helping mom bake pies) Taking pictures. A few snapshots (with my dad's extra cool digital camera) of my favorite things in my parents' house:

The cabinet door designated for coffee tools. Note the scoop on a hook, instructions for mom's precious Bunn coffee pot and "label once" marker, eraser, and labels. (I also like the coffee grounds piling up in the crevice of the door. Proof that The Warrens are serious about their coffee consumption.)

My dad's desk drawer. Some of these pens have been in here since the Reagan administration.

One of dad's book shelves. Complete with toys for grandkids, photos, airplane paraphernalia, theology, philosophy and....how to learn Hindi and Urdu.

Looking inside a drawer in the "game armoir" - chaos organized. (This reminds me of the movie The Royal Tenenbaums. Remember the closet?)

The angel Gabriel atop the manger scene. My brother used to call her "Gloria" when we played with this set as kids.

I love mom's laundry room! It's like spa retreat for your clothes. Look at all these fascinating products.

Agreed.

Mom's desk. (Or maybe you could call it "the switchboard")

A corner of mom's sewing room. Notice the strip of denim featured here. She's always been so generous to hem our pant legs which is nice since at least two of us are quite shrimpy in stature.

A tasteful wall of family photos. Mom's good at tasteful remembering.

Still life Bathroom Scene: Mom's perfume, makeup, hand cream and ring holder.

Handmade stockings with toes made by mom over the years. (Mine is covered in wax from a candle incident years ago. An early warning sign for me to avoid the open flame.)

The "trash plant" came into our lives almost a decade ago. Mom noticed a neighbor throwing a plant out on trash day. She asked me to retrieve it. There are now several plants that have been "birthed" from the original "trash plant." I get partial credit for my heroic rescue that day.

And lastly, looking out the window above the kitchen sink to the backyard. I appreciate that mom keeps us in her "mom window." Featured are two pictures of the four of us kids. The one on the left is from Christmas 1999, right before the Warrens (- 1) moved away from Utah. The one on the right is from Mother's Day 2010.

There you have it. Merry Christmas Eve.

LUX VENIT

2011-12-23T21:40:00.001-07:00

We are
drawing close
to Christmas.

What will come?

We bow before our beds, bent
like weary travelers
seeking something, seeking light.

With honesty, intensity,
we pour out longings and
somehow, strangely,
discover our worth:

weaknesses shrivel, powerless,
to the light that is to come.

Behold: the light!
it scatters darkness;
causes illusions
to evaporate.

Yes, the light.
It brings life instead.
Hope --
for what we once thought dead.

My iPod: The Psalmist on "Shuffle"

2011-12-18T16:17:00.003-07:00

Yesterday I went running with Sydney, my black lab, and I set my ipod to "all songs," "shuffle." It is fun to see what comes up (song wise and pathwise) and how the music, my thoughts and the route for running coordinate (or clash) with one another.

I began to think about something: that contrast or syncronicity? It's kind of like reading the Psalms.

Earlier this year, I preached a brief homily at a service on Good Friday. I used Psalm 22 as one of my main texts. The thought that came up as I studied that particular Psalm was: "Is the Psalmist bipolar?" No offense intended for those who actually are bipolar. It's just that the Psalmist contradicts himself. And it isn't just that his ideas conflict. His moods seem to shift suddenly -- turning on a dime, or at the move of an indentation in the format on the page.

When I run with my ipod on shuffle, who knows what will come up: Jars of Clay, Lady Gaga, The Scorpions, Erasure, Broken Bells, Cake. What is fun to note is when any of these artists' songs, whether deliberately sacred or profane, echo the words of the Psalmist. Sometimes those echoes are words of delight and praise, praising nature and creation. Sometimes they are gutteral cries or contain deep, crooning questions.

Either way, running like this is kind of like having the Psalmist on "shuffle."

Thanks for reading.

"Are You My Mother?"

2011-12-17T21:30:00.001-07:00

One of our favorite books when we were kids was P.D. Eastman's "Are You My Mother?" The synopsis of the story is that a tiny bird gets displaced from his mother. Throughout the book he goes around asking different animals, and even a piece of construction equipment, "Are You My Mother?"

Well, today, I had one of those moments. I wondered about the woman sitting across the booth from me. Was she my mother?

Today, my mom rode fourteen miles on a bike ride with us.

After that, my mother dined with John, dad and me in a bar.

John ordered a Guiness. Mom said, "let me try that." Then, she made a face (see above) and said, "I like that."

As we continued dining in a bar (me, mom, dad, John) a song came on overhead. We thought we recognized it. Mom "shazaamed" it on her iPhone. It turned out to be a song by the Hasidic rapper, Matisyahu.

"Google him," I suggested to mom. When she pulled up the picture of this Hasidic Jewish rapper in his baggy clothes sporting a wild and wooly beard she said, "he's not bad looking."

"Seriously. Are YOU my Mother???"

It is kind of fun to know your mom but also continue to be surprised by her.

Thanks for reading.

Kenosis

2011-12-15T23:34:00.003-07:00

Why? Hmm?

That's what I'd like
to know.
And - I'd kinda like to be
asleep right now.

We are driving away
tomorrow, remember
that? Rest
would be nice,
but...no.
Here I am,
awake: wide.

I wish I were in
a state of "iram"
as the devout people
of Islam call it.
(a state of peace)
but, no.

I wish I were locked
in that gaze with
the Divine: Darshan.
(As the Hindus call it)
But? No.

Instead, straight up midnight
and I am
groaning right with you,
neighborhood train.
Head: turning,
teeth: grinding,
stomach: churning...

Why???

Maybe this
is prayer, too.
Me and you, baby,
about to be born
in Bethlehem --
in our hearts --
in justice --
in mystery,
in absurdity,
in scandal.

Maybe peace
will have to wait until
the blood and guts
of birthing something new
are done
with
you, too.

A Day in Kansas City - in Pictures

2011-12-15T07:51:00.001-07:00

I spent 11 hours on the "Missouri side" yesterday. It reminded me of old times. For several months I worked in North Kansas City and often Wednesdays were my 11 hour days. (That's including Quik Trip stops, car talk, and travel of course!)

Anyway, yesterday I did a little work but mostly "chased the wild goose" with my new friend Jill. I'm thankful for her expertise in hole-in-the-wall places around Kansas City! Enjoy the pictures.

Yesterday I worked with Claire Smith, Director of YouTheology at Saint Paul School of Theology on a collaborative project she invited me to help with. I admired this art piece that was sitting on top of her file cabinet. If you can't read the caption it says: "Too blessed to be stressed." What you also can't tell is that the two women's arms are linked. LOVE IT!

Eating amazing Salvadorian food for lunch! Best fried plantains ever. And the papusa was just right - and only $2.20! Very reasonable lunch at El Pulgarci.

Jill my new friend and tour guide around places I didn't even know existed! (Thanks, Jill.)

Thrift store heaven part I: Blackwell's! I think Jill referred to it as a "flea market." The most amazing treasure trove of housewares and kitchen items -- some were very vintage. I got to meet Ms. Blackwell herself who was a delight at the cash register. (Which was also vintage!) I also appreciated how orderly the place was. She even had things hanging from the ceiling. (Things like wooden spoons and can openers and egg slicers -- hard to describe but tastefully, artistically done.)

Ok, this one is out of sequence but I call it... 'BUSTED!' This is me at Best Value Thrift Store on Truman Road. 50% Off EVERYTHING. Drool, drool. (Not all of that pile is for me - some of it is going to Family Promise, just in case you think I'm a total recycled fashions glutton, which I am)

"Would you like to eat some pie?" "Would I??" Jill, you're my new best friend. Who eats pie on a Wednesday at 3 o'clock in the afternoon? Oh, I guess unemployed thrift store junkies do...

Deep thoughts over chocolate pie. Should I have ordered Lemon? Coconut? Hmmm...

This photo makes me think it should be in a magazine. Or a movie. Or maybe the beginning of Jill's rap video. (She was bustin' some beats to Eminem which we heard while dining here -- kinda random)

Ok, some of you are thinking "gross!" And I know my husband would shake his head that I photographed this toilet. But seriously... this was the TINIEST bathroom I have EVER used. Literally a "water closet." A toilet...in a closet. Not even a sink. When I first stepped inside I had to think about how it was going to work. You know, coat, purse, all that ... sorry, TMI...

"One Tuff Babe" ~ a brand of clothing I had never seen before, but now admire.

Or, how about a Hallelujah jacket? That will keep you warm and joyous.

The proud used clothing glutton basks in her finds. Moments later we met a woman in the parking lot and gave her some food. I had to laugh though (not that hunger is funny, I don't mean that) but I gave her the WEIRDEST food. (well, it was my lunch) I gave her a chocolate dipped coconut bar, (hardly a "granola" bar) a chunk of dill havarti, a half of an apple starting to brown in a ziplock bag, my almond butter, and my leftover fried plantains. She probably thought I was a hippee or something...

Jill bought us both tiny monkeys out of a vending machine. She's such a good sport. I asked her to pose for this picture, talking to her newfound monkey friend.

And, before my trip back home to Lawrence, I got to visit my Aunt Becky. She's smiling! She still loves me! (Even though I've been a bad neice and haven't visited in FAR TOO LONG.) Thank you for loving me anyway, Auntie. :)

SIIIIIIIIGH. Awesome Day.

The. End.

The Prairie is Humble, But not Weak

2011-12-14T02:51:00.001-07:00

We're out for a walk
on the shoreline trail.

Do you see it?

The wind blows where it will,
but that's not what I see.

What is out there are the
unassuming whooshes, brushing bushes;
singing quietly, crackily.

We walk on
and grasses tower overhead.
Some as tall as me.

Resolute in their stillness
with cripsy seedpods
in perfect balance
atop slender stalks.

The prairie is humble, but not weak.

Light Goes Dim

2011-12-13T05:52:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was kind of annoying. (It happens) There were just an assortment of happenings that seemed to crawl right under my skin, fart, and then laugh like hyennas.

Ok, that may be a slight exaggeration.

For instance, there's a coffee shop I like downtown. It is usually a haven of serenity for studying folks. I've written more than one sermon at its spacious tables.

But yesterday it was a ZOO. (Duh, Kendra. You live in a college town -- and Finals Are Among Us) Lucky for us, John had gone in ahead and scouted out a cozy spot even with comfy chairs and all that. We were all nestled in, John seemingly more undisturbed than I, and I just couldn't focus. (Really, that explains the entirety of my day yesterday. What did I do all day yesterday? Couldn't tell you.) Just when I was starting to ignore the barista-customer chatter, just when I moved on from reading the same sentence of my dense book ten times, piano starts. Piano. No, not a recording of piano. Not even gentle background music -- the kind that might waft you right into that solemn mode for memorization and writing. No, no, NO! Some buffoon (Lord Have Mercy on Kendra's Soul) most likely after too much coffee begins pounding away on the piano the kind of tunes that remind you of being on a carousel. (I get a little anxious on carousels.)

Well, I'm probably being mean. There definitely was some talent in this (loud) player's hands, but, not a lot of tact in his head. Couldn't he see that people needed quiet? Ahem. Didn't he sense MY needs!!??

It is moments like these that the calm of Christmas is ripped from my consciousness. Maybe that's good. I kinda asked for that. I asked that God would make this season real for me; that maybe there would be less sentimentality, less cutesy crap and more standing in awe of the light that is coming into the world.

But you know, some days that light feels pretty dim. Like, like maybe it's flickering -- it's about to go out. Wait, did we buy another bulb? Crap, now I have to go back to the grocery store...one more thing...

But then I remember that I like dim light. The soft glow of a candle. A peaceful, sacred space with low lighting. Reading in the dark -- I even like this. Reading, with the soft glow of one small lamp over my desk.

Somedays, no matter what season we're in, it feels -- dim. That was yesterday for me. I know there are worse things happening in the world (I read about them, on repeat, in my dense book yesterday). But meditating on 'worse things happening in the world,' that isn't a cure all, either.

For me, at least yesterday, I just had to go. Peace out to the coffee shop, peace out humans. And as I took a little cold medicine and squeaked out some prayers last night before bed, I'm sure they were mostly whining pleas. So be it. The light -- it was dim. And then it was gone. And then I was asleep.

Today is a new experience to meet the light. I can't predict its forecast, but I'm hopeful.

Thanks for reading.

12 Gifts

2011-12-12T08:37:00.002-07:00

Ok. The picture above is in case I get too cheesy or sentimental. If you are nearing a good hurl, just scroll up and laugh at this 'delighted' gift receiver.

But I had an idea. It is kind of based on that song The Twelve Days of Christmas. You know... "On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me..."

What are the twelve gifts you received this year for Christmas? You may have received them throughout the year. They may have nothing to do with monetary exchange -- nor turtle doves. What are they?

Here are mine.

Family Belonging. After two trips to see family on the Thompson side (Summer vacation in Utah, Thanksgiving in Nebraska) I feel like I am "in" this family.

Permission. In September of this year I sensed that it was time to move on from my position at FCC Lawrence. My husband gave me his blessing to do this. It was the right thing to do, and I needed his 'weigh in' on it.

Time. Time is a weird gift that sometimes I resent. But mostly, it is good. I feel -- available. I have given more time to relationships with people, disciplines, practices, arguments, wounds, and ideas because of this gift.

Running Partner. About the same time I gave notice at the church, Bethany said she wanted to start running again. It has been a tremendous gift to run regularly and also get to know a kindred friend a bit better.

Brother Neighbor. My brother moved to Lawrence! (That makes me want to call him 'Brother Lawrence.') We are good for one another.

Writing. About a month and a half ago, when I thought I hated everything, I started writing. I haven't stopped. I can't. I write every day. It feels like a gift and I'll take it.

New Job. I wasn't even looking too intently, but, hey! I got a job! It starts in January. I am looking forward to being an "educator" once again in a creative environment for children.

Boundaries. Boundaries are also one of those gifts I'm not sure I always appreciate. I have learned a lot about myself this past year. Part of my learning involved boundaries crossed. This involves work and soul-searching, but it too is a gift.

Ordination Support. This is a HUGE gift. I am going to be ordained in the Disciples of Christ denomination sometime next year. This blows my mind. I am excited to be a part of such an affirming denomination, especially locally. I have wonderful support from my mentor, Jan, and the regional staff. I am taking seminary courses again and even received scholarship funds and have borrowed books for my January class from the regional staff. Am I gushing? Okay, that's enough.

Lap Dog Weekend. After Thanksgiving, I got to "borrow" our cousin's dog, Dipsy. She's a poodle-bichon frise mix. I love little dogs. It was fun. We snuggled and she went everywhere with me when I had errands and appointments. My mom just got a little dog, too, so I am excited for another 'lap dog weekend' coming up! (P.S. I still love Sydney, of course. And she's a much better running buddy.)

John. In not working, I've gotten more time with my spouse. He is a gift. And what a gift that we still want to hang out with each other.

Espresso. Thanks to a couple friends of mine, I had an extra espresso machine in my storage room for the last several months. I almost took the thing to Goodwill because I thought, "Why did I keep this? I've got one!" Last week when a friend mentioned, "I gotta get me one of these," I was able to give her one - because I had a spare! I don't have excess income but I was able to give the gift of espresso. That made me happy.

What are your 12 gifts?

Thanks for reading.

Ministers and the Biblical Text

2011-12-11T18:18:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking about the Bible lately. (It happens.) I've been thinking about the unique relationship ministers have to the biblical text. So, since I was thinking about them, I thought I'd include some of my friends-in-ministry in this post. I asked ministry professionals, from a variety of denominations, who work in a variety of roles, to send me pictures of their "personal" Bibles. I qualified my request because ministry professionals have a dual relationship with the text.

At some point in our lives, as ministers, we sensed a call to do this stuff professionally. Some of us felt called to go to Bible colleges, theological schools, seminaries. Some of us felt struck by something mystical, something we would attribute to God that said, "Go for it. Do it."

Some of us may have even experienced a nagging sense of dread: "Ok, ok, OH-KAY-EE... I'll consider it."

Whatever the manifestation of this "calling," chances are, it started with a concept, an idea, a verse, a notion, a dream from the Bible. A connection with God's holy narrative. It compelled us -- and here we are.

Some of us were obsessive when we were young, experienced compelling conversions at some point in our lives; some of us grew up with hearty spiritual upbringings. Some of us came to Christian faith later in our lives. Some of us came to the vocation with passion and intense energy -- wanting to bring about change to church and faith life.

Whatever led us here -- the Bible was a part of it.

And so we study it. Read it. Know it. We let it read us, too.

But it's not always rosy. And it's not even always "personal," either.

The Bible is also the text we pore over and fret over in preparation for Sunday worship. We select texts, preach sermons, choose coordinating songs and hymns. We teach youth and children and adults with it. We offer comfort from these pages to the bereaved. We plan ceremonies - weddings, funerals, ordinations - and draw from its wisdom. We argue our points in committee meetings. We point passionate fingers at the precious texts that demand that we care for the poor.

This dual relationship -- it's complicated.

Because we are called to both; to be both and do both.

But sometimes -- one wins out.

I have argued before that remembering is a spiritual practice, it surely is. As ministers, remembering involves these personal Bibles and personal callings. We remember that once upon a time God spoke to us - somehow, someway - and we responded. We remember those first Bibles, first milestones of faith, first theological statements.

We remember what it felt like to read the Bible -- just for our own growth and wisdom.

But we also remember that we are called to more; and so our personal informs our professional. Somehow those tattered, personal pages have something to do with the title on our business cards, the letters behind our name. Those underlined words correspond with our vestments, our roles. I think the fact that stories from the Bible have touched us has something to do with the stories that are entrusted to us.

Ministry -- is hard work. I don't want to say it is "harder" than other work, that wouldn't be fair. But it is unique. It involves drawing on so many "pages." The pages of our own spiritual journey, the pages of personal sacred texts, and the pages of the Bible that we expand and expound on in a variety of ways for our faith communities.

Below I have included a "gallery" of friends' Bibles -- and one of my own, too. I love how each one is their interpretation of the request for a "personal" Bible. Enjoy.

And thanks for reading.

Poetry Pieces

2011-12-10T07:59:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow at crylaughsnort, I hope to write about "Ministers in relation to the biblical text." A big ole, interesting topic, right? Today, I thought I would just post some lines, fragments, snippets from some of my favorite poems and poets. ENJOY!

***

"Now is the time to say what you have to say."

'Morning'

"Why do we bother with the rest of the day?

...This is the best -

...and buzzing around the house on espresso-"

(Billy Collins)

"I don't want to go to school today," (Shel Silverstein)

"The art of losing isn't hard to master," (Elizabeth Bishop)

"Sometime during eternity/

some guys show up/

and one of them/

who shows up real late/

is kind of a carpenter..."

(Lawrence Ferlingetti)

"I look at the night through the bars,

and despite the weight on my chest

my heart still beats with the most distant stars." (Nazim Hikmet)

Among twenty snowy mountains

The only moving thing

Was the eye of the blackbird

I know noble accents

And lucid, inescapable rhythms;

But I know, too,

That the blackbird is involved

In what I know.

(Wallace Stevens, 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird)

"Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.

After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,

we ourselves flash and yearn,

and moreover my mother told me as a boy

(repeatingly) 'Ever to confess you're bored

means you have no

Inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no

inner resources, because I am heavy bored."

(John Berryman, Dream Song # 14)

"For God's Sake hold your tongue and let me love,"

(John Donne, The Canonization)

"Five years have passed; five summers, with the length

Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

With a soft inland murmur. Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

That on a wild secluded scene impress

Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

The landscape with the quiet of the sky."

"--I cannot paint

What then I was."

(William Wordsworth, Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye During a Tour)

"Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart."

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

"I apologize to big questions for small answers." (Wislawa Szymborska)

"I don't believe the sky is blue.

I don't believe what the thunder says.

I don't believe dreams aren't real,

that beyond death there is no reprisal.

If the sea should break through the sea-wall,

let its brackish water fill my heart."

(Bei Dao, Answer)

"Long have you timidly waited holding a plank by the shore, now I will you to be a bold swimmer, to jump off into the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, SHOUT! and laughingly dash with your hair." (Walt Whitman)

"Gamble everything for love,

if you're a true human being.

If not, leave this gathering.

Half-heartedness doesn't reach into majesty. You set yout to find God, but then you keep stopping for long periods at meanspirited roadhouses.

Don't wait any longer. Dive into the ocean, leave and let the sea be you. Silent, absent, walking an empty road, all praise."

(Rumi)

***

Hmm. That's plenty for one day. Thanks for reading.

Not Much Part II

2011-12-09T13:03:00.001-07:00

I guess sometimes blogging just has to be the placeholder for the day. Not only did my running muses wimp out this morning, my writing muses didn't show up either. However, my "task master muses" did! I had a productive (late) morning filling out paperwork (for my new job! yeah!), returning some things, and getting a few final Christmas goodies. And now laundry is tumbling and I am reconciling our receipts.

So. That's all. Hi to readers. Here's a picture of me and John that our friend Yan took of us. We are afraid to show our teeth, I guess. (I have sunglasses on at night and indoors because they're new.)

Thanks for Reading.

"Deficiency Model" Christmas

2011-12-08T08:04:00.001-07:00

I read a novel several years ago called I Don't Know How She Does It! It is about a woman who is an executive and a mother of small children, trying to excel at both. In the book the main character describes two gifts she received on Christmas morning: slinky lingerie and a day planner. She describes these as "P.C. gifts." P.C. meaning "Please Change."

There are definitely aspects of Christmas gift-giving that reflect this sentiment. Sometimes we even ask for it. Like, I could use some new socks. Most of my socks have holes in them. New socks would definitely improve the life of my feet.

But there are also commercials that enforce "P.C." gifts on an exhorbitant level. The Lexus with the giant red bow? The hyper-romantic diamond jewelery commercials? Even the hardware store commercials get to me sometimes. I mean, really? Is the only expression of true manhood being someone like "Tool Time Tim?"

Every year we talk about "Consumerism and Christmas" as North Americans. It's a tired subject. If you already stopped reading this post because you're tired, I totally understand.

But if you are still reading, I have another question for you to consider: If "Consumer Christmas" operates on a "deficiency model," enforcing the myth "you are lacking something, we have the answer," well, what about "Religious Christmas?"

What about THAT?

Do we lump "Baby Jesus" as a mythical figure in with flying reindeer and singing snowmen? Do we give gifts because of wise astrologers from the East or because of a portly, jolly dude with a white beard who likes to say: "Ho Ho Ho!" (Why does he say that?)

It is a little ironic to me that the sentiment: "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" or "Keep Christ in Christmas" is mass-produced just as rampantly as the latest Kenmore, Crayola, or Toyota product on the market.

I know. I know. I'm getting cynical. Burrowing deeper into sarcasm and despair. What a drag.

But the truth is the visual, verbal, musical expressions of our faith at Christmas time -- they are suspect. They've been thrown in the bargain bin with the other stuff and sometimes you can't even recognize how they are different.

How are they different?

It is hard, for me, to read the birth narratives of Jesus with fresh eyes. They are some of the first stories I ever encountered. With stories like these sometimes you know them so well that you forget them.

But I don't want to forget. Nor do I want to conflate the birth of Jesus with the rest of Christmas lore. (Which is almost impossible.)

But here's what is on my mind this morning. It is why I wanted to hurry home after my run to start writing.

The birth narratives of Jesus are not about filling a void of deficiency in order to make oneself whole. The story of Jesus' birth is about emptying.

God "empties" Godself in the incarnation. God becomes vulnerable, dependent on human care. God becomes deficient in Christ by being both "fully human" and "fully divine."

And Mary empties herself, too. When you accept the fact that God is calling you to birth the Messiah, well, you gotta make some room. Room in your spirit, room in your life, room in your body.

So, you see, the birth narrative of Jesus is anything but 'cute.' It is a story wrought with fear, strife, doubt and threat of harm. It is a story about an ordinary herd of people and animals who witness an extraordinary event.

The Christmas story is a call to empty oneself. Or, to put it another way, a call to make peace with the experience of feeling empty. In contrast to all the things that catch our eye this time of year, the story of Christ is - or ought to be - something different.

Christmas doesn't have to be a repetitive cycle in which we attempt to fill the deficient places in our lives with stuff or piety, toys or religious "kitsch."

I would argue that Christmas is about something more because of something less. In the practice of emptying ourselves, of making room to "birth" the Divine, we find sufficiency within our deficiencies.

Thanks for reading.

"You have looked wtih love on your servant here and blessed me all my life through."

2011-12-07T03:48:00.001-07:00

Hello, Dear Readers. Would you like a snapshot into my life?

Last night I had some people over to my house and we sang. We danced around the living room. The dog joined in.

Me. I hosted a singing group.

It kinda baffles my mind.

Wait a sec, rewind...

Several weeks ago a friend of mine sent out an email to see if any of us would be interested in "Singing the Divine Feminine." I was just too curious and intrigued -- I had to go.

So the first time we met, we gathered on the floor at this friend's house. We looked critically at some of the music (worship, folk, whatever) we loved and then reworded things. We changed some beloved songs so that they were no longer sexist -- and then -- we sang them.

So, last night, at my house, "Singing the Divine Fem Part II" happened.

I made brownies.

Two moments stand out to me. OK, maybe three.

Singing "This Little Light of Mine" in this way: "...even if they laugh at me....I'm gonna let it shine..."

Singing "Seek Ye First," and considering "HER righteousness." (Props to Sophia, the Wisdom that Began it All.)

Ok, and lastly. I was delighted to share my favorite liturgy with the group -- The Holden Evening Prayer. I sang it solo, acapella, to share it with my friends. At one point, when I was singing a piece of the 'Magnificat,' (excerpted in the Title), I looked up and one of them -- one of my new friends -- her eyes were welling with tears.

Singing is POWERFUL.

No wonder we need to consider the words with which we sing.

It was an amazing night that I hope will be repeated soon. I may need to buy a keyboard.

Thanks for reading.

Sibling Haiku

2011-12-06T06:55:00.001-07:00

                    My brother says my
      power animal is the
      ostrich.(That's awkward.)

Kindred Weirdo Coffee

2011-12-05T08:01:00.001-07:00

I had the most delightful morning! My friend Bethany didn't have to be at work at 8am, like usual, so after our run (in 25 degree weather - BRR!) we had coffee and talked about the most random assortment of topics. Instead of boring you with the details, here are some pictures that correlate with topics:

Beloved Bluejeans

Piles. (As an organizational system)

Richard Scarry books!
Wait, what was that bug you had to find???
GOLDBUG! (We totally googled it)

Yes, but did you ever read:
"Pig Will and Pig Won't???

Being one of four children

Thanks for reading!
Happy Monday.
If any of you readers indulge in random dawdling, please share!

Remember

2011-12-04T06:19:00.001-07:00

For S.K., who was recently baptised

"Remember your baptism..."

It's a phrase I first learned
when I flirted with Presbyterianism.

It's funny.

Because you wouldn't remember,
would you?

That Ceremonious Day
your baby head was sprinkled,
baby eyelashes flickered
under the weight of water dropping.

But, Remember Your Baptism is more
than heartfelt childhood memory.

It means: Remember Also-
you were a beginner once,

A beginner-
who didn't know
up from down
who couldn't possibly
have earned
words spoken over,
water spilling on.

So, Remember:

Remember the day that
God remembered you;

At your beginning,
in your youth,
in your ignorance,
(splash) remember.

Haiku & Hype

2011-12-03T07:39:00.001-07:00

All I want for Chris
tmas is my own solar sys
tem. See? Not that much.

Place Poem

2011-12-02T11:13:00.001-07:00

I was inspired to write this poem after reading Molly Jensen's piece

in the latest "Insights" journal. (Faculty journal of Austin Seminary)

Do you know your place,
girl?

Am I a girl
a lady
a woman
a human?

Ok, human: where did
you come from?

That is so hard
to answer.

Start from the beginning, then.

In the beginning there was
Boone County and the second born
babe of young Warren-folk.

Mother used to stroll me down
the streets of downtown
Booneville, Missouri.

For less than a year,
that is,
until...

We moved to Littleton, Colorado
where we lived as
a family of four
in a lowly apartment
where my older sis
got beat up on the playground
and somnambulant dad
studied systematic theology.

(He didn't really sleepwalk,
but coulda used a few more Zs)

We moved too much.

Or did we?

I still have a place,
and could mark it out
on any U.S. map:

We were Western U.S. Warrens
and we always had a home.
And not just a dwelling place,
either, but a hearth
that emitted warmth.
Not just from heating
vents, but also - mom.

My place? Is all over.

But I am grateful
for early places.

Strolls down
a small Missouri town
main street

Simpler living
with a half-employed
Seminarian father

And adventures
through the Rockies
in a yellow nylon backpack
on his back.

What is your place, girl?

I mean woman.
I mean lady.
I mean woman.

It is...

right.
here.

In the awareness
of my being
and by being-
loved.

Mary: Bechtel & Blessed Be

2011-12-02T06:51:00.001-07:00

"Mary Visits Elizabeth"
A watercolor painting from my first year in seminary.

I was watching a spy movie last night. Halfway through I realized, "Oh. This wouldn't pass the Bechtel test." It is amazing how many films don't. The Bechtel test is a simple test for determining if a movie represents the female presence adequately or not. "Google" it if you like, but here's how it works. There are three questions:

1) Are there at least two women in the movie and do they have names?
2) Do they talk to each other?
3) When they talk to one another do they talk about something other than a man?

So it's Advent and last night I started thinking about Mary. I was wondering about the story of Mary's chosenness by God, her mysterious conception, treacherous pregnancy and humble birthing experience. I wondered if that story would pass the Bechtel test. I came to the conclusion that it almost wouldn't. Except it does -- because of one scene.

Mary, the newly pregnant young and unwed woman travels to her older relative, Elizabeth's, housein the Judean Hill Country. Elizabeth and Mary are both pregnant despite reasonable explanation. As a married woman, Elizabeth has probably witnessed at least two decades pass with her barren womb. As soon as Mary arrives at Elizabeth's house she is greeted warmly. Elizabeth, who would have been Mary's elder, considers Mary the one worthy of respect. "Blessed are you among women," Elizabeth says. "And blessed is the fruit of your womb. Why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?"*

It was a close call, but Mary's encounter with Elizabeth in the gospels causes this narrative to pass the Bechtel test. There almost weren't two women in this story. But then there are two. And not only do they have names, they name one another. Elizabeth is no longer "strange" in her aged pregnancy, she is affirmed by the presence of another gestating woman. Mary, who possibly could have been stoned by her betrothed spouse, in the presence of Elizabeth is "Blessed-Among-Women." And the subject matter definitely goes beyon the male children in their wombs. What happens between Mary and Elizabeth is a Divine encounter. They understand their pregnancies as spiritual work granted to them by God. When Mary leaves Elizabeth, she is empowered. She is ready to claim her role and even break the news to Joseph, her fiance.

Stories need women who talk to women. Movies need these "Divine encounters." But you can see why they get left out. These encounters change everything. Women talking to women about things other than men? Why that's dangerous! But not just because they are women. This scene between Elizabeth and Mary is more than a story about women. It is about sensing a call to something that might seem crazy and having at least one other voice say, "do it!" So, of course, men need that too. We all need people in our lives who affirm our vocations, who call our work "blessed."

Thanks for reading.

*excerpts from Luke 1:42-45

Light Beginning to Glow

2011-12-01T06:11:00.001-07:00

It's Advent. Well, it started on Sunday. Well, it started a long, long time ago. And, if you asked Wal-Mart, the season in preparation for Christmas started back in October. (Vultures!)

But it is the season of Advent -- a season of preparation, expectation, waiting, beginning.

I made a goal for myself. I would like to try and observe Advent this year with the least amount of sap and sentimentalism possible. We'll see how I do.

And I'll try and post little snippets here and there. Haikus, photos, rambling thoughts that don't ramble on too long. That sort of thing.

And the picture above? I was getting creative with some weird objects. I'm collecting cup lids and I purchased that "lamp cord" from Salvation Army. The artistic "idea" is still in process. I'll keep you posted.

Happy Advent!

"Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad? Why Does My Soul Feel So Bad?" ~ Moby

2011-11-30T10:37:00.001-07:00

So, as of yesterday, I began reading the biblical book of Job. If you aren't familiar with the story line, Job is a blameless man. God and Satan (or "The Adversary") are discussing Job. God is pleased but Satan has his doubts. The Adversary is sure that if his possessions were taken away he would cease his faithfulness to God. God takes the challenge and gives Satan opportunities to test Job. Over the course of the book, Job loses everything. His exhorbitant loss includes: property, children, loyal friends even turn on him, he loses his dignity, repsect, reputation, and his health is threatened.

Job is written as a drama - it is a production with characters entering left and right with short lines or lengthy monologues. The overarching narrative is between God and Satan as they argue about Job's character.

In some ways, Job is midrash on theodicy* with flesh and bones. It is a debate that might seem absurd or irrelevant if we didn't see it played out before our eyes in the life of a man and the misfortune that comes to his family, his business, his estate...his very body.

I joked on Facebook that now (liturgical season of Advent) would be a great time to study/preach on Job. [Sarcasm: enter stage left.]

It was a joke, yes. But maybe this is the perfect time.

Not everyone 'meets Jesus' over these four weeks leading up to Christmas with joy and expectation.

Some may be sitting at home, literally or figuratively, scraping their wounds and threatening to curse God and die. Some of us aren't ready, even in light of lesser tragedies, to declare:

"Naked I came from my mother's womb,
and naked shall I return there;
the Lord gave,
and the Lord has taken away;
blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:21)

But maybe Job wasn't ready, either. His praise does seem a bit pre-emptive, considering what is yet to come.

It is interesting, my study Bible (that has applications for personal devotion) encourages the reader to think about "worship" in light of Job's proclamation in 1:21. Sure, that makes sense. But maybe worship is not limited to that singular verse.

Let's take poetic license in light of liturgical practice, shall we?

Maybe 1:21 is the invocation, the "call to worship," so to speak and the benediction doesn't come until chapter 42. What if everything in between is worship, too? A conflicted spouse's outburst - to "curse/bless God and die" - could that be worship? His friends, when they start to speak, making all kinds of predictions of why God has done to Job what he has -- is that worship? God's challenge to Satan? Satan's cold persistence in tormenting Job? Could these all play their part in how and why and what forms we take in worshipping our Creator?

I think these statements deserve to remain questions to ponder rather than catechesis that insists on response.

Because reading Job? Well, it makes me wonder. And wondering is good for us. And the book, it deals with the mysteries of God, remember? Those aren't solved yet.

And as I wonder, I think about "church" in its many modern day manifestations. It is the place, as Christians, where we worship God. In the expression of Christian worship I am most familiar with we practice through songs, readings, proclamation of the Gospel, a sacred meal, and through our own generosity with what God has given us.

But I wonder if "Modern Day Jobs" don't find a place for themselves in this fine-tuned ritual. I wonder if "Modern Day Jobs" avoid church because they don't feel welcome. I'm fully aware that the opposite is true. Many find solace in the hope offered within the sanctuaries of Christian churches. But are there some who don't? Are there "Jobs" who don't find the church to be a place of solace for the suffering? A place where suffering is understood?

As people of faith, we are called (and hopefully desire) to express joy and find hope in God. But we also need to be affirmed in our sufferings, our debts, our losses, our struggles. This is not because we celebrate suffering, but because it is a part of us. And if it is a part of us, we may as well welcome the mysteries of God to hover over them, too.

Thanks for reading.

*Theodicy ~ Problem of evil

What's the Worst that Could Happen? (A hypothetical dramatization)

2011-11-29T04:55:00.001-07:00

Lately I've been flirting with the idea of writing as a way of life. You know, submitting to journals and magazines, compiling ideas for a book. It is a fun idea, but also scares the crap out of me. When I shared my fear with a friend he said, "Well, what's the worst that could happen?" What I've written below is, of course, not the absolute worst. But it does represent a reality in which my dream would be deferred, stupidly. (To use poetic language, sorta.)

Where was the flow? She longed for the days of exercise, rhythm, discipline Running had long since drifted from routine practice to complete novelty. 8 a.m. came and went, later 9 did the same. At 10, her dissertating spouse would shake her comatose form rigorously. “GET UP!” He would wake her just before departing to go to work as a church janitor. His new employment, in addition to research, teaching, and writing, was an act of desperation to pay the bills. Writing as a paying profession had yet to launch for the woman. She lifted herself slightly from the bed and raised her voice, “will you start the coffee pot?” “Can’t.” He responded. “I’m late and you forgot to set it last night. In fact, I don’t think you even washed it out yesterday. Gotta go. Feed the dog, okay?” She fell lifeless to her mattress and tasted her own breath. “Blech.” She got up and managed to stumble to the mirror. Her hair looked accidentally Rastafarian. Her complexion: seriously adolescent. She brushed her teeth and thought about the next onerous task: cleaning the coffee pot. As she hovered over her espresso maker, she thought about the friend who gifted it to her about a decade ago. She had never bought anyone an espresso maker. She smacked the espresso basket into the sink with a thud and thought, ‘am I a bad friend?’ She shook her head, rustling the less-than-kempt locks and corrected this inquisitive thought with another: ‘whatever.’ She looked at the clock. It was already 11:45. “What the?” She made her coffee and sat down to her computer. “Dog,” she remembered. “Have to feed the dog.” So she got back up and walked into the kitchen. Dishes were piled everywhere. 'This is embarrassing,' she thought. She began to rinse the dishes of their caked-on contents. She opened the dishwasher only to discover it was already full of dirty dishes. She fumbled around under the kitchen sink, among the recyclables stored there, and located the dishwasher detergent which was of course almost empty. “What is the deal?” She accused the soap. She decided a break from “not writing” might do her good. “I’ll just take the recycling, buy some dish soap…” She looked at the clock, 12:30, “and get a donut. I’ll be ready to write after that.” So she dressed herself, tucking unruly tendrils under a loose stocking cap. She rummaged the kitchen a bit more for a cloth bag for groceries. She grabbed her keys, keys…keys? Where are they? Jacket pocket, right. She grabbed her keys and went out the door. With the turn of her key in the ignition she discovered something else. “Out of gas! Of course!” She headed to the gas station. Prices were more than she cared to pay. So, she went to the gas station across the street that was cheaper. After discarding her recyclables, buying a donut and gassing up the car, she returned home. As soon as she pulled into her driveway, she became frustrated with herself. “Dish soap! GAH!” She started her car again and the digital clock blinked on: ‘2:14.’ She wrote 'dishes' on her hand and headed back out, this time to Wallgreen’s, for ease of purchase. When she returned home with the overpriced product, it was almost 2:30. She was greeted at the door by her affectionate lab, Cindy*. She headed to the kitchen to run the dishwasher, looking forward to the white noise. As the dishes started their cycle, she sat once again in front of her netbook and sipped her coffee from over two hours ago. “Cold.” She got up, dumped it in the sink and started over. Her dog came in to check on her. “Hi Cindy,” she sang to the dog, growing weary of her own antics. When she returned to the dining table and flipped open her netbook, she heard a key turning in the door. It was 3 o’clock and her husband was home from his janitor job. “Oh yeah,” she said as the door swung open. “Dog. Feed the dog, right?”

* name changed to protect the innocent canine.

Back Home

2011-11-28T09:51:00.001-07:00

We are back home from a wonderful holiday with Nebraska family. Well, I guess it was the convergence of rural Nebraska, Omaha, Lawrence, KS, KCMO, and Brookly, NY family. But, whatever. FUN!

In the transit of returning home and then trying to return our house to sanity (and grieve the loss of one basil plant that croaked while were away) I haven't had time yet for much thought-provoking writing.

But, I discovered something about myself. I think I might be a "compulsive writer." I recently met a local artist here in Lawrence who was described, or described herself, as a "compulsive artist." I don't want to equate us, but, something about the way she does art has since given me permission for how I write.

So, here are some more haikus. (I don't know if they are "true" haikus, but the 5-7-5 syllable format has been a helpful form for me) I think it's my new favorite medium for "compulsive writing." I wrote 39 "haikus" in the car yesterday while John was driving from Pierce to Omaha. Here's a small selection of the 39:

Was Jesus ever
depressed? What about gluten
intolerant? Well?

Contain your feelings;
put them on a flashdrive. But
don't get rid of them.

Have you ever kept
a fortune cookie fortune?
I did. Then, lost it.

Inane Haikus

2011-11-27T05:37:00.001-07:00

Yesterday we drove from Pierce, NE to Norfolk, NE for lunch. I rode in the backseat and forgot a book, journal, or knitting. I did, however, have tiny folded posted notes in my wallet to write on. So, here's how I occupied my time.

We watched a dumb movie -
did not pass the Bechtel test
I laughed at the movie.

The sun came out. Hey!
Wish I had my sunglasses
but my contacts burn.

This gum lost flavor
but that was twenty minutes
and ten miles ago.

Today, Again.

2011-11-26T08:11:00.001-07:00

I am so thankful for thanksgiving.

And, that I got to watch the Today show -- two days in a row!

I learned that celebrity scandals aren't as engaging as they used to be, so, now they have to be monitored by experts; they are ranked and have to compete for "top 10." (Check your neighborhood grocer for Vanity Fair's findings)

I learned that Twilight fans are called "Twi-hards."

And I'm definitely missing out on more advanced commercials by only having two channels back home.

But seriously, it has been a fun thanksgiving. I even got to see a llama yesterday. And pet a donkey. I didn't buy any flat screen TVs or get trampled at Wal-Mart, and I am a little bit sad about that.

But, I did see a llama.

Thanks for reading.

I can't believe it, I'm blogging about FOOTBALL

2011-11-25T08:37:00.001-07:00

Detroit Lions ~ Ndamukong Suh

Well, sorta.

It is post-Thanksgiving. The extravagant food preparations are done. Now, we all can sit around and feed off the contents of our stomachs. (ew)

But I also got to catch up on "some news." At least, TV style. I usually poke around on nytimes.com and I get my share of public radio.

This morning, while knitting, I watched reviews of Black Friday deals, learned what to do with leftovers, and -- was introduced to Ndamukong Suh.

I don't really "get" football, but I try.

What I do get are strong, human emotions.

And so, Suh's reputation caught my attention.

He is a strong player, articulate speaker, and has brought victory to the Lions (far as I can tell.) But he has brought them something else, too. A video of Suh's "stomp" of another player's arm during the Thanksgiving game went viral afterwards. I have since learned that he is facing suspension for unsportsmanly conduct.

It isn't the first time Suh has been reprimanded for his aggressive behavior. He has been fined several times by the NFL and has the reputation of being a "dirty player" by his peers.

***

Back in May, I was visiting my family in Texas. I noticed a book on my dad's shelf. It was written by a philosopher, from what I can remember, and though I don't remember the title, the subtitle is imprinted on my mind. "Emotions and Choice."

For months now, when I have thought about that subtitle, I've felt like a failure.

(I haven't even read the book, so the fact that I feel like a failure is somewhat unfounded.)

I am an emotional person. Sometimes extreme. Sometimes I say things I wish I hadn't. Sometimes I crumble to tears and I couldn't tell you why. I hate it. It makes me feel ...weak.

It is part of the reason for pursuing the study of the "wisdom literature" of the Bible. If you recall, here's the quote (from my Study Bible) that got me going:

"Often we begin seeking wisdom as a counterbalance to the tremendous power of the emotions and feelings that overtake our attitudes and actions, ruling our lives."

Before, when I thought about that book on my dad's shelf, the one I haven't read but assumed to know it's contents, I thought it was an admonition to ME. (I know, egotistical.) I thought it was a book about women keeping their effusiveness, affection, and tears in check.

Before today, I thought that quote in my Study Bible was "for women." (My mistake. Being a woman and all, I guess I do read things through a lens.) But the truth is, human emotions manifest themselves in a variety of ways.

I think Suh probably hates his aggressive outbursts as much as I hate my falling to tears.

I may be overstepping by saying that, but the statements this NFL player have made -- they don't add up. It's like -- it's like he is trying to rewrite the play, the one from yesterday, anyway, as if it didn't happen. As if it were accidental instead of intentional.

"I don't do bad things."

That's what Suh is quoted to have said after this most recent aggressive play that cost his team the game.

Would it be strange to say I identified with Ndamukong Suh? That's probably a stretch. But his behavior taught me something. Something I should have already known.

The book on my dad's shelf is probably about men's emotions as much as it is about those of women. (It is on my dad's shelf, after all...he's a dude.) And those seeking "counterbalance" to "the power of their emotions," well, that population is probably men and women, too. (the wisdom literature's authorship is attributed to dudes, too, Kendra.)

So, I guess I learned something today. About myself, about a football player, even about God. If I were to pray for Ndamukong Suh I think my prayer would be a direct quotation from the Proverbs. I pray it for myself, too.

"My child, do not let these
escape from your sight:
keep sound wisdom and prudence,
and they will be life for your soul
and adornment for your neck."

Thanks for reading.

Can't Sleep -- May as well BLOG.

2011-11-24T01:07:00.001-07:00

It is almost Thanksgiving. I "should" tell you all the things I'm grateful for. But I'm just subversive and snotty enough not to.

[What a brat.]

Anyway, since I couldn't sleep, I decided to get up. I didn't make myself coffee, so, that was somewhat smart of me. (Since then I would be done for.)

Instead, I decided to read the Gospel of John.

I'm kind of on a Bible kick these days. I hope it doesn't frighten you, readers.

(Sometimes I myself am frightened by "hyper Bible readers")

So I wanted to read John because from what I recall(ed), it is a book about Jesus' life and love -- how he knows he is the Son of God, he knows he's going to die, but, as far as I can tell -- he doesn't exploit that. From the telling of John's gospel, Jesus is humble, generous, and self-sacrificing.

He's also kind of -- funny.

(Is he supposed to be funny? I don't know. Is it weird that I find Jesus funny in the passages that I find him funny? I don't know that either.)

Exhibit A:

In John 6, Jesus meets some "teachers of the Law" and tells them that to be his followers they have to "eat his flesh" and "drink his blood."

Now, I know this is similar wording to the institution of the Lord's Supper. It also foreshadows his death. But if you didn't know those things, it's kind of funny! I mean, his answer to the religious scholars of his day sounds like zombie comics. "I'm glad you know the Torah and all and you and Mosaic code are all jiggy like that but really you need to eat my body and drink my blood, yo. That's what it's about."

Exhibit B:

In John 8, more "teachers" want to test Jesus. They bring "a woman caught in adultery" to him.

Now, this part is actually kind of wicked. The men in this narrative are ready to put a woman to death for the sake of winning their argument.

When they confront Jesus with what the law says he must do, what does he do? Does he pick up the Torah? Does he bow down and pray? Does he preach a sermon?

Uh, no. He doodles in the dirt.

Ok, ok. Some commentaries or interpretations say he "drew a line in the sand." And later, when he does this behavior again, a note in my Bible says that he begins to write the sins of the men down in the sand. But again, if all you did was read this story - it is somewhat amusing. I think it also points to the humanity of Jesus. His opponents are stumping him and he slumps down, writes in the sand, gathers his thoughts. Maybe he genuinely didn't know what to do...? It's funny. Kind of. Maybe because the story has a good ending.

OK. That's enough. Thanks for reading. G'night. (Hopefully...)

Be Both!

2011-11-23T07:16:00.001-07:00

"The Joy of Cooking" from Judy Olausen's book of photography "Mother"

Here's a goofy little poem I wrote this morning giving myself permission to be in this stage I'm in.

Be Both!

Be who you are,
and who it is
you wish to be.

Cook a wholesome
meal for your spouse
while ruminating on
"the dharma"
and then -- watch TV!

Or, do none of these.

Lay in bed in protest - and pout.

Rebel against the day...
protest your chores...
deny that there is work to be done...
renounce belief in your bank account...

And then,
when you're done
with all of that,
get on up --
and out.

Be who you are,
and who it is
you wish to be!

Wisdom & Vocation

2011-11-22T04:42:00.001-07:00

I've never had a "friendly morning face" reputation

My studies of the Wisdom literature in the Bible continue with the book of Ecclesiastes. A popular refrain from the book is "Meaningless, meaningless" or "vanity of vanities." Or, of course, "there's nothing new under the sun."

Ecclesiastes doesn't get a lot of press, but I wish it did. I probably like the book because I'm a misanthrope with a touch of melancholy. If ever there were a church where we all wore dark clothes and listened to Depeche Mode as the call to worship, hey! Maybe there would be a reason for Ecclesiastes wisdom to take center stage.

As I reflect on wisdom and this current season of my life, I am mindful of a childhood essay I wrote. We all write them. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I remember comparing notes with a friend of mine from Seminary. Her childhood essay proclaimed she wanted to be a brain surgeon. Me? Here's the gist of what I wrote at age 7:

In ten years I would like to be married and have a seven year old daughter. I will work part time at a fancy chocolate shop where I walk around with a tray of chocolates for people to try. I will come home and watch TV with my daughter.

???

For awhile, post-seven-year-old, I was a bit embarrassed by my lack of vocational ambition. Why didn't I want to be a brain surgeon? I have no idea.

But looking back, from this vantage point, I am kind of delighted with my 7-year-old self. She was brutally honest in that essay -- to the point of absurdity. (When you're 17 you'll have a 7 year old daughter? Come on now...)

And the truth is, I don't know that I'm that far off from this dream. What was captured in that childhood essay was the desire to be generous, have fun, share, and love.

I still want those things. I really don't want to lose sight of them.

Plus, come on. Wouldn't it be fun to walk around with a tray of truffles as your day job?

Thanks for reading.

This is My Face Wash

2011-11-21T07:41:00.001-07:00

This is my face wash.

Every morning I look at this packaging. Then I wash my face. Then I forget. Wait, did I wash my face? So sometimes I wash it again. [I don't know if I have A.D.D., but I am a bit A.D.D.-ish]

So every day I look at that apricot. Lately I've been thinking, "that's me."

I'm like an apricot. I am usually a pretty inviting, inclusive person. If you want something from me, well, you should have it!

The apricot m.o. for living doesn't always work out, though. Because sometimes people cross you. Sometimes people irritate you or, you know, in the words of the Lord's prayer "sin against you." And then when they cross you, they meet 'The Pit.'

The apricot emotes and shows compassion first and thinks later. And in her thinking, sometimes, regrets. And "compassion" is a hybrid, too. There's vanity mixed in with it.

So, yeah. I'm an apricot. I'll probably continue to do life as an apricot. Apologizing and redirecting when necessary. There are benefits to apricot-dom. I really am a caring person because of this disposition. Or, at least, it is the means for which my care is manifested.

And for me, it is good to make friends with coconuts, so to speak. The coconuts in my life have shown me that trust and love have to be earned. Of course this conflicts with the essence of being an apricot. (In my loose definitions, anyway.) "Wait! What!?" I want to throw a fit. "You don't have to earn me, I am here!" But as benevolent as that cry sounds in my head, in my heart I know it isn't completely true. No one is entirely capable of giving the free gift of self. I think on some level, coconuts are aware of this. I admire that about them.

The truth is, in relationships, whether you are an apricot or a coconut, you can lose touch with love and your responsiveness becomes 'duty' or 'responsibility' instead of graciousness, compassion, gentleness. Love gets co-opted when we insist there is only one way to love.

So, I'm making peace with being an apricot, sure. But I'm also drawing wisdom to myself these days. Maybe I can become an apricot who sometimes plays the role of coconut when the scene calls for it.

So there you have it. The contents of my mind this morning. That's what I'm thinking about these days when I'm washing my face. Wait, did I wash my face today? Hmm.

The Holy Spirit Kicks My...

2011-11-20T05:15:00.001-07:00

This morning I woke up at 5:43 a.m. I went to bed after midnight, but no matter. 5:43. And that was after tossing for nearly an hour.

I realize it could just be insomnia or sleeplessness, but I have another theory.

My theory: the Holy Spirit Kicks Ass. (Mine, to be exact.) Wouldn't that make a nice tee shirt?

Have you ever noticed the scenes in Disney cartoons where little flitting birds lift a full-sized human off the ground and carry them off somewhere?

At the risk of sounding maniacal, at the risk of comparing myself/my life to a Disney cartoon, I'll say it. That's my experience of the Holy Spirit. It's like a small, humming or whistling bird. It is so small that I could dismiss it; but with a persistent enough presence that I notice it.

And the Holy Spirit? She likes to get my attention in the morning. I don't know why. I mean, I'm kind of on a mini-sabbatical from working. Shouldn't I be resting? Shouldn't I be catching up on sleep? Evidently...not.

Why do I get up? What is it about? Reading, Praying, Thinking, Chasing Wisdom? Maybe.

Truth is, I can't prove to you that it is the Holy Spirit. I won't insist it is the Spirit of God that gets me up so early.

But it does happen enough that I think I ought to respond.

So here I am. [HI].

I have described my experience with the Holy Spirit this way before. Like, somehow it lifts and leads me. Not without my participation. Not without my resistence. But it is a force to be reckoned with; a strong, guiding energy.

I don't know. I'll stop talking now. I'm weirding myself out.

So what about you? Does the Holy Spirit kick your ass, too?

Thanks for reading.

Gender.Competition.Boundaries.Wisdom. The "porch" in my psyche

2011-11-19T07:01:00.001-07:00

When we were first married, John and I would often host parties at our groovy apartment in the avenues of Salt Lake City. Inevitably, as the night wore on, a certain number of late night "troopers" would end up on the porch, smoking and talking, into those liminal hours between night and morning. In my recollection, they were always men.

For years now I have worked to be able to hold my own on the porch with the men. I have wanted to present an argument that wouldn't crumble and be challenged in my thinking without falling to tears. Maybe this - in some strange way - is a reflection of Jacob's wrestling in the book of Genesis. Jacob is later renamed "Israel," which means "one who strives with God and man and prevails." So my pursuits are not inflated with vanity alone, but vanity does play its part. I am thirty years old now. I know how to earn my own income and I've achieved two degrees. I have "striven" in many interior battles and through exterior hoops. I haven't been defeated, so, perhaps I prevail. But one thing I have learned is that not all "smoking porches" need to be investigated, not all late night harangues are worth the lost sleep. If my desire is to go through life debating men and proving myself valid, I could do it. I've gotten my "reward." For the most part, these days, I can hold my own. But what does it get me? What is it worth?

It is interesting to me that "wisdom" in the book of Proverbs is personified as female. In fact, the dominant diad in Proverbs is illustrated with women. The "child" many of these admontions are addressed to is charged to follow "Lady Wisdom" and avoid "Lady Strange." Reading Proverbs has been insightful, sometimes funny, once disturbing and also -- validating. Simply by cloaking wisdom and folly in the feminine pronoun gives "her" power.

In these morsels of wisdom, I experience the gentle voice of the Divine saying, "rest your strivings, Kendra. You are GOOD." I am good, I sense, not because of my intellect, not because of my income, not even because of my body. I am good because I am human, created by God. Good because I bear my Maker's creativity in my essence. I am "good" in my very kendraness. So, I think I can put those late night porch conversations to bed. At least the ones from the past that haunt my psyche. I am good enough. I have plenty of thoughts, words, and arguments. And I am still a sucker for a good conversation at any hour. But I also sense that there is no rush, no hurry. There's no need to cram the encyclopedia of my mind into the span of one evening.

And so as I eschatologically wonder, I can't help but picture another porch. It is a"heavenly porch" where the smoke is an offering of incense to God. This particular porch is where words cease. What remains is the mystifying gaze between Creator and creation.

Thanks for reading.

What Would the Fig Tree Say?

2011-11-18T07:56:00.001-07:00

Forgive me if I sound weird, but, I've been wondering about the fig tree. By "the" fig tree, I mean the one in the gospels. (Matthew and Mark) What would he say if given a voice?

It started with our houseplants.

Houseplants are interesting organisms. They live indoors. They receive light and water and grow inside the house. And since they are in the house -- they participate in things. They witness fights, watch movies, brush up against guests. Sometimes they even end up in photos.

Houseplants participate in the "story" of our lives - just by being there.

Now, I'm sure I'm not the first to ask: "What's going on with Jesus and the fig tree?" In Matthew and Mark there is record of Jesus, in his hunger, in his anger, cursing the fig tree.

"May no fruit come of you again!" is Matthew's recollection of Jesus' words. But what about the tree? What's the blacklisted tree's perspective?

"Dangit, Jesus! What did I ever do to you?"

"Somebody missed breakfast..."

"Fine, then I just won't bear fruit."

"Jesus, forgive yourself. You know not what you're doing."

And then, among other fame, the fig tree also shows up in John's gospel. But it's a different story. In John 1 starting at verse 43, a man named Philip is talking about Jesus. Nathaniel, his skeptical friend scoffs. "Does anything good come out of Detroit?"* "Well just come have lattes* with him, you'll see." Nathaniel agrees to this. When he meets Jesus, Jesus recognizes him, calls him "true," and says that he "saw him under the fig tree."

After this seemingly benign statement, Nathaniel recants his skepticism and becomes one of Jesus' disciples.

It kinda makes you wonder...what did happen under that fig tree? Wouldn't I like to know. Wouldn't you. (Wouldn't People magazine...) Maybe Nathaniel was considering taking his own life. Maybe he was contemplating joining the resistance that would eventually put Jesus on trial. Maybe he was fixating on his bad breath and poor haircut. I don't know! But Jesus saw what happened -- and so did the fig tree. That's it.

It is stories like thsee that make the Bible so fascinating. They reveal something while also keeping something else completely hidden. I think that's partly why we keep reading the Bible. There is always more hiddenness to uncover -- at least partially.

Thanks for reading.
And thanks for witnessing. (houseplants)

* I mean Nazareth. That was to see if you were paying attention.
* Am I getting to loose with my paraphrasing? Sorry.

Wisdom & Snags: The "Fight Club" Proverb

2011-11-17T07:54:00.001-07:00

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

This morning started out good. I was feeling pretty tough, went running with my friend Bethany at 6:45 this morning even though it was 19 degrees. Then, I commenced my "wisdom reading" for the day. Things were going well, I cruised through chapters 17, 18, 19 and most of 20 until.....BOOM. Check this out:

Proverbs 20:30 ~ Blows that wound cleanse away evil; beatings make clean the innermost parts.

Wha?

I have since deemed it "The Fight Club Proverb."
I don't know what to do with it. It puzzles me.

Maybe Solomon wants to get our attention. Maybe we're supposed to hold it in tension -- somewhere between the truth and idiocy of something like Fight Club. I CANNOT believe that this Proverb permits violent aggression as salvivic, and yet I would bet my bottom dollar that it has been abused that way. (In fact, I know that parts of the Proverbs have been abused, in disciplining children.)

John and I watched a movie the other night. It's a goofy sci-fi called Equilibrium about a future society where people don't feel. They inject themselves routinely with a substance that protects them against "sense offending." They even have clerics who guard society against "sense offenders." It was a pretty absurd society -- and artless, colorless in its rejection of feeling.

I know I am treading on dangerous ground, but, maybe that's what this proverb touches on. I have learned so far that the Proverbs are all about contrast. The foolish vs. the wise, rich/poor, "Lady Wisdom" and "Lady Strange." The contrasts are almost extreme to get your attention. And maybe challenge our temptation to take them literally.

Maybe this proverb is more poetry than law. Like John Donne who writes, "Batter my heart, three personed God." Maybe it is about relationships, too. I am mindful of the expression, "their words were like a punch in the gut." Sometimes "guttural" words are our teachers, too. Is it better to be "beat up" --- then feel nothing?

I guess I don't know. And I really could use some more "midrash" on this proverb, because to say it's "buggin' me" would be to put it lightly.

Thanks for reading. And...responding. :)

Socks

2011-11-16T09:13:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I met my friend Angela for lunch at the hospital. At some point in our tangential conversation I looked down and noticed this: we both were wearing brown shoes and blue socks. We have different fashion sense, we are different people, different ages. But this delighted me.

Lately I have been borrowing a prayer from my friend Viki. The prayer is this: "Teach me to see what I'm not seeing." Praying this has resulted in deep wisdom -- that sometimes involves pain. For example, in a situation where I've felt wounded by someone else, considering how I may have wounded them, too. Or when I think someone might be just a totally wretched person, this prayer makes me think, "well....maybe there's more to the story..."

But sometimes "seeing what I'm not seeing" also means noticing things like this fashion coincidence.

I'll take it.

Thanks for reading.

A.D.D. Poem

2011-11-15T06:24:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I write poems, prayers....free association...they are almost like lists...just to clear my head so I can move on to what I need to focus on. Here's one:

"Away - Away - Away - Away
...I am bound....away...."
bound
bind the monkey
monkeys jumpin' on the bed
I didn't make my bed,
never do.
Never say never.
Never
ever
Neverland
everlasting
workout equipment
membership
twenty dollars
use it
parking fee
fee station
gas station
road trip
you're a trip
don't trip yourself up,
fool
free
found in God.

Get Wisdom

2011-11-14T07:07:00.001-07:00

"Portrait of Lady Wisdom" by Melanie Rogers

Last week I was compelled to participate in NaBloPoMo. I don't even know how to pronounce that. But it means I'm a daily blogger again. It's been fun.

Yesterday I was compelled to start another daily practice. I'm calling it "Forty Days of Wisdom." From now until a few days before Christmas I am going to spend some time in the "Wisdom Literature" of the Bible.

I recently asked a friend, "do you remember to read the Bible?" I asked not out of judgment but because I'm not as good at this "practice" as I once was.

Being in a relationship with the Bible -- it's complicated. Full of fractures, kind of like the Christian church. But I can't break up with the Bible. You can break up with parts of a tradition, people who represent it, you can even depart from absurd arguments that are based on biblical interpretation. But ditch the whole thing? Can't do it. Even if I went deaf, blind, mute and developed palsy so that I couldn't write anything down, I think my body would still reverberate with scripture.

So, I may as well read it. I guess the Bible and I --- are back on.

Why the wisdom books?

For a myriad of reasons. Here are two that I'll borrow:

"Often we begin seeking wisdom as a counterbalance to the tremendous power of the emotions and feelings that overtake our attitudes and actions, ruling our lives."

~ note in my Bible in the Introduction to Wisdom Literature

"Get wisdom; get insight: do not forget,
nor turn away
from the words of my mouth."

~Proverbs 4:5

I'll let you know how it goes.

Thanks for Reading.

Not Much

2011-11-13T07:39:00.001-07:00

I don't have much brilliance to share with you today -- so sorry.

Yesterday started with me crumbling for no apparent-to-non-Kendras reason.

"You need a hug?" John asked.
"I need love," I sighed and sniffled.

So, it was served up. A day, just me and JT. We walked, talked, ate, drank, listened to music and walked some more. That was our whole freakin' day yesterday. It was divine.

I have a lot of uncertainty in my life right now. I guess we both do. But I'm thankful for a spouse who (seemingly) doesn't tire of my company.

Yeah.

I think that's it.

The Blogosphere: Meet Mark Travis Riggs

2011-11-12T05:39:00.001-07:00

It has been fun revisiting "regular blogging." When I was an undergrad at the U of U I was somewhat of a compulsive blogger. I think it helped me, actually. It was a way to sort out and sift through the contents of my brain.

But I also forgot that there's this whole "blogosphere" or "blogging community," although, that is somewhat of an oxymoron.

In another insomniac internet sleepwalking session, I found a facebook friend's blog.

I don't know Mark very well, but we used to sit in close proximity to one another at the church I served in North Kansas City. Isn't it interesting how you can sit a pew apart for almost a year and not really know a person?

I knew he was a beloved middle school teacher. Now, I think I know why.

Mark's blog is called 365(and then some) of ME!
Each day he has someone take a picture of him before the day is over. That's his blog.

It's amazing what a picture tells you about a person's life. Or location of picture. Or the "spirit" of the picture. Or facial expressions in a picture.

This man I hardly know inspired me today because he seems to love what he is doing and he's been doing it for over two decades.

Mark is a 7th grade math teacher.

I don't even remember 7th grade math. But I bet I would if this guy had been my teacher.

So, happy blogging month. And thanks, Mark, for your entertaining photoblog. :)

The Poet and The Fireman

2011-11-11T05:35:00.001-07:00

A friend shared that he was jazzed about some of the things I've been writing. He said it reminded him of the stuff he and his friends would write about and talk about when they were college students and had the time.

I am in a unique time, I admit it. I'm taking one seminary class and otherwise -- I'm pretty free. I can't sustain this forever, nor would I want to. (Me? My Brain? We need some time apart...)

But I hope that there is always a part of me that is thinking, writing, exegeting -- waxing poetic and being silly at the Dollar General store. (see above)

My friend said he appreciated the time he got to "philosophize" with his friends in college. I'm glad he did, too. I think it has shaped who he is now. He added that with work and family, we become "firemen" (fire people?) and have to deal with the immediate crises around us -- that that takes precedence.

I am pursuing ordination in the Disciples of Christ (Christian Church) tradition. Soon, I will be called to a church to pastor a congregation in some fashion. I won't be in this "season" anymore. And yet, I hope that I am still writing -- even if it is just chicken scratch on a journal at 3am when I can't sleep.

I hope we can be poets and firemen, parents and philosophers, activists and accountants; there are seasons of our lives when one wins out, gets our attention, the proverbial "squeaky wheel," so to speak -- but I hope that these are parts of ourselves that are integrated into the overall fabric of who we are.

I know that I am -- weird. I pose for pictures like the one above. I made a facebook page for a styrofoam head once. (Her name is Sally and she has 40 friends, last I checked) I like comics like 'Red Meat.' Our house is decorated with interesting artifacts from our weird lives.

I also know I have selected a "serious" profession. I don't have a parish right now, but the role is pretty heavy--and heady. You preach -- do you know what this means? You study sacred scripture so that you can share it with a body of people. You help people get to know that sacred scripture. You care. You listen to and pray with the people in your congregation. You officiate signicant transitions in peoples lives: weddings, funerals. You honor milestones in the life of faith - like baptism, first communion, confirmation. You bless a meal and share it with a people inviting them to participate in a feast that Christ started. You stand up to injustice in your community. You develop opportunities for people to hang out, enjoy one another's company, and learn about their faith.

It is a BIG job. And the individual called to do it feels called by GOD.

So, for me, I balance it with the silly. But not just the silly. With writing. And not just writing, but lately, feminist critical theory. (Because all is not resolved in the gender wars in the church) And not just feminist critical theory, but friends. And barbecue. And sitting at coffee shops and just ---- thinking.

Oh, and running. Running is a helpful form of prayer for me. In fact, it's running thirty, so...catch you later. :)

Thanks for Reading

God in the Patchouli & Kombucha

2011-11-10T05:24:00.000-07:00

A phrase has been on rhythmic repeat in my brain - so I better write about it. Here goes:

The kingdom of God is like patchouli; the kingdom of heaven is like kombucha.

I'll go ahead and elaborate.

Last week I was walking homeand I noticed a smell. I was at the NE corner of 11th and Mass Street and across the street at the SW corner I detected the source: an herb/incense/tye die boutique notorious for having incense burning daily outside their front door. As I walked east on 11th I continued to smell the incense. The irony is that there are so many smells downtown: food, alcohol, and coffee aromas; exhaust from cars, the smell of earth and humans --and up wafts the invisible yet detectable odor of incense.

It wasn't patchouli, but when I smelled it, I immediatly thought of patchouli. Why? Because patchouli is suspect. Those who wear it aren't often taken seriously. It alludes to a peaceful, revolutionary generation that gave up on itself. I don't associate patchouli with power suits. The word "power" hardly comes to mind. And yet, once this smell is in my nostrils, I instantly know what it is.

The kingdom of God is like that. Like patchouli. I think it is also like kombucha.

I have a friend who is growing kombucha. It is somewhat of a mystery to me, but I'll describe it as best I can. I was at her house when another guest asked, "what is that" of the jars on top of her fridge. They were large jars that appeared to contain brownish candle wax or possibly even --- lard. No wonder the guest asked, "what is that?" My friend told us it was kombucha and described how she and her housemates decided to grow their own.

Kombucha is a mushroom, a tiny one. So, if I remember correctly you put the tiny mushroom in a jar, add water, wait, and then peel layers (like pancakes) out of the jar to start new kombucha.

"We have more than we need," my friend added, "So we are trying to find other people who want to grow their own kombucha."

Kombucha is a fungus with healing properties. (Try and wrap your mind around that) It is used in an effervescent beverage that seems to be all the rage these days. In health food stores it is packaged in aesthetically pleasing bottles with labels so effective you almost believe the stuff will change your life. It is overpriced, if you ask me. So it is funny to think about my friend's abundant jars of expanding fungus, ready to be destributed to willing growers for free, in contrast to the available-for-purchase, single serving, pleasantly packaged, popular beverages.

Thinking about these two "expressions of kombucha," so to speak, is a reminder that we don't want what is free, abundant, and mysterious. We want to pay for a hyped up smaller dose of what is abundant and free.

Was that a bit preachy? Hmm, sorry. Occupational hazzard.

One more thought...

The kingdom of God is like people who are quietly generous. So humble in their countenance, appearance, volume, gestures- you scarcely know they are there. They somehow catch your attention just as much as they glide on by beneath it.

Thinking about the parables of the kingdom reminds me of a phrase I'm fascinated with. Being "hidden in Christ." It is something I want, and also wrestle with. I want to be "hidden," but I also want to be myself - my expression of humanity. And I would argue that there is a shadow side to considering oneself "hidden" with Christ. As Christians, we know that we are "forgiven." Being forgiven is great, essential to the faith. But we can also hide our culpability, our imperfections within our forgivenness. For example, when we say things like: "I'm so sorry and I'm so bad." It is an honest expression. It is a valid combination of sensations. It is also a confusing message. What do I mean by it? Am I sorry -- do I want to stay there?

Hiddenness in the Spirit of God -- I don't know if it is possible, but when I think about it, it looks like the suspension of my agendas in exchange for the possibility of connecting with the Holy. (So, you know, easy stuff. Right?)

Thanks for reading.

"Please Read the Letter....

2011-11-09T08:08:00.002-07:00

....that I wrote." ~ Allison Krauss & Robert Plant

I am currently taking a seminary class at Phillips Theological Seminary. Contemporary World Religions with Don Pittman. Twice over the fall semester I have travelled to Tulsa, OK to learn, crash course style, about the major and minor religions in the world.

The most fascinating thing that I can't shake from my mind is this idea of religious people being "Textualized People." I learned about this in the context of Islam. For example, when people of Muslim faith make the pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia (The Hajj) they are reinacting sacred teachings from the Qu'ran. People of the Jewish faith have concrete practices like this, too. Like the phylacteries or tefillins that practioners wear, "binding" the scriptures to themselves while they pray. And in the Christian faith, among other things, we celebrate communion. We reinact Christ's final meal with his disciples, "in rememberance of me."

About six years ago I went to church with my parents. It's something I often do when I'm back "home." But on this particular occassion their new Senior Pastor, Steve Hixon, was preaching for the first time at Crossroads Bible Church. Only fragments of that sermon stick in my mind, but there's a phrase that often haunts me -- in a good way. The phrase is: "I am that letter."

I don't remember the specific text, but Steve was preaching on one of Paul's letters. In comparison to the Bible passage, he told a story about a man who had been mentored (I can't even remember if it was a spiritual context -- just that someone had mentored him -- six years later, details are hazy) but he described his life as "the letter." The man who had influenced him, he had enough impact for his "teaching" to be reflected in his protegees life. His life, he said, was the letter his mentor had written.

It was a concept that struck me then and continues to make me wonder. What does it look like to be a person --- who is also a letter? How do we embody the teachings we have internalized?

The Christian faith is full of conundrums. We profess a Messiah who is "fully human" while also being "fully divine." We believe that in "dying to self" we find life. And maybe another puzzle exists: we are "textualized people," "people of The Book." But the most frequent way those texts get read is by people watching how we live them as people of faith.

We have to live into the dialectic - reading and practicing our faith.

And it has to be beyond literal interpretation. Some modern day theologians have pointed this out with their lives. Rachel Held Evans, for example, spent a year literally doing everything that the Bible tells women to do. She camped out in the backyard once a month, she dressed plainly and modestly, she greeted her husband at the gates of her town when he got home from work.

She endured this year long venture to make a point, to pose an argument or "thesis" - even if you claim to be a literalist with the Bible, we all pick and choose what parts of it to integrate into our lives.

Being a textualized people, living by the book of our faith, it's tricky. Sometimes our lives reflect what God is breathing into us, and sometimes, we get it wrong. I think that's where grace comes in. I think that's why that fragment of Steve Hixon's sermon has stuck with me. If I am the letter, if my life is what matters, then that seems a little more flexible -- yet, challenging. I am not just a pair of eyes or lips reading and speaking the biblical text. No. I'm a body, a heart, a hunger, a thirst, a bad attitude, a personality, a passionate being.

And maybe what it means to continually "die" and "rise" in the forgiveness and redemption of God is that I am a letter that is re-worked each day. I am a letter that is a work in progress. [Thanks be to God.]

There are of course other ways that we are "textualized people," too. I can't help but hear the irony in that statement, in 2011. Texting, you know, with cell phones, it has become a way of life. Text, twitter, blog, facebook updates...I'm guilty of this by the way...but it consumes many of us. Sometimes we are a little too preoccupied with our own words instead of the words of wisdom that we live by.

And yet here I am, writing my words which I will link to Facebook momentarily so they are on your radar and you will read them. See? Conundrums abound.

But I still sit with that phrase, whose referent hardly remains in my mind. "I am that letter." Whose letter am I? Who has spoken their wisdom into my life, whose letter is written "on the tablet of my heart," and so on.

When I think about my own life I think it is a letter, like the Declaration of Independence, that has a lot of signatures on it. I am grateful for the peers and mentors, friends, pastors, and even adversaries who have shaped it: my letter, my life. And I hope that this textualized gal bears witness to the Author Almighty.

Thanks for Reading.

DARK

2011-11-08T07:12:00.001-07:00

I am
an eschatological poet
a feminist, perplexed
a somnambulant insomniac
with one petition for the Divine:
When I get to heaven may I
walk alone at night?

The madwoman cannot stay
in the attic forever,*
she'll get hungry and that room-
of-one's-own* is a bit musty these days.

We are
women
and we want to walk
in the cool of the evening
with our Creator.

I believe
in a sisterhood,
but I won't sugarcoat it.

I've known some spiderwomen in my day -
I have been the spiderwoman.

I believe
in the community of the beloved,
but I also fear
being stabbed in the park
after dark.

Come back-- you drift away.

This poem is hope, too.

A fire alivein my eyes to say:
I won't be Lady Lazarus*
or maybe I will
because I rise after.

I won't be "killed into art"
like a glossy Victoria Secret coupon
oozing sex appeal --

Because I am art already
made out of nothing
destined for something.
[Selah]

*Some sisters weighing in on this poem: Sandra Gilbert, Susan Gubar, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, and Lady Wisdom, of course.

National Blog Post Month!

2011-11-07T03:20:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered that November is National Blog Posting Month!

I'm not very good at consistent habits, but I like "seasons" of daily rituals. So, I'll give this one a try. (what the heckifer)

Fall seems like a good time for new practices. I have some friends who will write a novel this month. On facebook, some of them (ok, one in particular) has given updates on the progress of her characters. It has been fun to follow.

It is also "no shave November," and I know of at least one friend who should have a nice, full redbeard by the end of this month.

Some of you remember in October two years ago that I wore the same dress every day for a month. It was an interesting experience -- and sure made me evaluate my excessive (though thrifty) wardrobe.

There is much spinning in the world today. Politics. Bullying. Earthquakes. Economic Stress.

I don't know if I can tackle any of these capital-letter-topics, but, I do like what Shane Claiborne says. The author, speaker and community leader says: "Get ready, God is preparing you for something very, very small."

Maybe the small thing I can do, as I process all that is on my plate, is BLOG.

Readers or not, here I go.

Death Blog

2011-11-01T13:12:00.000-06:00

I possess a general feeling of ennui lately. It compounds, too. Like a bad interest rate. First, I begin to think about how I resigned from my last job. Doubt creeps in. "Well, maybe you couldn't hack it." Then I think about my body, five months and eleven pounds ago. I obsess about those eleven pounds so much you'd think maybe they were another entity - a companion, perhaps. "Well, hello there Cheeseburger Belly! Thanks for stickin' around another day. Hey, wanna play Scrabble?"

But just as all this b.s. and more starts to compound, God speaks.

God speaks to me in strange ways. And just in case I thought I had to earn it, I am reminded of how "earning" is hardly the operative verb in my life at present.

God speaks. And God continues to remind me of his love for the unlikely candidate. The oddball, the misfit, the weirdo.

And so it shouldn't surprise me that my goose chase began when I caught a brief snippet of a story about Amy Winehouse on NPR.

I had just lay down for a mid-morning nap (the kind of thing you work into your routine when you don't have a job) when I heard her name. Something tugged at my heart when I heard it. So I opened my Bible, right? I knelt by my bed and prayed. No. My mid-morning spiritual practice took me to Google. I had looked at photographs of the soulful, beehive-sporting diva months ago, but this time around I wanted to know more about her.

Two things caught my attention, but didn't surprise me. One, she knew she could sing from the time she was very young and sometimes her school teachers even had to shut her up. She started a rap group with a friend of hers when she was 10. But also, in addition to her young talent, she was a tortured soul. She had addictions but they masked a deeper longing within her to be loved.

So, my journey started with Google but didn't stop there. I remembered that Nadia Bolz-Weber had preached a sermon the day after Winehouse's death. I found her sermon and appreciated the connection between Amy Winehouse and the parables of the kingdom. I preached that same Sunday but hesitated to mention Amy Winehouse's self-inflicted death because I didn't think anyone would have found it relevant. I realize I may have assumed this on behalf of my congregation, but assumptions aren't always wrong.

Earlier today I thought up an idea for a personality test. I would call it, "Which Bill Murray Character are You?" Instantly, I thought of Herman Blume from Rushmore. I was particularly remembering the elevator scene at the hospital when he bumps into his friend-turned-nemesis, Max Fisher. Hair discheveled, bags under his eyes, Blume lights a new cigarette from his last one, and splashes some liquor into his Diet Coke can while the elevator door closes. When asked how he is he tells his former friend, "A bit lonely these days."

Thinking about Blume in that scene reminded me of something: my mom's favorite Mary Engelbreit greeting card. On the cover is a round, flowery, gardening woman with hands on her hips and a stern look. The greeting reads: "SNAP OUT OF IT!"

It used to annoy me.

I mean, when you're feeling like a sad and lonely Bill Murray character, do you really want a greeting card that disapproves of your mood, demands that you change?

But sometimes it is what we need.

In the story of Lazarus' death and resurrection, the gospels say that Jesus didn't raise him until he had been dead for four days. Maybe if a Herman Blume self-loathing struck me for longer than four days, I'd take the 'snap-out-of-it' card. This may seem like a goofy comparison, but the truth is that sometimes we're dead and sometimes we're resurrected. We are Lazarus, before and after. Life: with just a tinge of stench from our graves.

Is that a bit much? Well, it is the day of the dead, after all. (humor me)

When I read about Winehouse online today I discovered that she wasn't alone when she died. Her bodyguard was nearby from three days before her death right up until she was pronounced dead. He was aware that she was intoxicated, but then she was often intoxicated. (Just practicing some interprative mindreading there) And isn't it interesting. A bodyguard cannot protect someone from herself. But I wish he could have. I don't even know Amy Winehouse, but I wish the bodyguard could have reached her, perhaps pulling her up with Divine arms, snapping her out of a grave of attachments. I'd like to believe that Christ does that. Is the bodyguard who waits a couple days, a few hours, and then after he can't stand it anymore, seizes the day with a heroic kick-down-door rescue.

But that's not exactly what Jesus' rap sheet tells us. In fact, Robert Farrar Capon in his take on the parables compares God's incarnation as the crucified Jesus to a lifeguard who jumps in after a drowning girl and goes ahead and drowns with her.

Maybe that's a bit morbid. Maybe it sounds hopeless. Maybe it affects how many preaching invitations Rev. Capon gets on Easter.

But maybe it is the right sermon for some of us, sometimes.

Anne Lamott, in her memoir Traveling Mercies, writes about a mystical encounter at an unlikely moment. She experienced Christ sitting at the foot of her bed. She had just crawled there after a night of binge drinking and binge and purge eating. The presence of Christ at her bed was the beginning of something, but it was not a heroic presence rescuing her from her loathesome life. No. It was a steady presence of love that she described as at once comforting her --- and disgusting her.

You might respond the same way to that lifeguard, right?

So, I sense that this is the part of my saga where I conclude things. I am tempted to wrap up this already long post with a nice positive spin on things.

But, hey. It's the Day of the Dead. I might as well just close the lid and come back to it. Maybe in about four days.

Thanks for reading.

Prayer: Genie in a Bottle? More like a Time Release Capsule

2011-10-21T12:04:00.000-06:00

I had a thought (at the end of my run this morning) that prayer is kind of like alka-seltzer. That's cheesy, I know. But sometimes, ok, often, I want the effects of my request to unfold immediatly - like when you're hungry and can satisfy that hunger by eating a McDonald's $1.09 cheeseburger (with extra pickles) in three bites. (Not that I would ever do such a thing.) But prayer - the Spirit of God - behaves differently. As the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins writes, "The Holy Spirit broods with warm breath and ah! bright wings." I like that image. A gentle, slowly unfolded wing in flight; always hovering over, sometimes taking its time to grant us her maternal shade.

I know I want to be a patient, grace-filled, joyous person. But sometimes I am a charging rhino of emotion. Or, I am the hungry cheeseburger eater. (Lord, Have Mercy...) But what I'm discovering is that grace means I can allow those parts of myself to unfold, too. Even love them for what they teach me. And in the meantime, as I seek those Divine Wings hovering over my life I await - in faith - the unfolding results of who I am yet to be.

Thanks for reading.

Dreaming the Eucharist

2011-08-13T13:30:00.000-06:00

About a week ago I had an amazingly vivid dream. I woke up with a pristine memory of it...and also totally disoriented. Why is my alarm going off? What day is it? What's going on? (That kind of thing)

In the dream, John and I were throwing a backyard party. Our 'dreamy' backyard was huge and lit with strings of pearl-like lights illuminating the crowds who were busy enjoying themselves. At one point in the dream, my grandma Trudi is having the best time catching up with old friends (yes, somehow my grandma and her friends are partying with us) and she asks, no, I think she kind of orders me to make her a margarita. A blue one. (The preciseness of this fascinates me later.)

When I go in to play bartender, my aunt Lynne comes out of the bedroom, arms full of babies. BABIES!? Babies of all different creeds, cultures and nationalities. She hands a few to me, I guess, to distribute to our guests.

When I woke up from this dream, I was happy.

After a week's reflection, I think I was dreaming the Eucharist.

When I think about "the world as it should be," ok, I'll fess up -- it looks like a party. A celebration. People enjoying themselves, feasting, drinking, cackling and guffawing like no one cares; and telling their stories. The night sky darkening as we all lose track of time and feel safe to be vulnerable in one another's company.

This is my lens, so, I'll own it and claim it with my own projections and preferences --- but I think it is what Christ intended in the Eucharist. "Feast on me," I can hear him saying, "be good to one another...all the different kinds of one anothers...bust out the good wine....or cream soda....or tequila...and when you do this, remember me."

Now I'm a fan of Jesus' first miracle, turning water to wine, but I know some who wrestle with it. Why did Our Savior condone drunkenness?? But I think it is a story about more than getting sloshed on the good juice. It is a story about the abudance of an incarnate God. It is a manifestation of grace. It is a preview of the Last Supper.

I don't necessarily think that has to mean it is a permissive doctrine of delinquent drunkenness. The fun thing about parties is looking forward to them, in my opinion, not just within the span of 24 hours.

And I think we've gotten too cautious in how we celebrate the Eucharist. Think about the last time you took communion. Did it feel like a celebration? Did it feel like a feast? Or did it feel like you got cheated with your thimble of grape stuff and microscopic piece of cracker? (Sorry, more of my lens here....)

I served a Lutheran Church for 2 years and remember communally singing over the elements, "THIS IS THE FE-E-E-EAST OF VIC-TOR-Y FOR OUR GOD! ALLELUI-A, ALLELUI-A....AH-LAY-LU-U-U-IA!"

That was fun.
And it was pretty celebratory.
But not too 'feast like.'

It is my observation that we tend to reserve our church feasts to potlucks where the guest list can be a bit more controlled and everyone pitches in, don't we?

So I hope that I continue to "dream the Eucharist," however scandalous that may sound. What it looks like to me is a conglomerate of family, dear friends, total strangers, and perhaps even some peripheral enemies .... sharing food and beverage and "consuming" grace rather than being consumed by what differences stagger between us. It is a beautiful picture.

Thanks for reading.

Recalling Ministry

2011-07-14T21:38:00.000-06:00

I found a photo today. One of my favorite photos of me in a robe. (There are very few) I am hugging Marge, a homebound member of a church I used to serve. In the photo all you can see are my grasping, hugging arms; robed sleeves hanging loose, and a smile - eyes closed - clear across my face. You can also see Marge's back. Her white, whispy hair and the blouse she's sporting; a busy top with a colorful mosaic of tiles shaped into paisleys springing in various directions.

It's amazing how photos flood you with memories.

I miss being a "minister of care," but I do not miss that wheat-colored robe. I'm glad that I'm smiling because I reluctantly donned that robe each week. Sometimes I wore it more frequently - if we had a funeral or something.

But looking at the photo made me remember the occasion, too.

The photo was taken at a "Fellowship Communion" service almost three years ago. Those services were a kind gesture on behalf of our church; a mid-day communion service with a brief homily and lunch served afterwards. They were geared toward our elderly and homebound members. Another snapshot I have from the same day is of two women in their mid-90's, Pauline and Martha, clearly caught up in an argument. What I can't recall is whether it was over which of them was the oldest or who attended church longer. Either way, this long time friendship (and their longstanding argument) amused me.

What's not as delightful to remember is that "Fellowship Communion" was a program spearheaded by our Evangelism and Outreach committee. Our E & O committee, themselves elderly for the most part, believed the purview of their mission was to care for our 90+ year old members who couldn't remember how long they had been attending church. Some of whom (okay, maybe just one) lamented when the German Lutheran Church switched to English speaking services. (I can see Pauline shaking her head, "That's when it all went downhill...")

I will forever cherish my photos from Fellowship Communion and other memories at this particular parish. But I think I'll also be perplexed by the misconception of the terms "Evangelism" and "Outreach." (For example, they took the summer off. We don't need to evangelize in the summer, after all. I'm picking on this committee, aren't I?)

Anyway, I hope it always troubles me; like enduring a pebble in my shoe. In reflection, "Evangelism" probably should have looked more like getting to know our neighbors. (But we were too busy for despising them for being lousy landscapers and loud, late-night partiers.)

I can't change what I didn't do at my previous post. And I could probably cut myself some slack. I was the non-ordained, second-in-command whose call at that time and in that tempest was to be an angent of healing, creativity, and maybe even continuity -- not necessarily radical change.

One day, maybe even in my current position, God will call me to be an agent of radical change. I hope I respond. The temptation, like with my congregation at the prior parish, is to reinterpret that call into comfortable terms.

I could see how I could do that. Transient as I've been, I could hop from lily pad to churchy lily pad being an agent of comfort and continuity rather than an agent of change and consternation.

My prayer is that I've learned something -- am always learning, I hope. I know that I could remain the same, but I pray that God will show me otherwise.

Thanks for reading.

Calm Down

2011-07-02T08:38:00.001-06:00

You better
calm down
watch out
cool off
chill down
let it go
breathe deep

you better
forgive
eat some greens
relax
take a nap
sit still
lie down

you better
watch out
be careful
take it easy
slow down

you better
go to the doctor
check your blood pressure
get your teeth cleaned
decrease your fat content
take supplements

shouldn't you
have a baby
buy a house
quit your job
get another job

stay home
be a woman
be a wife
be a mother

you better
calm down.

Forgiveness

2011-06-23T08:42:00.000-06:00

Here's a poem I wrote giving myself permission to forgive.

Release the grip
Let go of judgment;
that which I give
and that which I receive.

Grasp L O V E.

live love.

give love.

channel the fool;
be silly,
be loose

not
too
serious.

Forgive, already!?!?

Forgive all who've wounded you
those who surprised you
with their hurt....

Forgive yourself
Let go of self-inflicted wounds
lest they creep into you psyche, your shadow side...

Forgive your shadow side.

Forgive God-
for all the things allowed and not allowed to happen
Forgive God for not being made in your image.

Forgive....
.....and let go.

Forgive the mail man for not bringing anything good.

Forgive yourself on the mail carrier's behalf -
for assuming she would be male.

FORGIVE ALL:

Others, mothers, God, strangers -

and welcome Christ
not only into you,
but to surround you
hold you
when you cannot hold yourself up
on your own.

Friday Five: 5 Moments of Insight, Discovery, Awareness

2011-06-10T20:11:00.000-06:00

My friend Sharon inspired me. So, here are five moments in my life that have either taught me something or brought some sort of insight.

1. I remember my baptism. It's kind of funny because I went to a seminary that was always rehearsing the line, "Remember Your Baptism," but most people couldn't -- because they were baptised as babies. Well, I can remember mine, but my tradition never told me to - growing up, anyway. So, what I remember about my baptism is that it happened at the High School across the street from our church. I was wearing a pink dress with polka dots on it with my swimsuit on underneath. We had a pool party afterwards. Maybe that's sacreligious, maybe it's festive....either way, I remember my baptism.

2. I remember going to family counseling to support my uncle who was an alcoholic and an addict. I remember sitting in a room with other addicts and their family members. I remember my uncle saying to his brother, "You're so tan!" and then hugging me and saying, "Kendra! You have pimples!" I also remember one addict trying to make excuses for his behavior. The counselor interrupted him and stood up to write BULLSHIT across the entire length of the chalkboard in the classroom. As a pre-adolescent, this amused me.

3. I remember when my dad announced to our family that we would be moving back to Texas from Utah. I remember sitting on one side of the upstairs living room while the rest of the family sat on the other side. "I'm not going," I said, with the boldness of an 18-year-old know-it-all. I stayed in Utah. I stayed in the state I was reluctant to move to in the first place. I completed my B.A. in Utah, I met my husband in Utah, and I sensed a call to ministry while living in Utah. I lived in Utah over six years - the longest I've lived anywhere since I was a child.

4. I remember "bad Friday." The day John and I figured was the end of our short-lived relationship. Instead of the end, it ended up being a beginning. That Friday was over a decade ago.

5. I remember my first day of my first full-time job, post-seminary. I remember getting a tour of St. Martin's, the Lutheran School I would work in as their Assistant School Director. I remember filling out paperwork for health insurance, I remember ordering business cards and getting a new computer. I remember feeling like a "grown up," even if I was over-qualified and underpaid. It was a "real" job and I took pride in it.

they call me the wanderer...

2011-05-30T03:23:00.003-06:00

I've been thinking lately about the moves we've made as a married couple.
I've learned how to be adaptable.

Recent wandering experience: train travel

Or, at least, I hope I have.

I try to exhibit a willingness to change. I probably "chameleon" a bit. I mean, I'm always Kendra, but I am willing to adapt to what Kendra in Kansas, Colorado, Texas, Utah....etc....might look like.

But there are definitely easier climates in which to be myself.

Was I a late night philosopher? Not really. Did I ever fit in with tattooed hipsters, workin' on their music, biking to work at their coffee shop/record store jobs without helmets...? Hmm, now I'm feeling inadequate. What about commuting to go to Bible church in the 'burbs with the corporate transplants? That was more my parents' gig than mine.

But, some things really do fit.

Like biking on the Spring Creek Trail to Cafe Ardour or New Belgium Brewery, now we're talking. Or wandering around Mass Street. Or piling into a crowded sports bar and rooting for KU basketball. YES! That fits. Then there's hiking the Wasatch Mountains when it's sunny and warm...but still snow on the foothills.

YUMMY.

And Austin. Oh, Austin. What about Austin was "me?" Definitely the weirdness. I miss the usual suspects on the drag - some of them in drag. :) I miss all the outdoor patios. Going out for coffee, Tex-Mex cuisine, or beers...being able to do so with actual sunlight or night breeze on your shoulders (more like humidity...) really makes the experience.

I miss being a seminary student.

Well, some of the experience.

I miss meeting some like-minded individuals...earnest seekers who wanted to turn passionate faith into the pursuit of vocation. I miss Cindy Rigby who would bust out in song in Sys I class. I miss the way Andy Dearman said "Megiddo" with his whole body. I miss Stan Hall's insights on the worship arts -- and his dry humor. I miss Ismael Garcia's nervous wink. I miss the way David White made us do stuff - like, experience "Godly Play" - as grown ups! Complete with floor-sitting and crayons.

I miss the Texas Hill Country, Live Oak trees, jogging next to Town Lake, studying theology with a cup of coffee at Mozart's right out on Lake Austin.

It has been a good experience to live so many places.

A part of me has come alive everywhere we've lived.

Maybe it doesn't have to mean that I'm a chameleon. Maybe it means I'm just permeable.

So, how about you?

What have the cities and towns you've lived in taught you about yourself?

Thanks for Reading.

SIN BOLDLY

2011-05-09T20:57:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about Martin Luther lately. (It happens.) I've been thinking of the oft quoted and probably misrepresented phrase he coined, 'sin boldly.' A lot of times it has been used to justify bad behavior or indulgent practices. I even bought my dad a pint glass that says 'Sin Boldly Lager' and has this very portrait on it. (Ok, that's amusing though.)

But with the help of some other pastor types who have been pondering this phrase, I've been thinking about it in new light. I now see Sin Boldly as a call to be oneself. We have to be ourselves, who God created us to be. As a result, we will find ourselves caught in conundrums from time to time. Sin Boldly is a statement about God's grace. We cannot continually remain on the precipice of action. We cannot be hesitant our whole lives. We must act, trusting God to carry us, even if we get carried away.

So what about Jesus? Did Jesus 'sin boldly'? I think he did. According to what the religious leaders considered "lawful" or "just," Jesus sinned left and right. Jesus broke the laws of Sabbath to heal his people. Jesus befriended the outcasts, against the better judgment of those in power. Jesus had a theological conversation at the well with a woman from Samaria. What was he thinking!?!

So, I'm considering this phrase, what it means, who it is for. I think it is a call to all humans. Not that we should go around fornicating, killing, or, I don't know, peeling those forbidden stickers off of mattresses...but maybe in this phrase is a call to be human. To live into God's grace just by wrestling with the incompleteness and imperfection of being human.

Thanks for Reading.

The Piano and Me

2011-04-19T10:50:00.002-06:00

As a kid, I dropped out of a lot of things. Girl Scouts, Violin, I even got into African Dance for awhile...ditched all of these. In Kindergarten my mom put me in piano lessons, like she had done with my sister, but...it didn't take. Problem was, you have to SIT DOWN to play the piano. (Unless you're Tori Amos...or maybe Elton John)

But I think I've always loved the piano. I even tried to have a friend teach me piano again as a teenager. Still it didn't take. I'm probably just going to have to be a "piano appreciator."

By the way, one of the musicians I've admired for half my life now IS a pianist, I mentioned her above. Her name is Tori Amos. Watching Tori perform is hypnotizing. She swivels between two pianos and doesn't skip a beat. She plays two pianos and sings, croons at them...practically wooing them to her touch. She may offend some of you reading this, I won't lie.

And one other place that I fell in love with piano music was at a church I served in Fort Collins, Colorado. Now, our Sunday morning worship was not always my favorite. Our traditional worship was a bit stringent at times and our contemporary worship was a bit too liturgical. But, on Wednesdays in Lent, I experienced the Holden Evening Prayer for the first time. When I stepped into this sung prayer service, I stepped into something timeless. And it came to be the service that held me in difficult times. So, it continues to be timeless.

And difficult times continue, too. That sounds intense, or dramatic, I'm sure. But the journey of the soul, the process of figuring out who you are, sleeplessness, restling with boundaries, battling against the past...these things surface again and again. For me, lately, I have been in a process of being reclaimed as a child of God, just for who I am, not because of what I've done or avoided doing or remembered meticulously to repent for. And so, I've invited the Holden Evening Prayer service back into my life. My friend Joe sent me three copies of the service a few weeks ago so I could read and sing it.

Well, it is more fun to sing with piano music, in my opinion. So, a person immediately came to me: Judy, our faithful pianist at First Christian Church. I recently learned that the name Judy means: "praise." How fitting. So, Judy welcomed my zany idea: a 'singing date.' We gathered yesterday to sing a service that was foreign to her and beloved to me. We sidled up to one another on the piano bench, she as an expert, me as an appreciator, and we sang. We worshipped God. I nearly fell to tears.

I learned last year that the piano, in church history -- even recent church history --- was considered 'a tool of the devil.' This just delighted me. I had to laugh. Haven't we always seen 'instruments' of music, styles of music, hypnotic beats, haven't they always threatened our sense of control? When the Holy Spirit is at work, it seems nothing can be predicted. Not unlike a string of jazz riffs or even trippy electronica music. What's coming next?? Who the heck knows!! Roll with it...

So, yeah. Pianos. I think they're groovy. Music helps me pray, release...let go. So I am thankful for a congregation. A prayer service. A friend. And that darned piano that I never learned to play...and that's okay, too.

Thanks for reading.

SIAHAMBA!

2011-03-23T23:20:00.003-06:00

Kendra & Tiffany: Pastors on a mission to relax a little...

mission accomplished!

Back in 2005, I was a part of a congregation in Austin, TX for awhile called Saint Hildegard's Community. (They were aware enough of the wounds of traditional church that they didn't even call themselves "church.") Anyway, one of the practices of this liturgical, participatory community that I miss is we would often process to the communion table, in a circular fashion, singing - sometimes with tamborines and drums - a song called Siahamba. The main message of this simple song: We are Walking in the Light of God. And we did. We walked, danced, marched, lilted to the feast of God as a community wanting to delight in God's light.

Last week at Faith Junction, which is the children's program I pastor, we acted out the story of Jesus washing the disciples' feet. I set a table with bread and juice, I placed a tub of soapy water on the stage, and I invited a 3rd grade boy to take off his shoes and socks and let me wash his stinky feet. In some ways, our skit fell flat. I don't care. If nothing else, the kids got a laugh out of it. What is more funny to those ten and younger than making a joke about something stinky?

This week, Tiffany and I got a little bit of break from our usual unrelenting programming. (I don't mean 'unrelenting' in a negative way, I don't. But, come on. Let's be honest...it never stops!) So anyway, it is spring break, and although we didn't get a week off from our jobs, we did get a little bit of extra time. So, the epiphany came to me: Tiffany and I, instead of our usual Wednesdays (I have Faith Junction and she has Midle School youth group to lead) we should do something for ourselves. So, here's my interpretation of John 13 for you. No, we didn't wash one another's feet. We submitted ourselves (tough break, right?) to well over 30 minutes of heavenly foot-pampering. We got "spa pedicures."

It's a little indulgent, right? I mean, some of you are reading this right now and letting your jaw drop. Maybe you are thinking, "How can she compare a pedicure to what Jesus did for his disciples? He bathed their feet. He knew one of them would betray him! He knew he was on his way to his execution!"

I know. It's crazy. I shouldn't make the comparison.

But I did it anyway.

In ministry, I think we "wash our disciples' feet" all the time. (Or, at least, I hope we do...) We serve in the midst of injustice, we pray in the shadow of deceit, we work even as our feet ache for a rest from the road of our journey in all the ways we "do" church.

Hmm...where was I going with that? I don't know. I kind of lost my train of thought.

But here's what I know....my time at St. Hildegard's is behind me, going on 6 years now. And yet, the echo of 'Siahamba' still sings to my soul. We have to renew our spirits, replenish our souls, give our weary feet a rest (or even a makeover) in order to continue "marching in the light of God."

Thanks for reading.

Throw Me in the Briar Patch!

2011-03-18T20:25:00.000-06:00

My Lenten Theme Shirt

The other morning I was riding my bike to a friend's house. It was early, dark, and cool. The ride was invigorating. I was traveling by bike instead of car because I ditched driving for the liturgical season of Lent. It is a Lenten tradition to give something up in order to experience sacrifice and loss; not unlike what the Divine experienced in the limitations and temptations of being human. I wanted to pick something difficult, something I would actually miss. In some ways, the car sacrifice picked me.

And so far, it's been blessing me.

So on my bike ride earlier this week, the phrase came to mind, "throw me in the briar patch!" I was thinking about the fable of Brer Rabbit. If you remember the story, Brer Rabbit was a trickster who was always in a battle of wits with Brer Fox. Well, one day, Brer Fox was thinking of all the ways he might torture Brer Rabbit once he caught him. "Do whatever you like," Rabbit said, "Just don't throw me in the briar patch!" Well of course, that's just what he wanted - and he got it, outwitting his foe the fox once more.

Well this Lent, the sacrifice of giving up my car has been like that briar patch. To many, myself included, giving up automotive transportation would be a sacrifice and loss. But so far, it has been full of surprising gains.

Because I'm not driving, I've noticed more of the natural world around me. Grass shoots springing from winter soil. Squirrels, rabbits, neighborhood cats. Birds communicating through song, across the telephone wires. I've had to lean on the generosity of friends for rides. I started riding my bike again and as I ride, the rhythm of pedaling inspires me to sing! (In my head...) I've also decided to "tithe" my gas tanks. ($38 last time we filled up....gasp!) I'm trying to find creative ways to put that money to use elsewhere - blessing others.

It's as if in my Lenten pledge I said, "Go on, God! Throw me in the briar patch!"

I'm sure there will be obstacles (there's already been snow!), but I am enjoying this journey and the way it is forcing me outside of an introverted, isolated way of getting places. It fits the season of Lent, I think, as it is providing me with gifts within loss and sacrifice.

Thanks for reading.

STINK.

2011-02-27T22:04:00.000-07:00

I probably think too much about my stink.

Shall I lean in to kiss you
with my worked-all-day breath?

What if when
you hug me you
accidentally
touch
my clammy armpits?

What if
I giggle so
unabashedly
a FART slips out?

I guess
I am willing
to take the risk
- nearly, almost -
with all of myself.

Because I think
I actually like stink.

These familiar smells transport me...
skunky beer
a sweaty forehead
salt and vinegar potato chips.

There's even
something
comforting
about the unshowered smells
of my fellow shoppers
at the co-op.

A smoker's car,
for instance,
doesn't bother me so badly.

Am I just trashy?

Or,
does the stink of life
smell like
creation being redeemed...?

Perhaps this is all too deep -
hand me
my antipersperant spray, please.

Inspired

2011-02-26T21:54:00.000-07:00

My friend Sharon inspired me. So, here are some pictures from my town...Lawrence, Kansas. ENJOY!

Cute couple. Her handbag and his jacket are matching!

Having fun @ Gucci Dillon's!

I really liked this woman's flowy pants. Hey, there's our bank!

Cool band at the Jazzhaus

"Dude, I got a beverage here!" (its Root Beer)

street musicians on a sunny day (I kinda covet her dreadlocks)

I noticed these boys when I was walking out of Starbucks...they brought their pogo sticks downtown. Pogo sticks!

a coupla musicians at the Jazz Haus. I think they were cool, but it was pretty late. YAWN! Once upon a time 10pm was early...(Dig the accordian!)

this may be my new favorite sermonizing spot: couch toward the back of Signs of Life, with a power strip all to myself! (drool, drool...)

Phone Poem

2011-02-12T11:55:00.000-07:00

I have a love/hate
relat-
ionship with my
smart
phone.
(Not always smart)

Today
I kept muting
my voice
with my face.
(By accident)
And then hanging up on people,
too.

But I love
my smart
phone. (Pizza
love, anyway)

Today on
my smart
phone I texted
with mom,
siblings,
friend
employee.
I delayed
a check
planned a flight
arranged a road trip
talked to my sister
while walking downtown
and simultaneously was inspired
to share an espresso
on a sunny day
with my pastor friend
(while she was still in Colorado.)

As a postmodern gal,
I almost
can't not
have
a
smart
phone.

Are you sick yet
of me
saying
smart phone?

It is never
more than
four feet
from my person.

My phone.
My texting,
email,
camera,
device
is never more
than a person
from my person.

I don't even let people that close,
for that duration.

I allow a device
for which I make monthly payments
to be my closest (nearest?) companion.

I need you,
smart phone.

But I need other objects, too.

Underpants
corrective lenses
lip stuff
hand cream.

I think that's all I have to say about that.
(I am, after all, sitting in on a lecture and should probably pay attention...)

But it is interesting
(Or maybe
I've bored you to death)
reflection
on the intimate precidence
objects take
in our lives.

In the Quiet Circle of God's Kindred

2011-02-02T23:29:00.000-07:00

In the Quiet Circle of God's Kindred
(Reflecting on Mark 3:20-27 and other stuff)

You cannot serve two masters.

Your heart struggles,
expands, contracts, subsides...
ebbs/flows ebbs/flows.
the more you follow the louder
the voices of dissent become.
Sometimes from within,
sometimes from the throng.

I don't know about your ego,
but a negative inner voice is barely tolerable;
let alone the doubt and destruction....
of an entire crowd.

The throat monsters come
but as you swallow down
remember...remember...

to bind the one whose power cripples you
in order to
let loose the goose
that wants to free your soul.

Merry Christmas from the Thompsons in Kansas

2010-12-18T08:35:00.002-07:00

Poem for the Third Sunday in Advent

2010-12-12T20:52:00.000-07:00

How can this be?
What are you asking of me?
Or is it-
even-
you?

What will we do?
Food? Shelter? Employment? Status?
We can be so distracted --- sometimes.

But, behold: you are God.
The Divine Light
that with fright-
ening joy
pierces our darkest
days; warms us from within
the cold winter wind...
you have set these paths,
not me.
(holy,holy)

Baptism, Some Thoughts.

2010-11-19T11:36:00.000-07:00

As the Children's Pastor at First Christian Church in Lawrence, I will have the opportunity to baptize some kids pretty soon. It is exciting! And, a little intimdidating. So, I decided to write some thoughts, "free-writing style," about baptism. Enjoy.

What do I believe baptism is about?

I believe we make confessions of faith - however incomplete they may be - but we recognize that our salvation doesnt rest in what we proclaim about God. The reality of our salvation is that we are held by a God whose love and grace are so big and unending that when we say "I do" to that reality the floodgates of that love and grace are let loose and wash over us like waves in a wave pool.

The heavens rejoice! The Spirit moves! The beloved community expands!

And there is mystery.

We don't have to have all of our "theological shoelaces" tied. (I heard this phrase from my Bible Church Youth Pastor) In our proclamation of faith we say "Yes" to God, but I think we are only able to return this "Yes" because God's "Yes" resounds so loudly and has been reverberating in our ears so long we are finally ready to concede. (OK, I borrow some of that from Karl Barth) We discover that God loves us, even when we were not so loveable. Our "Yes" is a yes of surrender. "Yes. I give. I'm yours. Life with You is better than life avoiding You."

I guess that's why we should be baptized. Not because it will reduce our sin quotas, though it is possible that will be a side benefit. I think we get baptized because we are: (as the Lutherans taught me)

beloved children of God
sealed by the Holy Spirit
marked with the cross of Christ
forever
and no human or creature can take that away from us.

These are my thoughts. Some good friends helped me find them along the way.

"Morning" by Billy Collins

2010-10-17T06:25:00.000-06:00

I was thinking about this poem this morning, since Sundays are by far my earliest "work day." Enjoy.

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening.

then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?

This is the best--
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso--

maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins--
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,

dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,

and, if necessary, the windows--
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.

Tales of a Crappy Blogger

2010-10-04T22:05:00.000-06:00

I can't believe I haven't blogged in over a month - almost two. GASP! This is me, the used-to-be-obsessed-with-blogging ...daily, sometimes even twice a day. But you know, technology gets slow. I guess (sorry, blogger- blame facebook. blame twitter) blogging got a little slow for me.

So, speaking of slow technology, remember the mixed tape? I believe it was the love letter of the 90s. Not always romantic love, but definitely the "so you think you dig me? you don't even know the half of it. check out my awesome* taste in music."

* this word may be replaced by less favorable adjectives as time progresses.

Anyway, I recently heard that the Deftones were in Lawrence, Kansas. Rumor has it they even played a free show. I don't know if I'm excited about this or sad to have missed it - or, if a remnant of my high school self is sad and excited - but it made me go hunting for a mixed tape with a Deftones song on it.

Now, I know. I could have just gone on youtube and found that song and heard it instantly. But, well, I guess I was feeling nostalgic; primative, maybe. I didn't want the youtube version. I wanted the Kendra tape version with the transition into Urge Overkill.

I know it is cliche, but it fascinates me how quickly things change. 7 years ago I started this blog. In 2003, push button publishing - just text not even pictures or links or anything - seemed so amazing. Now we can send pictures from our cell phones to facebook pages and have comments or 'likes' within seconds. In 1997 I started driving. My dad took me around to look at a whole bunch of clunkers. The only feature I cared about in a car was whether or not it had a tape deck. In 2006 I worked at a prep school for 5th-8th graders. They didn't even know what a tape deck was.

So: casette tape, blog spot. Hi. You (tape) take more patience than youtube and you (blog) don't allow for instant, constant feedback and affirmation. But here you are....and you are a part of me.

Thanks for reading.

"I may be young, but Doc can tell you I'm very immature..." ~ from the movie 'Mumford'

2010-08-14T11:19:00.003-06:00

WOW. It's been a long time since I blogged. I didn't blog ANY of July, and the first half of August skipped by without so much as a keystroke.

I have had a whilrwind summer with lots of good stuff in it. Job transition, Colorado vacation, friend visits, Vacation Bible School at new job, road trip and Performance Poetry Retreat in Ohio with my dear friend Rev. Sharon, road trip with JT to Nebraska to see some Thompson fam, Warren parents come to Lawrence, and last weekend I got to join two new but dear friends in marriage at a lovely winery in the Ozarks.

SIGH! That's A LOT!

So, for the first time since the end of June, I had a non-eventful weekend. It was LOVELY.

As you can see, from above, I entertained myself.

My stylist taught me a new trick with hairclips (you know about me and hairclips, right?) that I probably got a little carried away with. But I've always had one dimensional hair! So, for an evening, I adopted an alter-ego, 80's-fro-style.

And then, this morning, I invented a new coffee drink. Ok, probably a Chris Columbus type invention, but here goes. I call it my "Iced Vanilla Nut Mocha." (I even reused an Arby's cup) First, I 'chilled' the plastic cup. Then, I brewed 2 shots of espresso. While those were going I spread some Nutella on the inside of the cup and filled it with ice. THEN...I added hazelnut agave nectar (alternative to sugar) to the espresso. Then, I poured the espresso over the ice and stirred it up, adding vanilla soymilk to my preference. (the shark, from local Lawrence bar, "The Sandbar," was my cheerleader through the whole inventing process)

Anyway, it's been a relaxing weekend. I think if I can have more weekends like this one, I can remain a healthy minister. I was in need of some rest, I think. (Albeit, goofball-Kendra-style rest)

Thanks for reading! I hope to blog more now that I've landed back home.

Remember When We Were Mountain People?

2010-06-29T23:42:00.002-06:00

John and I watched a movie the other night that we found on Netflix Instant Watch. It was an independent film called 'Southbounders' - about a young woman who postponed going to medical school in order to hike the Appalachian Trail from Maine to Georgia.

I've never hiked in the South, nor East. Most of my wilderness experiences have been in Colorado and Utah. But watching this movie made me miss a former life I had - life near the mountains.

I don't know if I would go back to that former self, but at times, I miss the closeness of the Wasatch Mountains in the Salt Lake Valley. I don't need to re-live our stint in Fort Collins, but there are times that I miss the Poudre River. I miss watching its rapids and gathering smooth rocks along the riverbank near the Grey Rock trailhead.

The movie made me hungry for something simpler; for a lifestyle that entails walking with all that you need affixed to your back. I don't want to romanticize it too much, but I will admit that I am drawn to life in the woods and mountains and the closeness to the rhythms and heartbeat of nature.

It is funny, too, how easily you can slip into new rhythms. The rhythm here in Lawrence (as you can see) involves Netflix and dog walks, downtown quests for coffee, and short bike rides on the levee trail. It is a happy rhythm, and one I've adjusted to. But at times I can't help but miss the steep climbs up mountain trails in the crisp alpine air.

Thanks for reading.

Taking Steps to Thoughts Outside Myself...

2010-06-11T09:02:00.002-06:00

I recently read a quote by Barbara Brown Taylor that I will probably misquote to you now. She said something like, "If you tend to see your life events as if you are the star of your own drama, then you will probably often be frustrated/disappointed with other people's behaviors and actions." She gave an example of when someone pulls in front of you on the road and you see this action from the perspective of the 'star-of-the-drama,' then the only way to perceive it is as a secondary character interfering with the life of the hero/heroine of the story.

Ever since reading that, I've been caught several times. Caught considering myself 'the star' instead of one of many secondary characters. I know I've read that line about about 'you don't truly know a man until you've walked a mile in his moccasins,' but then its hard to think about moccasins when you're running late for work and you are adding up numbers in your head of where you come up short and you're thinking about the breakfast you didn't eat....it is hard to think about moccasins when you're fixated on yourself.

I'm sure I've shared this before with you. I'm a 2 on the Enneagram. Well, an almost even split between the 2 and 4. This means I'm mostly a "helper" with a bit of an "individualist/artist" edge. The things about twos, though, is that we can often misplace our selfish tendencies - or overlook them - because they are hidden in 'helping' others. Hence, this becomes another way that we cast ourselves as the starring role. It's a recipe for failure. Because, the star heroically offers help and advocacy to the supporting cast, and yet, becomes disappointed when help is not reciprocated.

Do you like how I conveniently wrote that recipe in third person?

Anyway, on a morning that I was frustrated with the spit of rain, with being rushed, and with long lines at Einstein's Bagel when all I wanted was a coffee, I am strangily grateful for Barbara Brown Taylor's words. A gentle reminder (I prefer the gentle kind) that I'm not running the show, here.

Thanks. Be. To God.

Kansas

2010-06-07T17:21:00.003-06:00

Did you know you could find terrain like this in Kansas?

It won't be long before we will have lived in Lawrence for a year. Wow. Hard to believe. And yet, in some ways, it feels like we have been here for a long time.

I have moved - a lot. I moved from my birthplace before I was even a year old. We moved to the 'burbs of Denver when I was an infant so that my dad could start a seminary program. I went to elementary, middle, and high school in three different states.

It isn't easy for me to 'settle.' I think I am more used to packing up than planting roots. But here. Here in Kansas, in the midwest, I feel like I could settle in and stay awhile.

I didn't think I'd say it, but I'm a Kansas girl. I'm enjoying the mellow 'dude-ness' (props to Lebowski) of this place.

And today...I'm simply grateful for all-a-that.

Thanks for reading.

My Weekend

2010-05-24T09:04:00.002-06:00

Saturday morning, 5:20am, I took John to the Amtrak station. I don't know how long it's been since he was the one leaving town! He'll be gone almost a week. (Five days) I miss him! Anyway, my aunt Becky came down for the day and we hit some yard sales and the thrift store. I was wearing my Red Meat tee-shirt and she asked, "What does that say?" Since she wasn't appalled, I shared the whole comic book with her. (As you can see from the photo, she enjoyed it.) I found a CHAIR at one of the yard sales. Didn't know I was in need of any more furniture, but this chair just seemed PERFECT. So, I got it. (Thank God for the Subaru!) Anyway, it has been a fun, but unusual, weekend. I miss John. He should come home. But until he does, Tia and I will manage. I took her (the dog) to Independence yesterday while I worked so she could stay with Becky. Apparently she was a hit with the neighbor kids. Tia is whiny, gets bored, and gets into stuff. (And acts like a drunk when you try to walk her on a leash.) But at least she doesn't hate children! 1 point for Tia. Guess I'll keep her.

Thanks for reading.

Anniversary!

2010-05-19T14:36:00.002-06:00

Quick post! Yesterday we celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary. WOW. Eight years. At lunch, I said to John, "I never would have imagined I would be eating pickled cauliflower in Lawrence, Kansas on my 8th wedding anniversary..." Each year continues to be full of surprises, growth, blessings. I am grateful.

We had the whole day together - a Tuesday. It was perfectly sunny and practically cloudless. We ate at a couple of our favorite places for lunch and dinner ( Dempsey's Pub/Burger Stand and Old Chicago). We explored some of Kansas we hadn't seen before, John took me to Pomona State Park and we wandered around near the lake and enjoyed some quiet and contemplation. We finished off the evening with treats from the Hy-Vee Bakery (our weakness) and Mrs. Doubtfire, on loan from the public library. Perhaps an ordinary day and celebration, but a perfect match to our desires.

Thank you, John. Each year it is better and better.

A Blog Post Until I Get My Pictures Up

2010-05-14T14:07:00.003-06:00

Took a trip to Texas to see family (especially mom) on Mother's Day. Here are some photos that don't really tell the story...b/c they're from my phone. (But...something for the meantime!) Don'tcha just love reconciling your receipts when you get home from a trip?
Mom and I found Caroline a rug at a yard sale for her new place. The way the sun hits these dishes, you can tell what a perfect, sunny day it was.

Mom, Dad, and I went to the Japanese Gardens in Fort Worth after the yard sales. This bird was being photographed left and right. I wasn't really interested in joining the avian paparazzi, but he got really close so I snapped a picture with my phone. I also got one of him in flight from the roof, but it is not as clear.

Mom took me to Sam Moon, a discount accessory store in Dallas. I had never been! I got some jewelry and a hair clip. Thanks, mom. :)

The jewelry. The stone and clasp on this necklace were actually from a bead store in the same shopping district as Sam Moon. I kinda wish this ring were a mood ring.

Whilst waiting for Anna (sis) to meet us in Carrolton/Southlake...wherever the heck we were... I took a small piece of straw that mom had cut from her Diet Coke cup (gas station special: all sizes, 69 cents) and put it up my nose. (C'mon, don't tell me you wouldn't be tempted to do the same...)

But now, I'm back in Kansas, which feels more like HOME. Could it be because the locals have license plates like this?

A Strange Realization....

2010-05-04T10:41:00.007-06:00

I wrote this blog entry on Tuesday and then debated whether or not I would post it... it's Thursday now, so, whether it is perfected, polished, p.c., or not....here it is. Today, while creating a binder (with tab dividers!) at work, I realized something:

*

*

I LIKE being a church secretary! I must be really warped, huh?

I especially like the routine nature of this job because of the way it balances out the ups and downs of youth ministry. I LOVE working with the youth and children in NKC, but with that job, I admit - my brain never stops. I often hold one of the kids in prayer on my mind, am constantly dreaming up a new idea for an event or activity, or a creative way to present a spiritual/biblical concept.

Here, at the church secretary job (yeah...I'm blogging while I work...SHH!) there isn't as much expected of me. I am given an opportunity to excel at simple tasks: answering the phone, logging attendance, putting together a binder with tab dividers. (Oh, goody goody!)

I guess the part of this that is shocking to me is, well, my feminist side. I grew up in churches where women could minister, but you certainly wouldn't call them that. And you certainly wouldn't have a woman preside at communion, your wedding, or baptize you. God forbid! Women typically were: Sunday school teachers (to other women or children), nursery workers or (you guessed it) secretaries. And so, I set out on a new path. I wanted to find a way to do ministry in a validated, affirmed way. Six years ago when I applied to seminaries I was determined that the Pastoral role was for me. I liked saying "Master of Divinity." I imagined being given my first stole. I practiced writing my name: Rev. Kendra Thompson, MDiv.

Well, the letters before and after my name are still on hold, and in that holding process my goals have shifted, too. I still feel called to minister and am certain that the pastoral office best reflects the kindgom of God when it is held by men and women. Who knows, some day that office might find its way to me. But just because you can do something doesn't mean you must. And so, here I find myself, part-timing it at a church as their administrative support staff -- and enjoying the unburdonsome filing and organizing.

I still long to participate in the office of Ordained ministry especially in the sacramental life of people of faith. I look forward to one day breaking the bread, pouring the cup, sprinkling a child or adult and reminding them of the promises of God. And yet, these are not the end-all, be-all of ministry. I am "doing" ministry as I grapple with the biblical text and spiritual practices and milestones with my middle and high school students. Heck, I may even be "doing" ministry as I answer the phone and transfer calls.

I think the most important thing to me right now is delighting in the work God has called me to do. I know that God has called me to ministry with youth and children - this is the place where my spirit soars. What I didn't anticipate is that I would be called to and enjoy -if only temporarily - the office of church secretary.

But I guess that's how it goes. That crazy God of ours, she's always up to something. ;)

Thanks for reading.

Pics from Nebraska Trip

2010-05-02T21:44:00.004-06:00

John and I had the opportunity to drive to Omaha, meet up with John's dad and new fiance, Michelle, who flew in from Salt Lake City, and then continue on to Norfolk to see some family. (Especially John's grandma, Mary Lou, who is 88 years old.)

A couple hours out from our drive we stopped in the lovely Mound City, Iowa for McBreakfast. I had to pose by this unique sign. (woohoo, Methodists!)

A telling photo at the Nursing Home; who can out-wit the other?

Bruce & Michelle, John & Mary Lou ~ in the hall at the nursing home, before we left for dinner.

Kendra & Grandma

The lovebirds. Or "turtledoves," as Mary Lou referred to them.

And then there's me...here's my demonstration of an effective neck pillow.

Mary Lou tells you whats-what.

Thompson tradition: Stim-u-Dent toothpics.

Brad & Laura's house in Plainview

Brad gives us a tour of the hospital in Plainview. I had to get a picture of his "name in print." He was joking, 'Look, I'm the head of staff! And look how many names are under mine!'

Bruce - trying out his brother's iPad.

The farewell hug (given through tears).

Michelle & Kendra ~ when we parted ways in Omaha.

Hard to say goodbye...

"They are like trees planted by streams of water..." (Psalm 1)

2010-04-25T19:36:00.003-06:00

Ok, I'm not quite there, yet. (The tree in the stream bit.) But I am coming down from a very busy, exciting weekend. I didn't really get a weekend - and that's always a challenge. Perhaps my grad school friends here in Lawrence will be up for a Tuesday-Night Friday this week??? We shall see.

I attended a Youth Worker's Conference this past Friday and Saturday at Saint Paul School of Theology here in Kansas City. So much of it was beautiful. The opportunity to network with other youth directors and ministers from near and far and for the reminder that, as one woman stated, "our brains are a bit different." Yes, you do have to be a unique sort -- especially to be a long-term youth pastor. It was encouraging to be around folks who have chosen this (or perhaps it has chosen them?) as a lasting, sustainable, enjoyable vocation.

Part of my desire to attend this workshop was to hear Dr. David White, C. Ellis Nelson Professor of Christian Education at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. He's one of my favorite professors from Seminary, and now -- I fully declare myself a groupie. I mean, I had him in probably his most difficult year at Austin -- new position, new town, and a new diagnosis of colon cancer. And yet, the wisdom he imparted to me in coursework and conversation has proven to be valuable in a myriad of contexts.

There is much about the weekend that was rich and deep and filling. I enjoyed networking and making new friends. I enjoyed being on a seminary campus - I miss that. And I took advantage of opportunities for worship that didn't require my facilitation. That was a peace-giving gift in and of itself.

And finally, I must add that I am grateful for the young people in my church and the mentors I work with. I realized through this weekend that I am really still cutting my teeth in the field of youth ministry. Much of what I try out at youth group and in faith-formation settings is by trial and error. I appreciate their patience and faithfulness as I learn alongside them.

Today, I was back at my congregation. It was a long day after not having a "slacker Saturday," as I like to call them. So, in my mid-day break, I took the opportunity to worship once again outside of my workplace. I drove back to St. Paul Seminary and parked near their newly-dedicated labyrinth. It's not as natural and remote as the one I loved to walk with friends in North Fort Collins, but it was a useful device for walking through my thoughts and prayers. I put on my raincoat just in case, and left my flip-flops at the center of the labyrinth. I walked the path in quiet, guided by the sing-song dialogue of neighboring birds. I let my thoughts come in and go out as routinely as my breath. It was good. I am thankful.

Thanks for reading.

FLIP BOOK

2010-04-20T11:44:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, I got a little stressed out. It's because I did something stupid. I know, dear readers, that is probably quite difficult for you to comprehend, that I would do something stupid, but, I'm here to tell you -- it is quite possible and often repeatable. So, here's my 'flip book' of cell phone pictures to describe my afternoon/evening. ENJOY! I tried to take a 'shortcut' to KC to avoid construction and detours on I-70. I sorta knew where I was going...and this was my downfall. (Directionally Challenged as I am, I should have known better) My detour instead took me on a 10-15 mile loop back to where I started. I was running late instead of ahead. HATE THAT! I made it to Kansas City, but not only was I running late but also stressed out and hungry.
Plus, I couldn't just go to my destination: Gashland UMC for Lay Leadership Development class. No, I had to first go by FUMC to get a box of flamingos to take to Gashland. (We're loaning out our ridiculous, used-for-fundrasing, yard decor) I had forgotten what a BIG box it was. It was probably quite amusing to watch me with this big box of pink birds clammering quickly down the stairs. (Props to the Subaru for the extra space - even among my car clutter.)

I began to calm down once I got in the car, on my way to my destination. (Notice: flamingos in the back, LLD notebook on the backseat, and I think two or three Bibles were back there, too. One to accompany each empty water bottle on the floor)

I think the new/old Natalie Merchant CDs helped me mellow out.

THE END
*

POEM

2010-04-19T08:46:00.004-06:00

Did you know that April is National Poetry Month??? I just found this out on NPR this morning. I've definitely had more poetic epiphanies this month than usual. Here's one I wrote over breakfast this morning.

TOO MUCH

This phase of my life
has definitely involved
some shedding
like a chameleon
I've blended, adapted
and shed
a thin slip of skin. But,
I've been gathering
newness, too.
Like a lint roller travelling
across a well-worn rug
I am covered. It is
too much.
I am calling truce:
reprieve from shopping,
saying 'no' to extra responsibilities,
hitting snooze on my timid little
alarm clock.
You can't keep
simple on autopilot;
it gathers dust.
So I will
dust it off,
reclaim a simpler self,
begin again.

Sad Moment @ The Thrift Store

2010-04-16T08:43:00.002-06:00

I had a sad moment at the thrift store this week. I was hurridly pushing hangers around on racks and as the song on the radio ended, the host came on with a news blurb. Apparently, more and more teenagers are asking for plastic surgery as a graduation gift from high school. The host continued by addressing the everpresent desire to change one's appearance, but also perhaps the oversight of these young adults: do they really think a nip and tuck will drastically change their lives for the better? The host was inviting a specialist to talk about these issues, and also said that most teens considering plastic surgery are required to have prior sessions (3) with a psychotherapist before undergoing any operations.

I have to admit it was an ironic moment. I myself was shopping for blue jeans after recently accomplishing a weight loss goal. I admit, it is thrilling to have an improved appearance. But it is also thrilling to have moments of embracing oneself, just as I am. (If even just for a split-second flash.)

It also made me grateful for the business I'm in. I work with youth and children and am specifically responsible for fostering faith development and community building for them within the life of the church. This is an "identity" business, which raises the stakes. But if I'm not doing it, well, then YouTube, Cosmo, Lady Gaga et. al, are. And I'm not saying those are bad sources. Shoot, any Friday night you are likely to find me rockin' out to Gaga as a ritual of welcoming the weekend. But it is not the source at my core. God and my faith in the risen, forgiving, unconditionally loving Christ are at my core. And so, even though I may have bad hair days or really need to cut down the fat intake....I'm not to the place where I believe plastic surgery will make me whole.

So, I had a little sad moment in the thrift store. And yet it was followed up with gratitude for my vocation. And to all of you who work with young people: find ways to encourage their creativity and beauty. Our youth communities are full of beauty and creative energy...how blessed we are to be a part of that developmental process.

Thanks for reading.

Resurrection Poetry

2010-04-08T10:48:00.004-06:00

Yesterday at youth group we mostly goofed off and ate junk food. But, we also reflected on our journey through Lent, into Holy week, and up to Easter. We wrote some short poems to summarize the experience. I actually got this idea from Kathy Wendland who teaches the High School Sunday School class in Colorado at the church I used to serve. I don't have copies of what the kids wrote, but here's what I got down on my index card:

I. Test my faith on Friday,
Waiting in despair and grief on Saturday,
Sunday's bright rising surprises me.

II. Mary Magdalene
may have been a whore
But even if she wasn't,
she was restored
from seven demonic hosts within her.
Jesus befriended her
pardoned her
offenses &
afflictions.
Mary was the one
who wept at his execution,
treated his corpse,
and was the first
to witness
his return.

III. About Tuesday
of last week
I was preparing my
plot - ready to die,
be buried with Lent 2010
But here I am, Wednesday
of the first week of
Resurrection...alive,
alert, awake: amen!

IV. Jesus as the superstar
is just too blonde
and serene for me.
But Jesus in the gospels
takes the whips and
nails, forgives
from the cross,
comes back ~ in three days time.

We Made it to Easter...

2010-04-04T21:29:00.002-06:00

So, we made it. Some of my readers know that I spent the Saturday before Easter 'holding vigil' with eleven teenagers and a handful of volunteer youth leaders from my church. We held a lock-in with the youth to hang out, eat pizza, have Nerf wars, and plan/prepare a sunrise Easter service. The kids did a beautiful job with the sunrise service - I have a new appreciation for those. Good weather didn't hurt.

This year was quite different from last year's Easter, but equally beautiful. John's mom and our neice Sam were here - they wanted to meet Tia and spend the holiday with us. We had some fun here in Lawrence. As far as Sunday morning went, I was pretty fatigued by the time we made it to 10:30 worship, but enjoyed sitting in the back of the church with my aunt belting out some of the ole hymns like "Up from the Grave he Arose" in a packed church.

And then, I got my nap and cocktail. The perfect finale to an all-nighter.

I guess my hope, post-Easter, is for more energy, more sunshine, and an opportunity to live into a faith rooted in the resurrection.

But I don't know, that might just be the mimosa(s) talking.... ;)

Thanks for reading.

Holy Week

2010-04-02T13:26:00.004-06:00

"Stop calling, stop calling, I don't wanna talk anymore..."

So, it is almost Easter. And perhaps it is just that time of year (my friend Catherine warned me - Easter is MUCH busier than Christmas in the life of the church) but I am EXHAUSTED. I'm sure I've neglected phone calls, emails, responsibilities, dust bunnies...there's just TOO MUCH.

In the midst of the busyness, our neice Sam and John's mom Louise are here. THIS has actually been the perfect distraction from my harried mind. I've so enjoyed shopping with her, going to the park, doing creative things (we found a pair of high heels at the thrift store and then hot glued rhinestones on them). It's been nice just being SILLY together.

And now, I just want to crawl in bed and hibernate until Easter morning. (Not gonna happen)I'm ready to die to this week and wake up anew to the Resurrection.

Thanks for reading.

PRAYER

2010-03-22T19:49:00.006-06:00

Scrutinizing Sunday School curriculum with Summer Sivils (check out the blue hair!)

Praying for the World ~ prayer exercise at youth worship 3/21

Making a profile picture for 'Sally Latrine'

Visiting Family in Missouri (Kelly & Becky)

Shopping with Liz (Youth Mentor/Volunteer Extraordinaire) for a Liz-tastic scarf

Marilyn & Janis

Pre-Snake Saturday Parade Donuts (Green, even)

Don't Let the Youth Minister Drive the Bus! (No pigeons, either!)

So much going on...yes, yes. Pictures help tell the story. Since I last wrote I was in a St. Patrick's Parade, my brother drove from TX over spring break to visit, we hung out with our cousin Cynthia and dressed up in wigs, I went shopping with Liz (youth volunteer) and provided consultation toward the selection of a scarf, we changed upper elementary Sunday school curriculum at the Methodist church where I work, Sally Latrine - a resident in the Thompson household since its establishment - got her one facebook page, and as you can see by the final photo here, a tragic accident happened while I was driving a faux schoolbus while talking on the phone. OOPS!

I am mostly just logging my sheer delight in life lately. 28 has been a good year for me. I hope it continues to not-suck! I'm sure there's more that I could write, but for now, I'll just leave you with some photos.

Thanks for Reading.

CHURCH

2010-03-09T05:17:00.004-07:00

This image is titled 'Mother, Early Sunday Morning' by July Olausen.

I'm very fortunate that my church is paying for me to attend LLD: Lay Leadership Development. It is a course put on by consultants and coaches as a part of the Healthy Church Initiative. Last night, between the participants and facilitator, I would say we had some beautiful conversation. Then, I drove home from Gladstone, MO in the rain. It took over an hour, so I was thankful for my latest mixed CD from my sister Caroline. (Psst! Caroline, see if you can guess the song that inspired me!) After rockin' out in the rain on the drive to The Black Eyed Peas and letting my thoughts spin in my head to the rhythm, I wrote this. Enjoy!

MANIFESTA

God is not a Dem or a G.O.P.

No more of this divisive *bleep!*

I'm about to stage a walkout

I'm a gonna shout.

We're not here

to be churchified;

We're here to be filled

By the Lord of Love.

I wanna sing it - loud!

Better not be no dirty looks

when I'm shruggin my shoulders to the beat

No pink slips

when I show some ink

We all chillin'

under the shade of our own fig trees.

Filled with fearless love

I dream

of blue jeans in the pulpit

bread and wine

blessed by m/any

shared with all

on the same steps that sleep the poor.

and when my heart is sore

let it beat with the pangs of Christ

now and evermore.

Youth Making Art ~ Too Long for a FB Status Update!

2010-03-04T08:02:00.003-07:00

Hi-Hi. Here's a photo from Wednesday night. I was going to post something about Wednesday on Facebook, but I'm SURE it would have been too long for a status update! :)

Wednesday nights are our 'church nights' at FUMCNKC. There's a community meal and then we all go our different ways for Bible studies, choir, bell choir, crafty stuff, work-out stuff, and youth group. As the youth group, we've decided to use Wednesday nights - at least during Lent - as 'studio' time. We're creating some artwork that will hopefully be used in some way as a part of worship in the church.

Last Wednesday night I read Luke 23 to the kids. (It's basically Jesus' trial and crucifixion) Sometimes I paused, holding my finger in the page, to elaborate. For example, can you imagine being tortured to death on a cross and meanwhile the crowds gathered to view this for entertainment are like, "I get his sandals!" "I want his toga!" Anyway, I had decided earlier that day that I would read the whole chapter. 'It'll be long,' I thought...but sometimes you do it anyway. We all learn to sit still for important things. (This was -- and is -- hard for me, too) Anyway, I was so impressed with these kids. I really shouldn't call them kids, they're young adults with apt minds and amazing artistic ability. So anyway, I read that passage of scripture, the lights were down low, and then, as Danny, one of the volunteers, played his guitar really mellow, the kids made art. I was blown away by some of the things they came up with. The idea for this 'studio' time is that in the end we will display our artwork on the walls in the sanctuary on Good Friday as icons for spiritual reflection. Alice, the girl to my left in this photo, is a visitor to our church. I hardly know anything about her. But the art she makes -- is incredible. I don't know if you can see what she's working on, but it is the three crosses where Jesus and the thieves hung. It is kind of rough and scratchy. Below the crosses are dozens of skulls - spooky, eerie, skulls. It is a piece of art that evokes what the story does: sadness. regret. fear. loss.

So, that's what I wanted to tell you. That's what wouldn't fit in my facebook status update. I am so grateful to work with these amazing youth. God is doing amazing things with their lives. I'm glad I get to walk beside them along their journey.

Thanks for reading.

Here I am.

2010-03-03T01:58:00.002-07:00

2:58 A.M. and I can't sleep. So, I prayed, emptied some thoughts on to paper, pet the dog, looked for a book I've been thinking about, brushed my teeth and (confession) dawdled around on Facebook & looking at blogs.

I came across a blog my friend Sharon has linked to her own. It is called Abbey of the Arts. I wrote down a quote from one of the entries:

"The Catholic tradition is nothing, if not incarnational, in touch with the embodiment of human life."

I read it, read it again, and thought: yeah - YEAH! I've never been Catholic, but the thing I like about being in Catholic worship space is you can tell that the designers/architects/artisans want to evoke transformation within the worshipping participant. The space ought to call us out of our f0ggy-headed 'maybe-whatever' -ism and into the reality that we are truly held by an incarnate God who walked the earth, embodied just as we are.

(Hope you'll give me a little grace @ 3 in the morning if that above thought doesn't fully cohere)

Anyway, if you like when writers connect the everyday with the sacred, you should totally read what Christine has written over at Abbey of the Arts. Her piece titled The Saints at Walgreens really got me thinkin' at 3am.

Thanks for reading.

Downtown Date

2010-02-27T15:55:00.004-07:00

John and I went downtown today. I 'needed' to get some stickers and incense from the hippie store. My favorite kind of incense is called 'Peace of Mind.' (It's pink.)

After feeding the meter and walking to the hippie store, John said, 'Do you need to go anywhere else??' Well.....I can always go for a trip to the Euro & British markets. (They are right next to each other.)

I was excited about the fact that we now bank locally, so I had to try out my new check card at the ATM. Then we went to the markets. My crisp, $20 bill didn't last long. John insisted that I pick out some of my favorite things. (Featured above)

Oh, and we're also going to try this interesting canned fish (It's Latvian!) I've heard that oily fish (like sardines) is good for you. Hmm....

The tiny bottle was a san pellegrino bitter soda. I mainly wanted it for the bottle, but the drink wasn't bad.

So that was my Saturday. Everyone was OUT! Because it is sunshine-y here today. Not warm, but the sun is out...and so are the people. Fun stuff.

Thanks for reading.

Pictures from a walk around town today...

2010-02-23T15:06:00.004-07:00

I worked my second job today. I am primarily a "Youth and Children's Ministry Coordinator," at First United Methodist Church in North Kansas City. But the desire to save money and have a bigger 'social life budget' required me to find more work. So, I'm working at First Christian Church in Lawrence as their part-time receptionist. Anyway, I worked 9-1 today. The first hour and a half were spent in staff meeting. This made the day go quite quickly. When I got off work, there was still so much of the day left and, surprisingly, the sun was shining! I had to get out in it. I ditched the car and dress shoes at home and set out for a meandering walk through town. I only had two shopping goals for the day: flavored coffee and to use my Borders book coupon. (30% off - good deal) Plus, I wanted to get some exercize, too. So, I got three miles in. I bought some "golden pecan" coffee and a little sample pack of "caramel classique" (fancy-shmantz!). I couldn't resist the chocolate covered espresso beans, either, so...in they went. I continued on to Borders, but knew if I made a slight detour by the post office I'd get my 3 miles in. So, I went with my famous question (I wonder if they recognize me in there yet) "Got anything interesting?" It just so happened they had everything but the olympic stamp, which I still had plenty of at home. I got 20 CELEBRATE! stamps and headed to the book store. Of course, in between, I got a couple of the above photographs. (Isn't the canvas bag great?) I almost bought National Geographic's book of photos titled 'WORK,' but I told myself if they had Phyllis Tickle's Great Emergence I was going to buy it. So, I did. (At 30% off!) I decided to stay awhile and ordered a coffee. While sipping, I decided to look through TIME magazine's latest - all about Haiti. I was sipping and flipping pages and impulsively decided: I have to buy this magazine. So, it was that kind of day. At least it wasn't hundreds of dollars on fashions (She says after watching Confessions of a Shopaholic on a sick day last week) but it was my version of an impulsive shopping date with myself. On my walk back home I cut through the park near our house. A homeless man and his dog were there and had been when I walked through on my way downtown earlier. I stopped to say hello and he asked me what I got at Borders. Just mentioning the TIME magazine and Great Emergence triggered a conversation about the Bible, and family dynamics, hypocrisy, etc...all that kind of stuff. I asked if I could take his picture. He said I could if I would email it to him. I did email it, but didn't say I would blog about it...Oh well. One of those cases of "ask for forgiveness rather than permission." But anyway, all in all it was a delightful afternoon. Phone calls to friends, shopping, walking, sunshine, and a new companion (and his dog) on the journey of life. What a lackadaisacal afternoon - I love it!

Thanks for reading.

The Lutheran Mug Made Me Do It...

2010-02-21T15:40:00.003-07:00

So far today I've had FOUR americanos. (Five shots of espresso total) So, no sacrificing coffee this Lent.
*
I'm blaming it on the Lutheran mug that's been enticing me, "go ahead...have another cup!" (I like that the photo is out of focus.) But anyway...
*
I'm snowed in. You know you love your job when your boss has to call you and talk you OUT of coming in to work. "Just watch the weather, Kendra," she said, " and then call me back."
*
I was upset that the weather prevented me from going in to Kansas City but have been enjoying the cloistered time with John and Tia (and my hand-knitted wool socks) I've been reading most of the afternoon - rotating between Carl Jung and Marcus Borg ... with a little colored pencil doodling in between.
*
It's been a nice day in and although I wish I could be with the youth group tonight for our first Lenten worship, I am pleased that the other leaders involved decided to go on without me.
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So, I'll leave you with two quotes from my readings this afternoon. (And permission to indulge in coffee - if you're so inclined)
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From Carl Jung, commenting on his fear of reading- because he might discover he is like him - Friedrich Nietzche: "I feared I might be forced to recognize that I too was another such strange bird."
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From Marcus Borg's Heart of Christianity, which definitely makes sense to my brain: "the sacrifice that Christianity asks of us is not ultimately a sacrifice of the intellect."
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OK, enough pithy thoughts...time for Olympics! :)

Ash Wednesday ~ The Beginning of Lent

2010-02-18T09:19:00.003-07:00

I had John take this picture of me so I could send it to my sister. Anna went to a service too, so we were swapping "ash on forehead pictures." (By phone, hence, the low resolution) I kind of like that the Wal-Mart parking lot is in the distance of the photo. That way you can tell, if not by the mark on my forehead, that I'm a sinner. :)

Last night Rev. Kate invited me to speak for our Ash Wednesday service at First Methodist - share some reflections. I'll admit that most of my reflections were personal and on the season itself, rather than a dissection of the traditional scriptures. But it felt good to do that. To share from my heart what this season has meant for me. Some Lents have been harder than others. Some have become gloriously bright come Easter morning. As for this year, I will journey through it with expectation, see what changes me, see what I find on the other side of it.

Oh, and I've decided a way to observe it this year. I'm going to write a piece of mail (letter, card, etc) each of the 40 days. Still writing, still creating, which has been my usual tradition. But this time: to share.

What will you do? (Or not do?)

Thanks for reading.