No Longer Mute

endings are also beginnings

2010-06-30T13:55:00.000-07:00

many transitions are happening all around me. Shauna moved out of her apartment and began her journey back to Colorado with her family yesterday. tomorrow is my 10th wedding anniversary. last week, i finished my first year of graduate school. and this is the first time in life where i have lived far away from family, friends, and community. its time for a new beginning.

this blog that started over 2 years ago as a type of correspondence between Shauna and i was a quest for us to find our voices. and i'm happy to report that both of us are no longer mute. Shauna has finished her graduate program and in the process begun her own blog. i found the voice necessary to declare my desires and be a part of the transforming power found in Mars Hill Graduate School. and now that i've been out here a year, i've had a taste of change, but realize it is only the beginning.

i've tried to manage this blog on my own after i moved to Seattle and it became apparent that Shauna and i didn't need to "correspond" in this format any longer. we have had plenty of face to face communication carpooling to and from school and at shared dinners with both of our families. but looking back, i've only published 17 posts in the time that this has been a solo endeavor. clearly, my heart wasn't ready to go at this alone. however, as this week of transitions has reminded me, endings also mean beginnings.

so, this is the ending of No Longer Mute, the blog, and the beginning of my own journey, alone. now that Karl and i are in Seattle by ourselves with our two children, its time to find more than my voice. its time for me to find myself all over again. the upcoming few years is the beginning of a season where i am not bound by familial norms, religious obligations, or social expectations. who and what i become and what i do is no longer dependent on fitting the mold created by my history. i have a chance to discover what it means to be a 32 year old woman who is married and has two children, who attends graduate school...but what else i'm excited to discover.

as the past school year comes to a close, friends are gone, and so are the safety nets. i'm looking forward to learning how to fly on my own. i anticipate much discovery of my own self, my own soul, and what it means to be a family unit, dedicated to creating a life that we choose for ourselves.

good bye No Longer Mute. what began as a joint endeavour could not be sustained solely. thank you, readers for your commitment to seeing, hearing and joining in our journey to find our own voices. i hope you will continue following Shauna on her path at http://www.thejourneyunknown.blogspot.com/

farewell for now. hello for later.

k.

graduate life

2010-05-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

i'm taking 5 classes this summer semester. why? that's a good question. most people think me crazy as they are taking 3 maybe 4 and me...well i must be masochistic.

actually, i just think that while karl is still working from home, we have a little extra cash from our tax return to cover some bills (including an extra class) i should take advantage of this time and really try to get some work accomplished. oh - and i'm honored to share a class with Shauna - her last - as a way to commemorate the criss-crossing of our journeys as i begin mine and she ends hers.

so...5 classes. it's crazy, really. i will probably have read about several thousand pages - noteworthy, indeed, from someone who doesn't read anything but magazines and emails. it's crazy just for crazy sake, but when you throw in car troubles and birthdays and special events like mother's day in the mix of an intensive weekend course, things get just plain nuts. and this week, we get to add car trouble.

yesterday, i parked on the street and couldn't get my car to start to move it to the garage and had no more change for the meter. after several banging and clangings on the battery, it started well enough to move it. and that's where the good news ends. after a friend drove over to jump it, with no luck, karl packed up the kids at 8:30 PM and drove up to the city...he had no luck starting it either. thankfully, the van was running well enough for him to come pick me up. so, we left my car in the garage and on a day when i don't have classes, i'll still be driving uptown to have it towed, praying all the way that the van makes it, since it almost didn't start this morning when i got up to take lucy to school.

moral: 5 classes is doable, if life doesn't get in the way. but since it does, hold on to your hats, folks, krista is in for a hurricane over the next 6 1/2 weeks. what? you didn't know hurricanes came off the puget sound?

k.

worship

2010-04-30T21:23:00.001-07:00

tonight i spent $243 on a popcorn maker and it was worshipful.

our family attended a fundraiser event for Brooklake Christian School. the school is a part of the church we attend by the same name. it was their 14th annual round-up style silent and live auction complete with its very own auctioneer. i had seen the posters up on the walls of the church building marketing the event and was intrigued. i was even more excited when it was advertised as a family event complete with a western-themed party for the kids and bbq for the adults. karl enjoyed himself just as much when he sniped the vintage cinema-style authentic popcorn maker at the last second for a cool $108. the rush of wondering if we could be the final bidder was good fun - and taking home something that will replace our burnt microwave popcorn on movie nights was splendid, indeed.

we bid on a few more items, but let them go to a higher bidder, all while learning about the fun things seattle has to offer: kayaking in lake union, harbor tours, live bug exhibits and mariner's games. then, when it was time for the live auction, the excitement grew when the auctioneer began his ceremonious yodeling increasing the bids one after encouraging audience members to vye for winning the prized item. holding up our large print numbered card as a bidder, making sure you didn't slip up and hold up your card mistakenly was innocent fun.

i was completely surprised when i started crying...perplexed, really. it just felt so good to spend money so freely. we completed our purchases with an additional $35 to get the principal and 5th grade teacher out of "jail" as well as $100 towards the school's purchase of an automatic defribilator. the tears kept coming and i told karl i had no idea why, but it felt so good to give, and in the giving receive.

that's my new definition of worship - giving and in the giving, receiving. the atmosphere of so many parents and grandparents supporting their child's school in a fun way was moving and i'm not sure why it was so. maybe because in my own private christian school education there wouldn't have been anything like it, but more, it was freedom to give knowing it was all for a good cause, and yet in the giving, the good feeling is what i received.

the bright red popcorn maker will sit on our countertop as a reminder to me that giving isn't meant to be a burden, an obligation, a principle or rule. its meant to be worship. it is in giving that we immediately receive, when the giving is done wholeheartedly, without reserve, just because you support what you're giving to.

just some thoughts about a night that moved me to tears...simply, yet profoundly i was happy.

k.

life doesn't wait for mondays

2010-04-22T18:15:00.001-07:00

mondays - they have always signified new beginnings, a chance to start over, more opportunity for success than a thursday. however, when change is beckoning at your front door, it is no repector of days, it comes quickly, fiercely, without warning, and often unwelcomed.

it's wednesday night, and i wish it were sunday night so i could use the momentum promised from the first day of the week to usher in the change that is relentlessly knocking...knocking...knocking. i'm waiting to be prepared before i'm willing to change. there are lists to make, schedules to ready before this change is welcome. and still, it knocks, obnoxiously, pestering me to welcome it now. i'm not sure how long i can keep it at bay. how long can i bear the pestering thumping in my mind, on my heart, and the frantic pulsing through my bloodstream. change wants in. why am i so resistant? would i be if it were monday?

what makes mondays so special. the reality check is that monday is a flag day - a signal for me to get ready. and in that signal, i take the reigns. i take charge. i'm in control of the what, the when, the how. mondays are all about control. if i welcome change on a thursday night - won't i be out of control all weekend and the change won't stay? what if i am not prepared to welcome change on a midday friday afternoon? if i'm a mess when change comes knocking, i can't control how long it will stay. however, if i use saturday to clean, and sunday to prepare, then i'll be more hospitable come monday morning and change will want to stay around longer. i can't yield control because i can't bear to have her leave. i can't bear to hear her knocking without promise that she won't turn away when she sees the state i'm in. so, just wait, change. please wait until monday where i'm more sure that i'll be prepared for you and you'll want to stay. she says she will continue to choose the time that she shows up - but she'll leave the choice of opening the door up to me...

so, i can wait until monday and give myself time to plan and prepare risking that change may get tired of knocking and walk away. or, i can invite her in tonight, ask her to stay, and let her decide if my lack of preparedness factors in to how long she will.

k.

it's that time...

2010-04-19T20:54:00.001-07:00

...time to breathe. i've been reading and writing psychological perspectives for 3 weeks straight. now is the time to pause and begin the creative process so desperately needed after these desert times.

where to begin? i've had blog posts rummaging around amidst the chaos of my mind looking for a clean corner free of graduate school debris. now that the dust is settling i want to clean out some space in my mind and in my day to write, creatively.

i was thinking about starting a series on "word associations". the process would be to think of a term or a phrase and let my mind wander where it takes me when that word is brought up and see if on the wings of a stream of consciousness i can practice alliteration, personification, hyperbole and even onomatopoeia in an attempt to water my mental drought with creativity.

that sounds like a good place to start.

k.

p.s. i will take requests. send me a phrase or a word and let me see where it takes me...

feta cheese

2010-03-30T19:47:00.000-07:00

right now, i'm crumbling under the weight of everything that's undone in my life. my papers are not finished. my finals are not studied for. my reading material has been collecting dust since my first research paper began. my relationships are in the deconstruction process. and my body is begging me to care for it: to eat better, to sleep more soundly, to turn off the mental messiness long enough to breathe deeply. i feel like i'm about to self-destruct. even now, as i type, i feel clammy and pale, my stomach is empty and full at the same time, my forehead is wrinkled with furrows. i'm tense, and worried and nervous that my body may not hold up to the crumbling; that it may melt and seep into the cracks of the chaos. for now, i'm a mess...and i don't want or need anything nice, neat, or symmetrical...i just need to make it through with some semblance of solidity...to not be completely dissolved in this process.

k.

it won't be the last time...

2010-03-09T20:49:00.000-08:00

...that my daughter tells me something that breaks my heart. tonight, Lucy was upset because she was singing a song and kept making mistakes and not getting it perfect. after a few exchanges i realized she is terrified of making any mistakes, because if she does, people will think, as she already does, that she's not good enough. she said that two other girls in her class draw hearts and stars better than her. she tearfully argued that she practices more than them, but theirs are still better. she went on to list the many ways she isn't as good - not in math, or in drawing rainbows or unicorns, or even in writing her letters - some are too big and some are too small and some are too wiggly, she said. every account that she claimed she wasn't good enough broke my heart into tinier pieces.

how can my beautiful 5 year old, 1/2 day Kindergarten attending baby look at the big world around her and tell herself she's not good enough? where did she learn that mistakes are bad and perfection is the only good? of course, i blame myself. but how did i go so wrong, so fast?...and if it's only taken her 1 semester of Kindergarten to realize there are people better than her at things and those people are preferred, how long will it take me to teach her how wonderful she is? will she ever know how great i think she is? how can i show her, because obviously I haven't taught her.

tonight, with tears in her eyes, my daughter told me she isn't good enough. will my tears be enough to change her mind?

k.

inspiration

2010-02-28T22:13:00.001-08:00

there are many things i've always wanted to do that i can't.
i can't speak fluent spanish.
i can't play praise music on the guitar or piano.
i can't run far.
i can't wear a size 6.
i can't wear contacts.
i can't go on a vacation, or buy a fancy car, or a new dress.
i can't cook much more than macaroni and cheese.

but, there are many things i can.
for starters, no, i can't write a book, but i can write a blog.
i'm in no shape for a triathalon, but there is nothing in my body that is broken or not working.
i might not get straight A's, but i can think, read, discuss.
i don't stand quiet for very long, but i can turn off the radio when i drive.
i won't stop taking naps, but i can stop beating myself up because i do.

there are many instances where i want a fuller cup, so i miss that my cup is already full enough. but if i only concentrate on what isn't, there is no gratitude for what is.

my inspiration for finally being able to post my first blog in over a month:

AGAINST HESITATION

If you stare at it long enough
the mountain becomes unclimbable.
Tally it up. How much time have you spent
waiting for the soup to cool?
Icicles hang from January gutters
only as long as they can. Fingers pause
above piano keys for the chord
that will not form. Slam them down
I say. Make music of what you can.
Some people stop at the wrong corner
and waste a dozen years hoping
for directions. I can’t be them.
Tell every girl I’ve ever known
I’m coming to break her door down,
that my teeth will clench
the simple flower I only knew
not to give . . . Ah, how long did I stand
beneath the eaves believing the storm
would stop? It never did.

And there is lightning in me still.

~Charles Rafferty

here's to acknowledging, doing, and loving what i can.

k.

just need to rant...

2010-01-16T21:19:00.001-08:00

when it rains, it pours, and not just because i live in seattle. yesterday was one of those days...

i woke up to lucy having a fever with a stomach ache, sore throat, and wrist sprain from falling off the monkey bars. when i got in the car to run to the drugstore for some tylenol, car wouldn't start after we just changed the battery over the weekend. but our van did start. first store didn't have tylenol, thankfully the next store did. took her to the doctor. prognosis: strep throat; prescribed antibiotics. on the way home, the van, which has been giving us considerable acceleration problems, wouldn't go on the highway. i ended up driving on the shoulder until i turned the car off, waited for a break in traffic, turned it back on, then gunned it all the way home only to get a 1/2 block away from the house when lucy couldn't hold it anymore and threw up in the back seat. so...i quickly dropped her off at home with karl and ran to the pharmacy. 1 1/2 hours later, the prescription was finally ready to go - and so was the vomit still in the car. i at last, i barely made it home (had to stop and start car several times to get the gas going and accelerate home). whew.

then, we had someone coming to the house to fix a hole in the roof of our kitchen and later a mechanic to come look at the van. a lot of fixes all in one day...now i have a sore throat and its the weekend. hmph.

the upside is that at every time something negative happened, i tried to find something to be grateful for. i was grateful that we have medical insurance and got lucy to the doctor first thing in the morning. i'm grateful that when one car didn't start - at least the other car did (and bonus, karl got the car to start later by reconnecting the battery). i'm grateful that shauna was home that day, so if we were stranded, we would have had someone to rescue us other than a tow truck or a taxi cab. i was grateful that for a $10 antibiotic, my daughter would be feeling much better. i was supremely grateful that during all of this, karl was staying at home with peter while i took lucy and with both of them while i had to wait at walgreens for the prescription - because they would have had to wait there with me if he was not working from home...and its no fun to wait in a waiting room of a little drug store for 1 1/2 hours when you have a 100 degree fever. i'm also grateful that we live in a rental and didn't have to pay for the roof to get fixed. and in the end, the mechanic said a $30 part is all that is needed to fix the van.

i'm grateful that i could be grateful. and in a few days, i'll be grateful that my sore throat is gone along with the body aches and pains and i can get back to studying for a master's degree - something that only 1% of the entire population of the world has the chance to do.

k.

no one wants to be average

2010-01-11T09:07:00.000-08:00

when i was little, i never thought, "i want to be average when i grow up." yet somehow, the reality is that i feel very average - average looking, averagely intelligent, average wealth. where does that voice come from that says i'm not extraordinary?

when i think of the people that God used: david, a shepherd boy, mary, a poor girl, the thief on the cross - i would define all of them as average by any standard. but God uses the weak to confound the strong. why? is that always his MO? if so, there's hope for me.

i want to make an extraordinary difference in the world. but i'm learning, perhaps, my definitions of extraordinary are changing. i want to be someone special to my daughter; but instead of being her hero - set apart, higher than, someone to look up to, i want to be in relationship with her, giving and taking. i don't want to be the best homemaker for my husband, but someone who shares in his dreams and passions. i want to contribute to the man my son will someday become.

so, how do i reconcile these new visions of extraordinary with what the world is pressuring me to be instead? my focus has to shift from elevating the influence of strangers and people from a distance to elevating the people closest to me. will i let the influence of children and a simple man peruade me to focusing on being an extraordinary wife and mother? there is a choice for me to make - what will i choose?

k.

it's been too long

2010-01-10T19:08:00.000-08:00

i almost can't believe that it's been over 2 months since my last post - or that i've only posted a few times since starting this experience called grad school. i could use the excuse that i had a lot of work to do and keeping up with the readings kept me busy, but i'm not sure that's the most legitimate excuse. while i have worked hard, i've also had a lot of free time. for the first time in my entire life i'm living in a different state than i was born in. having known only one family and one friend when i moved out here and not being actively a part of a church has really limited my social network. i've had many friday and saturday nights open to do nothing but write or think or read, and yet i've chosen not to employ this medium. why?

i haven't been able to put my finger on why i haven't had the urge to write - but something just came to me. before, i wrote mostly of existential questions and pursuits that i didn't bother looking for their answers. and now, i've found myself in a place where there just might be some answers - and that scares me. i've always felt action was the essential follow-up to an answered question, and i'm afraid i might not be able to act on these new answers i'm finding, because they mean death. they mean death to past consuming fears that have kept me from relationship, they mean death to control, they mean death to safety and comfort, and instead demand risk, bravery, and a courage to trust love.

so, maybe my posts will be less about the questions and more exploratory about the ways i intend to follow the answers i've been searching for for so long...maybe.

k.

do you see me?

2009-11-03T10:08:00.000-08:00

when you look at me, what do you see? do you see me for more than what meets the eye, or the ear? do you see more than what labels me, defines me, categorizes me? do you see more than what i can do into who i am? were you to cast out every description of me, what would be your experience of me?

do you see me for more than appearances? a woman, 31, stylish, curly hair, overweight?

do you see me for more than what i say?...something funny, something smart, something wise...articulate, persuasive, emotive?

do you see me more than a label?...female, mother, wife, daughter, middle class, educated, white, american?

do you see me for more than what i can do?...teach, lead, speak, create, entertain, help, provide?

take all these words away from what you see when you see me and what's left?

do you have eyes to see a heart that longs to be embraced and understood? a will that searches for more and is not settled? brokenness from being overlooked and unchosen? invisible, even after all peacock attempts to be noticed? rejection for being too much and not enough at the same time? shame for being born the weaker sex? a mind trapped in analytic activity, trying to make sense of the world by not using senses? feelings that are rarely worn because they are understood as weakness? dreams that long to receive comfort, care, concern? frustration in my consenting to be accepted by what labels me, objectified over and over again? a guilty conscience for the mothering i've failed to do? one who doesn't experience peace and rest because i don't know what i see in myself?

past all the descriptions of what you see and what you hear and what you watch, can you see me?...if so, what is it you see?

k.

whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do...

2009-11-01T20:05:00.000-08:00

I Corinthians 10:31 - So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.

i'm reading a prayer book by Richard Foster and stalled in the chapter entitled "praying the ordinary." i stopped reading because i'm learning to pay attention to my visceral responses - and my current response is tears. here, the book is talking about praying while doing ordinary things, cooking, cleaning, working, reading, etc...i immediately interpreted this to be "do things well" - all things, any things, do them well. but i'm stalled because i don't think that's what he nor the Bible is saying. what is communicated in I Corinthians 10:31 is to do all things, great or small - not just well - but to the glory of God. so, now i'm stumped.

what does it mean to work to the glory of God? and how is this different than doing something well?

by nature, i'm a perfectionist. so, i'm thinking, the things that i choose to do are nearly always done well. i thought specifically about how i clean the bathrooms. i challenge anyone to a bathroom-cleaning-contest with me. i am meticulous. my mom always wondered why i didn't clean my bathrooms more often. the answer was because i only had energy to clean them the way i clean them every so often. the thought here is that i'm doing whatever it is i do well, but not giving God the glory. why?

i only do the things i can do well. if i can't do something well, i don't do it at all. i leave no room for God in what i choose to do. i don't approach something and think, "hey, i'm not very good at this, but i'm going to give it my best shot and hope to give glory to God while doing it." instead, i think, "if i can't do it well from the get-go, then i'm not going to even try." where is the leaning on God? there isn't any.

saying things should be done well isn't the way to invite God into things - it's the way to invite your own self-sufficiency. so, i can't interpret this verse anymore to believe that i should work well. instead, i have to interpret this verse as working with a willingness to include God - not show off for him how great i already am and don't really need his help anyway. to do things for the glory of God is to invite him into the space of my work and ask him to participate. the "doing to the glory of God" is doing in such a way as to extend an invitation.

i'm too busy doing things well that there is no space, no room for God to be included - either as a helper or as participant. i keep him in the audience to watch as i perform, on my own, all the great things i do well. but that is not giving him glory. but invitation is. space is. purposely doing things that are difficult and a challenge is.

here's to throwing out the charge to doing things well...

k.

a new assignment

2009-10-26T12:28:00.000-07:00

we are at that time in the semester where self-evaluation is important. so, for practicum we had to write a one page experiential report. after some time spent in contemplation we were to answer some questions - what are some places in your soul that are good/beautiful/glorious? what are some places in your soul where there is sin and depravity? what do you feel could be God's calling for your life/soul?

this is what followed my time of meditation:

As I sat in meditation, I asked God for a visual of my soul. I imagined the likeness of a farm house. I noticed many characteristics about this house that gave me a nice metaphor for both the good and glorious in my soul as well as the depravity and blindness, and even a vision for its purpose.

Some of the descriptions of this house that tell of its beauty are that it is light and bright, warm and inviting. There is lemonade and sweet tea at the ready. The windows are original, their texture and character are beautiful. There is a large oak tree outside that provides shade and comfort and rest on the soft grass. The flower beds outside are small, but provide a simple exterior beauty. There are several places to rest – the couch with soft pillows and thick blankets, and the porch swing in the front that rocks and is right where the warm sun pours in. There is an invitation for nourishment, second helpings – plenty to go around. And the sounds ring of laughter and stories.

Also, there are plenty of things that could be fixed in this house that are very representative of the depravity of my soul. Though the windows have character, they let a lot of cold air in. There is always a subtle noise: wind blowing, stairs creaking, shingles flapping. It also seems unrealized just how hard it is to keep up this farm. While people are invited and encouraged to visit, many don’t stay long. The guest room seems to always be ready and never used.

The calling for this house doesn’t seem important. There are a lot of children around. It seems to always be available and open to others. And there are many places for people visiting to find rest. Whether they will come and stay remains to be seen.

k.

new experience with prayer

2009-10-26T02:57:00.000-07:00

this was our reading week - a chance to catch up on all that's going to be due in the coming weeks as we round out the first semester. hard to believe i've already been in school 8 weeks!

a book that i finished this week is called Can You Hear Me by Brad Jersak. at first i thought perhaps the professor was using this book as a "what-not-to-do". some of the anecdotes of episodes with this kind of imaginative prayer seemed outlandish and hard to believe. but the more i read and the less ambivalent i became, i realized that what i wanted was exactly what he was talking about - a way to experience God new in prayer - a way to focus and be captured by him through prayer.

the premise of the book is to use our imaginations in order to visualize various ways to listen through prayer. the entire book is all about listening and hearing God's voice. at the back of the book there is a cheat sheet of sorts as to what questions to ask God, so after completing the book i tried one exercise. this is how it happened and what i gained from the experience.

the first idea is to go to a "meeting place" in your mind where you regularly visit with God. this could be a biblical location (like by a stream as in Psalm 23) or just a familiar place where you would like to be with God. my "meeting place" has been the same for a while - i imagine Jesus sitting in the heavens on lots of clouds on a giant throne. i picture him wearing a very comfortable robe (down, perhaps? it's my favorite) and i have a special place reserved for me on his lap. so, that's where i went. there were two questions i was supposed to ask him there and listen for the answers.

the first question was, "Jesus, how do you see me?" i heard a simple answer, like when a kid is playing hide-and-seek, "I see you."

the second question wasn't as easy. the question was, "How do you feel about me?"

i couldn't bring my face to look into his eyes. i was so afraid of what he would or wouldn't say. i had lots of fears. three in particular. one - i was afraid that there would be a "but" at the end of what he said - like, "i feel like you're a lovely woman, but..." with something that i need to work on. the second fear was that i wouldn't believe him. i was afraid that he would have some trite answer that i could see right through - you know the kind, like, "ahhhh - you're great!" hardly believable. then the third was the hardest for me to get over. i was afraid that i'd be disappointed in his answer - that he couldn't come up with something good enough for me to walk away happy that i had chosen to listen - that somehow, it wouldn't be "enough" for me.

i wrestled in tears with this last question for a long time. i couldn't look at his face - i was so afraid of his answer. then, almost as an interruption into my fear, i heard him say, "I want you." and that's how he felt about me. i couldn't argue it. there was no "but". i believed him completely. and it didn't leave me disappointed. he had the perfect way out of all my fears. he wants me! he really wants me!

it was a powerful moment and a beautiful voice in my ears. i'm so glad i kept on with a book that i thought was too over the top. i'm so glad i dared practice what the author encouraged. i'm so glad God penetrated through my loud fears with a simple, heart-felt truth. i'm so glad that for once in a long time, i listened to him speak.

k.

hiatus

2009-10-09T10:10:00.000-07:00

if any of you are wondering where i've gone - it's to the depths of pages and pages of readings in books and articles trying desperately to crawl out and get on top of things...

between papers due, group projects, classes, practicum and weekly assignments - i'm in over my head - so the only writing i've been doing lately is homework.

i'd like to say that i've processed all this information and can jot it down in this blog format - but alas, i have not. i'm still just on the perimeter of understanding.

maybe once i've processed much, i will have much more to say. but until then, i bid my readers adieu for a while.

until we meet again.

krista.

why do we settle?

2009-09-13T21:55:00.000-07:00

some of the songs that have stirred me lately seem to have a recurring theme. the constant message is that we think we have it all, but we're really just settling for only what we've experienced personally. here are some lyrics as examples:

"I want a crumb, but you are a feast
I want a song, but you are a symphony
I want a star, but you are a galaxy."

"What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?"

i'm not sure why these lyrics from separate songs have gripped me at the same time, at this time, but i'm learning to listen to my visceral responses to things - all things, even music.

maybe i've settled too long and its being brought to my attention that there is more. maybe i've doubted that there was anything better than what i already have. maybe, like the new testament story, i believe, but there is still much unbelief. have i settled with what i know, because i don't believe i can't learn anymore? have i settled for unintimate relationships because i don't believe there's anyone who wants anything else from me? have i settled for a distant relationship with God because I don't believe he wants anything more from me but my obedience? have i settled for happiness because I don't believe in joy?

what comes first - the experience of more understanding, intimate relationships, the presence of God and joy - or the belief that they do indeed exist and are meant for me?

how long will i stand on the shores of this life's vast ocean?

k.

i made it successfully through my first week of grad school.

2009-09-04T10:57:00.000-07:00

after 3 full days of orientation and then sending Lucy off to her first day of school today, i'm trying to organize some thoughts of this transition - but suffice it to say, there will be some posts in the future on such things i've learned as: solidarity and connectedness - the theme of what i took from this week.

and it may surprise some to note that a part of my first week of classes there were lengthy discussions on disney's the lion king, as well as spiderman and batman - in class, not just peer conversation...crazy, i know!

mars hill, here we go!

k.

i'm flying solo

2009-08-20T23:28:00.000-07:00

to echo my friend and kindred spirit, there is, indeed a season for everything and now is the time for me to fly solo. mama bird pushed me out of the nest and now i'm supposed to fly...not sure how i'm going to do it without you, but alas, i must.

so, here's to me learning to find my own voice.

k.

To everything there is a season...

2009-08-12T10:50:00.000-07:00

And right now I believe it is time for me to bid adieu to this blog. I have wrestled, argued, exposed and implored many a times in this space, but now that you, Krista, have joined me up here in the great northwest I'm not sure we collectively need this space to exchange our ideas, wrestlings and dreams in this particular way. I have decided to continue personally blogging on TheJourneyUnknown so that this space can become your playground for exploring all that you encounter in the next few years of your own journey through Mars Hill Graduate School.

Goodbye No Longer Mute...Thanks for giving me a voice.

~S.

p.s. I'll remain your most avid reader!!! Can't wait.

when you find yourself lost...

2009-08-03T18:24:00.000-07:00

...you're supposed to stay where you are. the temptation to wander and hope to find the right path is great, however, it makes it more difficult for anyone to find you if you are wandering. if you stay put, wait, be patient, and endure, that's when someone can find you.

i'm wondering if God works the same way. when we find ourselves lost in a world that doesn't make sense, in a day of chaos or a moment of tragedy, we run. we wander searching every direction for the right path. and yet, to be still, in the pain and suffering, loss and confusion, is to be found. to remain is the best solution - but how hard that is! wouldn't it be better if i just tried this way? wouldn't i be able to save myself if i went that way? staying put can't be the best course...it can't be - all reason betrays me. but that is the best way - against reason it is the best way to stay and remain in the loss, rather than run - and risk being lost forever.

this remaining is taxing. but i'm trying.

k.

working on receiving His love...

2009-08-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

these lyrics help...

How He Loves Us
sung by David Crowder Band

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realise just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh how He loves us,
How He loves us all

We are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.
So Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss,
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets,
When I think about, the way…

k.

getting ready

2009-07-27T15:24:00.001-07:00

i started reading The Healing Path thinking it was required reading for one of my first graduate school classes. i was determined not to read one word of something that wasn't required because i'm most afraid of not being able to keep up with the work at Mars Hill and believed i needed a jump start. turns out, the book is not required reading, and yet, i have no regrets for starting it now.

one phrase that jumped out at me that has kept me curious since last week is this: "We know from pain what we most deeply desire." in a sense, if i can identify my greatest pain, i will have an inkling of my greatest desire. who knew? who knew that going back to what hurts us most can unlock the passion behind what we want most.

i've felt locked up for a long time. without hopes and dreams and desires. and until lately, i didn't know why. i've recently discovered it's because my hurts have been locked up too. i've shoved them under the rug and picked myself up and dusted myself off and ignored the things that have hurt me most and have thus ignored the spark to light what i desire most.

a lot of the book is about hope and faith and the foundation of those truths being rooted in our stories. allender urges us to remember, remember, remember...both the hurts and the redemptions. so, i made a list. admittedly the hurts were more than the redemptions, but i wept in writing both lists. why are we so quick to forget? if we were to pause long enough in our hurts and our redemptions, would we have more of a grip on our story and therefore have more hope in co-authoring our future?

we forget because it hurts. but another quote from the book encourages me to acknowledge the hurt: "deserts can be restored with rain; faces redeemed with tears." and another passage that i'm still working with, "joy is the taste of the presence of God as he surprises us with his gracious love."

until next time - hopefully sooner than this time has been...

k.

what i've been doing

2009-07-07T22:41:00.000-07:00

while i've been out of sight, dear blog, you have not been out of mind. i've just had my hands in just a few things getting ready to move to seattle. i thought i'd make a long...long list of everything we've been doing to our house in order to get ready to move. i think by putting it down in a list, somehow, i'll feel more satisfied for the state of sheer chaos we've been in for the last 2 months. it all started when we got back from our awesome family vacation to disney world at the end of april. the following describes may and june.

get ready for garage sale.
have garage sale (madness!)
gut the backyard
shovel 10 tons of new rock
many cubic feet of new dirt
lay down sod
plant shrubs and flowers
add mulch
fix back fence
install blinds in every window
fix toilets
repaint bath/laundry room
patch holes
install new microwave
replace outside lamps
buy new doormat and hanging plant
replace indoor lights
fix broken sprinkler pipe
install new sprinklers in the backyard for the new sod
paint back steps
replace several door knobs
change light switches and outlet covers
weed eat
edge/trim/hedge trees and bushes
pack and move into storage unit first
take remaining items to move into parent's basement
have another garage sale
fixed any broken shingles
moved 10,000 comic books

from this list, you'd think we lived in a broken-down-shanty-shack. but, i can assure you that these were all fixes that have needed to be done - but we needed to sell half our belongings at two garage sales before we could have money to make our house look beautiful, right before moving out of it.

hmmm...? strange. but true.

k.

FYI

2009-06-15T10:37:00.000-07:00

Just thought I'd mention that Dwight Friesen, one of the professors at MHGS just published his first book. You can check it out here!

Faith as small as a mustard seed

2009-06-15T08:23:00.000-07:00

I'm attempting to focus on sticking with my feelings lately as opposed to retreating to my familiar strategy of thinking. So I'll leave you with some thoughts by Roger Housden from "Ten Poems to Change Your Life" on Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" (I posted it here before) that have left me tingling with sensation all over:

"Of course, conventional wisdom will call you mad enough for even thinking of such an adventure - all the more so when you start out in the middle of the night. Yet the true journey of your life requires a kind of madness. After all, from the standpoint of your old life, you may be throwing everything away for nothing. You do not even know what you are headed toward. Yet the first step can only ever be taken in darkness. You cannot know where it will take you. You cannot plan for this sort of journey because the entire undertaking relies on the unreasonableness of faith. Faith is unreasonable because it rests on no tangible evidence. It is beyond even belief. The person of faith does not expect everything to turn out the way they want it to; they do not expect some higher power to pick them up when they fall. Their faith is beyond belief and even beyond hope. It is a faith that comes from gnosis - the knowing that has no need of information."

Might I ask what your visceral response is to his thoughts on faith? Stick with the feelings...not your thoughts.

~S.

pictures and prose no. 1

2009-06-08T13:16:00.000-07:00

Hands

They grip a book firm and then tight
his fingers turn pages night upon night.

Eyes filter the page, he reads and takes time
to render each word and unmarked sign,

A mind searching for meaning, then
looking to find truth and understanding.

Fingers follow each sentence, start to end,
his hands flip the page at the corners bend.

Words tell stories that fill his cluttered head,
and remind him of dreams he’s left unsaid;

Of one day building his house in the sky,
a house built by his own hands; a paradise.

I want to know details of his hidden dreams.
Is it a house of stone, or of wooden beams?

Show me pictures take a thousand words or more
tell me why your hands are wounded and torn.

His lips part to speak the undeniable story,
a voice rings strong, a tale of truth and beauty:

"If I could choose - not beams, wood or stone...
I would use my hands to make a house into a home.”

Krista Fleming 1996
picture, cir. aug. 2007

filling up the spaces

2009-06-01T22:29:00.000-07:00

lauren, i was thinking of your art from the last bring me to life, the one where you painted an entire canvas during one song and they had a video strung from above you so we could see your strokes. that was an amazing addition to the bring me to life series.

the thing that i was focusing on was the fact that you held us captivated and curious as to what you were creating because you didn't start with the object, but you started painting around it. by filling in the other, your object was made obvious.

i've been thinking about the idea of how we begin to create things; things like change, movement, transformation, etc... for anything i've tackled, i've started by outlining the object and then filling in the other. for instance, i've said, i'm going to be a runner. so, i'm going to go out and buy some running shoes and good clothing and then i'm going to get a treadmill and set a schedule, and then...oh, by-the-way, i'm going to start running. it seems backwards somehow. like i'm trying to force things to motivate me, instead of the things coming out of my motivation.

so, to use the illustration of lauren's process of creating the beautiful dancer for the bring me to life performance, this is what becoming a runner would look like: go out and run once, then do it again, then maybe your shoes wear out, so you get new ones, and then maybe you want to go further, so you check out a book, etc...

i guess i just want to stop with the outlining and start by just filling up the spaces. instead of waiting until everything is perfectly clear, maybe just moving into the blank with something...anything.

i just so desperately want to take on some shape or form other than what i represent today and i'm trying to do that by outlining what i should be instead of filling up my moments with meaning.

so, i guess nike had something with their just do it slogan...

k.

Muchness

2009-06-01T10:11:00.000-07:00

I have just a few minutes before I need to finish an assignment and head off to class for the day so I thought I'd attempt to briefly mention all of the thoughts that have contributed to the "muchness" of life right now. I only have about another month of this crazy summer schedule before I can rest and prepare for my final year! Considering that I haven't had the time to sift through all that's in my head and create a cohesive post, a little list action will have to do for now:

1. I've been attempting to read a book by Rolheiser titled, "The Holy Longing: Guidelines for a Christian Spirituality". I haven't made it very far for two reasons. First, there is so much depth to the content and I can only hold so much at a time. I find myself mulling over the metaphors and peering through them to find new meaning and understanding in various areas of my life. And second, I'm reading it in my spare time - which is extremely limited in this season! Anyway, a couple of ideas from the book have really struck me and so I thought I'd attempt to summaries one concept for now and return to a discussion about this book at a later point. I knew I would love this book when I first read the dedication to Henri Nouwen which referred to him as our generation's Kierkegaard. Seriously - the two thinkers who have toyed with and nurtured my heart since my conversion just over 13 years ago - I was enamored before I even began the book.

In the opening chapter, Rolheiser addresses the lifeblood of our soul - the creative energy, fire, desire and power that is the force of life. He goes on to reveal that many people are divided because of how they utilize this life force. Janis Joplin, a rock star who died from a drug overdose in her twenties, is the first example he offers to illustrates his point. Janis Joplin willed many things. Her desire was for the muchness of life - all that there was to offer. And she became exhausted as a result of expending all of her resources on fulfilling all of her erotic desires. Mother Teresa exhibits the opposite form of spirituality. She collected all of her energy, fire, creative potential and funneled it toward one thing - to serve the poor in an effort to advance God's kingdom on earth. Princess Diana, on the other-hand, according to Rolheiser enjoined both the erotic and the spiritual. He writes:

"Spirituality is about how we channel our eros. In Princess Diana's attempts to do this, we see something most of us can identify with, a tremendous complexity, a painful struggle for choice and commitment, and an oh-so-human combination of sins and virtues. Spirituality is what we do with the spirit that is within us. So, for Princess Diana, her spirituality was both the commitment to the poor and the Mediterranean vacations...and all the pain and questions in between. Hers, as we can see, was a missed road. She went neither fully the route of Mother Teresa nor of Janis Joplini. She chose some things that left her more integrated in body and soul and others which tore at her body and soul. Such is spirituality. It is about integration and disintegration, about making the choices that Princess Diana had to make and living with what that does to us...Spirituality is about what we do with the fire inside of us, how we channel our eros" (p. 11).

This definition of spirituality has given me much food for thought lately. I've been wrestling with what it means to move towards integration. I'm asking myself questions like, "How am I currently channelling my own eros?" and "Where do I hope to channel my eros?". I'm examining the elements of the erotic and the spiritual in my own life. I'm gaining new insight with regard to Kierkegaards concept that to be pure in heart is to will one thing. What is the cost of willing one thing? What is the cost of willing many things?

This morning, as I was folding a laundry basket of clothes I saw an interview with Prince Harry on the Today show. Many have commented on how much his character seems to resemble his mothers. Matt Lauer asked him about the "muchness" of his life - his life as a soldier, his royal experiences adorned with tremendous wealth, and his dedication to living a charitable life - and how he is able to live as one person in so many different capacities. Prince Harry responded stating that he often feels as though there are three people living inside of him. Are we all just wrestling for some sort of integration in our lives?

2. My third round of praciticum is stirring things up quite a bit in my life. It is amazing how much you can learn about yourself when you explore with others how your presence affects them and how their presence affects you. My most recent discovery (though it may just be a sort of re-discovery) is that who I am with others is typically determined by my own perception of the needs of others. I either become the person in whom I think I must be in order to serve a need or if I can't assess a need of some sort then I retreat out of fear. If I can fill a need - and by so-doing, become a necessity (or quasi-necessity) to another then I feel safe with them. I presume, then, that if I am useful to another, they will limit the potential harm for which they are capable of causing me. The implications of this pattern of behavior or massive. And anyone who knows of the events in my life, it is not difficult to understand why I have developed this style of relating. I am handling this re-discovery in a manner that feels quite different from my normal masochistic ways. I am not intent on changing how or who I am. I am not punishing myself or tormenting myself for all the ways in which this pattern of behavior has contributed to interpersonal struggles and the absence of true mutuality. Rather, I am simply allowing myself to "be". I am embracing the self-awareness without condemnation. Of course this is how I function in relationship. Somehow just knowing this...and not attempting to force change (which is really not change at all)...is altering how I am. If that's not a paradox then I don't know what is.

3. I watched a movie recently that I was quite disappointed with. Have you seen "The Reader"? Though Kate Winselt and the young boy who star in the film are amazing, the story was quite difficult for me to buy into. I don't won't to ruin the movie for anyone who hasn't yet seen it and still plan to watch it at some point so I'll be vague. Aside from the difficulty I had with being convinced of the storyline, the entire movie reflects how isolating life can be when we don't have a place (be that a community, family or significant relationship) to explore our own stories. We need one another to understand our lives - to understand who we are in the context of this great story called life. Without the connection, our lives become wasted and we are merely walking zombies.

That's it for now. I think the jumbledness and the muchness of this post paint an accurate picture of my life right now!

finally well

2009-05-22T21:17:00.001-07:00

shauna, you're probably overloaded with cramming for your crazy summer schedule...but i spoke with our blog and she misses you.

i'm finally well after a few days of the stomach flu. first we were up all night with lucy, then i nursed karl when he got it the next day, and finally when he was recovering, i got sick just in time for him to cram for a deadline he had due at work. it's been a crazy week - but one also full of blessings.

first, we're getting some landscaping done on saturday from kids wanting to earn money for their youth trip. a girlfriend of mine wanted to pitch in to help pay for these kids trips and thought it'd be good if they worked for it, so she gave me a $200 check to contribute to me getting my landscaping done.

then, my mom had reason to unload a ton of groceries on us - so, we won't be needing things like peanut butter and coffee for a long time.

and best of all, karl spoke with his boss at work who was really accepting of karl keeping his current job and telecommuting in seattle - they just have to go through the chain of command to work out the details.

i don't feel worthy of all these recent blessings...and i wonder how God wants me to show my gratitude...for i am so grateful that during this questionable and uncertain time in my life that he remains ever present.

thank you, God. thank you for pouring your blessings out on me.

k.

Dance Clip of the Week

2009-05-12T14:25:00.001-07:00

does simple have to mean empty?

2009-05-10T20:04:00.000-07:00

in an effort to plan, in faith, on moving to seattle in the fall, we had a huge garage sale this weekend to ditch anything that simply occupies space in our big house, in order to take only what we really need, as we will be downsizing.

the garage sale went great - friday was a much better day than saturday - but we sold our guest bedroom set up, our basement couches, lamps, pictures, mirrors, toys, baby things, etc...it was cathartic to clear things out, but when i stepped back into an undecorated house i thought, "i'm trying to simplify, but now things feel empty."

i know i was mostly looking for the things that used to be in places that now there is nothing. the rooms seem barren without furniture, obviously, but even missing a ficus here and a candle there makes things feel very unfinished.

in my quest to simplify, i'm asking myself, "what does simplicity even look like?" was i holding on to things to merely occupy space in order to avoid the feeling of unfinishedness? there wasn't anything that i sold that i regret selling or wished i could have held onto. frankly, all my decorating style is a remnant of what i thought a house should look like, but was no reflection of who i am or my personality. did i fill my house up with tchotchkes and knickknacks to give the illusion that i'm full, complete, finished? because if so, it was just that, an illusion.

what you see in my home now is much more reflective of who i am - confused, unfinished, unpolished. there are holes where pictures used to be hung. there are vast exspanses of walls that have nothing on them. there is clutter that used to be on dressers or end tables, that now has no where to go.

i feel like i need to apologize to the property manager who is trying to get my house rented for the condition it is currently in. i need to tell her this isn't how we live, but that we're in transition. i'd like to explain how things used to look and promise her it will be in show-home condition soon. i'll have to figure out exactly how to do that with nothing left to fill in the nothingness.

i wish i didn't have to apologize and explain my home in the same way i wish i didn't have to explain my life to outsiders. no, i am not in show-home condition, either. my heart has holes where irreplaceable joyous moments of my youth once were. there is a vast canvas in my mind for ideas and concepts anew. and the clutter - oh, the clutter! there is so much of my identity, my name, my supposed tos that i've held onto for a lifetime that used to go here and there and now have no place to go.

i'll project myself to be in better condition to those who don't know me well. but to others, will you still come to my house, even if there isn't a couch to sit on? will you make yourself at home, even though i'm a blank canvas with no answers and no energy left to entertain you? will you stop by and visit me, daring, as you trip over the boxes of my confusion and the trash bags of my lost dreams? will you help me rummage through what's left of the ransacked debris and help me decide what to keep and what to throw away?

will you help me simplify without emptying me?

k.

From "Split Ends" by Merrit Malloy

2009-05-07T11:32:00.000-07:00

I know you thought I cried too long.
It isn't you
Or anything you said or did.
It's just that sometimes
When I cry
I go back and lose everything
I ever lost...again.

To love or not to love...that is the question

2009-05-05T09:42:00.000-07:00

I don't think it's a secret that I am a bit dramatic. Who am I kidding? I'm definitely more than a bit dramatic - I'm a lot dramatic. The serious nature of most of these blog posts function as testimony to this very fact. It's part of who I am...and my time at MHGS has enticed me to embrace all of me...even that part. Maybe intense, passionate, or easily-excitable are better descriptors of my personality. I like to think that I simply feel things deeply. Maybe deeper than some...or less deeply than others. I can't be sure because I'm only familiar with my own experience. But for whatever reason, I've come to believe that I feel deeper than most (if not all) others in whom I find myself to be in relationship with.

This way of perceiving my own little world probably began in my early formative years. A little over a year ago while visiting in Colorado my mom's husband told me that while cleaning out the garage he came across a time-capsule that my mom had constructed with all of us kids on New Years Eve in 1989. He said that my mom had written a letter about each one of us kids and he thought I'd be really interested in reading what she had to say. I was 10 years of age when my mom wrote of how her oldest daughter had an ability to love deeply in a way that exceeded her age in years. She saw this part of me as a glorious thing.

Not surprisingly, at the age of 10, I experienced my first break up. I've just always had a penchant for entering into certain stages of life before most others commonly venture into them. His name was Jason Rioux. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for the duration of the summer prior to his 7th grade and my 5th grade school year. The relationship was destined for failure once we returned to school and were no longer able to spend the long summer days riding our bikes through the neighborhoods, building forts out of the dirt piles behind our houses, and playing Truth or Dare every evening until there was no longer a trace of sun light. I recognize this reality now, retrospectively of course, but no one could have prepared me for the pain that followed his disclosure that he liked someone new...someone older. I cried every night for weeks.

I listened to Richard Marx' song "Right Here Waiting For You" at least a million times during that season of my life. One Friday evening, Jason actually happened to be hanging out with my older brother. They were playing basketball in our driveway which happened to be located just under my bedroom. I sat there watching (read: stalking) him for who knows how long. I did what any heartbroken young girl would do - I hit play on my cd player, opened my bedroom window, and turned the volume up as loud as I could get away with. The whole neighborhood heard my declaration of undying love. This was not the first time I humiliated myself in the name of love (When I was six I called my childhood boyfriend shortly after moving to Colorado from California and sang the chorus of "I just called to say I love You" by Stevie Wonder on his answering machine) and it most certainly wasn't the last time (oh...the memories are flooding me now - Jason McClurkin, Kevin Maas, Chris Crosby - my obsession with basketball players began when I was in junior high).

Though I'm laughing as I reminisce right now, my laughter is coupled with a wincing pain I can still locate deep within my heart - a pain I've been all too familiar with for most of my life. It's a pain I've tried many times to anesthetize in countless ways - some less self-harming than others, but as hard as I've tried - the wound is still present and I'm aware of it even in this moment. It is a pain that has felt unbearable at times and has had a history of leading me into black holes where I've doubted the possibility of ever recovering.

When I was 16 I purchase a self-help book titled, Women Who Love Too Much by Robin Norwood. I was convinced that I had discovered my pathology. I was a woman who just loved too darn much. And that was a serious problem...because I had determined that in any given relationship, the one who loved the least held all the power. From this particular vantage point - loving too much (which equated to loving someone else more than they loved me) meant that I held little power within the relationship. And having little power seemed to inevitably lead to my own victimization. So how exactly does one stop loving so deeply? How can I pull back on the reigns of my heart? How can I become more powerful? These are the questions that have echoed in my head and reverberate in my heart - sometimes on a conscious level but more pervasively on an unconscious level.

A few weeks ago while I was cleaning our apartment as Krisalyn was entertaining herself in her bedroom, I was overwhelmed with this sense that I could be "content" being only a mom and taking care of household responsibilities. I don't mean to suggest that being "only a mom" is any small task - what I mean is that the role of a mother is a role that feels very safe too me. As a mother I feel free to love my children whether or not they reciprocate that love. I actually don't think it's possible for my children to love me as much as I love them, for it was my own body from which they came into existence. And so I'm thinking about my relationship with God and my relationship with others in a different light these days.

We are told that God loves us much more than any of us could ever even fathom...and I don't view him as having less power as a result of that love. It is his capacity to love even when it's not reciprocated that makes him so undeniably and beautifully powerful. I imagine that God painfully longs for reciprocated love from us, but our inability to love him that deeply does not cause him to tone down his love. Ironically, this relational predicament seems to heighten his love or at the very least it creates a dynamic where his love becomes more vividly expressed (I'm picturing Rembrant's Prodigal Son and the imagery constructed in my mind of a God who goes after the single sheep).

So what does this mean for my relationships today? I want to learn how to let my heart love deeply without being repressed by my fear of powerlessness. It is true that I cannot control whether or not another loves me back, whether they leave me, harm me, or reject me. I have no power over them and what they do with their own power. But I do have the power to love - and I'm learning that there is no greater power than this.

I came home last night from school after 9.5 hours of class completely exhausted. So it's possible that my exhaustion led to an emotional response...but all I could think about as I rested upon my tear-soaked pillow was how much I have grown to love the people in my life (both from the past and in my present). When I gave birth to my second of three daughters I was in awe of how the heart seems to have an infinite capacity to love as long as it remains a heart of flesh willing to let life enter in. Despite my best efforts at hardening my own heart and killing it's proclivity to love deeply - a portion of it has remained flesh. And I think that portion has the power to awaken and re-open the parts that stopped functioning long ago. One can only hope...

~S.

P.S. I couldn't resist posting this video. So classic. And yes...I still know the song by heart.

lyrics to my own song, "too, too much"

2009-05-04T20:50:00.000-07:00

oh, blog baby...i've been gone so long
it has been too many days,
don't worry baby, you're not wrong

it's just that i've had so many things to do
places to go, people to see
dentist and doctor's appointments too

always in my head, i'm thinking about you
what i want to say, how i want to phrase
what i've learned to be true

and yet there is just too much,
too too much...
to do lists, appointments and such

so, don't be mad at me, baby
i know i've been gone so long
just understand i'm about to go crazy

give me a few more days, maybe a week
i'll make you a promise
i fully intend to keep

i'll write something clever,
quirky, and brilliant for sure
you'll never doubt me again, lover.

keep your eyes peeled, blog baby,
i'm working on something good
it'll just be a few more days, maybe.

it's just that i've got too too much going on
in my head, in my house, in my life
and i just didn't want you to go - going - gone.

k.

Food for thought

2009-05-01T08:44:00.000-07:00

I only have a few minutes today...but I've been wanting to post this link for a few weeks now. Brian took the day off of work today (since it was his 34th birthday yesterday and we were up a bit late celebrating) so I'm trying to catch up on a few things this morning!

I recently read a reactionary blog posty by one of those big names in the emergent movement. He was responding to a Newsweek article which claimed that Christianity is significantly fading in it's existence and power at least in America. The basic premise of his post was that Christianity is not necessarily fading as a whole, but that certain types/ways/forms of Christianity are growing into extinction but that there are other forms of Christianity which are flourishing. For some reason, the article didn't sit well with me. Initially, I thought it had something to do with the language used - words like "effective" being used to describe church are disturbing to me. It sounds too closely related to corporate America in an assesment on how to reach a certain market group.

Since coming to MHGS I've learned I've thought a lot about language and how it can limit us and shapes us in ways that we don't realize as well as how it, if expanded, it can open up new spaces and places within the heart and mind collectively. The language of this "missional" way of thinking seems very limiting if it is the only language utilized. But my wrestlings went beyond the limited nature of the language in this article. I wasn't quite able to put into words why my reaction to a simple blog post was taking on a life of its own and brewing up inside of me for a couple of days...until I came across this article in my random google searches. Interestingly enough it's an article by one of my favorite professors (he's the one I secretly call Pastor) addressing how a "missional" mindset may need some serious expansion.

~S.

One more video

2009-04-21T11:04:00.001-07:00

I'm so thankful that the college group posted this video. Thanks, Craig. Missing the two of you especially this week!

Looking back...

2009-04-20T23:29:00.000-07:00

I couldn't let this day pass without writing something. April 20, 1999 - It was quite possibly one of the most pivotal experiences of my life. So here I am...in the 11th hour. I wasn't a direct victim. I wasn't a student or a family member. I was simply a 19 year old volunteer leader in a local church youth group. In a youth group of nearly 150 kids, 45 were students at Columbine. I can still visualize in my mind's eye the printed out roster that we used to cross off the names on the list of those who had been accounted for. One-by-one all of the names were crossed off the list...except for hers. As the day carried on and it became more apparent that she was one of the fallen, I found myself in the run-down church office restroom peering at my own image in the mirror. I think I may have even spoken out loud, "This is not happening. She can't be gone."

We were supposed to talk that very evening after our weekly book study. Something had been bothering her and I had been encouraged by our youth pastor to get together with her to discuss what had been going on in her life, her mind, her faith. Her hair. That's all I could think of actually. Her long blonde beautiful hair. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be gone. But she was. And I had to tell her closest friend in the youth group - she was from a different high school and she was ironically named Cassandra. As she entered the youth building that evening to gather with the rest us I ushered her into the girls restroom (the closest place we could escape to for a bit of privacy). I'm not sure how I got the words out. I think I just whispered that we were fairly certain that she was gone, though confirmation wasn't made until the following day. Cassandra literally fell into my arms and we both struggled to remain standing in that crowded bathroom where the sobs of teenage girls reverberated off of every wall.

After allowing for a time of coming together, praying with and embracing one another, a handful of us departed and spent the rest of our evening at a nearby elementary school where the families of victims still unidentified waited. Waiting. We just sat there waiting. I watched therapists and crisis relief counselors wander around the gymnasium scanning the room for an invitation. There was another room set up with a television broadcasting the continual news coverage. I couldn't stay in that particular room for any length of time. But I didn't know what to do. So I waited. I watched. There they were sitting surrounded by faces I knew and faces I didn't know. The Bernalls - Brad & Misty. I don't remember seeing Cassie's little brother Chris, but he may have been there as well. All I could do was watch. And wait.

I'm fairly certain, though I'm sure some details have been constructed by my own mind, that it was that evening that we first heard rumblings of a conversation that may or may not have taken place prior to Cassie's execution. Our youth pastor had heard a student exit the building screaming, "They asked her if she believed in God and she said yes...and then they killed her." I'm not sure how or when it became the story that much of the media frenzy focused upon...but it happened. She was called a martyr by many. I always had a difficult time with that term only because it seemed to imply that she died as direct result of her faith in God and I'm not sure that was the case. From this vantage point, it seems that Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold were not specifically targeting anyone in particular. Mass destruction, mass murder - that appears to have been their sole aim.

On the other hand, I don't know of a better term than martyr to explain the decision to lay down one's own life in order to follow a God of love. In that sense, Cassie was very much a martyr - not in her death, but in her living-daily-death to the parts of her self that prevented Christ's love from flowing through her into the lives of others. So whether or not she was asked that poignant question at the time of the shooting or not, she did say yes - with her life.

We were criticized as a church by many. The first controversy we encountered was when we made the collective decision to plant 15 trees in a prayer garden on our church property. I still have the notes I took during a meeting with all of our leaders as we discussed what our purpose was in erecting this memorial garden. Our intent was never to memorialize the two boys who brought about such horror, but we acknowledged that there were 15 families suffering an unimaginable loss and we wanted to always remember that. I'll never forget what it was like to watch our youth group kids serving coffee to the protesters that stood in front of our facility crying for vengeance. They chopped down two of the young trees in our garden. I waited. I watched. One of the members of our congregation used the remains from the trees to construct 15 beautiful ornaments.

Misty wanted to write a book about Cassie's transformation. We all wanted to share the story of her life with the world. Many have called this exploitation. They claim that we utilized a mythic story to propagate Christianity. Looking back, I am willing to say that there was some level of exploitation...but not to manipulate people into converting to Christianity. But we may have exploited the story of Cassie's life and death in order to tend to our own sense of loss and devastation. We honestly believed it was a story worth sharing. She was a young girl worth knowing. And we wanted everyone to know her. We wanted her life to matter to more than just us. And it has mattered to many others as a result of our mutual sharing of her story.

Many have accused us of spiritualizing the entire event. And they're right as well. We found meaning in her death, and the deaths of the others as well. We believed that through this horrific tragedy God was collectively enabling us to loosen our grip on this world so that we might live with eyes for the kingdom. This may not make sense to others who didn't experience Columbine in some way, or possibly a similar trauma or experience of loss. I don't mean to suggest that we became detached from this world in the hopes of someday being rescued and reunited with those we loved. Instead, we became convinced that love was all that mattered. Living now - moment to moment was all we could commit ourselves to. I still believe that God was very much a part of what we experienced that day and in the years that followed.

In the past few years I have "psychologized" the experience. I have attempted to explore the ways in which we spiritualize certain aspects of this life in order to cope or even escape realities too painful to bear. I have tried to make sense of what happened in the minds of Eric and Dylan - what were their possible pathologies and how did they happen to be simultaneously fractured in such a way as to create the perfect storm for mass destruction? I have analyzed my own response to the trauma too many times to count and from every possible angle.

Am I any further than I was ten years ago in making sense of not only this traumatic experience, but in making sense of this life? Maybe. Or maybe not. But I think that there is room in my soul for questions to remain unanswered. And with this space for unanswered questions remains a certainty that love is all that matters.

Cassie, you have been dearly loved. Even still.

~S.

Application Essay

2009-04-14T15:13:00.000-07:00

ESSAY 1 - What do you hope to learn about yourself, God, the world and others while at Mars Hill Graduate School?

I've delayed putting my proverbial pen to paper until this eleventh hour having hoped that in the months since deciding to pursue Mars Hill Graduate School, a perfectly formed, theologically sound, rationally weighted and psychologically balanced thesis for why I want to attend graduate school would have already taken up residence in my heart and mind. Instead, in the past few months more questions have moved into the space I had reserved for answers. So, I've been bumping my knees up against the whys and stubbing my toes on the how-tos and rearranging the what-fors. But in the midst of all the crammed questions, one answer remains. A simple statement piece that I intend to keep among the cluttered furniture of my heart and mind is: I want more.

Text. I want more than the Baptist belief system I have held to for 30 years that, while rooting me in a deep faith, has also narrowed my mind to who God is and limited my interpretation of what he has said. I want more than a private Christian school education that left me with principles, rules and regulations about everything from what to wear and what to say but never educated or addressed my need and design for relationship with God and others. I want my biblical longings and questions held and heard instead of being rebuffed as still being an infantile diet of milk when I should be eating meat by now. I want to know the text as a whole, in its entirety, rather than only acknowledging its parts that have been picked and chosen to be used out of context for someone else's debate win. I want a passion to read the words of God and see them in a prism of colors, not just the blacks and whites or even the reds. I want to see the Bible as it was meant to be seen, read it as it was meant to be read. And I would rather widen my understanding of truth, as difficult as that will be, than to sit comfortably in the narrow-mindedness of my own ignorance.

Soul. I want more for my heart. I want it to find a gentle, healing path where the destination leads me to an advanced, lengthy, and detailed tutorial of how to take better care of it. Because on the outside, my heart is strong, firm, calloused and impact-resistant. But the blood-thirsty, oxygen-starved, mushy inside has been cut off from desire and longing, pain and joy, suffering and every other emotion along the way and is now on the verge of being gangrenous. I've denied myself cathartic tears of pain and silenced squeals of joy to maintain a posture of composure in order to send the ever-safe and appropriate message that everything is okay. I've picked my brokenness up by my bootstraps and stuffed dangerous desires deep in my pockets for so long I don't even know what it means to feel. It took an outward manifestation of a panic attack at age 29 to finally acknowledge my heart's inner turmoil. And after a year and a half of counseling, I'm just beginning to know what it means to feel again - or maybe even for the first time.

Last year, I was struck by Isaiah 61:1, the prophecy of Jesus' job description: to bind up the broken hearted and set the captive free. The verse made me question naively, "If that is the primary reason for his coming, then he must not have come for me. Because, where am I broken hearted? Where am I captive?" But a lifetime of believing that he did come for me and everyone else led me to examine how by not acknowledging my own woundedness, I was missing the greatest opportunity for intimacy with Christ, through his redemption. Since, I've invited Christ to come in and bring light to the areas I've been unaware were so beat up or in bondage. And experiencing his redemption has made me want to shout to my Christian public - it's not just about salvation and heaven, but it's about redemption here on earth, too! I want to know more of this redeeming work, which requires that I know more about brokenness and captivity - my own, and that of others as well. And seeing the mountaintop of redemption has made me willing to go into the valley of woundedness and captivity again.

Culture. Out of my 31 years of life, all 31 of them have been spent in the church. The church, its heritage, history, influences, and paradigms are my culture. More than being Caucasian female, I have identified myself with being a churchgoer. From serving in the same church for the past 12 years, to private Christian schools before that, to both parents being on staff at the church I was born and raised in, I have a very limited view of the world and a dominant view of the modern church. I want more than the narrow perspective I've been offered. I want to stretch my capacity to think in ways I've never imagined, or even been allowed to imagine. I want to read things I don't agree with, and know why I don't. I want to engage with material that stretches my moral muscles and brings me face to face with my own limiting self-righteousness. I want to know the audience that God looks upon and realize it's so much more than my white, middle-class, religious face that he sees. I want to see what he sees in the face of every culture and find his image there. And the more I know of other cultures, how wonderful for me, the more I will know of my own creator, and therefore, my own image.

I want more. And for the first time I'm willing to step out in risk to grab it. I'm letting the tiny seed of desire germinate, praying for water and sunshine, hoping that Mars Hill will bring the elements I need for the growth and thriving life of that little seed.

k.

A day to be proud

2009-04-13T10:39:00.000-07:00

CONGRATULATIONS on your acceptance to Mars Hill Graduate School!!! I am so proud of your decision to take the risk that desire seems to require. So step one has been accomplished - relish it!

I'm also incredibly proud of my friend Erika for taking a different kind of risk. She has chosen to let her heart lead her into new territory as well. Watch her youtube debut below!

I feel so lucky to know such incredible people!
~S.

Acknowledging our neediness

2009-04-09T14:11:00.000-07:00

My Beloved from Brandon Russell on Vimeo.

This is a video my brother was a part of creating a few years ago and I absolutely love it. I have utilized it as a visual demonstration a few times when sharing aspects of my own story with various groups in the church during my years at WBCC. In preparing to give a presentation this last week in school I thought of using this video once again - not so much in connection to my own story, but for the purpose of exploring what our role as therapists might look like. I ended up running out of time and was unable to show the clip at the end of my presentation, so I thought I'd post it here instead.

I've been wrestling with a few things portrayed in this short video lately as I've reflected upon how our cultural focus on individualism has influenced our reading of the text and our perception of God. Let me expound a bit here to demonstrate exactly what I mean to suggest. In the video we find an adolescent boy and girl both separate and alone in their display of misery and loneliness. They are revealing all of the messages that they have internalized which now keep them in bondage. They are messages about the self, the other and the world that work together to construct their world-view, which actually determines how they are who they are in the context of their lives. Unfortunately, as is the case in quite possibly the life of every human being, these messages are distorted realities of their true nature, their ultimate design and purpose in life.

Nonetheless, many of us fail to ever hear the truth about who we are. So we long for someone to erase all of the messages...to make them disappear so we can start over anew. Our only hope for a different way of being is by ridding ourselves of what we have already come to receive and inevitably internalize. We want God to be the genie in the bottle who makes it all go away. But in my experience, God has never performed such a disappearing act.

Don't get me wrong...it's not that I don't think God is capable of completely eradicating the ugliness and painfulness of such distortions of truth. But rather, I don't think God wants to. Because maybe it's not about each one of us having our individual slates wiped clean. Maybe it's not about God cleaning everything up and us still being alone in the end. What would it look like for us to get in there with one another, not to erase the messages, but to look at them together...to sort through them, understand them, feel them deeply together. And then to co-create new messages in our experience together...new messages that eventually become more powerful and more formative than the previous ones. I believe that the role of a therapist, actually I believe it pertains to the role of any disciple of Christ, is to get into the messiness with another. How that happens may just look differently in the therapeutic realm.

The greatest hurdle to this way of being with one another seems to be our reluctance to acknowledge just how much we need one another. We all know how much we need God. Even non-believers must know that they do not have ultimate control of their own existence. Yes, I am aware of the fact that we all struggle with living life as though we don't need God - but are we even aware of how much we fail to acknowledge our need for one another? God, by nature, is union - three-in-one. I wonder how our reading of the text and perception of God would look differently if we stopped focusing solely on how much we need God but rather acknowledged our need for a tri-part union - God, others and the self.

~S.

When all else fails, write poetry

2009-04-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

What will I tell you my lovely little ladies?
How will I explain these unending tears?

I can't possibly explain how my heart was broken
when I was as young as the littlest of you
how he walked away and my tiara disappeared
never daddy's little princess or pumpkin or peanut.
How can I describe the longing that is never
more than a song away?

What will I tell you my lovely little ladies?
How will I explain these unending fears?

I can't possibly tell you about the yelling,
the screaming still burning in my ears
how the touch of his hand raised the very hair
off the neck he wanted to squeeze.
How can I convey the scars of his rage
skin shuttering still?

What will I tell you my lovely little ladies?
How will I explain these unending tears?

I can't possibly explain how he used my body
to cope with his own seething pain
how his touch revealed that I was good
for at least this one thing.
How can I uncover the layers of guilt and shame
constricting my heart from pumping forth life?

What will I tell you my lovely little ladies?
How will I explain these unending fears?

I can't possibly tell you about the one
I can never seem to find
how about the one who found me
and then said it just can't be?
How can I confess the void that I can't force
the three of you to fill?

What will I tell you my lovely little ladies?
How will I explain these never ending years?

one possible answer...

2009-04-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

and God help you if you are an ugly girl
- course too pretty is also your doom -
cause everyone harbors a secret hatred
for the prettiest girl in the room.

and God help you if you are a pheonix
and you dare to rise up from the ash.
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying past.

-32 Flavors by Ani Difranco

k.

Just a wink (I mean link) for now

2009-03-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

Well...you are actually in your interview right now. I can hardly contain the surrealness of this experience. I don't know what will happen in the coming months, but the fact that we are closer to the possibility of living in the same state again has my stomach all twisted up with excitement and the fear that always accompanies any level of hopefulness in my life. Even if for some reason all of the puzzle pieces don't come together exactly how we want them to, when all is said and done we will have had, at least on some level, a shared experience here. Shared experiences are often at the heart of deep bonding and intimacy.

Considering I am supposed to be utilizing this time to get some school work done, I am going to abruptly end this post by offering a little link to yet another MHGS student's blog. She is one of the many people at my school that I admire from afar and often think about how if I were in another stage of life currently (basically if I wasn't married with children and totally lacking even a trace of spare time) we could be great friends! She recently wrote a post about your beloved Twilight that I thought was worth a gander. So feast your eyes on this when you get a chance (presumably after this Experience Mars Hill Graduate School Weekend).

~S.

b-12 deficiency

2009-03-24T21:19:00.000-07:00

for a long time i thought i was anemic because i could never shake constant exhaustion. from the moment i woke up in the morning i was counting the hours until i could sleep again. at one point i was so tired i could drink sleep. i investigated the normal causes for why i would be so tired. i took some blood tests, had my thyroid checked out - everything came back normal. i eventually went to a naturopath doctor to look into vitamin supplements. on this journey i came across pernicious anemia which is not a lack of iron so much, like regular anemia, but more of a lack of b-12 absorbency. which is to say, it's not that i wasn't taking in enough of the vitamin, but that my body wasn't absorbing it. so, i immediately started a supplement. i was worried about overdosing because i was so eager to feel not so much like a walking sleepy-head. turns out you can't overdose on vitamin b-12 because it is a water soluble vitamin that, when taken in excess, is easily excreted.

enough of the glamorous details, my point is not to blog to the world about my vitamin deficiencies, but rather to draw a parallel. i think i'm also deficient in something else entirely, love. not because there isn't enough love around me, but because i'm not absorbing it. i'm a poor receiver. what does it matter if my husband always tells me how great i am if i don't receive his praise? what does it matter if i'm surrounded by people who think i'm special, if i don't receive their admiration? what does it matter if friends stand up for me, protect me, rescue me, if i don't accept their help? what does it matter if i know Christ died for me because he loves me, if i don't receive his gift of love.

i'm not quite sure why i don't receive or absorb the love that surrounds me. just like my vitamin deficiency, i can't pinpoint my problem - all i know is that there is one. just like my tiredness was a symptom of malabsorption, likewise, symptoms such as an insatiable desire for praise and a constant yearning to feel special, great disappointment when i am not chosen or picked for someone or something, and deep despair when i'm overlooked or brushed over are symptoms that i'm not receiving the love that is amply given. because if i were like a sponge, absorbing the love surrounding me, would i be so desperate for more?

so. i don't have a love deficiency, but i do have an absorption problem. throwing more love in any way it is given won't help my reception of it. it ends up going down the toilet. therefore, the answer is not more love, but a way to absorb and receive love that bypasses the way i've been trying to receive it up until now.

there are lots of ways people can bypass the problem of absorbing b-12. the vitamin gets lost in the stomach since some people don't have the enzymes there to receive and send it into the blood stream. so, there are shots, there are under-the-tongue pills, and there are patches that send the vitamin directly to the source, bypassing the stomach.

i'm looking for a patch. where can i find healing and wholeness in order to receive the love that is so lavishly given to me? how can i be a receptor for love in all the ways that it is given? how can i first receive, so i can subsequently, be grateful?

k.

invitation

2009-03-17T19:32:00.001-07:00

this is my formal attempt at inviting you to share more on your thoughts from our conversation today about developing a spirit of gratitude through grief. i'd like to hear more...

k.

merrit malloy - a poem

2009-03-17T15:24:00.000-07:00

wrong reason

it is not always the absence of love
that makes me seem alone.
often it's been too much love
given to me by the wrong people
for the wrong reasons
that keeps me here,
gladly alone,
rather than have the life sucked
out of me by the violent needs
of other minds and bodies.

that does not mean
that i'm not grateful.
but i am sad.
not to be able to put my arms
around those who truly loved me
and give them something more
than polite indifference.
oh, how i tried.
i think they should know
i tried.
and i choose to be alone
rather than wrapped in arms
i could never need.

tight rope walker

2009-03-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

from Celebration of Discipline" by Richard Foster:

"Picture a long, narrow ridge with a sheer drop-off on either side. The chasm to the right is the way of moral bankruptcy through human strivings for righteousness. Historically this has been called the heresy of moralism. The chasm to the left is moral bankruptcy through the absence of human strivings. This has been called the heresy of antinomianism. On the ridge there is a path, the Disciplines of the spiritual life. This path leads to the inner transformation and healing for which we seek. We must never veer off to the right or to the left, but stay on the path. The path is fraught with severe difficulties, but also with incredible joys. As we travel on this path, the blessing of God will come upon us and reconstruct us into the image of Jesus Christ. We must always remember that the path does not produce the change; it only places us where the change can occur. This is the path of disciplined grace."

i've been wrestling much, wondering what it is God wants from me. does he want me to try to transform myself? or does he want me to wait for him to do all the transforming? i've used many biblical examples to convince others that we must first step into the red sea before he parts the waters, or take our isaacs to the altar before he provides the ram. so, i know there is a step of action involved. and there is a step of faith in the waiting. i get mixed up when i'm out of balance, when i'm either trying too hard or waiting too lazily. in either case, i'm frustrated.

i go back to this passage from foster's book because it is a visual, and i'm a visual person. it gives me this image of walking down a narrow ridge and balancing - not wanting to fall off to the left in not doing anything, but not wanting to fall off to the right, either, in doing it all on my own.

but like a tight rope walker, i need tools. what are my balancing tools? what is my long stick that i hold onto to keep balanced? do i have special shoes that grip to the rope? tools! i need tools!!! i don't know how to keep the balance of surrender and effort, of doing and resting, of hoping and trusting, of waiting and moving. and i'm so close to jumping off the rope entirely, giving up, not trying, not hoping, not waiting...just falling. and at this point i don't even notice or care if there's a safety net...i just want off the rope.

and i think the tools Foster is describing are the spiritual disciplines of the faith: meditation, prayer, fasting, study, simplicity, solitude, submission, service, confession, worship, guidance, celebration. but for whatever reason, i don't feel like i can do these disciplines without inevitably falling off to the right, and doing everything on my own. these disciplines have gotten me this far in my faith, and yet i feel like i want to, need to get further, and these tools aren't enough? could that be?

i know i'll be on this rope always this side of heaven. so, i'm convinced i need some tools to help me balance, because every day i'm missing the equation that yields doing just the right thing to feel like i'm changing, transforming, somehow being better than yesterday.

to try, or not to try, that is my question.

k.

In need of some tunes

2009-03-16T13:06:00.000-07:00

Everything I'm reading right now is about sex - as a metaphor, of course. But that metaphor has seeped into all apsects of my life...so I'll have more to post about that subject later (is there any other subject really worth discussing?).

I have 15 weeks left until my half marathon. Our mileage is about to start climbing, which means I'll be running for longer stretches of time and I'm in desperate need of some new running tunes. I'm open to any and all suggestions from anyone who happens to come across this blog! So people...please...help a sister out.

~S.

Debunking the myths

2009-03-12T09:48:00.000-07:00

I'm finishing up a paper on Domestic Violence today and I came across this article on newsweek.com about the myths that have been perpetuated in the media about domestic violence in the case of Chris Brown and Rhianna. The DV class I was fortunate enough to take this term has opened my eyes up to the many ways in which collectively, as a society, we often contribute to the systemic oppression of women (and many other people - but that's another blog-worthy topic I'll have to address at a later point in time). So please click here to read about a few of the myths pertaining to domestic violence.

~S.

Passageways

2009-03-10T14:12:00.000-07:00

I only have a few minutes to check in before I tend to a mound of school work. I just dropped Annika off at the airport and we said our goodbyes. It was so great to have her out here for a few days! Having the opportunity to share a bit of my experience out here with those who have been a significant part of my life is a true gift. Here are a few photos of our time together!

These days I'm wrestling with higher levels of anxiety in association with being more fully exposed to others. It's so clear to me now that this anxiety is associated with my deep fear that I am too much for others to handle. I have such a hard time letting go of all inhibition. I'm usually fairly tame in these blog posts...I notice how much I hold back...how much I attempt to abstractly describe what I'm feeling rather than bare all. I think that this trepidation is understandable considering the public nature of this sort of discourse. But for some reason, I'm feeling urged to plow through the passageway of my own discomfort. Sexual metaphors are always within the innerworkings of my mind, so as an attempt to press on through the passageway I often dance around, I'll let go...at least this once.

"Let go" - that's often what I find to be the most difficult task of all. As a woman, surrender is the necessary prerequisite to experiencing orgasm. In order to reach a point of indescribable pleasure, union, intimacy in it's physical manifestation, a woman must surrender her anxieties, preoccupations, and self-containment. She must let go...completely. Orgasm is the moment when she truly shows up.

But letting go with someone who is not in awe of your willingness to surrender can be an incredibly painful experience. The fear of such pain may rob us of true glory...unless we learn to walk through the passageway into the land of surrender. May I learn to walk this journey with greater determination, passion and desire, while never losing sight or sound of the merciful warnings indicated by the initial anxiety. The anxiety serves a purpose. It reminds us that the ground beyond this passageway is truly sacred. We must take our shoes off and so must those in whom we wish to greet on the other side.

inspiration

2009-02-25T13:07:00.001-08:00

I'm heading out to the PB (that's panera bread...not pottery barn) to work on some school stuff...but I wanted to encourage you to check out Lauren & Claire's blog when you get a chance. Claire recently posted a video with Elizabeth Gilbert that left a huge lump in my throat and a desire to "show up". Do it...right now...check it out here.

~S.

Invitation to death

2009-02-25T10:00:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I've willingly waded in the waters of baptism. After a few years of attempting to separate out the voices of the herd and the voice of God while standing on the edge of the pool, I have come to the conclusion that the only way to authentically wrestle with the doubting Thomas that is woven into the fabric of my being is to dive in. I'm not sure what this means yet or what the result will be...I just know it's time.

I leave you with a few words from William Willimon as we enter into this season of Lent anew:

"The chief biblical analogy for baptism is not the water that washes but the flood that drowns. Discipleship is more than turning over a new leaf. It is more fitful and disorderly than gradual moral formation. Nothing less than daily, often painful, lifelong death will do. So Paul seems to know not whether to call what happened to him on the Damascus Road 'birth' or 'death' - it felt like both at the same time.

"In all this I hear the simple assertion that we must submit to change if we would be formed into this cruciform faith. We may come singing 'Just as I Am,' but we will not stay by being our same old selves. The needs of the world are too great, the suffering and pain too extensive, the lures of the world too seductive for us to begin to change the world unless we are changed, unless conversion of life and morals becomes our pattern. The status quo is too alluring. It is the air we breathe, the food we eat, the six-thirty news, our institutions, theologies, and politics. The only way we shall break its hold on us is to be transferred to another dominion, to be cut loose from our old certainties, to be thrust under the flood and then pulled forth fresh and newborn. Baptism takes us there."

~S.

(Photo: Baptism by Traer Scott)

fun house

2009-02-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

when someone offers their opinion or perspective on how they see you, view you, it's like they're one of many fun house mirrors. you know those mirrors where some make you look short and fat, others make you look tall and skinny, some, your face is long and drawn, and still others, you almost have no face, just a belly. the thing about those mirrors is that we know they're not reflecting all of who we are - only part. the color of my hair and eyes are the same in every one of those mirrors. each different mirror reflects the same shirt and pants that i am surely wearing. so, while there is part truth being projected back, there is also falsity.

as we listen to what others think of us, we must remember, there are truths to what they say, and there are untruths - it's up to us whether we laugh at their reflection or not.

k.

3rd post of the day!

2009-02-23T12:07:00.000-08:00

I got back from running and while I was getting ready I randomly decided to listen to a sermon by a former MHGS student named Meredith Dancause. She just so happened to be talking about a half marathon. You can download it here.

~S.

Randomness

2009-02-23T10:12:00.000-08:00

A quick list before I head to the gym:

1. Did you know they are turning Blue Like Jazz into a movie? Donald Miller was at my school last week where he spoke about the idea. Unfortunately I wasn't able to attend (being a mom of younger children poses a bit of a problem when cool things like this come up at school).

2. I lost my beloved iphone so I won't be available by telephone for at least a little while. I seriously have no idea what I did with it. Brian and I searched the apartment for hours yesterday and called the place where I last had the phone. I'm currently going through withdrawal symptoms - an unfortunate downfall to becomming addicted to having internet access 24/7.

3. Did you watch the Oscars last night? Art really is the universal language. I want to host an Oscar party as soon as we have a house large enough to host such an extravaganza (for those of us who deserve an Oscar in our own right).

4. I've officially begun training for my half marathon. And posting that detail on this blog adds even more pressure to follow through with this endeavor. There is a part of me that is thrilled at the idea of celebrating my transition in life as a 30 year old (my birthday is June 8th) in this fashion...and the other part of me is wondering what the hell I just committed myself to!

~S.

The problem with badness

2009-02-23T08:45:00.000-08:00

Since I'm off of school this week and Krisalyn as preschool all day today - I have the entire day to myself. It's so weird. Of course I have a long list of errands to run and school assignments to catch up on - but still...an entire day without little kid interruptions. I think there's something wrong with me because most people would enjoy the quiet and uniterruptedness of the day, but it makes me get this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. It feels sort of like the homesick feeling only worse. I'm wondering what it's all about as I sit here drinking my coffee and staring at this computer screen (which is connected to the functioning half of the laptop I drove over in the church parking lot a few years ago). I don't like being alone. I don't like not being needed by anyone. I don't like the lack of someone else/something else determining the course of my day.

So even though my life looks very different now than it has in the past (i.e. I don't seem to have quite so many balls in the air...I think that's a reference to juggling) I'm still not quite settled into my own skin. I'm still looking outside myself for a sense of pseudo-identity and pseudo-locatedness (one of my new favorite words...and my new habit of placing "pseudo" at the beginning of just about any word). I recently came across an old journal entry where I was clearly at a point of distress. Here's a bit of the entry dated Oct. 5, 2005:

"I'm afraid that if i continue on like this I will hit a wall and quite
literally become mentally insane. I don't know how much longer I can go on with this continual feeling of chaos and distraction. I'm disconnected from everything - a complete detachment from all that is real. Life is spinning; everything is confusing and I can't even think. Nothing makes sense anymore. EVERYTHING IS SPINNING."

I'm not sure what was specifically going on in my life in those despairing moments, but it's obvious that I was at a point of desperation. Though this obscure journal entry reveals just how far I've come, a part of me still knows that place of detachment. Last semester I had an opportunity to briefly speak with one of my professors and I shared with her that there seemed to be a weightiness about her and some of the other professors. It was a weightiness that enabled them to stand in their own bodies to the point in which I repeatedly perceived them to be fully present. I, on the other hand, explained how I often felt light as a feather in my own body being tossed back and forth by the wind. Even as I vocalized this metaphor, my voice became shaky, the tears began to swell and I feared I would psychologically vanish before we were even able to conclude the conversation. We went on to discuss the value of therapy and she commented on my fragility (which she defined as vulnerability) and how few people are able to handle that kind of rawness in others (because they haven't handled it well within themselves either).

I think that is why I have a hard time living fully in my own body. There is a rawness about me that I have learned to protect - to keep it out of complete reach by any other. There are moments that it busts through the barriers I've worked so hard at erecting. I've been especially curious about a specific barrier that I tend to favor - it's the barrier of always being the "bad one". In most of my relationships I am capable of characterizing myself as the "bad one" - the one with the most colorful past, the one with the most difficult marriage, the one with the most family dysfunction or greatest level of pain. This badness is what keeps others out - I keep them out - at least at an arm's distance away. They can know all sorts of things about me...or about my badness...but they can't come in because they're not as bad as me.

I tell myself that if I could find someone who is as bad as me then they could come in. But there's a serious problem with this logic because often I surround myself with people who help me perpetuate this shield of badness. Either I establish our roles in the relationship at the onset, or they are equally as bent on being the good one.

So I have a dilemma. The barriers I've erected keep people out and they keep me in a state of emotional isolation (though admittedly there are glorious moments when these barriers give way...thank God). Emotional isolation leaves me feeling detached from life, from relationship, from ever being fully present. It's like sleep walking a bit - I can go through the motions but I'm not fully awake. I'm living in my head, or in the deep withdrawn emotional crevices of my mind. Maybe that's why I appreciate having a role to fulfill or a task to accomplish - it lures at least a part of me out of the dark cave where my true self has been hiding all my life. I've been able to describe to a few, at least in part, aspects of this dark cave but I've yet to invite someone to join me inside the cave. I think that's what a therapeutic relationship is meant to be - it's a relationship that works towards entering the dark cave together.

It's painfully clear that if I don't do the work of inviting another into the dark cave with me then entering into the cave with others (as a profession as well as an act of discipleship) will be reduced to sheer voyeurism rather than a mutual pursuit of freedom through relationship. I no longer want insight alone - for what is insight if it's not experienced in relationship?

~S.

No excuses

2009-02-21T00:00:00.000-08:00

My school schedule has slowed down a bit...so I really don't have any viable excuse for not contributing much to this form of expression. I just haven't been in the mood for writing much lately. I have a week off from school though...so hopefully some motivation will kick in soon.

Until then these little blog links will have to do. The first one is a guy who graduated from my school last year and he's currently living in NY while his wife finishes up her Masters. He's recently posted a series on LOCATEDNESS that I've really resonated with. You can search from all of them here. The second one is a fellow female classmate/poet/artist whom I find to be rather inspiring.

~S.

knowledge smells

2009-02-12T19:25:00.000-08:00

bear with me - i will make a point.

i was driving down the mountains this morning after my counseling appointment. there was so much information bound up in my head. all the knowledge i had just gleaned, had just heard, had just learned, was tying itself up in knots in my mind. and as the pressure increased in my ears with the changing altitude, the knots in my head got tighter and tighter and i felt it would break under the pressure of trying to process so much new knowledge. i wanted so badly to immediately transfer the information into my becoming, into my being. but it remained only thoughts twisted in my head.

and it occurred to me, knowledge is to smelling what experiencing is to tasting. you can learn all you want, hear all you want and take in so much knowledge - but it still is nothing compared to the experiencing.

what if you lived near a fantastic mexican restaurant, but because of your heart burn issues, you couldn't actually eat the food, but you had to perpetually smell the cilantro, the jalapeno, the onions and the tomatoes, but could never savor any of it? your mouth would always water, your stomach always grumble, hunger pangs would never go away. you'd be in a constant state of yearning and not having, of desiring and being left unfulfilled. oh, the tension i feel now just imagining the wanting and not having.

that's how i feel about all this knowledge permeating my brain. it wafts in and out of my mind with its tempting flavors of insight and it's aroma of wisdom and yet i want more! not more knowlege, not more smells and tantalizing taunting, but the experience that knowledge speaks of. i don't want to just know. i want to KNOW. to continue with my mexican metaphor: yo no quiero saber. yo quiero conocer!!! i want to experience intimately all that this knowledge speaks of. i don't want to talk about transformation - i want to be transformed! i don't want to whisper about love, i want to love and be loved well! i don't want to speak of risks and passion, i want to dare and desire! enough luring. i want the taking!

knowledge has done for my heart what smelling has done for my stomach. lured me into wanting the main course - not just tiny remnant particles of it.

k.

more about daddy

2009-02-11T11:31:00.001-08:00

as i contemplate intimacy with my maker i've realized how much he wants from me the same things i desire from my husband. lately, i've told karl that he needs to ooh and ahh better. being that he is quite reserved and holds back, i asked him to practice affirming me with reckless abandon. now - for his personality, that's like asking a river to run up the mountain instead of down. but nonetheless, i want to be delighted in. i want to be admired and valued - and if i don't get it from my husband, my humanness will seek that same admiration from somewhere else. so, he agreed to try and i am praising his every effort.

so, if what i need from relationships is affirmation, does God want that from me to himself? i'm guessing he does. he wants to be admired for his handiwork, valued for his love and sacrifice and told so. i'm good at the, "thank you, Father for our food," but like i told karl - that is not a compliment given with pure awe and reckless abandon. so, i'm trying. but more than having the ability to ooh and ahh over my Father, i need eyes to see all that there is to ooh and awe over. of course, there is his creation, every sunset and song bird sings his praises. maybe living in colorado, i take his creation for granted - but i don't want to. i want eyes to see his amazing handiwork. i want to see how he is wooing me, impressing me, showing off. that's what i do for karl. i do my proverbial song and dance and seek his applause. and if God seeks my applause, isn't he songing and dancing too? i know he is. i know it. but i want to see it, to believe it! i want my oohing and ahhing to be thrills and trills of wonder, excitement and profound amazement at all that he is and is capable of. daddy, give me eyes to see your greatness that i may humbly offer my unabashed praise.

"what can a poor man lay at the foot of a king?" asks a song from point of grace. i believe as i give karl praises for merely attempting to meet my needs and speak my love, so i believe my king will delight in my pauper's bundled gift of oohs and ahhs.

k.

i want to go to disney world...

2009-02-06T07:45:00.000-08:00

...metaphorically speaking.

this morning i was questioning what kind of intimacy God wants from me. what does intimacy even look like with the creator of the universe? i'm trying to believe that he wants to hear my hopes and dreams and wants me to share my desires with him, but that's hard to imagine when he already knows everything. why do i need to spell it out for him? isn't it like que' sera' sera' - what will be will be?

but i've recently realized that "spelling it out" is the conversation required for intimacy. what close relationship doesn't involve dialogue? so, while i know he is not a genie of the lamp for me to expel my wishes upon thereby backing him into the corner of having to grant my every desire, for the sake of our relationship, i think he wants to know my heart - what my heart longs for and what it day dreams of and what makes it skip to a syncopated beat.

so, i ventured out this morning to lay before his feet my desires. to spell them out, to give language to the song in my heart - hoping that he would carry my dreams carefully. hoping that he wanted to hear them as much as i wanted to tell them to him. praying that i could trust him to treat my heart gently. i'm waiting patiently for his exchange in our dialogue - but as for my part, it went something like this:

daddy, just like lucy wants to go to disney world because she's heard all about it, watched the disney shows every day for a year and listened all about the wonderful surprises the destination has to offer, i want to go somewhere too. i've heard all about this place called mars hill graduate school. i've talked with someone who goes there every week for a year and a half, i've heard about all the professors and read some of their books, i've listened to what wonderful surprises the school, the city and the journey have to offer to someone who is seeking more, and i want to go, because i want more. but just like lucy, i am waiting in patient anticipation for the tickets to go because i know the cost is high, the journey long and the right opportunity has to present itself...

but daddy?...daddy, i want to go.

k.

books, books, and more books

2009-02-03T13:29:00.000-08:00

I'm buried underneath all of these books. Last week I finished reading A Shining Affliction by Annie Rogers, Not to People Like Us by Susan Weitzman, and Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men by Lundy Bancoft.

This week I'm working on completing One Child by Torey Hayden, Children Who See Too Much: Lessons from the Child Witness to Violence Project by Betsy McAlister Groves, and God's Reconciling Love: A Pastor's Handbook on Domestic Violence by Dr. Nancy A. Murphy (my professor in Domestic Violence Advocacy).

That's a total of 1,447 pages (in 2 weeks) --- and I didn't even include articles and excerpts from other books for my regular classes this trimester. Am I complaining? Absolutely...and maybe bragging a bit too. I know it's unbecoming, but my exhausted brain and over-worked eyes are in need of some sympathy right now.

All this to say that I won't be able to post anything of worth for at least another week.

Until then...
~S.

giving and receiving love

2009-02-01T20:41:00.000-08:00

i don't know if i haven't been blogging much because i lack the ideas or the passion for the ideas - but my mind has been a "tabula rasa" or "blank slate". i don't think i haven't had thoughts - i just think i've either had too many and none are rising to the surface, or there is just so much swirling that none have settled.

i was thinking of a friend i used to have. i say used to because i haven't seen her or spoken to her in 2 1/2 years. but i think if we were to see each other tomorrow, we could likely pick up where we left off. she's one of those kinds...where you don't really have to talk daily to be comfortable in your friendship - and in this case, we haven't talked in years. but that much time seems like it makes things a little more uncomfortable. i think the discomfort comes from not knowing why neither of us have made the effort to keep in touch. that's the question that goes around in my over crowded mind. did she not keep in touch with me or did i not keep in touch with her? did she ditch me, or did she feel i ditched her? one idea that keeps rising to the surface is my conclusion that we stopped needing each other. because in my experience you can ditch what you want (i.e. not let yourself want it anymore, or fill that want with something or someone else), but it's a lot harder to ditch what you need.

so, that leads me to deduce that our friendship was based on need. no problem with that - many relationships start out that way (infant to mother for example). and i'm not even sure what needs we met in one another, but we must have to tuck a 12 year relationship under our belt. so, i'm less concerned with what we needed in one another and more interested in how relationships are formed and founded and what keeps them going.

one thing that irritated me today is that when i imagined running into this friend again after these 2 1/2 years, i picture she would come up and give me a hug. why would i be irritated that she'd hug me? i wrestled with this discomfort and uncovered a possible reason. i have been in this friendship on my terms. we're friends just so long as she needs me and i need her - but if we become those people who casually give out hugs, then that is no longer on my terms because i'm not free with my hugs - and she is. so, part of me was mad thinking that - hey, you don't see me or talk to me in nearly 3 years and you want to give me a hug like we saw each other yesterday? that's not how i work.

and i chided myself realizing how i only give and receive love on my terms. and how much love i'm missing because i don't receive it the way others give it. her idea of showing love is hugs. mine's not. but am i so full of love and relationships that i don't have room to accept and receive love in any way shape or form that it's given? how arrogant of me.

Christ demonstrated his love for us while we were still steep in sin. so, it seems the problem isn't so much needing or earning love as much as it is to humbly receive it - in any way it is given.

i've got a 10 ft. wall between me and the love others are sending me. it's not they're fault i'm not loved. because they're giving it. it's my fault i'm not loved, because i'm not receiving it. so that begs the question - what kind of love am i giving if i've not yet let myself receive?

another day - another blog. maybe.

k.

Filled to the brim

2009-01-25T17:15:00.000-08:00

I've found that I go through seasons where I feel overwhelmed by the fullness of all that is going on within me. There are moments where the fullness leads to a sort of purging as I somehow find a way to expel the contents of my mind or heart. But there are other times when the fullness doesn't feel so much like something I must get rid of, but rather something I must swim around in until I find words capable of expressing the heaviness I feel all the way to the bone.

For the time being, I am entrapped (necessarily) in a season of wordlessness...partially prompted by the re-reading of a book I was brave enough to play with initially last Christmas season by the suggestion of my practicum facilitator. I am now re-reading it for a class assignment and I'm struck by how I am able to read my own life through my interaction with the real life characters of this book.

Here is a simple taste of what has led me into this season of dumbness:

"Driving away in the gray, muted green of the early evening, I want to hide myself in the yellow leaves and silent shadows, slink into the dusky edge of myself. Out of sync with the new clinical speech of my friends, I feel like a foreigner in a strange land. I admonish myself not to take it all so seriously. I roll down the window and the night air blasts in, roars in my ears."

"I watch the snow begin to fall under the streetlight outside the window. I push aside the subtle but ominous feeling that my life is not whole, the increasing sense that the pieces simply don't fit together. I push aside the knowledge that I am leading a double life of sorts: as a promising young woman without a past, or with a past made up to fit a life she wants for herself so badly that anything invented is bound to be a better choice than the actual past. I push aside too the impression that although many people feel close to me, no one has a whole picture of me, and this is bound to catch up with me sooner or later."

From A Shining Affliction by Annie G. Rogers, Ph.D

~S.

It's natural for me too...

2009-01-23T22:04:00.000-08:00

"When I paint an open field or the inside of a building with lonliness implied, it's not concocted. Perhaps I dream of more lonliness in a thing than is actually there. But I'm not trying to be dramatic; it's natural for me. Have we lost the art of being alone? I think we have."

From Richard Meryman's Andrew Wyeth: A Secret Life, pp. 183-184.

One of the TA's at school posted this compelling blog about Andrew Wyeth.

(Lauren...this is especially for you.)

on the down slope

2009-01-20T10:30:00.001-08:00

and by that title i'm not referring to the frequency of which i've been blogging (although that would be appropriate given that it's taken me a few weeks to get out of the holiday rest period and into the swing of the new year).

instead, i'm referring to your tenure at mars hill. 1 1/2 years down...1 1/2 years to go. you're on the down slope. you've crested the mountain's peak and are on your descent. you must feel relief that you've made it through the toughest climb and now it's a matter of wading through the tricky terrain. some people get cocky on the way down, thinking it's easier - while it may not be as strenuous, it does require much more dexterity and attention. it's too easy to roll an ankle or slip on a rock or trip and tumble down if you're not watching every footstep.

so - my hope for you on this down slope is that your attentions are sharp and your feet are nimble. that your eyes are clear and you can see the landscape laid before you, map your descent and arrive safely at the bottom. godspeed to you, shauna.

2 Samuel 22:32-37

32 For who is God besides the LORD ?
And who is the Rock except our God?

33 It is God who arms me with strength
and makes my way perfect.

34 He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;
he enables me to stand on the heights.

35 He trains my hands for battle;
my arms can bend a bow of bronze.

36 You give me your shield of victory;
you stoop down to make me great.

37 You broaden the path beneath me,
so that my ankles do not turn.

k.

Coffee Break

2009-01-12T08:28:00.001-08:00

Just a little quote to start out your day:

"Only we can know what it is like from the inside to be on our particular journey, and there will always be times when the world in its various guises tries to make us go its way rather than our own. Our individuality, our true sense of self, grows to the degree that we are able to hold fast to what we know to be true or ourselves, even when others are crying out for us to follow more well trodden paths." By Roger Housden in Ten Poems to Set You Free

I don't know what it is about this book, but every time I read it I notice a significantly sized lump lodged deep inside my throat. Maybe it's because the author shares my same love of poetry (though mine is a new discovery), or maybe it's because of the way in which he allows the poetry to read his own life and thereby teaches his reader how to do the same.

~S.

Back to life...

2009-01-11T13:09:00.001-08:00

Back to reality. Wasn't that a song from the 90s? I'm starting my 5th of 8 trimesters at MHGS this week. It is a strange feeling to be on the down slope of my Mars Hill experience. I think that when I initially made the decision to enroll here, I anticipated a revolutionary transformation in my life and I keep waiting to feel like a completely new person. I have this hunch that when I leave this place I won't really have any life-solving answers...just more questions. But I'm learning to swim more comfortably amidst the pool of questions. I'm no longer trying to conquer them by diving head first into each one like a mad women. Nor am I turning against them with a cynical heart unwilling to engage because the pursuit seems too daunting. Instead, I am learning what it means to live into the mystery of existence.

I was reading a collection of old journals this last week. The re-discovery of an ancient version of myself is one of my favorite experiences. I read a quote by one of my philosophy professors from Metro that I had jotted down in the margin of a tiny leather journal that spoke to how I'm feeling these days. Professor Chu's offered wisdom I wouldn't quite understand until now as he said, "Once you learn that you don't know as much as you think you know - only then will you be motivated to seek knowledge." Grad school has done that for me. It has revealed to me just how little I really know. And what does it mean to really KNOW anything anyway? I know that many people are scared of the threat such relativism seems to pose...yet, I don't find that I suffer from either an indifferent or fatalistic attitude as a result of acknowledging the difference between knowing and believing. But rather, I find myself intrigued even more by the pursuit...because I actually think it is in the journey of pursuing greater understanding in the external realities of this world that we truly find ourselves.

Missing what's familiar

2009-01-02T09:17:00.001-08:00

As I anticipate the long journey back to our current home in Washington I am keenly aware of the ache in my stomach indicating my desire to return to what is familiar. I am ready (and have been ready for a few days now) to re-enter the nature of my life in the rainy city once again. Visions of my cozy little apartment office, a warm cup of Chai Tea, my Africa blanket and my blog-writing tablet (a.k.a. my computer) are dancing in my head this morning.

Until then...

caught in the valley

2008-12-23T19:44:00.001-08:00

i'm currently caught in the valley between the mountain of obedience and the mountain of desire, and i'm not sure i'm safe where i'm at.

my entire life i have lived by the code and direction of obedience. it's been my MO since i remember having stolen a can of soda at the age of 5 and walking back into the grocery store to confess to the manager my great sin. every decision i've made i've weighed against the bible of my parents or the Bible of my faith. i've always imagined there was a right way and a wrong way to every way. so, i went to college based on what i thought was the obedient thing to do. i started having kids as an act of obedience. i've confessed white lies and guilted myself over speeding and turned in every item the clerk accidentally forgot to ring up. i've lived my life by the code of obedience.

and recently, i've slipped down the mountain of obedience. not that i've been disobedient - but i'm wondering how high on my priority list obedience should be as the primary guide of my life. i've realized you can be obedient without using your heart. you can be obedient and still not love. you can be obedient and still not be a good and faithful servant. i'm guessing many of the pharisees valued obedience above all else too, and we know what Jesus had to say about them.

so, if not obedience, then what? my mind has been opened to the idea and pursuit of desire (notice my heart hasn't gotten there, hence the dilemma). could it be that the psalmist was right, that to have the desires of your heart is well worth seeking? and that by delighting in God, and the way he designed us, is to move closer to the desires that he built in us. i'm not talking about wanting more money, or a bigger house, or a better body - but the desire to live more fully into who God made us to be...beings who yearn and crave more than what the world has told us to settle for.

so, the valley - i haven't yet embarked on the journey up the mountain of desire. i'm overwhelmed by the presence of the wolves of disappointment, and the lions of pain, and the bears of fear that wait to ravage my willingness to climb. so, how long do i stay in the valley? because, either i trek back up the mountain of obedience from where i came, or i will inevitably be swept away by the rivers of discontent and despair that await me here in the valley. or, i move. i look for a lifeline of hope that will save me when the animals of all that oppose His way attack with their full force.

the waters are rising. which way will i go?...

k.

toying with the idea of new year's resolutions

2008-12-16T20:33:00.000-08:00

so - every year, without fail since i knew what they were, i've made new year's resolutions. when i was more disciplined (back in 8th grade), i would make resolutions to not be so loud, to memorize verses and poetry, to work on my etiquette. now, its pretty much the same thing every year: lose weight, eat right, exercise, get out of debt, etc...and no matter which cloak the resolution takes on (i.e. lose weight by training for a 5K race), it can't mask the fact that in the past, i have only achieved one of my many new year's resolutions (i did run a 5K race, but didn't lose any weight).

with a new year, how about a new idea - out with the old, in with the new! instead of a new year's resolution - how about a new year's question to ponder over and over again in the year 2009? i have decided - or possibly resolved (:0) to ask myself this question before as many decisions and actions as i can:

"will this (fill in the blank) be good for me?"

not "will this benefit someone?", "will this make someone else happy?", "will this make me look or appear to have it all together", "will this keep me out of trouble", "will this make the bad feelings go away - even if for just a little bit?" because i fear those are the questions i've been asking myself my long 31 years - and as noted, they haven't brought me closer to who i want to be - or that person that i resolve to be every year.

instead, i want to ask myself these questions, and act on the answer. "will this extra helping of cake be good for me?" "will this impulsive buy - because i want it and don't need it - be good for me?" "will taking on this extra committment be good for me?" "will sleeping in be good for me?" "will worrying about him or her be good for me?" "will watching this show be good for me?" "will having this conversation be good for me?" "will spending my time mindlessly and aimlessly be good for me?" "will running from my problems be good for me?" "will going for a walk be good for me?" "will calling a friend instead of cleaning my bathroom be good for me?" "will sitting down to snuggle with my daughter be good for me?" "will getting up early to have peace and quiet be good for me?" etc...etc...

while this idea may not be altruistic - i have to believe in the nature of loving myself for once before trying to love others. i've spent so much time thinking about all the things not to do - i want to meditate and call to the forefront of my memory a question that will change the negative messages i've been listening to all my life. it will remind me of what's most important. being good to me means i can be better to others.

so, we'll see this year, "will it be good for me?"

k.

there you go being a good mother again.

2008-12-14T20:10:00.000-08:00

thank you for the mix cd you sent me for my birthday. when i get these musical mysteries from you, i tuck them away in a special place. i hide them until i can be fully present to their melodies. i wait patiently until no other voices can interfere with my hearing each puzzle possessed word that is inevitably on each song you've chosen. and later, like a racoon who collects shiny things, i pull them out and curiously run my fingers over them.

with every song i wonder what drew you to it, and moreso what drew you to selecting it for me. sometimes i believe one song must have been selected for its catchy tune - but knowing you, it can't just be the music that has moved you - but must also be the wonderful orchestration of words, lyrics, limerick, and the captivating themes, ideas and passions presented in the precisely packaged present of word with song. that's what i believe, anyway.

and so, with the recent birthday music cd, i found you being a good mother again with song number 2 in your ordered scheming: "daisy" by karine polwart. i didn't have to guess why you selected this song. the pleasant, tongue curling irish accent on 'dahr-ling' was impossible to miss. but a one-line lyric might have gone unnoticed by even me had it not instantly brought the comfort and tonic i've been missing in these past sick six weeks:

"i know you’ll only say a thing you believe to be true..."

exquisite, no. intentional, yes. knowing that recently, i've had 3 encounters where i've berated myself for things that i've said, and called into question the usefulness of truth as a virtue, you snuck in a song that would convey a most mothering message that reminds me - someone knows and believes the best in me, even when i can't believe it myself.

and so - when i can, i steal away quiet moments in order to listen to the soothing voice of a mystery irish woman, grateful that your mothering soul crafted for me a present that is as much a comfort to me as a blanket to a baby.

thank you.

k.

Poetry to my ears

2008-12-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

One of my professors ended our class with a few poems the other night. I really connected with this one and I thought I'd share it with you.

The Journey
By Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Counting down...

2008-12-07T17:46:00.000-08:00

three days of madness left and then I'll search for my sanity once again.

But until then I thought I'd post these two videos which help me to visualize a couple of themes we've been exploring in our Sexual Disorders class.

The first one characterizes the perversion of love (as an example of sadomasochism)...

And this one contrasts that distorted love (yet often our best effort) with a more pure form of love...

Wrapping Up Yet Another Season

2008-12-03T14:06:00.000-08:00

I can't believe that in 7 days I will be half way through my program here at MHGS. There have been moments where my time here has felt as though it were creeping at a painfully slow pace and there have been other moments where I'm spinning around in the wind and chaos of the enormous workload I am somehow able to tackle by the end of each trimester. This season has been excessively chaotic. I began the trimester with a reunion as many friends of Colorado made their way up to the great Northwest, and not too long after that we drove down for my sister's wedding. I feel like I never really had an opportunity to catch up and and rest assured that all was not beyond my reach.

Our 14 hour drive home from California this last Sunday provided me with a great deal of time to ponder upon my anxiety over always feeling like my life is in flux. It seems obvious, perhaps, that I would feel that way in our current situation considering we are sort of in a state of transition in our lives. Believing that we are only here in Seattle temporarily, while I finish my degree, has prevented us from really putting our feet on the ground. And yet, when I really think about it, I wonder if I've ever felt planted at any stage in my life. High school was transitory - I couldn't wait to leave home. Not too long after that I got married and two years later began a family. Both Brian and I have both struggled to land on a specific direction for our individual, yet intricately and intimately connected, lives.

I recognize that we are a part of a larger context - a culture that is always on the move. But lately I've discovered that my continual movement and progression, which some have associated with ambition, is most deeply rooted in a sense of fear. I'm afraid of standing still. I'm afraid that if I stop running toward something I won't know what to do, who to be, or how to be. But I'm tired of running. My marathon of a life has worn me out. And yet, it's how I've learned to cope with the traumas of my life.

The other night in my human development class we were discussing this idea presented by Winnicott (a psychological big shot) referred to as "the fear of breakdown". He suggests that the anxiety that we feel in the present, whereby we think we're afraid of what could happen, is in actuality a result of the trauma that has already occurred. So maybe I haven't really been running toward anything...I've just been running from what I have not been able to work through at this juncture.

For some reason, the season of Advent always beckons me to stop running so fast. I'm sensing that invitation now. A few weeks ago I had a conversation with my closest friend here (whom I've referred to as my security blanket) about mine and Brian's struggle with determining where we should go from here in life and she asked me a poignant question that I can't shake from my mind. She asked what it would look like for us to simply be here where we're at right now. In my own reflecting since that conversation I haven't been able to come up with any concrete answer, but I think it's stirred my desire to figure out how to make this a place we can call home. I'm learning that home isn't really a location, it's a way of being present and in relationship with those in your life at any given point in time.

~S.

self-soothing goes out the window when you're sick

2008-11-24T07:22:00.000-08:00

i've been sick for almost 2 weeks. it started out with just a sore throat, moved to the sinuses, and is now stuck in my chest. my lungs hurt from the heaving and my throat is raw from the coughing. saturday night, i had to try to sleep sitting up and not sleeping well doesn't help much with the recovery.

so, what does one do when the methods of self-soothing aren't working? normally, when life is tough, i soothe myself with a nap or a walk - neither of which work right now. i've tried to numb the pain by watching a lot of television - and at least it has done what it was meant to do, be the anesthetic i've needed...but i'm still missing the soothing. i've drank at least 20 cups of chamomile and tension tamer tea...and that's as close to soothed as i've been in 2 weeks.

so, now what? meditation is difficult when pain is present and is even harder when the focus is supposed to be on the breath that happens to be labored and interrupted by wheezing and coughing. sleeping is impossible. exercise taxes my lungs. t.v. numbs me. i even tried to do some cleaning and the dust combined with the chemicals made things worse.

does this mean i'm forced to be un-soothed for the duration of this sickness? is there a greater meaning or purpose to this discomfort, irritation, nuisance? am i missing something? am i making too much of it?

all i know is i've been miserably uncomfortable for 2 weeks. i'm holding my breath (what's left of it) waiting to feel better. i'm racking up undone normal daily tasks until i'm well again...but what about those who don't have the luxury of feeling better? what about karl who has battled 2 herniated discs in his back for 18months and has pain daily? what about those with chronic ailments like asthma or arthritis? how do they self-soothe? are they extra creative? or can they just hold their breath longer than me?

i don't want to miss anything - but i fear i'm missing everything. i never want a learning lesson to pass me by, and yet, in the holding my breath, waiting for this sickness to be over, that's exactly what i'm doing - i'm missing the now. i'm missing the gift of the present. i've got blinders on and i'm focused on the afterwards, so i'm missing everything happening peripherally right now. i need to find a form of self-soothing that works so i can take off the blinders and enter into this discomfort while at the same time not torture myself with the inevitable pain that comes with sickness.

make sense? probably not. afterall, it's hard to write when you're miserable...or is it?

k.

the unbridled hope of a child...

2008-11-21T14:24:00.000-08:00

i was so glad i was present and available to answer lucy's request for snuggle time before quiet hour today. i was all ready to get in the shower, but that could wait for a few more minutes. lucy wanted to pick up our conversation that we'd been having the past few nights about disney world. she wanted to know how big mickey was. what were the rides like. what kind of games could be played. and was there dancing too? so, today i chose to tell her all about the 'it's a small world' ride. the description of that ride must have just been the answer she was looking for as she was then determined that she wanted to go. so, i told her maybe she should ask for a trip to disney world for christmas. she guffawed at the thought of santa bringing her disney world. i quickly explained that he could bring us the tickets to go.

she thought for a minute and asked if we could go to the mall and if i could sit on santa's lap and ask him for us. understanding a childs' fear of sitting on a large jolly bowl full of jelly, i told her that she would have to be the one to ask if that's what she wanted. but, i suggested there might be another way.

i said, "you know, santa only works during christmas, but do you know who works all year round and is only a prayer away?"

she responded, "Jesus?"

i told her that if she didn't want to ask santa, she could ask Jesus. she thought about this for a moment and said, "will Jesus drop the tickets in the sky down from heaven?"

i said, "maybe. but they might also show up under your pillow, or under your plate at dinner."

she was having fun with this idea and asked for me to tell her more places they could show up. so, i said, "maybe they will be in your carseat, or in your lunch bag at school."

it was fun to watch her laugh and giggle at these thoughts. then, she looked behind her out the window and said, "i don't see the tickets in the sky, will i be able to see them when they come down from heaven?"

i brought it to her attention that while she would be able to see the tickets if that's where they were, she hadn't even asked yet. she quickly said, "then, let's do it right now."

she bowed her head and clasped her hands and prayed, "dear Jesus, i would really like to go to disney world sometime. could you please send us some tickets? amen."

with a tear in my eye grateful for her hope and trust, i smiled and was thrilled to be a part of this moment. then, when it was time for me to go she said, "i'm just going to look under my pillow real quick to see if they're there."

obviously there were no tickets to disney world - but that didn't deter her hope. i told her she might have to be very patient, and possibly remind Jesus. she asked if he would forget, and i reassured her that he wouldn't, but it didn't hurt to ask again. so, i'm sure she will. over and over again she will. and everytime it will be a reminder to me that Jesus loves the little children...all the children of the world...

k.

full circle

2008-11-21T13:50:00.000-08:00

I'm taking this interesting class right now called Care of Soul and the Call to Sacred Activism. In fact, I'm about to run out the door to my second day of this three-day course, but I wanted to leave you with a little taste of what we're attempting to work through together.

"Globalization has created possibilities for local, regional, and global integration, but it has also left waves of disintegration in its wake. It has given us more and more of a free market, but it has unmasked human and structural 'unfreedoms' that contribute to making so few so wealthy while so many remain so poor. It has given us new technology such as global positioning systems, which help us find our way in time and sapce, but in other ways it has made us less able to find the ethical coordinates and the spiritual vision that would help us find a place of human solidarity. In order to understand the assets and liabilities of our contemporary context, we need to examine more carefully and critically the meaning and motor of globalization, the premises and players that shape it, and ultimately the direction and destiny that are defining where we are headed as a human family." -Daniel G. Groody, Globalization, Spirituality, and Justice

And you can check out an insightful article/interview about my professor here.

~S.

Sneak Peak

2008-11-20T11:12:00.001-08:00

My sister just emailed me a few photos from her wedding so I posted them to our family blog. You can check them out here.

what does God's peace look like?

2008-11-19T19:52:00.000-08:00

Jesus says in Matthew, "do not suppose that i have come to bring peace to the earth. i did not come to bring peace, but a sword." and later in John, Jesus says, "peace i leave with you; my peace i give you. i do not give to you as the world gives. do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."

as i wrestled with this idea of peace, i re-looked up the John passage in the message version of the Bible and it says this, "i'm leaving you well and whole. that's my parting gift to you. peace."

this sentence comes right after Jesus talks about leaving the Holy Spirit with us to comfort us. so, is it possible that the peace he is referring to is the peace that comes from the wholeness and oneness offered through his Spirit?

meaning...we may be at odds with others, or we may encounter pain in conflict, or we may not see eye to eye - but, we can still know peace if we trust that the Spirit will guide us, comfort us, show us, teach us and ultimately complete us as we walk through the storms that upset us.

so - could the sword part of his mission be that his yoke will cause division and flip things on their heads - but the peace part is that he has left his Spirit to complete us and speak to us and make us whole when his way has caused an upset?

k.

...

2008-11-17T17:26:00.000-08:00

lyrics to song, when spoken words don't work anymore:

Heal the Wound

I used to wish that I could rewrite history
I used to dream that each mistake could be erased
Then I could just pretend
I never knew the me back then

I used to pray that You would take this shame away
Hide all the evidence of who I've been
But it's the memory of
The place You brought me from
That keeps me on my knees
And even though I'm free

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar

I have not lived a life that boasts of anything
I don't take pride in what I bring
But I'll build an altar with
The rubble that You've found me in
And every stone will sing
Of what You can redeem

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar

Don't let me forget
Everything You've done for me
Don't let me forget
The beauty in the suffering

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar...

2008-11-13T10:10:00.001-08:00

I recently wrote an article for the WBCC college group blog. You can check it out here:

He Came For This

following the instruction manual

2008-11-10T19:53:00.000-08:00

i'm learning the hard way that to follow the instruction manual line by line is not to really live. to have to walk through life carrying a dog-eared, highlighted list of dos and don'ts doesn't prepare you or ready you for the real-deal. just like someone who had a heart attack would die if the person trying to save their life spent too much time reading the how-to before using the defibrillator, moments and opportunities for growth and living die when we aren't prepared to walk through them because we've leaned too heavily on the manual.

i feel like i've lived my life by an instruction manual. i've paid close attention to the what-to-dos and what-not-to-dos, but when the moments hit - i'm completely unprepared to say the right word, do the right thing, or be the right person. i learn all about love - but do i actually practice it? i learn all about truth, but can i actually describe it to someone? i learn all about considering others, but do i ever practice selflessness? i learn pin-pointed, taken out of context verses and try to apply them in real-life scenarios when i haven't understood the over arching idea of the scripture, or experienced the meaning it has to offer. i've only read it as an instruction manual - and not immersed myself in its themes, in its context, in its relevance to this life.

so, when friends come to me hurting - i don't know what to say or do. when someone comes to me searching for answers - i leave them with more questions. when someone needs me to bear their backpack of shame, i've got my own aches and pains and can't lift another.

i feel terribly unequipped to do life. i feel like i've counted on everyone else to live it for me. to tell me what to do. to point me in the right direction. and now - now, there's just me and my instruction manual. how do i translate reading about life and awkward situations, and tough challenges, and frustrating people, and loving when it hurts, and forgiving when i don't want to, and dying in order to live, and suffering in order to be comforted - into living it?

Father, equip me.

k.

Again...I LOVE MY SCHOOL

2008-11-08T16:55:00.001-08:00

mhgs what if no. 1 from blaine hogan on Vimeo.

mhgs what no. 2 from blaine hogan on Vimeo.

For your viewing pleasure

2008-11-08T14:52:00.001-08:00

I just thought I'd share these two little iphone-captured images from my day of savoring earlier this week...

a woman.

2008-11-07T15:45:00.000-08:00

i stumbled upon what may be a very interesting woman. more details to come - but in the meantime, a teaser:

http://blog.christianitytoday.com/giftedforleadership/2008/09/why_god_created_women.html

http://blog.christianitytoday.com/giftedforleadership/2008/03/a_womans_worship_journey.html

Sensory Overload

2008-11-06T09:05:00.000-08:00

Wow. What an interesting couple of days. I've wanted to greet this blog each day this week as a means of recording everything I've been receptive to these past few days. The demands of the second half of my trimester in school have prevented me from doing just that...but I'm not complaining because it's forced me to simply remain open to soaking it all up.

After a fun-filled-four-day weekend with the girls, I woke up MONDAY morning aware of the anxiety swirling through my stomach. It didn't take long for me to realize that the anxiety, or maybe a better descriptor is "anticipation", was not bound solely to the approaching due date of the first of a series of research papers, but that it was somehow connected to a more collective experience of those who call themselves American citizens. The opportunity to come together to jointly determine the outcome of this historical election was finally within reach.

TUESDAY was the big day. I rode the bus to school that morning and discovered that everyone seemed to be effected by the magnitude of this opportunity. Typically I hide behind a book and listen to my music or the latest Rob Bell podcast, but this bus ride was different. No one seemed to be able to keep hidden the heightened level of arousal which caused an increased level of sensory perception. People were actually looking into one another’s eyes and acknowledging the presence of those around us. It was as if the realization that we were all connected and necessary for this decision had the power to break through the habitual functioning we've all grown accustomed to. People were awake. And you could sense it. You could see it on their faces. You could hear it in their excited conversations.

After staying up way too late working on a paper while simultaneously watching CNN (FYI - it's very difficult to finish a paper on Election Day) I woke up WEDNESDAY morning wondering what they day would be like. Would people still see each other? Would they be excited? Would the division so strongly revealed when looking at the popular vote be evident on people's faces? Would it feel like some were winners and others were losers or would there be a sense of unity? I rode the bus again yesterday morning and was so saddened by the difference a day had made. I literally felt like people were afraid to look at each other. I found myself wondering if my upbeat mood would be a dead giveaway to those around me of how I felt about the decision. And then I felt like I needed to somehow reign in the emotions I tend to wear on my sleeve out of fear that I might offend someone or be deemed "different" from those who didn't share my sentiments.

As the day went on and I realized that Tuesday had been a gift - not necessarily because of the election of Obama, but because for a single moment in time I glimpsed what life could be like if people were able to see the face of the other and acknowledge our connectivity. I knew the sensory overload that had allowed me to catch this glimpse would soon be numbed again so I fought to remain open to what my sense could reveal to me for the rest of that day. Here's a little something I wrote at the conclusion of an emotionally-charged couple of days:

What I took note of today...

:::The smell of Seattle filled with hints of damp leaves trampled upon, coffee beans - the drug of choice in the great northwest, and the aroma of freshly baked pastries seeping out of Le Panier as I walked through Pike Place Market on my way to school.
:::The now familiar sound of squeaky buses breaking as they hustle all of the environmentally-conscious people about.
:::The felt comfort of dressing down and wearing my grungier clothes including a brown hat that makes me feel a bit younger when I wear it.
:::The sight of an artist intent on his representation of my favorite aesthetically-pleasing bus stop filled with trees barely grasping the brightest gold leaves I've ever seen.
:::The taste of hot apple cider from Trader Joes while sitting with the ones I love the most after a long and sleep-deprived couple of days!

~S.

you'll be a different person a year from now...

2008-11-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

i've heard it said, "you'll be a different person a year from now based on the books you read and the people you meet." i concur!

this weekend, i had the books that i'm currently reading merge into relevance with one event - an argument with karl. we were arguing and didn't have the time to resolve the conflict due to it being a saturday, the kids were awake, and karl's mom was in town. so, needing something to quell the pain...i first turned to the idol of pleasure - an idea recently garnered from the book, "Breaking the Idols of Your Heart", a review of Ecclesiastes. i wanted to use pleasure to anesthetize the pain and frustration of arguing with the one i'm supposed to be one flesh with. i turned to pleasure for my gratification rather than resolving the issues. then, i went for a drive to meditate, pray, clear my head in the beautiful autumn of colorado. but, i was also reminded of a passage from "Sacred Marriage" which reminded me that my prayers won't go very far if i'm in the midst of dissension with my spouse (I Peter 3:7). so, i took the challenge of Matthew 5:23 to leave my gift of prayer and meditation at the altar and go and be reconciled to my husband.

i picked him up and he went for a drive with me. we listened to a song by NeedtoBreathe called Looks Like Love, and the song became our mutual prayer and i believe we were heard.

Looks Like Love

Take another step
Don’t give up on me just yet
We could take a chance
We could find a child’s romance
At least we’d love until we can’t

I wont run when it looks like love
I won’t hide beneath the fear
Of how my past has come undone

I wont run when it looks like love
I can’t spend another night alone
Regretting what I’ve done
So, I won’t run

The breeze can only be
When she overcomes the heat
Our hearts can only shake
When there’s risk that they could break
Yeah it’s a chance that I will take

Raise your head
Its time to say
Those words that I have left unsaid
I’ve slept through the sunrise
And I turned
Away every time it got bright

so, i guess i'll buy the quote about the books i read, and the people i meet and add, "the music i listen to".

k.

who would have thought?

2008-10-31T11:58:00.001-07:00

who would have thought that by me uncovering my wounds and seeing where i've been broken and hurt and the actions i choose out of that hurt and pain would lead me to see the goodness in others? i've run into a couple of people lately that have demonstrated some behaviour that i would normally think is unacceptable or rude or petty or inappropriate, but now i see through the behavior and recognize that their actions are probably a result of their own pains and wounds.

for example, i watched a teacher the other day roll her eyes and show contempt for young children in the classroom that were upset, or acting out, or not listening. and at first, i was wary that somehow her actions would be directed towards lucy and was therefore afraid that lucy would receive the eye-rolling, or the humph-hawing if she acted out, or got upset or didn't listen right away. so, my first reaction was to make sure lucy didn't do any of those things. then, i sorted through what i was seeing and realized - even a perfect angel would have somehow warranted her not-so-perfect-teacher reaction because it isn't about the children, it's about her.

maybe she rolls her eyes because someone was intolerant of her. maybe she doesn't extend grace to children because grace wasn't extended to her. maybe she shows contempt for them in the same way she shows contempt for herself. i found myself analyzing what it could be that causes her behavior, and then i stopped myself short of figuring it out. it doesn't matter what it was...it only matters that she too has been wounded - and her wounds are causing her to respond to others in the same way that she has been responded to and in the same way she responds to herself. by seeing that her actions were out of a place of hurt - not arrogance, or a better-than-you attitude, i was able to let her actions - even those directed to my own daughter - be tolerated as a way of grace.

knowing that my less-than-perfect actions come from a place of empty and pain, and not out of a place of arrogance or better-than-you attitude, i'm able to extend grace and mercy to those who offend me, upset me, irk me, or otherwise. uncovering my own pain has led me to be more tolerable of the actions that others take as a result of theirs.

k.

Battle of the Sexes

2008-10-29T13:47:00.000-07:00

I've avoided writing about some of my thoughts surrounding my current Sexual Disorders class simply because the subject matter just feels too personal. But after submitting my own Sexual Development Paper this week, I'm finding it difficult to think about much else so this may be a way for me to work through some of what I've been thinking upon lately.

I think I could spend of the rest of my life solely devoted to analyzing and making as much sense as possible of the first three chapters of Genesis. You may be wondering why I'm always so bent on going to the beginning...to the past...in order to understand the present and ultimately to understand where I might place my hope. I've been accused (even recently) of being obsessed with utilizing the past as an excuse for current short-comings or failures - so this is a touchy subject for me (and by "touchy" I really mean to suggest that I'm rather passionate about my perspective). The beginning of a story sets the tone for an entire book - it introduces themes, paints a picture of the setting and the characters, it constructs a context that helps us to make sense of how we got to where we are today. If people understand or are able to read the beginnings of our stories they will gain a better understanding of how we got to where and who we are today. And like our individual stories, the beginning of the one grand story offers us a context for which we can begin (or at least attempt) to make sense of things so that we will be able to determine where to go from here. The purpose of examining the past is never to stay stuck - but to determine where and how to move in the present toward the future.

And so back to Genesis where we discover that we were created in the image of God, both male and female - together, we were created as image-bearers. There is something of the essence of being a female that reflects the image of God and similarly there is something of the essence of being a male that reflects the image God. Both are necessary for the glory of God to be made most visible in the context of this world. I'm not sure how influenced I am by the cultural stereotypes and history of oppressive thinking that has infiltrated most systems and structures in our world, but it seems to that at least in part, the essence of being female has something to do with surrender, receptivity, an openness, a softness. Some may call it "weakness" - but I won't use that description only because of the negative connotations associated with that particular word and the images it may conjure up for many (if not most) of us. I am less familiar with the essence of what it means to be male (for the obvious reason being that I am not a man) yet I think it has something to do with strength, creation, penetration (I'm sorry...there's no way to describe such attributes without utilizing such sexually-explicit terms). Some may even ascribe "power" to the nature of masculinity, but again, I refuse to use the word on my descriptor list because of the ways in which that word has come to represent something it really is not. I don't think that these categories of masculinity and femininity are mutually exclusive by any means - and I also do not think that they grant us much direction (or justification) in terms of relational roles.

I've been specifically fascinated with what actually took place in the garden when Eve took the apple and offered it to Adam. In the past, I have been receptive to the theological perspective that in this scenario there was "role reversal" whereby Eve took the lead and Adam became the receiver/follower. But I'm looking at it through a different lens at this point in my analysis. It appears to me that Eve was indeed distancing herself from her gender-identity. In this particular scene she doesn't appear to be surrendering or receiving. I don't sense that she was open and soft to what God had laid out for her and her partner. But what I'm not buying is that Adam was taking on the "feminine role" in this scene either. He is equally rejecting the essence of femininity as he allows his companion to take a bite of the apple. There seems to be a mutual hatred toward what it means to be a woman, and they both kill that part of their relationship in hopes of becoming all-powerful - because after all the big draw for them here is to become "like God." They are deceived because they both believe that by becoming completely autonomous and powerful they will be more like God. Ironically, it is through the loss of feminine "weakness" that the image they had previously been able to clearly represent together is no longer as easy to identify.

Evil seems to be bent on destroying "femininity" and exaggerating "masculinity". Evil is intent on destroying the perfect union that God originally created. I have been accused of being a "feminist" many times, and so I feel the need to clarify a few things at this point. I am not suggesting that men are intent on destroying femininity. Men and women are both equally susceptible to the deception of evil and so we are all guilty of killing femininity and exaggerating masculinity. Plus, the label of "feminist" seems to suggest that one is "pro-female" and I would rather be called something like a "unionist" - someone who is pro-union between the masculine and feminine.

This isn't just some theological/philosophical perspective that is removed or detached from the reality we live in. We don't have to look very far to see the ways in which the essence of femininity is being violently attacked. We live in a world where violence against women and children (who interestingly enough seem to exude the same sort of "weakness") is rampant and horrific. This hatred of femininity is oozing out of how we, as women, view our own and other women's bodies. The violence we do to ourselves and other women is difficult to acknowledge and take responsibility for.

And isn't it interesting that the way in which God redeemed the world was to send his son made incarnate in the flesh. This son came into the world as a weak and receptive infant who grew up to be a man who fully exemplified the union of power and weakness. It wouldn't have had the same effect had he come as a woman. But as a man unafraid of embracing the essence of femininity with the balance of masculinity, God revealed his divine image. And evil still attempted to exploit his weakness - to defeat the weakness with excessive force and power...and yet, it was Christ's weakness and surrendering that ultimately led to salvation.

So here we are...two women who have done great harm to our own femininity - though in very different ways. Your wounds have led you to kill desire, surrender, receptivity. My wounds have led me to invite harm in my own desire, surrender and receptivity. How can we learn together what it means to reclaim our femininity for the purpose of union and ultimately the revelation of the glory of God? How can we reclaim the beauty we possess within and without? How can we help our daughters to know what we're only learning now?

~S.

we are all stroke victims

2008-10-23T19:53:00.000-07:00

i was reading a children's book with lucy that we'd checked out from the library called "Now One Foot, Now the Other." the story is about a grandfather and his grandson and all the special moments they share together. it was a magical relationship until the grandfather had a stroke. the boy was devastated because his grandfather was gone from home and in the hospital for months. but he was even more so when his grandfather came home and couldn't do any of the things they used to do, and instead sat in a wheelchair, staring out the window.

the boy didn't know that his grandfather's mind still wanted to play games and go for walks, but his body wouldn't let him. the grandfather still had the capacity to move and talk, but the stroke had greatly hindered his abilities.

aren't we all just like that grandfather? our minds want to change our pasts, modify current behaviors, or control the outcomes of our futures. we all have great capacities for love, forgiveness, gratitude, generosity, selflessness, but the stroke of pain, betrayal, abandonment, shame or suffering has hindered our abilities to exercise those capacities.

there are many things i want to do and ways i want to be, but just wishing for them doesn't make them so. i want to break the cycle of my generational sin. i want to do what i need to do, instead of only what i feel like doing. i want to wake up happy every day. i want to put other's needs before my own. i want to act gently and kindly, especially in frustrating moments and unending days. i want self-control. i want to feel good about the mundane things i do everyday, knowing that my sacrifice is benefitting someone. i want to sacrifice without thinking about how my sacrifice is good because it's benefitting someone.

i believe God has given us the capacity to do all the things he lays before us. but, we've all had strokes of pain: wrong-doings done to us, had our shame laid bare before us, been betrayed, felt alone for too long, had needs repeatedly go unmet, had feelings unreciprocated, fears have been realized, doubts have been confirmed. all these strokes paralyze our abilities to live into our potentials and our capacities. while our minds say we can, our bodies and our spirits act otherwise.

but stroke victims do have hope. through physical therapy and much needed attention and care, stroke victims can recover from their paralysis - maybe not completely, but they do move closer and closer into the capacity their minds have been telling them they were capable of all along.

we have hope to recover from our strokes too. but the effort - oh the effort required to recover is titanic! through time - a lot of time - and careful attention to our wounds - not ignoring them and hoping they'll resolve on their own, we can recover from the fears that paralyze us, the emptiness that haunts us, or the pain that still causes us grief.

most days i sit and stare out a window. and yet, my mind is telling me that i can walk and talk. will it take a grandson believing in me to motivate me to live into my potential? no. but it has taken a daughter.

k.

Forgive us...

2008-10-20T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well...I'm at the very beginning of my reading week (which is literally what the week suggests - a time to catch up on all of the reading material we are inundated with at school), and I'm already thankful for the space this week provides to process through all that I'm learning both in school and in my own life. It's fascinating to me how we seem to be learning the same lessons simultaneously but with different stories and varying contexts. Strange how God seems to be leading each one of us to the same place but with different methods.

I, too, found myself longing for comfort this morning as I attempted to come to terms with what it feels like to be unseen, unknown, unnamed and unvalued by others. We're each familiar with that place because it's simply a part of what it means to share in the human experience. And yet, the universality of it never seems to soften the blow or soothe the bruising. I just recently heard news that my little brother was bullied by a group of kids who for whatever reason (justified or not) strongly disliked him. After spotting him skateboarding in a parking lot they proceeded to physically drag him to a nearby elementary school where one of the kids took it upon himself to unleash his anger at the world on my baby brothers face until he pleaded with the kid to stop. With a black eye, broken nose, possibly a broken bone in his hand and bruising covering his entire head and neck, my poor brother's body looks how my heart feels right now.

All I can think of to say right now is, "Forgive them Lord, for they know not what they do." Those boys have no idea how they have contributed to the wounds my brother has had to deal with from the second he came into this relationally-handicapped world. They don't even understand that they were using my brother as a punching bag out of their own woundedness. And likewise, those in whom I feel are associated with my own metaphorical beating are unable to see how they are further wounding an already nearly lifeless body. They are unaware of how their own defense mechanisms and coping strategies for the reality of the world we find ourselves in have developed out of their own woundedness. So, forgive us Lord, for we know not what we've done, what we're doing and what we will continue to do.

And somehow, saying those words out loud as I type them now reveal the comfort I have already experienced. It is a comfort that seeps out of the roots of a heart that knows it's own depravity. It is a comfort that is born out of acknowledging that I, too, beat him, scorned him and ultimately nailed him to the cross. It is a comfort that comes from those who see my own guilt and their own guilt and together we grab hands and cry out, "Lord, forgive us, for we know not what we do."

~S.

p.s. I found the image on flickr - it's by Sighthound and it's interestingly enough titled "Grace Among the Dead".

i think i thought of one.

2008-10-19T19:55:00.001-07:00

i think i thought of an example where i did indeed feel comforted. but a bit of history is needed to understand.

growing up, the cardinal sin in my family was getting a speeding ticket. having a dad who owned his own insurance business meant that he knew all the costs involved with getting a ticket: the initial cost, then the increased cost of insurance, and the oh-by-the-way-it-stays-on-your-record-for-3-years-cost...so no hope of lowering that increased insurance expense for a while. top that with him being a policeman too, and the pat response when i slumped forward handing him the piece of paper, eyes staring at the floor was: "you did WHAT?!?" and anyone who has ridden in my car knows that i know this response so well because i got so many tickets (is anyone really that surprised? just imagine me driving as fast as i talk).

now that you know what i was used to, you will see what comfort looked like for me the first time i got a ticket after being married - out from under my father's problem, i became karl's.

karl used to leave for work just minutes before i did. we drove nearly the same route to work, only mine was shorter. so, one cold morning, i was rushing, as always, to get to work on time. i blew right through the stop sign just blocks from my house. sure enough, no amount of krista-charm could talk me out of a traffic violation. no, it wasn't for speeding - this time - but nonetheless, a ticket, the record on my insurance, as well as all the other costs involved. i immediately called karl, knowing he was only a few minutes in front of me. i was sobbing when he picked up and he knew something was wrong immediately. i expected, "you did WHAT?!?" but instead he said, "what's wrong? are you okay? what happened?" i proceeded to tell him the consequences of me getting out of the house late, once again. he said not to worry, but instead, to meet me at the next starbucks and he'd buy me a latte and everything would be okay.

i slumped into starbucks, eyes staring at the floor and handed him my ticket. he took it, put it in his pocket and offered me a warm beverage, a kiss and a tight squeeze. he sat with me until i was finished crying and told me he hoped the rest of my day would go better. and though i don't remember for sure, i bet the rest of that day did go better, because i had experienced comfort.

karl has had the fortune of comforting me the same way many, many times. while i did learn to stop at that particular stop sign...i still have a problem with speed limits and red lights. and every time i call to tell him what's happened, his response is the same, "what's wrong? are you okay? what happened?" i tell him, and he assures me there will be a kiss and a tight sqeeze for me when i come home.

k.

what does comfort look like?

2008-10-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

last night as i went on my evening walk through the neigborhood, crunching my way through the crispy fallen leaves, i was in need of something. it seems rough patches are just that - patches. just spots, moments, days or weeks that don't seem to be going well, and the past few have been that for me. so, as i walked by the light of a bright full harvest moon and breathed in the sweet smell of autumn, i was looking for something to help me through this rough patch.

as i put one foot in front of the other, i didn't know if i needed guidance and direction, or correction and wisdom, or simply to be comforted. i tried to imagine what it would look like for Jesus to be walking with me. after having read The Shack, i was trying to picture how Jesus would look right beside me. what did I need him to be? did I need a wise and correcting father? did I need an open armed loving mother? did I need a silent friend holding my hand?

as i tried to picture what kind of Jesus i needed, it became painfully clear i needed Comfort. not someone to tell me what to do. not someone even to listen and help me process. i didn't need someone to tell me everything would be alright. i just needed Comfort. and i started to cry (once again for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks) because i realized i don't know what Comfort looks like.

i racked my brain for examples of pain and hard times when i had been comforted. and i could think of hard times, but i couldn't picture what Comfort in those times looked like. as i wept i realized 3 things: either i indeed was never comforted, or i was comforted and didn't know it, or someone or something tried to comfort me and i wouldn't allow it.

frankly, i haven't needed a lot of Comfort in my life. for one thing, life has been pretty good to me. for another, i'm a boot-strap girl. when life has gotten me down, i've picked myself up by my bootstraps without spending a lot of time needing Comfort. so, it doesn't surprise me that i couldn't call to mind a visible time that i knew being comforted.

so, what does Comfort look like? is it a hug? someone holding your hand? someone with gentle words? flowers? cards? a warm blanket and a pillow? i have had most of these things and more but have not felt comforted enough by them to remember a time feeling or having known Comfort - why?

and perhaps i surround myself with comfortable things because of the absence of Comfort i feel within. i wear sweats pants and ugg boots. elastic and scratchy fabrics bother me. heels give me blisters. my bed is my favorite place in the world with high thread-count sheets, feather pillows and a down comforter. i eat a lot of comfort foods. ice cream being the most filling. i drive a mini-van, because of its ease with 2 small kids. any free money i have is spent on organizing things because i love being surrounded with order and comfort.

so, is it possible that i have been comforted - but not by a person, a touch, or Spirit, but by things? and is that of my own doing? has Spirit tried to reach me and i've built an untouchable wall?

how fascinating to me that i crave Comfort (i.e. after church on sundays, i run home and take off my heels and tight clothes and put on flannel). but yet, can't think of one time where i have known Comfort.

k.

hold on until tomorrow

2008-10-11T21:05:00.001-07:00

this morning i thought life had pricked my balloon and the rest of the day was a slow deflate. one tear came, then another and another. each time i finished crying, i thought i had poured it all out. and yet, it was only noon and i knew there were more to come. i couldn't wait for the day to be over putting my hope in the fresh of a new morning. but i still had many hours left until the moon would rise to give hope that the end of today was near. so, what do you do with a day that starts off bad and continues that way until you feel it couldn't get any worse? what do you do when you crave the night and its covering of darkness, only the sun is paused at its height in the sky?

i don't know if there's a salve for every day that is like the one i'm having today, but for this moment, i'm balming myself with Lamentations 3:21-23:

this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

how interesting that in our laments, His compassions never fail us. in fact, his mercies are new every morning - and that's what i'm clinging to. while i'm sure the rest of the afternoon will bring as many tears as the morning did, it's important for them to be shed. i need the catharsis that crying brings. i need to experience this suffering - for without it, i don't have the hope of redemption.

i've said it over and over to many people, lately: you don't put a bandaid on skin that hasn't been cut. there is no hope for redemption without being cut wide open and acknowledging that we need the good nurse to care for us and ultimately, make us whole again.

until tomorrow.

k.

In the in-between

2008-10-08T14:01:00.000-07:00

I have been reminded repeatedly lately that I am living in the in-between, the already...but the not yet. After returning from another brief trip back home to Colorado I find myself at a loss today for how to process all that occurred...but more importantly - how to process what did not occur. In Colorado I seem to be more connected to my creative, productive and worker-self. In Washington, I am much more rooted in my contemplative, reflective, book-loving-self. The communities (and I use the term loosely here) that I am a part of in both regions of the country may know both of these sides of my personality, but for some reason the nature of my role in Colorado seems to call upon my productive self with greater energy as Seattle bids the contemplative side to thrive. And I am apparently lost in-between the two.

What is it about these two distinct locations in my story that reveal such a dichotomy? I think that in Colorado I learned early on to take care of everyone else so that I would not have to acknowledge my own neediness. The moments when my neediness surfaced always led to extreme humiliation or rejection. So I learned to focus on all of the presenting needs around me rather than sort through or discover the root of my own. I made an excellent "church worker" because of this. Now, in retrospect, I realize that true discipleship requires that we face our own neediness honestly rather than splitting off from it.

My role here in Seattle is quite different. I am here getting an education on how to help people in their neediness, and yet the point of this education is to recognize such neediness in myself first and foremost. And so most of my time here has consisted of terribly difficult introspection and reflection. I am painfully aware of my fragility and neediness here which actually seems to lead me to greater isolation. But both worlds are rather lonely. In Colorado I am lonely because I have forgotten how to feel my needs within that context. In Washington I am lonely because I am overwhelmingly familiar with my needs.

Right now, as my trip to Colorado is still fresh in my mind...and my entrance back into my life here in Seattle is sitting here staring at me in the face, I am very aware of the contrast. And I'm wondering what will bridge these two realities in my life. Previously I would have determined that I am the one responsible for building the bridge. But now I'm convinced that it is through relationship that the bridge, which actually already exists, will become evident. As I learn to communicate my needs (which would require that I release them from being trapped within me out here) then those in whom carry them with me and for me will help guide me to the otherside and it will become impossible to disregard them and replace them with the needs of others. Then my giving to others will feel grounded in my own experience and not as a way of quieting that part of me.

~S.

a poem, not prose

2008-10-07T13:14:00.000-07:00

when i visited dan allender's class with you a couple of weeks ago, i was intrigued by something specific he said. he noted that often, things are not readily clear, like prose, but need a deeper dive into their mystery, like poetry.

so, to honor mystery, i'll share a poem that i wrote in 1996 for a man i would not meet until 1999 - figure that one out.

hands

they grip a book firm and then tight
his fingers turn pages night upon night

eyes filter the page, he reads and takes time
to render each word and unmarked sign

his mind is searching for meaning,
looking to find truth and understanding

fingers follow each sentence from start to end
his hands flip the page at the corner's bend

word tell stories that fill his cluttered head
and remind him of dreams he's left unsaid

of one day building his house in the sky
a house built by his own hands; a paradise

i want to know details of his hidden dreams
is it a house of stone? or of wooden beams

show me pictures, use a thousand words or more
tell me why your hands are now wounded and torn

his lips spoke an undeniable story
a voice rang strong, a tale of truth and beauty:

'i chose not beams, wood, or stone - instead,
i used my hands to make a house into a home.'

k.

the tourniquet of silence

2008-10-02T15:33:00.000-07:00

it's not surprising to me that when emotional trauma occurs, we shut down and shut up. the wounds are so deep, and so great, that all we can do is stop the blood flow in order to prevent great loss. we bind ourselves with silence to impede the feeling, and the hurt, the guilt and the pain that is coursing so powerfully and violently from our hearts.

and while initially, this is a life-saving, face-saving, or soul-saving act, in the long-term, it can deaden reality and all the emotions that go with it. then, the loss of life becomes too great to sustain. by keeping the tourniquet of silence on too long, we have to amputate not only the now deadened, wounded area, but with it, any vitality and life that surrounds it.

can we use a tourniquet of silence to accomplish only what it was meant for - a temporary, immediate act of desperation for rescue? and once its made clear that we will have to live with and be forced to face our wounds, take off the silence and seek refuge in the arms of a good nurse?

may i be a good nurse now for when i will inevitably become the patient later.

k.

no longer mute turns 50

2008-09-28T21:58:00.001-07:00

i'd like to ring in our 50th blog with some photos (lauren, aren't you proud?). many of you have realized in our writings that shauna and i share a love of words, existential crises, deep thoughts, strong emotions and using this blog to express those loves and so much more. what you may not know is the other sides we share.

we also love to laugh. while life often provides more opportunity for tears and frustrations than for laughter, when the occasion does present itself, we seize happy moments with the same enthusiasm as that of a deep sea fisherman reeling in a gigantic, bright and shiny fish. we savor the inside jokes, the do-a-little-dances, the ironies, the sarcasms, the witty and clever innuendos, the hints of smart and slap-stick humors, and all the belly laughs that come with having a 12-year history of friendship to draw from.

these pictures - while not at all flattering - are most representative of what i love. while i have a deep need to write and to get all my insides out, i also have a deep need to laugh. i am a glutton of epic proportions when it comes to those chances where you laugh so hard you can't breathe, you're crying, your doubled-over...i crave those moments. maybe i know life will throw me a curve ball pitch next inning, so i relish the chances to hold on to those times of sheer happiness.

so, here are the moments captured on film circa 1998 where we were having fun once. but seeing them now, i'm having fun all over again.

k.

i'm angry.

2008-09-25T20:09:00.000-07:00

i'm forewarning any men that might read this entry: this topic might not make any sense to you whatsoever. but it will to your wives and daughters. and since i express best in a chronological order, i'm going to include the thoughts that led up to me being angry.

Noelle, you might appreciate this most.

i just got an email from a friend who wanted my opinion on which Hooter Hider to select. this item happens to be an apron-type contraption that ties around the neck and provides privacy for a mother while nursing her baby. so, i went to the site that sells these items, browsed, made a selection and offered my opinion to her. that was that - or so i thought.

i began to be upset, first, that 4 years ago when Lucy was born, and even 2 years ago when Peter was born, they didn't make these contraptions. beginning motherhood was so difficult for me in every way - that anything, and i mean anything that might have helped me wade through those waters would have been invaluable. but as it stands, i missed out on the Hooter Hider, the Bumbo Chair, the Papasan Swing, etc...

but the frustration, and furthermore, the anger, mounted when i was reminded of all the other components that were missing in my early motherhood. whether or not a Hooter Hider would have come in handy, i can only speculate. but other priceless necessities that would have helped were missing.

for instance, i could only nurse both children for four months. just didn't have it in me, i thought. come to find out a year after Peter was born and eight months after i couldn't nurse any longer, i found out i was deficient in an element called 'Manganese', the key component in breast milk, something that could have been resolved with a simple vitamin supplement. and today i was reminded of how essential nursing is to building a healthy attachment between the mother and child.

also, nearly every friend i had would say they witnessed my misery during Lucy's first year of life, but not a single one suggested seeking help for postpartum depression. instead, i found refuge in a Brooke Shields book. and today, i discovered that had i sought help within that first year, i might have stalled, stopped, or possibly even corrected the damage i was doing to myself and my baby because of the depression i was drowning in.

but, i can't go back to the day Lucy was born. i can't do april 1, 2004 any better. and now, i have no need for a Hooter Hider. maybe i should get one just to remind me that someone else was in my broken boat once - frustrated with what was available for the new mother - and instead of being angry, they were inventive. instead of drowning, they swam. they swam to the other side of sorrow and went back for survivors. they came back for me.

k.