Lie Down and Sleep

be bold

2012-01-23T08:31:00.000-08:00

Stephen and I have been engaging in many late night theological discussions lately. As I have made the official decision to become a catechumen in the Orthodox church and be chrismated within the year, these sorts of talks have been happening more often.

To become Orthodox, much like the Roman Catholic church, one attends classes for a year or so (or however long it takes, and many do not make it past the initial classes), and I have begun my own education. After Pascha, I will have been at St. John's for an entire year, plus or minus a few weeks when, in a fit of weakness or confusion or what have you, I stopped going entirely. But that perhaps is another story. At any rate, through reading and much prayer, I have come to adopt the Orthodox way as my own, and the truth. Those who have read this blog for some odd years now know that I have struggled to find a religious doctrine to claim, going through countless Protestant denominations and even Quakerism and a brief stint in Catholicism. So finally, it seems, God has found it fit to find me a home.

Stephen, my husband, was raised Roman Catholic, in what I can discern as a bit of loosey-goosey Catholicism in a very wealthy parish in a wealthy part of Memphis (which, in fact, does not consider itself part of lowly Memphis, but a city-within-a-city entirely, much like Vatican City--and they would be proud to own that comparison, believe me). Raised Protestant, I understand his background. The churches of my youth and young adult life were concerned with making the parishioners happy and keeping the money rolling in. I remember one such Sunday where our pastor preached on unfair tax laws in Alabama and that, as a state, we needed state constitutional reform. My father was such a champion of a new state constitution for Alabama--the current document shackles the poor and minorities, and if you've ever wondered why Alabama is so backwards, you can look to our state constitution for the answer. So on that particular Sunday when this pastor made such a bold stand, my father was quite pleased (in fact, he was the founder of Alabama Citizens for Constitutional Reform and much respected in the state). However, many of the wealthy landowners who thus far had not paid taxes were grumbling after the service about the message from the pulpit, and as far as I know, the message ceased.

Last night, Stephen and I were discussing sin. In both of our childhoods, church was a place to come lament that we were born sinners, to hang our heads in shame and repent to avoid hellfire and damnation. This could possibly be from a mistranslation by an earlier theologian, Jerome, of Romans 5:12 on ancestral sin. St. Augustine of Hippo used this faulty translation from the Greek, as he himself could not read the language, to base his widely accepted "Confessions," a book on original sin and guilt. In the Orthodox tradition, we believe humans were made in God's own image, inherently good, ever reaching and striving to attain the perfection in the Garden. It is sin we battle in the world; it is sin that threatens our Christlike and godlike perfection, the ascent to heaven. Stephen was most shocked by this, and it took him a few minutes to process. I do not believe we were born sinners, that we must fight our own human nature because we are so flawed. No, instead I believe that we can be like our early saints and fathers and mothers who followed Christ and achieved perfection and heyschia.

As I progress in this faith, I am having to unlearn all that I knew before. Now, if you profess a faith other than Orthodoxy, and you are happy and in love with God and truly solid in your path, please do not let me discourage you. I am not here to tell you that you are wrong, or that you cannot know the Divine. That is not my intention at all. We all have our own unique and God-willed journey, and certainly I am the least qualified to give spiritual advice.

But if you have read this blog for some time, you know that I have struggled my entire life for peace with the Church. God--I thought I knew how to reach Him. However, I believe it was a God of my own making, a false god I invented in whimsy, sort of in a new age fashion. You may be shocked to read that. You may try to e-mail or comment and beg me not to think of it that way. Surely a woman such as myself could not have NOT known God; surely after these years of writing here I would have an inkling as to what the Divine mysteries were.

But I tell you the truth: the God I worshipped was a god of my invention. Well, let me rephrase: the God I worshipped I believed I knew intimately. But we do not know God, just as the clay does not know the potter. We do not have the capability to understand Him in His greatness. Just as we think we draw closer to Him, He eludes us. To see God, I believe, would mean instant death. Even Moses, who saw a burning bush and a dark cloud, was close to God, yet very far away. In eternity, after a sweet death, we continue living and chasing God. And in that eternity, we still will never meet with Him Who created us. This is the meaning of eternity. But again, perhaps this is a story for another day.

If you are happy with your walk, and if you are content in who you Are, blessings upon you. But if there is a nagging thought in the back of your head that perhaps there should be something more, please do not ignore it. Beat on the doors of heaven, be bold in asking to seek God, and do not think that this little tiny voice will be your eternal companion. God will show you the Way, in His time. You might resist, you may think you are crazy, your friends and family will shake their heads at your lunacy. But I tell you: be bold! Do not cease in running after heaven on earth. Pray constantly, and the answer will come.

2012-01-16T17:09:00.000-08:00

I have been aiming for contentment for this early new year. Perhaps not a stagnant contentment, where I cease growing or learning or changing; no, this contentment is a mere return to simple pleasures and connecting more with my husband, my home, my friends, and my faith.

As I kneaded dough on Friday morning, the rhythm of pounding and pushing this soft ball of near-bread was a prayer of sorts, done in silence, alone with my thoughts. I was content to be at home, to find joy in making lemon curd for the first time, and to seek beauty in the smallness of life.

2012-01-16T16:59:00.000-08:00

We welcomed St. Panteleimon into our home.

Musings of the Orthodox faith

2011-12-29T17:13:00.000-08:00

Much has happened in this very eventful year. In February, I began visiting an Orthodox church each week, sometimes two or three times in just seven days. I encountered a true form of worship, one that was centered on the Divine, and not the parishioners. My faith grew, as did my humility. In fact, I was humbled many times in that small dark church, as well as in my daily life. God works in such ways.

I am to begin catechumen classes next week. My altar, usually filled with bobs and bits of things, is becoming more focused, an Orthodox icon corner. The blue prayer rope is my constant companion; it is said that angels taught the early monks to tie each knot. Mother Nectaria, our resident monastic, furiously works her prayer rope at Liturgy. I will stay with her next year at her hermitage, perhaps many times.

This week I have delved into Christian mysticism, a beautiful piece of Christian history that has largely been forgotten or pushed aside. I recommend you read "The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism," and be prepared for transformation in your daily life. I am outgrowing many and much of my old religion. Truly, my heart has been set afire.

In a short time, our little home will smell of prayers rising to the heavens. I have ordered from a sweet Orthodox supply business (that supports monasteries across the United States, Greece, and Russia) incense holders and burners to cense our icons that will also be arriving shortly. Smaller icons will go in my father's pickup truck (this is common among Orthodox Christians). I wonder what my dad would say about Our Lady of Protection and the guardian angels festooning the dashboard. I hope it would please him, that I have found my Way.

I love and yearn for this Church, shrouded in mystery, smoke, and darkness. At Vespers and Great Vespers, the only light comes from the red glass lamps in front of the icons of the Theotokos (Mary, Mother of God), Christ, St. John the Baptist, and St. John the Forerunner (our patron saint at St. John's). Other dots of light illuminate great painted icons of our beloved saints. We make sure to make the sign of the cross and lovingly kiss their feet. I say faintly before each kiss, "Sweet Saint, pray for me," and usually stop before the icons of St. Mary Magdalene, St. Mary of Egypt, St. Moses the Ethipoian, St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, and St. Panteleimon. I've grown to know these saints, as intimate as old friends. The mystery of this ancient church and practice has been stripped away in favor of rock bands and (I kid you not) coffee bars inside churches (so you may enjoy your latte with your Jesus).

The Protestant churches of my youth--these will always be dear. The Methodist camp songs, the Christmas pageants, the rousing hymns with organs and handbells. But now these will only be memories, a sweet time in my childhood that gave way to the mystery of the East. I am no longer Protestant; I do not identify with the religion of my family and my ancestors. Should I have children, they will be raised Orthodox. But I hope their grandmother will take them to the Methodist church so that they may hear "I Love to Tell the Story" and "Precious Lord, Take My Hand." For it was these churches that shaped me, gave me a foundation for what faith meant and how important it is to possess. And I will take them to their great-grandmother's church in rural Arkansas, where incense is absent, and instead of chanting there is an electric piano. And they will find in both regards, there is love and beauty and above all, their Creator is Present abundantly.

Marriage, once more

2011-12-17T22:18:00.000-08:00

For some reason this passed through my mind, and I wanted to record it for future thought:

On my wedding night, after my new husband and I had made love and he drifted off to sleep, I slipped out of bed and padded to our honeymoon-suite bathroom. The shower was large enough for two people; it was entirely made of glass. I still had my wedding rings on--simple affairs of silver--and I ran a shower. I stood under it for some time, shampooing the coats of hairspray and removing the smudged mascara from my eyes. I had waves of many emotions; after all, I had only hours before made a vow before God to honor, love, and cherish this sleeping man in the next room, and, in my mind, work hard on this marriage as well.

I did not cry. I am not a crier, by any means, instead remaining somewhat stoic at times. But I did find a rhythm of prayer that poured from my lips, this stream of poetry to my Divine Creator that came out of somewhere deep inside me. I believe it was the Holy Spirit talking through me, as I could not remember anything I said and still cannot. I could feel this... presence inside me bubbling up and out and rising with the steam upward, upward as I sat in that shower and prayed, rocking, letting the hot water stream down my naked body as my long mermaidish hair made a curtain around me.

I have not thought about that night until just now. Perhaps it is because a cousin of mine was married today. This I do not know. But as I think about it, that solitary time on my wedding night (and on into early that morning) became the base of what my marriage would become. As my husband became gravely ill in our second year of marriage, I relied on many, many sleepless nights muttering countless prayers and saying hundreds, perhaps thousands, of rosaries. I felt as though my physical body would break. I hummed prayer, breathed it through my nostrils and mouth; I wanted to see it as one would breathe hot breath on a cold window--I wanted those prayers to be tangible so I could stuff them in pockets to protect me from those sterile, cold hospital rooms and couches where I slept. I wanted to knit a shroud of prayers to cover my husband as he slept, not knowing if he would wake up, not knowing if when they loaded him in the ambulance I would never see him draw another breath.

These are the secrets of wives and mothers whose prayers keep their families going; these women who go without sleep but slip out of bed so as to not wake their families--they go and pray, face to floor, in front of lit candles of saints and the Theotokos. Their fingers nimbly work the beads; their lips move quickly but soundlessly.

So this, too, was what it meant to be a wife for me, the beginnings of which happened on a shower floor one night in May, two days before I would turn 25. This began the way I would be married; this began my true dance with the Divine.

An open letter

2011-12-17T21:44:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends,

It seems as though there is a pattern, more like an ebb and flow, of writing here. At times, I can write enough for two or three (or more) posts a day. This might then be followed by a period of absence, which may seem confusing. Aren't "bloggers" meant to write as much as possible, to drive up numbers and readerships and provide new and exciting content every day?

To explain my harried running in the opposite direction of this modern blog culture:

I began Lie Down and Sleep with the thought that I would be its only reader. I have only this year--last month, really--made it known to friends (and eventually Facebook) that I even write such a blog. I do not believe any of my family read it, nor does my husband. In an odd juxtaposition, I began a very public thing--a blog--to record some very private thoughts about faith. Whether anyone would read it was not a concern. In fact, I am very surprised that anyone would read it. To be honest, I am a failure at writing. I am currently trying very hard to get a masters degree in journalism and most of the time I feel like my professor thinks I am a functional illiterate. Truly! I fail at academic writing; I lost my one and only job at a newspaper because I was a disaster as a reporter. I believe I was there less than four months before I was fired.

So now that I've explained how I am totally unqualified to be a writer, let me fill you in on my 'religious' credentials. I am a wanderer. I have yet to find a church home. I try on various cloaks of Christian (and sometimes non-Christian, in the past) churches and thought and desperately want to find a comfortable resting place.

I do not find this. I feel this is somewhat of a spiritual legacy left to me by my father, who is no longer living and offers solace only in my mind's eye. I am surrounded, here in the Deep South, by firm and solid Protestants who cast a wary eye on such a pilgrim as myself. The joke, sometimes kind and other times not, with friends and family is, What are you this week? I feel they see it as a weakness. Sometimes I see it as such as well.

The hunger that keeps me pounding on the door of Heaven drives me to seek the Truth and not settle too comfortably is what makes me unique as a child of God. Or maybe it makes me crazy. Maybe I am a horrible Christian. Or maybe I am a Christian from a different time. I do not have these answers.

So you see, when I get frustrated, or I purposefully stop the seeking, there might be little to write about here. There could be a period of darkness that even I cannot bear myself to confront. But it always comes out in the end... there is no hiding from our Creator.

I cannot churn out tidbits of platitudes here. I am no Joel Osteen or feel-good-Jesus hawker. I disagree with much of what is sold in bookstores. I dare not go into too much of that here, but I'll let that be known. I've been a scholar of sorts of Christian theology and history for nearly 10 years, diving into monastic texts and biblical history. I know no other Way for myself.

I also do not care a whit if I have 2 readers or 200. I do not advertise or make money of any sort off of this blog, and I am always surprised to see that there are readers from literally all over the globe who read this. I am so happy you are here and sharing this with me; perhaps you too quest and wonder and wander as I do.

In short, this is a very honest space. I am human. I sin. I am a wretch most of the time. Without grace and mercy, I would be far worse.

Forgive me.

2011-12-14T13:35:00.000-08:00

When I began to entertain the idea of forgiveness, it spread to all of my vital organs and radiated a sort of light, cleaning cobwebs and dust that had settled and blackened the inside of my soul. It is a freshening of the spirit.

Home

2011-12-08T11:29:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry for being so negative yesterday. Sometimes I get so caught up in other people's "perfect" lives projected on the Internet that I feel like I'm failing miserably at my own. Of course, this is all in my head. Maybe you've felt the same way... on Facebook or blogs you've come across, you see only the polished and pretty aspects of someone else's life. Unfortunately, comparing ourselves is all too common. I do it all the time, unconsciously, and it can really drag me down.

I learned only recently not to do it in the spiritual sense, these comparisons. I can feel so inferior if I try and look at another's journey in relation to my own. Lately I've realized that perhaps I am just a floater in the religious arena. The hesitation to formerly join the Orthodox church has nothing to do with the Church itself but my own limitations. When you join, you join for life. I am unsure that in twenty years I will be at the same place I am now. Honestly, I can't picture where I will Be. I've thought about Roman Catholicism and conversion, even though it is so different from the Orthodox way. I can't seem to find a peace there... between all of the things that make up my spiritual life. I read the saints' works, texts, monastic writings, biblical letters, diaries, etc., etc., and try to have a decent prayer life and live as Jesus taught. The Church is important, if flawed, and yet I do not have a permanent, lifelong home.

What is it like for those who have this Home? I've never had something like that. I am quite envious, honestly. I stand in the back of St. John's and watch those who have made a permanent commitment, crossing themselves and bowing before icons, fasting, praying the eight required times, and I feel like I fall short somehow.

What is my journey, where is my home?

Pass

2011-12-07T12:47:00.000-08:00

I'm not sleeping. I wake up feeling hungover because I'm experiencing this stress-induced insomnia. My mind whirls in an OCD panic until I pass out, exhausted, at 4 a.m. I feel like I'm withdrawing from life, retreating almost. I am waiting for it to pass, like all things do.

Peacepeacepeace.

Conversion fears

2011-12-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

There's something I have been reluctant to write about--the process of conversion to the Orthodox faith.

I had a long conversation after Vespers one Wednesday with our Kh. and I expressed that I seemed to be behind others who were quickly adopting the catechumen's prayer and planning their chrismation. I had been attending St. John's since May (I think) and I was no closer to becoming a catechumen in September. She assured me, sweetly, that everything is in God's time, and that for some, it took years of regular attendance before they joined the faith.

I'm not sure why I have this hesitation. The strictness of the faith is intimidating; on the other hand, the peace and intimacy with the Divine that comes with such discipline is what I've been seeking my entire life. Fasting scares me. It really does. This is a lifetime commitment, something you don't just 'quit' and leave.

And so I continue to stand in the far back, watching, breathing in the incense, humming the Jesus prayer until I'm literally swimming in the Divine presence. I continue to make the separation between my secular life and my spiritual life. I am not pious by any means. I am not even good most of the time. I wrestle with this daily, and I dream at night spiritual dreams that I try to work out for the remainder of the next day. I read books, search the Psalms, ask for saintly prayers, and it's not enough.

When will I be ready? Perhaps only God knows. Perhaps, too, this is a test of will--that is, giving it over to something Bigger than myself.

Pray for me. Forgive me. Love each other.

Family & religion

2011-11-30T12:18:00.000-08:00

My mother's family is from rural Arkansas, in a tiny community of 300 people. Most of them go to a Christian church, which is somewhere between Methodist and Baptist. When I married a Catholic, there were a few furrowed brows. Catholic? Really?

Some of my aunts and uncles are aware that I attend an Eastern Orthodox church, but I don't know if they know what that is, or what it means. I am afraid to go into too much detail, so I leave it at that. Cowardly, I know.

After the meal blessing, I do not cross myself. This was something I thought and thought about on the drive over. I love making the sign of the cross. In the Orthodox tradition, the sign of the cross is made over 100 times. I feel protected when I do it, and it is a part of my life. When I see a car wreck, I cross myself. When I hear of good news, I cross myself. If I hear something that is a relief financially, I cross myself. It's just second nature.

But over Thanksgiving, I did not cross myself except during my private prayer time. I felt awkward not making the sign after a family prayer. Again, cowardly.

My grandmother, a spiteful woman in her 80s, thinks I am Roman Catholic. She made it clear that she did not approve. I explained that I was attending an Orthodox church. She pursed her lips but made no comment. Then again, I doubt anything I do could garner an approval.

I am comfortable talking about the Orthodox life, what little I know of it, in my own circle of friends--even on this space here. But I am not brave enough to discuss with family. That might take some time. I often wonder what my father would think of it. He was raised Methodist, but struggled, as I do, with organized religion. I found solace--to some degree--at an Orthodox church, yet I cannot commit to become a catechumen at this time. I wish I could talk to him about this, among other things.

Peace to you, and forgive me.

On marriage

2011-11-28T09:49:00.000-08:00

my wedding rings

When I first attended an Orthodox church, I was amazed by the glittering beauty and the holy presence. The incense lingered in my clothes and hair long after service ended, and I would close my eyes in gratitude each time I kissed the icons.

Summers in Memphis are almost unbearable. On one Wednesday evening, during Vespers, the air conditioning in the church was out, and the temperature felt like an oven. The incense, instead of smelling like prayer, felt cloying and claustrophobic. Sweat dripped down my back, and I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, sometimes slipping out of my shoes to stand on the cold floor. I felt like the service droned on and on. I tried to stay present but found it difficult.

And then, like a vision, I suddenly understood why we have the discipline, why we stand even when it isn't comfortable. I instantly made the connection between that service and my own marriage.

Marriage, like a journey of faith, has many stages--enough to fill a lifetime. We have the falling in love experience, the excitement of an engagement and wedding, and a blissful honeymoon period. Fights are passionate and quickly resolved. As we have highs in marriage, so we have highs in our faith.

Years pass, and some of the passion that originally existed might have dissipated. Arguments turn into two separate stewing partners, unable to reconcile. Other things get in the way of the daily declarations of love. We are tired. We have children to take care of. We don't connect with our spouses. And so it is with God.

Unlike a human love, God is all-powerful and merciful. He does not shut doors; He flings them open with His great Love. All is forgiven.

I hope I convey that I am very human. I have many, many faults. I am stubborn. I do not forgive easily. I can be as negative as anyone else. I do not pretend otherwise. But I do know that as horrible as I can be, my Creator is in love with me completely. He delights in me. He listens to my every concern, patiently and warmly. He changed me, just as meeting my husband changed me. God sends angels and the Holy Spirit to work on this old heart of mine, tinkering away and removing the bitterness and ugliness. So it is with all who ask.

Italy, quest for peace

2011-11-27T16:00:00.001-08:00

DSC04092, originally uploaded by lie down and sleep.

Il Duomo, Milan, 2007

Advent

2011-11-27T14:56:00.000-08:00

Advent is upon us, the season of great Light and reflection on the holy gift we were so graciously given. The same things are said each year at this time: Jesus is the "reason for the season," capitalism ruins the message of Christmas, and Black Friday takes precedence over the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

So I will say something new instead.

The days darken and end more quickly now. These early evenings' beginnings cause us to turn inward. The carefree summer and beauty of fall give way to the starkness of winter, and so we too reflect on the starkness of our very human nature. Even small children know enough of the world to ask the meaning of life. So we shall, too.

The Advent season is a time of preparation, not only remembering to light the candles each Sunday, but to prepare for the purity of Christ's Mass. Our hearts, wretched and burned with anger, are cleansed through the power of the Holy Spirit, if we should let Him in. God's love manifested in a human child, with our own emotions, temptations, pains, and joys. Christ loved as we loved when we were young--with innocence and strength. So for these Sundays, and weeks until December 25, we shall prepare and refine our hearts and minds for the communion with God. The bleak winter serves as a reminder of the hell we may face without our God. The popular version of hell is fire, brimstone, torture, and agony, but I imagine it as a cold, desolate place, without contact, without God, and as a place where any emotion whatsoever has long been dead. There is no love, only isolation and the constant reminder of your misery. I do not believe hell is only for the dead; many who are living face this hell on earth. It is the most horrible of winters; it is the worst of human agony and defeat.

And so we prepare for our Heaven, and we are to experience a taste of that sweet nectar of God's love here, when we live in love and community with our brethren. It is a joyous season, let us be glad in it.

A prayer from Thomas Merton

2011-11-27T13:48:00.001-08:00

My God, lock me in Your Will, imprison me in Your Love and Your Wisdom, draw me to Yourself. I will never do anything when the strongest reason for doing it is only my own satisfaction. I want Your Will and Your Love. I give myself blindly to you. I trust in You. Do You really want me in solitude? Then lead me there and purify the way of all my own will and of my own desires. I trust in You blindly. I will keep close to You whatever the darkness, whatever my fears may be. Lead me to do all things in Your own time and in Your own way.

Thomas Merton, Dialogues in Silence

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Forgive me.

Lie Down and Sleep on Facebook

2011-11-27T08:25:00.000-08:00

Lie Down and Sleep on Facebook

Years lighter

2011-11-27T07:46:00.001-08:00

I am here today to speak of forgiveness.

This week, an estranged aunt and I reached a peace. I was in the hills of rural Arkansas, and during a phone call under the oaks and stars, this aunt and I forgave each other after nearly three years of not speaking. This unlocked a flood gate in my own soul, I suppose, and I wanted to suddenly forgive every hurt and misunderstanding and anger.

So, I did. I began with Stephen's family, the same family I had so vehemently protested and dug in my heels like a stubborn old mule, refusing to see them.

It just all left, vaporizing and taking the rage with it.

This weekend was lovely. I'm sure his mother was shocked at my sudden friendliness and eagerness for conversation. I was, too, I confess, as was my dear husband. But I was tired of clenching my heart against any kind of relationship. I was tired of the strain this anger put on my marriage. And I was tired of living less like the example of Christ.

Many prayers, over washing dishes or sweeping floors, were said this week. I faithfully read Dorothy's diaries each day, snatching a moment to live through her between my family's visits and cooking.

This forgiveness has taken an enormous weight off my very soul. I feel years younger. My husband declared his love for me had grown.

As I forgive, so must you forgive me for my trespasses.

With love,
Sarah Rachel

Comparative Christianity

2011-11-19T15:15:00.000-08:00

The Deep South does not provide as much religious diversity as, say, New England or the West coast. There are humble mosques tucked away in my neighborhood, and far larger Catholic churches dotting the landscape, but by far, Protestantism (of the persuasive evangelical inclination) is what you will find here.

I grew up Methodist, namely in Alabama. When we moved to Tuscaloosa, we attended a Presbyterian church. The two were different yet similar; I remember missing the church-camp style Methodist hymns pounded out on a piano. The Presbyterians were far more stately in their worship. Later I would hear that, like all Protestant denominations, the Presbyterians had a nickname: the Frozen Chosen. Southern Baptists, Churches of Christ, and Assemblies of God were on one end of the continuum; Unitarians, Episcopalians, and Quakers seemed to be on the other (but for different reasons). These divisions always fascinated me. The Christian church has many interpretations, and each interpreter thinks he is the one with the golden key to Heaven.

I have a secret: I often look/lurk on Facebook pages of women and men that went to high school with me. I've noticed a popular trend with several--Jesus and football. There are Bible verses littering the feed along with church suppers, Sunday school, Bible studies, mission trips, etc., etc.

What makes a good Christian? With so many variations, there are hundreds of different answers, possibly as many answers as there are actual Christians. As I've attended an Orthodox church, their answer is very clear and equally as difficult. I suppose I will always be curious of faith practices and disciplines, as my own "discipline" is quite lacking at the moment. I feel very open discussing my lack of focus these days... faith is a lifetime commitment, a marriage, and high fervor cannot be maintained for long periods of time. Instead, in my experience, the relationship grows and strengthens through both the human and the Divine, ebbing and flowing in the years. But my "ebb" is not the ebb of six years ago, and my "flow" sits at a higher peak as well.

There is a time and season for everything in God's kingdom. Do not be discouraged by your own humanity, but instead focus your sight on Heaven. Do not compare your journey with another; you are made with purpose and pride by your Creator, and He delights in you being You, your true self. You cannot try to be someone else, for when you arrive in Heaven, God will not commend you for being like another, but instead ask you why you were not yourself.

Forgive me.

Wisdom from Dorothy Day

2011-11-15T12:22:00.001-08:00

People live, eat, sleep, love, worship, marry, have children, and somehow live in the midst of war, in the midst of anguish. The sun continues to shine, the leaves flaunt their vivid color, there is a serene warmth in the day and an invigorating cold at night.

--Dorothy Day, The Duty of Delight, p. 62

orthodoxy

2011-11-15T10:56:00.000-08:00

The last time I mentioned a formal religion, I was attending an Episcopalian church in the heart of Memphis and participating in the Rivendell community. Back in February of this year, I started going to an Orthodox Christian church near the same neighborhood. I'm not sure I can say exactly what prompted this decision, only that I was curious and hungry for something I couldn't quite name.

Orthodox churches are covered in painted icons; literally every inch of the building, including the ceiling, is painted with holy icons of saints and events in the life of Christ. Orthodox communities also stand the duration of the services as a sign of respect. The sign of the cross, which is done forehead-navel-right shoulder-left shoulder, is performed numerous times, each time the Trinity is invoked. At the end of the service, the icons are venerated with a kiss.

I stand each service by the icons of St. Mary Magdalene, St. Moses, St. Catherine, and St. Elizabeth, in the last pew on the left hand side, and as a result, I feel these are the saints who watch over me during the service. I go several times a week, including Saturday night, and I can't think of a different way to worship at this point.

Will I convert? I'm not sure. My clothes and hair smell of incense--possibly the scent of prayer--and I pray the Jesus Prayer over and over as the priest and cantor intone. My lips move and my body shakes. I feel the presence of Something there, a heaviness and Lightness all at once. Sometimes the icons shimmer; I feel my heartbeat quicken. The prayer often causes me to involuntarily sway and shift my weight from foot to foot. The darkness of the church, illuminated only by the candles in front of the icons, is heavy and still, awesome and silent. But each of us there carries an internal light in our hearts that shines out through the darkness as our voices lift as high as the heavens. The beauty makes me weak in the knees, and the beauty of Christ fills me up like a bottomless vessel.

Forgive me.

poverty

2011-11-15T10:08:00.001-08:00

My husband and I live in poverty. It's not quite the squalor that the media might want you to think, but it's poverty, nonetheless. We are both educated with graduate degrees; however, the economy and business world care little for academia. Our friends and some family members live in the same condition, yet on the opposite end of the spectrum, other family members, namely my husband's mother and brother, are bewildered by our "situation."

Yet there is some kind of skewed nobility in poverty, a kind of sainthood in the making. I have an empathy for the poor that I carry always. I appreciate food, any kind. I know what it means to worry about where the next meal might come from, if it comes at all. And there is the faith component, a trust in the Divine, daily, that you will be provided with enough.

Now the daily prayers to get to work on enough gas, or let the last of the rice and oatmeal last, or to somehow keep my wits about me, are constant. I depend on God more than I depend on my employer, even. And this, I think, is a good thing.

As I look around my small, two-room apartment, I see the home we have made on literally nothing. Nothing is new; everything has a story. I am comforted in this place. I have laughed here, cried here, made love here, and prayed here, ceaselessly. Prayers are hidden in these walls; sometimes, I feel that angels might be present.

Poverty is not shameful. It can be a means to a deeper spiritual path--a path, perhaps, to sainthood.

2011-11-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

Having what is seemingly a "spiritual blog" can be both a blessing and a curse, I suppose. I have the ability to track my spiritual journey, often day by day, and remember what was going on in my life that prompted such aggressive searching. And then there came a time where my spiritual journey, so to speak, became increasingly more and more private. I felt I was unearthing whole galaxies and universes that were too itimate to describe.

Then came the frequent periods where any growth or union with the Divine stalled. There were the hard times, when my husband was ill for two years and I thought I could not keep going. I felt as though my world were crumbling; I felt alone and isolated in a city that was not my home where I knew no one. I didn't want to remember all of those details. I was at once caregiver, wife, student, employee, cook, and housekeeper while my husband was confined to bed. My faith took new identities and forms that probably should have happened when I would be much older. Instead, it happened in my mid-twenties, although many days, I felt ancient and withered, gnarled and dry-souled.

Perhaps you have felt this way, too--exhorting enough effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other and muddling through misery. I understand you. I understand how faith can be most important and yet non-existent. I have heard the silence of a sleepless night. I have said those prayers over and over in hospital rooms, in ambulances, in emergency rooms, not knowing if what I was doing was Real but too afraid not to have the faith and believe. It was the fear that kept me, not the love, at those times.

Now I am 27 years old. I am a wife of three years. I cannot find a Home or nest; I am still constantly seeking what I Believe is There. I do not seem to connect with women my age--I feel twice that. I think back to my childhood when I believed, as young as five, that God had a purpose for me, that He spoke to me. I kept believing that well into my teens, perhaps even in college for a time. Now I feel as nameless as any other wayward child, but I long to find that intimacy again, to feel as though God had chosen me somehow, to perform His work as a half-saint.

Forgive me.

cultivate tenderness.

2011-10-31T11:30:00.000-07:00

One aspect of myself that I lost completely in 2010 was any sort of gentleness, tenderness, or kindness, especially toward my husband or his family. With Stephen's health deteriorating before my eyes, a certain hardness took over--for survival, I believe. I became cold and calculating, though not in the traditional ways. I had to be hard in order to make it through the year. So much was needed of me, and I felt that so much was being taken away. I lost the softness.

Only about a week ago, wrapped again in negativity and anger, did I make an effort to cultivate tenderness. With that came listening fully and with intention. Too many times I listen only long enough to form a response, or to get angry, or to lose patience. I didn't listen to build someone up, or Hear what needed to be heard. So that, too, changed.

Long stretches of prayer, usually after everyone in the house was asleep, helped me learn the Newness of tenderness. Nothing is perfect, but this small act of listening and thinking about my actions has made an improvement in my life already.

Cultivate tenderness.

Living the Gospel

2010-07-13T08:33:00.000-07:00

Since this weekend, I've had much to think about. For someone who proclaims to be anti-establishment, anti-church, I've suddenly found myself extremely involved...um, in a church. I'm volunteering with pastoral care, visiting the sick in hospitals and making casseroles for families who have seen a death or a new baby, and I am on the committee for adult education. Add to that More Than a Meal and my weekly time with Rivendell, and, well, it looks like I am a Church Lady.

No one is more surprised than I.

In fact, I am on my way to becoming a novice with Rivendell, with time, of course. This pleases me to no end. I've always felt that Stephen and I were little monastics--the term "community" can apply here, as we live, work, love, and pray all in the same two rooms. Now my family is extending out to other branches of people who live their faith and campaign for social justice.

I think I avoided churches for so long because it didn't seem like enough--go on Sunday, sit for an hour, leave, and bam, you're done. I stopped going because what I was searching for--this utter communion with the Divine, living, breathing, the truest sense of the Gospel with each beat of my heart--didn't seem to jive with everyone else. I know I was too hard on congregations. But going to church for a social outlet wasn't what I was after. So I spent many Sabbaths alone, reading ancient monastic lectio divina, praying the rosary, reading mystic saints, and on and on, and continued to do so when I moved to Memphis. The Quaker community accepted me as I was, praying with my rosary each First Day in silence.

It wasn't until I started doing More Than a Meal that I realized the church body could offer me spiritual nourishment. And even though I was working at the church, I didn't go on Sundays. In fact, it was really Paul who encouraged me to go Sunday night. I knew he wanted to attend service, but was afraid of being rejected, just like I always felt. So we went together, arm in arm, braced for the worst but received the best. I told Stephen I was planning on inviting others who dined at More Than a Meal to come to service if they wished. Maybe they feel they aren't welcome, or that they'll be shunned or given snide looks. But they won't be, and I want to be there for them if they need me.

I was thinking, too, that maybe this is my call. Some women feel called to be mothers; I never have. Stephen and I agreed that we didn't want children, and now I see that if I had a family, I couldn't give my time like I do. I'm happiest at More Than a Meal, and Rivendell, and baking bread for our Eucharist, and feeding people, taking care of the sick, and in prayer. It's almost like my family is so big now that I have plenty of people to look after.

I have a friend, Fr. Tom, who told me once I seemed destined for the priesthood. I've thought about that often these past three weeks, as I become more involved in pastoral care and acting out the message of the Gospels. I think for now, Church Lady will suffice. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person, showing up when there's a need. Rivendell may give me all of the spiritual satisfaction I could want, as will the other actions I'm performing. My dream of being an ESL teacher is still alive, and I hope to fulfill that one day.

Until then, I will continue feeding people, making friends with homeless men and women, breaking bread with my Rivendell community, visiting the sick, making casseroles, and taking as many people as I can to Sunday service.

Caritas Deum.

Good Samaritan

2010-07-12T08:23:00.000-07:00

Saturday night's discussion at Rivendell was on the Good Samaritan. One thing I love about our community is that everyone is so well-versed in biblical history, so we discussed the issue of purity laws that prevented the priest and Levite from stopping to help the man in distress. Everyone had something to add, and then we started talking about Jesus' call for mercy and compassion, to give full attention to God, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

To see our neighbor as ourselves, and then to love that neighbor, takes grace that only the Holy Spirit can provide. When I worked at More Than A Meal, I saw these men and women as simply extensions of Jesus. Most are treated like a nuisance, a horrible reminder of the ills life can inflict. I think that's why I insist on touching shoulders, patting backs, and giving hugs to anyone who would take them. A few were reluctant to let me get them their water or coffee, but like the big bossy Southern lady I am, I said, "You sit down and let me take care of that." One lady flashed me a gap-toothed grin and laughed and said, "Well, all right, hon, if you insist." And I did, very much.

At Rivendell, Joann brought up that most of what she tries to do is see people as people, not hyphenated people. People aren't "black people," "homeless people," or "gay people," they're just people. I like to think of men and women I meet as children of God, that we're all brothers and sisters here living on this earth together.

Now, I can extend compassion to the most broken-down of men. I can give hugs to homeless drag queens, kiss grizzled men on the cheek, and hold hands and pray with schizophrenic women who don't speak English. I barely think twice about it--I see a need, and do it.

However, showing compassion to certain others is harder. I mean, really hard. Family members-oh man, don't get me started. Why is it so hard to forgive and love family? I prayed so fiercely last night for love to enter my heart toward these individual members in my life. I can't even explain why I feel the way I do about them, only that they have that very specific gift of driving me crazy. So I felt it was time for divine intervention.

I think it's going to take a lot of time, love, and forgiveness for me to get over my ill feelings. But really, family--true family--are people you gather in your life to support and love you. I already feel like my Rivendell community is family, as are my sister-dear friends, my mother, Stephen's grandparents, Stephen, and even the ladies who work at More Than A Meal. It's kind of a discombobulated family, mixed-up, rag-tag, but they're mine. And I love them.

Compassion--what a topic. Most of the time it's easier to walk by that person in distress. We don't want to get involved, to risk creating an unwanted relationship, or crossing a boundary. Because once you help someone, you are a part of their life, even for just a short time. But the call is to do just that. Reaching out. Loving. Extending mercy. Acting as the eyes, hands, and heart of Jesus. Like the Good Samaritan, do like this.

Living intentionally, or, my weekend of Light

2010-07-11T19:34:00.000-07:00

I've been hesitant to write about my weekend, mostly because I'm not sure I have the writing skills or poetry to do it justice. I could write about what happened, but the soaring feeling I have in my heart, as though my soul had wings, is hard to describe.

I've been doing More Than A Meal for two weeks, and I started researching other outreach programs at Grace St. Luke's. By (happy) accident I stumbled across the Rivendell community, an intentional Christian community that exists within the Episcopal church. I read a little about them on the website, and then a bit spontaneously called Joann, one of the members who would give directions and answer questions. Joann is the brightest, bubbliest, sweetest lady I have ever met, and that was just talking to her on the phone. She wanted to know all about me, so I told her that I was Quaker, lived in poverty, and was interested in monastic life. Her enthusiasm was completely infectious. When she found out I spoke Spanish, I felt that we had become friends for life--even though she has grandchildren my age. She invited me to come to their Saturday dinner and house church, and I felt lighter than I had in weeks.

I arrived at a tiny house built in the early 1900s crammed with books, cats, and antique furniture. The hostess, Jeanine, was a spitfire lady, full of spunk and spirit, and I liked her immediately. She beckoned me into the parlor (because it really was a parlor), offered me a glass of red wine, and introduced me around. Most everyone was in their early sixties with kind eyes and warm smiles. When I was introduced to Joann, she enveloped me into a homey hug and patted my face. "Oh, I just like you already!" she said.

The dinner was a potluck affair, in typical Episcopalian church lady fashion. We had a prayer, hymn, blessing, breaking of bread and drinking of wine, and it felt like I had been doing this my entire life. Or, rather, I had been preparing myself for this since I was a little girl with a fierce and longing faith. We got our plates and Joann insisted I tell the community about myself, and I did. Joann, with her huge Shirley Temple ringlets and dimples, clasped her hands around her knees and said, "I just knew she would be perfect for us."

To pause for a moment, the Rivendell community is an intentional group of people who live "Eucharistically." Vows are taken, and a daily office is practiced. It's a bit like Protestant monastics--your community is your family, and the Emmaus chapter here in Memphis teases and loves like a big group of brothers and sisters. You can be married, single, celibate, clergy, layman--just with a focus to live life according to the essential teachings of Jesus. There's not a uniform or vestment, and you don't have to live together or even next door. "Community" just means you have a family of faith. You can share questions, stumbling blocks, joys, and realities of living the Gospel.

I found out that most of the Emmaus chapter lived in Memphis in the 1960s--two worked with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the rest had a part in the city's Civil Rights movement. They all do some sort of activist or social justice work, working with Caritas House, Door of Hope, writing grants for government aid, and truly living their faith. I felt a bit starstruck as Fred recalled hearing Dr. King give his "Up to the Mountain" speech, you know, like, hasn't everyone seen Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. speak?

We had a reading from one of Paul's epistles with an open discussion, and then compline. Jeannine fixed Stephen, who was at home, a big plate of food and a huge basket of fruit to go, and I just came home buzzed and happy and full of love.

Today at More Than A Meal, I acted as a waitress. Most of the men and women have to fix their own water and coffee, but I took care of that for them today. I made sure they all knew my name and that I spoke and touched everyone there. There's a man that works with us, setting the table, and he has no teeth. It's hard to understand him, but I do my best. I was on my feet, running around the hall for about two hours, filling cups, talking to people. My friend from Mexico, Coco, came back, this time with his wife, and we were talking in rapid-fire Spanish. His wife beamed at me and said, "He told me we had to come today to see the lady who spoke Spanish!" At the end of the meal, four of the diners gave me huge hugs.

I had planned on going to service at 5:30, and the man with no teeth, I'll call him Paul, was inside praying. The church was completely dark--the only light was coming in through the enormous stained glass windows. I asked him if he was staying for the service, and he said it had been a long time since he had gone to church. "I'll stay with you," I told him, and he followed me up to the front of the church. He was nervous, but I pointed in the Book of Common Prayer where we would respond to the celebrant. When we passed the peace, I gave him a hug. "Thank you," he whispered. We took communion together, and after the service I introduced him to the two officiants. He told me the only material thing he ever prayed for was dentures. He hated his smile, he said. He looked down, troubled, and said with a hand that concealed his mouth, I'm so ugly. "God thinks you're beautiful," I said, and his face broke into a smile of a thousand creases.

I usually leave the house at around 2 p.m. on Sunday and don't get home before 7 p.m. I was so hungry when I got back home that Stephen took me to our favorite Mediterranean restaurant. Now we're home. I finished another chapter on my thesis today, had a fantastic weekend, and feel revived to face another week.

If you want to know God, if you want to learn how to handle the shit that life hands you, hang out with homeless people. You will understand more about the complexities and miracles of the Divine than any book could teach you. I meet people and always ask, "How are you?"

"I'm doin' all right, you know. How are you?" they say.

My answer today was, "Well, I woke up." My friend Billy (the one with the chocolate pie) laughed at that and looked at me like, Yeah, I get it. I asked another man if he would be there next Sunday, and he said, "Oh, Lawd, I do not know."

I responded, "I know what you mean. I take it one day at a time. I can't plan week to week."

He smiled and shook his head and said, "Oh, Lawd, yes, me too. I don' know what I'm gonna do if this bad luck streak don't end soon."

I gave him a hug and said, "I'll keep you in my prayers."

"That's all we can do," he said, and shuffled out the door.

Sitting with Paul in a darkened church, with the smell of wood polish thick in the air and the hushed tones of a sacred space, I felt...something. Martin Luther King's "Up to the Mountain" speech had been put to music, and I had been singing it to myself all day while I refilled water glasses and stacked dirty dishes. So I sat there, with this man who had no teeth, and watched him pray, eyes screwed tight and hands clasped in perfect picture book fashion below his nose. He was still in a way that I couldn't even describe, like a peace had descended upon him; he was with his God, focused, praying so intently I was afraid to breathe.

When I lead him by the hand to the choir stalls where the 5:30 service would take place, he dutifully bowed before the crucifix, something I am usually lax about, and took cautious steps up to the dark wooden pews. He pulled down the kneelers, and prayed again, eyes tightly shut. People shuffled in and did a double take at this grizzly whiskered man who hadn't bathed in a few days. I was just humming away in my head, buzzing with energy, and fixed bright, beaming, toothy grins at everyone who passed the two of us by. The other side of the altar was filling up with people--no one wanted to sit by Paul and me. I smiled like a maniac. Paul had a lot of questions--was that the organ? Could he take communion? Would there be music? In a sense, it was a boost to my own practice because here this man was with a certain childlike wonder at the church as a body, as a place of worship. The mystical and mysterious things that go on in a church--the amazement! The beauty! It was like I was seeing this for the first time.

Faith, hope, charity, compassion--these are things I try and practice daily. It's not easy, but every so often God sends a teacher like Paul to help me understand how I should be living my life. I think God has a sense of humor, a big one, and I hope he enjoyed seeing his beloved child Paul sitting right up there with some of the wealthiest people in Memphis. But it didn't matter, because I desperately wanted Paul to experience a church service like the rest of us, communion, the sermon, and feel like he belonged there, as a child of God, as a child of the Light.

Return

2010-06-08T08:11:00.000-07:00

I have been away from this space for some time, specifically to focus energy on Simple Gifts. Yet there are other reasons for not writing here. In March, I took a second job on weekends, which not only wiped me out physically and emotionally, it kept me from any sort of faith community. My peaceful Sundays at the Meetinghouse were given over to entire days at the local mall. Last Sunday, I resigned from the job (so soon, after all!). It was entirely last minute, this decision, but a wonderful one.

I've fallen out of habitual prayer. No rosaries have been said, and only mere snatches of prayer fly through my mind throughout the day. I feel completely detached from the Divine. I light my saints' candles, but it's more out of comfort than any real connection.

Both jobs had taken so much out of me that I could barely think straight at any given time. I was required to Make Money, and little else. Many others are in that same situation, which begs the question: Where is the time for spiritual matters?

It's so easy to come home exhausted, turn on the TV or get in front of the computer, and zone out. We are lacking so much human connection in our society that we're becoming more and more socially inept. One hundred years ago, people knew how to speak and make conversation. Now? I'm not so sure.

I miss being in tune with the Divine. I miss praying without ceasing. There was a kind of rhythm to my day, structured around prayer. And it wasn't just about how I felt--it was more how I could give back to those around me. If we are to be the Sabbath for each other, yet we don't make time for ourselves to rest, then the circle never completes.

I've noticed that I've become quite snarky, a bit mean, and a host of other qualities I'm not too proud to admit. Prayer keeps us humble, something I am not these days.

I recently got in touch with a college friend, and I had the worst attitude about it. I hemmed and hawed over emailing her back, and the message was distant and wordy, without saying anything at all. Yet for some reason she persisted and wrote me back. I am trying to see this as a lesson in forgiveness, humility, and love--how I can turn negativity into loving kindness. This is a soul reaching out to me, and I scorned her at once. She reaches out a second time, and my heart softens. I see our similarities, not our differences. I am afraid she will laugh at me or judge me, and I fear those old hurts that used to haunt me. She is a soul reaching out to me. I am a soul journeying alongside her. I will meet her in the middle.

Coming back to this space is a ritualistic action for me. When I write here, I can sort out the demons in my heart and soul. I am honest to show that no human, no matter where they are in their spiritual journey, is perfect. I struggle. I hurt. I fall from the path. But I try to pick myself up and keep going. For me, Christianity is not about the promised land. It's about the travels we make here on earth, living the Message and spreading Light to those who see darkness.

living, breathing, loving, laughing

2010-03-29T09:12:00.000-07:00

This weekend I was very much reminded at how my life is. Wait, that sounds a bit odd. I suppose I should say, I was reminded in a big way at how much my life is not mainstream. And I kinda like it.

In high school, I was a joke. I had no hair, gained sixty pounds in a year, and was tormented fiercely. I think kids expected me to stay in that role for the rest of my life. But as far as looks go--clothes, hair, makeup, all of that--it can be changed and learned overnight. So in college I lost 75 pounds, the hair came back, lived in Europe and learned some style. Now I don't even think about it, but yes, I have changed.

At a funeral a few weeks ago, one of my main tormentors didn't even recognize me. Literally, he had no clue who I was, the same girl he picked on every day for four years. And I think a large part of that is that I saw above the role others were giving me. I saw a life I could choose for myself, not one that was handed to me, broken and used. I ran with this idea, this new life, screaming away from Alabama and Tuscaloosa and living a bohemian, carefree, wild and crazy life right now in this moment. I love it.

Now we're getting the questions, Stephen and I, of when we're going to settle down, buy a house, and have kids. Our answer is never. There's simply to much to do, to see, to experience. We want to see the world, live deep, smell, eat, drink, love, laugh and taste all the amazing and beautiful things life has to offer. We don't want to be chained to a mortgage. We're not in the market for a family. Last night we started listing all the places we want to go, together, and we just got so excited. I will live in a one bedroom apartment for the rest of my life if that means I can meditate in an ashram in India, see James Joyce's countryside, and eat pastries in Prague.

Life is not a bulleted list handed down from the government. There is no one way to live, to be, to act. It's harder to go against the grain, but my, isn't it sweeter.

acedia & me

2010-03-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

I'm about halfway through "Acedia & Me" by Kathleen Norris. I had picked it up at Borders on Monday or Tuesday and read through most of it yesterday. Initially, I wasn't exactly sure if a book on the monastic term "acedia" or "accidie" would apply to me, but I liked Kathleen Norris' "The Cloister Walk." So I gave it a try.

As with most things of a spiritual nature, I was reading the first 20 to 40 pages without truly thinking about my own spiritual life. And then the more I read, the more I realized that this demon was at home in my own soul, without me ever realizing it. Imagine that.

Acedia is not easily defined as sole depression...it's called by monastics and psalmists "the noonday demon." When acedia attacks, we care little or not at all. As Norris writes, the process of saving by Divine grace is possible, but unappealing. Such is this condition.

My own spiritual acedia has been with me for some time now. I want to pray, yet I don't. I have books to read, psalms to memorize, practices to initiate, but they have all sat stagnant. I am listless without knowing why. Acedia. It happens.

Another demon (using this term in the monastic sense; also known as a "bad thought by desert abbas and ammas) is anger. And oh, how I wish it weren't so. I have so much anger inside of me that it's literally eating me up. It's consuming my positive energy, making me hate and lash out at the world and the people in it. In the desert, anger is the seed of compassion. But right now, anger is the seed stuck in my craw, choking my words and my heart.

Acedia and anger. Two things I want gone from my life. And that, really, is the starting point. I can write all day about how we are supposed to live according to Christ's message and teachings, but I deal with the bad thoughts, too. It's the spiritual process and life. The hills and valleys, so to speak. For in the wake of these feelings comes peace and love. It's getting through them that takes courage.

The abbas had a cure for acedia when it struck a brother in their community. The wise desert men would tell the suffering monk to go to his cell and sit. For it is being alone with our thoughts, before God, that brings us to the core of why this acedia is here. Distractions tear us further away from God. Other people do, too.

When I have been away from my practice, it's too easy to stay away. Getting back into the habit of reading lectio divino or scripture, prayer, humility, love, compassion...it seems too much, like I can't take it all on. But for me, that's the very thing I need to do. Spending time in silence and as much solitude as I can also help.

As for the anger--oh Lord, where to start. The anger comes in part of frustration. I can get so worked up over things that just don't matter. Whether someone is going to quit her job or not to have a baby, when I work two jobs. Whether someone judges me for being the kind of Christian that I am. Snide remarks about my marriage. Now, these things would, I'm sure, make anyone angry, but it's the way that I deal with this anger. I want to explode. I want to punch things. I want to be as destructive as possible. And this is no way to be. Even the thought of these things can send me into orbit. So what do I do?

Well, I'm still figuring it out.

Prayer helps. Compassion and contemplative meditation help. Knowing that anger is nothing new, from the desert abbas and ammas all the way through the centuries down to me. It's a strengthening process, a human condition, something that can help me refine my heart from a dusty, angry piece of iron to pure gold.

These are things I am working on, from the time I get up until the time I go to sleep. And I feel they will be things I work on for the rest of my life, without ceasing, with much prayer and daily Divine intervention.

Poverty and Christ

2010-03-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

I've been gone for some time, away from this space. I started a new project at Simple Gifts in hopes of reviving a love for writing, and so far, it has helped. I feel more comfortable blogging again, but it's taken some time to come back here.

In this absence, I've had time to think and observe--about many things, really. And that's truly what I needed before returning to writing about faith-based matters. We sometimes need that breathing space, a time to step away and evaluate what we do and why we do it.

I've been in a number of bookstores recently. In between appointments, I'll often stop at a bookseller and browse the religion titles. I've become quite familiar with many of the titles, and there are some that I just avoid altogether. In most of these stores, the religion section--Christianity in particular--is one of the largest in the store. We are all obviously searching for something; we just can't quite name it. Thus the hundreds of titles that promise one contradiction after another. Ancient monks advise us to be poor; Joel Osteen wants us to be rich. What, then, do we do?

I think the problem of these books is that we are failing to address that Christ's message is not for the faint of heart. It's not supposed to be easy, this Christian-thing, and anyone who says it is, doesn't understand that it's much more than a one-time salvation.

What does Christ call us to do? Specifically, be poor. Give away our possessions. Live among the needy. Sell all that we have and give the money to the impoverished. It's clear cut, and yet this is the one teaching that so many of us skirt around. Why? Because it's hard. Even living below our means is difficult. Our society tells us that to be successful, to be valued, we must own big houses, nice cars, plasma screen TVs, iPhones, and on and on. But we don't realize the true cost of these possessions. They mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. And not just in the kingdom of Heaven, but here on earth as well. Material things can be burned to the ground in an instant, but your mind and soul are forever in your hands.

Why would Jesus call us to live among the poor? Why would monks and nuns, since 300 AD, live in absolute poverty? One belief, mine, is that it strengthens the spirit. We must rely solely on God. Our faith is doubled, tripled, and our practice becomes a daily observance. Our focus is on the divine, not worldly riches, not things that you can buy and sell. And think--if we didn't have the televisions and the big houses and the technology, what would we do? Probably spend more time together. Focus on our spirit. Perhaps that is what our Teacher intended.

This was not the only direction that Christ gave us. But I believe it's an important one, in direct correlation to the heart of Christian teachings. Jesus did not come for anyone but the poor. He came for those who would rely most heavily on Him, not for those who could buy their way out of a bad situation.

What do we take from this? I suppose evaluate our spending. Evaluate our living. Ask ourselves what the true call of Christianity is for each of us; how God wants to use us daily. And be glad and thankful that we have such a merciful God who is willing to teach us, care for us, and love us, always, forever.

thoughts

2010-02-14T07:21:00.000-08:00

Something that's been on our minds lately is how unhappy our society seems to be. America has a basic rule that if you go to college, find a good job, get married, buy a house, have children, and spend your time accumulating things in the appropriate company, you will be fulfilled. And yet, we know those who follow this rule closely and are miserable. Why?

It's not enough to follow the program. America is slightly schizophrenic when it comes to values. I was asked to be a guest writer for a news magazine and do some spots on Quaker perspectives of America's ways of life. The editor only knew my husband, not me, and I don't think he knew much about Quakerism, because we disagree with much of what goes on in our country. While I can't speak for the entire religion, I can speak for myself. I don't agree with the American dream or this way of life that promises golden memories in your later years. It just doesn't happen. So much more happens in a lifetime than working and buying.

When you place your self-worth on what you own, you are bound for failure. Soon, nothing is enough. No matter how much you have, you need more and more. Could this explain the debt crisis we are facing? Why are we not happy with what we have today, in the present?

Stephen and I don't follow any set program. Our family thinks we're crazy. Why on earth, how on earth, could two people be happy in a one-bedroom apartment crammed with books and cats? How can we be happy with no money, nothing of value, with two beat up cars that literally aren't worth insuring?

Love.

I was fortunate, blessed, enough to be raised in a house where things didn't matter. My father filled his mind with ideas, literature, poetry, language. He believed in helping people. He and my mother were grassroots Christians, believers of Jesus's message out of the Gospels. They worked hard, taught me well, and sent me on my way. They taught me to be happy with what I have, to stay in the present, and to love all around me. For that I am most thankful.

I am also blessed to have a group of friends who think as I do, who dig deep at the roots of friendship, who love and push me to be my best. We understand when there's only $50 for groceries that week, or when you support your partner because you love him. People come before things.

I think today, on Valentine's Day, there will be gifts exchanged and cards opened and credit cards charged. For us, it was a night out to dinner, and then a feast of hummus, clementines, and almond cookies last night. Divine.

I am happy because I choose to be happy. I chose not to buy into what the rest of the crowd said was right and appropriate. I don't wonder if I'm happy, or what I should be doing in order to be happy. If I lose my job tomorrow, which very well may happen, I'll be okay.

Keep thinking. Keep challenging. And most of all, keep loving.

thinking day

2010-02-08T08:51:00.001-08:00

When I lost my job almost exactly one year ago, I immediately began looking for work both in Huntsville, Alabama and in Memphis, Tennessee. I came in contact with the Church Health Center in Memphis and signed on to do some volunteer work. I met with directors and editors and took home faith-related books to review. Then I found a job in retail, then a few months later I landed the job I have now. In between I was juggling being a newly married woman and living on my salary alone for the two of us. I had, to say the least, a lot to figure out.

The books lay neglected in my bookshelves, forgotten and dusty. A few days ago I received an e-mail asking me to bring the books back if I was not going to review them. I mentally calculated the months I had these books in my possession, and then the months of empty promises of reviews I had committed.

This weekend I opened the first of three books I took home last year, called "Making Poverty Personal" by Ash Barker. I diligently took notes, read carefully, and then found myself skimming through the last third of the book. I tried to explain what lacked in the book to Stephen, and I couldn't. The message was clear, and good. Everything was oriented in scripture. But...I don't know. I didn't jump up and run out the door to DO something.

Now, because I am a Thomson and my father's child, I feel I MUST complete this task. But I don't know where to begin. Perhaps I was the wrong reader for this book. I referenced a number of my own books, from the desert abbas to Joachim Jeremias. As the day dragged on, I found other things to occupy my time, rather than writing. The challenge is, how do I make this message and call relevant, interesting, and motivational?

I think for me, this task is less about saying whether a book is good or not and more about providing some sort of hope. Stephen and I live below the poverty line, intentionally, but we are not poor in spirit, and we have the kind of life that is full and happy. But many are not so fortunate. The poor and impoverished in spirit have been a central theme in Christian teachings since the ministry of Jesus, yet it is so easily ignored. We tend to think as Americans that poverty exists in slums in third world countries, or on commercials advertising sponsorship for African children.

As we see our own American economy decline, and as it is sure to only get worse in the coming years, more Americans that never thought about "being poor" are now dealing with the very realities that come with loss of income. Those who exist solely in their belongings have identity crises because their self-worth cannot be tied to what they own. What will their friends think? What will their children, their parents say? Poverty, as it seems, is not just a bank account--it is indeed a state of mind.

For those who are wrapped up in what they own, in the "right" lifestyle, in the "right" stuff, Jesus' message may fall a little flat. The attitude is off. They are self-suffering, martyrs to their own god of money. But for the downtrodden, the working man and woman, the child on free lunch, the mother working two and three jobs to pay bills, Jesus' message is a ray of light and hope. A day of judgment will come. God is both mighty and merciful, and He is not blind to the injustice that happens in this country and around the world. Greed will be punished. Those who take so others may not have will be judged on the day of reckoning. Jesus came with a sword to judge the quick and the dead.

So where are we in all of this? What is, in fact, our call?

We look after the least of these. Whatever our talent, we use that to the greater glory of God's will. We feed people, we clothe them, we house them, we educate their children with the best resources. We elect officials who will care for those who have no voice. We will sacrifice so that all of God's children can live a life of peace, happiness, and light. We will look around us, at the things we do not need, at the wealth we have amassed, and we will strive for something Higher, Greater, more heavenly. We will give our riches to the poor, and we will, yes, we will, take up that cross and march to Higher Ground.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

remembering

2010-02-02T15:36:00.001-08:00

This has been a tough two days. We will celebrate the life of Pat Pritchard in Tuscaloosa tomorrow night with friends, beers, and good music.

I have been listening to sixties' classic and thinking about how our lives intertwined, beginning when we first met on the school bus at age 14. Years later, here we are. I wish it were different, but it isn't.

I'm gonna miss that skinny kid. What will the world do without him?

echoes

2010-02-01T08:39:00.000-08:00

Learned this morning of a friend's passing. Peace, peace, peace on your journey, brother.

Hail holy Queen

2010-01-31T08:47:00.001-08:00

Salve, salve regina.

books

2010-01-31T07:25:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows Stephen and me knows we love books. We have hundreds packed into the apartment. We devour them. We are devoted to them. We would eat them if we could.

As a married couple with limited income, often our date nights on Friday nights consist of Indian food and a trip to the bookstore. We know our booksellers' selections well in Memphis, from Midtown to Cordova. Particularly, I know how the religion sections measure up from store to store.

Religion is a tricky subject, both when reading and writing. What is religion, even? Break it down in to parts, denominations, faiths. Quakerism is not Catholicism. How do we choose what feeds our souls in the way of words?

When I visit a bookstore, I head immediately to the religion section. There I am greeted by mainly Christian tomes, usually separated by books of interest to Catholics and books of interest to Protestants, with a line of demarcation of Bibles. I am a fierce judge. Thomas Merton is usually well represented, but not Phyllis Tickle. Forget Quaker writers. Dorothy Day's recent publication of diaries is there--one lone copy. Henri Nouwen is there to greet me, as are Tozer, Tillich, and C.S. Lewis. But, I have all of those.

I am constantly on the hunt for something new. Something to shed light on a subject that remains, and will remain, forever clouded in mystery. This is best understood by ancient mystics and saints, less so by modern evangelicals. I do not claim to know God. I cannot say that I ever will. Faith is the means of reaching toward that aim, but knowing our human limits.

When I was a child at Bible camp, we were asked to draw a picture of God. The children sat busily coloring. I was a shy child but firm in my vocation as a spiritual daughter of God. I confidently chose a yellow crayon and did my best rendition of a dove bathed in golden light. We were then asked to share what we had drawn. The other children had drawn old men with long beards and robes. I presented my golden dove. It was greeted with laughter. "She thinks God is a duck!" they gleefully exclaimed. The counselors smiled politely, unclear as to what to make of my drawing. The rest of the day I walked along the lake and prayed. I was nine years old.

Years later, at the age of 23 or 24, I came across the desert mothers and fathers, saints' writings, and Christian mystics. They described God as light, and when Jesus was baptized by John, God appeared as a magnificent dove. I had not heard nor read that when I made my drawing. As I read that fifteen years later, my heart filled with love for the little girl shunned by her peers at Bible camp. Blessed are the meek.

In bookstores, I must use my discerning inner voice to choose a suitable book. Many times I walk away with nothing. Other occasions I walk away with as many as six books at once.

But why all of this focus on books?

I believe as Christians (and this may apply to persons of any faith) we are called to live the word and will of God. Scripture is important. But so are the lectio divino that generations of saints and holy men and women have left us. Why not use these great gifts? The words of Thomas a Kempis and Dorothy Day only add to my conviction, and that, coupled with Scripture, give me bread to feast upon.

I read books to feel the presence of those wise men and women who came before me. I do not always fit in a traditional church setting. Attending Meeting did wonders for both my soul and my heart--I was not alone after all. I had community with like-minded people. But before that, my teachers were in the pages of these treasured books. They comforted me; I was not alone. The child who drew the dove grew to be the women who sat alone, unfulfilled in traditional churches. That child is now home, thanks to the writers who gave her hope.

light, light, everywhere, light

2010-01-29T07:34:00.000-08:00

Family nap time/pass out time, around five o'clock yesterday afternoon. Notice the cats are sleeping on Stephen's handmade scarf. They always seek out our clothes to settle on.

What a lovely, busy, productive week. Work is going well, great even, and I fall into bed with a smile on my face. I've been on the road a lot lately in my dad's old pickup truck, listening to the oldies station at top volume and having time to think. I feel so free on the road, free and independent.

This time last year was an entirely different place for me. I'm so glad I'm where I am today, with my husband in our small home with our kitties, feeling boundless amounts of love and light.

On Sunday I went to Meeting at our Quaker Friends Meetinghouse. I spent the first half of the morning listening to gospel music and knitting while Stephen peacefully snoozed under piles of blankets with the cats. Meeting was wonderful. Just to sit in silence and listen to the wisdom of the Holy Spirit--so grounding and balancing. The folks there are beautiful souls. I'm anticipating going back this weekend. Light! Light! Precious light!

Today it's snowing! It iced over last night and just a few minutes ago Stephen called me to the window and said, "Look at the snow!" Gorgeous. Within minutes the ground was blanketed with white. Lovely day. We built a fire and are spending the day inside, loving the day. A wonderful way to end the week.

Peace and light!

Blind Boys of Alabama

2010-01-27T09:07:00.000-08:00

This is my every Sunday morning.

Have mercy.

Saturdays

2010-01-24T04:42:00.000-08:00

My small collection of crystal, one from my single lady days, the big one from my mother, and the small bud vase from our wedding.

Delicious busy work space on a beautiful Saturday.

The finished quilt/throw, already beloved by all five of us who live here.

Sorting through my threads.

A little rug I made for cold toes in the kitchen.

100% Rennie approved. She slept with us on the throw for four hours while we watched (inhaled) the last disc of Mad Men, season two. I have never seen her sleep so hard. Sweet little!

I had an incredibly productive week, so on Friday between Kinko's and finishing paperwork, I stopped in Border's (surprise) and picked up this beautiful book as well as this fantastic little number. My sewing books are now outnumbering my knitting books...the grandmother inside of me is quietly pleased.

On Saturday Stephen and I both got up at around 7:30, made a big pot of coffee, put on some music, and set to work. He with his writing, I with my sewing.

I have been hand quilting (badly, terribly, horribly) a throw out of Amy Butler's "In Stitches". No where in the book does she say to hand stitch. In fact, very few of my books (all very modern in the most modern of senses) say to hand quilt. Now I know why. I have been hand-quilting that little son of a gun for ages. So bright and early Saturday morning I ripped out all of the stitches (no tears, I promise) and turned that little throw into a usable blanket in about 45 minutes. The cats, especially our dear child Rennie, are in heaven.

I suppose I could make a spiritual analogy to this, but I won't. Suffice it to say, many prayers and meditations were worked over those long hours of hand quilting. For that, I am not sorry.

I spent the rest of the day crafting and enjoying the unseasonably warm day in our cozy, lovely apartment. My favorite time of day is around 4 p.m. I love it. The way the light hits...and the cats come out to stretch and find the last bits of sun to nap. Such a time of peace and comfort. The last of the coffee is drained, Stephen and I come together after a day of work--I just love it.

A lovely Saturday, indeed.

my day

2010-01-20T16:28:00.000-08:00

A few images from my day today...Books and cats pretty much sums my life up. The top of Stephen's dresser is covered with just a portion of his books that he needs for his Cuba book. I don't really have an excuse for my overflowing bookshelves, except that I just love books. I think I would eat them if I could.

Amelia has been my buddy lately, quilting with me, knitting with me, and reading with me. I've had a loooong day today and the kitties have kept me company. Tomorrow promises to be even longer. But I love it.

And the Ivanka Trump book?

I'm really trying here.

Sundays

2010-01-20T08:04:00.000-08:00

Sundays here are our official day of rest. We read, make pots of coffee, and eat throughout the day. I use it as my day to craft and catch up before I start the week again. This Sunday I was lucky enough to spend it with my dear friend. We ate leftover party food, crocheted, drank jasmine tea and watched Steel Magnolias. All while her four cats spilled glasses, sat on yarn, got in our laps, and tried to sneak pizza from our plates. Oh, and I think I ate about twelve mini cupcakes. Chocolate, no less. Yum.

I arrived in Tennessee yesterday at around 2:30 p.m. from a two day business trip. It was warm enough to slip into a T shirt and my beloved Birkenstocks as I ran to Hobby Lobby (which I think will soon become a weekly trip). I then went to Barnes & Noble for some business books (so out of character, but I am trying my best) and just one more crafting book on quilting, plus BUST magazine. Then home where my dear husband picked up some Panera sandwiches for dinner. I was out at 8:30 p.m. I'm glad to be home!

Sunday

2010-01-17T10:50:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Sunday. Our official day of rest. My own personal day of lectio divino and quiet reflection inward. We light the saint's candles on the altar and spend the day reading. I like to do some handwork, the meditative rhythm of sewing or knitting like a form of prayer.

Tomorrow begins a very busy week for me...a business trip out of town for two days, a day of catching up with calls on Wednesday, then two days "in the field" as we say. So today I will spend as much time as I can quilting or knitting, embroidering, cooking--any of the simple domestic pleasures that I love so much.

end of the week

2010-01-16T11:08:00.001-08:00

How is it that it's 1:07 p.m. on a Saturday and I'm still in my pajamas?

Let me tell you.

This has been a harried, rushed, no peace kind of week. I was stressed, Stephen was stressed--even all three cats were hissing and growling EVERY day. (Cat baths will do that, no matter how sweet smelling the soap.) In short, this week has been hard on every critter in the house. So today, we are taking a massive break. Yes, the laundry is piled up. No, the bed isn't made. We have an Amy's pizza in the oven and I have spent the day thus far reading blogs and scouting for fabric for future quilts.

Later today is my good friend's birthday celebration...We've been corresponding all week via e-mail. (One night I sent her this: "I just came home from Barnes & Noble where I spent an hour eating a double chocolate cupcake, drinking hot chocolate WITH whipped cream, and reading Mothering magazine. I don't know if I want to talk about it.") I'm looking forward to some peaceful knitting before the party starts. She sent me a text last night--"What are you making for the party?" Umm...making? I forget that when you talk about food as much as I do, and you make food as much as I do, people expect things from you. Like homemade cupcakes. Or something. I'll figure it out.

Until then, I'm staying in my pajamas.

from last night, keeping the peace

2010-01-14T16:21:00.000-08:00

b a l a n c e

what a day

2010-01-13T18:53:00.001-08:00

With a stressful day beginning with a night with no sleep, the smallest things remind me to stay centered.

+Rennie slept with us all night, being my constant companion
+A cup of extra sugary tea to replace the three cups of coffee I usually drank (and I wonder why I feel so much better tonight...hmm)
+Amelia being my knitting buddy
+A glass of wine and Green&Black chocolate we've been hoarding for a night just like this
+Lighting every candle in the house, including our collection of saint's candles. Have mercy!
+Writing a letter to my abuelita
+SouleMama, all day
+ "A Year of Mornings", just for the simple beauty

Pictures of our peaceful night to come tomorrow. As for us, we are thoroughly tired.

Good night, friends.

2010-01-12T13:47:00.000-08:00

These first few months of 2010 are all about plans. Stephen and I have decided to stay in our one bedroom apartment as the current and future U.S. economy is shaky to say the least. We had grand visions of moving to a little house or at least a bigger apartment, but when China started showing signs of trouble, we thought it would be best to stay put. I have had to come to terms with such a small space for two humans and three cats. The daily frustrations of just not enough room come clearly to mind. So this year will welcome an intention to make our home much more welcoming.

We have a large balcony that is begging to be turned into a garden. At least, in my mind that's what it's saying. I want pots of tomatoes and herbs for fresh cooking in the summer and flowers to bring inside. Right now this space is in a dismal affair, but January is the perfect time for pre-season sprucing.

Our bedroom is another area that needs some extra TLC. No pictures on the walls, two desks and computers crammed inside...not restful. What does it need? Only hours spent pouring over decorating books and blogs will say...although I'd take a bet that flea markets would be more our speed.

New year, new plans.

today

2010-01-12T10:50:00.001-08:00

These past three days have left me exhausted. After a late night drive thru at Taco Bell, my stomach rebelled and left me a pitiful critter for two days. Today my body is rested but still just utterly tired. I am downing the coffee and thankful that I work from home and can manage to spend the day in pajamas while I get some work done.

Today I am thankful for warm spaces, clean linens, constant coffee brewing, working side by side with Stephen, and piles of books to be read.

2010-01-11T15:02:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I feel like the work here is done...nothing more to say. I intentionally started this blog to chart the journey of my spiritual path--the hills and valleys, the realizations, the beginning of an understanding that what I really know is so, so small. When I lived in Huntsville and worked for the newspaper, many (most) times this blog kept me going through a miserable time. And now I'm here a year later in an entirely different place, physically and spiritually.

The life of the religious is, to quote a friend, a marathon, not a sprint. I have found there were times when I needed to stop and figure out exactly where I was in my head and my life. Some resting points were longer than others. Certain things were moved around while others gained prominence. Such is the life of a newly married woman.

Monastics, lectio divino, rosaries, saints, chants and hymns have all been richly incorporated into my life. I have a rhythm now, work and prayer, channeling the divine into the domestic. It is a form of practice and service, living out the Call.

Right now is my favorite time of day. The sun is setting and it's bitterly cold. We have the space heaters on, the cats are snuggled into blankets with their noses covered, and the washing machine and dryer are tumbling low. My life is much simpler now and very happy. Even the poorest of us can have the richest of lives.

waiting for the light

2009-11-30T10:01:00.000-08:00

I haven't been writing much here because I feel there is little to say right now. When I write, I want to tear it up; when I don't write, I feel discouraged. So much of my past identity has been tied to being a Writer yet I don't think I can claim that title any longer. What happened?

My spiritual life is lagging (and lacking) as well. I keep thinking it might be normal to have the hills and valleys...how does one live a faith? When I feel like a miserable person I usually am not keeping the tenets of Christianity--that is, when I am least patient, least kind, most jealous, most greedy. So how do we break from this cycle?

Winter is partly a culprit in this mood. The dark days and cold air do me no good. I feel older, more cynical and sceptical, less likely to find brightness. I am far less patient with myself and my husband. And so I think it will continue to cycle until I, or a higher power, breaks me away from this.

Prayer, for one, is a powerful antidote to what ails us metaphysically. I don't mean that we should pray just to make ourselves feel better. No, prayer is for a much higher purpose than that. Prayer is the logos that communes our hearts with God. When we don't have the words, God provides them. When we don't have the spirit or the energy, the Holy Spirit intercedes. Just knowing that the Holy Spirit is praying for us all the time is enough. My prayers are lacking focus and drive these days. Is this what happens to a heart too content? Or perhaps not content, but satiated in the world. I would say, where is the girl who prayed non-stop? But then again, would we pray only when we are in need? What about the psalms of glory and praise? Where do those fit in our lives?

I am trying new exercises...mindfulness, prayers of praise, simple living. These don't happen overnight, but they do indeed need to start somewhere. Marriage is a place of never ending forgiveness, love and patience. It is a good place to begin a life of contemplation, love and service.

What don't they tell you in church, during the sermon? A life of faith is hard. It doesn't end. It requires sacrifice, examination of the soul. This life involves education, trial and error. Practice. And I think what I had to learn the hard way--it is individual, do it yourself, one size doesn't fit all.

What do I miss in my life? Perhaps a church home. The years I spent in churches have usually contributed to the years I spend out of them. I didn't have the patience for the experiences I was having. I had to find my own teachers--Merton, Dorothy Day, Mary Rose O'Reilley, Thich Nhat Hanh, Henri Nouwen, C. S. Lewis, G. K. Chesterton, G. M. Hopkins, St. Teresa de Avila, and so on. They provided such a light to me, such guidance, that I haven't found elsewhere. There is a Quaker meetinghouse in Memphis yet every Sunday there is an excuse not to go. Why is that? Am I afraid, reluctant, too impatient yet again?

I think what is most missing is discipline. I feel like I look at others around me, capable, worthy individuals, and think I could never be like that. I feel like a mess most of the time. I can barely bring myself to finish a Masters thesis...what am I to the world?

Maybe this lamentation period is leading to something greater. Isn't that usually how it goes? When we despair over our hearts and minds we find the answer just a few paces ahead. The idea is patience and faith. Patience as we wait in God's time for the light and beauty and faith that it will happen.

Kyrie eleison.

hello!

2009-11-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

Abbster.

Stephen and I have been spending the week working side by side in our apartment, he on articles and I on business. It's been a stressful week in part for me because I have numbers and contacts to worry about. I told myself when I was through with this two week span I would treat myself to something (anything!) to celebrate everything being over. Lately some of that stress has been manifesting itself in the kitchen. I've been cooking every night and baking nearly as much. Last night I made a quick almond and rosemary chicken, wilted spinach, and snickerdoodles.

I've been making my way through some books as well, thank goodness. I finished "Thomas Merton & the Monastic Vision" and am about 20 pages away from finishing "Life and Holiness." Merton is ever the incomparable teacher and mentor. "Life and Holiness" has been giving me so much in just the two days I've been reading. The things I'd most like to work on are probably spiritual discipline and a more contemplative prayer life. When we're away from prayer too long and it's become less of a communication and more of a "have-to" or a "not at all," I think it takes some time and effort to remember how to pray. I forget, too, how to look at the God around me and the Christ within myself and others. And when the discipline is lacking, it feels like everything else lags behind.

I'm anxious to begin a study on Christian mysticism...and anxious to begin the weekend! I'm hoping to bellydance a little, read a lot, bake, cook, see friends, quilt, and embroider some Christmas gifts.

sweetness

2009-11-04T09:11:00.000-08:00

Cobbler!

I'm sitting here listening to David Bowie and trying to begin the day with some sort of discipline. The dishes are piled up in the sink, but maybe Stephen can do those when he gets home. I have a stack of books to work on my thesis today and a list of phone calls to get through for work. The apartment is in desperate need of a good vaccuuming and I need to wash my hair.

But outside is crisp and cool and our little treehouse looks out to gold and ruby leaves. It's been clear with no rain lately and it's lovely to listen to the autumn wind rustle through the trees outside. This weekend I have been promised a date at our favorite restaurant and the freezer is packed with food (my scale of plenty). We have friends coming over this weekend and I can't stop baking.

How sweet is life!

2009-10-28T10:38:00.000-07:00

Rennie, quiet Buddha.

Time passes so quickly it seems, as leaves fall to the ground and we put on sweaters and homemade scarves to keep out the chill. I have been knitting nonstop to get ready for Christmas-two scarves and seven (!) knitted bags to give these season. Stephen is busy with teaching and writing and we find ourselves incredibly fulfilled and satisfied with life, no matter what the bank account says.

Marriage is a never ending lesson in patience and unconditional love. I find myself taking lots of deep breaths and repositioning my thoughts to be those of kindness and gentleness. Sometimes I inwardly curse at the lack of space or the three cats underfoot, but then I think of all the time I get to spend with my husband and the growing intimacy and love we have for each other.

Each day I try and take several moments to be thankful, to breathe, to allow peace to wash over my mind. Sometimes it's in the car or as I wash dishes or right before I fall asleep. I no longer pray the rosary as often as I would like, but these smaller, less formal prayers keep me centered and focused--balanced, really. I'm reading another Thomas Merton book on his monastic vision. Merton has been such a companion and teacher over the years and it seems he always has something new to point out about my imperfect life, just when I need it most. I have been moving away from the Christian mysticism I so greatly admire. Too busy with my own life, I suppose, as is often the case. I would love to live a life of simplicity. I try as best I can to pare down possessions, to not get caught up in money, to live and love simply and well. I think the struggle is the lesson, to go against the grain of what society would like me to believe and live instead another way, not depending on my occupation to define me, or my salary, or my possessions. I want to live as the true self and be seen for my mind and my heart. This is the daily prayer.

Kreativ Blogger Award!

2009-10-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

A belated but beloved thank you to the always insightful Speculator for this Kreativ Blogger award. I have been a fan of La Vie en Graphite for some time, and his careful words of spirituality, modern monasticism, and beauty are a constant encouragement and reminder of goodness in the world. Thank you, brother!

As I was tagged for seven things about me, here they are:

1. In high school I began to take learning Spanish seriously and read non-stop in Spanish. I visited Costa Rica when I was 18 and briefly entertained the idea of being a missionary. I would have been stationed in Buenos Aires.

2. I was a costume designer in college for the University of Alabama.

3. It's hard for me to make friends. It's not hard for me to talk to people, but much harder to find that deeper connection. However, the friends I have are dear and cherished.

4. When I was fired from the newspaper that employed me, my writing ego took a big hit. Since February, my blogging has significantly slowed. My husband encouraged me to write more in Lie Down and Sleep, but I couldn't get the motivation to do so. Perhaps this blog award will give me the esteem I needed to continue writing.

5. My favorite thing to do is laugh and make other people laugh. I love to make 'people' up and do voices and characters. Even my cats have voices.

6. I read a lot of feminist theory. I'd like to get my PhD in women's studies.

7. I don't go to church. This puzzles and perhaps frustrates Christians I meet (at least in the South). How can I be so spiritual, so interested in Christianity and orthodoxy, and be so knowledgable about theology, and not belong to a church? I don't readily have the answer. Churches and congregations tend to frustrate me. I thought about converting to Catholicism, going to temple, home churching--the whole of it--and just decided to focus on my prayer life and the practice of the prophetic Jesus rather than the Constintian Jesus touted by the West. I think it's just what works for me.

faith

2009-09-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

O, what a week!

Every change of seasons brings a period of unstability, shifting in my mental health. The move from summer to fall is a particularly hard cross to bear for some reason, and this week was unpleasant to say the least. Panic, bouts of small depression and anxiety have all marked my days and I have been trying to stay balanced and centered.

As the days progressed, the angry churning in my brain ceased, until I could quiet myself on my own, even in a room full of people.

Last night I was at a friend's house, and the air was hot and thick with incense. I slipped away unnoticed and walked barefoot in the night, the plush carpet of grass cool and soft under my feet. The moon was out, bathing my skin in iridescent light. I walked among the gardens, the fig trees, the tomatoes and basil and lemon verbena. I saw the stars and heard crickets and frogs. Under the night sky I lay on the grass and felt the earth beneath me, stretching out my fingers to the life around me. There I quieted, hearing the words of poets past praising the beauty of the world, of God's creation.

You see, these things are needed.

As patience wanes with my moods, I pray first, then speak. My husband does not know me angry, my words are soft and gentle. When I am ready to lash out, I check my tongue--will this be in love or in anger? Gentleness or fear? And so the desert ammas are guiding me through my difficult times.

My heart can cry out like David, be patient like Job. This is the meaning of faith.

seeking

2009-08-31T08:50:00.001-07:00

My entire life has been a series of journeys, pilgrimmages that I continue to hope will lead me to Truth. Every prayer, each homily, one book more might give me some insight on my purpose here on earth. What does it mean to be stripped away, pruned, refined by Divine fire? How can I communicate with Him, the saints, the Holy Mother?

After reading, pouring over Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, St. Teresa, St. Therese, the desert mothers, I thought my destiny was to be Catholic. I went to the beautiful cathedral here in Memphis and was ready to be baptized at any moment. A collection box for the Dorothy Day House only confirmed that this was my Path. First I needed to go to a class in case I had questions. Stephen and I went, and I had no inquiries. You see, I was ready. I was so ready and focused on my mission to become Catholic that I didn't consider that my views and thoughts on spirituality might be considered quite different than the traditional Catholic church promotes. The class was a disaster. I felt more isolated, more alone, more confused. I couldn't figure out what went wrong. I had been so intent on converting that when obstacles were put in my way I couldn't understand them.

I didn't go back. I was looking for the fire and passion and intensity of the Christian mystics, the ammas and abbas, the early Church authors--the passion of Christ. It just wasn't there. I came home defeated and in tears. Why is this journey so difficult for me?

It seems as though I have inherited my quest for faith from my father. Most of his theology books are now mine and I read and pray with a fury.

I don't think most of my family, in-laws included, can understand this. My husband does, thankfully. But I can't just "go" to a church. Is that odd? I think Christianity is a challenge that most are unwilling to tackle, including me, very often.

We continue because there is a light inside that drives us toward the bigger light, the larger understanding, the greatest Truth. And I will still say my rosaries and pray to the saints and light candles and do all of those things that make me feel closer to Him and closer to what is true for me.

Blessed are those who Seek.

growth

2009-07-07T09:08:00.000-07:00

I could talk of answered prayers for jobs--three interviews in two days alone--and I could talk about money worries or nightly scrolling through employment postings looking for something that would provide for us, but I won't. Those things are of the world and unimportant to me now.

Instead I will speak of the amazing things happening in my spiritual life and in Stephen's. We are both signed up for a Jesus Radicals conference in August on Christian anarchy, and then in October we are headed to the Gandhi-King non-violence peace conference held here in Memphis. We are reading Paul Tillich, Soren Kierkegaard, Dorothy Day, Leo Tolstoy, Mary Oliver, Thomas Merton, and St. Teresa of Avila. Every day is a conversation of faith, of where we are headed, together.

Marriage is truly a sacrament, a chance to grow together in the teachings of Christ. We are working side by side, sorting out our spiritual quests, satiating our hungers and thirst for Truth.

God is the foundation on which we walk, we pray, we learn. We are caught up in a frenzy of wanting more from life, a sweetness we devour like hungry animals, partaking in holy communion with the Divine. I am breathing the breeze of Christ; He flows over me like a cool mist; He is present.

Stephen and I are little monastics in the world, living together in community and passion.

Blessed are all the saints, and blessed are those who Seek.

things

2009-07-05T08:52:00.000-07:00

Stephen bought me a documentary on Carthusian monks for my birthday and we watched the two and a half hour film last night. The brothers live in silence and solitude, and the film capturing their secluded life was breathtaking and beautiful. I think I am always trying to figure out how to commune with the Divine in everything I do. I pray constantly, walking the corridors of the mall praying the Jesus prayer and repeating the rosary. As I'm stirring a pot on the stove, I contemplate. I love the monastic phrase of "oratore et labore," and so each act, each task is a chance to grow closer to Abba Father. The film is so lovely, so inspiring, that I highly recommend it. I watched and felt the modern world slipping away as brothers cut leeks for soup, chopped firewood, and spent countless hours in prayer. Truly a balm for this society.

We visited two houses of hospitality yesterday in Memphis--the Dorothy Day House and Emmanuel House. Both, unfortunately, were closed due to the holiday, so we are trying again today (this time calling first). They are old homes, inconspicuous and strong. The Emmanuel House had quotes from Howard Zinn and anti-war signs in the window, which excited Stephen.

I have two interviews this week with grown-up jobs, as in, not retail. They are both sales jobs with corporate America, much as I hate to admit. However, I prayed the rosary most fervently two nights in a row, and was answered with a job interview request each morning after. So I am thankful for the chance to earn health insurance for my family and take some of the strain off our finances, however terrible a cubicle job may be. I might be making it out to be worse than it is--I pray it is better than I think.

Rosaries day and night, St. Benedictine chants, holding hands at bedtime, kisses on the forehead. Dorothy Day every day, Tolstoi before bed.

Sunday is a day of rest, for which we are thankful.
Praise be to God.

wealth, riches

2009-06-26T10:57:00.001-07:00

Last night Stephen and I were reading in bed after a long work day for both of us. The frogs were peeping outside, Rennie was snuggled in the old quilts between us, and I felt so very much at peace with my husband and my home. I looked up from "The Long Loneliness" and turned to Stephen to tell him how very rich our life is.

Our marriage is full of laughter, love, and learning. We discuss politics, philosophy, history and religion over coffee in the morning and evening; we care for each other with the deepest compassion. Somehow in the busyness of the day, the laundry gets done, the dishes are washed, the cats are fed. We truly want for nothing--our life is rich.

Yet most Americans might question the very richness of our lives. Stephen and I don't own property. We drive beat-up old cars. We live in a tiny apartment with no TV and live below the poverty line. What could possibly be rich about that?

As I read more of Dorothy Day's work I am inspired to continue to live as we do in a way that is unappealing to most people in this country. Where is our big screen TV? Where are our new shiny cars, our four bedroom house, our gated community? Where is the 401(k) plan or the office job? The answer is nowhere in the future. We will continue not to pay federal taxes. We will continue to live on nothing. We will continue to love, nurture, cherish, and provide works of mercy.

Stephen has taken an interest in Ammon Hennacy, the Christian anarchist who worked with Day at the Catholic Worker. Stephen and I were talking about what it means to be a Christian in the truest sense--a pacifist, part of the poor, following the literal words of Christ and taking up the Cross. We both plan to begin working at the local house of hospitality here in Memphis on our days off, giving what we can, pouring coffee, serving bread.

Materialism doesn't make me happy. I've had the office job with paychecks enough to buy whatever I desired. It didn't work. I would experience a high after shopping for that new dress or those shoes, but it would quickly fade, leaving me exactly as I was.

Day talks about the path of greatest resistance, a phrase I used before ever reading her books. As she rejected the American dream of wealth, so do I. I resist what my country tells me I need in order to be happy. I resist the steady influence of big business, capitalism, feel-good canned Christianity, the media hype. I resist what others tell me is important according to the values of our time. I resist feeling like a failure because my life does not measure up to American standards.

I instead embrace the Cross. I embrace poverty. I embrace the tired feeling of a hard day's work. I embrace a good cup of coffee with my husband, cats snoring on great-grandmother's quilts, living below the poverty line so I owe nothing to a government I do not support. I embrace peace, love, mercy, self-control, grace and the healing power of Christ's love. These are things I call mine, something no person can take from me, no matter what job is downsized or what corporation collapses.

We are called by God to live as Christ did. God awakens in us the powerful love to be our true Self, the human--the child--He created us to be. How we achieve that calling is in the hands of the Almighty, but often it takes the careful pruning to make the blossom bloom.

Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

{Wendell Berry}
graciously borrowed from Amanda at mamawifedoula.blogspot.com

Things, thoughts

2009-06-16T05:29:00.001-07:00

Up too early this morning, waking up to a dark and quiet house. Stephen left for work at 6:45 a.m. and I followed by getting up at 7. Now I've checked my e-mail, made iced coffee, and am eating grapes in the stillness of the morning. We live on the third floor next to a wee lake and in the middle of trees, so when you look out the windows, you're in the midst of branches and birds' nests. It's lovely.

The rosary novena was a good exercise in discipline, something I truly lack in spiritual matters. I fasted from meat for nine days, but I think a better, more fitting fast would be from sugar. I find myself drifting more toward the Catholicism of Dorothy Day and Thomas Merton, not necessarily because of the Church, but more for their spiritual calling and direction. I love the prayers and the saints and speaking with Mary, Mother of God. However, I'm not sure that the Catholic church is for me, even though it would seem that I am practicing the tenets of the faith.

Stephen and I still haven't been to Meeting here in Memphis. We're both so tired on Sundays, which doesn't seem like much of an excuse. The truth is I'm not sure what I'm looking for and if I'll find it at a Meetinghouse. I'm finding it here at home...the only thing I lack and would like is community (which would be at a Meeting.) So I don't know.

We're all in need of so many prayers. Just to get through the day or night, patience in relationships, love for mankind. Working retail is a wonderful place to practice faith, or so I'm finding. I need patience, love, kindness, gentleness and self-control to make it through a shift. Service, too, is so much a part of it.

Oh, and we are poor, so very poor. But we are making it. We've stopped buying THINGS and are re-reading books, borrowing from each other's library, and eating beans and rice. Yet we are so happy, so in love, so ready to experience all that this life has to offer. My husband treats me like a queen; he stays up with me while I knit and watch The Golden Girls; he reads beside me each night and wakes me up each morning with coffee and granola. He is there to kiss me, soothe me, and tell me I am beautiful. We are each other's best friend, and our love is love eternal.

This weekend

2009-06-14T19:02:00.000-07:00

Falling asleep holding my love's hands, whispering Hail Mary's.
Reading Dorothy Day's diaries.
Ending the rosary novena.
Thunderstorms clearing the air.
Frogs in the lake outside the apartment.
Two successful days at work.
Kisses and coffee in the morning.
Love eternal, haikus written at midnight, forgotten by morning.

Beauty will save the world.

ordinary day

2009-06-10T18:12:00.000-07:00

Stephen had the day off, always pleasant in the middle of the week to have him home. We headed out for Stash, my favorite local knitting shop where I bought delicious yarns with the gift card he'd given me for my birthday. I'm getting a head start on Christmas presents this year--I think it's better to give someone a handmade gift, unless of course the gift happens to be a book. Nothing beats books, nothing.

Got pretty heavily into "An Introduction to Lacan" which inspired deep discussion in the car on the way to Stash. Stephen is as much my teacher as he is to his students. Psychology is fascinating stuff.

Otherlands for coffee and sandwiches, more reading, a little knitting with our coffee and tea. I now have Mary Oliver's "Why I Wake Early" and I'm so excited about diving into it. I read Adrienne Rich's "Telephone Ringing in the Labyrinth" cover to cover in one setting and am just in the mood for poetry. I also found "Other Voices" with a foreword by Rich at Burke's (used bookstore we frequent). It's a collection of poetry by women around the world, covering birth and death, ritual and rite.

Stephen is putting together our new vacuum cleaner and listening to Bob Dylan in the other room as I type. I'm listening to boygirlparty's new podcast on iTunes...I found a group of her postcards in an old box of stationery and plan on hanging them up soon. (boygirlparty.com)

Slept hard this afternoon, woke up to a job offer from Victoria's Secret. Mother Mary is listening to my prayers! Tomorrow I have job training from 5 to 8 p.m., except this time I won't be late. I am so excited about having a paycheck to help out with our household expenses!

Tomorrow should be a good day...cooking dinner early, zucchini with parmesan and a new pasta. The lemon broccoli pasta was a big hit, ate the last of it today.

Happy day.

peace in the everyday

2009-06-09T11:57:00.000-07:00

Last night fresh pasta, broccoli, lemon, cashews, garlic, olive oil and parmesan for a summer supper. So good that I kept dreaming about getting more in the middle of the night. More cranky than not today, what with pains in lower back and empty womb, too tired to think. I got the house cleaned up, said a few prayers while washing dishes. Mostly they are for patience toward my husband, who confessed last night he is not the easiest person to live with. But then again, neither am I with my half-messes, half-completed projects, books overturned with no proper bookmark. We are learning.

More prayers to the Divine family and all of the saints...thankful they are praying for me and all my faults and sins. But also grateful for their love and encouragement. I love to pray once Stephen has gone to sleep, his soft snores that make me smile. I lit the candles around the altar and prayed the rosary with a new fervor, one that has been absent thus far. Luckily God is patient for the demands of a new wife; supper on the table, clean house, cats taken care of, lightness and the empty heart for Stephen to find peace and rest. Mary has been my salvation these past weeks--I love praying to her and asking her for guidance and prayers. I have been renewed in my capacity for patience.

Saw too little ones in swimsuits, pool shoes and floaties and had a brief vision of my own self carrying a babe in a sling, singing and chanting, watching her grow. Not sure if that is included in my life plan, what with all of the medication I'm on, and we're not sure we can have children. Still, for a fleeting second, it was a nice thought.

Exhausted with low iron, sleep will come easily this afternoon.

Peace.

daily meditations

2009-06-08T12:40:00.000-07:00

Finally, the house to myself. I'm not used to sharing so little space, and a marriage of two loners who have always lived like hermits means daily, hourly prayers of patience and asking each other constantly, "Are you okay?" The washer and dryer are rumbling, the kitties are napping, and I've had time to balance again while reading "Duty of Delight." Stephen is out to lunch with a friend then to the airport to drop him off.

I am snatching bits of time for devotion, harder to do when you are used to silence. Yesterday was a good day; we both read all day, Stephen working on his Cuba book and me reading Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Tolstoy, and St. Paul's epistles. Out to dinner with his father, and again, we are always practicing patience.

The rosary novena is already answering prayers; St. Jude is being most kind and gracious with his response. Last night I said the rosary in the bathtub, thinking I would do better/think better in silence and hot water. I didn't account for how long the rosary would take, so by the time I finished I was sweltering!

Daily things--keeping the house neat and clean, feeding cats, laundry, dishes, cooking, coffee, praying for patience.

practice

2009-06-06T09:40:00.001-07:00

Fell asleep last night with the beads wrapped around my fingers and wrist. Each bead a small prayer, each decade a reminder to be thankful, patient and give up thoughts that we alone can do this. Reading more Dorothy Day-do my entries sound more like her these days?

Stephen and I are tired throughout the day, but cups of coffee around 4 p.m. encourage bright smiles once more. I love making coffee, folding the filter, measuring the fragrant grounds, pouring the water, pushing the button, and listening to it percolate. We have the tiniest kitchen so it fills up quickly with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I am taking a new attitude toward housework in a Benedictine way, seeing the chance to practice work and patience during prayer.

Musing on Dorothy Day's words for women, their need and purpose in the Kingdom on earth. Less talking, she says, and more work. Love and busy hands as well. I like it.

Almost finished with a knitted bag I'm making for Stephen's grandmother. She is originally from Cuba, and I love her so much. We speak in Spanish, and I told her I was learning the rosary--her eyes lit up. His grandfather wanted to know what religion I was, and I figured "Quaker" would be too hard to explain. ("You know, they're from the same doctrinal branch as the Amish...Perhaps you are familiar with their oats?") I told him I was raised Methodist, and that seemed to satisfy him. While the rest of the family talked, I not so subtly cornered the grandparents and we talked in Spanish about poverty and faith. His grandmother was so moved by the spirit of the conversation that she reached deep inside her purse for her rosary in it's wee box with the Holy Mother painted on it. She gave it to me with much protest from me and told me to practice my rosary. So now it sits on our altar smelling of sweet incense and roses. The rosary itself was made by nuns in Spain, which of course blew me away. What a gift!

The rosary novena goes on today, hopefully I can stay awake. I have decided to say my prayers during the day and not at night when I am exhausted.

Curried lentils for dinner. Singer songwriter show tonight with Stephen's best friend MC'ing. A clean kitchen in order first.

moving, marriage, motivation, memphis

2009-06-05T13:06:00.000-07:00

Stephen and I were married May 23, 2009 in Huntsville and then made the trek over to Memphis three days later. We have a tiny apartment filled with books and love and each night I fill the kitchen will exotic smells of Thai noodles or curried lentils. Kitty purrs and romps are common and Miles Davis is usually on the stereo when Stephen comes home. We count ourselves lucky to be in love, have shelter, employment, food to eat, and people to love.

I am praying the rosary each day, and last night I started a rosary novena, where I will pray the rosary and fast for nine days. Stephen bought me Dorothy Day's "Duty of Delight" and I am pouring over it any chance I can get. I found her autobiography, "The Long Loneliness" at a used bookstore for $5 and it tempts me each night on the table beside my bed. Her strength, patience, charity and humanness encourage and inspire me every day.

The saints are now integrated in my life...We are partial to St. Jude and St. Joseph as well as St. Francis and St. Clare. St. Therese and St. Teresa of Avila's biographies are somewhere in the house; I've been meaning to get around to those.

Marriage suits me, and I suppose Stephen, too. We are happy and poor and living mad farmers in a jumbled-up city. Stephen is a most kind and patient husband so the poverty doesn't really bother us much. We need little, and when we moved in together got rid of about half of everything we owned. It's a good feeling.

I am learning Day's duties of delight, humility, and having a happy and joyful heart with all things. Must say, it's far easier to be mindful when you are poor. Much easier to appreciate a fine wheat beer on a summer night, a roly-poly kitty in your lap, or holding hands when falling asleep when there are no distractions. May we all be poor in that sense. May we be poor so we can be rich.

I've missed this place--I needed a break to step back and examine my spiritual practices before returning. I was far too distracted with moving, wedding planning and finding work to even think about practicing. I'm glad to be back.

2009-04-15T05:48:00.000-07:00

It's green outside! The birds are singing! Spring is here! It's a little cool for Alabama (this is the farthest north I've lived in the state) but it's beautiful outside and the cats scamper out the door when I open the balcony up in the morning. This is also the earliest I've been up for a while (7 a.m.) since medication usually causes me to sleep much later. Now hopefully I've figured out a good time and dosage to take so I can start getting up early and enjoying the morning.

Above is the picture of my mother and me. I delight in her company and in our relationship. She is truly a woman of character and one of my heroes. I love her so much.

Today is the day I finish my first part of my thesis. I don't want to do it and I've been putting it off for weeks, but today is the Day. But for right now I'd rather watching Abby roll around on her catnip toys and listen to Amelia's purring before getting to work. Oh, and maybe get some more knitting done...

2009-04-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

I'm here with my mother this weekend for Easter. I forget how much I love my mother, admire her, and try to take some of her wisdom. We had a small weekend together with cooking, bookstores and napping. I love to tell "remember when" stories about past pets, funny things about my dad and stories about when I was little.

There's a picture of my mother and me when I was about a six months old. She's holding me in her arms, kneeling on the floor, and the smile on her face is absolutely rapturous. She is in love with me, with being a mother and with the man who probably took the photo, my father Bailey. I keep that photograph on my refrigerator as a constant reminder of how much I was wanted, loved and adored by my parents.

Now I have the love of a husband to add to my joy. We will be married in a little over a month in a small backyard ceremony in May. My friends will be there to celebrate and then I will be leaving for Memphis, Tenn. to start my married life. I have big plans for the apartment we're going to be living in--I've started a wedding quilt and plan to nest as fully as possible in our one bedroom space. Stephen and I are happily, joyously in love and looking forward to every day together.

And the spiritual? This blog was intended to chronicle my spiritual life. If you'll take a look in past entries, there was hardly a mention of any personal life and I wanted it that way. But this blog has evolved to a space that is more free with its content. I now have sisters blogging with me and as usual Jenn and Sara have inspired me all over again to use this site as more than just an update on my spiritual well-being. It's a space for dreams, inspirations, projects and reflections.

I think a large part of who I am today is due to this blog and its past writings. The Quaker has now tacked on Buddhist as well and is more at peace in her life than ever before. I had to desludge and shed all of the negative, the anger, and the doubting before I could come to a place of reconciliation and happiness. I won't pretend that I spend three hours in prayer as I used to, nor do I meditate on a regular basis. But when life sends hardness, I fall back on those practices so easily.

I have been reading "Pray without Ceasing" about the invocation of God or Jesus' name to encourage spiritual discipline. The Jesus prayer (Lord have mercy on me, a sinner) is an instant calmative, an instant call to worship, a loving prayer to my God. Deep breathing and the repitiion of Jesus' name is a strong way to connect with the Divine, and something I practice. I read Thomas Merton's "Spiritual Direction and Meditation" and found that I was one of those followers who was too interested in the "emotion" and "feeling" that occurred when I prayed. I gasped when I read Merton's words, recognizing myself in those he admonished. So I have reformed, and I will continue searching for communication with God and His Son.

I do not recognize myself in Christians I know or see. On Saturday, a church set up a huge cross and put up a live Jesus on the side of the road. Cars backed up thirty deep to stop and look and take pictures. I am not one of those people. Nor did I go to Sunday services for Easter. I am trying to find my place in this world of Christianity, but the more I read from theologians and writers, the more I am convinced that I might just be an outside to organized religion.

But enough of that. The sun is shining and the world is beautiful. Much love and peace to you.

today

2009-03-24T16:28:00.001-07:00

So many things are occupying my thoughts as of late...books arrive in the mail daily, new plans are being sketched out, and the weather warm comes through my windows as kitties press their little noses to the door to go out on the balcony.

Reading is taking a much firmer grasp on my life--I'm reading as many as six or seven books at a time. This weekend I was in Memphis and Stephen and I always visit our favorite used bookstores. Lately I'm drawn to more non-fiction--biographies, books on food, health, religion and feminism. I'm nearly done with the pilgrimage book (as I've named it) "The Life You Save May Be Your Own" and it's so amazing. These four Catholics are so unlike any other people of faith I've encountered, and I love that the pervading theme of mysticism runs through each writer's take on religion. I am reading so much lately like I can't get enough, like gasping for air.

I am making plans and pilgrimages of my own, to visit Sara and Becca and Melissa. These women have such an impact on my life and I feel as though I need to be with them, bodily, physically, to laugh and cry and hold hands with them and feel soul connections.

...The dishwasher is running and Pavarotti is playing. Dusk is falling and cats scuttle and scatter in and out while fresh breezes circulate with the ceiling fans. Rennie is most pleased that I am home, and she gave me a stern chewing out last night concerning my absence. I have new delicious yarn from Stash in Memphis to make a hat; I keep touching the yarn in awe and running the new needles through my hands. The sewing machine will be set up tonight to make a quilt, alterations, and maybe a dress or two. I am drinking tons of water and eating vegetables and grains...I feel amazing.

As I was driving home from the bookstore today, I had my windows down and I felt like the world was going to be okay. Like my life would, was, is taking shape, and there is a purpose to my being here. That every word I read is enlightening me, showing me a Way out, a Way in, a Way to be myself. I feel like I can live a dream, or that I am living a dream. I have these Amelie-esque moments where my vision becomes brighter and the sun floods my face, and I am Living, truly Living, and everything I touch is smooth and cool or warm and vibrant, and every kiss is sweeter and more beautiful. My life is beautiful, in the middle and muddle of mess, it is gorgeous, and I want to be a part of it.

what i ate today + rennie

2009-03-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

sacred monday

2009-03-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

Today's sky is white and grey but the birds are singing anyway. Lately on slightly warmer days, I leave the balcony door open to let the cats go in and out. They love to lounge around outside, watching birds and sunning in what meager light we have.

Amelia especially loves to go outside.

As soon as I open the door, Abby comes racing down the hall to run outside.

This little bookshelf area is where I keep photos and mementos of my travels. It holds a hodgepodge collection of things I hold dear, and I can always look at it and be inspired.

I have decided to take better care of myself, so this morning I had red antioxidant green tea, made with raspberries. It's pink! And of course I had to have it in a pink mug.

At night I fall into bed, grateful for the day. I paid off my credit card which put me one step closer to financial freedom. After reading "The Simple Living Guide," I realized that my way of life probably won't match up to my family's. Stephen feels the same way. We're not concerned with houses, cars, material things or 401 k plans. Last night we had an intense conversation, and we both understood that the things we have accomplished aren't tangible. You can't physically see strength or compassion or gentleness or love. You also can't put a price tag on them, either. I might not have a job right now, but I am grounded, solid and full of hope. I don't depend on material things nor do I value myself based on my income. I hope everyone can reach that point, especially in this financial climate. We are not what we own. Stephen and I have a blessed union of two souls reaching for the same goals in life. Sometimes it's frustrating when others don't understand that. But living outside our society is what we do best.

When you begin to understand that the things you own don't own you, freedom enters your life. I drive my dad's old pickup truck. It's big and bulky and decidedly unfeminine. But I don't have a car payment. Stephen and I are paring down our belongings to fit two people and three cats in a one bedroom apartment. But if one of us loses our jobs, we will still be able to afford rent. I've noticed when I buy things, I get a certain high. But if I leave the item in the shopping bag, I tend to forget about it. Some clothes that I've given away were things that I had only worn once or twice because I got caught up in the "buying" and not the function. Paring down, de-cluttering and minimizing what I buy has helped keep my budget in check. I've had to be more resourceful for entertainment, as in not depending on going out to eat or shopping for something to do. I've gotten more creative and enjoy the simple things in my life--sitting outside with a cup of coffee, watching the cats sleep, reading, cooking from scratch and cleaning the house top to bottom so I can begin each day fresh and new.

heart

2009-03-10T14:56:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Day and Flannery O'Connor are really capturing my heart right now.

So are:
Veggies, lots of water, and Fuji apples
Warm warm weather
Books!
Paying off the entire credit card today (!)
Time to myself
Not going to a job I dislike
Aveda shampoo
Living on less
Seeing a soul sister Saturday to celebrate her birthday
Clearing out tons of clutter
Donating half my closet to women's shelters
Late afternoons

Be blessed.

seeking

2009-03-10T09:40:00.000-07:00

A book arrived in the mail a week ago, one I had completely forgotten I had ordered. "The Simple Living Guide" by Janet Luhrs covers the simple living movement for every aspect of living--eating, traveling, gardening, finances, relationships, health and romance among the many. I sat down in the morning and didn't stop reading until I had finished the book several hours later.

One tenet that intrigued me the most was the idea of living well below your means and saving money furiously. Stories scattered throughout the book told of men and women who retired in their late thirties and forties because they had saved so much by living simply. This completely struck home with me as I sat in my large, empty apartment with a closet full of unworn clothing and bills stacked up on the kitchen counter.

As I shared what I had read with Stephen, we decided to live in a smaller, less expensive one bedroom apartment. We are both in the process of paring down our belongings to fit two people and three cats in basically two rooms with a kitchen and bathroom. I am two months away from paying off a credit card that won't be used again.

The most important chapter I read wasn't about debt or living arrangements. It was about faith. In the busyness of the world--jobs, kids, spouses, family, activities and clubs--we often put our inner paths aside. I think our society makes it easy to do this. When we feel empty, we can peruse any number of stores and shops and spend money we don't have on something that will temporarily fill us up. I myself fell victim to that while living here. It's a dangerous cycle that I found myself perpetuating again and again. Stores are no help as they offer 50% off sales and buy one, get one free deals. I thought I was saving money by buying. Isn't that ridiculous?

I was buying to ignore the emptiness in my soul. My altar sits forgotten in the front room, the Bible collecting dust. My mind is so full of distractions that when I try to find a peaceful moment, thoughts crowd in and disturb me. When I tried to pray, I found that I couldn't.

Stephen had to work one day while I was in Memphis. I was so fed up with my mind and the empty feelings that I decided to read the BIble while he was gone. I first read Ecclesiastes, then found myself reading the gospels as well as Paul's epistles. I read for several hours, rolling the wisdom and sacred text around my head. Feeling inspired, I picked up Thomas Merton's "Spiritual Direction and Meditation." What an eye opener. I tucked it in my luggage to read again once I got home, but I was so fortunate to read it at that moment in time.

The way I was going about prayer was all wrong. I was trying to make it conversational, undisciplined and I often let my mind wander off. Merton's words guided me back to the heart of prayer, which is a topic for another time.

The relationship I had with the Divine is heading in a new direction. I am learning once again to savor the stillness, the bird calls, the sunlight streaming through the window. I can appreciate this present moment as a time to rekindle a lost faith, to make a fire in my soul that will burn brighter than before. It's easy to get sidetracked with all of the distractions we have in front of us. Hopefully by eliminating some of those, we can work toward better Selves with good, strong and healthy relationships will all creatures and Creator. Blessed are those who seek to Find, who come back again to the fold.

2009-03-09T19:24:00.000-07:00

Thank you, patient readers, who still check this blog. My absence was pre-meditated and much needed. I have just returned from a visit to Memphis where Stephen and I put a deposit on a sun-drenched one bedroom apartment with a huge balcony, perfect for tomatoes and sweet peas. I have been busy reading, thinking, praying and quieting this ever busy mind. My life, my work, my faith and my actions took a standstill when I moved into this large too-dark apartment in Huntsville. I was exhausted from work and too tired to invest in any sort of balance or spiritual practice. Since the loss of my job, some of that old fire has been rekindled. Tonight I am too tired, in a most positive way, to write of all of the things I've been experiencing, but this week will be full of new thoughts, plans and revelations that have come to me from many sleepless nights. I hope this light extends to your own journey as well, as we are all brothers and sisters united in humanity under one Creator.

Peace, love, and blessings in abundance,
SarahRachel

everyday

2009-02-24T11:38:00.001-08:00

Breathe in love and grace, exhale the negative that threatens to take the peace of life away. Look out your window. The trees are bare, but underneath the brittle bark lies green stems that promise leaves in just a few months. The air is crisp and sweet, cats purr without thinking. Life goes on, with you or without you. You can choose to be a part of it, this messy complicated throw-you-a-curve ball process, or retreat into nothing. Even solitude affords a break from the busy, a chance to stop, step back and blink a few times before re-examining what you call your everyday. What is it that you reach for? What is your comfort? What is your peace?

Letters arrive in the mail from distant states, reassuring of love and support. Phone calls at night ease the loneliness of the day. You can hear the quiet rolling laughter outside these walls, you can hear the sweet music that plays all day. Sketches and drawings litter the floor, books are stacked beside the bed and sleep is good. Wake up to the weight of a small but fierce eight pound cat on your chest, feel her claws dig into the blanket as she asks for breakfast.

Remember that you are loved, that you are taken care of, that you have to keep going. Remember there is more to life, more to anything, than a paycheck. Live in the present. Don't take anything for granted. Keep loving, opening your heart to more and more and welcome the possibilities that arrive daily. Reach, reach for everything. Search. Love. Make these habits and not occasions.

Remember, you are Loved. You have not been forgotten. You are Whole, you are New, and this day, each day, is a gift.

Spread your wings, leap, soar. Run toward the impossible. Give thanks to the One who made you. Laugh. Love. Fight on.

waiting

2009-02-22T11:35:00.000-08:00

The decision to go back to school was so easy to make, but now I'm second guessing myself. Is this really the best thing for us? For me? Will Stephen find a job? Will I end up moving to Memphis instead? What's going to happen?

I remember last year at exactly this time of year I experienced the exact same emotions. I had no place to live, no job, and I had no idea what would happen to me. My relationship was steadily going downhill and the dozens of job applications I sent out in Chicago went unanswered. I was in the bottom of something awful.

When I went to work at the publishing company, I wrote small words on the insides of my wrists--Caritas deum, faith, hope. I breathed prayer and scribbled in a prayer journal. I asked God for truth, and soon after, my sad relationship ended. It was the best thing to happen to me. My unhappy job at the publishing company ended as well, and I began working retail, which I actually enjoyed. I found a new, better apartment in a wonderful neighborhood that made me so happy. Life picked up and went on.

And then Stephen happened. The wonderful, dizzying, amazing love that blossomed throughout the summer and gave way to a proposal in August. Life that fall was wonderful. I had two jobs I loved, an apartment that felt like home, clean and sure, and a love, true and firm.

When I moved up here, I thought those feelings would travel with me. They did not. I got stuck in a hamster wheel of work and zero productivity. I saw Stephen less and dreaded going to work. It was a paycheck, yes, but I was very unhappy. So when I got downsized, I saw it as a blessing. This was a chance to figure out what I wanted to do with my life and go for the big dreams. I thought that was theater, and I still do, but the reality of having two people live and work and make ends meet is setting in.

I wish I could say I am calm about all of this, that my faith is leading me to peace. But instead I feel at a loss. I haven't kept up with my spiritual practices since I moved up here, and now I don't know where to begin. What do I pray for? Where do I start?

I know things will work out. I have at least that much faith that things will be fine and good and lovely. It's the waiting that's killing me--the not knowing, the unsure feelings, the wanting to do the right thing but not knowing what that is.

breath

2009-02-20T10:36:00.000-08:00

After being "let go" I escaped to the comforts of a warm hug in Memphis, Tennessee. I hid away from phone calls and emails and blogs for a week, reading books and The New Yorker and taking a lot of baths. Sleep did not come easily. Usually while Stephen drifted off to sleep, I slid away to the bath tub and soaked in steaming hot water, praying for guidance. I tore my hair, clenched my teeth, and balled my hands into fists as I tried to sort out the Rest of My Life. And not only my life, but my husband's as well.

Faith isn't easy. Trusting in a higher power that you can't see or touch is the kind of stuff that makes most tremble in fear. Faith was a lot easier when I didn't have to think about it. Trusting in God was simple when I had my life planned away for the next five years. But now, I am faced with uncertainty. My faith is the only thing I have now, which drastically changes the dynamics of everything in my life.

While I was driving to Memphis, I called an old professor I had in theater three years ago. Turns out, she had been thinking about me, as she is choosing graduate students for next year's program in costume design. After 30 minutes of talking, we agreed to meet in two weeks and discuss options for going back to school for costume design. I had the entire week in Memphis to talk it over, think about it and generally obsess over everything before heading back to Madison. Last night she called to let me know she had unofficially reserved a spot with a tuition waver and a $10,000 scholarship for me for August. Stephen could get a job in the English department. We will live as the Dufrechous in my old Northport apartment. A light had come on.

When I returned home, the cats bounded into the bed with me, and while I watched a movie, Rennie curled up in my lap and snored a sweet kitty snore of relief that I had come back. I need to find a job that will pay bills until August, and Stephen and I aren't sure if we can even live together as a married couple after May 23. But for now, the big issues have been solved. We have a plan, and our marriage is solid.

Faith. The hardest thing for me to let go and Trust, and it happened as seamlessly as possible. I am scared and uncertain of the next five months, but I have Faith that something will give in. Life will go on, I will choose happiness over fear and the divine love will provide the guidance and strength I need.

Praise, praise, praise for the Almighty.

c h a n g e

2009-02-12T05:47:00.001-08:00

This morning I am at home because I am no longer employed. The safety of a paycheck is no longer a reality for me anymore, just like it is to millions of Americans who have lost their jobs over the past year. And the feeling I am most experiencing is--relief.

When I received the news that after only 3 months at the newspaper I would not be continuing, at first I felt the shock of the news and the heat flush to my face. As I gathered my things, only my immediate editor and fellow desk mate knew what happened, and they both were rather tearful. But driving the 30 minutes home to Madison I felt a complete sense of freedom. I think I even actually smiled. No longer would I be under the crunch of consistent deadlines, feeling inadequate or constantly sitting in my cubicle. I was free to pursue what I believe I was meant to do in this lifetime, whatever that may be.

Since I moved up here, I have been neglecting spiritual practices that once held my life together. I come home mentally and physically exhausted and can barely stay awake long enough to read a chapter out of a book. My spirit life has suffered, but I thought I was doing what was right--going to work, earning a paycheck and being a responsible adult. But I was not happy. Often I would come home more frustrated and angry, emotions that hinder the Spirit. I have one friend here and no community.

I interviewed a woman a few weeks ago who lived in a similar fashion to the Mennonite communities around northern Alabama. After the photographer left, Kim and I talked frankly about faith and our religious callings. It was unprofessional, but I felt the need to talk to her about living the way God calls us to live. Her face lit up when we talked, and the joy and blessings she had been given were evident to anyone who might have been listening. I told her I didn't feel like journalism was my calling. I wanted to help people, I said. Feed them, love them, ease their pains. She smiled, and we laughed about both the ease and hardship of giving a life devoted to God.

"In His time," she said, "He will reveal His plan to you."

Taking that experience, I am not at a loss with my new status of unemployment. I feel free to take a chance on some things, learn and grow and find out what I am meant to do. I've thought about hospice work, non-profits and working with women. None of these jobs would pay very much, but they would feed my soul.

I am truly blessed to have a partner like Stephen who has been the solidarity I needed yesterday. Our plans may be changing. I have applied to work technical writing jobs, but if nothing comes up by late April, it looks as though I will move to Memphis in May. We will live in a one-bedroom apartment, meaning we will have to give away many of our belongings. The cats of course will move with me and we plan on saving enough money to eventually move out of the South. Stephen will apply for teaching jobs across the country and hopefully we will move to a new city by 2010.

I feel a lightness instead of a heaviness. A happiness, not heartache. I am asking for nothing but prayer that I will Find My Way through this, and return back to a complete dependence on the Divine.

2009-02-10T12:29:00.001-08:00

I feel as though I haven’t been keeping up with Lie Down and Sleep as well as I should, and the truth is, I haven’t. Work took over my life when I started at the Daily in October, and it’s been fast paced without a moment to slow down. But I have let that happen, rather than taking time to nurture the spiritual.

The newspaper business is not kind to those who enjoy free time. We have deadlines and meetings and assignments and the constant crunch of looking for news to cover. When I come home to an empty house at night, I collapse in a chair and watch DVDs. Not exactly the stuff that makes LDAS what it is.

This weekend I let the dishes pile in the sink and went to a bookstore for an hour. Delicious, stolen and much-craved time in bookstores is what gives my Saturdays a spark. The weather was beautiful and sunny, I had a full tank of gas and a paycheck in the bank, and a whole day to myself. I stopped in a few more stores for little purchases and came home to a quiet, peaceful house. I opened all of the windows, turned on the ceiling fans and joined the cats outside on the balcony. Lovely.

Last night I began “Cloud of Unknowing” to start back with spiritual practices. Times exist for different stages in my relationship with the Divine. Some times I desperately cling to God, needing assistance in all areas of my life, and other times, like now, I can sit back and whisper adorations into the night and worship His beauty with awe.

I am always interested in how people interpret religion and their needs for the Divine as much as people seem interested in my religious life. Lately, though, I am less interested in the religious than the spiritual. I have found more inspiration from people who claim not to be religious in any sense than those who subscribe to doctrine or dogma. This appears to be a change in my own spiritual life as I am less open to mainstream Christianity and the idea of a Church.

None of this has any meaning, really, and most of what I write is not telling how I really feel about what I see around me. I think it’s more a problem with my own thoughts and views rather than other people. This is a stretch of time for growth, knowledge and discovery, so if I’m a little quiet during the week, I’m just trying to figure out how my life is piecing together.

But for now, waking up with three cats in the bed is enough. Talking to friends, getting letters in the mail, and making trips to Memphis is enough. Egg rolls and sushi dinners and good books and Margaret Cho and provocative movies and sewing and drawing—they are enough. My mind is constantly churning and trying to figure out the mysteries of life, trying to solve unhappiness and changing the world. I want to be more than ordinary, more than average. With God’s grace, I want to act and be and know the intricacies of love and hope and be the resting place for those I love. I do not aspire to greatness, only love and kindness and the gentle knowledge of happiness and joy.

2009-02-01T15:00:00.000-08:00

Also, my new favorite blog: Amanda Oaks

2009-02-01T14:57:00.000-08:00

Actually, I'm a little excited about Valentine's Day this year.

Etsy valentines!

2009-02-01T14:55:00.000-08:00

http://www.kerismith.com/

Love love LOVE her.

2009-02-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

Fumbled prayers in the middle of the night, finding peace where I can. I'm trying to get back to that place where I rested so serenely in the arms of my Maker, where I didn't worry about anything because I had security and trust. When I take my life in my own hands, it gets muddled and muddy and I can't seem to make sense of the world around me.

I want to listen again, listen more, hear the voice of calm and love whisper in my ear that He is here.

I am almost afraid to read any Scripture, too tentative to take that up again. My words are pleading but simultaneously adoring. The times I need my prayer life the most are when everything is in upheaval. But the spirit sill calls to me, come home, come home.

Too often I take on the problems of others, even when they don't realize they are problems. I can pick out dysfunction easily because I lived it, saw it, let it swallow me whole. So when I see others living with problems, I tack it on my heart's shoulders.

Mainstream scares me. Mainstream life and religion and anything that American society sees as "normal" has me running in the opposite direction. Existential frustration, too, scares me. The thing is, most people don't know anything about that, or how to change. So they continue on digging ruts and living life in the least of possible ways.

At times I get a burst of clarity, where colors and smells and sounds seem so much more saturated and I feel more alive. I am seeking those moments of Life. I am constantly seeking more and greater and better. I am seeking the face of the Divine. I want to smell His perfume, drink in His love, and take shelter under his wing. These are the things that keep me going, through school and work and stress. This is the life I choose.

weary

2009-01-27T11:51:00.000-08:00

Living and working in a rural part of north Alabama gives me plenty of opportunities for storytelling. I interview people everyday out in the country, far away from tall buildings and liberal politics. Invariably faith comes up. As a journalist, I don’t talk about religion, but that doesn’t stop those I’m interviewing from sharing their opinions and beliefs.

This morning I had an interview with a Korean War veteran who flirted with me over the phone. I dreaded going and asked a photographer to be there with me as I wasn’t sure how frisky this 76-year-old man would be. The man’s wife was in the house, so I felt at least somewhat safe from his comments about how pretty I sounded and how young I was. The interview went fine I suppose. I think he was prepared to talk all day, but after an hour I felt it necessary to leave.

As I was walking to the truck, the man said, “Did you tell me you were a Christian?”

Now, as a professional, I would never tell someone I was a Christian. It would just not come up. So of course I hadn’t said anything about religion.

“No, I don’t believe I did,” I said, still walking firmly across the grass to the truck.

“Are you one?” he persisted.

Resigned, I sighed. “Yes.”

He walked to his shed and came back with a stack of booklets. The title read, “Knowing Your Enemy.” The man felt called by God to write these pamphlets to educate unsuspecting men and women on the horrors of the devil and his legions of demons. The booklets were thick and held together with bobby pins. He urged me to take one. I declined. He followed me to my truck as I got in, lecturing me on the evils of the world. I nodded, thinking fast of a way to back the truck out and leave.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of these?” he asked again.

As politely as I could, I told him once again that I didn’t want a booklet.

On the ride back to the office (45 minutes), I fumed. I’m not even sure what I was mad about or why that incident was surprising, but still, I was angry.

I’m not mainstream. I don’t follow mainstream religion and I don’t claim to be a mainstream evangelical Christian. I don’t believe Jesus is the only way to God. Those statements alone would have caused that man to get on his knees and pray for me in the gravel driveway, but how could someone like that possibly understand the complexities of faith?

I have been on every possible spectrum of belief in Christianity, from Pentecostal to atheist, listening to what others had to tell me instead of finding the truth myself. Most people in mainstream Christianity are still in there, wondering what they can do or buy or believe to make themselves happier. I don’t claim to have a lot of answers, only those I have found for my own life that work.

Saying you’re a Quaker throws most people around here. Not going to church but believing in Christ makes it even worse. That’s usually the first thing I’m asked — where I go to church. Explaining Quakerism isn’t necessarily tiresome, but it can be when I constantly have to justify my beliefs because they’re different. I know that’s part of the religion, living on the outside of society and in accordance with a higher power, and it’s usually a pleasant way to be.

But today, I wish I didn’t have to explain myself so much.

pray for us

2009-01-27T08:13:00.000-08:00

I have amazing friends, here, here, and here.

living

2009-01-21T10:27:00.000-08:00

Work is hectic but good these days. I come home exhausted, but since I cleaned up the house this weekend, it’s actually pleasant to come home, feed the cats, eat dinner, and relax in the study. I have to admit that the Christmas decorations are still up and none of the artwork is on the walls, but those are small things. My plants are doing well, even if Abby has a habit of nibbling the parsley.

Evenings are quiet lately. I’ve been marathon-ing movies while I finish up work for the thesis. I was so relieved to send an email last night with a summary of the literature I had to review. Most of the work is actually just a mental block as this is my final semester in graduate school and I just want to be done. I kept putting things off and putting them off until I finally just sucked it up and finished last night. I still have work to do on the literature review, but at least it’s in my professor’s hands at the moment.

At night I usually just offer a few murmured words of gratitude before I drift off to sleep. Rennie is often in the bed with me, curled up beside me with her nose covered up. I haven’t had the time for centered prayer or much contemplation, although in truth, I DO have the time, I’m just not making it. But I’m happy right now with the balance in my life coming into focus. I feel at home now, comfortable with my apartment and everything else—work, school, relationships and friendships. The time for prayer will come, as everything has a time and a season. I have realized, however, that it’s easy to get caught up in meaningless activity, like television or the Internet, when I’m at home. Again, though, things have their time, and at the moment it’s just nice to come home and settle in my yellow velvet chair and watch box sets of TV with the cats.

The truck and I are headed to Memphis this weekend for a much needed trip to see Stephen. We haven’t seen each other since Christmas, so we plan on spending the weekend watching The Godfather and eating Amy’s pizzas. We’re both a little burned out and tired right now, so a weekend together will hopefully refuel us for the weeks ahead. I hope to be back in Memphis February 7—we plan to go to Boscoes for crème brulee and some good white wine. He even lets me crack the top.

I am learning how to let go and free myself from unhappiness. I am learning to get rid of the negative and stress and focus on the Good and Love in my life. Finishing the literature review, planning a wedding, nights alone, and long, busy workdays have depleted much of my strength. I used to be constantly worried about money. But I looked around my home and my life and realized I have all I need. Yes, I am eating beans and I can’t afford meat most of the time. And yes, I get lonely at night. But I am focusing on the positive and the holy right now. Times of stress and solitude often prepare us for something bigger in our lives. So I come home and turn up the music and dance. I laugh with Stephen. I feed the stray cat that lives outside my building. Life is too short to be miserable or wishing you were doing something else. I am grateful for this period of growth, discovery and for a fresh perspective on living an adult life. I am grateful for depending on my husband-to-be and on myself for stability. And I am grateful for a faith that encourages me to be a better person and follow a radical Messiah into the unknown.

e v e n i n g s

2009-01-20T17:10:00.000-08:00

tribe

2009-01-15T08:03:00.000-08:00

Reading Rachelle’s blog, Magpie-Girl, has really opened my eyes to new possibilities with my faith and my life. I am finding so much inspiration from her words.

One of the first entries you’ll see when you visit “Urban Abbess” is creating a soultribe—people in your life who inspire, lift up, and encourage you in all aspects of your life.

Rachelle writes:
Soulsiblings, this is the year to build our tribes. No more wandering about on our own, or cramming ourselves into institution and ideologies that no longer fit. This, my friends, is not for us. It’s time to move on – or perhaps more precisely it’s time to move in: to move in to the territory that is truly our own, to put some holes in the wall and hang up our oil paintings, to stick pictures on the fridge. It’s time to make our souls at home.
(http://www.magpie-girl.com/category/urban-abbess/)

Her challenge for this week is to create space for your tribe, to vest your home. She encourages her readers to do something each day for a month to make their homes a spiritual place to land and truly a HOME, not just a house.

Right now, my home doesn’t really look like a spiritual nest. I’ve been getting in at 7 and 8 p.m., throwing my clothes on the floor, leaving the dishes in the sink, and scattering books about. At the same time, I almost feel this needed to happen, these little messes. I was so careful about making my house perfect that it didn’t seem lived in. A bit of messiness is helping me connect with things in my house, and instead of coming home and cleaning, I’m just coming home and enjoying being there.

I will take Rachelle’s challenge and invest to vest my home. The cleaning, while it wasn’t missed, will begin tonight as I listen to “Jacob’s Ladder” and Bon Iver. The laundry will get done and the dishes put away. It’s time to clear the space and be at peace at home.

In an earlier entry, Rachelle writes that we need members of our tribes, and she asks what sorts of people we would include.

Here’s my tribe:
Jenn—your letters encourage me and lift up my day. I feel like we’re going through the same sorts of changes and realizations, and I can’t tell you how much I love being friends. We are both on a journey of sorts toward the same goals, and we both have the same ups and downs. I love reading your words either in a letter or text and seeing how you’re living your everyday. You remind me to live my best, simplest life, and I love you.
Sara—You are my warrior sister, and I am always inspired by your strength and determination. You are living your dreams, completely paring down and reveling in community. You are such an inspiration. I love you.
Melissa—my yogini breath of fresh air. You encourage me, calm me, and help me find my center. You live life to the fullest and are an amazing woman. I love seeing your life unfold and the ways you find to recharge. I love you.
Tom—from the very beginning, you have recognized something I didn’t see in myself, and your words and letters have kept me going throughout the year. Thank you for your words of encouragement and your support. Much love.

Other members of the tribe:
Stephen, my support and my center.
Rebecca, who grounds me and listens, always.
Danielle, my sister and the one who makes me laugh.
Allie, who was there when no one else was.
Whitney, who helped me emerge from a past life into a new one.
Sarah, who is a place to rest and renew.
Anne-Marie, who every now and again will send an amazing note that inspires and encourages.

Thank you to each and every one who has been on this journey with me. I love you all dearly.

2009-01-14T18:11:00.001-08:00

The day is ending.

I am listening to "Jacob's Ladder" by Bernice Johnson Reagon on repeat, winding down for the evening.

I am practicing the faith that calls to me, slowly, every day.

happiness

2009-01-14T13:03:00.001-08:00

Purging the negative. Such a simple solution for most of our problems, and yet the process remains so elusive. Why can’t we seem to get rid of the clutter and junk in our heads that inhibits us from being our best selves?

I fall victim to negativity every now and again. Who doesn’t? I look around an empty apartment, in an empty fridge or at a long to-do list and my shoulders slump in self-pity. Sometimes I’ll think of others who have worse situations, and that might lift my mood a little.

“At least I’m in a healthy relationship,” I’ll say. “At least I have a job and benefits.”

That can work temporarily, but still, focusing on others’ negative thoughts and feelings does nothing to help me or anyone else. Changing your outlook depends on changing yourself completely and taking charge of your life.

Thinking positively is harder than looking at life in a negative way. Often our friends can drag us down, wanting us to suffer right along with them. Or we’ve gotten trapped in a lifestyle or circle of friends that isn’t conducive to growth and light. The Internet is a particularly good place for this to happen, as people chronicle their lives every miserable detail by detail. Visiting blogs that I knew would make me unhappy was one way I would unconsciously punish myself. It was a way to prove to myself how much on the outside I felt. I wasn’t a mommy blogger. I wasn’t a mainstream Christian. Reading those types of blogs made me feel worse about what I believed.

But I think we need to ask ourselves how happy people really are. Everyone has problems—they may not broadcast them on the Internet. The more detached people seem from reality, the more likely they are to be unhappy.

How do you recognize these sorts of negative thoughts? First, I think you need to focus on the true self. This is the self alone, silent and simple before the God of your understanding. Are you constantly surrounding yourself with people and activity so you won’t feel alone? Are you always watching TV, in front of a computer, on the phone or in the midst of party after party? These might be indications that you need to focus more on the real You. Silence is key. Whenever I tell people about the power of silence, I usually get a funny look. However, it’s a practice I firmly believe in. I also think you need to practice silence with your partner. Stephen and I have found it has enriched our relationship, just being silent together.

Simplicity is another way to focus on positive thinking. Again, some questions. Are you looking for things to buy all the time? Do you go shopping to make yourself feel better? Are you never satisfied with what you own? Are you making plans for newer, better things to buy or own? Do you spend your time online shopping? Do you celebrate with material gifts? I will say that at one point in my life (several points) I have said yes to all of the above. Here’s the thing—buying won’t change your life. Giving will. So will being happy with your life as it materially is. Instead of exchanging gifts, write letters or poems. Treat yourself to an hour of meditation or stillness. Go to the library and learn something new. Donate your time. These activities can assure you a better life. A diamond ring can’t.

Here’s another set of questions about your relationship. (Yes, they keep on coming.) Now, I feel comfortable asking these because I have been in more than one dysfunctional, troubled relationship and recognize problems. Are you constantly arguing? Do you have problems communicating? Are you ever unclear as to how the other person feels? Do you plan away your relationship without focusing on the present? How often do you talk about reality, as in, feelings, decisions, concrete ideas? Are you looking for ways to “fix” your relationship, but they never seem to work? Are you comfortable with silence? Do you seem to do more in the relationship than your partner? Do you feel taken advantage of, or for granted? Do you or your partner make demands on each other?

Now, those are some heavy questions, and I at one point or another have had some horrible feedback from relationships on those key points. I see a lot of dysfunction in this department, but it’s hard to say something, as people are extremely sensitive. But I believe bad relationships can make you mentally and physically ill. They take such a strain and toll on a person, and we can only handle so much.

My relationship with Stephen suits me and only me. I doubt many women could have the type of situation I have with him and make it. We live four hours apart. It’s been a month since I’ve seen him. I work and go to school full-time, and he works two jobs. That’s a recipe for stress. But we are the calm for each other, the place of rest. I feel that my role as a wife is to be a place for him to come and be home. I listen, nurture, laugh and grow with him. I am his equal. We take care of ourselves first, then each other. Both of us have done extensive psychological work on ourselves to make ourselves whole, so we don’t rely on each other to “fix” the other person. Stephen is responsible for his psychology, as I am responsible for mine. We complement each other, and have a life together outside of our individual selves. But we are two people. We support the other’s dreams and ideas. As his wife, I will be a safe place to think out loud, to land, to dream. I will be his Sabbath and give him the energy and feedback he needs. This is my vow to him. Stephen expects me to be a woman, an individual and an adult in our relationship—not a mother, buddy or object.

That being said, we are extremely and incredibly attracted to each other. There are so many facets to our relationship—too many to name. But I believe we have a healthy, functioning relationship that is well suited for the partnership of marriage. He does not take being a husband lightly, nor do I take being a wife superficially. For us, it’s more than a title. It’s a lifelong commitment to holding up the other person’s dreams, ambitions and emotional, physical and mental well-being. Our marriage and wedding ceremony will be just about that. It’s not about the dress or walking down the aisle. For us, a marriage and wedding is about what comes after that day—the rest of our lives. We are focusing on the marriage and leaving the wedding up to someone else.

So there, I’ve said that. Stephen and I talk about all of the negative things we see from all of the different areas of our lives. I was a very negative person, too, complaining, whining, and I never could find a way to be happy.

My solution was this blog.

I have taken steps in my life, cutting out the negative people and lifestyles that made me so unhappy. I ended relationships. I stopped going to certain parties. I, in a sense, grew up and took responsibility for my own actions and mind.

I believe in simplicity. If you don’t know how to live a simple life or pare down, I can help in my own small way. You can email anytime, or seek someone in your life who can help.

Life is joyous and beautiful. What a waste it would be to live even a day in unhappiness. And too, what a waste it would be to wish your life away, just waiting for the next big thing to happen.

Life happens moment to moment. It is beautiful and deep and complicated and full of love and light. Choosing the way you want to live and committing to that takes courage and sacrifice. But I am a living testament to that choice. I am not perfect, nor am I always happy. My life has ups and downs. But on the overall scale, I live an amazing life with amazing people and amazing occurrences. It took months and years to figure it all out, but I’m here. I did it. And so can you.

2009-01-13T18:36:00.001-08:00

So much is happening inside my head for the past two days..realizations, discoveries, and new vows. I'm waiting for it all to settle in, but for now, visit magpie girl and a copy of Simple Living by Wanda Urbanska and Frank Levering.

My eyes are opening, opening.
I'm seeing so much of what is holding me.
Lifting, lifting.

h o m e

2009-01-13T11:13:00.001-08:00

Lately some women in my life have made a movement toward creating sacred space. As I’ve written about the ups and downs of relocating to a new apartment, I’ve tried to give some thought as to what I want my home to reflect. Comfort, security, sacredness, and peace are all aspects I believe a home can have.

My altar has found its way back to my apartment. I loaded it up when I was at my mother’s for Christmas and it made the two and a half hour drive in the back of my pick up truck. Spiritual books, candles, a rosary, the Bible and four chipped china angels all nest in the open front room, and it’s a constant reminder of peace and holiness.

Sometimes I come home and I don’t want to clean. I don’t want to pick up the clothes that are on the bedroom floor or the papers that litter the dining table. However, it gives me more peace of mind to live in a clean, spare space. At the same time, I’m learning to let go a little. I’m not too hard on myself when I come home and read instead of cleaning. The dishes manage to get done, the laundry is eventually folded, and the cats are always—always—fed. My home is a little more jumbly and mismatched, and one day I will make that wedding quilt with all of the fabric I’ve accumulated. Cat toys are all over the apartment, but that was a selfless choice I made to let the cats have their toys everywhere because I’m gone most of the day.

This weekend my best friend came and stayed with me. Normally, I would have cleaned and made sure everything looked perfect and we had things to do and plans to put into action. Instead, I didn’t clean. We watched Eddie Izzard and cross stitched and just enjoyed each other’s company. She didn’t care that the house wasn’t spotless or that I hadn’t vacuumed. So yes, I am letting go.

When I come home, my apartment is a landing ground. It’s becoming a home and not just a place where all of my things are. Memories are happening, and when Abigail gets under the covers with me at night and curls up against my body, it feels like home.

2009-01-13T08:31:00.000-08:00

Condom Burnings and Anti-Gay Witch Hunts: How Rick Warren Is Undermining AIDs Prevention in Africa

By Max Blumenthal, The Daily Beast. Posted January 8, 2009.

Team Obama likes to cite Warren's work on AIDS in Africa to combat criticism about the controversial pastor. But how does burning condoms save lives?

Once hailed by Time magazine as "America's Pastor," California megachurch leader and best-selling author of The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren now finds himself on the defensive. President-elect Barack Obama's selection of Warren to deliver the inaugural prayer has generated intense scrutiny of the pastor's beliefs on social issues, from his vocal support for Proposition 8, a ballot initiative banning same-sex marriage in California, to his comparison of homosexuality to pedophilia, incest and bestiality. Many of Obama's supporters have demanded that he withdraw the invitation.

Warren's defense against charges of intolerance ultimately depends upon his ace card: his heavily publicized crusade against AIDS in Africa. Obama senior adviser David Axelrod cited Warren's work in Africa as one of "the things on which [Obama and Warren] agree" on the Dec. 28 episode of Meet the Press. Warren may be opposed to gay rights and abortion, the thinking goes, but he tells evangelicals it is their God-given duty to battle one of the greatest pandemics in history. What could be wrong with that?

But since the Warren inauguration controversy erupted, the nature of his work against AIDS in Africa has gone unexamined. Warren has not been particularly forthcoming to those who have attempted to look into it. His Web site contains scant information about the results of his program. However, an investigation into Warren's involvement in Africa reveals a web of alliances with right-wing clergymen who have sidelined science-based approaches to combating AIDS in favor of abstinence-only education. More disturbingly, Warren's allies have rolled back key elements of one of the continent's most successful initiative, the so-called ABC program in Uganda. Stephen Lewis, the United Nations special envoy for HIV/AIDS in Africa, told the New York Times their activism is "resulting in great damage and undoubtedly will cause significant numbers of infections which should never have occurred."

Warren's man in Uganda is a charismatic pastor named Martin Ssempa. The head of the Makerere Community Church, a rapidly growing congregation, Ssempa enjoys close ties to his country's first lady, Janet Museveni, and is a favorite of the Bush White House. In the capitol of Kampala, Ssempa is known for his boisterous crusading. Ssempa's stunts have included burning condoms in the name of Jesus and arranging the publication of names of homosexuals in cooperative local newspapers while lobbying for criminal penalties to imprison them.

Dr. Helen Epstein, a public health consultant who wrote the book, The Invisible Cure: Why We're Losing the Fight Against AIDS in Africa, met Ssempa in 2005. Epstein told me the preacher seemed gripped by paranoia, warning her of a secret witches coven that met under Lake Victoria.

"Ssempa also spoke to me for a very long time about his fear of homosexual men and women," Epstein said. "He seemed very personally terrified by their presence."

When Warren unveiled his global AIDS initiative at a 2005 conference at his Saddleback Church, he cast Ssempa as his indispensable sidekick, assigning him to lead a breakout session on abstinence-only education as well as a seminar on AIDS prevention. Later, Ssempa delivered a keynote address, a speech so stirring it "had the audience on the edge of its seats," according to Warren's public relations agency. A year later, Ssempa returned to Saddleback Church to lead another seminar on AIDS. By this time, his bond with the Warrens had grown almost familial. "You are my brother, Martin, and I love you," Rick Warren's wife, Kay, said to Ssempa from the stage. Her voice trembled with emotion as she spoke, and tears ran down her cheeks.

Joining Ssempa at Warren's church were two key Bush administration officials who controlled the purse strings of the president's newly minted $15 billion anti-AIDS initiative in Africa, PEPFAR. Museveni also appeared through a videotaped address to tout the success of her country's numerous church-based abstinence programs.

These Bush officials -- Randall Tobias, the Department of State's Global AIDS coordinator, and Claude Allen, the White House's chief domestic policy adviser -- are closely linked to the Christian Right. Tobias, the so-called global AIDS czar, declared in 2004 that condoms "really have not been very effective," and crusaded against prostitution, until he resigned in 2007 when he was exposed as a regular client of the D.C. Madam's escort service. Allen, once an aide to the late Sen. Jesse Helms, R-N.C., resigned in 2006 after he was arrested for felony thefts from retail stores.

During the early 1990s, when many African leaders denied the AIDS epidemic's existence, Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni spoke openly about the importance of safe sex. With the help of local and international nongovernmental organizations, he implemented an ambitious program emphasizing abstinence, monogamous relationships and using condoms as the best ways to prevent the spread of AIDS. He called the program "ABC." By 2003, Uganda's AIDS rate plummeted 10 percent. The government's free distribution of the "C" in ABC -- condoms -- proved central to the program's success, according to Avert, an international AIDS charity.

On New Year's Eve 1999, Janet Museveni, who had become born-again, convened a massive stadium revival in Kampala to dedicate her country to the "lordship" of Jesus Christ. As midnight approached, the first lady summoned a local pastor to the stage to anoint the nation. "We renounce idolatry, witchcraft and Satanism in our land!" he proclaimed.

Two years later, Janet Museveni flew to Washington at the height of a heated congressional debate over PEPFAR. She carried in her hand a prepared message to distribute to Republicans. Abstinence was the golden bullet in her country's fight against AIDS, she assured conservative lawmakers, denying the empirically proven success of her husband's condom-distribution program. Like magic, the Republican-dominated Congress authorized over $200 million for Uganda, but only for the exclusive promotion of abstinence education. Ssempa soon became the "special representative of the first lady's Task Force on AIDS in Uganda," receiving $40,000 from the PEPFAR pot.

Emboldened by U.S. support, Ssempa took his anti-condom crusade to Makerere University in Kampala, where senior residents of a men's dormitory promoted safe sex by greeting incoming freshmen with a giant effigy wearing a condom. According to Epstein, one day after she visited the school, Ssempa stormed onto campus, tore the condom from the effigy, grabbed a box of free condoms and set them ablaze. "I burn these condoms in the name of Jesus!" Ssempa shouted as he prayed over the burning box.

"It was a very controversial time," Epstein told me. "After the Bush administration authorized PEPFAR, a number of the local evangelical preachers began to get excited about this and get involved in AIDS very rapidly. To try to prove his credentials, Ssempa became increasingly active and vociferous in his antipathy towards condoms."

By 2005, billboards promoting condom use disappeared from the streets of Kampala, replaced by billboards promoting virginity. "Until recently, all HIV-related billboards were about condoms. Those of us calling for abstinence and faithfulness need billboards, too," Ssempa told the BBC at the time. A 2005 report by Human Rights Watch documented educational material in Uganda's secondary schools falsely claiming condoms had microscopic pores that could be penetrated by the AIDS virus and noted the sudden nationwide shortage of condoms due to new restrictions imposed on condom imports.

AIDS activists arrived at the 16th International AIDS Conference in Toronto in 2006 with disturbing news from Uganda. Due, at least in part, to the chronic condom shortage, HIV infections were on the rise again. The disease rate had spiked to 6.5 percent among rural men and 8.8 percent among women -- a rise of nearly two points in the case of women. "The ‘C' part [of ABC] is now mainly silent," said Ugandan AIDS activist Beatrice Ware. As a result, she said, "the success story is unraveling."

Troubled by what he was witnessing in Africa, the late Rep. Tom Lantos, D-Calif., led the new Democratic-controlled Congress to reform PEPFAR during a reauthorization process in February 2008. Lantos insisted that Congress lift the abstinence-only earmark imposed by Republicans in 2002 and begin to fund family-planning elements like free condom distribution. His maneuver infuriated Warren, who immediately boarded a plane for Washington to join Christian Right leaders, including born-again former Watergate felon Chuck Colson, for an emergency press conference on the Capitol lawn. In his speech, Warren claimed that Lantos' bill would spawn an increase in the sex trafficking of young women. The bill died and PEPFAR was reauthorized in its flawed form. (Days later, Lantos died of cancer after serving for 27 years in Congress.)

With safe sex advocates on the run, Warren and Ssempa trained their sights on another social evil. In August 2007, Ssempa led hundreds of his followers through the streets of Kampala to demand that the government mete out harsh punishments against gays. "Arrest all homos," read placards. And: "A man cannot marry a man." Ssempa continued his crusade online, publishing the names of Ugandan gay rights activists on a Web site he created, along with photos and home addresses. "Homosexual promoters," he called them, suggesting they intended to seduce Uganda's children into their lifestyle. Soon afterward, two of President Museveni's top officials demanded the arrest of the gay activists named by Ssempa. Terrified, the activists immediately into hiding.

Warren, in his effort to dispel criticism, has denied harboring homophobic sentiments. "I could give you a hundred gay friends," he told MSNBC's Ann Curry on Dec. 18. "I have always treated them with respect. When they come and want to talk to me, I talk to them."

But when Uganda's Anglican bishops threatened to bolt from the Church of England because of its tolerant stance towards homosexuals, Warren parachuted into Kampala to confer international legitimacy on their protest.

"The Church of England is wrong, and I support the Church of Uganda on the boycott," Warren proclaimed in March 2008. Declaring homosexuality an unnatural way of life, Warren flatly stated, "We shall not tolerate this aspect [homosexuality in the church] at all."

Days later, Warren emerged so enthusiastic after a meeting with first lady Museveni, he announced a plan to make Uganda a "Purpose Driven Nation."

"The future of Christianity is not Europe or North America, but Africa, Asia and Latin America," he told a cheering throng at Makerere University. Then, Ugandan Archbishop Henry Orombi rose and predicted, "Someday, we will have a purpose-driven continent!"

Max Blumenthal is a Puffin Foundation writing fellow at The Nation Institute in Washington.

from Alternet.org

2009-01-09T08:05:00.000-08:00

How You Can Start a Farm in Heart of the City

By Kelly Coyne and Erik Knutzen, Process Media. Posted January 9, 2009.

Sick of flavorless, genetically modified, pesticide-drenched frankenvegetables? It's time to start growing food in your back yard.

The Urban Homestead: Your Guide to Self-sufficient Living in the Heart of the City by Kelly Coyne and Erik Knutzen (Process Self-reliance Series, 2008)

The following is an excerpt from The Urban Homestead: Your Guide to Self-sufficient Living in the Heart of the City by Kelly Coyne and Erik Knutzen (Process Self-reliance Series).

Imagine sitting down to a salad of peppery arugula and heirloom tomatoes that you grew yourself. Or a Sunday omelet of eggs laid that morning, served with a thick slice of fresh sourdough, butter and apricot jam -- all homemade, of course. Or imagine toasting your friends with a mead made from local honey. Where would you have to move to live like this? A commune in Vermont? A villa in Italy?

My husband Erik and I have done all of this in our little bungalow in Los Angeles, two blocks off of Sunset Boulevard. We grow food and preserve it, recycle water, forage the neighborhood, and build community. We're urban homesteaders.

Though we have fantasies about one day moving to the country, the city holds things that are more important to us than any parcel of open land. We have friends and family here, great neighbors, and all the cultural amenities and stimulation of a city. It made more sense for us to become self-reliant in our urban environment. There was no need for us to wait to become farmers. We grow plenty of food in our backyard in Echo Park and even raise chickens. Once you taste lettuce that actually has a distinct flavor, or eat a sweet tomato still warm from the sun, or an orange-yolked egg from your own hen, you will never be satisfied with the pre-packaged and the factory-farmed again. Our next step down the homesteading path was learning to use the old home arts to preserve what we grew: pickling, fermenting, drying and brewing. A jar of jam that you make of wild blackberries holds memories of the summer, and not the air of the Smucker's factory.

When you grow some of your own food, you start to care more about all of your food. "Just where did this come from?" we'd find ourselves asking when we went shopping. What's in it? At the same time, we began to learn about cultured and fermented foods, which have beneficial bacteria in them. Few of these wonder-foods are available in stores. The supermarket started to look like a wasteland.

A little history

The idea of urban farming is nothing new. Back in the days before freeways and refrigerated trucks, cities depended on urban farmers for the majority of their fresh food. This included small farms around the city, as well as kitchen gardens. Even today, there are places that hold to this tradition. The citizens of Shanghai produce 85% of their vegetables within the city, and that's just one example of a long Asian tradition of intense urban gardening. Or consider Cuba. Cubans practiced centralized, industrial agriculture, just as we do, until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989. Overnight, Cubans were forced to shift from a large, petroleum-based system to small-scale farming, much of it in cities. Today, urban organic gardens produce half of the fresh fruits and vegetables consumed by Cubans.

The United States once was a nation of independent farmers. Today most of us do not know one end of a hoe from the other. In the last half of the 20th century, a cultural shift unique in human history came to pass. We convinced ourselves that we didn't need to have anything to do with our own food. Food, the very stuff of life, became just another commodity, an anonymous transaction. In making this transition, we sacrificed quality for convenience, and then we learned to forget the value of what we gave up.

Large agribusiness concerns offer us flavorless, genetically modified, irradiated, pesticide-drenched frankenvegetables. They are grown in such poor soil -- the result of short-sighted profit-based agricultural practices -- that they actually contain fewer nutrients than food grown in healthy soil. Our packaged foods are nutritionally bankrupt, and our livestock is raised in squalid conditions. The fact is that we live in an appalling time when it comes to food. True, we have a great abundance of inexpensive food in supermarkets, but the disturbing truth is that in terms of flavor, quality and nutrition, our greatgrandparents ate better than we do.

There is a hidden cost behind our increasingly costly supermarket food. The French have a term, malbouffe, referring to junk food, but with broader, more sinister implications. Radical farmer José Bové, who was imprisoned for dismantling a McDonald's restaurant, explains the concept of malbouffe:

I initially used the word 'shit-food', but quickly changed it to malbouffe to avoid giving offense. The word just clicked -- perhaps because when you're dealing with food, quite apart from any health concerns, you're also dealing with taste and what we feed ourselves with. Malbouffe implies eating any old thing, prepared in any old way. For me, the term means both the standardization of food like McDonald's -- the same taste from one end of the world to the other -- and the choice of food associated with the use of hormones and Genetically Modified Organisms as well as the residues of pesticides and other things that can endanger health. -- The World is Not for Sale by José Bové and Franois Dufour

So what are the strategies urban homesteaders can follow to avoid malbouffe? Farmers' markets, co-ops and natural food stores serve as good supplements to the urban homestead, but we've found that growing our own food, even just a little of it, rather than buying it, not only results in better quality food, it has changed our fundamental relationship to food and to the act of eating itself. Now, now not only do we know our crops are free of pesticides and GMOs but we discovered an entirely new world of taste and flavor that big agribusiness had stolen away from us. Growing your own food is an act of resistance. We can all join with José Bové in dismantling the corporations that feed us shit.

We've also shifted from being consumers to being producers. Sure we still buy stuff. Olive oil. Parmigiano reggiano. Wine. Flour. Chocolate. And we're no strangers to consumer culture, not above experiencing a little shiver of desire when walking into an Apple computer store. But still, we do not accept that spending is our only form of power. There is more power in creating than in spending. We are producers, neighbors, and friends. Think you don't have enough land to grow your food?

Change the way you see land.

Before you start thinking that you have to move somewhere else to grow your own food, take another look around. With a couple of notable exceptions, American cities sprawl. They are full of wasted space. As a homesteader, you will begin to see any open space as a place to grow food. This includes front yards as well as backyards, vacant lots, parkways, alleyways, patios, balconies, window boxes, fire escapes and rooftops. Once you break out of the mental box that makes you imagine a vegetable garden as a fenced-off parcel of land with a scarecrow in it, you'll start to see the possibilities. Think jungle, not prairie. The truth is that you can grow a hell of a lot of food on a small amount of real estate. You can grow food whether you're in an apartment or a house, whether you rent or own.

Do you have 4' ? 8' feet of open ground? If you don't have a yard, do you have room on a patio or balcony for two or three plastic storage tubs? If you don't have that, then you could get a space in a community garden, a relative or neighbor's house, or become a pirate gardener, or an expert forager -- some of the tastiest greens and berries are wild and free for the taking.

Think you don't have time? Think again.

We homestead at our own pace, to suit ourselves. Some things, like bread baking, have become part of our regular routine. Other kitchen experiments, like making pickles, come and go as time allows. More ambitious projects, like installing a greywater system, take time up front, but save time once implemented. It's unlikely that we spend any more time on our food-producing yard than we would on a traditional lawn-and-roses-type yard. You can set up your urban (or suburban) farm so that it takes minimal time to keep it going -- we talk about ways to do that in this book.

Sometimes, when life gets too crazy, we don't do anything beyond the barest maintenance, and eat a lot of pizza. Nothing wrong with that.

Besides saving time, with the exception of a few ambitious projects, like converting to solar, everything we talk about in this book is also cost-effective. Homesteading is all about reusing, recycling, foraging and building things yourself. Seeds are cheap, composting is free. Nature is standing by, waiting to help. And as oil prices continue to rise along with the cost of food, learning to grow your own may be one of the wisest investments you can make.

The paradigm shift

Urban homesteading is an affirmation of the simple pleasures of life. When you spend a Saturday morning making a loaf of bread, or go out on a summer evening after work to sit with your chickens, or take a deep breath of fresh-cut basil, you unplug yourself from the madness. Many of us spend a lot of each day in front of a computer. Homesteading hooks us into the natural world and the passing of the seasons, and reminds us of our place within the greater cycle of life.

Our style of homesteading is about desire. We bake our own bread because it is better than what we can buy. We raise our own hens because we like chickens, and we think their eggs are worth the trouble. Erik bicycles everywhere because that's a thrill for him. There's mead brewing in our guest bedroom because you can't buy mead at the corner liquor store -- and because fermentation is the closest thing to magic that we know.

Maybe you aren't so into gardening, but would like to brew your own beer. Maybe you'd like to tinker with a greywater system for your house. Maybe you want to make your own non-toxic cleaning products. Try it! Start by doing just one project, one experiment, and you may well unleash the homesteader within.

mamas that inspire

2009-01-09T07:37:00.000-08:00

SouleMama and A Wrung Sponge are two of my favorite mama blogs to read. Mommy blogs seem to be a rite of passage once the baby is born, and I'll admit, I often read them and scratch my head in puzzlement. As I find myself repeating (over wedding planning, engagement rings, lingerie showers, baby showers, and bridal teas), I am just not that kind of girl. I grew up with a very practical mother and an out-of-the-ordinary father, so these womanly milestones just don't interest me. The mommy blogs I find are just sort of lacking.

And then I stumbled across SouleMama. After reading (and reading and reading) about her family, her parenting styles, her homeschooling methods, and her natural lifestyle, I realized that it wasn't the mommy blogs that I couldn't connect to--it was me. I hadn't, until then, found a blog that spoke to me about the way I wanted to parent and live my life. And until SouleMama, I felt very alone with the ideas I had about raising a family. Amanda Soule truly instills a sense of joy and wonder about parenting and doesn't mind one bit about doing things her own way. I never thought I wanted to be a parent (or even get married, for that matter) so these were new feelings. But I understood that there wasn't only one way to do things, to be a mama (and not a mommy). I do want to cloth diaper and have natural, simple toys and read to my children every night and raise them to be conscious, mindful, peaceful adults who want to change the world around them. SouleMama inspires me to be that kind of parent.

A Wrung Sponge took me to the next level of the kind of parent I wanted to be. I don't even remember how I came across this blog, except that it drew me in right from the beginning. This Quaker mother of three has a multicultural family, and I love how she does her own thing. That's a broad term for the amazing things she shares about her garden, her boys, her job as a librarian, and her thoughts and poems, but there's no way to describe exactly why I love reading her words. I can say the sense of peace I have when reading her blog is a wonderful way to start the morning.

Stephen and I have talked about children here and there and the kinds of parents we want to be. While children are not in our immediate future (or maybe not ever) we've given some thought to adopting, as neither of us are sure we are able to have children of our own.

The last time I was in Memphis, Stephen and I went out to Boscoes and ordered these amazing gourmet pizzas and wine. Full of good food and even better wine, the twenty-five minute ride home was bliss. Stephen drove as I settled in the car seat and watched the night sky. We are so comfortable with silence, and with Stephen holding my hand, I let my mind wander to a future life in the country, with a garden and a porch, a baby in a sling while two others played in the dirt. It wasn't so much that this needs to happen, but the idea of sharing that with someone was enough to make me happy. I realized I may not be in on the mainstream idea of mothering and weddings and all of the feminine things I'm "supposed" to be excited about but it doesn't really matter. I've been doing my own thing for a while now. I branched out of mainstream Christianity to be closer to a God I love, and I think the same will apply to other aspects of my life, like turning to homeopathy and yoga to heal myself to wellness. So what if weddings and mommy blogs aren't my thing. I'm glad to be in an underground community of sorts that shares my ideas on living and simplicity--not only sharing, but supporting as well.

practice

2009-01-08T08:15:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, our paper ran a syndicated column on people who put their faith on their vehicles. Jesus bumper stickers and fish are all over American highways—what this indicates in our consumer culture, I’m not sure. This morning while placing a call, I was greeted by a contemporary Christian song then told in the voicemail to have a “blessed day.” This form of expression is something to think about, especially when it comes to ministry and living a Christian lifestyle.

How would people know what is in my heart? I don’t have any Christian paraphernalia on my car, no voicemail greetings, no Facebook announcements that have anything to do with Christianity. I believe in practicing simplicity as a way to follow my faith. This affects what I buy, what I wear, how I eat, where I shop, and who I am as a person. Consuming less and thinking about my footprint on this planet is my way of caring for the earth, my temporary home. Not being obsessed with money and possessions is another way I live a Christian life.

The purest forms of Christianity and Buddhism have much in common, I think. Belief systems aside, the way they are practiced is very similar, at least to me. As a Quaker, it’s easy to adopt Buddhist tenets to strengthen my beliefs as a Christian. Silence, simplicity, the art of Zen, mindfulness, meditation, prayer, community, appreciation for the present and loving others form the very basics of these religions and philosophies.

So again, how do I express my faith? I try and put myself in others’ shoes and think about what they feel and think, and how I can make another life better. I have learned patience and small kindness and love for all creatures. I have an ongoing communication with the Divine, always. Living for others and loving others is what Christ did, and so I try and do the same. I am learning that this world is not about me, not even in the slightest.

listening

2009-01-06T11:02:00.000-08:00

I am becoming known around the office as the girl who writes about crunchy things. This makes me happy. : )

I am having difficulty with medication lately, and I'm writing about it to maybe get feedback or encourage others who take medication for mental disorders. I am on a medication that is incredibly hard to understand. If I take the full dosage, I find it hard to get up in the morning. If I take half, I can get up reasonably earlier, but my symptoms return. Last night I took the full dose at 6 p.m., went to bed at 8:30 p.m., then woke up at 5 a.m. I fell back to sleep but could not get out of bed. I called in sick for the day (which I've never done) and am using today to figure out what's going on. The weather here is miserable, dark grey and rainy and cold. Now that I'm up, had a veggie lunch with a cup of tea, the weather isn't as threatening and I feel better. But those hours in bed are so horrid. I am afraid of falling into any sort of hint of depression, so I watch myself carefully. I know that my mind is not depressed, but my body is responding differently. It could be hormonal, possibly due to ovulation; it could be seasonally related. This just means I need to be more vigilant about my mental and physical health. My diet affects my mind and health, so I am staying on top of things with healthy meals, vitamins and supplements, and plenty of omega 3. I am hoping and praying that this is just a phase that my body will snap out of and not something more permanent.

In happier news, I am enjoying my books and saving money. I have cut heating costs by piling on sweaters and socks at home, and am doing really well not using so much energy. My thesis is coming along, and I only have a few more articles to read and review before turning in that first rough draft of a literature review.

I have plans for a balcony garden with tomatoes and lettuces and plenty of fresh herbs. Nothing is better than fresh tomato sauce with basil and garlic, and I can't wait to have my little (and big) pots right outside my door. Around that time Stephen will be moving up here, and the wedding is only a few months away. I don't know where we are going to put all the books!

Letters have been arriving faster than I can reply, so I'm getting out today and purchasing some stamps (with some cat food, before a kitty revolt breaks out). It is so wonderful to get handwritten letters in the mail, and I am so lucky to have the friends that I've made who keep in touch this way.

Today is a day for peace, for listening, for recovering. Today is a day to light the altar and contemplate.

And everyday is a day to love, to start anew.

new

2009-01-05T15:22:00.001-08:00

I’ll be the first one to admit—I’ll buy books before I buy food. I’ve decided to pay all of my bills at once and mete out the remaining money with some discretion. Food should come first, and even as tempting as books are, I honestly don’t need any new ones.

That being said, I came home from Barnes and Noble laden with books. “The Reader,” “Lighthousekeeping,” and “Revolutionary Road” were the three that came home with me, along with the newest New Yorker and Bust. Of course, I’m not mentioning “Atonement” and another book (yes, I actually forgot which one I bought) that came home last week, or the three that will arrive this week. (Two books on simple living and another copy of “Animal Vegetable Miracle.”)

I’m willing to suffer a poor woman’s diet of beans and brown rice with vegetables in order to support my habit. I finished “A Mercy” last night and have moved on to half of “The Known World.” Where would I be without books?

I have also discovered a natural skin care line at a health food store that I’m willing to try. I’m not going to run out and buy everything, just replace things as I need them. The ladies at Gloria’s Good Health in Decatur are amazing and so nice, and it feels very homey to walk in and browse.

After adding up all of my expenses for this month, it looks like I can afford just a little bit of new natural skin care stuff. This first paycheck will mostly cover bills, and the second paycheck needs to be saved. I’d like to pay off my two credit cards in a few months and be done with them.

Tonight, in just a few hours, I anticipate coming home and once again turning on Bon Iver and lighting my Christmas lights (they’re still up) and reading. This morning was cold, grey and rainy, and my bed was so soft and warm. Definitely hard to get up. I’m hoping to make a cup of tea tonight and getting lost inside a book.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Sunday

2009-01-04T15:13:00.000-08:00

I'm listening to Bon Iver right now and reflecting on the weekend. Yesterday I spent most of the day working on my thesis for graduate school and feeling sort of down. Sometimes my relationship with my mother can be frustrating. I know it's hard for her to transition into my adulthood and marriage, especially since she's doing it alone. But I also want to live my life the way I intend. Is it hard for parents to have different values than their children? For parents, is it hard to let go?

I also feel overwhelmed by society. Perhaps that's overly sensitive of me, but sometimes I find it hard to relate to other people my age. I am trying, though.

With the New Year, everyone seems to be making resolutions. I am lucky enough to be able to read some of my dear friends' resolutions, and it makes me so happy to see that they are so similar to mine. Some of my sisters have written that they want to experience more silence, more stillness. One wrote she wanted to deepen her meditation practice and live in simplicity. Another is moving in with three others to begin the process of communal living. It's so exciting to share these things, and these women are such inspirations. I love meeting people who have my deepest interests and who want to live intentionally and mindfully. I also love the weekly handwritten letters I receive with bits of wisdom and love tucked inside.

Now I am going to light little candles all over the house and gently sweep cat toys and books away, water my plants, and listen to this beautiful album. Sunday, a day of rest, a day to renew. How wonderful.

a few things this morning

2009-01-03T11:23:00.000-08:00

+Bitch magazine & The New Yorker
+Blueberry pancakes this morning
+Three cats in the bed at 7 a.m.--on a Saturday
+Books for $4 each
+Salmon and almond rice pilaf tonight
+Inspiring friends
+Old quilts
+Lila Downs

simplicity

2009-01-02T09:34:00.000-08:00

Recently while reading Oprah magazine, I came across an article on voluntary simplicity buried near the back of the issue. The article focuses on a sunny bohemian couple standing in their backyard garden behind the log cabin they built themselves and a single mother with twins who traded in her 3,600 square foot home (and a dysfunctional marriage) to live in an 800 square foot cottage in the woods.

The author mentioned that although income has risen in the past 60 years, happiness hasn’t. More people (at least up until 2 years ago) are making more money than ever before, but they’re not necessarily happier. Kristen Martini, the single mother interviewed, had a dream life filled with material possessions and lots of space, but she was facing depression, insomnia, and overall discontent. She remembered a time when she lived in the woods and had her own garden and how happy she was. With that, she left her husband and huge house and took her children to live in a small cottage with only one bedroom far away from cities and suburbs. It hasn’t been easy for her, she said, but she loves hearing her children play in the woods and go on walks.

The Meers, the log cabin owners, have always lived a little off the grid, and they now help others learn the joy of simplicity. They garden, compost and use solar energy to run their institute. Reading the article, they seemed like a most laid-back couple and in love with life.

I read the article three times, noting that Quakers, Shakers and the Amish were briefly noted in terms of faiths who believe in simplicity. A Quaker writer coined the phrase “voluntary simplicity,” and the three branches of faith practice it with both love and severity.

When I first started this blog, I was a big practitioner of simplicity. I ate a lot of simple soups, lentils and wild rice and loved to bake my own bread. Most of my clothes were grey or black and my prayer life centered everything else. I lived in a very modest two room apartment with a kitchen and bathroom with three homeless cats. I didn’t have a TV and rarely used the Internet. An herb garden on the windowsill provided freshness for my meals, and everything in my apartment was second hand.

Reading this article took me back to that time. I will say I can be hard on myself when practicing simplicity, and that strain will zap all the joy from simple living. It is to me a practice of love and faith to keep myself sane.

A few weeks ago when I moved to Madison, I was most upset with my life. My apartment now is bigger and as a result feels emptier. It is one I will share with Stephen, but it rambles on, something I’m not really used to. It’s a little dark, and I’m unsure as to how to make it homier. The secondhand furniture suddenly seemed like a problem. The old artwork didn’t fit. I began looking online for new furniture, new art, new fabric, and even new clothes to make myself feel better. I’m not even sure how much I spent on decorating books, designer fabric and artwork. And it’s still sitting in my apartment, waiting to be used. The art needs to be framed, something I can’t exactly afford right now as I’m trying to save money. My weekends have been spent traveling, so the fabric is still waiting to be sewn into pillow covers and curtains. Even the new clothes sit in my closet with the price tags on. And yet I feel no different, even spending all of that money.

Buddhism teaches us to accept ourselves and our situations as they are. Had I been content with what I had, I could have used that money more wisely. Had I realized that only love can make me happy, not new possessions, I probably could have paid off my loan by now.

I’m realizing that like most Americans in our culture, when I feel emotional, I spend. “Retail therapy” is a pretty common practice for women, and I fall victim to it every now and again. I’ve stopped going to malls, which helps, but then there’s always the Internet to draw me in. I still feel urges to buy, and I feel like I absolutely have to have something right away or I will not be happy. Part of it is loneliness and missing Stephen, and I think part of it is the cultural view of society.

Living simply is much more than living with less; it’s a movement of faith. The imbalance I’ve felt probably had a lot to do with the amount of money I was spending on unnecessary things. The more I bought, the more I thought I needed to buy to feel happy. In reality, I need very little to get by.

A big inspiration for this leaf-turning is my friend Christina. She lived in her own urban cottage and gardened, played guitar, and lived life to the fullest. She still does, and the life lessons I’ve learned from her will stay with me always.