a new profile pic

large families

Large family movies are sort of a theme, recently. The Cheaper by the Dozen Series. Mine, Yours and Ours. I found the first one amusing. Cummon, who wouldn’t find—“Good job, FedEx!”—who wouldn’t find that funny? But the second one, became a bit routine. And the third was downright ridiculous. I mean seriously. I’m sure everyone knows that big families don’t really have that much drama happening 24/7. Actually, no...you might not know that, because large families are a rarity and you’ve perhaps not seen a large family not operate that way. And even though you are intelligent, gentle reader, the big screen certainly has vivid emotional appeal—one’s brain plays tricks on you—if you see it, you believe it myoticly. So allow me to disagree with the god of this world.

First, allow me to agree with the big screen. Yes, if a parent or parents would raise their 5+ children as though they were all an only child around which the world revolves—yes, one would have a cheaper by the dozen scenario. But, thank God, most parents (and children) of large families figure it out, it’s much more productive and efficient and beautiful, actually—to work in a team, instead of each for the self as is demonstrated quite well in the mentioned films. A large brood of children, having experienced mutuality and daily life as a common goal toward a common purpose, is a distinctly powerful force in society—unless one enjoys extreme individualism. And we all do by virtue of the fact that we’re willingly and unwillingly subjected to the propaganda.

May I just say that I am grateful for the skills and experience that have been bestowed upon me by virtue of being a part of a family of 10. Do you have any idea how quickly a family of 10 can prepare food, set the table, eat, clear the table and wash the dishes. It’s beautiful and works like a well oiled machine. Over the past two holidays, I sat back and enjoyed the production, while at my post making the mashed potatoes. Sister 5 is setting the table while brother 4 is following her drippling silverware in their general spot around a large table, while playfighting with her incessantly. Mom heaps the food into bowls that magically appear on the counter, as I notice she is ready for them and find them in the cupboard above me. Sister 4 reaches for a spoon and sister 5 magically understands what she is reaching for and places it in her hand.

I wish my district meetings would work as smoothly. I wish I could organize work projects where at least half the people that showed up would have a sense of personal identity and their unique role toward the end goal. Cheaper by the Dozen, very humorously and very erroneously portrays every child is a rescue mission, an accident waiting to happen, a power out for him/herself and an unquenchable force working against the peace and harmony of the whole. Catastrophes do happen in large families. However, it is my distinct belief that just as many catastrophes happen in smaller families because in the large families each individual subconsciously monitors the health of the family system (the health of the individual depends upon it) and calculates the effect their contribution to an upheaval might bring to the family system. Smaller families have a larger allotted catastrophe contribution quota per capita.

house not in order--the marriage supper approaches--Judas stands outside

We were preparing for the wedding. My friend came over to my house to shower and ready herself for the big day. My hasty preparations for the wedding guests that were to stay at my house was obvious. Gremlin-like creatures littered the yard and had been through the entire house leaving it in disarray. They had been through my drawers and cubbies, pulling things out of place and delightfully destroying my organization with glee. The oven was sitting on top of the shower. Other furniture was oddly askew. In my haste, I had shoved things into closets and contained the mess as much as possible. But my friend was not fooled, “your house is a mess” she said, “You aren’t ready for the wedding nor for hosting guests.”

Outside in the yard my friend encountered larger gremlins and a relative smoking on the porch. Two large gremlins were tossing a ball back and forth to each other in the yard. One was dressed in black and the other in white. A small airplane lay on the sidewalk. My friend opted to play catch with them and threw the toy airplane to one of them. One of the gremlins caught it and threw it back with great force and a bit of temper. The toy plane grew twice the size and nearly wiped her out. She decided it wasn’t a good idea to play with this pair. But she watched with interest as the pair became enamored with the activities occurring in the house. They looked on with great interest and followed the owners every move as though mesmerized. Furthermore, it was easy to spy on this house because the walls were transparent and one whole wall was entirely missing. Yet despite their preference toward the home and its owner, they were inexplicably controlled by a stronger evil power, which periodically demanded of them, incriminating evidence against the house. They were powerless to resist divulging information even though they wished to be faithful guests.

when friends die

the beginning of the end
when silence breaks into pure spirit
Eternity waits on the Omega
Disbanding friend from friend
Hands ripped apart
Beating hearts torn out

This bloody sacrificial rite

Oh, devil, could you not spare me one
Satan, you consume even the children’s plate and fork
You take what is most precious
Ill will and evil deeds behind precious faces
Thy love of friend turns them into black spaces

What greed has not swallowed into nothingness
What terrors have not turned hearts aside
Death then slowly steals this one
It came but last night to disappear one most precious

Your methods are shameless
You taunt us all with your slow smile
You rot bloody hearts in their bodies
We thwart your designs and put in one new

But you, oh death, demand this one too

beating hearts hand in hand
friend to friend—who can disband?
Oh, the wait is an eternity
Spirit to spirit, till the silence breaks
When the end will be the beginning

SMBI Critique

As a whole, I was rather impressed with the quality of education at SMBI. The material I encountered while there was at the level of any college theology course. And folks did make a valiant attempt at anabaptizing the protestant theology they worked off of. In speaking to the administrator and a teacher, their sentiment was notably the same as two of my readers Arthur and Javan—we need more Anabaptist writers of theology out there. The administrator pointed at me. “Who? Me?” I cried in protest. “Yeah, you,” he said. That just seems really weird coming from a place where women don’t physically step into the pulpit to address the congregation. Well, to do so figuratively would make it so much more okay, don’t you know.

I attended a class in Theology I and Urban Missions as well as chapel, where the topic addressed the concept of “imputed righteousness and justification,”—God declares a sinner a saint. Anabaptists have much trouble stopping there, as was evident in this chapel. The speaker then contrasted the mentioned aspect of the salvation event with an added element necessary for the completion and working out of one’s salvation. Glassenheit: an Anabaptist word that means abandonment of one’s self that leads to peace and calm, the surrendering of one’s self to the kingdom of God and to the community of believers. It means a life now lived in on-going discipleship and living out the indwelling of Christ. It wasn’t directly stated but the implications are that one is not Christian unless he/she enters into glassenheit.

The class on Doctrine of God presented the attributes of God which were organized contextually into absolute and relative attributes—relative/relational, referring to the more personable character of God. Time and space (eternity, immensity), creative (omnipresence, omniscience, omnipotence) and moral attributes (faithfulness, justice, goodness). The absolute attributes involved God’s attributes of infinity and perfection—perfection in truth, love and holiness. I found the presentation and the categories to be quite cleaver. It avoided some of the complications of misapplication of distinct attributes. God is perfect in love, truth and holiness, not perfect in a static unchangeable manner. The categories leave room for process theology.

As for the sources for this particular presentation—I asked and I was told—these are notes handed down from the previous administrator. There doesn’t seem to be much of an inclination to cite the sources nor for any particular author or thinker to claim his/her work particularly.

The Urban Evangelism class I found most unusual. Each student was to present a short book report on a book they had chosen to read—all of the books were written by mainstream Protestants, such as Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire by Cymbala. There were numerous others. The class and the teacher then reflected on the presented information. It became obvious to me that the categories used in the book were entirely missed by the students because the students obviously had no experience or context from which to understand the categories presented within its own context. Yet they reflected upon the information presented from their own context. That was weird. It was like being bilingual and listening to a speaker speak in one language and having the translator translate according to literal word use, irregardless of meaning.

As for the average SMBI student—the females were somber, reserved, and very modest (translated as boring and ugly). The young men were studious, mature and intent on finding the ugliest wife, so as not to fall into sin, passion and too much frivolousness. I found such lack of hormonal presence and fun very pious and godly—such as is demonstrated in this clip http://youtube.com/watch?v=XNOkpM43fMA
and as was overheard in “girltalk” time in the dorm the night before. Girltalk time didn’t make it onto YouTube.

how not to be like the Christians

My roommate was raised in a non-practicing Jewish family. Her journey has taken her into traditional evangelicalism and then she decided to explore her Jewish roots and became Messianic. She says that exploring her Jewish roots was the best thing she ever did for herself. I think it’s great having her as a roommate while I’m learning my Hebrew. One of these days I’ll do a Sabbath with her. Yeah! Another culture that does head coverings.

Last week she came home from a study she was doing with her Messianic group and said that a portion of the time was given to a discussion on, how not to be like the Christians. Although I guard myself against establishing a direction and a vision based on becoming that which the other is not—I was immediately interested in what a marginal Christian group’s critique was of the Christian mainstream. Below is the list of the not so Christian practices these Messianic Jews would fault Christians for engaging in.

Holidays—Christians celebrate every holiday anyone else would celebrate. In other words, even the pagan holidays are celebrated in the exact same way the pagans celebrate them. Christians don’t even bother redeeming the day or the celebration of it.

Immodesty—Christians clothe themselves in exactly the same ways as the non-Christian does. No thought is given to the messages that are perpetuated through clothing in our sex selling culture.

Honesty of speech—In Jewish culture it is a mitzvot (a good deed) to speak to a person with clear, frank honesty, whether you or the other finds the truth communicated, difficult. Conversely, Christians sway their speech to suit their purposes. They use flattery and they lie. It was even mentioned in this critique that it is also dishonest to lie with your non-verbals. It was specifically sited that flirting or leading someone on without intent for follow through was dishonest and un-christian behavior that Christians often partake in. Ouch.

Involve the elderly in one’s community—Social tradition to put the elderly into the nursing home once they cannot care for themselves, or be functionally independent. The Christians also do this. The elderly are put away in a place where they cannot contribute to our lives and to our communities. Our mind frames put them in a frame of needing care and comfort, whereas we should put them in a place of wisdom giving for our own needy lives. If they could be of use to us, they would not need to be comforted. Ouch.

a meditation on parable

Jesus’ words “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”
With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.

Have you ever been door-to-door witnessing, street preaching, or done traditional or prescribed sorts of evangelism? While doing this sort of evangelism have you ever felt like you needed to know all the answers and got yourself into a bind debating with a skeptical stranger?

I’ve discovered something almost by accident. When out and about, bumping into unbelievers, I’ve relinquished control. I don’t give answers. I tell interesting stories. I ask weird questions. And I give vague or somewhat mysterious answers. I’ve seen the interest in the other’s eyes pique. Once after only two encounters with an agnostic, he was all but begging me for my testimony. What’s the difference? What if I told you the kingdom of God is like a tree or should I read you the church discipline (parameters for this corner of the kingdom)? Or the kingdom of God is like a guy growing grass seed on his lawn. It’s like the difference between telling someone how great an event is or being sure to tell them (severely) what the entrance fee is.

Jesus didn’t tell the crowds everything. In fact, it is obvious in this passage that he intentionally did not tell the crowds but later explained the details to his disciples.

the simple AAR: deviantly Abby style

Pre-trip arrangements:
Ride to airport. Cost: my running partner insisted on taking me.
Flight from Mpls to Dulles. Cost: $140
Borrowed my sister’s car for commute and travel to and from all locations below. She insisted that I not rent a car. Cost: Dedication to familial oneanothering—mind you, she is my younger sister, which means I was involved in rearing her!
Snacks and water purchased for the week: granola bars, bananas and a six pack of bottled water $8.58

Schedule:
Fri am – Train pass from the Vienna commuter lot. Cost: $10
Fri noon – Talked myself into the last sessions of the ETS for $10
Fri aftnoon – Fought with my computer wireless hook-up at the local Caribou—cost: dead phone battery and $2 drink.
Fri 7-8 pm – Mennonite Scholars and Friends Reception (good food, boring company)
Fri evening – gathering of Bethel students and alumni at local burger joint (great company and recommendations for the days ahead) Cost: 10.39
More train pass and parking fees: $20
Night spent in the car in a parking lot. Temperature: 38 F Slept well. Woke up early.
Sat Breakfast: free at the Renaissance (Starbucks coffee ran like a river from this place—the additional spread was amazing: cereal, soda, pastries, tea, fruit, muffins. I had to refrain from gaping and stuffing my pockets.)
Sat 9-11:30 am Karl Barth Society of North America: debate with Hart on the analogia entis. The Bartian arguements were terrible.
Sat lunch – Lunch buffet at a Lebanese dive. $8 (good company—books and the Arabic chatter of customers)
Sat eve – sister’s going away reception at Mt. View. Great 4 part harmony and my brother gave a short meditation.
Night spent at Mt. View. The bed felt great on an aching body. Cost: my cousin and sister’s service at the nursing home
Sun am – to church with my cousin, brother, sister and sister-in-law at the outreach church in Charlottesville
Sun lunch – at Mt. View Cost: hospitality received/hospitality given
Sun 5-6:30 – Science, Technology and Religion Group: Interpreting Quantum Mechanics—Christian and other perspectives.
Sun eve – crashed numerous receptions—Princeton’s was the most memorable. Bag check: $5
Sun night – rode the subway to the end of the line with new friends going the same direction
Night spent in the car in a different parking lot. Temperature: 35 F
Mon am – sponge bath in the restroom at a very nice suburban mall.
Breakfast: scouting out the free Starbucks and breakfast spread at the Renaissance.
Mon session – Latino Religion, Culture and Society Group: Legacies of Colonization
Mon noon – book hunting
Lunch: Fuddruckers in Chinatown—cost: 12.18
Afternoon and Evening: travel to SMBI with a telephone booth stop to transform minor but significant details into the image of a 5 years younger aspiring SMBI student.
Night spent in the girls dorm at SMBI.
Tues am: breakfast at SMBI—cost: participation in generational line of Amish Mennonite community (thorough knowledge of the Mennonite 5 points of separation game.)
Classes attended: Urban Evangelism and Theology I: Doctrine of God
Lunch at SMBI—cost: more Mennonite connection games with the administrator—score: one degree of separation (my sister taught school with him)
Tues afternoon and eve: Travel to Lancaster. Looked up an old friend in Ephrata. Accepted a dinner invitation with a new friend and his wife, who I met at the conference. They bent over backwards to find a local lady who sold coverings out of her basement. The Mennonite lady opened her shop after-hours for me, so I could fit on coverings and then trusted me to pay her when I discovered I had no means of payment with me. Absolutely amazing! Cost: mutual love, grace, generosity and trust from those in the community of God. (Who would steal coverings anyway?) Oh, and the new friends wanted me to, and I quote him… “meet their son so he could fall in love with me and then I could become their daughter-in-law”—potentially expensive? or an investment of substantial returns?—depends on one’s perspective.

Cost of gas to and from all the above locations and returning home to Minnesota: $103
Total cost of trip not including books purchased or membership fees: $329.15

definitions:
covering—that white thing I wear on my head
ETS--Evangelical Theological Society
AAR—American Academy of Religion
SMBI—Sharon Mennonite Bible Institute
Mt. View—Mt.View Nursing Home, A facility for the aging, staffed entirely by Amish Mennonite youth doing voluntary service or pursuing nursing degrees.

interesting facts about Abby’s AAR adventure

Books purchased at the AAR:
(Listed in order of those I found most exciting to lesser)
The Beauty of the Infinite by David Bentley Hart
Friendship: Interpreting Christian Love by Liz Carmichael
The First Hebrew Primer
Mastering New Testament Greek by Thomas A Robinson (…complete with a personal demonstration of the software tools by the author himself.)
Introducing Radical Orthodoxy by James K A Smith
A Concise History of Christian Thought by Tony Lane

Stupid things done at the AAR:
Got my shoe laces caught at the bottom of an escalator full of people creating a panicked people pile-up on top of me. Embarrassment suffered: 0.

General appearance: lots of black, quasi-business, conservative Mennonite image. No room for the homeless living out-of-the-sack look, although that was sort-of the reality.

Most devious thought:
Wow, someone could go husband hunting here!

P.S. The objective of my AAR adventure posts is not to get people to send money. Rather, it is to demonstrate to myself and others that things can be done differently. Living on the lowest budget possible without abusing hospitality and avoiding appearance of poverty are my intent, as I rubbed elbows with, well, those with fatter wallets (or credit cards) while mingling with conferees as sort of one of them but deviating when outside of their visual scope. I decidedly chose my alternative accommodations, for reasons such as identification with the poor, for personal challenge and purposeful lifestyle deviance.

I look forward to next year. The intellectual climate is addictive! The meetings will be held in San Diego, which means the climate will be amazing. I will be able to hear the crash of the ocean waves all night and breathe ocean air. Perhaps I’ll go on a short retreat to the Mojave Desert again.

preferential option for the poor?

Numerous friends of mine have been struggling with finances recently—actually, almost everyone I know in my age category. I too have pinched pennies almost all my life and can be very severe in my frugalness if I decide to be. My goal has been to train myself to be as Paul says in Philippians, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” So when I decided to go the Annual Meetings this year, I knew I would have to experiment with accommodations, even if only to respect the financial distress of those I live with.

My heritage taught me to do vacation differently than most—as a child my family never stayed at hotels or had vacation packages to go somewhere warm and on the ocean. Instead, we went where there were friends or family to visit. Otherwise, there was no reason to go. Realizing now, how others do vacation accommodations, I have taken the opportunity to experiment. Americans often do the hotel with a swimming pool thing. Occasionally, I’ve done that. Amish Mennonites give and receive hospitality from other Amish Mennonites. There is even this Mennonite directory out there called Mennonite Your Way which is a hospitality house list of people all across the country. In Mexico, if you are vacationing and you have a car, you sleep in your car or stay with friends. I once lived out of a VW bug with 4 other people for 3 days, as we toured Jalisco and a went to the festival of San Juan Martin, Caballero. We mingled with other travelers. And I discovered that if you don’t have a car you ride the bus and if you don’t have fare for the bus you walk. For bus riders and walkers, there are accommodations aplenty under every tree along the road or in the town square, often in the courtyard of the church. Some day, I hope to travel like this.

All this is to say that I have been considering how best and how functionally to live, when traveling and when at home. With the threat of poverty is hanging over the heads of many folks in my generational category, forcing us to rethink money expenditure and living patterns, I’ve seen many of my peers attracted to living in community, either out of need to survive financially or for expressed faith convictions. Hospitality has also become a bigger deal for them. Hospitality is a virtue amongst the poor. Hospitality is also an essential pillar in community building. (Conversely, entertainment, privacy and independence are virtues of the rich—contributing to loneliness and isolation.) Yet, one has to look at the circumstances and wonder, if we would have the financial means necessary to live alone and travel alone, would we then somehow loose the conviction to live interdependently in a community of believers. My observation has been that, largely, once one comes into a bit of financial means—enough to live alone—one then lives alone or in a circumstance of his/her individual choice. In that case, may God grant me the means to offer hospitality but also the blessing of poverty.

better than ever

So, I threw my cell phone in the washer two weeks ago. Then my computer developed internet connection difficulties which still have not been resolved. Then I was out of the state for a week. My only available land line and internet connection is at work and I have not been there for over a week. During that week, I’ve lived out of a car, the pack on my back and the hospitality of old and new friends and family. Loosing connection hasn’t necessarily stressed me out—in fact, it has had the opposite effect. Necessary communication with my professors and others about pending projects and important life events, etc, have been possible through narrow windows of grace. There’s been a sort of peace and calm that has settled over me as I’ve received this as a Sabbath that the Lord has sovereignely provided for me. I’ve had a lot of time to pray. I feel full and satisfied. My spirit feels tangible to me again. I feel like I can rely on it again to guide me without the interference of over processed noise coming from my head and my feelings. Even though my weeks have been jam-packed with going here and there and doing things and I caught a nasty cold, I feel calm and content and a peace that hugs me only as the creator of harmony could.

As for my extended week off...Why? What for? Scoping out the future. Adventure. Surveying the scholarly world. Picking at and testing connectivity points with my faith/heritage against my growth/education. And as always stretching the dichotomies between the two worlds I hold within myself to an eeking, screeching, tensile stretch, just to test and toughen myself. I’ve been in Pennsylvania, Washington D.C., Virginia and drove through every state on the way back with my sister—all in time for Thanksgiving Day. It all started on Thursday with no sleep the night before and a very nice nap on a flight out to Dulles where my sister picked me up and took me to Mt. View in Virginia. The next three days was a juggling match between the busy bustling DC belching out its scholars and philosophers in fancy hotels with plush carpet, chandeliers and evening parties, for higher society of course—and—the calm, natural beauty of the Virginian mountains and valleys seen from the bay windows of a quaint nursing home, staffed by young twenty-year-old Mennonites, tending to mostly mentally diminished elderly. I’ve been allowed...(gasp)...encouraged to delve into the metaphysical reaches of my mind but then in the next breath drawn into the simple, beautiful harmony of the songs and exuberant laughter at my sister’s farewell gathering. But that wasn’t yet enough. I had to make a few stops in PA to investigate and evaluate the theological education at SMBI our token school of higher Christian education and then off to Lancaster to hunt for a covering maker/seller and a visit with old and new friends. By then, I remembered that I had forgotten to take my vitamins or sleep much at all, as I sniffled and coughed the whole way home, taking turns sleeping and driving with my sister. I kept a log of my expenses. I think perhaps it would be interesting to post it...later though. My connectivity obligations have been challenged and I have submitted. Most people know that I’m still alive.

hey, sista!

Guess who stole your very cool hat?
Looking forward to seein ya very soon.

check it out!

My daisies decided to bloom in November.

stranger encounters: Mohammud

Today, I was exchanging Bloomington Avenue stories with a fellow young, urban, city dweller. I thought I would share one here too. But first—a bit of context. Bloomington Avenue is the “seedy” part of Minneapolis. All those with any “sense” stay away for fear of getting hustled, shot, robbed...whatever! Five years ago, I didn’t know that. I didn’t grow up learning to make the same sorts of distinctions about people and places.

I’m not naturally a very docile person but one has to choose into that manner of being when getting to know a new person or a completely new situation in a new context. One has to be open, comfortable, and keen on following the flow wherever it is going but then be quick and agile enough to shimmy out of exploitative situations. I like to go on these adventures, where I have to practice being as bendable as Gumby. The adventures are incredibly fun. One meets the most interesting sorts of people, goes to the most interesting sorts of places. It can get a bit addicting. It all started out quite unintentionally.

I worked as a night security guard at the Exel Energy building in downtown Minneapolis. The first night on the job was quite a shock to me, as all other male security guards drooled all over themselves because there was a woman working. But Mohammed was different. He was basically kind and very respectful to me. He gave half of his Subway sandwich to me and insisted that in his culture everyone shares. He was young. He was a devout Muslim. I felt an affinity to him because he was different and I was different. The other security guards would taunt him and say terrible atheistic things about God to him, just to see him respond as he always did. He would plead with them, terror and sorrow written all over his face, asking them to stop saying such things about Allah. Then he would kneel in the dirty grimy, city, alley and kiss the ground, pleading with Allah for forgiveness.

We would hang out, outside of work. I would occasionally help him navigate the city or go to the MCTC for an application. He would sometimes be fearful of odd things. For instance, he always paid for everything in cash. But when paying his bills at the bank one day, I suggested that I could simply write out a check and he could deposit his cash into my account. He refused because, he explained, they would be able to associate his name with me and my address. I would go over to the house in which he and his sister rented a room from an older Muslim couple, who lived on Bloomington Avenue. Both women wore the hijab. Mohammud and his sister’s room was plain and bare. They slept on the floor. But we would all eat together in the livingroom off of the most expensive, posh furniture I had ever seen, in front of a giant TV screen, where the American soap operas mesmerized everyone. They reminded me of Amish children newly exposed to the TV.

Sometimes he would take time out to pray in front of me. Kneeling and kissing the ground and reciting. He told me the story of their escape from their home in Somalia. His last name was the same name as a political leaders’ and one day the authorities came to their door. My Muslim missionary friends were terrified for me when they found out I was hanging out with a Muslim man. I didn’t know what the “rules” were for hanging out with a Muslim man but Mohammed seemed quite harmless to me. Once we went to the place in West Bank where he wired money to his family in Ethiopia. The man behind the desk spoke with Mohammed and there was much joking, laughing and knee slapping. Later, I asked Mohammed what they were joking about, and he wouldn’t tell me. Soon after that, I decided to be more open and descriptive with him about boundaries and what my present interpretation of what American boundaries were. He could never remember to call them boundaries—he always referred to them as crossing borders. He once read a personal letter I was writing a friend. I told him he had crossed my borders. When I told him I was moving to Wisconsin to finish my schooling, he insisted that he and his sister would come with and live with me. I told him we couldn’t do that because it would be crossing borders.

And crossing borders it was! It was an unusual friendship. It was completely platonic (at least from what I could tell) and entirely accidental.

strengthen your body’s tie to your spirit through fasting

We often live very compartmentalized lives. We go to church to do spiritual things. We go to school to learn. We work at work. We work out at the gym. We sit on the couch to watch TV. We sit at coffee to chat with a friend. Sometimes my body does it while my mind and my spirit are not engaged. Often my mind does stuff while my spirit and body do nothing. But perhaps the situation that happens least is when my spirit is engaged and my body and mind are either quiet or in compliance.

There are some hazards to living with one’s being all diced apart like that. The body does stuff the mind and spirit never gave it permission to do. The mind thinks things disconnected from the spirit etc. Yet when one fasts, there are ways of fasting that cause your body to listen to your spirit. And it’s not through fighting with the image of a cheeseburger in your head. Instead, as the hunger-pangs hit you, it is as though your body is a desert of dry bones longing, longing, longing... longing for the spirit to fill the wind and bring nourishment to your soul. The hungrier one gets the deeper your spirit longs—as though your entire being is buried in longing—longing for God. Being hungry is only a symptom of lack of sustainance. Perhaps we should all be hungry with longing until the sustenance arrives. Yet what sort of sustainance are we talking about.

I’ve been noticing the food and hunger themes in my life. In my dreams, I often find myself at banquets and church picnics where there is no food. I am hunting for food in dangerous places. I am often hungry for something but I can't discern what it is. I go to the grocery store and look at everything and I don’t want any of it. I planted a garden this summer but was too busy to harvest it. I am thirsty and I drink water but it never seems to satisfy completely. I come home to an empty house. I make dinner. I sit down to eat it at the kitchen table and I don’t feel like eating it because I am alone. Conversely, I go to my parents’ house and immediately head to the kitchen to talk to my mom as I open the refrigerator. There I eat at the kitchen table with my family and I am satisfied.

as we live dying

I have a friend who I enjoy very much. He’s quite a bit older than I. But that just means he’s like my grandfather or father or something like that. We’ve been friends for years. I’ve been to his family picnics and birthday parties and all of that. He is a gem in hiding. Everyone focused on his great compassion. Yet, he was incredibly intelligent and an astute thinker as well. He was full of energy and a dynamic conversation partner, when I first met him 6 years ago or so. We’ve talked about everything under the sun, with much expression and energy. His daughters are every bit as energetic as he is—rather, as he was. He developed some severe health problems and I watched as his energy was cut in half, then it was cut in half yet again. Now, it seems it has been cut in half again. He used to appear in public, looking vibrant and bright-eyed. Everyone thought he looked great. But I knew he went home and then collapsed for the next two days, to recover. I spoke with him briefly the other day—I knew if I spoke to him too long he would collapse for two days from our short conversation. I cried for him. His spirit, so full of desires and passion, lay trapped in a body which gives him only a drop of fulfillment. I still visit him. Next time I envision kissing his cheek, holding his hand and saying very little. Perhaps, I can ask him to greet my sister for me. He'll see her before I will. I'll tell him she can take my place as his conversation partner until I join them.

blood lines

Sometimes, I mean often, I am certain that I am more like a woman of centuries past masquerading as those roles mentioned in my profile. I go to a community meeting, in my black skirt and wool coat with the fur collar to “wax eloquent” about a neighborhood crime problem. Then I go home and secretly can tomatoes like a pioneer woman or swing a sledge hammer at a wall I don’t want there anymore.

My former roommates called me crazy. My current roommate calls me wonder woman. Sometimes I don’t know who to believe. Occasionally, I develop a bit of a complex about my dual identity and I find myself hiding certain innate habits.

I like Dorcas’ little stories because they remind me of why I am who I am—like this one about canning. http://dorcassmucker.blogspot.com/2006/10/canning.html . I also find refuge in Hajar’s stories http://neo-gioconda.blogspot.com/ . And then there are the relief workers I run into now and again, who talk about them sturdy Mennonites, who would do things no one else would do, and go places no other group of people would go. Then last night at a party, I ran into someone who has a friend who lives here in the Twin Cities, who used to be Amish before he had a conversion experience. I’m certain I made a fool of myself as my eyes turned into saucers and the blood rushed to my face as I nearly leaped out of my chair in my eagerness to get a phone number and meet this person. What is this thing called tradition that runs in ones bones, which is as thick as life itself?

dreams fulfilled

Last week I realized that a long ago dream of mine has been fulfilled. I was standing in the front of my parents’ church talking to the pastor about learning the Biblical languages, Seminary and such things. I had just finished another conversation with an elder who owns the only local java joint and WiFi hub. (I’m in touch with that place!) He likes talking with me about the rapture, Revelation (the book) and America’s military exploits done in the name of the Lord. Suddenly it dawned on me as I stood there in that little country church. My dream has been fulfilled. A couple Sunday’s before that, I had gone to church at the Amish-Mennonite church of my childhood with my English friend. (Wow, did we get looked over!) They had a guest speaker there that day, who is a part of a higher education initiative amongst the conservative Mennonites called FaithBuilders. I was surprised, when after the service, the speaker pointedly came over to greet my friend and I. Somehow, I ended up telling him that I had just recently received my MATS and that I work at a Seminary. With numerous onlookers, we discussed higher education, how to navigate the myriad of information in the various disciplines. He dutifully broke off our conversation each time his host shuttled him off to meet this or that person or talk about this or that engagement. But somehow we kept bumping back into each other to continue shop talk.

When I was young, I used to long to be able to converse with the pastors who seemed at that time to know so much about faith and the scriptures and the church. Usually, no women I knew would ever be involved in those conversations but it didn’t matter to me, I wanted to talk about faith and the Spirit and God and Jesus’ sacrifice. I think I made myself an annoyance in Sunday School asking probing questions and bringing up complicated ethical scenarios. But I longed to participate in the circle of pastors and teachers. I used to read, from Luke, the story of Jesus getting lost in the temple at the yearly Passover his parents took him to. Jesus’ parents then find him in the temple courts sitting among the teachers listening to them and asking them questions. I was like 13-15. I used to read this story and cry, having no idea why it drew me, nor how one could go about getting such a thing. I just knew I wanted it.

dust to dust ashes to ashes

I crashed a funeral soon after the vision of my own death. I crashed a funeral soon after her death. Somehow it felt appropriate to join the throng of mourners wearing black. It was November then. It was November when she died. It will soon be November again.

the best of both worlds

I am grateful for the position the Lord has put me in. I would call it the best of both worlds. The platform of my childhood provided me with a strong frame of dedication and discipline for my faith. The current evangelical circles I run in provided for me a more emotional, expressive and also an intellectual influence. I’ve found pieces of the contemplative in both circles. And as I allow the two influences to speak to each other and embrace the other, my life becomes much more interesting and dynamic. The best way I know to demonstrate the best of both is through songs that express each culture’s sentiments.

Did You Think to Pray

Ere’ you left your room this morning
Did you think to pray?
In the name of Christ our Savior
Did you sooth for loving favour
As a shield today

When you’ve met with great temptation
Did you think to pray?
By his dying love and merit
Did you claim the Holy Spirit
As your guide today?

When your heart was filled with anger
Did you think to pray?
Did you plead for grace my brother
That you might forgive another
Who had crossed your way.

Oh how praying rests the weary
Prayer will change the night to day
So when life seems dark and dreary
Don’t forget to pray

The song turns one's mind to devotional regularity in response to life, as it happens. It prods one to maintain a relationship with God which bears on interpersonal relationships with others and those stray feelings that crop up. It’s very practical. And if the lyrics float through your mind during the day—one is instructed by its words.

How Great is Our God

The splendor of the King,
Clothed in majesty
Let all the earth rejoice,
All the earth rejoice
He wraps himself in light,
And darkness tries to hide
And trembles at his voice,
And trembles at his voice

How great is our God,
Sing with me
How great is our God,
and all will see
How great, How great
Is our God

Age to age he stands
And time is in His Hands
Beginning and the End,
Beginning and the End
The Godhead, Three in one
Father, Spirit, Son
The Lion and the Lamb,
The Lion and the Lamb

Name above all names
Worthy of our praise
My heart will sing how great
Is our God

This song is more along the line of romance language. It’s like those cute little nothings one would whisper to their spouse or a proclamation to one’s friends about someone that grabs your fancy in a gossip session over coffee—“He’s so amazing.” “My Heart will sing.” “Clothed in majesty.” What does that mean? Well, mostly it means you’re in love.

But like any marriage, one becomes cynical about the words spoken when all one hears is sweet little nothings. Likewise, if the everyday practical and routine relationship duties elbow out the sweet little nothings, life in relationship is a bore.