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Saturday, September 20, 2008

And The Blustery Winds of Change Blew ...

That's the title of the last chapter of my Craig book, it's been on my mind a lot lately, 1. because i'm still trimming the fat of verbose from it's body & 2. as a one time English major i find that just as the main plot and theme of any good book is intertwined symbolically throughout the story so to goes life.
In my book the change marks an end of the Revolutionary era and new dimensions of the Early republic - a place where people have to be flexible and have resources in order to navigate swift economic and social changes that occur from the upper class down. It is not trickle down economics it is more like a flash flood and quick displacement of people. In my life - well that's pretty obvious.
Sunday the wind was almost a welcome addition, it had been, and was still, so hot. There was an eeriness everywhere, people tried to smile as they held their hats atop their heads and remarked on the weather. Leaving church, my hands holding down my skirt, I am sure I said a hundred times "Yes - it is a blustery day!" Who ever thought there would be a hurricane in Ohio? The soft buzz of electricity fell silent (and stayed silent for days on end). As the wind reeked havoc outside there was little to do hunkered down on the inside - I read Bernard Bailyn by torch (not quite as romantic as it may sound lol), I soaked in a candle lit bath steaming with the last hot water and lavender milk. I eat up time with honey, mud, and Dead Sea salt -exfoliation, waxing, plucking, and moisturizing. There was some interstate texting until the battery died, random ceiling staring, cards with Friends, and an intense game of get the ball with Nadi... though the ball wasn't a ball but the torch light on the wall, carpet, and ceiling.
Of course the wind was only one small part ... the aftermath was yet another. When day broke the following morning the damage left was unavoidable. The air smelled burnt from random fires come to smolder in the neighborhood. Shingles and trees lay with an assorted variety of other debris - everywhere. Not counting the park and river walk along my run 70 trees had been severally damaged, ripped out by the roots or simply snapped in half and discarded like twigs. There was a great deal of cleaning and sorting that needed done by all able body hands. Simple staples like new groceries, light, news, and email became unobtainable luxuries...

It wasn't quite the organized manner in which I wanted to begin my graduate studies... It wasn't a lot of things. It was however a big mess. I made myself of use to the neighbors haling branches and trees to the curb. Getting started was hard - there was just so much to do. I could not help but see a symbolic reflection in the wind tossed mess and my life. What mess was already beginning to collect at my feet thanks to the changes I had brought upon myself? The thing about creating a mess is your bound to have to clean it up - alone. Having days on hand without electronic interruption when I found myself sifting through my own little mess. Though 3,000 men were shipped in to get the buzz back in the power lines I started to wonder if perhaps the storm itself couldn't be an opportunity to ponder and regain lost ground - to sort through this mess.

Teaching Orientation began - it was a nice added bit of normalcy amongst the mess. Muddling the waters a bit more or perhaps clearing them, I happen to have met this really great guy at orientation. Normally I wouldn't have spent any time with an art history major - but he just struck me right. I ended up spending a bunch of the day with him and invited him to join me for lunch with some friends - we inadvertently had the same orientation schedule where I found out he was ... LDS. Of course. It keeps happening to me... again me seeing the symbolism... is this like spotting a bit of light in darkness... is this HF way of showing me back to the road or Rod? I prayed lol in my head right in class... is this what this is? But the other church felt right and this one does not? and so here I am in a steeping pile of I don't know what afraid to go either way because I just don't know what it all means or if it even means anything. Without power or street lights you start to notice there are an awful lot of stars out there...

Dear HF ... can you hear me now?

Monday, September 8, 2008

Sit-Stand-Kneel

I went to the Methodist Church today. The organ filled the Sanctuary with familiar and wonderful music. In the Methodist church music is of great importance and each song is sang as though it were a prayer with a resoundingly warm Amen at the end. My heart swelled with joy, my soul revelled in peace.

This feels a lot like "going home".

Growing up I went to the Methodist church. In my family religion is important (along with being well read, politically active and serving ones "community" ). Each person is responsible for actively forging their own testimony and in the process forming their own independent relationship with God. As a result we have Methodists, Baptists, Catholics, Agnostics, Unitarians, and Jews in our numbers. That said, the Methodist church is a special place across the whole. (I'm not sure why because historically my family is Hard Core Baptists, with a great great grandfather who founded the first in Texas) The Methodist church is the place were we gather to mourn our loses and to bless, give thanks and welcome in new life.

This is a church were growing up you are taught the basics and once you have them down to ask questions, to really analyzes what you read and hear. This is a place of spiritual and intellectual growth and evolution where the world and scriptures are seen as having far more gray than black and white. Interpretation is up for grabs. This is a church where ministers only stay for 4 to 6 years allowing for congregations to hear mixed views and can arrive at independent conclusions. A place that was often challenged for spending less time on scriptures and more time on active Services. Of course it was also at this church were I realized that the position of Choir Director might be the best hiding place for the anti-Christ.

Perhaps some of you do not know, but when I was much younger this was also the church I wanted to dedicate my life. It was an announcement that hit much of my family twice as hard as "I want to be a History major" lol. My grandmother looked at me as though I had just asked for a sex change operation! Looking back on it I think it was bad timing in their eyes. I had just been accepted to CMU early, I was being offered scholarships at a number of schools, i'd just won the presidential award and it was the same year my bookcase oded on writing awards, crap that was the year I even won the stock exchange game lol. I think they thought the only limit to the sky were those of my own making and I was endanger of doing such. I think they thought the opportunities that were piling up on my lap were things few people ever saw and Seminary well anyone could go to seminary.

It would have been a different kind of happy life But you know I think there are lots of different Paths to happiness and life is all about finding and then traveling them. These are things with which I have not thought of in nearly a decade and yet as soon as I began, the emotions, connections, memories they were all right here. I think sometimes we feel as though there are clear places and paths that in parting we are somehow forbidden or unable to return. I think most often out of pain we attempt to abandon those things which are closest to our hearts, those things which have made us fundamentally who we are and the things which can never be made truly dormant within our souls. The trajectory of life, everyone, is never straight forward. Inevitably we will run into ourselves and what it means to be us along every path we take. I think what I have taken most from this crisis of faith is that when you struggle to stave off the few things that make up the fiber of your being well it begins to feel a lot like trying not to breath. You can't do it forever or at least I don't want to.

On a slightly side note, on my afternoon dog walks I've found quite an inspirational and relevant Baptist pastor on the radio, Alistair Begg - check him out Truth For Life: Listen Online. (It has nothing to do with the fact that he is Scottish lol though as he speaks I do picture him looking like Carson Beckette (Stargate Atlantis)... I was a captive audience...I swear it was totally unwilling! l)o

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Freedom, Crap-tastic Freedom

I thought I could sort this matter out myself but everyday it seems I wonder back to the drawing board with new thoughts to ponder.

Many of the people I am surrounded by live a very different lifestyle and drinking is a prevalent aspect of that lifestyle. It isn't just that half of the Giant Eagle is filled with alcohol (to the point I think it is missing quite a bit of the food selection)- there is a whole other culture to it. People drink outside lol sometimes when they go for a walk they bring them along. People tend to offer you a drink when you are at there house, even if it is noon. A common built in kitchen appliance I have frequently noticed is a small refrigerator especially made for wine. I have only actually seen people with pop once - and it turned out they were mixing something brown into it. So there is me trying to fit in and at a fairly new acquaintance's house the other night when she offered me a glass of wine. I was thinking there is nothing stopping me but of course something did. In this and other instances it has become quite apparent that I still think like a Mormon and honestly there is no comfort to be had in the notion that someday that will fade. I wonder if in time my questions/concerns might fade? If I didn't fear losing too much of myself if that were to happen I would find comfort in it, but admittedly in leaving I am losing more of my identity than I realized.


An older sister, that I was never particularly friends with, once told me that she hopped I would stay in the church, that she knew sometimes I must find difficulties. She said in her life she had known several people who loved the church but ended up leaving it because of the culture. She said if everyone who doesn't like the culture leaves... well then how will the culture ever change? That story bought me an extra year... but I can't help but feel like to stay is to continue to bite my tongue... and that's just not me either.

Maybe I just need a break maybe I just need to miss it a little more... maybe sometimes Inactive just Means Inactive... for now... and not inactive and leaving.

And so this internal conflict rages still...