tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27707462063975829972024-02-20T19:23:39.602-05:00fledgling things collected sights, sounds, bites, sips, things, and thoughtsGinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-39902964451678484802021-10-26T06:51:00.001-04:002021-10-26T06:51:33.743-04:00From Scratch<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>(Reader Advisory: This post contains mentions of poop. Both cute baby poop and not-so-cute adult poop. This shouldn't be seen as an indication of this blog's typical content moving forward, but we're talking about new parenthood/postpartum life today. Be warned, and feel free to skip this post if bodily function content isn't your thing.)</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's strange to pop back up into this space after 10 months and realize that my last post had so much to do with grief, specifically grief over a miscarriage. I didn't know as I wrote that post that I was newly pregnant with another child. This one did live to be born into the world on September 9, 2021. A boy named Owen. Needless to say, that pregnancy was filled with conflicting emotions as I continued to process grief but also tried to anticipate and celebrate a new life. Maybe I'll write more about that in time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">My firstborn, a son named Owen, is six weeks old. It is the hour before dawn and I write this from the couch on which I have taken up nearly-permanent residence, one foot rocking the baby in his bouncer while I steal a few minutes of hands-free time to type out a few thoughts before they evaporate from my ~nEw mOm BrAiN~. </span></p><p>Owen has been smiling more lately, and 40% of the time I am 70% confident that the smiles are intentionally directed at me rather than the by-product of a really satisfying toot.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> But I don't begrudge him the toots, honestly; one of the things I've found most amusing about parenthood is <i>how very much</i> you come to care about your child's bodily functions. You keep track of how many diapers you change per day and whether they are wet, dirty, or both. You intently study the color and consistency of the "dirty" like a fortune-teller studying tea leaves, searching for signs of anything off-kilter about his digestion. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">You lavish praise on your baby every time he fills his diaper with a robust deposit. (Conversely, after six weeks and counting of postpartum constipation and hemorrhoids you wish someone, anyone, would cheer for <i>you</i> whenever you survive a bowel movement that is nearly as painful as delivery itself. I exaggerate. Slightly.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am the second of eight children and was a booked-and-busy neighborhood babysitter as a teenager, so you would think I came into parenthood knowing all I needed to know. I grew up changing diapers, mixing and feeding bottles of formula, mastering "the bounce" to soothe a crying baby, pushing strollers, etc. But there was always a parent either supervising or leaving me with specific instructions and guidelines based on their intimate knowledge of their child's patterns and needs. This is different. Now I don't have a higher authority, an Owen expert, to turn to. <i>I'm</i> the parent and <i>I</i> have to discover his patterns and needs. From scratch.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some observations from the first six weeks:</span></p><ul class="ul1" style="list-style-type: hyphen;"><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Breastfeeding does NOT actually come easily to every mother or every baby. I hereby pledge my allegiance to "<i>Fed </i>is Best" until I die.</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Diapers should come in half-sizes. Your baby might be too big for the newborn size but too small for size 1, meaning that either way you're in for a lot of leaks.</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is one sound that is objectively the very cutest sound in the world, and it is the sound of baby hiccups.</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can accomplish a surprising number and variety of tasks with just one hand (or foot, honestly) and in a fleeting 20-minute window of happy-baby-time. </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unlike everyone else in Northern Virginia, newborns do not adhere to a schedule. Consequently, you won't really adhere to a schedule for a little while, either. Learn to accept that that's ok.</span></li></ul><div>More observations and reflections to come. For now, my 20 minutes are up and it's time to get back to the Owen Show!</div><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-20399865591366887742020-12-23T07:31:00.001-05:002020-12-23T07:31:39.752-05:00December 2020<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>This isn't my finest writing, nor is it a guarantee that "I'm back." It's just something I needed to work out and put somewhere. Maybe it will mean something to someone at the end of this grim year.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every Advent when I was a child my dad would lead my family through a devotional entitled “Advent Foretold.” Each night after dinner we would gather in the living room, Dad enthroned on his big blue reading chair, we kids sprawled out in various spots on the floor, mom nestling into the couch with whoever was the baby at the time. Dad would distribute photocopies of the picture accompanying that night’s lesson -- simple black and white line drawings which we kids could color in while Dad read. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-6ba4e442-7fff-00da-d710-85a9c42cecd7"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each nightly installment of “Advent Foretold” focused on one Old Testament prophecy about the Messiah and His coming. The book highlighted how statistically unlikely it was that any of those promises, much less all of them, would be fulfilled -- and yet, they were. Over centuries God made a string of bold promises to humankind, and He made good on them, but only after years of waiting.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew before I knew. I knew in the core of me before I could have identified and articulated it, that Christmas only comes after a season of bittersweet. Advent culminates in celebration, yes, but it is longing. It is the deep, guttural expression of “the hopes and fears of all the years,” the heartbreak and dead-ended dreams that nag us. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My favorite Christmas carol for as long as I can remember has been “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” I've been thinking lately about how absurd it is that a little child with nothing to grieve yet would set her heart upon </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">that</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> slow, dirge-like song as her favorite. Rather than being filled with tinsel and angels and saccharine manger scenes, the lyrics are a recitation of everything wrong with the world, everything that plagues our human existence. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Captivity.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mourning.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Exile.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tyranny.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hell.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The grave.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gloom.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Misery.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a little one I was drawn to this song because there was something different about it. I noticed how the melody made my heart hurt and reach out for something beyond what I could see. I noticed how even as the song exhorted us to rejoice, it was sad, and it was honest about being sad.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year as the world around me celebrates the birth of one particular Child long ago, my back is weary from the heavy burden of grief over the miscarriage of my first child. As we celebrate the miracle of Mary’s swelling womb I weep bitterly over the emptiness of mine. As we sing glowingly of a manger in Bethlehem I can’t stop thinking about how I should have been entering my final trimester right now, preparing a crib for my own baby. My heart rages in a fresh way against the tyranny of death, against how cosmically wrong it is that the curse can reach even into these most tender and wonderful places.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Is there a place for my grief in this time of celebration? What do I do with it? Can God hear it? Does He care? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I understand now that those childhood nights spent sprawled on the living room floor coloring in prophets’ flowing robes prepared me for this. They taught me that God has always welcomed His people’s full-throated longing, that He has always heard it, that He has always had a plan to satisfy it, even if that satisfaction didn’t come quickly. They taught me that I am part of a family tree made up of people who took their doubts, longings, and bitter disappointments to a God who was willing to hear all that brutal honesty because He desired intimacy with them. They taught me that this season is meant for lament, it is meant for gathering up all of our grief into our hands and showing it to God, saying, “Look at this mess. Help. Come. I’m waiting. Help.” As the world around us urges a contrived, vague sense of holly-jollyness, the most appropriate thing we can do is actually to <i>not</i> stifle our longing, but rather to lean into that list of cosmic wrongs. Let out the guttural cry. Let the tears of disappointment flow. These are signs of life; these are signs of our hearts being awake to the reality of our need, and therefore awake to the gift that His presence is. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God is listening, and He is weeping with us. He wept over Jerusalem, tears of lament and longing for His children, even as He knew how He would deliver them. I don’t know if His plan of restoration for me will include a living, breathing, fully-formed child; I’m not promised that. But I am promised that He hears, and I am assured that it is safe to simply be honest about being sad this year. It will make the eventual celebration -- which will come, in time, as it always does -- more complete.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-78967065149841088052017-10-31T07:46:00.000-04:002017-10-31T07:46:49.487-04:0095 Reese's<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VM-YXBE9f_E/WfcyYUMXj4I/AAAAAAAAFp4/oTmTqYa1EvcAzKxy7hI9ufvBeY80GnMSgCLcBGAs/s1600/20171030_100043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="534" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VM-YXBE9f_E/WfcyYUMXj4I/AAAAAAAAFp4/oTmTqYa1EvcAzKxy7hI9ufvBeY80GnMSgCLcBGAs/s640/20171030_100043.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple years after <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the elephant </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">incident, </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Queen Esther surveys </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">costume competition.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a kid I welcomed any opportunity to dress up in a costume and pretend to be something or someone else. However, my family didn't participate in Halloween, so this cultural ritual that rolled around every October 31 was one I always peered at from a distance with not a little curiosity. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the rest of the world draped itself in cobwebs and enjoyed ghoulish Halloween revelry, we either: </span><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>passed out candy bars wrapped in religious tracts; </li>
<li>turned off all the lights and pretended we weren't home for trick-or-treaters; or, most frequently, </li>
<li>actually weren't home because we were at the church Reformation Day party. This was our little church's effort to reclaim the evening from under-worldly gore and instead provide us with more edifying activities commemorating Martin Luther's face-off with the Roman Catholic church.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Reformation Day party costume guidelines authorized dressing up as <i>either</i> someone from the Bible or someone from church history. But when I was four, I didn't know enough about the Bible or church history to feel inspired by either of those options. I was really only devout about one thing: my love for elephants. All I wanted was to go to the party dressed as an elephant. Normally I was not a child prone to coloring outside the lines, but this chance of costume glory mattered too much to play it safe.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I got away with my plan by explaining that I would be one of the elephants from Noah’s Ark. No danger of being dismissed as some heathen Halloween zoo animal that way! </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mom obligingly made me an elephant costume. She cut two big elephant ears out of cardboard spray-painted grey and somehow attached them to a grey plastic headband. I made a trunk out of a paper towel tube and string, wore a grey sweatsuit, and accessorized my look with a bag of peanuts. I thought the peanuts were a particularly clever touch. No one else seemed impressed, but you know, life always is rather lonely for those touched by genius.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; white-space: pre-wrap;">I strutted proudly around the church basement fellowship hall, waiting for people to comment on my brilliance and originality -- until my delusions of greatness were shattered by the arrival of one of the “big kids” (probably 12 years old) dressed as the Wittenberg Castle Church Gate, complete with 95 theses. That got a hearty Reformed guffaw out of all the grownups, and there was no way now that a grey elephant was going to top that. I sat down and munched on my unimpressive peanuts. At least my costume came with snacks!</span><br />
<br />Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-30813501587988572202017-10-16T16:36:00.003-04:002017-10-19T08:57:02.543-04:00Back in the Saddle<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I was about seven years old my Auntie Di and Auntie Sue took me and my big sister Emily to the Grand Canyon. I had never been on a big trip and was a bit nervous about the unknown of the plane ride. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My aunts were prepared, though. Once we were in our seats they pulled out markers, coloring books, and paper dolls to keep us too busy to think about flight's inherent potential for disaster. My main concern ended up being with trying to make enough room on my tray table to fit a soda amongst all the paper dolls. This was a pretty luxurious problem to have compared with those I encountered in my daily life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We changed planes somewhere in Texas, and I have one very vivid memory of astonishment at seeing a man actually wearing a bolero tie. I had a caricature of "the western man" in my head - bolero tie, cowboy hat, belt buckle the size of Texas - but here was one in the flesh, actually wearing all of those things! And not ironically!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The aunts had booked a series of hotels and experiences that were completely exotic for a child whose normal sphere of activity was a cul-de-sac. One day we took a trail ride on horseback through part of the Grand Canyon, which realized dreams inspired by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Brighty-Canyon-Marguerite-Horseshoe-Library/dp/0689714858" target="_blank">Brighty</a>. Another day we took a small propellor plane ride over the Canyon. I still harbor some regret related to this excursion. The tour guide who sat on the plane reciting interesting facts about the Canyon was missing a couple of digits from two of his fingers. This was very upsetting to me and made me feel a little queasy. I was a very good little girl and knew that it was rude to stare at or whisper about the deformed hand, so I took the alternate route of closing my eyes and burrowing into my seat so that I wouldn't be able to see it...and I fell asleep. I was flying - <i><u><b>flying</b></u></i> - over a geological wonder of the world, and I fell asleep trying to not notice a couple of missing digits.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part of our stay was at <a href="http://enchantmentresort.com/" target="_blank">Enchantment Resort</a> in Sedona. It stands in my memory wrapped in bands of color: red clay cliffs, dusty violet-orange-blue clouds, hardy green trees and cacti staking their claims to survival in the wild west. Guests at the resort stayed in individual adobe cabins, which was the most exclusive, luxurious thing I could imagine! There was a swimming pool, and a balcony where we could eat breakfast, and a resort restaurant where Emily and I were served Shirley Temples. The importance and elegance I felt as I sipped my mocktail and surveyed the kaleidoscope colors of the desert beggar description. They also helped counter the nerves triggered by my one loose tooth that was at that moment dangling by a slender root, threatening to suddenly dive bomb into my glass and shatter all delusions of grandeur.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My aunts had thoughtfully supplied me and Emily with desert-appropriate gear such as hiking boots, windbreakers, straw hats, and water bottles shaped like fruit (it was the '90s). They also supplied us with essential vittles like Skittles and Sprite to keep us fortified for life on the trail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That trip was one of my early experiences of grace as unlooked-for and unearned generosity, an experience lavished on me purely because the givers desired it for my enjoyment and growth. Only with the perspective of time have I begun to realize the magnitude of my aunts' gift. For years I have longed to go west again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year I turned thirty, and my thirtieth year has so far held a few particularly wonderful, unexpected adventures. In August I married my very own real-life Texan, complete with cowboy boots (though no bolero ties that I'm aware of). After the wedding we rode off into the Utah sunset for a week of new western adventures. Thankfully this trip was not plagued by worries about loose teeth and we dined on slightly more elevated fare than Skittles. But there were all the kaleidescope colors, geological wonders, and humbling mountain views that I could have hoped for. And it was all another experience of grace, getting to share it all with a companion who popped into my life when I least expected it and who daily seeks my good - in small ways and in big ways. We're settling into our new life in a new city, and I'm going to try to get back into the habit of writing. I [clearly] can't promise it'll be frequent, but I promise to try to only add something beautiful, encouraging, funny, or inspiring to your day as I reflect on the sights, sounds, bites, sips, things, and thoughts that grace this new season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-89080604659826298812016-03-24T08:48:00.000-04:002016-03-24T09:24:42.617-04:00Do This<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pastor's words were always the same. Eventually I could predict the inflection of his words and every pause for emphasis. The table would be "fenced": Unbelievers were warned against partaking, with no explanation other than that they might eat and drink judgment on themselves. This was confusing to a child - What sort of wrath could be conveyed by such plain bread and sips of wine? We remained in our seats and waited while the trays were slowly passed around by solemn men in blue blazers. I always leaned in to smell the sweet wine as it passed. It was as alluring as anything one can't have. I watched the adults sip and chew slowly, keeping their heads down and their eyes closed. It was painfully silent. I was too young to understand why this meal was something to desire.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-085fb8b9-a8b3-2871-71eb-2d3fd924d288" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Another church, this one in Philadelphia. An exuberant African-American pastor with sing-songy sermons trembling with thanks for the fullness of life. He would pause at the communion table and wipe the sweat from his glistening face. He would raise the cup high for all to see. "When Christ saves you, He makes you a part of an eternal, international family, and He invites you to join Him at a glorious, joyous marriage feast. Taking the Lord's Supper makes me so excited about the day when we will finally all sit down together with Him at that table." Gazing at the cup, "I take this cup, and I imagine my Savior clinking His glass against mine!" A unbridled, boyish grin as he relished that thought.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A gentle pastor in downtown Washington DC would welcome those who were part of the family for whom this table was spread. Then - something that I had never heard before - he would take time to explain it to those who weren't yet part of that family. He would tell them with love that partaking of this meal was an act of professing belief. If they were not at the point where they could accept and profess the Gospel, then for the sake of honesty toward themselves, God, and others, they should refrain. With love in his eyes and his voice he would tell them how much we all looked forward to the day that they would join us in this meal.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A suburban Virginia church pastored by a Scot completely unlike the dour stereotype. His face is radiant as he welcomes us to the table. He reflects on this gift to our senses and urges us to trust that "As </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">surely</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> as you touch this bread and smell and taste this wine, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">so surely</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">have you been saved.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">" We are no different from the doubting saint who needed to touch the scarred palms. We must touch, smell, and taste to fortify our belief that the news is true. We walk forward - admitting our need with our bodies - and he holds out the bread and wine to us. He looks directly into our eyes, greets us by name, and tells us that this body, this blood, were broken and shed for us. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our host is unseen, but in this meal - and in the different strands of meaning that the churches in my life have drawn out of it - I see Him more and more.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I doubt His generosity, this meal reminds me that in Him we are given the ordinary necessities - bread, a meal. But we are also given so much more; we get beauty and celebration - wine, a feast.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I feel alone, it teaches me that this communal God loves bringing unlikely companions together for a good, good meal.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I fail to rejoice in an ordinary life, it shows me that the almighty Creator with every resource at His disposal is yet content to instill the simplest, most common elements with a world of meaning.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I find the paradoxes of my faith frustrating, this meal reminds me that they are also beautiful. Having something to touch, smell, taste, be nourished by, and enjoy with my boundless family makes me more content with these mysteries. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can an observance so communal also be so intimate? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can a meal that marks history's most unfair death also be a celebration of the greatest news ever given? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How did the Father's turning His back on His Son create a family that knows no bounds? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can a torn piece of bread and a sip of wine form the feast of a King? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can the tangible communicate the divine? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can a broken body be the only bridge to rescue? </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t give an answer. I can only taste, see, and be glad.</span></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-23287380192909598232016-03-07T17:02:00.000-05:002016-03-24T08:55:08.692-04:00The Practice of Practice<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every Monday night I huddle around a desk in the basement of a government building with 10 other people. We pour over sheets marked with complex guidelines and symbols. Our leader sits at the desk writing silently, and we hold our breath in anticipation, knowing that after her last pen stroke she will issue us a new challenge.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-085fb8b9-a8b0-640d-d805-cc36f6476fe1" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s calligraphy class.</span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">In January I began taking a pointed pen calligraphy class taught by an accomplished calligrapher named Lee Ann Clark. Her work is stunning, sought after by celebrities, politicians, and international clients. I don’t know if the 2 ½ hours she spends with us every week are agonizing for her -- the patience it must require for an expert to watch neophytes collide with her discipline! -- but for me, they are a treat.</span><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We’re learning</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKkrt70hCZA" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Copperplate script</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and some of the letter forms are so strange that Lee Ann demos each one before letting us attempt them. We crowd around to watch, so quiet and focused that you could hear a pin drop. We follow her pen as it slowly rounds each curve, building shapes that are so counter-intuitively beautiful and balanced. There is a collective exhale of delighted awe as she finishes, and we return to our work tables ready to attempt to emulate the strokes of a master.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s the same English alphabet we all learned years ago, but in such a slanted, narrow, graceful form that studying it is a bit like being a child all over again. We are training our hands to absorb these strange sequences into muscle memory and trust that they will mean something. Each letter is broken into multiple strokes carefully connected, and it’s a rhythm that feels awkward at first. Even the seemingly simplest letters have gotten the better of me as I struggle to keep lines perfectly slanted and oval shapes consistent with each other.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But we’re told that there is reward in becoming like a child, so I try to push through the embarrassment of missing the mark and being exposed to critique. Adults are prone to grumble against repetition, but children have a bizarre enthusiasm for doing (or watching, or hearing, or saying) things “again! Again! Again!” So I tell myself that it’s exciting to try again if it means applying what I know now after having been wrong the first (or fifteenth) time. And eventually through rows and rows of inconsistent letters, I can see evidence of new understanding and improvement. Learning this new discipline is the most complete experience of receiving instruction, applying correction, and learning to be patient in progress that I have had in a long time. It could be tedious, but there is something enlivening about it...a fresh wind waking up my soul from routine and reminding me that I am not here to be stagnant, but to explore the boundaries of possibility and create something good within them. It is good to be a student of something again.</span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Not that I feel obligated to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">like</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> every prescribed letter form...That J and I are not getting along!) </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Haj2e_f1YKM/Vt3xhYs2ydI/AAAAAAAAC0U/qnsOOC0RRoE/s1600/CopperplateScript.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Haj2e_f1YKM/Vt3xhYs2ydI/AAAAAAAAC0U/qnsOOC0RRoE/s320/CopperplateScript.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-75356056091469178382015-12-17T17:07:00.000-05:002016-03-24T09:59:32.696-04:00To Join the Story<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-d68129b8-b180-8320-0362-3699374cac34"></span><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was 4 years old a trailer began airing on TV for an upcoming Disney movie. I didn’t catch what the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">story</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> was actually about, but I was dazzled by an image of silver spoons diving into a bowl of punch in one beautiful fanning motion. It was the longing of my little heart to see that movie with the SPOONS. (Don’t you sometimes miss the tiny but true-hearted objectives and victories of childhood?)</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-085fb8b9-a8b1-1864-06e4-36ddc097adb8" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day a few months later Mom told us that she would have a surprise for us after all our schoolwork and chores were done. We flew through our duties, ran to the living room, and sat down on the couch in an orderly line, looking as sweet and responsible and deserving as we possibly could. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom walked into the living room holding something behind her. She slowly drew it out for us to see, and it was...THE SPOONS MOVIE (otherwise known as </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Beauty and The Beast</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">). Oh, my heart! What a sublime moment! I hadn’t even </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">told</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> my parents of my interest in seeing the movie ...but mothers have an extra bit of magical intuition and so here it was, our very own copy to watch and memorize and sing along to. As it turned out, there was a lot more to the story than dancing spoons. There was some good stuff about sacrificial love turning hopeless creatures into their truest, best selves.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dad brought home all kinds of movies, too. VHS was still rather new technology for the home, and our parents’ generation was relishing the fun of rediscovering favorites from their childhood to introduce to their children. My heart was so attuned to story and surrendered to it so gladly in every new adventure offered by those black plastic tapes. My siblings grew to dread tv time when it was my turn to pick the movie, because they knew they’d be subjected to either </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Peter Pan</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> starring Mary Martin, or </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dumbo</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. But I followed my heart and my siblings just had to deal with it as I snuggled up into the best spot on the couch, curling up with my knees against my chest and resting my chin on the couch arm. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watching </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Star Wars</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> provoked my first experience of what I later knew, thanks to C.S. Lewis, to call </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">sehnsucht</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I didn’t know how to explain or respond to the way my heart -- even at four or five years old -- ached with longing when the music soared as Luke gazed at the twin setting suns. It utterly disarmed me, this encounter with something that was so beautiful and painful at the same time. This was happy heartbreak, an experience beckoning my soul to something faintly familiar and just out of reach. It tapped the well of longing I had - have - to find and know and prove and preserve beauty. You might laugh that this credit goes to “Star Wars” - it’s ok, I do too - but there it is.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here is why I love movies and why I have no shame being excited about the event that </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Force Awakens</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> already is. Many more prominent and eloquent people before me have written about the importance of story, so I won’t attempt to add much more to that conversation. But I will say that I see in the faces of fantasy fans - and in myself as a moviegoer, history lover, one-time aspiring actress - the intrinsic desire to know that we are part of a bigger story, an epic drama with goodness and truth and the possibility that “nobodys” could matter, a reality in which skeptics become believers and what was splintered is made whole. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Could it be that we could learn from the ones who dress up for movie premieres, who invest in cosplay, who go to ComicCon? I am humbled by their uninhibited imaging of something we all have in our hearts: the desire to join the story, even if at its fringes, and for God (or purpose, or beauty, or belonging, or whatever you call it) to draw near to us. To reference C.S. Lewis again, “We do not want to merely ‘see’ beauty - though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words - to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.”</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is the childlike wonder we’re all advised to reclaim. It is truest awe, amazement that is, in a way, relief -- a ready fall into the arms of something that is beautifully, simultaneously beyond us yet almost in hand.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.3333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sure, it’s just a movie. But it’s a movie that will fill theaters with countless hearts bursting with gladness over a long-anticipated day. There will be some who have waited decades, questioning whether the wonder they experienced once before could actually be real to them again. The trailer even gave them this permission, with one character hinting at legends, question marks in history - and another (formerly a confirmed skeptic) asserting that all of it was true. Sound familiar?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.3333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-d68129b8-b180-8320-0362-3699374cac34" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-alLGMYD61gQ/VnMSLrXaN3I/AAAAAAAACFY/dOfCHbrHisc/s1600/hyperspace.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-alLGMYD61gQ/VnMSLrXaN3I/AAAAAAAACFY/dOfCHbrHisc/s400/hyperspace.png" width="400" /></span></a></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-66262346669720716902015-12-09T14:02:00.001-05:002016-03-24T08:55:53.394-04:00Even the Stones<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For You, O Lord, our souls in stillness wait</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Truly, our hope is in You</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-085fb8b9-a8b1-e2f2-cca5-9c37646785d5" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been singing</span><a href="https://rainforroots.bandcamp.com/track/come-light-our-hearts" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">this song</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> a lot lately, but with a sorry lack of conviction. These days my soul feels anything but still. In this month that is all about waiting, receiving, and rejoicing, I am running on fumes and doing more striving, more burdening myself with impossible standards, more “Why is my calendar so full?” than anything else. I haven’t just reached my limits; I seem to have set up camp there. I would send you a postcard, but the view is a little bleak.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every day I take the Metro to work. The station platform is always filled with unhappy, impatient, tired commuters. So tired - tired of winter, of disappointed expectations, of thankless jobs, of lives that demand more hours in the day to get everything done while the unbending laws of time refuse to oblige. It’s cold and grey and we wonder why we go through all of this. Do those squeaky voices hurling Christmas tunes at us over the radio actually inhabit the same reality we do? Where is all this supposed cozy warmth and glistening romance and relational wholeness? It’s not on this Metro platform, that’s for sure. The view from here is dry and dusty, a hardened shell of hopelessness.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a child I was fascinated by geodes. I didn’t particularly enjoy science but I loved art, and here was some strange product of the earth that had a secret explosion of beauty hidden inside of it, waiting for someone to find it under the grey crust. Perhaps the greater wonder is that the exuberant crystals would be there anyway, showing off, whether or not anyone uncovered them. “Even the stones will cry out…”</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I thought of geodes the other day during my daily wait at the Metro station, wondering if there was anything beautiful underneath or behind or inside of this frosty, foggy striving. Of course Advent tells us that there is. Advent happens when we are at our most dry and grey, daring us to believe that we’re not alone and that there is more beneath the surface. The God who said “Come to me, all you who are heavy laden” first came to dwell among the imperfect and unlovely, packaging the whole glimmering reality of the divine inside a bent and broken form. Advent tells us that one night all heaven broke loose and earth was never the same, and that there are now fault lines running through our hopelessness. Underneath the shell subversive grace moved in and has been quietly building a whole new world in dazzling, gem-like Technicolor. It is there crying out, whether we see it or not as we wait on the platform. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As you camp out at the bitter end of your own ability, and maybe of hope, look closely at the fault lines for the crystal lining breaking through the surface. There grace is crying out a good news that blinds our fears and affirms the deepest hungers of our hearts. It is a blood-red promise that in the end, what awaits us is a life in which activity is worship and rest is celebration. This is our hope and expectation, an upside-down kingdom running under the grey crust of winter like a thousand blinding crystals singing to us, the unlikely witnesses.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.3333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Weary world, rejoice.</span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-75584445084498112032015-10-22T16:45:00.000-04:002015-10-22T16:45:12.189-04:00"I'm a spring person. I only like beginnings."<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I was going to post a roundup of various articles, images, and miscellany I've encountered lately as a little kudos to those who are doing something to voice or repair <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/p/why-fledgling-things.html" target="_blank">the broken circles</a>.</span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But instead of a list (after all, how many more lists does the internet need?), I decided to just share with you this one, beautiful little film called "<a href="http://aeon.co/video/culture/eleanor-ambos-interiors-how-to-build-an-empire-playing-house/?utm_source=Aeon+newsletter&utm_campaign=5873ccaaf0-Weekly_newsletter_Friday_June_266_26_2015&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_411a82e59d-5873ccaaf0-68628329" target="_blank">Eleanor Ambos Interiors</a>", which came on my radar via <a href="http://www.designsponge.com/" target="_blank">Design*Sponge</a>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mULMQ4ms3Bs/VZ5wZ0m442I/AAAAAAAABps/qdR3hvzx39o/s1600/Eleanor%2BAmbos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mULMQ4ms3Bs/VZ5wZ0m442I/AAAAAAAABps/qdR3hvzx39o/s320/Eleanor%2BAmbos.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">© Sasha Arutyunova</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>"I get to see the beauty in different eyes, of different beholders, and it's always amazing...On the same canvas different creatures paint different paintings of their own vision, and I find that really wonderful."</i></span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>"Invention. Invention is really the best."</i></span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Here is the sort of irony we love to encounter in removed, fictional settings for its dramatic power: A woman who has lived her life drunk on the pursuit of beauty, flying against the wind of convention -- now being slowly dragged down in subjection to her body which will eventual deny her the sense of sight, her main access to beauty. But this isn't fiction. This is the real-time experience of a real woman, and there is nothing romantic about the daily choices of attitude and action that she faces.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But here is also a simple and profound example of power as a generative thing. "Power" may not be the word that first comes to your mind when you look at Eleanor Ambos, but maybe this says more about our negative associations with the word than it does about Ambos. <a href="http://andy-crouch.com/#section-Playing-God" target="_blank">Andy Crouch</a> has written and spoken extensively on power as servant leadership for the purpose of ensuring the flourishing of others. We are placed in the world and given creative ability so that all the possibilities of the world will unfold, will flourish, will be fully actualized. We are made to transform the raw material of the world in a way that elicits their "very goodness." As her body begins to limit her own ability to create, Ambos works to ensure that her eclectic empire of beautiful spaces and things will endure to provide other artists with the resources they need to create something new. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This is a sweet, sepia-toned snapshot of power as a generative thing that turns a functional space ("good") into a creative space ("very good"); as the feisty advocate of human creative potential; as humility that delights in the chance to make something possible for others rather than seeking personal gain. Enjoy this film, and then go make something!</span></span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-32026855398319899072015-06-16T07:07:00.000-04:002015-06-16T07:07:04.354-04:00"Trust me. It builds character."<span id="docs-internal-guid-095b5635-fbf9-9d25-0cb9-011087d86027"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qm2iaCooyOo/VYAB5EVxZaI/AAAAAAAABos/oH1PoBpWg2w/s1600/Dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qm2iaCooyOo/VYAB5EVxZaI/AAAAAAAABos/oH1PoBpWg2w/s320/Dad.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A man and his noble hound</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My father, with the silver hair and the voice that makes willing captives of any audience. The mocha-rich, “they don’t make them like they used to” kind of voice that chooses words for their sonorous quality just as much as for their functionality. An instinct for eloquence that enriches the conveyance of information. </span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of his knees is decorated with a long stuttering scar, a 4-inch white flag of surrender to the injury that ended his college football career and with it his days as a Virginia prep demi-god. Sometimes in my parents’ attic I look backwards on grainy 35mm Chuck with the blinding smile and a jersey for every sport. Chuck before the knee held together by titanium and a spirit tamed by Aslan. Chuck whose injuries built a training ground for life with a broken earthsuit.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God does not promise us </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">easy</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> but He promises </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">reward, right standing, a good end.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This was the approach taken by my earthly father, too. Through chore charts and sibling buddy systems and strict TV times he taught us that there are many things in life that are not easy but are worth doing because of their eventual sure reward. You will<a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2014/05/my-fathers-acre.html" target="_blank"> pick all the ripe tomatoes</a> before you can go play, and you will <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2012/02/imsorryiwaswrongwillyoupleaseforgiveme.html" target="_blank">apologize </a>and ask your brother’s forgiveness for hurting him, and you will only watch this much television per day. And instead of scarcity you will find in these things a good life, a life of joy and service and hard work and pleasures more deeply enjoyed because you worked and waited for them. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My father, the repudiator of the doctrine of instant gratification. He taught his children to work and wait in faith, and he leads by example as he now endures an assignment whose end date is unknown. I look at his shoes that will never again be creased from walking and I see a man learning to wait for the restoration of the body that is guaranteed by the deliverance of the soul. </span></span></span><div>
<span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-size: 13.3333333333333px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am thankful for a father who teaches me to value the rewards of waiting -- the qualities of character formed by doing the best that you can and leaning on others when you can’t; the wisdom of perspective that says, “My life is one plot line of a bigger story written by an author I have learned to trust”; and the true rejoicing in victory that looks more like humility than ego. Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.</span></span></span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-35153241836863676002015-04-14T13:27:00.000-04:002015-04-14T13:28:23.907-04:00State of Normalcy: Freedom from Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_dbL0vf9DxU/VSrWgIoVEuI/AAAAAAAABkA/FJDPjqpIhZQ/s1600/if_you_see_something_say_something.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_dbL0vf9DxU/VSrWgIoVEuI/AAAAAAAABkA/FJDPjqpIhZQ/s1600/if_you_see_something_say_something.png" height="203" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The night I dreamed that I had an epic street fight with Halle Berry in the parking lot of a 7-11, after which she stole my car just as a chemical-biological terrorist attack rolled in to wipe out me and every other person in sight, I realized that I might have just the <i>slightest</i> fear issues. (I currently have no issues with Halle Berry. She would never want my dented Volkswagen, anyway.)<br />
<div>
<br />
The really bizarre thing, though, is that chemical-biological terrorism is a very real possibility in this place I've come to call home. So are bomb threats, shootings, political scandal, and blue collar crime. They're so possible that we've adopted some level of fear as normal, like a background song called "National Paranoia" that has played for so long that you've stopped noticing it.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
The motto of one of the first companies I worked for here was "Ever Vigilant." This attitude has its noble and necessary variations in certain sectors, seeing as we've assumed the mission of being the world's beacon of freedom from the fears and evils staining the front page. <br />
<br />
But I've also begun appropriating "Ever Vigilant" as a nice label for what I have observed in many workplaces in Washington: at a deep, interpersonal level we are rotting away from distrust, self-defensiveness, and over-alertness for all the things that <i>might</i> happen. In many ways the Washington, DC workplace is the most fear-driven place you might ever encounter.<br />
<br />
People come to Washington because they want to change the world. The tricky thing is that as work and mission and identity become so entangled, you have more to fear if one of those elements is challenged. It's enough to break your heart, when you think about it: that the very people who seemingly have the greatest achievements to their names and the fewest reasons to fear should be living such small, bound versions of themselves. These are some of the fears lurking amid the accomplished, driven people I've known in the workplace:<br />
<ul>
<li>Work fears: Have I networked enough? Will people define me by my lack of any job? Will I get the promotion? Will they think I'm a slacker if I don't check emails while I'm on vacation? </li>
<li>Social fears: Am I thin enough to be taken seriously? Do I need to be more extroverted? Do I really want to be seen with these people? Will I be where I thought I'd be by age __?</li>
<li>Fear that the wrong people will access information, resources, or allies</li>
<li>Fear of failure: What if they find out that I don't actually know how to do this? </li>
<li>Fear of being wrong: If I admit that I was wrong, they will write me off permanently as incompetent. </li>
<li>Fear of our own choices: If I speak out against this decision, will I be pushed out? If only I had chosen that job over this one... </li>
</ul>
I long for our freedom from these creeping fears that drive coworkers to operate from behind bitter, self-protective shells, only to finally implode and scatter chaos and discord across each of their relationships. This destructive hide-and-seek-and-blame is the exact opposite of what we were made for. <br />
<br />
There is constant talk today about great company culture, environments of trust and collaboration, etc. These are wonderful goals - but we need to remember that trust is not built by great branding, a cool office space, and flexible hours alone. Great cultures free from fear are built by individual heart change. Renewed hearts softened by grace and made wise by time are the ones that don't need to harbor that vigilant paranoia that constantly looks over the shoulder to protect a sense of worth.<br />
<br />
What would it look like to be a truly fear-less leader not driven by dread of disapproval or disrespect? How could approval and respect be earned through means other than manipulation, unethical cover-ups, or blame-shifting? What attitudes and habits do leaders need to intentionally cultivate over time so that they lead their teams from a position of humility, honesty, and care? How can leaders <i>and </i>subordinates cultivate a willingness to see humility as a strength, admission of error as a gift, and failure as a great unveiling of truth? </div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-60450537210331520432015-04-07T08:00:00.000-04:002015-04-07T08:45:41.623-04:00State of Normalcy: Freedom of Acronymed Speech<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something struck me recently as I caught up with an old college friend whom I hadn't seen in three years. It was almost an out-of-body experience; I heard myself describing my job, my commute, and the general experience of life and work in the Washington, DC Metropolitan area with such matter-of-factness. I realized how many things I have come to accept as normal after living and working here for nearly seven years, but that mean nothing to visitors or newcomers. How many words and acronyms have become part of my vocabulary, how many expectations I have adopted about time and systems and resources, how many particular articles of clothing or accessories I'm "supposed" to have in my wardrobe...Some aspects of this adopted normalcy are admirable qualities of DC and its inhabitants/commuters. Some of them are truly ridiculous and could withstand some gentle mocking. So this is where we're headed next on the blog: an exploration of this somewhat precious, somewhat cringe-inducing State of Normalcy.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cal4R_iJvg8/VSLMY9tf6rI/AAAAAAAABjk/slKAPtAyW7M/s1600/acronyms.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cal4R_iJvg8/VSLMY9tf6rI/AAAAAAAABjk/slKAPtAyW7M/s1600/acronyms.png" height="317" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TSIR (The struggle is real)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'll begin with a cursory examination of the dialect spoken by the District's professionals. Whether a 21-year-old Congressional aide desperate to climb the ladder or a disillusioned federal division director just trying to make it to retirement, they have all had to integrate at least some of these words into their vocabulary for survival. Then they go home to Main Street USA for Christmas and realize that no one knows, or cares, what logistics management means.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was going to make this like a super-cool Buzzfeed experience and have you score yourself against this list to assess your level of DC-windbag-ness, but I decided that would be too depressing. Special thanks to my roommates for contributing some gems from their workplaces to this list!</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Circle back - “Can you circle back with Andy to let him know the strategic plan deadline?”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Loop back - “I don’t know for sure, but I will loop back to confirm.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Connect with - “I want to make sure he connects with the VP about the board meeting agenda.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ping - “I just pinged Jeff for an update, but no response yet.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Touch base with - “Hey, can I touch base with you on fourth quarter membership numbers?”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reach out to - “Let’s reach out to his assistant.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Follow up - “I’ll follow up shortly with a calendar invitation to confirm.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">NLT - No Later Than</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">COB - Close of Business (</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>but really they mean right now</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">FYI - For Your Information (</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>= you probably don’t need to know this, but they're forwarding it to you anyway because it makes them feel powerful</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">FYSA - For Your Situational Awareness (</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>= you REALLY don’t need to know this, but they're forwarding it to you anyway</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Heads up - "Heyyyy, just giving you a heads-up that I'll be submitting that presentation proposal today."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the same page - "It just feels like the leadership team isn't on the same page about our strategic priorities."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Leverage - "We could really leverage some of our relationships in the nonprofit arena."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Implement - "They have great ideas but they don't know how to </span><i style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">implement</i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> any of them."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Synergy - "Let's grab a coffee and discuss any possible synergies."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sync up - "I'm CC-ing my assistant on this; she'll make sure we sync up soon."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maximize - "We've got to maximize our resources in the remainder of the quarter."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Front end - "I'm handling all the front end logistics of the conference..."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back end - "...and I need you to be there on the back end to make sure everything goes smoothly."</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Low-hanging fruit - </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This makes me very uncomfortable.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Face time - </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Real life, not the app.</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “It would be really good for you to get some face time with the VP.”</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Take it to the next level - </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What does this even mean, executives? Your minions don’t know what you want.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Drinking from a fire hose - “The new employee orientation was overwhelming; it was like drinking from a fire hose!”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Analytics - “Can you dig up some analytics to make this presentation look vaguely quantitative?”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Baseline/Re-baseline - “You’ve got no slack left in the schedule. We’re going to have to re-baseline this pos.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scope/Scope out - “Can you scope out the problems with the scope? I feel like we have some scope creep issues.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">QA/QC (Quality Assurance/Quality Control) - “So many typos in that slide deck! It’s like we have no QA/QC in this joint.” </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Boil the ocean - “Let’s not try to do the whole system at once. I mean, we’re not trying to boil the ocean here.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Focus group - </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">AKA, we’re going to ask you questions and then ignore your answers.</span></li>
</ol>
</div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-9867991014216705512015-04-05T08:00:00.000-04:002015-04-05T08:00:01.336-04:00Beggars at the Feast<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We come forward to receive something only You could give:</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wine that never sours, a crust that is a feast.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the pouring out, the tearing up, the falling to our knees </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">we know that surely as we taste and see, </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">we have been set free.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-2802862e-1fa1-db28-ea51-b07e6c8a9af9" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We come forward to receive what we do not understand:</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a homeless king of heaven serves beggars at the feast.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A final breath ignites a life that never will expire,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a broken body paves our path, and</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your bondage sets us free.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-26941048709304789862015-04-02T08:00:00.000-04:002015-04-02T11:27:21.924-04:00Morning Prayer: For What You Have Taken Away<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few years ago I taught at a small Christian school where each day began with a brief devotional time called Morning Prayer. Over the two weeks leading up to Easter I'm publishing posts derived from devotionals I shared or experiences I had during that year, all having to do with presence and absence, generosity and loss.</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">-----------------------------------------------------------------</i><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(This doesn't technically belong in a series of morning prayers since it regards a dinner-time blessing, but today is Maundy Thursday and so I'm more committed to a theme than to a technicality.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One winter evening during my year as a teacher one of my co-workers hosted a few of us in his home after school. Our mission was to make egg rolls from scratch, fry them, and eat them while enjoying each other's company outside of work. It was an evening of greasy fingers and spicy fluorescent-orange dipping sauce and boisterous laughter, but it's one quiet moment in particular that has stayed lodged in my mind since that night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We took our seats around the table, mouths watering and poor-teacher-tummies rumbling at the sight of steaming golden rolls. Our host said a prayer to bless the food, ending it with this: "We thank You, Father, for everything You have given us, and we thank You for everything You have taken away."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are many very palatable, easily-swallowed slices of Christianity: Jesus loves me. God is love. The Lord is my strength and my song. But what about the bitter cup? Our voices cease when it is passed to us, stunned or angered into silence. Pain, loss, sickness, death -- how do these match up with the promises we shout with joy (or nod vigorously, depending on your denomination) on a Sunday morning? How is it possible to see these circumstances as gifts?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No one asks for loss. We ask for virtues but not for loss, and there's the rub. Loss is not a soft prompt from an inexperienced teacher. Loss is an assignment from an expert in the field of Human Hearts and Their Ways. Loss is somehow part of grace, and sometimes grace has to cut like a knife, pull us from home, blind us with light so that we see and feel and inhabit the world with properly-aligned hearts. "He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand," wrote C.S. Lewis.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How can I thank You for that heartbreak, for that financial blow, for that loss of a relative I loved? The most I can manage so far -- overdue and torn from a tightly-clenched fist -- is to thank You for what You gave me in return: greater understanding of the frequent chasm between Want and Need. Progress in learning to ask for and receive help. Memories of a friendship that, though brief, was full -- <i>full -- </i>of unmerited goodness I did nothing to deserve or earn. Incentive to explore and enjoy the world the way she did. A somewhat enlarged (though still too miserly) heart for the loved ones who are still here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so gradually in all these lessons in presence and absence, gift and loss, I can begin to see a constellation that tells me truly of the heart of God. It is a heart I want to follow. It is a heart that broke bread with the very man who would betray Him, knowing full well what loss awaited Him but seeing the gift in that loss: the return of sheep to Shepherd, shalom to creation. </span>Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-24897335562617522722015-03-31T08:00:00.000-04:002015-03-31T08:32:16.798-04:00Morning Prayer: Placing a Bookmark<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few years ago I taught at a small Christian school where each day began with a brief devotional time called Morning Prayer. Over the two weeks leading up to Easter I'm publishing posts derived from devotionals I shared or experiences I had during that year, all having to do with presence and absence, generosity and loss.</i><br />
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">-----------------------------------------------------------------</i><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">“But all the fulfillments were somehow, it seemed to me, incomplete, temporary, HURRIED. We wished to know, to savor, to sink in – into the heart of the experience – to possess it wholly. But there was never enough time; something still eluded us.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><i>Sheldon van Auken, A Severe Mercy</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I was a little girl my family had a very good friend named Margaret. Margaret was from England. I hadn’t really been anywhere other than small-town Maryland, so Margaret was the most exotic person I knew. She was FROM the country where so many of my favorite stories were set. When she told us that she used to travel through Sherwood Forest to go visit her grandmother, I just about died from the romance of it all! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Margaret didn’t have children of her own, but she loved the Heidel kids and she loved us well. When it was time for my family to move to the Washington, DC area I remember how Margaret cried. But even more deeply impressed on my memory is what she said as she cried; she talked about how wonderful it was that we’d see each other again in heaven. I’ve thought very often about Margaret and her longing for heaven. I think it was about more than just being free from the pain of this world; it was perhaps also about finally getting back precious relationships that were cut short. She constantly lived in remembrance that we are eternal, and her example showed me how that remembrance can help us through goodbyes.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Life brings many different kinds of partings. Close friends from college fall out of touch and develop lives completely separate from mine. Best friends and siblings move far away to places like Sweden. Beloved relatives are taken by cancer. The DC area in and of itself is simply very transient. TIME just seems to get in the way of everything. I've occasionally wondered if it was worth bothering to invest in other people – or let them invest in me – when I couldn’t even be sure how long they’d be around. The unstoppable movement of time can dampen my pure, unadulterated enjoyment of friendships, causing me to cynically wonder when that friend will move away or this friendship will fall out…as though they are too good to last and because of Time I will never get to FULLY know and enjoy these people.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Somewhere deep in me, a voice rebels. I rebel against my tendency to hopeless surrender because actually, it isn't natural to be so bound by time. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We’re made for a life that is time<i>less</i>, for being in endless relationship. God is in eternity and has made each of us for eternity. Time, this thing that orders our days and makes beginnings and ends, is obviously useful in many ways – but it distracts us from the truth about our relationships. The truth is that a friendship with another person who is destined for heaven is a relationship totally free of an end point. This heightens the joy in our friendships while we experience them and brings some comfort when we lose them.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was very close with my aunt Dianne. A couple of years ago she died from a rare form of cancer. She called me on the phone the night before she died – I think she must have known that she was near the end – and I remember her saying to me, very assertively, “I'm not saying goodbye; I'm saying see you later.”</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">One of the question marks I have to live with is not being entirely sure if she’s in heaven or not, but I’m hopeful that she is…and honestly, those words she spoke to me that night are one reason. Maybe she had finally given her heart to God and realized that death wasn’t the end for her or for our relationship. She’s just going to see me later, and that is so freeing.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Maybe this is all too gloomy for a sunny Tuesday morning! But I mention these things because this Holy Week is all about a sacrificial parting between Father and Son that was not permanent and that resulted in life. I’m mentioning these things because we all have to face partings at some point. I hope this fact that we are not bound by time in the way that we think frees us to pour so much attention and energy into the friendships right in front of us right now – we can’t think about them as investments that might not pay off because we won’t be in each other’s lives forever and ever. Guess what: If you both follow the Son who assumed exile for your sake, you WILL be in each others’ lives for eternity, so even if you only cross each others’ paths briefly on this side of heaven, let that interaction be full of care and zest! You are hikers whose paths overlap for a few miles; you encourage each other to keep going, maybe share water or Cliff bars, and give assurances that the next stretch won’t be too steep. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">But I hope that we are also freed to say goodbyes with confidence, knowing that when God’s people say goodbye to each other we’re really just placing a bookmark there; we’re putting a bookmark between the chapters of knowing each other, and we will pick it up again someday. We have all the time in the world.</span>Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-49240431759373326952015-03-29T14:00:00.000-04:002015-03-29T14:00:00.767-04:00Morning Prayer: The Gift of Presence<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few years ago I taught at a small Christian school where each day began with a brief devotional time called Morning Prayer. Over the two weeks leading up to Easter I'm publishing posts derived from devotionals I shared or experiences I had during that year, all having to do with presence and absence, generosity and loss.</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">-----------------------------------------------------------------</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">My older sister <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2012/02/emily.html">Emily</a> and I went to the same college. This was really fun for me, but really confusing for everyone else on campus; it took some people an entire year to figure out that we weren't twins or a single person who popped up everywhere. One friend remembered passing one of us on the sidewalk one afternoon, saying hello, and then ten minutes later passing the other one of us and thinking, "Wow, she changed clothes really fast!"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">To help eliminate the confusion Emily and I lived on opposite ends of campus during our sophomore year. I was having the hardest year of my life up to that point; not only was my workload overwhelming, but I was also beleaguered by some emotional battles and deep spiritual confusion. I was ashamed of some of the questions I had and didn't know who I could trust enough to voice them to. My loneliness was compounded by living in my own room with no roommate for the first time in my life and hardly ever seeing my big sister due to our schedules. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">On one particularly bad night Emily happened to call my room. As we talked she noticed the weariness in my voice. She said, "Ginny, do you want to come sleep over in my room?"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GeBsqpOB974/VQX3WPS94uI/AAAAAAAABi4/KfZHnz9GJlE/s1600/E%2Band%2BG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GeBsqpOB974/VQX3WPS94uI/AAAAAAAABi4/KfZHnz9GJlE/s1600/E%2Band%2BG.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vintage Emily & Ginny</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">I couldn't have articulated to her everything that was on my heart, but I could pack my things in a backpack and trot across campus to her dorm. We put on a movie, she worked on a drawing, and I just sat quietly. We didn't have an epic conversation solving all my problems, but I experienced the first true rest that I had known in a long time. Not just physical rest - which I needed - but the emotional rest in the presence of another person who loved me enough to give me some of her limited time and space. She couldn't answer all of my questions or eradicate all of my doubts, but she could give me the significant gift of human presence when I needed it most, presence to take away loneliness.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Presence is a gift that is easy to overlook or forget, but it is profoundly powerful. If you've read <i>The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe</i> you might remember how one night Aslan sets out for the Stone Table to give up his life for his friends' sake. On the way he is overtaken by two of them, Susan and Lucy. They know nothing of what he is about to do, but he is bolstered by their momentary company. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><i>"Are you ill, dear Aslan?" asked Susan.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><i>"No," said Aslan. "I am sad and lonely. Lay your hands on my mane so that I can feel you are there and let us walk like that."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few days from now we will remember the night of Jesus's betrayal and arrest. We are told that after supper Jesus and His disciples went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray. Jesus knew what was in God's plan for Him that night. He knew that great sadness and pain were coming. He was about to experience utter rejection, utter loneliness. He knew that the disciples couldn't change or ease any of that - He just wanted them to stay awake with Him through those hours of agonized prayer. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">I can attest to the power of companionship, having been a grateful recipient of it during trials. But I have also found this to be encouraging as the one standing on the side, wishing so much that I could do something to relieve a friend of his or her suffering. It is easy to think that if I lack the "perfect" words or just the right resources to immediately solve the situation, I'm not able to help at all. I hold on to the hope that despite my deficit of wisdom or resources, the ability to serve as a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, or a companion in the silence of grief-filled moments will nonetheless weave something a lifeline of grace. </span></span><br />
<br />Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-48129266035227643982015-03-26T08:00:00.000-04:002015-03-26T08:07:36.799-04:00Morning Prayer: Nothing in Parentheses<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<div style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few years ago I taught at a small Christian school where each day began with a brief devotional time called Morning Prayer. Over the two weeks leading up to Easter I'm publishing posts derived from devotionals I shared or experiences I had during that year, all having to do with presence and absence, generosity and loss.</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">-------------------------------------------------------------------</i></div>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">During the 6 months that I lived in London I took a few days to visit my brother-in-law's family in Sweden. Just a few days before visiting them </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I had been blindsided by a heartbreaking disappointment that was making me question a lot of decisions I had made in the past. I feared that I had made so many mistakes that I had ruined my future and now the rest of my life would have to be Plan B, or C or D... (So dramatic) I also had a big decision looming on the horizon, and my distress over the past paralyzed me so much that I feared making that decision.</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">My brother-in-law's mother, Karin, picked me up at the train station. On the drive back to her house she asked me how I was doing, and I opened up to her. I began describing some of my discouragement over the past. I couldn't make sense of some of the things that had happened to me -- some of the careful decisions I had made seemed to have been complete dead ends. I thought that I had wasted time, squandered opportunities, and probably disappointed God. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zmHySvrAf0E/VPji44Yq2ZI/AAAAAAAABiY/UJOfL1w0XOU/s1600/parentheses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zmHySvrAf0E/VPji44Yq2ZI/AAAAAAAABiY/UJOfL1w0XOU/s1600/parentheses.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Karin is very gentle but also very strong, qualities born of a life filled with adventure and some unexpected sadness. Some things will probably never be explained or make sense until heaven. But she has learned to lean very heavily on the Lord, and when you speak with her you know without a doubt that this is a woman who trusts in His goodness and His plan. She </span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">listened patiently (which was amazing because I was an emotional nightmare), and then she said just enough to remind me to keep a perspective on this situation that was truer and further-reaching than just my immediate emotions. She looked at me and said, "For the Christian, nothing in life is in parentheses." Nothing in life is in parentheses. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">How do we use parentheses? When we write, we use parentheses to include thoughts or information that aren't essential to the whole. They are peripheral, you might say. I was treating some of my decisions -- or their consequences -- as parenthetical, things that in the end didn't seem to make any sense in the narrative of my life. Some of them even seemed to have impeded or derailed the course of my life. Karin's words reminded me of the fundamental difference in God's perspective; to God, my decisions and experiences matter, and they are each a part of His complete plan for me. With a few years' hindsight I can look back and see that some of those things that seemed like dead ends or detours actually were the richest sources of new knowledge of God, new ways of learning through experience that He is patient and powerful and generous and surprising. Even small or "pointless" situations were His intense pursuit -- how on earth could I put them in parentheses? </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Writing this now is deeply convicting, challenging, as I face circumstances at work that tempt me to a despairing attitude about the story that God is writing in my life. Let me remember...Let me trust that whichever direction this story goes, the path is not outside of God's power. No decision I make -- or the impact of others' decisions -- is parenthetical to His plan or can lessen His love for me. N</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">othing is in parentheses. There is always, only Plan A.</span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-85959978346920321022015-03-24T08:00:00.000-04:002015-03-24T08:02:33.398-04:00Morning Prayer: Intense Pursuit<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few years ago I taught at a small Christian school where each day began with a brief devotional time called Morning Prayer. Over the two weeks leading up to Easter I'm publishing posts derived from devotionals I shared or experiences I had during that year, all having to do with presence and absence, generosity and loss.</i><br />
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------</i><br />
<br />
I harbor a cautious favoritism toward this fact of life: that words possess profound power. I cherish that fact because that power can be richly life-giving, and I am cautious because that power can be utterly destructive. I want to tell you about one constructively powerful statement that someone unknowingly spoke into my life during my first semester of college.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
I went to a small Christian college whose curriculum required everyone to take a Bible course. So for my first semester I signed up for the generic “Intro to the Bible” course. I happened to be placed in a section taught by a man named Dale Brantner. Dale was a very warm, caring man with an obvious love for his students; I don’t think he could’ve hidden that compassion if he'd tried. He was a husky fellow with a ginger beard and a big smile, and usually wore cargo pants and hiking boots to class. He was a pastor in addition to being an adjunct professor, but we soon learned that he’d lived a very exciting life before settling down in a sleepy Pennsylvania college town: as a young man Dale had worked as a <i>shepherd</i> in the countryside surrounding Jerusalem.<br />
<br />
Dale's class ended up being surprisingly rich and thrilling because he could bring Old Testament events and locations to life for us. He knew what it meant to spend long nights awake in a cold, open field, listening for any threats against his flock’s safety. He knew what it meant to risk his own physical safety to go after one who was lost. (I loved that as a pastor he was still doing essentially the same thing, just caring for rural Pennsylvanians instead of Middle Eastern sheep.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
Dale also knew Hebrew, so he could help us pull deeper meaning out of texts we thought we knew. One day we were discussing Psalm 23 and came to verse 6:<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">“</span><i style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
Dale stopped long enough to point out that the Hebrew word used where we have “follow” is the word <i>radaph. Radaph</i> means to run after, to intensely pursue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
He then moved on, scribbling notes about something else onto the whiteboard, but I was stuck on verse 6 and had to stay there for a minute.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ohU9DJWk2lU/VPjb3sCq6jI/AAAAAAAABiI/6v0MpIb3b-I/s1600/Joys%2Bmeadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ohU9DJWk2lU/VPjb3sCq6jI/AAAAAAAABiI/6v0MpIb3b-I/s1600/Joys%2Bmeadow.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
At that time in my life I was carrying a lot of emotional "baggage" which I won't detail here. In theory I knew that God loved me, but I didn’t believe He could <i>like</i> me all that much. I didn’t know this yet, but the significance of my 4 years in college would rest less in my major and more in the first experiences of having my understanding of God overhauled. I would begin to re-learn the relationship I could have with Him and how His love for me trickled down deep into the very roots of every part of my life. I think that day in Dale’s class was one of the first steps. I left that day with a glimmer of truth poking through the shroud of lies entangling me; I had a new realization that God’s love for me is active, not passive. It doesn’t distractedly doddle along behind me or sit around waiting for me to engage it. It <i>chases</i> after me. It’s so eager to cover me and make me more like Christ and more united with Him that it relentlessly pursues me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
The years since college have held a lot of great things but also a lot of unexpected loss and hardship. It’s been vitally important to have that moment in Dale’s class ringing in my ears during those difficult times. It is so good to be reminded that the good things in my life but also, equally, the hard things are really God’s pursuit of me. They may not<i> </i>feel like goodness and kindness at first, because that relentless pursuit often means pushing me out of my comfort zone, pushing me away from the things in which I find security. Sometimes goodness and kindness come in storms or in fire or in plagues - whatever it takes to bring me back when I wander, or to keep me close when He sees a threat that I don’t. He has bound Himself to me. He pursues and never stops. He is a good shepherd, and a good shepherd isn't content to passively stand in the background, having promised me "heaven, someday"; He <span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">settles in for the long haul and pursues me with presence and joy and help today. He even ran ahead one night long ago on a hill outside Jerusalem, vaulting Himself into the depths of death so that I would never have to fall that far. I follow this Shepherd because He first pursued me.</span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-75836580562688990212015-03-22T14:00:00.000-04:002015-03-22T14:08:00.688-04:00Morning Prayer: Embarrassed by Mercy<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">A few years ago I taught at a small Christian school where each day began with a brief devotional time called Morning Prayer. Over the two weeks leading up to Easter I'm publishing posts derived from devotionals I shared or experiences I had during that year, all having to do with presence and absence, generosity and loss.</i><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><i>-----------------------------------------------------------------------</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">In 2012 I finished a brief stint living in London and visited a friend who lived in east Germany, a stay which I later blogged about <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2012/04/eine-gute-reise.html">here</a>. I wrote about Kordelia, the woman who visited the Bauhaus with us and then invited us back to her home for dinner. That evening we were overwhelmed by an unending parade of food offered to us -- chips, lemonade, homemade bread, cheese, salad, pizza, dessert, more pizza -- it just kept coming! </span></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was a bit embarrassing to be showered with so much when I was a total stranger to them. With every new offering, I said "thank you." Over and over: "thank you so much!" Kordelia finally stopped, looked at me, and said, "It makes me uncomfortable that you thank me so much...But I guess it would probably make <i>you</i> uncomfortable <i>not</i> to thank me, wouldn't it?" ...Yeeeeeeesssss...</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--e5yrG6uNYg/VPjRuawJg3I/AAAAAAAABh4/jkIyfIpSmDk/s1600/BabettesFeast1987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--e5yrG6uNYg/VPjRuawJg3I/AAAAAAAABh4/jkIyfIpSmDk/s1600/BabettesFeast1987.jpg" height="262" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babette's Feast, 1987</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I grew up in Maryland, and while it wasn't quite the South a lot of my good friends were transplanted southerners, and their manners rubbed off on me. It was drilled into me to say "Yes sir," "Yes ma'am," "Please," "Thank you." I felt very rude if I didn't say thank you. It was rote, habit, but it was subtly chased by the fear of some unspecified consequence for not being "good." Kordelia's words were shocking because of how profoundly she <i>didn't</i> expect or need my thanks. My thanks did not accomplish anything for her. It was simply in her nature to give generously out of what she had been given, for the pure pleasure of sharing. My gratitude wasn't the point. Her hospitality was a gift to me and an opportunity to flex the muscles of who she was in her core. But my excessive, dutiful "Thanks" in a way diminished her own experience of giving -- drawing too much attention to the act. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What is the nature of a gift? It's not a trade. When someone gives a gift to you they aren't expecting anything back. You are free to use it as you choose. Thinking about that evening at Kordelia's helped me realize that I have a similar difficulty with simply receiving God's grace to me. It's actually very hard to receive. I often still feel guilt or embarrassment, as though God will somehow hold it against me if I don't do something to make up for all the trouble He's gone to. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of my favorite books is a short story called "Babette's Feast." It is an amazing picture of lavish generosity to very oblivious recipients. Late in the story, one character (who is burdened by his own regrets and misgivings about past choices) comes to realize that he has just been treated to the most extravagant meal in meager surroundings with simple people. It was cooked by a woman who never hinted at the expense and effort it cost her. Everyone has eaten quietly, receiving what was set before them. It is too late to help in any way with buying or cooking or serving any of it. The man stands up to give a toast and says:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>"There comes a time when our eyes are opened and we come to realize that mercy is infinite. We need only await it with confidence and receive it with gratitude. Mercy imposes no conditions."</i></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These gifts - food, shelter, friendship, the hospitality of strangers, a home for eternity - are given with no conditions. We say thanks not out of duty or fear of disdain, but because this truth is too wonderful to not overflow our starving hearts. We are given daily bread AND so much in addition that is non-essential to existence, because the Giver Himself is infinite; how could an infinitely generous heart stop at only providing essentials? How could an infinitely generous heart impose conditions on the sun that shines on the evil and the good? How could we ever hope to adequately thank, if thanks were the terms of the gift? This is on my mind with the approach of Easter, that day that marks the ultimate extravagant feast which can only be received because it can never be repaid. I hope to live less out of fear and more with my face turned up, gratefully embarrassed by Mercy. </span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-51181531309800493132014-10-05T17:13:00.000-04:002014-10-05T17:13:02.855-04:00Osprey Point<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_cxoyA4XzJw/VDGzGNNFlsI/AAAAAAAABbY/1mM9Lk6GrdU/s1600/IMG_0222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_cxoyA4XzJw/VDGzGNNFlsI/AAAAAAAABbY/1mM9Lk6GrdU/s1600/IMG_0222.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Remember the quickening at the twilight hour<br />
and the quickening again at dawn,<br />
when the light brought word that all is God's,<br />
and all that is God's is yours,<br />
and all is gift.<br />
And so all is gift, in the twilight hour and again at dawn.<br />
<br />
Remember the quickening brought by loss,<br />
prying the dust from your hand<br />
to fill it again with one true thing -<br />
the red thread leading straight<br />
to the heart of God.<br />
And so loss was gift, filling your empty hand with grace.<br />
<br />Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-18160397403486592802014-07-12T22:25:00.000-04:002014-07-12T22:25:12.523-04:00Smells Like Camp SpiritMy earliest memories are set in North East, Maryland, where my dad worked at a riverside conference center called Sandy Cove. We lived in staff housing briefly while our own house was being built, so we often ended up walking down the road to the main hotel building and joining dad for dinner in the big dining room.<br />
<br />
Meals were buffet-style and afforded me a singular opportunity to be an individual and make my own decisions based on my own convictions. Two guiding principles in my life circa 1993 were A) that shrimp were reprehensible and should only be considered for consumption if breaded and fried; and B) that croutons were the only reason to spend any time on the salad bar. So I would typically arrive at the dinner table with a plate of shrimp, proceed to eat all the fried breading off of them, and then shove the offensively fleshy pink curls off onto a greedy sibling. Next I would move on to my bowl of croutons. Just croutons. In a bowl. Maybe some bacon bits too, but mostly croutons. Having enjoyed Carbohydrates Two Ways, it was time for dairy. I made my way to the dessert station and carefully selected the eclair with the best chocolate-to-pastry ratio. <br />
<br />
(I have never been a very competitive person, but in the area of Early Cellulite Reserve Accrual I was a stealthy overachiever and you all have a lot of catching up to do.)<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
At some point during dessert my dad, the hotel's front desk manager, would make his way to the microphone at one side of the dining room to give any announcements. As he tapped a spoon against his glass to get everyone's attention, the entire room fell silent. People turned their chairs to get a better view of Mister Microphone. Fathers paused their tales of the afternoon's shuffleboard victories. Mothers hushed their children's pleas for more chocolate milk. Wait staff stood at attention. Everyone knew that they were about to hear announcements peppered with the finest puns on any Chesapeake estuary, and they wouldn't miss a word of it for any amount of chocolate milk. My father was a celebrity, and I loved being related to a celebrity. Despite my "hand-me-down chic" sartorial sense and my haphazardly-selected eyewear, why yes, I <i>was</i> Chuck Heidel's daughter and how nice of you to ask! It's too bad that we hadn't discovered reality television yet because if we had, I probably could have paid off my student loans by now with royalties from "Real Homeschoolers of Cecil County" seasons 1-6.<br />
<br />
One summer I befriended a girl whose family was attending a conference at Sandy Cove but was staying on the campgrounds rather than in the hotel building. She took me to see her family's camping trailer one day and I felt as though I had befriended a band of gypsies...Here was a family staying in the woods because they <u>wanted</u> to! Chalk my incredulity up to being a very fearful child who assumed that camping involved exposure to bears, and thus should not be attempted. (No one had discovered glamping yet so I didn't know that bear-free camping was an option.) <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-akDoP2_bNKw/U8Hsal8vDHI/AAAAAAAABZs/jIbYkj5fRc4/s1600/photo+(8).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-akDoP2_bNKw/U8Hsal8vDHI/AAAAAAAABZs/jIbYkj5fRc4/s1600/photo+(8).JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smells Like Camp Spirit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometimes we enrolled in the day program for kids of parents attending conferences. The program was called Club Cove and divided kids up by age groups. We assembled each morning in one of eight or so classrooms along a basement hallway that had a distinctive smell - not good or bad, but something uncomfortably in the middle. I've sometimes wondered if renovations over the years have somehow cured the basement of its odor, but am happy to report that I visited today and the hallway still smells very much like 1993. No word on the breaded shrimp and crouton supplies, but if any of the staff see a small freckled girl with very large glasses and a tangled ponytail beelining for the salad bar, I urge them to ensure that she loads up on at least one vegetable.<br />
<br />Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-47365834154562216712014-05-17T22:11:00.000-04:002014-05-17T22:11:37.337-04:00My Father's AcreTwenty-two years ago <a href="http://wheeledwords.wordpress.com/">my father </a>claimed an acre. My parents designed <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2013/01/look-to-land.html">a house</a> to stand on it and express the kind of life they hoped to live. In one corner of that acre they planted a garden, and a solid third of that garden was devoted to tomatoes because Dad said so. As someone for whom "tomato" essentially meant "abhorrent," I never understood why three <u>different</u> types of tomato were necessary or even existed. I have vivid memories of walking begrudgingly across the yard on a summer Saturday morning to pick and bag all the tomatoes that were ripe. This had to be done before I would be allowed to go play. The tomatoes were warm from the morning sun. They were unpleasantly soft; shivers of disgust tingled through my fingers and up my arms. There were bugs crawling on the thin red skin. This tomato love affair was something I could not begin to understand.<br />
<br />
Potatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins, and green beans also wrestled their way out of that tough earth, despite the fact that all the good topsoil had been removed when the old farmland was parceled out years before. The pumpkins were downright unruly, reaching their vines beyond the border of the garden and weaving themselves through the fence, finally settling to the ground so the actual squashes grew in the neighbor's plot. The potatoes were my favorite; my <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2010/03/we-are-learning-all-of-life-now.html">Aunt</a> <a href="http://fledglingthings.blogspot.com/2010/03/we-are-learning-all-of-life-now.html">Dianne</a> would come to visit from Philadelphia and would teach us how to make really good potato salad from scratch. She was a classy broad, a city woman who had spent years traveling the world as a buyer for department stores -- but she was at heart still a mid-westerner, the descendant of emigrants and farmers who had a fierce work ethic and good, simple, straightforward tastes borne of earning survival. That potato salad was good because we made it ourselves.<br />
<br />
Our neighbors to the right, the Bakers, would mow their lawn every week or so and then, per an agreement with my dad, would empty the lawn mower bag over the fence into our yard. We would then haul the grass clippings across the yard and down to the back left corner of the wildflower field, where Dad had designated a compost pile. The grass was warm and steaming. It smelled -- oh, it reeked -- but this was a thing that would help our garden grow, and this was one way Dad could teach us that work and routine are a part of flourishing, even if the work is smelly and delays play time and mostly produces tomatoes. <br />
<br />
The older I get, the more I think about the fact that someone broke ground and tilled earth and planted and watered and waited and prayed in order for my life to be possible. Someone made the decision to leave home (England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Germany, France) and be the stranger, to struggle through the humiliating process of learning a second language, and to decide where his descendants would be born. A lot of daily labor and daily uncertainty -- work, routine, and risk -- formed the basis of what is possible for me. By no means have I inherited my father's partiality toward tomatoes, but may I grow more willing to work in a way that is infused with hope, patience, and borderline-obsessive delight in their result.Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-78750092391221930422014-05-08T21:00:00.000-04:002014-05-08T21:03:25.693-04:00Seven Sisters<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stars are born, stars will die,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">but
they've told the same stories </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">since the <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">very first night.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They've told
us of a hunter,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">they've
drawn an endless drinking <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">cup</span>,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">they've painted wide in southern skies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">a glowing
cross for pilgrim eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have watched them rise and fall,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've read
the silver tales -<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">but
there's one I love <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">best</span> of all:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Seven Sisters standing close<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">singing
joy into the sky;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">windows in</span> the dark<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">letting</span> glory shine through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A constellation firm in place,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">the glowing
net for all my cares<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">recites a Maker's power</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">on the
nights I need to know<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">that
someone looks on me with love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">and that
beauty can outlast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">all the
wars we wage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have
watched them rise and fall,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've read
the silver tales -</span><br />
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">but I love
the Seven Sisters best of all.</span></div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-86443250208265164322013-11-09T08:52:00.000-05:002013-11-09T08:53:34.004-05:00Picture DayThursday was picture day at work, and I bothered to curl my hair. Normally I'm a basic ponytail kind of girl, but when one's image will end up on the company website, one wants to make a bit of an effort. <br />
<br />
But I shouldn't have bothered, as it turned out, because the Red Line -- even on a good day, the arch-enemy of anyone aspiring to be punctual -- was single-tracking between several of its busiest stops during the morning rush. So instead of making a quick and easy transfer at Gallery Place-Chinatown and riding two stops to Farragut North, I found myself channeling the noble sardine on an increasingly packed platform, "hmph!"-ing and aggressively staring down the arrivals board with everyone else. But after about ten minutes and with no train even listed on the board, I realized that I could probably walk to work in the same amount of time it would take to wait for a train with room for me.<br />
<br />
So I glibly set off, beginning my journey at 9th & G Sts NW. My sunny, "what-ho, world!" attitude was significantly diminished after about 6 blocks, when I realized that I was sweaty and flushed, and my hair was the visual definition of frizzy.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I was over it by the time I hit McPherson Square, the locale of my second job out of college, the one where I went on lots of travel and made some awesome friendships and ended up a bit heart broken, but also (hopefully) a bit wiser. I can't walk by that square without feeling equally excited and paranoid; excited at the thought of running into someone I know, and paranoid about...running into someone I know! Sure enough, I ran into someone I knew. I wasn't sure if he would remember me, but he stopped, pulled out his earbuds, and smiled wide. We caught up for a few minutes and were happy for each other; we're both in better situations than we were back then. We parted, and I smiled because I realized that it's actually really nice to suddenly have worked in one city long enough that you know a few of the faces in the crowd and have even a brief shared history with them.<br />
<br />
That was a nice thought to muse over as my aching feet carried me the remaining 9 blocks to 20th & M. I tied my unruly mane back into the inevitable ponytail and had my picture taken. It will go up on the website of my new company, along with all the faces of the people I'm starting to get to know, the people who will be characters in the DuPont Circle chapter of my life in DC. Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770746206397582997.post-66759976070287371142013-10-14T15:52:00.000-04:002013-10-14T15:53:18.569-04:00House Beautiful (Not the Magazine)<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"It's like being at home and on a holiday at the same time, if you understand me." - Sam Gamgee, upon arriving in Lothlorien (The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring)</i></div>
<br />
What does the word "hospitality" bring to your mind? Maybe you think of comfort-food casseroles and church potluck committees, or maybe you recall sterile hotel rooms. Those are all good things, but I can't help but think that the meaning of hospitality is broader than casseroles and more intimate than an industry. It does include meeting material needs like shelter and nourishment, but also a heart attitude that is ready to listen and ready to play a part in the bigger picture of an individual's sojourn through life.<br />
<div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wDPAJsO0IPU/Ulw9kANvN-I/AAAAAAAABRA/5anDT9vDofI/s1600/Kramer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wDPAJsO0IPU/Ulw9kANvN-I/AAAAAAAABRA/5anDT9vDofI/s400/Kramer.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The impromptu generosity of <br />
newly-made friends, Florence, 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was recently inspired by an example of hospitality in, of all things, an old allegory written by an imprisoned 17th-century English tinker: John Bunyan's <i>The Pilgrim's Progress.</i> Said to be the most widely-read book in history after the Bible, it's the story of a man named Christian who leaves his home to go on pilgrimage to the Celestial City. After many dangers and a struggle up a difficult hill, Christian happens upon a beautiful stately home called House Beautiful. It is inhabited by Watchful, Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and Charity who, after learning that he is traveling to the land of the Lord they serve, invite Christian inside and insist that he receive their hospitality. </div>
<div>
Yes, they put a roof over his head, but they also have significant interactions with him that reveal a few key components of holistic hospitality:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Conversation</b>: They ask him questions about his history, journey, family, struggles, and things that have helped him.</div>
<div>
<b>Food</b>: They sit down to a rich meal together.</div>
<div>
<b>Shelter and rest</b>: They give him a bedroom called Peace. Upon waking, he marvels, "Where am I now? ...[I] dwell already the next door to heaven!" I love this exclamation -- it reminds me of times when I've been so ragged in body and soul that just one good night of rest feels like arriving in paradise!</div>
<div>
<b>Encouragement and context</b>: They show him records and trophies of other great saints. I think this is so important, because they are both acknowledging and reminding him of the fact that he is part of a fellowship of people who have made the same journey. He has a role in a larger context, and that legacy imparts courage to him.</div>
<div>
<b>Generosity</b>: They urge him to stay an additional day so they can show him a view of the Delectable Mountains and fit him with armor, to further encourage him for the trek ahead. Knowing what he faces, and knowing they have resources that can help him, they want him to stay even if it encroaches on their normal routine. (Shortly after leaving the House Beautiful, Christian meets a horrific beast named Apollyon and is able to defeat him because he is equipped with his new sword and armor.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've sat at dinner tables in Germany, Sweden, England, and Italy where I was welcomed and fed simply because I had one friend in common with the host, and that was good enough reason for them to make me a friend, too. No matter the level of material splendor those homes had or didn't have, I look back on each one of them as a House Beautiful that gave me a meal, a pause, a conversation, and another piece of armor for the rest of my journey. Sometimes I was given advice or encouragement that I didn't even know I needed, but would help me later.<br />
<br />
As you look back on the years you've traveled so far, have you encountered such places? Where have you been enfolded into the lives and love of people you haven't previously known well or at all? Having been the guest in a House Beautiful, how might you provide such a space for other sojourners? How different could our world -- even just our little corner of it -- look if we brought hospitality home a little more often, having a coffee date or happy hour in our home now and then, rather than only meeting in neutral public spaces? I love dining out, don't misunderstand! But I do think that home space holds incredible potential to open up heart space, and I want to try to take greater advantage of that.</div>
Ginnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224485172074802097noreply@blogger.com1