Against a Brick Wall

Yogurt Waffles

2011-10-30T18:35:00.004-06:00

So, this week's share comes with the following:

1/3 lb lettuce mix
1/2 lb spinach
1 bunch Tokyo turnips
1 bunch French breakfast radishes
1 bunch of arugula
1 pint yogurt
1 7oz container of garlic-herb chevre
1 dozen eggs

The first meal using the share was yogurt waffles and fried eggs for breakfast this morning. Some of our CSA members have commented that they don't eat yogurt, or on occasion forget that they have it and are concerned that it may be too old to eat. I LOVE yogurt, especially our goat milk yogurt, so I seldom ever have a problem considering how to use it. I'm happy to have it with a little honey for breakfast or an afternoon snack. However, yogurt, like buttermilk is great for baking, acting as a leavener to give bake goods a nice fluffy appearance and texture.

Here's the recipe for yogurt waffles:
1 1/2 cups flour
1 Tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tsp honey
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups yogurt (plain, whole milk is our preference)
1 Tsp cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat waffle iron. Mix flour and baking powder and set aside. In a separate bowl, mix the remaining ingredients. Add wet ingredients to the dry, mixing just enough to get the batter blended. It will be thick. Do not over stir the batter. Doing so will make the waffles tough.

Add a little oil to the waffle iron, pour batter on (1/3 cup for standard size waffles). Waffles are done when they are a light brown. Once cooked, enjoy with yogurt and fresh fruit or with butter and maple syrup.

This recipe makes 10 standard size waffles. Though we don't eat that many, I cooked all of the batter and froze the leftover waffles. They'll be good for a quick breakfast another day, placing them in the toaster to heat them up.

Yogurt works well as a replacement for buttermilk in most of your favorite recipes. I use it in corn bread, biscuits, Texas chocolate sheet cake. Oh, sheet cake! That sounds good!

Sunday meal planning for the week of Oct 2-8

2011-10-02T14:42:00.009-05:00

Sundays are our weekly meal planning days. We take inventory of what we have already, look at the calendar to see what who is available and for how long to fix dinners, and then we decide what we’ll have each night. A new commitment to having healthy, low cost options for lunch at work means that I will also be considering what I can cook that will ensure leftovers, or what I can prepare ahead of time to have on hand to take to work. Once meals are planned, we make a list of the things we need from the grocery store (we can’t, after all, provide our own flour yet!). This is an especially important step for us, though we aren’t always good about sticking with it, because we are 9 miles from the nearest grocery store. Although I do pass several on my commute to and from work, our time is limited enough that making one trip for all that we need for a week really helps. We’re trying to get better about that.

I did an inventory today. I walked through the kitchen with a pad and pen and wrote down all that we had on store that could be used for meals. It took about five minutes to do it, and already that five minutes has saved time (and, I suspect, money) on the meal planning front. While doing the inventory, I was able to identify several things that I could potentially make this week. Here’s what we’ve got to work with:

CSA Share

The shares provided a lot of fun stuff to work with this week….some of my favorite things since it’s greens season.

½ pound of broccoli rabe and/or ½ pound of Asian braising mix (contains bok choi, red mustard, pea shoots, and broccoli rabe) (My share has both so that I can provide recipes for each.)
½ pound of baby arugula
7 oz each of a choice of two cheeses: feta, cottage cheese, plain chevre, jalapeno chevre, and garlic herb chevre (My share has feta and cottage cheese.)
A few sweet peppers and/or two servings of okra (My share has both, again to provide recipes that use each.)
1 pint of yogurt
½ gallon of goat’s milk
1 dozen eggs

Pantry

Here’s what we already have on hand in the pantry (not including spices, oil, etc.):

Sweet potatoes
Potatoes
Onions
Garlic
2 cans of crushed tomatoes
Corn meal
Flour
White rice
Brown rice
Pinto beans
Great northern beans
Spaghetti noodles
Polenta
Barley
Lentils
Dried morita chilis

Freezer

Our freezer is a little bare right now, except for a few frozen roasted peppers from last summer (2010) which probably should be thrown out, a couple of pounds of pork fat, and several packages of lamb ribs, about three or four bites of homemade salted caramel goat’s milk ice cream in two containers that need to be eaten or thrown out, and Lisa’s empty ice cream bowl and spoon (when you have an ice cream craving, you don’t want to have to walk the extra steps to the cupboard, you know).

This Week’s Plan for the CSA Share

So here’s what I plan to do with the CSA share this week:

The ½ pound of broccoli rabe will be braised with an anchovy paste and served with creamy polenta and marinara sauce. This will feed the two of us for dinner and provide some leftover for lunch the next day.
I’ll make an Asian salad with the Asian braising mix (it’s young and tender and can be eaten raw) with miso dressing and serve it with fried tofu and rice. Again, it will serve the two of us for dinner, and provide some leftover for lunch.
The arugula and peppers will be used for two salads for lunch and one for dinner to be served with pan-fried okra, lentils and rice. The rule in our house is that salad dressing has to be homemade, so I’ll post a recipe for a basic dressing.
I’ll take the cottage cheese to work to have on hand for a quick afternoon snack.
Eggs and yogurt are for breakfast.
Goat’s milk will be used in coffee and will be heated with vanilla and honey or almond extract and honey for a warm evening beverage before bed. I may use it for other things as well.

Pictures and recipes will be posted as I cook this week. What are you planning for meals?

A year of eating seasonally

2011-09-25T15:22:00.003-05:00

The conversation usually starts something like this:

Lisa: What do you want for dinner?
Linda: [After a quick mental note that “I don’t know” usually results in disappointed glares] Ummm…what do we have to cook with?
Lisa: The usual. The same kind of stuff we harvested for the CSA. Cheese. Eggs. Lentils. Rice.
Linda: Well, I could make lentils and rice with feta. That’s one of my favorites.
Lisa: Why don’t we have soufflé, braised greens, and some roasted potatoes.
Linda: Sure, that sounds good. I’ll make the potatoes.

What’s behind all of this, of course, is the difference between the way an average cook, used to shopping in a grocery store for what she fixes, a wide array of options available to her on the shelves of the store, anything to feed whatever craving may strike, and a trained chef, who has the creative ability to see a fabulous meal in the oddest combination of ingredients, function when it comes to meal prep. Unless I plan ahead and know exactly what I’ll be fixing and can assure that we have the ingredients on hand, I’m stumped, driven only by a craving that can’t be satisfied, or so I think, and unable to see a simple, healthy meal in the beautiful food growing in the garden. I want to get over that stuckness and expand my cooking skills enough to have a much wider repertoire of dishes I know how to prepare so that I can more fully participate in meal preparation at our house and more fully live into the values I claim and which drove my desire to be closer to the source of my food.

I live on a farm, with a farmy chef for a partner who raises all (and, believe me, I mean all…well, almost all, until she figures out how to raise crab in the ponds out here) of her favorite foods. I have an abundance of good, healthy food at my disposal and all too often I’m struck with culinary dumbness. I have no idea what to fix for dinner and after 15 or 20 minutes of mulling it over, by which time I’m usually starving, I’m ready to go out for cheap Mexican in the next town over, food made tolerable only by the immediate gratification of chips and the slightly spicy ketchup with passes for salsa and the dulling of the margarita consumed before the food arrives. That’s a habit I want to break. I have much better use for that $25.

We are a farm that operates largely from a CSA model. CSA stands for community supported agriculture. The idea behind the CSA is to have a community of consumers who wish to support local, small farmers and have access to good healthy fresh food on a regular basis. CSA members pay a fee at the beginning of planning and planting for a coming season. In exchange, they receive a weekly share of the harvest. Being a CSA member requires a person to be willing to cook 4 or 5 nights a week, to try new things and be open to whatever is available seasonally, and to understand the highs and lows of farming, such as the effects of extreme heat on the egg production of laying hens or the rampant infestation of squash bugs on the zucchini and squash harvest.

I have asked Lisa and Kathleen to harvest an extra CSA share each week beginning next week. That food will serve as the basis for my meal planning for the week. I plan to do this for a year. So, in effect, it will be a year of eating seasonally. I know that the CSA share does not cover all meals for an entire week and so there will be room for the occasional out of season, not local indulgence, but the discipline of cooking with a CSA share should help me focus on learning better to prepare meals using the bounty of the farm, and thus, to better live into the values that led me to a life of farming to begin with. I’ll share the experience here, including pictures and recipes, what worked, what didn’t, solicit ideas, and provide a space for our CSA members to exchange ideas as they seek to be as creative with their shares as well.

So, stay tuned for my new culinary adventure. You might find some interesting recipes. You might learn a lot about what NOT to do. I suspect you’re pretty much guaranteed an occasional laugh, and who knows, maybe someone else out there will be inspired to live much closer to the source of their food.

The ridiculousness of hope: A sermon for the fifth week of Lent

2011-04-07T15:30:00.004-05:00

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Audio recording of this sermon delivered in Meinder's Chapel at Phillips Theological Seminary, April 7, 2011.

Is there a more vivid image of utter hopelessness than a valley full of dry bones? The lifeless structure of what has been, left behind, bleached and brittle, nothing more than a reminder of what has been lost. It is not just a scene of death. It’s a scene of annihilation, perhaps a battlefield or the scene of a horrible disaster. The explanation for the bones’ presence in the valley is unimportant. The vision of the dry bones is given for its impact on our psyche, for the feelings of hopelessness that it evokes. Unlike Lazarus, in the gospel text for this week, who has been dead a mere four days and, in the words of the beloved King James English, stinketh, the life that inhabited those left behind in this scene of destruction in Ezekiel is long gone. With Lazarus, we’re tempted to think like the wise Miracle Max from the movie The Princess Bride, “He’s not dead….he’s MOSTLY dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead there’s only one thing you can do. Go through his clothes and look for loose change.” Lazarus still had flesh and muscle and sinew, signs that blood flowed through his veins and breath through his nostrils, an indication that maybe life could return, a ridiculous prospect, true, but perhaps more believable than seeing the potential for life in dry bones.

Have you ever known hopelessness? The kind that sucks the life out of you, sapping you of any energy, leaving you wondering if you can go on. Perhaps you’ve seen it in others when tragedy strikes or when years of suffering and struggle catch up with them and begin to turn their vision away from the future and back to the past. Hope, in the words of pastoral theologian Andrew Lester, is “the configuration of cognitive and affective responses to life that believes the future is filled with possibilities and offers a blessing.”[1] He explains that theologically speaking, it “describes a person’s trusting anticipation of the future based on an understanding of a God who is trustworthy and who calls us into an open-ended future.”[2] There are times when that sense of God is lost and when the future seems overwhelming, for it,in our mind,promises nothing more than what we’re already experiencing, more suffering.

Ezekiel explains to us in this passage that he is speaking of Israel. We understand that Ezekiel’s vision came at the period in the history of the Hebrew people when their nation had been destroyed and they’d been sent into exile. All that they had hoped for as a people was lost. The future no longer held for them any possibilities. Their trust in God’s goodness and justice was lost.

How does it feel when you’re confronted with hopelessness? What goes through your mind on your way to sit with a family who’s suddenly lost a loved one? Or when someone talks to you about their experience of being without work for months? What about when you see children and youth caught up in cycles of violence and abuse?

What must it have been like for the prophets, like Ezekiel, looking at the destruction and hopelessness of the people of Israel? When I stop to consider the times when I’ve looked hopelessness in the eye, Ezekiel’s vision takes on a distinct quality of ridiculousness! Speaking to dry bones of life? Saying words of hope to the hopeless? Sometimes ministry is ridiculous. It calls us to trust in a transfinite hope, to use a concept from Andy Lester again, one that defies reasoning, a hope and trust in a God we are sure keeps promises of deliverance, liberation, and salvation. It assures us that what is now will not always be. That trust compels us to stay present with those who are suffering, to offer the smallest dose of hope that can be tolerated.

The process of bringing the dry bones to life in the Ezekiel text mirrors that of the creation stories in Genesis. First the body is created, then God breathes into the form the breath of life. The measured way in which the dry bones are returned to life reminds us that the process of returning to hope is one of recreation, enlivened by the spirit of God, and the minister’s task sometimes is simply to speak the ridiculous words of life in the midst of lifelessness, to be a non-anxious presence, sites fixed on the future promised by a God who does liberate and save.

Now, before we get too excited about participating in this work of restoring hope, I want to ask us to slow down and make an observation about this passage’s presence in our Lenten journey. There’s some introspective work required here, I believe. If we have any expectation whatsoever about staying with the hopeless in their efforts to regain hope, we must first face whatever hopelessness exists within us. There is a risk in life that we get so preoccupied with the tasks facing us in the present that we bury our own hopelessness, paying no attention to it, ignoring it because to look at it carefully is to feel our very breath being sucked out of us. What makes you hopeless? What steals your confidence in the possibilities for the future? Where do you need to experience the breath of God blowing through you like a strong Oklahoma spring wind, fueling fires that burn up all that’s dead, making room for newness and life? Are you willing to uncover it and face it?

You see, we’re getting close to Easter, a time when the focus is on resurrection. Many of us sitting here is this room right now know the dread that comes every year, that dread of focusing on something we’re not really sure we believe in anymore. We get caught up in theological arguments about where the notion of Jesus’ resurrection originated, was it in an actual true event? Or was it a story told by those closest to him for any number of reasons? And while I am the first to line up for a good a theological debate on this very issue, I wonder if our preoccupation with it doesn’t sometimes keep us from believing in resurrections that are truly possible for us right now, ones that come when hope is restored in what seems to be the most hopeless situation. The person who has been hopeless and has experienced the return of hope knows resurrection is real. If we don’t confront the hopelessness pushed aside in our own lives, we will never have the confidence to stand as Ezekiel, calling forth the breath of God from the four winds to restore life where it seems it will never exist again. Are you willing to do that? To make yourself truly ready to hear the message of resurrection when we get to that empty tomb on Easter morning?

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Lester, Andrew D. Hope in Pastoral Care and Counseling. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995.

[1] Andrew D. Lester, Hope in Pastoral Care and Counseling (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995), 62.

[2] Lester, Hope in Pastoral Care and Counseling, 62.

Exposing the editor in my head

2011-01-06T06:10:00.000-06:00

I wish I could download the dialogue going through my head right now. Exposing it might shut it down. Let me give it a try:

Linda the blogger: I wonder what I should write about today.
Linda the editor: Don't write about the farm. People are going to get tired of hearing about that.
Blogger: I doubt they're getting tired of it.
Editor: Okay, maybe they aren't but people at work might think you don't like your job anymore.
Blogger: Why would they think that?
Editor: All you ever write about is the farm.
Blogger: That's silly.

Am I the only one who has conversations like this in my head? I know better than to pay attention to them, but I'll admit to getting shut down by them from time to time. Sometimes the conversation doesn't even get past "What am I going to write about?" The thought of arguing with the editor in my head is too exhausting, so I move on to reading the newspaper or Facebook or something else entirely and give up on writing. I thought I'd write about this craziness today in an attempt to steal some of the editor's power and move beyond getting shut down. I'm not looking for advice. I know what to do. I'm just being honest about what goes on in an attempt to change it.

I think I have to make up my mind that writing is my choice. Whether or not anyone reads it is her or his choice. Writing for me serves a purpose well beyond entertaining a reader. It's a way of capturing my experience in the world and making meaning from it, however tentative and fleeting that meaning may be. To the extent that it connects with someone else, a reader, is going to vary from time to time, but that doesn't make the process any less valuable to me. Like all good disciplines, just doing it on a day when the greatest meaning I find is "Well, I did that," helps ensure that I will be where I need to be to do what I need to do when the times come for finding treasure in my experience, for new understanding to emerge out of the words that flow from my mind onto the computer screen or paper, sometimes with barely any consciousness of them before they appear in front of me.

Commuting

2011-01-04T06:07:00.003-06:00

I did a quick interview with a local radio station yesterday. A friend texted me saying a reporter he knows was looking for someone who commutes into Tulsa from a rural area. He wondered if I'd be willing to talk to her. I agreed to do it.

It was a short interview, only about two minutes, maybe three. She wanted to know how far I commute, why I do it, whether or not I have any special vehicle, and how I pass the time. What more is there to say about commuting? Not much, but I'm blogging about it anyway.

I commute 100 miles round trip four days per week. I don't really think about it much anymore. I do it because we have this amazing opportunity to lease the farm we're on, a place that's a great match for what Lisa does. Anytime I get bummed about how far I have to commute and how much time I spend in the car, I think about the cabin where we hold the dinners and the ohs and ahs of guests when they see it for the first time. I think about walking in the woods when there is time for a hike. In my mind I see sheep grazing on rotation and goats running up from their pasture when I call them. It's really hard for me to stay bummed when I think about all that I have here. A long commute is a small price to pay.

The thing the interview didn't touch on (it was a FOX news radio station, after all) is how I feel about the environmental impact of my driving. I really regret that part of it. It runs counter to what we're about on the farm. I have a truck. I've toyed with the idea of trading for a more fuel efficient vehicle, but then I think about all the times that it helps to have both trucks here. I start doing the math and realize, while I could save some money, a more fuel efficient vehicle will not be so significantly less that it's worth giving up the value of having the other truck on the farm. I don't know of anyone in this area who commutes into Tulsa, so at this time, carpooling is not an option, though it's something that I remain open to if I make the right connections. If I had the extra cash, I'd consider a compressed natural gas conversion for my truck, but I don't so that is not an option right now either. For the time being, I'm stuck being a gas-guzzling, long commuter.

Any thoughts on other ways I could cut back on the environmental impact?

A change of pace

2011-01-03T06:08:00.008-06:00

It's been a quiet week on the farm. I've been home for 10 days, except for a couple of days early last week when I went up to my mom's. Lisa and I have relaxed a lot and while I don't doubt we needed it, there were a few moments when we got a bit stir crazy. Apparently we like to be busy.

One day from last week illustrates the change of pace. Lisa worked in the greenhouse and I did odds and ends around the farm. We knew there was a hole in the fence where the goats were getting out. It hadn't been a huge cause for alarm. They always come straight to the back yard and stand by the gate until someone let's them back in the barnyard. Nevertheless, most of them are pregnant and a little on the wide side. We had some concerns that a couple of them might get stuck trying to get through or under the fence. So, I went in search of the hole.

Ordinarily, such a search happens an hour before both of us are about to leave for the day. It's a little frantic. When the hole is found, everything within 20 feet of the hole is fair game for blocking it until a couple of hours can be spared to fix it properly. The repair is made and then we dash off to whatever demands our attention next, praying the fix holds and we don't return to find goats in the hen house or garage.

On this day, I headed out to the pasture and noticed that Jai, the miniature dachshund was following me, on the other side of the fence, right into the woods that border the pasture on the south side. Coyotes live in those woods, so it's not a good idea for him to go traipsing around in them. I went out the gate and around the fence to the area where he was now chasing a rogue chicken. The hen was running wildly in circles around and through the trees, doing her best to lose him, but he matched her step for step, paying no attention at all to my calls. I called and called. Nothing. He disappeared for a few minutes and after what seemed like an eternity, reemerged, head high, panting and tail wagging. A tired chicken could be heard squawking in the background. Jai sat down 20 feet away from me and refused to come. I took one step toward him and he started running around again, so I stopped and waited until he was tired of his game and finally came to me. I picked him up and took him to the house.

On my return to the pasture, the goats followed me out. I walked slowly along the fence line and found a spot not far from the barnyard. It's an area where water rushes into a dry creek after it rains. There has been a lot of erosion. The dirt under the fence crumbled away just enough to allow for the goats to get out. A couple of the goats were curious about what I was doing. I stood back to watch what they did around the hole. One pawed at it and started to go under, then turned and saw me and pulled back. I knew then that I had the place they'd been using.

I pulled the fence down, took a thick branch that had fallen to the ground, weaved it through a few sections of the fence and pulled on it until it weighted the fence down and kept it at ground level. Then I put some other debris in front to prevent the goats from breaking my fix. Two or three of the goats hovered around me while I worked, occasionally nudging my arm, an attempt to distract me perhaps or just to beg for a little attention. Goats are curious animals, never satisfied to leave us alone if we're anywhere close.

With nowhere in particular that I had to be after I finished the "repair," I turned my attention to the goats. I sat on the ground and waited for them to come to me to rub their necks and jowls. Several crowded around me, butting others out of the way to get to a position in front of me. I love sitting where I can look them in the eye and see the soulfulness deep inside each animal. It's a treat to spend that kind of time with them, but such moments usually have to be stolen here and there. On this day, I had no concern for the work that was being neglected while I spent time with the animals. It was pure pleasure.

While I was occupied with a few of the younger goats, I looked up to see Teeny Tiny, one of our milk goats, head for the place in the fence where the hole used to be. She stood staring at it for a good while, then pawed at it, trying to get the branches and debris out of the way. Obviously, she's the leader of the break outs. I have suspected as much. Frustrated with my work, she gave up and turned to a broken down round bale of hay. A chunk of the bale rested on the ground, creating a small hill. She climbed on top, ready to challenge any goat who dared to get up there with her. Others grazed nearby, eating dried leaves and the occasional acorn off the ground. I sat back and watched, feeling the warm sun and breeze on my face.

Reverb 10: Gift

2010-12-30T09:31:00.004-06:00

Gift: This month, gifts and gift-giving can seem inescapable. What’s the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year? (Author: Holly Root)

Early in the year one of our CSA members contacted us about some English shepherd puppies they had. They knew we were researching herding dogs and planning at some point to get one. Initially, we said no. We were swamped and felt that any dog we brought into the house at that time would likely become just another pet for lack of proper attention to training.

The conversations continued, though, and through their persistence and after further research we decided an English shepherd might very well be a good match for us and the opportunity was one we could hardly pass up. They brought a couple of the puppies by the market for us to meet and a decision was made that the best of the bunch would be Lachsmi, a female that was bossy with the rest of the dogs. We thought she'd make an excellent herding dog. Sometime in early May, we met them in Tulsa and picked her up.

What happened after we returned to the farm is hard for me to write about. While walking with the dog, I tripped and fell and dropped the leash. Lachsmi ran. The leash caught hold of the leg of our barbecue grill and sent it flying, landing on the ground in a big crash. Lachsmi bolted and ran for the garden. I went after her, trying not to let my panic lead me to do things that made her think I was chasing her. I found her in the garden, against the fence on the far side. I was slowly approaching her when a truck with a cattle trailer came down our road, banging and clanging and making a lot of noise. Lachsmi bolted under the fence and out to the road. I ran back to get my truck so that I could try to catch her. By the time I got out to the road, our neighbors pointed across the highway, saying she'd gone that way. I slowly crossed the road and parked. I saw her in the field. She stood and looked at me for a minute. I called her name and took one step toward her. She bolted again, disappearing into the tall grass. I never saw her again.

I searched for her all afternoon, talking to everyone in the area where she disappeared that I could find at home. We made fliers to post. I put them up at intersections in the area and in a couple of stores in the small town close to us. I searched again the next day, walking all over the field where I last saw her, driving up and down roads, walking through more fields. I saw no sign of her. The friends from whom we'd gotten her came out with Lachsmi's mom and the three of us plus the dog searched again. Nothing.

I felt horrible. I still get a sick feeling in my stomach every time I think about it. The thoughts of what happened to her as a result of my clumsiness and failure to keep things under control were hard to bear. It didn't help that the situation reminded me of another painful experience with a dog that had happened a little over a year earlier. I wondered if I was destined to keep repeating the same mistake over and over. I was sure I should never be trusted with a dog again, maybe no animals at all. It was hard to sit with the awareness of how many people and animals had been hurt by my clumsiness and lack of control in those two situations.

Days went by and my heart ached. I found myself looking for her every time I drove by the area where she disappeared. I even stopped a few times and walked along the roads calling her name. As time went by, I began to accept that she was gone and so I prayed that she was safe in someone else's home, someone who simply never saw the signs we posted or didn't get a visit from one of us when we went door to door.

I went out of town on business and the time away helped. The pain began to ease up some and I found myself starting to let go a bit. A few weeks later we received an e-mail from the friends who gave us Lachsmi. They had another pup and after a lot of conversation in their family, had decided that it would help them with their healing if we would receive the other pup as a gift, no charge, and train her to be a sheep dog.

Tears streamed down my face as I read the e-mail. I did not feel at all like I deserved such a gift. I was scared to death that I would blow it again. But I could see in Lisa's face that she really wanted her and knew that it was the right thing to do. I knew that I had to get past the experience if I was ever going to survive living on a farm with so many animals under my care. We agreed to take her and responded to them with appreciation for the amazing grace they demonstrated in making the offer to us.

The next Saturday, they brought Gaia (now called Maya) with them when they came to the market. When market was over, they handed her off to Lisa who brought her home. I was nervous at first. I found myself keeping my distance. We kept her inside for a week, taking her out on a leash to go to the bathroom. We walked her around on a leash outside, slowly introducing her to the animals. Her response was completely different than the other dog's. She was calm and curious, very attentive to us, clinging to Lisa's side whether in the house or outside.

With fear and great concern a week later, we let her out for the first time without the leash. She sniffed around, did her business, ran around the yard a bit, but came back to the door, showing no signs at all that she was going to run away. Gradually, we began to relax more and trust that she was going to stay.

In the months since, Maya has found her place on this farm. Though initially intimidated by the animals, she is becoming less and less afraid to be around them. She's right at our side now whenever we work with the sheep. She goes out for hikes with us, always running up ahead of us several then stopping until we catch up to her. She is our miniature dachshund Jai's best companion, playing with him in all his craziness.

And with time, I let my guard down and let her in. Every morning, she jumps up on the bed and lays next to me while I journal and write. She lays at my feet at the dinner table and when I come home from work, she runs to greet me.

Sometimes I look into her dark eyes, the serious gaze that comes from her sober face, and I see the greatest gift of all this year, the trust of a dog who found her way into my heart and the grace of friends who decided to give us another chance.

Reverb 10: Ordinary Joy

2010-12-27T06:54:00.003-06:00

Ordinary Joy: Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year? (Author: Brené Brown)

There was a time not long ago when I wasn't exactly sure what joy is. It had been so long since I had any that I just didn't know what it felt like anymore. Those days are gone, thankfully, and joy, both ordinary and extraordinary, have returned to my life.

For me, joy is more a state of being than an experience. Certainly my experiences can bring joy, but if I am not open to feeling it, the most common joyful time will not break through the darkness and fill me up. I've learned there are things I can do to cultivate my heart so that joy can be experienced. Writing, journaling, exercising, spending time outside, listening, laughing...all of these are ways I make room for joy to take hold.

It's hard for me to choose one most joyful ordinary moment. There are many everyday, from the moment I wake up lying next to the person I love to the first deep breath of fresh air when I step outside or the time spent around the lunchroom table with colleagues and students and again at the kitchen table having dinner with Lisa. I feel joy when a goat nudges up against me, nibbling at my coat sleeve or when I watch lambs and kids hop around the barnyard. Jai, whose very name is an expression of joy, exudes it running around the farm at top speed. It's present when I introduce prospective students to the seminary and the great things offered there and when I sit with my small group for the ITE class and watch as the group members discover new ideas for the first time. Joy fills my chest when I hear the laughter and chatter from the porch at the cabin on the night of a farm table dinner, the gasps of delight when guests take first bites of each course brought out to them.

I agree that our most profound joy is often experienced in the most ordinary moments. I think this is true because it isn't the experience itself that causes joy. Joy comes when we are awake to it, when our hearts have been opened by grace, and we know that it's the ordinary things in our lives that save us everyday. It's an expression of our deepest delight in being alive.

Reverb 10: Soul Food

2010-12-26T07:22:00.002-06:00

Soul Food: What did you eat this year that you will never forget? What went into your mouth & touched your soul? (Author: Elise Marie Collins)

I could write about this for days. It probably isn't fair how well I eat every single day. The food grown on this farm and Lisa's preparations of it are one of my greatest pleasures. But there is one meal from this year that stands out.

On the 4th of July, we went for a hike on the farm. While walking through the woods, we noticed some beautiful orange mushrooms in several spots. We harvested a few, pretty well convinced they were chanterelles, but not certain enough to harvest a lot. We brought them back to the house, did some research online to make sure we had the right thing and then cleaned them. During the hike, we also gathered blackberries and sand plums. Lisa's mind went immediately to work on the perfect way to cook the mushrooms.

That night I sat down to a dinner of seared pork chop with a chanterelle-sand plum-lavender sauce. The first bite sent me soaring. Lavender and chanterelles are the perfect marriage of flavors and the fruitiness of the sand plums added another dimension, tart and sweet at the same time. It was the best meal I had all year. Later, we went out with the interns and harvest enough chanterelles for Lisa to use in one of the Farm Table Dinners. Not completely satisfied with how tart the sand plums were, she switched to peaches in the sauce. Also heavenly, but by then I was no longer surprised by how perfect the combination of flavors is. Still, it was absolutely amazing.

I'm not a big fan of mushrooms, but the chanterelles have a fruity flavor and nice texture that make them exceptional. I can hardly wait for the 4th of July to come again so we can harvest some more.

Reverb 10: Travel

2010-12-22T05:48:00.003-06:00

Travel: How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year? (Author: Tara Hunt)

I travel quite a bit for work and 2010 was no exception. I go to exotic places like Wichita, KS, or Jefferson City, MO, or Oklahoma City, OK. These are destinations I can easily reach by car and generally rent one to make the trip. Depending on the time of year, the drive isn't bad and sometimes the scenery is pretty decent, but these are not necessarily the locations that rank high on my list of places to visit for anything other than work.

Work travel did afford the opportunity to travel to the west coast this year and ordinarily that is occasion for great rejoicing. It was to be a quick trip to Eugene, OR, with a couple of quick meetings in and around Portland, and of course, a detour along the coast long enough to fill my salty-air-starved lungs with some ocean breeze. I made it as short a trip as possible so that I could get back in time to see the first of our baby goats born.

Alas, that was not to be. The Oregon trip was, shall we say, a bit longer than I'd planned. In fact, what was to be a 2.5-day trip turned into a week. I learned a lot on this trip. For starters, I learned that it is worth every penny of the $20 charge with Southwest to have them automatically check you in early. I learned Southwest Airlines is very well aware of the limits of our rights as travelers and will exploit them, no matter how well known they are for customer service. I learned that Enterprise Rent-A-Car remains true to their customer service reputation.

Being stranded for 4.5 extra days was infuriating to say the least and it took me about 3 of those just to calm down. I hiked and walked along the beach and then returned to my hotel room to write, only to feel the anger rise again. The irony is that under completely different circumstances, I would have been thrilled to spend a long weekend at the coast.

So, how will I travel in 2011? Hmm....not on Southwest Airlines, if I can avoid it. That said, I do hope 2011 brings some opportunity to travel for fun. Lisa and I are planning a long weekend trip to Seattle in late January or early February. It will be our first overnight trip together in some time and we're pretty excited about that. I look forward to seeing where she grew up and to sampling some of the restaurants she loves from that area. And, of course, it will be good once again to drink in that salty Pacific air.

For work, travel will take me to New Orleans, Minneapolis, and Nashville, in addition to the usual local exotic locations. Fortunately, these three offer some great eating opportunities, which is always a priority in travel for me. Sadly, Cafe Brenda in Minneapolis is now closed, so the opportunity to revisit one of the best meals I've ever had will not happen, but I'm sure I'll find some other good places, perhaps Spoonriver, for example. In Nashville, there are already plans for several of us to eat at Tin Angel. And New Orleans, where do I start? Maybe another visit to Dooky Chase's?

Traveling is all about eating and nature for me.

Reverb 10: Future Self

2010-12-21T07:18:00.000-06:00

Future Self: Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?) (Author: Jenny Blake)

Advice for my current self from my 50-year-old self: The joy you feel is real. Enjoy it. But...that back of yours isn't going to last forever. Take good care of it.

Dear Linda in the 36th year of your life,

It's nearly Christmas and this year for your gift I'm giving you a top-10 list of things you should know to save you a lot of heartache and anxiety in the coming 10 years:

1. The llama will get out and head for the road, but the crazy black dog that just showed up on the farm is actually a rare breed herding dog. No one's trained her, but she knows exactly what to do. Trust her.
2. Llama? Farm? That...well...that part might be best left to discovery.
3. It is not failure to stop doing something that isn't working for you.
4. Jesus was wrong about the sheep versus the goats. Goats are superior animals. And it's okay to occasionally act like one yourself.
5. 35 is not too old to find love. In fact, 43 isn't either. It isn't necessary to settle for the first woman who comes along after you are honest with yourself about who you are. Therefore, don't waste another day stuck in a bad relationship. See #3 above.
6. Start writing. Now. Don't stop.
7. Get outside as much as you can everyday. The clean, fresh air filling your lungs, the sun warming your face, the freedom felt in the expanse of the sky will save you, over and over again.
8. Go with the spikey hair. You know you want to.
9. Hold on to the leash. Whatever happens, don't let go.
10. Love may not be constant from any one person, but it is always present in your life. Keep your heart open to it.

With love,
Your much wiser 45-year-old self

P.S. A bonus #11: There is life in Oklahoma. Really. I wouldn't lie to you.

Reverb10: Beyond Avoidance

2010-12-20T07:03:00.003-06:00

Beyond Avoidance: What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?) (Author: Jake Nickell)

Looking back at blog posts from this year, the intentions I had around writing are obvious. That's about the only thing I did actually write about. A glance at my journal and writing notebook reveal pretty much the same thing, although I did do pretty well with journaling early in the year. And as for the Bonus prompt, the answer appears to be yes, thanks to this Reverb 10 project. It's been good to flex the writing muscles with these prompts and while I'd say I'm not particularly happy with the writing I've done, the daily exercise is helping me make writing a habit again. Hopefully in time, perhaps when I'm back to writing without the prompts, I'll write something a bit more inspiring.

The answer to the question of why is multi-layered. Writing for me has been a way of figuring things out. That I actually wrote pretty well came as a surprise. That people actually wanted to read what I wrote was practically unbelievable. Writing helped me make some important changes in my life. I felt a sense of urgency about writing. It was saving my life, so of course I'd make time for it. Now that things in my life have settled and I'm pleased with where I am and what I'm doing, it seems like a luxury. And in the economy of my busy life, I admit it feels like a luxury I can't afford.

I want 2011 to be a year in which I claim writing as a creative process for myself, time when I get to work on creating something. It's purpose will be different, perhaps only slightly, but it will require a different motivation and a different commitment than I've ever had. I want to learn writing as a craft, where I'm learning technique and ways of critiquing it and editing it to improve. And, while it scares me a bit to put this out there in such a public way, I want to submit something for publication before 2011 ends. I'm not sure what the next step is after writing everyday, so I'll have to do some research to figure that out.

There you have it blogosphere. Feel free to hold me accountable.

Reverb 10: Lesson Learned

2010-12-17T06:13:00.005-06:00

Lesson Learned: What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward? (Author: Tara Weaver)

I have been busier this year than I have in a long, long time. My job at the seminary has evolved a lot, and the attention it has taken to learn how to do what I do in a new educational environment (given our new online program) has required a lot of thought and creativity. Then there's the farm.

January is the only relatively quiet month on the farm. By quiet, I mean, I don't have to be outside in the milk barn at 6:00 a.m. The goats are dried up. The sheep and chickens are on their winter pastures. There are relatively few (if any) parties at the cabin. The greenhouse is in maintenance mode. There's a lot of cleaning and dreaming and planning that goes on, but there are also nice long evenings to watch a movie or to play dominoes.

In February, we start back up with dinners and parties, planting and kidding. There's more kidding, lambing, and planting in March. And in April, market season starts, and then things really heat up.

On Saturdays during market season, it is not uncommon for us to get up at 3:30 a.m. and work until we collapse in to bed at midnight, exhausted and barely able to move. These are the days when we have dinners at the cabin on top of selling at farmers market. On such days, I don't dare sit down for more than five minutes or I won't be able to keep going.

So what does all of this have to do with lessons learned? In spite of the busyness and while we do know there are aspects of it that are outrageous and unmanageable long term, the pace of the farm suits me very well. I need to make some adjustments to allow for time to write, but the level of activity and the time outside has conspired to leave me happier than I've been in a long time in my life, perhaps ever.

Now, of course, a great deal of this happiness is due to the love I've found with Lisa and to finding a life that I love, full of animals and physical activity and an opportunity to provide something for people that leaves them healthier and truly satisfied, on top of a full time job where I work with people I truly enjoy and that enables me to do something that is meaningful. But, I've come to realize that my past struggles with depression may be largely due to lack of physical activity and, brace yourselves, boredom.

There is no time to be bored here. None. And I'm a better person for sending boredom packing. In these slower days of winter it's tempting to entertain it from time to time and in very brief moments it feels like there is actually nothing to do, but the reality is that there is nothing urgent to do. When I make friends with the slower pace and realize it means I get to be more thoughtful and intentional about my work, that I get to use the extra space to be creative, the boredom that is lurking in the shadows quickly fades. I'm able to use down time to rest and relax, but it's purposeful and helpful; it is not boring.

For me, boredom is that passionless sense of just biding time until the next important thing starts and occupies our time. I'll stay off my high horse today, but I want to state emphatically that I believe boredom is behind a lot the diagnosed depression in this country. I do not say that to minimize honest struggles and pain, but I am deeply aware, and I include myself in this, that many people can't name why they are depressed, and for many of them it may be simply because it never occurs to them that boredom and depression could ever be linked.

Now here's the startling revelation of the year. Brace yourselves. I've been looking for a good excuse to confess this in public and I can't think of anything better than a post on lessons learned as a springboard for coming out with this.

I like manual labor.

Did you catch that? Let me try again. I like manual labor!

There. I said it. Send me to the loony bin. I don't care. It's true. Sometimes there just isn't a more satisfying way to end the day than to have worked with my hands, mending fences, moving shelters, putting up new walls on the barn, harvesting vegetables, cleaning up the farm yard, mucking barns, moving hay, whatever. I like the feeling of muscles that have worked, tasks that occupy my attention such that my mind can't wander, sweat pouring down my back, mud and dust caking my hands, and the sense of deep satisfaction that comes from seeing the fruits of my labor, of being able to sit back with a cold beer and look at what I've accomplished and consider the ways in which it will make life better for someone on the farm.

This does not mean I will be giving up my desk job anytime soon. I do still like it, after all. But, I'm just grateful that I have something that fills my life up in a way that leaves me satisfied and happy, to know that in those free hours, when I'm off the clock, I have purposeful work to do that requires my body as well as my brain to accomplish it.

Reverb 10: Friendship

2010-12-16T06:29:00.002-06:00

Friendship: How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst? (Author: Martha Mihalick)

One way in which Lisa and I are very different is that when there is a decision to be made, I like to think about it, consider the options, wait for awhile and then, usually with an external nudge from somewhere, finally go for it. Lisa, however, is more decisive. She thinks about things and considers options, asks for input from others, but in a relatively short period of time knows what her decision is and acts on it.

I think this difference can actually be summed up more in terms of tolerance for risk. Lisa is more of a risk-taker. No, that's not really it. I think it's more that I see risk where she doesn't. And this is where I believe she has really changed my perspective over the last year. Being part of a multitude of decision-making moments with her related to the business of the farm, I found myself watching how she considers options and quickly goes with what she thinks is best. Nothing has collapsed around here. No one is in mortal danger. There's been a good measure of success, in fact, and much of it due to some quick thinking on her part and her willingness to jump in and try things.

I'm finding myself becoming more decisive as a result, less concerned about risks or potential risks and willing to just see what trying something different will do. It seems there's also been a corresponding change to more quickly acknowledge when something isn't working and stop doing it, instead of feeling like, having gone through the painstaking process of deciding to do it, I have to make it work no matter what. This, my friends, is a very freeing shift.

The change has been gradual and is by no means complete. She might even chime in here with a chuckle and say it's barely noticeable, if at all. And perhaps she's right. I do, however, know that there has been in a shift in my thinking about these things and given a few more good decision-making opportunities to try it out, I'm pretty sure it will be obvious.

Just don't ask me what I want for dinner.

Reverb 10: Action

2010-12-13T05:57:00.005-06:00

Action: When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step? (Author: Scott Belsky)

Keep writing. Everyday. Plain and simple. No need for any more explanation than that. And on that note, I'm switching to a more interesting prompt from Lisa.

What do you think about when you're milking the goats? What is your experience while milking? What do you see and hear?

Milking is one of those tasks that allows for some good thinking time, but it's tricky, because if I let my mind go too much, I end up not noticing when the goat is getting antsy and is ready to kick the pail. It's happened more than once. Believe me.

I milk in the mornings before the sun is up. I walk out to the barn with the pails in hand and open the gate. Sally always goes in with me and waits for me to move the stool off the stanchion. Lately she makes a beeline for the mineral bag in the corner of the barn and helps herself for a few minutes while I settle in. After she hops up on the stanchion, she dances around a little while I get the feed bucket out of the barrel. Once everything's in place, I sit down and go about cleaning her teats and checking the milk.

Once I've checked her out and I'm in my milking rhythm, I start listening to the sounds of the farm. Sometimes it's the surprisingly quiet sound of one of the cats chasing a bug in the barn. Often I listen for the birds as they wake and begin to sing in the morning. Always, I hear the busy scratching of the roosters and rogue hens looking for any little scrap of grain that's fallen to the ground from the picky goats who forage around in the bucket. I hear Daisy, our little doeling, bleating, trying to get my attention for one reason or another or just to hear the sound of her own voice. I hear the chorus of sheep off in the distance calling to make sure we remember to feed them.

There are no more beautiful sounds on earth than these things. Starting my day to this soundtrack has been one of the best things that's ever happened to me, and while it's tempting to let my mind wander and think about important things like how to use Facebook to market the seminary better, I often name the intrusive thought when I notice it and return to listening to the farm.

And I'll admit it here for God and everyone....one of the things I hear is my own voice. I talk to the animals. I tell them thanks for the milk. I tell them that I love putting my face on their stomach as I milk. I apologize for having to spray cold cleaner on their teats. I tell them they're beautiful. I tell them that they're good girls. Silly, maybe but there's something about the intimate connection of milking that makes saying such things seem important, if not for the goat, then to remind myself that what we're doing here is a partnership.

What I see is the narrow view of the rear end of the goat, particularly the back legs and the teats tucked in between them. I notice all of the small pieces of hay and debris clinging to their udders and undersides and brush it away to keep it from falling in the bucket. I watch their legs for movement, hoping to avoid having feet in the pail. I see the milky white stream flow into the pail and erupt into a splash as it hits the side of the pail. I watch as the teats become limp and wrinkled once their udders are empty.

Once I'm sure of my rhythm and that my hands are positioned right to hit the pail, I see the cats exploring the barn, jumping up on the stack of bags of grain, then onto the counter, and finally up into the rafters. I watch as they circle the edge of the barn's ceiling looking down on me and the goat, and I pray that they neither fall nor jump when they get anywhere near the stanchion. Sometimes I see the new pups watching from the barn door, cocking their heads to get that curious sideways glance. I see the chickens searching, searching, searching on the barn floor for the smallest specks of grain.

And with all that good stuff to watch and hear, I still let my mind wander and think about what I'm going to do that day. Often, I'll plan my day or make a mental note of things I need to do or take care of. I think about projects at work or on the farm. If there's a problem we're trying to solve, I consider solutions to it. If I'm upset about something, I think about it obsessively until a rooster jumps up on the stanchion with the grace of a drunk trying to step off a curb and brings me back into the moment.

And always, always, I think about how incredibly grateful I am for this life and that it found me ready and available to live it....and then three goats crash the gate and come running in to the barn in a race to the stanchion and I'm back in the moment, sorting out who's supposed to be there and sending the others back into the barnyard to wait their turn.

Reverb 10: Body Integration

2010-12-12T11:36:00.000-06:00

Body Integration: This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present? (Author: Patrick Reynolds)

I have these moments pretty frequently, actually. Most of my life they've come as a result of running and while my running suffers from my farming habit, I'm grateful to have had the experience of using a daily activity to work on consciously seeking that body integration. Like many things in life that are good, this takes practice. Long ago, basketball also helped. I was well-known for my court presence when I played. I had a sixth sense about where I was on the court in relation to the ball and the basket that resulted in some great shots and occasional blocks from time to time.

On the farm, herding animals often poses the bests opportunities for consciously seeking to be fully integrated. Take for example the day when we were moving boy lambs to a new grazing rotation. One of them was not cooperating and kept running away from where we needed him to go. He was tricky too. He'd slow down and seem willing for us to walk up to him, only to dart as soon as we were within striking distance.

Lisa and our intern, Kathleen, and I were working together to get him headed in the right direction. He ran up against a fence and was moving south toward the gate. I quietly approached closer, took a deep breath and as he darted in front of me, I lunged forward, eyes wide open, fairly well aware of where I was in comparison to the lamb, the fence, a big tree that he'd run behind, and the ground. I kept my eye on him the whole time, and in a moment that seemed perfectly choreographed, I caught hold of his leg and held on for dear life, while I fell to the ground in a thud. His leg securely in my grasp, I scooped him up under me and stayed still until someone got over to pick him up from me, not daring to stand and run the risk of losing him. I may also have been hiding the fact that landing the way I did made getting up quickly a near impossibility.

It was a comical scene, actually, perhaps not the almost mystical, spiritual experience that body integration often provides. But I did feel alive, deeply aware of myself as an integrated whole, focused solely on ending the ridiculous chase that was preventing us from moving on to the next thing on our to-do list. I had bruises to show for it when I finished, and a deep sense of satisfaction that would rival any I ever felt from those glorious moments of eyes on the ball all the way up in the air, matching stride for stride my opponent's moves, until with a long stretch of my arm and a perfectly timed move, I cleanly blocked a shot on the upward part of the arc toward the basket, with not even a brush of a finger against the hand or arm of the opponent.

Reverb 10: 11 Things

2010-12-11T11:40:00.003-06:00

11 Things: What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

At least 1/2 of the remaining consumer debt I've carried for far too long;
Approximately 1/2 of the stuff in the boxes stashed in the corner of the garage;
Some lingering stress, anger, frustration, and grief with my family for not accepting that I'm gay and welcoming Lisa into the family;
Refined sugar in it's various forms;
The junk pile between the garage and shed;
My farm jacket that is ripped and torn to the point of being almost useless;
Any remaining clothes from the pre-weight-loss days.

I honestly can't think of anything else. I got rid of a lot of stuff in 2010. I live a relatively junk-free life. I'll add to the list if I think of something else.

Reverb 10: Wisdom

2010-12-10T07:30:00.001-06:00

Wisdom: What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out? (Author: Susannah Conway)

Shortly after the new year, I approached my supervisor about the possibility of working from home on Fridays. I had been taking occasional days at home to work and it seemed to go well for me. Lisa and I had taken a long look at our finances and set some budget goals, most of which focused on each of us getting out of debt so that we could move toward sustainability at the farm. As we looked at where our money was going, I quickly noticed that one of my biggest monthly expenses was gas and toll associated with my 100-mile round trip commute to work each day. The possibility of dropping that item 20% by working from home one day per week seemed like a good plan. It also felt as though it would get me one step closer toward living out the values I hold around sustainability and environmental impact. When I approached my supervisor, she readily agreed and immediately noted ways in which she thought the seminary would benefit from me doing it.

It's hard to say if that was the wisest decision I've made this year, but as I sit here in the comfort of my home this morning, having milked the goats and done other chores, enjoyed a good breakfast with Lisa and am now ready to settle into the day's work, there's no question it was a good decision, and not just for the money saved.

Working from home gives me back the hours I spend commuting each of the other four days a week that are taken away from time spent with my favorite person in the world. While she does farm things on Fridays and I do seminary things, it's great to take a break together and go for a walk or to slip outside for some fresh air and to give her a hand with a quick project that really requires two people and not just one. I'm able to get laundry done and some other things, like occasionally fixing dinner.

The thing that really surprised me, though, is how much more I'm able to get done on some of my projects at work. Early on, I noticed that one day per week working somewhere other than my office allowed me the option to organize my work a bit differently and to start thinking of what tasks require me to be in the office and which ones benefit from the fewer distractions I have when the only one stopping in to visit with me is a dog who is really just interested in laying down next to me to sleep. The space I have to think on Fridays, I believe, is helping me be more creative at work.

You'll excuse me, now, while I go put another load of laundry in and start on the web analytics for the seminary.

Reverb 10: Party

2010-12-09T05:50:00.003-06:00

Party Prompt: Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans. (Author: Shauna Reid)

I'm not especially fond of the prompts the past couple of days. I punted yesterday, so I'll take this one. Apparently the prompt writers are more social creatures than I. I'm struggling to think of any "party" I attended in 2010 in which anything more than the food would be of note.

The parties I attend these days are monthly gatherings to celebrate birthdays of folks in our common circle of friends. We usually go potluck style and the food is amazing. We are all about eating well. One such gathering recently, which as it turns out wasn't actually a birthday celebration, was a soup supper. Each household brought a pot of homemade soup to share.

We set the Crockpots and stockpots up on a table in the corner. There was dahl (an Indian soup made with lentils), corn chowder, three different pots of lentil stew, etc. I can't remember what all we had. Someone made bread to go with it. We each took a bowl and set out to make our way through each of the soups.

When we get together we usually meet at one friend's house. She has a large kitchen with an island in the middle, around which we sit on stools. There are usually a few chairs scattered in the back by the fireplace. Cheesy 80s music plays on the stereo in the background and dogs, oh my the dogs! (this friend is a veterinarian), either watch wistfully from behind the gate that keeps them in the living room or run from person to person hoping for a scrap or a pat on the head.

On this particular evening two of our friends, who also happen to be sisters, told stories about their grandparents. I asked another friend who is from Louisiana for some restaurant recommendations for an upcoming trip to New Orleans. And we talked about the recent spotting of one of the children of our friends who was supposed to be grounded but had managed to sneak out to meet a boy.

We're old, so there are no shenanigans, well, most of the time anyway. Since milking happens in the wee hours of the morning, we were gone by 10:00.

Reverb 10: Community

2010-12-07T05:52:00.005-06:00

Dec 7: Community Prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Author: Cali Harris)

We live about a mile west of a small town, about eight miles from the nearest town of size, and 50 miles from Tulsa, where I work and where we sell most of the farm's products. I work in the office 4 days per week and from home one. Our days are bracketed by the chores we do to care for the animals. Rain or shine, snow or heat, the goats have to be milked and the animals fed and watered.

As a result, it's hard for us to be spontaneous with friends. A quick decision at 3:00 in the afternoon to go out to dinner means we have to drop whatever we're doing, do chores, shower, and drive into town, making it a good 7:00 before we can sit down to eat. If we get the invitation any later than that or we're in the middle of something we can't drop when the call comes, we can't make it. And even with planning, we have to limit the number of times we accept such invitations because of the cost to go into town and the time involved to do it.

All of this is to say, participating in community is something that remains a challenge on the farm. Lisa warned me when we first got together that I would need to be very intentional about socializing and doing things that would get me off the farm. Without that intention, the farm becomes isolating and lonely. The warning is a good one for me. I am, by nature, quite comfortable being alone and would consider my "community time" needs to be low, but I do have them and perhaps more importantly, participating in community isn't all about me. :)

The move to the farm has meant a shift in where I most experience community. I have found relationships at work deepening. I love the people I work with and enjoy regular lunchtime conversation and banter in the student commons. The casual or sometimes more serious conversation that happens when people come to get chocolate from my desk and sit down to visit are a treat as well. I'm grateful to work in a place that values community to the extent that such connections are encouraged.

Beyond work, Lisa and I have found a circle of friends who have similar interests in farming or animal care and live relatively close to us, making it much easier to plan things together. And these are people who are more involved in our lives (and we theirs) than just the occasional lunch or dinner together. We call on each other when there are needs to be met or when support is important.

This is a hard prompt for me to respond to in a public space. I acknowledge some unresolved grief and perhaps even a little guilt (though I'm not sure it's justified) about the way in which where I find community has shifted this year. I worry that I've abandoned a group of friends from the pre-farm days, though I realize it's unrealistic to expect that the huge changes moving to the farm brought about in my daily life would mean those relationships wouldn't also change. For awhile, Facebook felt like a way to remain connected, but without common experiences on a regular basis it has became harder at times to follow what's going on through Facebook. I know that some of my habits (I hate to make phone calls, for example) contribute to the way this changed, but I also know that some of what's happened is a natural shifting. It's all, I guess, an area of my life which could use a good bit more reflection and attention, perhaps in an effort to find some way to resolve the uneasiness about how the change came about.

Reverb 10: Make

2010-12-06T05:57:00.002-06:00

Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it? (Author: Gretchen Rubin)

Lisa and I made a new wall in the barn yesterday to cut down on the draft in preparation for the winter weather. We used some old barn metal scraps and wood from a structure that was torn down a couple of years ago. The metal was attached with tek screws and nails. It's not especially pretty, but the temperature difference from inside the barn to just outside was remarkable. We needed a heavy jacket outside. Inside, we worked in our sweatshirts.

We also reattached a cattle panel wall in the doelings' pen, put up new wood slats in the hay feeder (to keep the goats from getting inside it) and added a piece of fencing to the gate to keep goats from getting out underneath. Perhaps you notice a theme here. 95% of goat-herding involves something to do with fences. Getting all of those projects done yesterday left us feeling very satisfied!

Farming involves a lot of making things. We try to use as much recycled material as possible. Most of what we make is functional and practical and is almost always made when it has to be, so clearing time becomes absolutely essential.

But, if I shift my thoughts away from the farm, I am reminded of something I want to make and have not found the time for yet. I want to develop a resource, a website or book or both, that lists the community gardens in the greater Tulsa area, where they're located, who is involved, and what approach they use. I would like for it to be a resource for others who are considering starting community gardens, as well as a place where stories about the gardens are told. And out of the data collection process, I think it would be great to see a regular informal gathering of people involved to share ideas and pass along tips, as well as provide support for those just getting started.

Reverb10: Catching up

2010-12-05T09:48:00.002-06:00

I've seen several people I used to blog with joining the Reverb10 bandwagon and made the decision to use it as a way to see if I can get back in the blogging habit again.

Here's how it works. "Reverb 10 is an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next. Use the end of your year as an opportunity to reflect on what's happened, and to send out reverberations for the year ahead." The focus of this particular writing project fits well with what is normal part of my life's discipline, reflection at the end of each year in preparation for the year to come.

I need to catch up, though, since the project began on Dec. 1. The responses to the first four prompts will be brief.

Dec. 1: "One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?" (Author: Gwen Bell)

The word I'd choose for 2010 is success. The move to the new farm proved successful. New initiatives at the seminary have been successful. There's a sense of "arrival" that I feel in all areas of my life, not a comfortable feeling, necessarily, the kind in which I feel like I can just sit back and relax and I don't have to worry about anything. It's more a sense of feeling as though what we've done in all these areas is something worth maintaining and building on.

The word for 2011 is depth. There is so much about my life that is joyful and fulfilling. I want it to last and for that to happen, the roots established in this year or so need to go deeper.

Dec. 2: "Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?" (Author: Leo Babauta)

Oi. THAT question! Lisa and others have been encouraging me to get back in the habit of writing. They are aware of my desire and frankly, it's hard for me to really name what's holding me back. The way this question is framed really helps put in a more helpful perspective though. It's not such a psychological hold up to think in terms of daily doing. So, what do I do each day that doesn't contribute to my writing. Well, honestly, a lot of mindless internet surfing, particularly on Facebook. A lot of telling myself, "You have nothing to say. Who wants to read about endless encounters with goats, sheep, and other critters? What if now that I feel more settled in my life and the "searching" that motivated my writing years ago isn't so present, I have nothing of value or interest to say?"

So, yes, I guess just writing and not letting myself get caught up in whether someone reads it or not is the key.

Dec. 3: Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)

There's no difficulty for me in choosing that day. It was the day Lily was born. Lily, one of our lambs, was born with a lot of challenges. Her mom was accidentally bred and was too small to carry a baby to full-term. Lily made it long enough in the womb to be viable, but she suffered a compacting of her spinal column as a result of too little space to grow. When she was born, she didn't take the usual first steps within a few minutes. It is critical that a lamb stand up soon so that she can get the necessary nutrition from her mother. I waited for Lily to stand until it was obvious she was too weak. I carried her to a protected are in our barn and coaxed her mom there with some clean hay. The air was warm with the first hints of spring, but a cool breeze from the north made it clear it would be cold that night. The barn smelled of clean, fresh hay. Lily laid still in a corner when I returned with some things I need to milk her mom and to administer the essential colostrum to Lily afterwards. Her mom's udder was small and very little came out when I milked, but I gave every drop of it to Lily with a syringe. She drank it down quickly. Then, with her laying on my lap, I took a warm bottle with colostrum supplement in it and put the nipple in her mouth using my right hand and with my left hand I held up her chin so the milk would go to her stomach. Her mom watched cautiously from the corner of the barn, a growing look of concern taking over her face. She took a few steps toward us and watched curiously. Then she approached my side and took position next to Lily's back side. She reached forward and licked Lily's bottom, just as she would do if Lily was nursing from her, an action that helps stimulate the young lamb to suck. It's hard to describe that moment, to capture all that I was thinking and feeling in those few, short minutes of cooperating with the two of them to help that lamb have her best shot at life. I was new to farming, and was dealing with my first newborn without Lisa's help. I wasn't at all sure I was up to the task, but Lily's mom gave me a deep sense of confidence and assurance. I have likened it to ordination. It's as if in that moment, Lily's mom chose me to be her shepherd, to help her care for her struggling newborn. It was a powerful moment.

Dec. 4: "Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?" (Author: Jeffrey Davis)

Wonder for me is almost always attached to the natural world and indeed, my life is filled with daily opportunities to be caught up in a deep sense of it. From the long walks through the woods that change and support life in such amazing and diverse ways as the days move us from season to season to the slower, deliberate movement through chores in the morning, I find some much all around me that leaves me breathless and curious at the same time. What I think is missing for me in this area is the long stretches of time when I sit down with pen or computer and put words to those experiences, to find meaning in them beyond what's obvious in the moment, to connect that wonder to a deeper or broader sense of the expanse of my life. That's something I hope to cultivate more in the coming year.

Okay, I'm caught up now. I'll post for today's prompt later. I need to give it some thought.

Preached again

2010-12-01T16:14:00.004-06:00

I preached in chapel at the seminary yesterday. The sermon was on the gospel text for the second Sunday of Advent. During our weekly chapel services we use the lectionary texts for the coming Sunday.

Click here for podcast. Scroll down to November 30.

The text: Matthew 3:1-12

Advent comes to us this morning on the jarring, jangly words of a wilderness wanderer, a character who, in our minds, seems a more likely candidate for a mental hospital or a Far Side cartoon than as herald of the coming Christ.

“Repent! For the kingdom of heaven has come near!”

Admit it, he lost you at “Repent!,” didn’t he? The very word reminds us of the kind of preacher who turns us off…the one whose approach shames us and leaves us feeling worthless. We tune him out before he really gets started, guarded and protected from the words of someone we’re sure doesn’t really understand our situation. The word repent for many of us is so closely tied to the privileged, fiery preacher who never for a moment considers how his position colors his demands that we can’t really hear it without shutting down. He appears on the scene and with his first word “Repent!” we hit the channel up button on the remote and move on to something else. The only surprising thing in this story, then, is that the man, John the Baptist, actually had a significant following in his day.

What happens, though, if we position the preacher squarely in the midst of the oppressed, facing the religious, political, and economic powers of the day, calling them to repentance? Are we a little more willing to listen to what he has to say? Does the call to repentance make more sense? Some of us may be ready to jump in with a hearty “Amen!” We might even be willing to make excuses for him. You know, something like, “Fighting oppression is exhausting, crazy-making work. Of course, he’s a little odd!”

There’s no doubt his message was meant for those in power. Matthew brings that into clear focus when he calls our attention to the Pharisees and Sadducees who sought John’s baptism. “You brood of vipers!,” he calls them. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” Then his message gets more direct. “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.” In other words, “You don’t really understand what you’re asking for. In the kingdom that has drawn near, your privilege will not allow you to be content with the exclusion of others. Citizenship will be made available to everyone, and so those who would receive the call to repentance will be those who are ready to open their hearts to those without power, to those on the margins, the outcasts, the weak and vulnerable."

I’ve seen a lot of conversation on the internet about a perceived need to move more quickly to the message of Christmas this year. Those who are advocating for less Advent and more Christmas are noting a weariness in their congregations…a weariness from the problems of the economy and the ways it affects them, weariness with all things politics, weariness with war. I get that and it’s something that we need to pay attention to, that need for relief that folks are obviously feeling, but I believe it’s the longing for relief that makes us need Advent all the more. My concern, I guess, is that too quick a movement toward relief in the story of Christmas causes us to run the risk that John saw present with the Pharisees and the Sadducees. We might fail to see the Christ when he comes. Advent calls us to prepare, to make sure we’re truly ready to see the Christ.

Nancy Pittman helped call our attention to the importance of this aspect of Advent’s message a couple of weeks ago. To those of us content with life the way it is right now, we need to take heed lest we rush to the joy of Christmas without naming the very real despair of others who suffer. Advent slows us down and asks us to pay attention, to hear the cries of those in pain, to consider the possibility that in our contentment we may be too quick to assume our present experience is all that matters.

John's message of repentance is an invitation to preparation. It calls attention to our easy commitments to a God made in our own image. Advent helps us guard against the temptation to run to the stable and “ooo” and “ahhh” at the sight of a sleeping child who holds so much hope and promise only to depart quickly when the child awakes and screams in hunger or for need of comfort.

John’s call to repentance asks us to let go of our hope that lies in the things of power in this world. It invites us to consider that the kingdom of heaven is more like the woman who makes space in her peaceful, happy life for the neighbor children, whom she admits are difficult to handle, to give them a safe place to play and to learn that their lives don’t have to follow the same pattern of abuse, addiction, and trouble that they see in their parents’ lives. It opens our eyes to see the Christ with the young man who walks through villages and in the dark parts of the cities of the Philippines, pushing a cart full of books, offering education to children who would not get it any other way, in hope that it will provide a future otherwise unavailable. It lets us witness him dwelling among a community that hears the cries of help from Haiti and asks, “How can we be with them?” It urges us to let go of the easy comfort of privilege.

Repent, my friends, for the kingdom of heaven has indeed come near. Are you ready to be a part of it?

Fall journey

2010-09-28T06:19:00.002-05:00

Buttons the cat is gone. Again. She left for her annual through-hike on the Ozark Trail. She goes this time every year. She never lets us know she's leaving, but one day, I'm milking in the barn and the familiar presence is gone. No one jumps in my lap while I'm sitting on the milking stool and kneads my bare legs. After a few days, I realize she's left. I miss her.

This is the third year Buttons has left around this time. The last two years she returned some time in October or November. Seriously, I don't think she's far, but I do wonder why she disappears and steers clear of the farm for so long. And why is it always in September? Last year, I thought it was because we'd moved and she didn't like the new place. The year before, we thought she got into an old home where the owner left for several weeks. Every time we think she's gone for good and have just gotten used to the idea that she won't be back when she suddenly appears. I hope that's the case this time as well.

But I wonder where she goes and why she leaves. Is there something about fall that calls her into the woods, that makes her long to reconnect with the wild cat in her? Are we not feeding her enough to help her fatten up for the long winter outside? Does the sound of goats in heat drive her nuts like it does me sometimes? Do cats have spiritual lives that need tending? Does she go on a spirit quest every year? A silent retreat?

Cattle trails

2010-09-14T06:20:00.003-05:00

Most of the land we live on is wooded with oak, hickory, pecan, and walnut trees. Cattle trails wind in and out of the forest and provide us with a way to explore the farm. Lisa and I followed one last night through the back pasture and across to an area of the farm where a spring runs and fills several ponds. It's beautiful. Crab apples are ripening, as are the persimmons, filling the air with hints of fall.

The woods never look the same. No matter how often we walk the trails there are places that seem new and unfamiliar. From the lush greens of a rainy spring day to the stark absence of green in winter, the woods show a new face each time we hike. I'm struck by all the life that makes its home in the woods. Last night I walked through something, some tall grass perhaps, and came out with a dark brown patch on my leg. I bent down to investigate just in time to see dozens of tiny little bugs scatter across my leg. Lisa thinks they are chiggers. I'm not convinced, but I brushed them off furiously just in case, and then wiped down with alcohol and showered when I got home.

Our walk last night started with a hike out through the back pasture to close the gate. A cattle trail led us through a part of the farm we hadn't explored before. After a few minutes we reached a place that's familiar, a fork in the path where we'd always turned north. We headed down the familiar path to our favorite pond. The pond is lined with reeds on three sides. There's a beautiful clearing to the north, with a perfect canopy of shade on the edge. We'd like to camp there some day, and hope it will happen soon. Until a few weeks ago, cattle roamed freely through the woods. Neither of us wanted to camp there with them around. As friendly as they are, I wouldn't want to wake up to them checking out our tent.

I love this time of year, when the farm is slowing down enough to allow time to explore. The evenings bring cooler temperatures and the sun's light softens, inviting me to shed the office and spend some time outside after work. There's a sense of urgency in it. Soon, darkness will set as I drive home, giving the last glimpse of light on the western horizon as I pull into the driveway.

The end to a long summer

2010-09-07T05:56:00.003-05:00

These days I go to parties where people sit around and play music, eat food we've made with our own hands, and talk about what a horrible summer it's been for tomatoes. I've never been much of the party-going type, but this I can handle. After working all day outside moving fences and doing chores, it's hard to make ourselves get in the truck and drive the 30+ minutes it takes to get anywhere our good friends live, but it does help.

Farming sometimes feels very lonely and isolating. We have neighbors that live fairly close, but we don't see them much and even if we did, we'd still feel isolated. They don't farm. The isolation we experience is of a particular kind. It's the kind where until we make an effort to check in with someone else who is doing what we're doing, we feel like we're the only ones having struggles or going through tough times.

We went to an annual party held by a friend of ours on Sunday. It's a party that marks the end of summer, and for some of us, the end of the farmers market season. It's a good chance each year to catch up with some friends after the busy market season, when it's hard to get together with anyone. Naturally, the conversations turn to what kind of year it's been, and if the conversations on Sunday are any indication, it's been a rough year for farming. The usual playful feel of this party was replaced with a fatigue that was palpable. We were in the truck headed home well before the sun was completely out of the sky....and we weren't the first to leave.

In spite of the struggles, we've had a decent year. It's our first year at this location, and Lisa and the interns did an amazing job of eeking out some good veggies from soil so nutrient-depleted from years of laying fallow that it's hard to imagine much of anything good growing from it. In another couple of years, with lots of good compost and proper cover crop planting, we'll be in good shape. The animals that have managed to fight off the barber pole worm look healthy and well-fed. The dinners have been amazing, and have helped us introduce our farm to new people.

But it's been hard too. The heat has been outrageous, burning up plants and beating up anyone who dares stay out in it very long. It's taken a toll on some of the weaker animals, leaving them susceptible to the barber pole worm which thrives in hot, humid conditions. We've lost two or three lambs already, including Lily, and have two near death. We were able to save two or three that have been infected by the worm, but this worm is wicked and very hard to treat. Worst of all, the anthelmintics that are available to farmers now are growing increasingly ineffective. The worms are developing a resistance to them, leaving us with management of the sheep and goat's grazing as the main option for prevention and protection.

We're not alone. Others are facing the same problem. For some, it may mean not having any lambs left to sell when the time comes. If the cooler weather shows up soon and we see an end to the high temps during the day, we will be fine, but it's hard to lose animals.

At one point during the conversation on Sunday, someone asked if we thought the winter would be mild. No one responded. Another asked if we'd looked in the Farmers Almanac. No one had had the courage. I pray it's mild, well at least not as harsh as last winter. I know a lot of people who could use the break.

Showing up

2010-08-31T06:03:00.002-05:00

Okay, I'm here. Writing. Well, that sounds more like I'm doing it grudgingly, which I'm not. This is something I really want to do, but for some reason it's become a struggle. Again. And, no doubt, it's because I keep waging the battle in my head instead of just sitting down to write. Seriously. I think that's a lot of it. I'm mean, my fingers are moving across the keyboard now, so there's clearly no mechanical failure. Odds are pretty good that if I just show up and do this from time to time, I'll occasionally write something that I actually like, and maybe in the process, figure a few things out.

Much of my writing in the past was done to figure something out. I was in a bad situation and needed to get out, so I wrote. I got out and needed to make some changes so I didn't make the same mistakes again, so I wrote. I was alone and had a lot of time to let my mind go to a place far away to think, so I wrote. There are a lot of other reasons to write, though....to remember, to share, to play with words, to create.

It's interesting, just sitting down here to do this, feeling the slick surface of the keys under my finger tips, hearing their click and thud as I press them down, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. There's a sense of relief, actually, recognizing that I'm doing it. I'm not just thinking about it right now.

So, showing up is a start, and now the trick is to let go of my expectations of where it will take me. Yes, that's it. I need to let that go and just write.

Haycation reflection

2010-08-12T17:09:00.002-05:00

I've been on vacation for almost two weeks now...vacation from the paying job, the one in the city, the one where I sit inside an air conditioned building all day and either talk on the phone, go to meetings, answer e-mail, or show people around the school, the one where I wear dry-clean-only clothes and carry a briefcase. I have not, however, been on vacation from the farm and have, instead, leaped head first into the farm life, making it my sole vocation for these two weeks. It's been good, albeit hot, the hottest two weeks of the year to be exact. I'm trying not to take it personally that come Monday, when I return to the office, the high for the day will be a mere 90 degrees, a good 12 or 13 degrees cooler than it's been any day this week or last.

Our days start at six and include the usual chores and an assortment of projects around the farm, things like setting up a planned rotational grazing system for the sheep, which included examining and treating the sheep for worms and/or foot rot, cleaning out the barn, hoeing in the garden, and mowing the lawn. We've also managed to host a couple of private dinner parties during these two weeks and come up with our farm plan for the fall and winter months. On a calm day, we're in bed by 9:30 or 10:00. Most days it's been around 11:00. All and all, I'd say, it's been good.

And without two hours of commuting everyday, there's been time for a nap or to read and write and I'm grateful for that. In fact, I'm not really sure how I'll give those things up to be able to return to the office.

Last night we worked with some chickens, clipping their wings so that we can move them to the Hennebago tonight. I looked up and saw stars twinkling in the sky, so many of them, their vastness almost overwhelming. I was struck by a sense of my smallness in the vast scheme of the universe. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for my life, for a chance to be human, to live on this earth, to be witness to stars twinkling and chickens cackling and spiders weaving their webs and goats running in a green pasture. I have a truly amazing life.

Amazing to be sure, and a bit surreal at times. We have a buckling who has been a bit sickly this week. He wasn't responding to the treatment we've given him and was very anemic. He needed a blood transfusion, so I loaded him and his mama (so she could be his blood donor) up in my truck and headed into town to our vet. This is not the large animal country vet we normally use, where the sight of a goat would be all in a day's work. This is our small animal, pet vet, a friend who was kind enough to answer the phone at 8:30 this morning and agree to do something that's not part of her normal operation. I think it was the point at which I sat down in the waiting room with the buckling's mama that I realized, "My life is not normal." Did you catch that? I sat in a vet's office waiting room, milk goat in tow, while she stubbornly tried to graze the tile floor.

The little buckling is improving. If all goes well tonight, we'll pick him up tomorrow and wonder why on earth we saw fit to transfuse a goat. He'll grow up, perhaps live his days out on this farm. If we're lucky, he'll breed our milk goats and give us babies as beautiful as he is. Regardless, our lives will carry on, daily looking after the care of 20 goats, 47 sheep, five llamas, six dogs, five cats, and more chickens than you can shake a stick at. We'll manage to grow some vegetables, and we'll host people for dinner parties and treat them to fresh food grown right and cooked well. This is our lives, and it suits me just fine.

Sitemeter amusement

2010-04-16T10:23:00.002-05:00

Just glanced at my Sitemeter stats and noticed there are a number of people who find my blog by googling "how to introduce a preacher." I'm not sure what's so special about introducing a preacher that drives folks to the interwebs for help, but I have to admit it pleases me that they find a post where I write about the best introduction I've ever heard.

There are a surprising number of folks finding me through searches on things related to dead possums. Those searches take them to a post about my experience with one. This post might actually prove a bit helpful.

I am, however, resisting speculation on why someone in the U.S. House Representatives Information Systems is googling "possum kicking."

Sermon: A father and two sons

2010-04-14T21:58:00.003-05:00

I had a chance to preach in chapel a few weeks ago. I don't do that very much anymore. I'm not ordained, and have no plans to be. I once felt compelled to wrestle with that and kept trying to find a way to make ordination make sense for me. But, something shifted for me last summer and I'm happy to report there's no longer a struggle. It's a huge relief to say I'm a lay person, one who is theologically trained. And one who occasionally preaches.

So here you a go, a sermon on the text from Luke 15:1-3; 11b-32. There's a podcast of it on the seminary website for those who would prefer to listen to it: Go to this page and scroll down to 3-10-10.

A FATHER AND HIS TWO SONS

The familiarity of a text such as our gospel reading for this week causes me to work a lot harder to find meaning in it. A surface glance doesn’t reveal much, at least not for me. And in the case of the particular text for this week, there is so much there that it’s hard to figure out where to focus my attention. I’ll admit even to a momentary longing that the lectionary actually offered up for us the parable found earlier in the 15^th chapter of Luke, the one about the lost sheep. I am, after all, a shepherd now, and let me tell you, I have a lot to say about searching for and finding lost sheep. With lambs running around the farm, it’s a daily experience. And can you imagine the props I could bring to breathe new life into that story!

But, at this point in the middle of our Lenten journey, the lectionary offers up the story of a father and his two sons, a familiar story that we can too easily dismiss precisely because of its familiarity. One that we know so deeply in our bones is one that requires work to let it shed new light on our faith.

For me, some of the newness came as I paid attention to the pace of this story. It covers a lot of time in a relatively short space. It seems to be in a hurry to get a particular point. The younger son asks for his inheritance. It’s given to him. He blows it on wild living. He comes to his senses, and returns home. Phew! The details are sparse, just enough to give us some sense of the significance of what happens next. And with that the story shifts to a moment, one particular moment only. And it is the meaning of that moment and all that is behind it that remains the focal point of what’s left in the text, the moment when a father embraces the son he fears he’s lost.

Reading the part of the story that focuses on the younger son, my thoughts almost always immediately go to a ballet performance I saw when I was in college. Ballet choreographer George Balanchine created a beautiful interpretation of the story, set to the music of Prokofiev. In the ballet, the younger son is seen dragging himself through the mud and slop of the pigs, an image made more profound in my mind as I grew to understand the significance of a Jewish man finding himself caught in that situation. The choices the younger son made didn’t just mean he ended up penniless. They ultimately led him to give up his family and his faith. Balanchine understood the younger son’s decision to return to his father to be an indication of remorse and repentance. The principle dancer in this ballet is seen dragging himself across the floor, no longer walking, perhaps weak from hunger, but more likely, given the downward gaze and lack of eye contact when he meets his father, an act of contrition, a sign of his sorrow for what he’s done. In the text, we are given every reason to believe that too. When he comes to his senses, he recognizes that his suffering is needless. He knows a man, his father, who treats the least in his household better than he’s being treated by the one he hired himself out to. In what he says both to himself and to his father, he demonstrates at least a cognitive awareness that his actions mean the relationship has to be different. He can no longer be a son, but his hope is that he can at least be a hired hand in his father’s household. It would be better than his current situation by far. He doesn’t seem to expect to go back to what he had before. He’s merely trying to improve his current situation and turning to the resources he has to do so.

The climax of the ballet is the point at which the father sees his son from afar and runs to meet him. The music reaches an emotional crescendo as the beautifully choreographed scene shows the father run and fall to his knees to catch the son who is unable to stand, and from that position on the ground they embrace. There’s no distance, no holding back. The depth of each one’s longing for the other is seen in the profound absence of separation.

For most of us, it’s not hard to identify those times in our lives when the regret of our actions leads to a shame that keeps in place a distance from those we’ve hurt. It may be physical distance. It may be emotional distance, but it is separation nonetheless. There’s an invisible line we feel can no longer cross because of what we’ve done. We know what it’s like to be out of God’s presence, don’t we. We know what it’s like to feel the sheer force and impact of the consequences of our poor choices. And, certainly, in this season of Lent, we are invited to an examination of our lives that sheds light on those things which separate us from God’s love. And when we recognize those things and become aware, we need only turn to God and know that God stands ready to receive us. Indeed, that is the good news of the gospel. And what beautiful news it is to be reminded of God’s grace, to be reminded of and to know that we are invited to experience again those moments when the past is overlooked so that the distance that separates us might be overcome.

There are some who are satisfied with the story ending there. Theologically, I don’t think it’s particularly troubling to do that. But it is hard for me to simply ignore the fact that there’s more. There must be a reason for it, right? This is, after all, the story of a Father and his TWO sons.

THE OLDER SON

Balanchine stopped too soon, I believe. There’s such richness when we shift our perspective to look at this scene through the eyes of the older son.The story is still focused on that moment, the one when after the father and younger son embrace, the father casts everything else aside and throws a party. He’s been watching and waiting for the day when his son would return. What he longed for has happened and nothing else matters in that moment. It’s an occasion to celebrate, and so he tells the servants to put a robe, the best one, on his younger son and to kill the fatted calf so that they can eat and celebrate.

And without moving away from this scene the perspective of the story shifts and instead of seeing the celebration through the eyes of the father, we are invited to see it through the eyes of the older son, the one who has been there all along, the responsible one who has followed the customs and honored his father, the hard working one who we see working in the field when the party begins.

He’s indignant when he discovers what’s going on. And if we’re honest with ourselves, it’s not terribly hard for us to understand why. In fact, we have some good sound reasoning to help us support the older brother’s position. Isn’t the celebration a bit premature, we might ask? Has he been to rehab? How do we know he’s sincere? Don’t we need evidence of changed behavior to demonstrate that he really understands what he’s done?

The older son is focused on the past. He can’t overlook it. And, in all honesty, there’s some wisdom in that perspective. We know that. If our concern is a changed relationship as we move forward, then the past matters, and we’re wise to make clear our expectations that things be different.

But I believe it’s at this point that the pace of this story reveals something very important to us. The focus of this parable is on that moment of reconciliation, the one in which the past is overlooked and the future doesn’t yet matter. It’s that moment when what was lost is found and the celebration begins, when our hearts are open to the beauty of reconciliation with God and with each other.

And, we like the older brother, run the risk often of robbing ourselves by focusing on the past or the future so much that we can’t allow our hearts to feel the profound joy that comes when, for a moment, there is no distance that separates. Our own self-righteousness or concern for the integrity of the church steals the opportunity for joy.

I wonder how different our lives and churches would be if we would say to ourselves at times, all that matters right now is that what was lost is found, that which was dead has been made alive again. Maybe, my friends, that’s the open door to a true transformation, one that invites something new, not something predicted or controlled. For those of us who are in need of reconciliation, like the younger son, transformation is possible because we’re allowed momentarily the chance not to have to answer for the past or prescribe how the future will look, but are simply allowed to experience in the very depths of our being the profound joy of being reconciled with God. And maybe for those of us who haven’t strayed far from God, what we need to truly be transformed is to allow ourselves the opportunity, momentarily, to enter into the joy of others who find their way home without expecting them to explain the past or demonstrate how things will be different, to participate in the demonstration of God’s grace that makes the transformed life possible.

It’s in those moments when the love of God infuses us and makes possible things we can’t imagine, when resurrection can occur and our lives and faith are given new breath. In the remaining days of Lent, what do you need to let go of to truly experience reconciliation with God? What do you need to let go of to be ready to celebrate with all of God’s children?

Lily smiles for the camera

2010-04-02T20:37:00.002-06:00

Shot yesterday after Lily followed me around the farm. There are no words to describe how much I love this lamb!

An Open Heart and the Will to Live

2010-04-01T15:42:00.002-06:00

The following is an article I wrote for the All Souls Church monthly journal Simple Gifts on the theme for the month: salvation.

An Open Heart and the Will to Live

We operate with a simple rule on the farm: If a sick animal shows us she wants to live, we will do everything we can to help her get well. The rule was at the forefront of my mind the day Lily was born. A lamb born to a ewe that was too young to be bred, Lily came into the world without all she needed to survive the first few hours of life on her own.

Too weak to stand or lift her head, Lily needed help getting her first meal. I prepared a bottle and brought it out to the barn where she lay in the soft hay. Her nervous mama paced and called to her. I picked her up and put the nipple to her lips. Mama came over to us and licked Lily’s back, stimulating her to suck, the two of us working together to give the lamb her best shot at life. Lily latched on to the nipple, emptying the bottle in a matter of minutes. I knew immediately she had a strong will to live.

I took Lily in the house as night fell and the temperatures dropped. I held her to my chest while I talked to Lisa on the phone. It’s been a hard winter at the farm. We’ve lost some animals and my heart has been broken more than once. Lisa knew immediately what I needed as I described the situation. I had the basics down, all the necessary care to help keep her alive. But I was tentative and scared. Lisa affirmed all that I was doing, but quickly zeroed in on what was lacking. “You have to open your heart to her. She’s going to break it. You have no control over that. It may be tonight. It may be tomorrow. It may be ten years from now, but she will break it, so accept that and let her in.”

I nuzzled Lily against my chest, and let her rest in my arms. I prayed for my heart to open. Tears fell as she nibbled on my chin. I felt a deep connection to her. I struggled with fear that she would die. I knew the odds. If a lamb doesn’t get up on her own in the first few hours of life, she isn’t likely to live. The impending sense of doom that had lingered since we lost the first animals in the Christmas Eve snow storm crept in over and over again. I wanted her to live but I was afraid to ask for it, afraid to believe that it would happen.

I let her sleep near me. Every few hours, she stirred and I fixed a bottle. For nearly 48 hours, I fed her and stood her up. I talked to her and sang to her. I watched her struggle to get up on her own. Time after time, she’d almost make it, only to collapse with a thud. Until, finally, almost two days after she was born, she got up. Her shaky legs barely able to pull her up, she stood and in seconds began to walk around the room. She walked circles around me while I danced and laughed. I felt the wall that I had so carefully erected around my heart come crashing down. Salvation came to both of us. With an open heart and the will to live, joy returned and lifted us to the sky.

Salvation
by Rumi

There is no salvation for the soul
But to fall in Love.
It has to creep and crawl
Among the Lovers first.
Only Lovers can escape
From these two worlds.
This was written in creation.
Only from the Heart
Can you reach the sky.
The rose of Glory
Can only be raised in the Heart.

February showers bring....?

2010-02-21T09:10:00.004-06:00

If I had a camera with a powerful telephoto lens, I'd take a picture to post here this morning. It would look through our rain-streaked kitchen window out toward the barn. It would show you the soggy barnyard, puddles standing in most of the yard, thick, sticky mud everywhere else. The background would be grey and foggy. And then the photo would land on a lone figure standing in the doorway of the barn, Sugar, a goat with ears down, head drooping slightly. You would see her head leaning on the post at the doorway and her sad eyes looking up toward the kitchen window, pleading with us to do something about this rain. This was my view while I washed the breakfast dishes.

She's miserable. They all are. They'd much rather be headed out to the pasture by now, or climbing up on the round bale of hay. Being confined to the barn is not their style. I hope it lets up enough for them to get out in awhile. There's no telling what the sheep and goats will cook up together in that barn.

One of our ewes had twins while we were over at some friends' for dinner last night. Lisa found them safe and sound when we returned. I checked on them this morning. They were toasty warm and full of life.

The 5-acre field that we'll use for growing is now plowed and ready for Lisa and Kasey to lay irrigation pipes and tape. Planting in the field will begin around March 1. Planting seeds for germination in the greenhouse has already started.

This place is bursting with life, even if some of its livelier beings are a bit thwarted by the rain. Maybe I'll put on some rain gear and go for a walk today.

In the middle of the night.

2010-02-18T05:41:00.005-06:00

I woke up in the middle of the night last night. We're still lambing, and have some goats we're concerned about, so I slipped out of bed, put on my jacket, grabbed the headlamp, and walked out to the barn. There was a chill in the air. I pulled my jacket tight around me. A cat stirred from the pile of cats and dogs on the porch and glanced my way through bleary eyes. In a moment, the pile came to life as cats lazily stood, stretched, and yawned. The dog laid motionless, sleeping peacefully after a full night chasing coyotes away.

I walked on toward the barn. The darkness enveloped me as I stepped off the porch and away from the lights at the house. It was quiet. I could hear only my own breathing and the crunch of my boots on the frosty ground. The barnyard is usually so full of activity, lambs and ewes looking for each other, doelings jumping and head-butting, everyone looking for corn. But last night there was one lone woolie, lying next to the fence, to greet me when I entered.

I walked on toward the barn. The sweet smell of hay met me as I walked through the open door. Some animals stirred. The sheep are not used to us yet, so they run when we get too close. Several of them sprang to their feet and ran out toward the pasture. I looked quickly to see if any were showing signs of labor. Then I looked past them to see if there were any ewes down in the pasture on the other side of the barn. Everyone was on her feet. I breathed easier. There would be no babies in the house this night.

On the far side of the barn, the goats were piled up together in a corner. The two or three on the outer edge looked up, but the others continued sleeping. I walked closer to look at them. The one we're most concerned about was in the middle of the pile, completely surrounded by the others. I watched her breathing, soft gentle rises of the area just past her rib cage. She was safe for the night.

I turned to walk back to the house and stepped past the hay feeder. I looked down to see two woolie lambs cuddled together sound asleep in the safest place in the barn. I smiled at their cleverness.

I made my way back to the house. The dog was still asleep but the cats had scattered. I walked through the door, took off my jacket and laid it down. I turned out the lights and went back to the bedroom, walking softly and quietly to keep from waking anyone. I got to the bed and laid down. I closed my eyes, holding in my mind the beautiful sight of the animals safe and warm, sleeping peacefully in the middle of the night. And, soon, I too, was sound asleep again.

Taking requests/suggestions

2010-02-16T20:24:00.001-06:00

My life is full. I want to write, but it's hard to find a place to start. What should I write about?

Finding Isaiah

2010-01-06T21:44:00.002-06:00

I met a friend for coffee today at a coffee shop I've been to a couple of times, but not for a long time. We walked up to order and were chatting as we got to the counter. The barista overheard me say something about my friend leaving soon, so he turned to my friend and said, "You're leaving?" I could tell that they were familiar with each other. My friend Duane said yes and explained that he's moving to the West Coast. The barista said, "Oh, that's so cliche! Everyone does that!"

The tone of his comment sounded very familiar so I looked a little closer and realized it was Isaiah, the barista who worked at the coffee shop I used to go to pretty regularly. I knew he'd left, but had know idea where he'd gone. It kind of felt like I'd found a long lost friend.

The two of you who've stuck with the blog for the past few years may remember Isaiah was featured in a post I wrote a couple of years ago. I've been thinking about that post all day, laughing about it and fondly remembering the regular back and forth banter with Isaiah.

I'm reposting that old post in honor of finding Isaiah. Here it is, from June 2007:

Vanity

I had to travel for work today, so my work day started with a trip to the rental car agency to pick up my vehicle. AJ the manager checked me in and asked if I wanted a Mazda 5 or a Subaru. When I rent for work, I usually choose something that blends into the background, is relatively conservative and businesslike, and gets decent gas mileage. I asked for the Mazda 5. I signed the documents, grabbed the keys, and looked as AJ pointed me in the direction of my car.

AJ said Mazda 5 and I replied Mazda 5, but I pictured Mazda 6, a nice generic, nondescript sedan, preferably white or grey in color, something that just sort of disappears into the road when I barrel down the highway. I have this fantasy that neutral- colored cars decrease the likelihood of a ticket. The warning ticket tacked to my bulletin board at work is a testament to the falsehood of that fantasy. Still, I believe it.

At first I thought he was pointing to the red car directly across from me, until I realized, to my relief, that it was a Toyota. I walked up two more cars and saw the car I’d rented. It didn’t look like anything I’d rented before. It was kind of young and hip, I thought. It looked a little like a hatchback, only bigger. I walked up next to it and unlocked the doors so I could put my things in the back seat. As I got closer, I saw that it had a sliding door. “Good god!,” I thought. “I’ve rented a minivan. I can’t drive a minivan. I’m not a mom. I’m single. I’m, I’m, I’m….cool!” I tried the key, thinking maybe the car was unlocked and that I hadn’t, in fact, opened the right car. The key worked.

I pulled the door back and looked in to find that there were six, possibly seven seats. I got serious van vibes and worried about my image. Nevertheless, I was running late and had to get going. I put my things in the back seat and drove off.

It didn’t drive like a van. I was sitting up high, but not above everyone. I could maneuver it easily. Clearly, I was driving a hatchback, I reasoned. I sat back, put a cd in the player, cranked the volume, and set my mind on the trip ahead.

I decided to stop for coffee at a place I frequent. I did a u-turn, pulled into the parking place in front of the shop, got out and walked in. Isaiah the barista walked up from the back room. He smiled and greeted me by name. I’m a regular.

Isaiah is twenty-something, a rock climber who wears designer jeans, retro shirts, and whatever you call those shoes that look like something I rented at the bowling alley when I was twelve. His curly blonde hair flows from his head like a bush. His beard makes him look like Grizzly Adams.

“You get a new car,” he asked. I was stumped. He’d come out from the back of the shop when I walked in. It hadn’t occurred to me that he saw me drive up. I hesitated. “Your car. Is it new? I don’t remember you driving a van.”

Looking down to find my frequent buyer card, I mumbled, “It’snotavan.”

“What?”

“I said it’s not a van!”

“What is it then?”

“It’s a Mazda 5.”

He nodded his head. “Right. A van.”

“Define ‘van.’”

“You define ‘van.’ You seem to be the one with specific ideas about what it is and what it isn’t. I think you’re a little sensitive about this,” he said chuckling. He stepped back to start my drink. The cup was sitting on the counter under the espresso machine. He pulled the shots and began to the steam the milk. “What’s wrong with driving a van?”

“I’m not a mom. I’m, I’m….well, I’m not a mom.”

“Is there something wrong with being a mom?”

“No. I’m just not one, so I don’t think I should be driving a car that makes me look like one.” I suddenly remember that I’d been offered the Subaru and wondered why I didn’t just take it. Sure, it screams lesbian, but I am one. I could drive it with my authenticity intact, and in that moment, we would have had a very different conversation.
The sound of the steam blowing against the bottom of the metal milk container brought me back. I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t actually ordered a drink. I was curious what he was fixing me. “What are you making for me?”

“The same thing you’ve order the last 25 times you’ve been in here.”

“I haven’t been here 25 times.”

“Okay. The same thing you’ve ordered the last 15 times you’ve been here. A large mocha.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Um, yeah. I was just going to get something different today. One of those Previa mochas.”

“What’s a Previa mocha?” The blood rushed from my face. As soon as he said it, I knew what I’d done, but I tried to cover it up.

“You know. A mocha with semi-sweet European chocolate. Not that sweet American stuff.”

“That’s not a Previa. Where did Previa come from? Wait. I know what a Previa is. It’s a VAN, a Toyota, isn’t it?”

“Um. Yeah.”

He nearly dropped the milk from laughing so hard. “Why did you think of Previa?”

“Well, I have some friends who have one.”

“Really. Do they have kids?”

“No.”

“So, it’s not a mom-car to them.”

“Well, no. But, it’s still not right. I mean, I drive up to their house and see it sitting there and I wonder who’s visiting them. They’re not van people. I don’t really know why they have a van.”

“Or maybe you’re just narrow-minded about the whole van thing. Is the regular mocha okay, or do I need to make a Prague mocha?”

“Regular is fine. You’ve already started it.” He picked up the cup, carefully poured the milk, creating the perfect swirl of coffee and milk to look like a leaf. I paid and walked away.
“I’m going to go get in my van now,” I said, looking back over my shoulder.

“That’s right. Embrace it, Linda. Embrace the van.”

Winter garden magic

2010-01-06T05:43:00.008-06:00

Lisa and Kasey grow our garden using methods developed by Eliot Coleman, author of a popular book Four Seasons Harvest. Coleman has been a leader in the movement toward small-scale sustainable farming for many years. What he teaches dispels the notion that reliance on local farms for your produce means you only get fresh vegetables in the summer. He teaches ways to have fresh produce year-round.

I had the pleasure of experiencing this joy for the first time last year. Lisa kept a couple of cold frame garden boxes near the house. She grew spinach, kale, chard, and lettuces last year. A cover made with a wood frame and greenhouse plastic was placed over the raised bed any time the temperature dipped below freezing. The cover kept the plants warm and protected from frost. When the sun would shine and the temperatures jumped above freezing, the cover came off, allowing the plants to soak up the sun's rays or get some moisture from the rain. When it was frigid or snowy, the lids stayed on tight, keeping the plants protected from the damaging weather.

This year, Lisa and Kasey planted a winter garden at the farm to provide produce for our community supported agriculture (CSA) members. Rather than using raised bed boxes, they planted in a plot of land that receives a lot of sun from the south and has some protection from the north winds. Small metal hoops were placed in each of the beds, over which they lay a layer of fabric insulation and greenhouse plastic. They've planted all of the same things Lisa planted last year, and included some broccoli, cauliflower, and cabbage.

Amazingly, the plants, for the most part faired well in the Christmas Eve storm. With the exception of the cabbage, broccoli, and cauliflower, which were in a bed where the plastic was blown off in the strong winds that we received, the plants have done well. Lisa and Kasey will have to work quick to harvest in these frigid temperatures, but even with the cold weather they can provide the CSA members with fresh produce.

A friend from work got curious about gardening this past year and learned a lot from Lisa. She's been keeping a cold frame of her own in her back yard in midtown Tulsa. She's so excited about it she told a friend who lives in Texas what she was doing. He's in town this week for a class at the seminary and is watching her cold frame with curious skepticism. He bought the book Four Seasons Harvest and is considering options for himself.

One of the greatest pleasures of my life is getting to eat fresh salad from the garden in the middle of winter. It's magic!
Pictures were taken by Lisa.

Farm bio: The long version

2010-01-05T06:59:00.003-06:00

I had to shorten my bio for the farm website so I thought I'd post the longer version here:

It took exactly two days and two nights at the Living Kitchen to get me hooked. Some friends and I were farm sitting to allow Lisa a much needed break, and while we didn’t do nearly all the work the farm entails, the daily routine of milking, feeding, and harvesting provided a rhythm for my life that made my soul sing. I left telling a friend, “I’m going to live on a farm someday. I don’t know how or when, but I’m going to do it.”

I moved to Tulsa in 2006 determined not to make the same mistakes I made years earlier when I moved to Fort Worth, Texas. Months before my move I started reclaiming parts of my life that had been buried under books and hidden in corners of a library while I tried to finish a Ph.D. I lost 70 pounds, started running again, became more concerned about what I ate, and most importantly, got out of the house regularly and reconnected with nature. When I got to Tulsa, I found rich opportunities to allow those pursuits to grow, including the chance to work occasionally at the Living Kitchen, farm sitting, helping plant potatoes, shoveling out barns, raising a yurt, really anything that needed to be done. I loved the chance to be outside, to be connected to the source of the food I ate, and Wow! did I eat when I went out to the farm!

In 2009 my level of commitment to the Living Kitchen shifted when I moved here to live and work. I still hold a full-time job in Tulsa, which I enjoy, but in the waking hours when I’m not at work, I have the chance to help with the animals, work in the garden, do projects around the farm, and assist with some of the administrative tasks that keep the farm running. I also get to hike and fish!

My life’s work has centered on spirituality. I’ve worked as a counselor and chaplain and in graduate education for ministers. At the heart of my spiritual interests is a deep love for the natural world. Farming for me is an expression of my spiritual life. As my role at the Living Kitchen evolves, I hope to offer opportunities to assist others in exploring their spirituality using the amazing resources the land and its fruits provide.

Back to the office

2010-01-04T05:54:00.002-06:00

So today I head back to the office. It feels like it's been a month since I've been there. In reality it's only been about 11 days. The long commute in will help me shift gears to the work that lies ahead for me there. It's going to be busy!

The weather forecast for this week keeps changing. Every time we check it, the lows get lower. With some windchills below zero later this week and the prediction of another snow storm, I'm so glad we managed to get the barn enclosed. As we were working on it yesterday and the day before, we could feel the temperature rise in the barn as we added walls. I hope and pray it keeps the animals warm!

The propane truck comes today. We ran out on Tuesday of last week and have managed pretty well with a couple of small radiator heaters. I'm ready to have the dryer back too. The laundry has been piling up.

We will be getting a wood stove soon. We really prefer to have one for many reasons. For starters, it will help us cut back on the propane we use. It also gives us a good source for heat and for cooking if the electricity goes out, which will no doubt happen some time before winter is over. The wood stove gives me a great sense of security. I'll be glad when we have it in.

All that has happened the past few weeks has made me conscious of how much we rely on energy resources. We are working to be more intentional, again, about how much we use. That means making the most of any trip we make to town so that we can cut back on the number we make each week. It means using the sustainable practices that we know work. And for me, that means living in line with my values, something I can get excited about it.

So while it's cold and I'm headed back to the office this week, I'm coming into this new year humbled by the experiences I had over my break, and ready to practice what I preach. I sure wish they made dress Carharrts. My office is pretty cold. I could sure use some!

Another year

2010-01-02T08:04:00.004-06:00

...and what a year it's been. So much has happened to enable me to live a dream. I have a lot to be grateful for...amazing love, a chance to live and work on a farm, some growth in admissions at the seminary, wonderful friends and a deep sense of connection to this place and to the community that surrounds us. If that's how 2009 is ending, 2010 should be absolutely amazing.

December ended with my initiation into farming. I've been a farm sitter and have helped out around here a lot for the past few years, but when Lisa went to Seattle for a week and Kasey went to be with his family for a few days, I found myself solo farmer for nearly a week. The farm has grown. We now have 28 ewes, a ram, and several little lambs added to the goats and llama that we have. I was expecting lambs to be born while Lisa was gone, and indeed a healthy baby boy was born the day after Christmas, all without any help from me. Mama and baby are doing quite well.

A winter storm was predicted for the time Lisa was away, but they were making it sound like it wouldn't amount to much. As it got closer to time for the storm, the predictions grew larger and larger. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, we were hearing "Blizzard Warning," words that are rare in these parts. That day rain turned to sleet and things started icing up pretty quickly. I checked on the animals and though they were clearly cold, all seemed okay. The winds started picking up and I found myself checking the weather radar every few minutes. The storm seemed to be moving on and it appeared at one point in mid-afternoon that we were nearly out of the woods, not much more than sleet and a little bit of snow. Oklahoma City had been hit hard, about 10 inches they were saying, and I could see on the radar how the storm was hammering them.

A few minutes later I looked out the window and saw snow coming down sideways with almost no visibility. I looked at the radar again and realized something had caused the storm to stall out on top of us. I pulled on my Carharrts and coat and raced around to check on animals. The snow was drifting in the barn. The area where we kept our bucks was quickly receiving a covering of snow and I could tell that there wouldn't be much dry, warm space left for everyone. I knew it was crazy, but I opted to put the does in the milk barn for the night and coaxed the bucks into the does area of the barn.

I slept uneasy that night. I had to make myself get up and go outside the next morning to see what had happened. There was snow everywhere. It was beautiful to see the sunrise on the frozen acreage, the faint hints of light peaking up over the hill beyond the pond, just beginning to reflect off the ice that covered it. I stepped into the barn and found everyone huddled. The two bucks were still lying on the ground, cuddled together to stay warm. Everyone else was standing. There was a four-foot drift just outside the barn, creeping into the south end. Everywhere I turned there was snow.

I fed everyone and went back in to get ready to milk. When I went back out I checked on the bucks again. They seemed to be listless and not very responsive. I called Lisa and made the decision to get them in the milk barn where I could turn on a heater. They were so cold at that point that they couldn't walk. I had to carry them to the barn. I laid them on a thick bed of hay, turned on the heater and grabbed several blankets to put over them. A friend of ours recommended putting hot water bottles under them to help warm them up, so I did that as well. I laid on top of them and talked to them, alternating blankets and water bottles. Lisa stayed on the phone with me for a long while, coaching me, talking to the boys when I'd put the phone to their ears.

In the end, all that I tried didn't work. They had already shut down too much when I found them. They both died that day in the barn. It was hard to accept. It still is at times.

But I find myself as I move into this new year, aware of all that we've accomplished in 2009, trying to celebrate what did happen those few days when I was here alone, deeply aware that I am not in control. I play a role here. I am responsible for the care of these animals, a responsibility I share with Lisa. A responsibility I share with the animals and the elements too. I won't always be able to save the animals. At some point, our best efforts fall short, and I'll learn from those times, just as I've learned from this one.

Being a farmer is not about being a hero. This narrative I write of my life will not have its heroines. It will be the story of living beings learning to live to within a balance of life, each playing a role, each impacting the other. There's a rare beauty in that. I've seen it intimately these past few days. It's like seeing the face of God, I think. I can't walk away the same.

Happy Holidays!

2009-12-16T10:46:00.002-06:00

Happy Holidays from the Living Kitchen Farm and Dairy!

With gratitude,

Linda, Lisa, Kasey, Teeny Tiny, Pascal, and the rest of the herd

A question that lingered

2009-11-16T06:25:00.002-06:00

Lisa participated on a panel that answered questions after showing portions of the movie Food, Inc. at All Souls Unitarian Church yesterday. The panel included Wes Downing of Downing Family Farm and Doug Walton who works with the Kerr Center for Sustainable Agriculture. The questions that came after the film were interesting, different than I expected. One question in particular has lingered with me.

A woman who works with seniors in Tulsa asked the question, "What should they buy when they shop at Walmart to be sure they're getting the safest food possible?" I found myself wondering why they're shopping at Walmart, but I realize there is likely a complex answer behind that. There's a certain appeal to the one-stop shopping Walmart offers, particularly when people rely on others for transportation. My mom who is nealry 80 years and would hardly be characterized as a revolutionary or activist is on a one-woman campaign to boycott Walmart in the small town where she lives. She sees them as a threat to the small grocery store in town and while the selection at the grocery store is more limited and may, in some cases, provide less healthy and less safe options simply because there's a smaller customer base to demand such options, she is firmly committed to doing her part to keep small businesses alive. I know there are options. Walmart isn't the only choice, but even if it was, the answer to the woman's question is more complicated than that.

Doug Walton attempted to answer it on several levels. First, he talked about choices between processed foods and whole foods. Second, he tried to discuss the difference between organic and non-organic products. His attempt to highlight the multidimensional nature of the issue irritated her, I think. She fired back at him with several more questions and seemed frustrated. I'm not really sure what her frustration was. Is it the cost of those products versus the cost of processed foods that use commodities that are highly subsidized and can be provided at below-cost-of-production prices? Is it anger that we're caught in a situation of having to even concern ourselves with the safety of food to begin with?

My dad had a big vegetable garden nearly every summer. He planted tomatoes, corn, green beans, okra, beets, potatoes, and other assorted goodies. The garden was always much bigger than needed to feed us and provide produce for my mom to can for the winter months. We used to tease about his ambitious planting, but I think there was often more behind his intent than he ever let on. He loved to share what he grew. Neighbors would come pick for themselves after he'd harvested for us. And he loved to take bags of stuff to people he knew couldn't come pick for themselves. He didn't do it because it was trendy or an act of social justice. He did it because he loved to garden and believed none of what he produced should go to waste.

After he retired, he and my mom volunteered with Meals on Wheels, delivering meals to homebound people in the small town where they lived every other week. When his garden was producing, he took extras along with him and delivered fresh vegetables to everyone on his route. Now, my mom doesn't drive much and can't garden for herself, but a couple from town who delivered Meals on Wheels with them have taken to bringing her regular deliveries of vegetables from their garden during the summer months.

The problem in the woman's question isn't just about the safety of food. I think it's also about the breakdown of community and a demonstration of what we value most. We've sacrificed small community-based businesses and our own health on the altar of convenience. On one level the answer to her question seems simple enough...buy non-processed, organic foods from local producers whenever possible. It gets more complex only because it means challenging our values. To do so means budgeting for our health. It means allowing time to find the products that are safe. It also means being aware of those who are most vulnerable and susceptible to relying on unsafe food as the staple of their diet simply because they truly can't afford or gain access to good, clean food.

That feels complex. It's hard to challenge our values. I don't think it was ever so complicated for my dad or for the couple who pass things along to my mom. They just simply planted more than they needed and looked for those who didn't have access to it. Maybe it really is that simple.

Coming home

2009-10-30T13:49:00.003-06:00

Every night it’s the same. I turn down the road and see a couple of white dots in the distance, dancing along the horizon, getting larger as I approach. As my truck nears the driveway the dots take shape and Ginger and Cosmo, the guard dogs, wag their tails and pant and walk slowly to greet me. Sadie is not so patient. She races past them, coming from wherever she is on the farm as soon as she hears the truck. I pull in the driveway, put on the brake, and turn off the engine, and hear a thud on the driver’s side door. Sadie jumps up to look in the window. I’m home.

I’m a member of the pack, part of the herd, one of the clowder. I belong to the brood. If I’ve forgotten that in my workday world, I’m reminded as soon as I round that corner. Goats turn to look and bleat. Dogs run to meet me. Chickens cackle. And cats…well, cats raise their heads and appear annoyed.

It’s just like a human to see herself as the center of attention when she arrives on the scene. Make no mistake. I know for many, my return home means it’s time to eat. I’m at least a reminder of dinner time, at most a means to an end…the hand that reaches into the barrel with the grain or scratch or other food or to pat a waiting head. It’s not an indication of my self importance, but in some small way it is one of the most assuring things I encounter everyday. I know I belong.

On a cloudy, windy evening after the sun was well on its way to setting, I rounded the corner to the side porch, briefcase in hand. The cats were waiting near their bowls when I stepped up on the porch. I reached for their food as I passed and filled each bowl. I noticed one of the four cats I knew should be around wasn’t there. I hadn’t seen him in the morning either. So I started calling him and caught sight of a small white creature moving quickly toward the house from out by the pond. At first, I assumed it was Ruben and started to head in to the house, but in a moment realized it wasn’t him. It was Buttons, a cat who’d run away the first night she was at the new farm, five or six weeks ago.

I yelled in the house for Lisa to let her know Buttons was home. Then, stood and watched. Buttons ran, but slowed as she got closer. She crouched low and slunk up to me, rubbing up against my leg. I picked her up. She didn’t like that and jumped down. Sadie ran to her, so she took off back toward a wooded area across the street. I grabbed a bowl of food and called to her. She stopped. I walked slowly toward her and put the food down, under the fence that separated us. She turned and came back to the food. Ginger and Cosmo saw her and jogged toward her. I called them off and they turned away. They NEVER listen to me. I was shocked.

The other cats, including Ruben who had appeared from somewhere, grew curious and started towards her. Bella, the ginger manx cat, everyone’s favorite, got the closest. She approached slowly, but confidently, and stopped near Buttons. Bella waited a few minutes while Buttons ate a little, then lowered her head and cautiously started grooming her, lightly touching Buttons’ coat, gently licking it. After awhile, Bella groomed in earnest.

There we were. Two white dogs a safe distance away. Lisa and I back near the porch. The cats scattered around the yard between the porch and the fence where Buttons sat eating. And Bella right beside her, licking Buttons' white and grey fur.

Wildwood Spring

2009-09-03T10:23:00.004-05:00

We haven't given a name to the new place yet. No Name New Place is what I use to refer to it in my journal, a way of distinguishing it from The Farm, the name I used for the old place. But in my mind I've come to think of the new place as Wildwood Spring, after an Eliza Gilkyson song by the same name. The story of Wildwood Spring in her song sums up beautifully how I feel about where we live now. It seems the lives we live and the work we do are largely about slowing down enough to pay attention to the world around us, to where our food comes from, to the amazing activity of the many lives, however tiny they may be, that surround us, to each other. It's about daring to live out values that in many ways run contrary to the culture in which we live and that come with a sense of urgency that, at times, turns us into evangelists of sorts.

But our lives are not all sober and serious and completely oriented to the fulfillment of some higher good. A few nights ago we watched the llama play "king of the hill" on a mound of dirt in the night yard. He playfully bounded up and down the hill, chasing any sheep or goats who dared to ascend the mound.

There is a deep sense of pleasure and joy and satisfaction in this place. I experience love here at depths that have eluded me most of life, largely because I wasn't open to it. This place breaks me open, sometimes leaving me vulnerable to the point I fear my heart will never be protected again. But it's only a momentary fear, one that occasionally takes my breath away for a moment when I stop to think about all that I've let in. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. I'm so grateful to be here.

There is a steady breeze blowing through the trees that stand tall against a sky that is moderating the light it will let in this morning. Clouds are scattered about, the last signs of the thunderstorm that passed by us earlier. The sun is shyly rising behind them, like a school girl trying to stay covered in the locker room during gym. Soon it will find some boldness and break through, rising higher in the sky and bringing a brighter hue to the world out here, but until then, I relish in the gentleness of a morning that starts this way. It matches the quiet, reflective mood I'm in and makes me want to walk the woods or write or just sit on a rock by the pond and watch the waves dance across the water like fireworks in a 4th of July sky.

I'm grateful for my life. Truly grateful. Grateful for the sense of revival that has come from the choices I've made over the past few years.

Is anybody out there?

2009-08-24T23:12:00.002-05:00

Testing. Testing. Is anyone still out there?

Ah, it doesn't matter anyway. I spent my first night on the new farm (boy, we really need to come up with a name for it!) last night. Lisa and I now live on 400 acres...with 17 goats (soon to be 22), eight sheep (soon to be, well, fewer), an assortment of chickens, seven cats, four dogs, and one llama.

I love it here. The place is beautiful. Fourteen stocked ponds, wooded areas waiting to be explored, more lush green grass than the goats and sheep could ever eat, and plenty of room for a large market garden.

If I doubted at all that my life has changed, I suppose the coffee pot conversation (our equivalent of the water cooler conversation) at the seminary today would convince me. Someone asked me about my weekend. I told her, "It was good. We moved the sheep and goats yesterday. Went pretty well, except we had some trouble with the llama." No one really knew what to say in response.

That's alright. It's not a life for everyone, but I'm sure glad it's mine!

Half Dome: New old pictures and a repost

2009-05-18T19:52:00.009-05:00

A friend from seminary posted a couple of pictures from the famous hike to the top of Half Dome. I've stolen them from him to post here. :) I don't think he'll mind.

In this photo, we're on the way to top, taking a break. I'm in the front on the right-hand side, in case it isn't obvious.

And here's proof that we made it to the top...well, I guess you'll have to take my word for it if you haven't been there yourself.

And below, I'm republishing a post from the first blog that I wrote about four years ago. It was a post that gave me my first real glimpse of the power writing had to change my life. The memory of that hike helped empower me in some very important ways. I'm so grateful to be reminded yet again of that great experience.

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Half Dome

I used to have a poster print of a famous Ansel Adams photo of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park. It was displayed in my office for years, a reminder of the most difficult and rewarding hike of my life. I often looked at the photo with a great sense of accomplishment and pride in what I achieved the day I reached the summit.

The Half Dome hike is about 17 miles round-trip with an elevation gain of about 5000 feet. A lot of the trail consists of steep stone stairs. Near the top, the grade lessens, but the distance is increased over a long series of switchbacks. The last 400 yards is straight up a sheer granite face at a 45-degree angle. To get to the summit hikers have to grasp two taut cables in their hands while carefully climbing cable rungs that are fastened to the rock.

The scenery is amazing. Ansel Adams has popularized many of the more magnificent views in black and white photos of the area. There are few places I've been that match Yosemite in its number of breathtaking, awe-inspiring scenes. Along the trail to Half Dome's summit, hikers are treated to several beautiful waterfalls (depending on the time of year), a crystal clear river, flora and fauna of many varieties, much of which remains unspoiled in spite of heavy foot traffic along the trail.

I started the hike with a group of friends early one summer morning. We camped out at a friend's house near the park entrance the night before to be sure we could start as soon as there was enough light. There were about 10 of us, allowing for hikers of varying fitness levels to stay in different groups without slowing down the stronger hikers.

Hiking is usually a solitary activity for me, but I stayed with some friends in the front group for most of the hike. Occasionally I dropped back or pushed ahead a few yards to have some time to myself. I hiked up the trail moving from one group of friends to another, enjoying a chance to get to know them better, then taking some time to myself to enjoy the beauty of the valley.

At various points along the trail, beautiful sweeping views of the Yosemite Valley are opened up through gaps in the trees. Each one invited us to rest. I was consumed with the landscape. As I looked out at the horizon, I measured the increase in elevation from the last view, wondering how much farther we had to go. The density of the forest and the position on the adjoining mountainside make it difficult to keep Half Dome in view for a large part of the hike. All that we had to assure us that we were headed in the right direction were a well-maintained trail and other hikers who were coming and going along the way.

Just before the switchbacks start, there is an opening that beautifully frames Half Dome, teasing hikers with a view that makes it seem just minutes away. As I recall, we were still about an hour and a half from the the final climb to the summit. The muscles in my legs were burning and shaky when I reached the cables. I wasn't sure I could make the climb, but I couldn't give up. I put on some leather gloves, positioned myself in between friends, and slowly started the ascent up the cables. My fear of heights overwhelmed me at several points and I froze, unable to move up or down. Each time a friend from behind reminded me to look at the rock in front of me and nothing else. If I looked up, I got dizzy. If I looked down, I started shaking. From time to time, I would have to let go of one cable to make room for a hiker coming down the face. Accustomed to repelling and having a rope to hold me in place or catch me if I fell, the experience of being on the side of a slick piece of granite with no harness or safety rope frightened me terribly. As I came to the last cable rung and saw that one step up would put me on flat ground, I reached with every ounce of energy I had left to hoist myself to the top. A few steps forward brought me to the rock's edge and the most spectacular view I've ever seen.

I couldn't breath. When I looked up, I saw nothing but sky and clouds and solitary birds circling in the wind. The sky was bluer and the clouds closer than any I'd ever seen. When I looked out, I saw the vastness of the Yosemite Valley stretching for miles in front of and around me. Trees and rocks blurred together, creating a view much like an impressionist painting. Though surrounded by friends, I felt completely alone, invisible, humbled. I found conversation impossible, so I walked to a place where I could sit alone for a few minutes. I contemplated the landscape and felt myself slowly disappear, swallowed up in a place bigger than me, a place so enormous that it was scarcely aware of my presence. I didn't want to leave.

It had taken us five hours to reach the summit from the trailhead. Some of the group stayed behind at a rest area just before the switchbacks. They were worn out and tired from the hike up, so they decided to conserve what energy they had left for the return trip. There wasn't much time to stay on the summit. We rested awhile and started the descent. When we reached the group waiting for us, someone suggested that a few of us hike ahead to catch the last shuttle bus to our cars in order to avoid increasing our hike by another two miles. Two others and I agreed to retrieve the cars. We started down the trail, moving swiftly and carefully.

I walked on ahead of them for awhile to think about the experience of reaching the summit. I could hear my friends playfully arguing about some weighty theological issue. I stayed just aware enough of their banter to know that I was not losing them. My vision was narrowed by my thoughts. I had little awareness of what was around me except for the trail directly ahead.

An hour or so down the trail, I was startled back into a keen sense of my surroundings when I heard in a quiet, but stern voice, "Don't move!" I stopped dead in my tracks, just in time to hear a rattle. I carefully surveyed the area around me. My eyes landed on a rattlesnake about a foot ahead and to my right, ready to strike. My arms and hands drew up in a defensive move as my body pulled back. All the blood drained from my face, leaving me pale and cold. I stood motionless. One of the friends behind me walked in an arc to my left so that he could get down-trail and warn other hikers to stop. The other friend, still about six or seven feet behind me, reached down to pick up several rocks. One by one, he threw the rocks to make noise in the leaves on the ground behind the snake, eventually scaring it away. Assured that the snake was gone, I finally moved. I walked back to my friend and collapsed in his arms as he hugged me. Other hikers joined us, led by the friend who had gone down-trail to warn them. The friends excitedly recounted the details of our encounter with the snake.

Speechless again, I quietly contemplated how the guys who were so far behind me saw the snake before I did. I pulled myself together and started back down the trail. We reached a calm pool in the river a few minutes later. The guys wanted to swim for awhile, so we took a break. I sat down on a rock at the river's edge and watched them, still aware of my increased pulse and shallow breathing. The sun was shining through the tops of the trees, warming me as I laid back on the rock. I took deep breaths, in and out, to calm myself. I slipped my shoes and socks off and dropped my aching feet into the icy river, slowly swinging them in circles to keep the blood flowing. The river refreshed us, and the warm sun and cool rock calmed me.

We got back on the trail. I was tired and sore. My knees ached from the strain of climbing down stairs. No longer able to escape into my thoughts, I was hypnotized by the steady rhythm of my steps. I would stop for a few minutes and start up again, trying to keep my stiffening muscles from freezing. When I felt like I couldn't take another step, I remembered our plans to stop for ice cream on the drive home. The hike ended at the shuttle bus stop with ten minutes to spare. We returned to the trailhead with our cars to meet an excited group of friends as they emerged from the trail. The drive home was energized by each one's tales of conquering fear and fatigue. Our lives were joined by a common experience, our friendships forged along the steep, rocky trail, deepened by the joint effort to get everyone up and back again safely.

First kids

2009-03-17T20:45:00.005-06:00

Sally, Queen of the Milkers, had her babies yesterday evening. I checked on her at 8:00 p.m. She was in labor, but there were no babies. We ate dinner and went out to check on her at 8:30 and to assist if she needed help. She didn't. Baby number three dropped just as we stepped out the door. She had three beautiful baby boys. Kasey, the farm intern who started last week, is in the picture above.

Saturday morning surprise

2009-03-15T11:30:00.005-06:00

I went out to do chores yesterday morning and made my way through the usual routine: Feed the dogs, feed the cats, grab some alfalfa for the milk goats, feed the chickens, check their water and lower the perches on the roosting boxes. The goats in the back pasture saw me and announced their presence, in case I had forgotten. I looked up to see who was speaking for the group and noticed five goats and five sheep at the gate. Wait! Five sheep, there should be six. I did a quick scan of the group and noticed Lady Left-teat was missing. That's not unusual. I looked behind them to see if she was resting, but didn't see her. A quick glance over at the barn brought relief. She was there, just inside where the hay and alfalfa are kept, but I noticed something underneath her. I looked more carefully and initially thought it might be a chicken that had roamed a long way from the hen house. Then it hit me! LAMB! Lady Left-teat had had her baby.

In the time it took me to turn and run to the house, I suddenly became skeptical. Maybe I hadn't seen it right. It was morning. I wasn't awake yet. But before I could convince myself to go take a closer look first, I had announced to Lisa and to the new farm intern, Kasey, that we had a lamb. They dropped what they were doing, pulled their boots on and joined me outside. I was halfway to the barn by the time they got outside. I had to be sure there was actually a lamb there first. Didn't want them to raz me for being a dumb city girl! ;)

As I got closer, I noticed that there was not in fact A lamb. There were two! Two big, healthy boys. They're beautiful.

Sally, Queen of the Milkers, is due to give birth tomorrow!

Spring is bustin' out all over

2009-03-11T07:48:00.000-06:00

It’s cold here this morning. A cold front moved in yesterday, dropping the temperature about 40 degrees over a few hours. I was deeply aware of the cold front’s progress. I went to a gathering in Oklahoma City yesterday and didn’t take my coat. Each trip outside during the day and on our return to Tulsa, it felt like the temp had dropped another 10 degrees. Right now, I’m sitting on the couch next to the woodstove, wrapped up in a blanket trying to warm up on this cold, cold morning. It’s 31 degrees, by most standards not a bitterly cold morning, but after several days of waking up to 50s and 60s, it feels pretty chilly.

The Farm is full of new life already. Lisa has been growing vegetable plants to sell at herb fests next month. The greenhouse is filling up with beautiful pepper plants and tomato plants that have germinated and are now starting to get their true leaves. Trees all around us are blooming and budding. Green grass is beginning to appear amidst the straw-like dead cover on the ground. The first of goats is due to give birth on Monday, and we still await the arrival of new lambs. There’s no describing how much excitement I feel watching the new life around me blossom.

In many ways the new life springing up on the farm mirrors for me the new life emerging in me. The sense of rebirth that started three years ago (yes, THREE years ago!) continues. I’m grateful everyday for all that the transformation has brought me, most recently the beauty of a new and amazing love. I’m so glad to be alive!

Morning chores

2009-03-05T14:21:00.002-06:00

It was a balancing act walking out the back door this morning. My arms were weighted down with a variety of plastic containers holding scraps of food perfect for hungry chickens. The screen door slammed behind me and I stopped briefly just to take in the sunrise and fresh air. It’s warm today, a nice southerly wind sweeping over the dead grass, drying out the air and leaving me with a longing to be outside, instead of sitting at my desk doing the tasks that call to me with greater urgency.

I stopped just outside the chicken coop and dropped the containers. One by one I emptied them over the fence and watched as the chickens scrambled to feast on the scraps. A familiar bird call rang out from overhead. I looked up to see a beautiful red-winged blackbird sitting on the telephone wire above. I’ve heard him several days over the past few weeks, but this is the first time I’ve seen him. I greeted him and watched him fly away, then collected the empty containers and headed to the garage to carry on with the rest of the chores. Hungry cats raced to their bowls as Lisa poured cat food for them to eat. I walked past her to the corner of the garage where the hay is kept. I took two flakes of alfalfa and headed to the milk barn. Seven glowing pregnant ladies greeted me with appetites for the sweet goodness of the dense grainy alfalfa. I gave them all a pat on the head and walked back to the chickens.

Morning chores are a meditation, a practice that calls me to leave behind the swirling anxious or excited thoughts that clutter my mind and focus my attention on my present surroundings. However routine the chores may seem, they involve the care of animals, care that requires more than the completion of tasks. Attention is needed to be aware of their health and safety. And at every corner I am reminded that I may be responsible, but I am not in control, an awareness that calls me out of my head into my surroundings, alert and ready to give attention to the details of my environment.

When I returned to the chicken coop, I stood at the fence and opened the barrel to throw them a little scratch to go with the scraps. When I looked up to fling the grain and seed, my eyes caught a glimpse of Ginger, the Great Pyrenes farm dog, inside the coop, but she didn’t belong there and in the morning, pre-second-cup-of-coffee fog, it didn’t stick with me…dog, BIG dog, inside the chicken coop, inside the high fenced walls of the coop, eating scraps of food alongside chickens who appeared less than concerned by her presence, and when it finally registered, I stood there for a moment, jaw dropped and breath held wondering how on earth she’d gotten in. I still don’t know. It was such a quick and trail-less entry that I’m wondering if she’s discovered the secret of teleportation. Either way, the illusion of control that fences and locked gates and things as they should be offers quickly dissolved with the sight of her white furry presence amidst the cackling hens and crowing roosters.

I opened the gate and scolded her. She turned to look at me, head down, dejected, frozen in her position inside the coop. I held the gate open and stepped out of her path, calling her to come. She walked slowly toward me, tail tucked and head down, and reluctantly left the coop. She stopped just outside the gate, looking with longing inside at the scraps on the ground. I gave her an understanding pat. Though frustrated with her, I admire her will.

I checked the water cans in the coop and found that between the dry air and the thirsty chickens, they’d emptied the two cans I filled the day before. I filled them again and walked back to the garage to get another can to help ensure that they have enough.

The goats and sheep in the back pasture were waiting at the gate for me when I got there. Pascal the llama stood amongst them, his watchful eye guarding their safety. I counted the sheep and noticed one was missing. My heart raced. We’ve been waiting for the two ewes to give birth. Unsure of the exact day when they were bred, we’ve known for awhile now that it could be any day. Last night I told Lisa I hoped I walked out to find a lamb. She smiled and said, “Not tomorrow! I have to leave for work at 7:30. I won’t have time to get things ready for mama and baby.”

“Well, can we have a baby on Friday?”

“Yes, Friday or Saturday or Sunday. But Monday’s not good, and neither is tomorrow!”

I looked past the sheep and goats and noticed the older ewe on the ground several yards behind the crowd at the gate. I walked over to her and realized she was just resting. She’s old and tired and frequently separates from the crowd now. There was no baby, and I breathed a sigh of relief and walked toward the barn to feed everyone. She jumped up to follow me.

This is still new to me, but today I felt like a farmer, awake to and aware of the world in my care if even for only a few minutes this morning. I’ve raced around every morning this week, scrambling to get out the door and off to an early meeting at work. I felt the same tension in my chest when I woke up, but with the first deep breath of the fresh air when I walked outside, I let the work of morning chores slow me down and call me into full awareness of my presence in this world. It’s a life I could get used to. It’s a life I’m learning to love.

25 Things

2009-02-02T18:31:00.004-06:00

Denise invited me to post 25 random things about me on my blog. I've had the same invitation from several people on Facebook, so it seems like it's time to get it done. So, here goes:

1. I was trained as a minister in a Southern Baptist seminary, but I'm not ordained, in spite of a couple of attempts to move in that direction. Years ago, I thought I'd never be anything else but a minister. Now, I'm not so sure.
2. I preached my first sermon ever...in drag. I was nine years old, playing a part in a production put on my by girls' missionary study group. I picked the verses and wrote the sermon myself, but I'd never seen a woman pastor before, so I thought I had to pretend to be a man to preach it.
3. I grew up in the greater Kansas City area, but haven't lived there in over 20 years. Since then, I've lived in three states and one other country, South Korea.
4. I'm profoundly grateful that I'm not satisfied with easy answers and that my questions have led me through some amazing spiritual territory.
5. I once completely disassembled my brand new alto saxophone (that my mom worked summer school to buy for me) and correctly reassembled it on the first try.
6. I have never been able to successfully stop biting my fingernails for more than a couple of days at a time.
7. I think the color of the sky just before the sun breaks across the horizon in the morning is the color of hope, and the sound of birds chirping is the music with which hope is most convincingly sung.
8. I've had molatov cocktails fly over my head on the way to work before.
9. I am an introvert who prefers work often better suited for extroverts.
10. One of the most satisfying things I've done in the past year is help construct the bungalow that I now live in.
11. I believe milking goats is an amazing spiritual discipline.
12. I can recite the last names of all the US Presidents in order and have been able to do so since I was in third grade. How's that for random?!
13. My favorite vegetables are asparagus, brussels sprouts, and artichokes.
14. I believe that there's a thin veil between us and what transcends us and is moving in and through all of creation to connect us, but I'm regularly amazed at how easily I miss its presence in the world around me.
15. I have considered giving up on church many times, and have taken breaks from it at different points in my life, but I can never seem to grow and change spiritually without the help of other people, whether I agree with them or not, who are seeking to grow as well.
16. Reconnecting with old friends and influential people from my past the last few months has demonstrated to me that there is a great deal more grace and acceptance in this life than I had ever dared to hope.
17. I'm the youngest of seven kids, in a blended family. But I swear I am not spoiled! :)
18. Very little warms me like scratching a goat or a cat or a dog behind the ears.
19. If you need someone to draw you a picture or decorate your room, I am not your woman.
20. I am freakishly good at remembering names.
21. I never thought that I was the kind of woman who would drive a pick-up truck. Turns out I was wrong.
22. I hate being wrong, but I'm pretty good about admitting it when I am.
23. I am most at home when I'm outside doing just about anything.
24. If Wii fitness is an accurate measurement, I missed my calling when I didn't become a ski jumper.
25. I think learning 25 random things about other people is far more interesting than learning where they went to school or what their political views are.

Holiday on the farm: Part 2, Llama herding

2009-01-12T20:15:00.010-06:00

It's been more than a week since my holiday break, and I'm slowly finding my way back to a routine. Truth be told, the old routine has been interrupted for awhile now. Regular trips to the farm have led to greater changes even than just finding a new routine. My friends, I will be buying a pick-up truck later this week. If I've left doubts in anyone's mind that I'm truly gay, this should clinch it for them. I'm beside myself with excitement. Can't you just see me driving down the road in my cute little white Toyota Tacoma truck?

But back to the regular trips to the farm.... I've spent a good bit of time there lately. And in the interest of full disclosure, I'll tell you, I'm going out there often because I'm in love. It's true. Madly in love....

....with Pascal the llama, long-necked guardian of the sheep and goats. His soft brown eyes search for understanding and draw me in with a curiosity and empathy I don't quite understand. A bit standoffish at first, he's slowly warming up to me. No doubt, the handful of feed grain I give him occasionally helps. His love for the grain knows no bounds, and by extension, the love he feels for anyone who offers it to him follows.

Pascal stays close by when I go out to the back barn to feed the animals. He watches closely, hoping that I'll open the can with the feed grain. When I fill the red bucket to pour grain into the feed trough, he follows me, hoping he'll get some to enjoy. He used to get some on a regular basis, but he's gained too much weight, so he's been put on a diet, one free of feed grain, except for the occasional handful he gets from anyone who pities him.

A couple of weeks ago, I stood at the fence along the front of the barn, about six feet away from Pascal, my chin resting on my arms in a studious pose, staring into his eyes. Neither of us moved for the longest time. His lips were slightly parted as though he were about to speak. I wondered what he would say if he could talk.

Days earlier Pascal and I had an adventure. During morning chores, I wheeled a bale of alfalfa out to the back barn. Pascal and the herd were standing at the gate when I got there. The goats and the sheep greeted me loudly, letting me know they were hungry. Their insistent pleading betrayed the fact that I had fed them grain and prairie hay the evening before. I opened the gate carefully and backed up to push the wheel barrow through, but the gate opened wider and Pascal took advantage. He darted out the gate and headed for the street.

My heart jumped into my throat. Of all the scenarios I'd considered I might encounter on the farm, an escaped llama was not one of them. There had been no drill ahead of time, no lessons on llama herding in all of the instruction I'd been given to prepare me to take care of the farm.

My mind raced. Getting the gate closed was the first priority to prevent the goats and sheep from following Pascal. I dropped the wheel barrow with the alfalfa and ran for the gate. Sadie, a beautiful black dog who was created to run like an Oklahoma wind sweeping across the prairie
, met me at the gate and passed through chasing after Pascal before I got it closed. She came flying from the back of the pasture, and her presence increased my anxiety. She's beautiful and fast and adores me, and I love her for all of those things, but she's a bully. She plays hard with the animals and causes chaos. I feared she would create more of a problem with the loose llama.

I closed the gate and turned to see where Pascal had gone. He took a right out of the gate and headed for the garden area. The fence on the front of the garden was open, a passageway for the truck to get to the back pasture. Instinctively Pascal headed for the opening, but Sadie caught up to him. I had no idea what to expect to happen next. I stood frozen, fearful, but I couldn't think of a single thing to do. Sadie raced past Pascal and headed for the opening. She stood in front of it waiting for him to come to her. As he drew closer she charged him, forcing him into the fenced part of the garden. And every time he inched back toward the opening, she ran for his feet, herding him back. Defeated, Pascal looked toward the garden and searched out the patches of green grass sprouting up around the edges of the furrowed ground.

I was amazed. With Sadie safely herding Pascal away from the street into a contained area, I closed two areas of the fence that were open and ran to the chicken coop to get some scratch, hoping to lure Pascal back to the pasture. I knew it wasn't the stuff he loves, but I was afraid to take the time to walk to the back barn and get the feed grain. With a can of scratch in hand, I walked closer to Pascal. He jumped back and darted away from me. Each time I approached him, he ran. I couldn't get him interested in the scratch for anything.

I stood in the middle of the garden watching him graze, wondering what to do. I kept glancing over at the barn, knowing that the grain was surely the key. I looked around the garden and saw Sadie a safe distance from Pascal, but close enough that she could spring into action if he headed toward the one remaining opening in the fence.

I ran to the barn, grabbed the red bucket and dropped a can full of feed grain in the bottom, then ran back to the garden. Slowly, I walked toward Pascal, and as I got closer he got more curious. Then, in a flash a knowing gaze took over his face and he started moving purposefully toward the red bucket. I let him stick his head in and get a mouthful, then pulled it away and started backing up toward the gate. He followed me, eyes fixed on the bucket, neck and head bobbing for it as he walked. In no time, I had him inside the gate, safe and sound.

Something happened to me that day. I've yet to put words to it. There's something very moving about working with a dog who instinctively helped herd an escaped llama. I was pulled by the universe to trust something I'm used to controlling, to step back and let her do what she knew to do without ever being taught. I felt connected to the world in a new way, aware of the profound interconnectedness of beings. I participated in something ancient and mysterious, something that pulled me beyond myself to a force greater than my own. I was left feeling humbled and grateful.

But when I look in Pascal's eyes now, I wonder what they are revealing to me in the depths of his soul. Maybe all I see is the deep longing of my own soul, the desire to be free, the struggle to trust those closest to me, and yet, the profound gratitude that what I love nourishes me and keeps me safe.
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The photos were taken by my good friend Jill when we took care of the farm a year and a half ago.

Holiday on the farm: Part 1, Dead possum kicking

2009-01-07T06:16:00.005-06:00

I should be running this morning, but I'm not, so I decided to try to kick start the blog again. I've got to get past the voice in my head that says, "Don't post unless it's stellar writing," and get back in the habit of writing regularly without the editor's voice shutting me down.

I have some great stories to tell. I spent the better part of ten days taking care of the farm for my good friend Lisa who went to Seattle to be with her family for the holidays. In spite of the fact that the goats are dried up, conserving their energy to give birth in a few months, I managed to have some adventures with the animals.

For example, there was the evening when I returned to the farm at sunset to find a possum lying on the ground outside the chicken coop, curled up looking rather dead. I'm no farmer, but I quickly sized up the scenario. One possum, however dead he might appear, just feet away from the open gate to the chicken coop would likely not lead to a good outcome if I left it alone. So, I texted Lisa and asked her what to do with the possum. She called me back right away and the conversation went something like this....

Linda: I know possums play dead, and that's it not a good thing that he's so close to the coop, but I have no idea how to get him to leave. Should I poke him with a stick or something to see if he's actually dead?
Lisa: Well, um, poking him with a stick won't help. To tell if a possum's dead, you have to kick it. And by kicking, I don't mean pushing it around a little with your foot. I mean, you'll have to kick it like a football. Go back about 25 feet, run up and kick it up into the air. If it lands on its feet and runs away, it's not dead.
[Silence while I look for the Candid Camera]
Linda: Okay. So, I'm going to kick it like a football. If it runs away it's not dead. It will run away, right? It won't charge me and put those gnarly teeth in my leg, will it?
Lisa: No. But it will probably hiss at you when it lands.
Linda: OhhKAY!
Lisa: Good. Call me after you take care of it. I want to know how it turns out.
Linda: Yeah. I'll do that.

So, I hung up the phone and put it in my pocket, then stared at the curled up critter, its gnarly teeth showing as it laid in a ball on the cold ground in front of me. I debated the merits of the kick. I wondered if there was another way. Then quickly decided I just needed to get it done. I can handle this, I thought. I was the top female finisher in the Punt, Pass, and Kick competition in my hometown when I was 11 years old. Clearly, God was preparing me for this moment years before.

I stepped back and ran forward and kicked with all of my tentative might and managed to scoot the animal about six inches forward. No launching it into the air. No movement from the animal whatsoever. So I stepped back again and ran forward with greater confidence. I shifted my weight to my left leg and reached back to give that critter the best football kick I could muster. With my eyes closed, I kicked forward. Toe pointed, leg straight, I reached down first, to make sure I got under the possum to launch it into the air, and kicked forward with all of my strength. And in a split second I screamed in agony. When I looked down I saw that I'd missed the animal by a good six inches and had, in fact, kicked the cold, hard ground with my full force. My foot was throbbing. I danced around in pain, crying out for whomever could offer me sympathy. Sadie, the beautiful black dog who races around the farm at break neck speed, treeing squirrels and causing chaos, came over to check on things. Instead of offering proper sympathy, she ran over to the possum, took one sniff and dashed off to find something more interesting to investigate.

After the throbbing stopped, I stepped back again and ran forward to kick the possum, this time launching it about four feet into the air. It landed with a thud on its side. I assumed at first that it was dead, but I wondered, "Maybe this is a hearty possum, able to keep up the charade of death in spite of my best punt. Perhaps it's best to try this one more time, just to be sure." So, once more, I launched it four feet into the air. Thud, again.

Concluding that it was dead, I stood over it for a long while, gathering my courage to pick it up. Those gnarly teeth looked rather formidable. But, I reached down and grasped the tip of its tail between my thumb and forefinger, then quickly dropped it into and empty feed bag, folded the top of the bag over several times and ran to drop it in the trash.

The next morning I checked the trash to make sure it was still in there, still dead. Fortunately, it was. I have no idea what I would have done if it hadn't been.

Next up, Part 2, Llama herding.

Parsnip haiku

2008-11-19T17:01:00.001-06:00

white carrot puree
creamy goat's milk and butter
new passion revealed

Catching up

2008-11-16T19:03:00.002-06:00

This space feels dusty and neglected. I've chatted with some of you recently and know that the loss of blogging mojo seems to be going around. I've had some good reasons for the neglect. First, there was the time spent getting my new place ready to live in. Then, the new school year started and I embarked on a work and church schedule that resulted in only an occasional evening at home and seldom ever a weekend at home. And frankly, I hit a block on the writing front.

Over the past three months, I've taken advantage of a life coaching group to help me make some significant steps toward reaching the goals I set for myself at the beginning of the year. It has been enormously helpful, on so many levels. One area that I had identified as important to me to work on this year was the area of creativity, specifically, my practice of writing. I was frustrated when I got to the middle of the year and realized I wasn't even close to making progress in this area, so I made it a priority in the coaching process, and am delighted that I am finally working through some of the block and starting to write again. One of the most helpful things I've done is purchase the book, A Writer's Book of Days, and start using the prompts given for each day of the year to help get me started. I'm anxious to see where this kind of disciplined practice leads. And, I hope to use the blog as workspace for some of what I'm doing in the coming weeks.

So, I think that means I'm back to blogging fairly regularly. I took some time last week to look through old posts and identify some of my own favorites. I've created a list on the right-hand side of the blog that provides links to those posts. And now, brace yourself, as I said I would do in my goals for 2008, I'm going to dare to talk about my hopes and dreams for my writing. I want to work toward having some of my work published. I have no idea what or how or where, but for me to even say that's something I plan to do in a public space is progress enough for right now. I hope that putting that intention into the ether will help move me to make some more concrete plans.

So, stay tuned and wish me luck!

Introducing

2008-11-14T18:45:00.005-06:00

If you're still reading here, and have read this blog for the last year or so, you'll likely remember that I've posted a few times about my experiences on my friend's 7-acre sustainable farm near where I live. You'll recall the time three friends and I went out to care for the animals while the owners were gone for Labor Day weekend. I wrote about our preparations for the weekend here: August 31, 2007.
And a few days later, I wrote about the weekend: September 5, 2007 Part I and September 5, 2007 Part II. Then, a couple of months later, I went out to help in the garden on a Saturday and wrote about the day: October 27, 2007.

Many of you have commented about how you enjoy reading about my visits there. Well, I've got good news. My friend, Bibi, who lives on the farm is now blogging about her life there. She just started and put up her first post today. So hurry on over and welcome her to the blogosphere and go back often to read about her work to start a goat milk dairy on her farm. You'll find her at Living on this Farm. And for some good recipes, check out the blog she keeps for her "day" job at Oklahoma State University's Seretean Wellness Center: Cowboy Bites.

Writing by hand

2008-10-13T13:14:00.005-05:00

I write in a journal every morning. I love the way my pen feels in my hand moving across the page. There is something magical about fingers clicking keys on the computer keyboard, moving swiftly, trying to keep up with the thoughts as they come to mind. But, I prefer the slower, more deliberate work of writing by hand for my journaling. For some reason, it feels like it's more my own when it's in my own handwriting.

This morning I went to a coffee shop to journal. A man walked in front of the table where I was sitting, lost in thought and contemplating what I would write next. He startled me when he stopped one step past the table and turned back to say, "You have really nice handwriting!" I was startled not only because he pulled me out of a faraway place in my mind, but also because I have never considered my handwriting to be nice. In fact, I can still hear the daily lectures from my fourth grade teacher, Miss List, who was convinced I'd never amount to anything because my handwriting was small, and messy, and not always neatly resting on the lined page of my wide-rule notebook paper. She'd allowed the other students to shift to college-rule. I, however, had to have remedial handwriting lessons, until my mom took the extremely rare bold step of challenging one of my teachers and telling her that she wouldn't concern herself anymore with Miss List's criticisms of and concerns about my handwriting. After all, my dad's handwriting was bad, she reasoned, and he was a successful person.

The gentleman who stopped to compliment my handwriting said that he'd noticed his own had gotten worse and worse the more he'd shifted to using a computer for his correspondence. The exchange was over quickly. He hurried off to the car where his teenage daughter was waiting for him to take her to school. But, the compliment stayed with me.

After I dropped off my rental car and picked up my own, I stopped at a drug store and found a thank you card. A friend had me over for dinner last night, a beautiful fall evening out by her pool, the smell of salmon grilling over the charcoal fire, and a cool breeze bringing an occasional chill to an otherwise perfectly pleasant evening outdoors. Harry Connick, Jr., played softly in the background over the stereo, and soft warm light illumined the bar where we sat to eat. Her dog laid quietly at our feet, enjoying a pig's ear while we talked until I caught a glimpse of the time on her watch and realized we were both going to have a difficult time getting up in the morning. It was the kind of evening that will remain in my heart for some time, and it just seemed an e-mail thank you, our usual way of touching base about such things, was too impersonal for such an intimate, warm evening.

I wrote my words of thanks on the card, addressed the envelope and dropped it off at the post office on my lunch break. The card lay on my desk most of the morning, the sight of my handwriting catching my attention from time to time. I wondered what the way I write communicates to people. Does it show the beauty I wish to convey? Does it communicate the warmth I want them to know I feel when I think of them? What part of me do they recognize in the way I shape my "s" or dot my "i"? I thought about the cards and letters I've received over the years and the feelings I've had when I recognized the handwriting of someone I love or someone I loathe.

I'm not an overly sentimental person who mourns the loss of things with the increasing use of technology to communicate. I'm deeply appreciative of the enhancements such things as e-mail, instant messaging, and text messaging have brought to my communications with friends and loved ones. But it was odd to think there are people I love, whom I consider close friends, whose handwriting I would not recognize, and in some cases, I've never actually seen. I think that's why I stopped to buy the card. A small gesture, perhaps, but it just seemed important to give a little bit more of myself in the way I said thank you for that beautiful night.

Inquiring minds....

2008-10-11T22:42:00.002-05:00

I don't put much up here anymore, but I get a bunch of hits on the blog from two specific Google searches everyday:

1. the smell of the ocean
2. my blog name, apparently because there is now another (popular) blog that uses my blog name

Why do so many people Google search on the smell of the ocean? It's fishy. It's salty. And all of that together is wonderful and good, but why do so many people do research on it?

As for those looking for the other blog, I'm sorry this isn't it. Perhaps someday I'll actually post regularly again and I won't just be using up a URL that someone else actually wants.

Releasing a balloon

2008-09-20T12:01:00.005-05:00

I'm going to the store later today to buy a helium balloon. I don't care if it's one that wishes someone a happy birthday or declares the giver's love for the receiver. What's on the balloon really isn't the point for me. I just want to take it out in the back yard, maybe down to the river, and let it go. Buying a balloon just to let it go is my plan.

I've been spending a lot of time lately imagining how I want my life to look and feel. I've written descriptions of four areas of my life that are evocative pictures of what I want when I'm moving effortlessly through life, experiencing it the way I think it should be lived, full of the joy and passion and satisfaction that I think I'm meant to have, not because I'm anyone special or particularly worthy of the privilege of such abundance. I'm just now, at 43, getting around to actually believing that what I've long thought was meant for everyone else in the world is also actually meant for me too. There's no need to pity me for this. It's not a bad thing to discover this at age 43. I think I have some wisdom and clarity and focus that makes it all the sweeter to enjoy these things now that likely would have been lacking from my experience much earlier in my life. I'm just happy to be awake to it now.

But back to balloons and why I plan to release one today. I am finding that the abundance I seek exists somewhere in the tension of working on those things over which I have control and practicing an awareness that control is merely an illusion. I have it, and taking responsibility for that which I can influence requires far less energy and provides much greater satisfaction than hanging my hopes on the actions and desires of others. But if that sense of control isn't held in tension with a good healthy practice of detachment, I'm going to be gravely disappointed somewhere along the way. That's why I'm releasing a balloon today.

I need to let go of my attachment to a particular hope for my life. It's the next step in a long journey of detachment. This hope has taken on a sense of ultimacy that's far too confining for me. Letting go of it, allowing for the possibility that it may not be my path, frees me to see the ways in which God is seeking to offer me that which I thought only this one hopeful outcome could offer.

I've held on to that hope because I thought I was as entitled to it as anyone else. I've clung to it because I was convinced its absence from my life meant I was living in deprivation. I know now that's not true. If it never comes to me, I will be just fine. I will not be in the least deprived, as long as I keep my focus on what's provided in the moment and not get too attached to it to provide what I need or long for.

So I'm going to buy a balloon and let go and watch it float up into the sky and out of my sight. I'm going to marvel in the sense of freedom that comes in seeing the balloon carry away my attachment. And I'm going to delight with gratitude in the abundance that exists in my life today.

Anyone want to join me? Wouldn't it be great to walk outside and see someone else's balloon in the sky and know that today her/his life is a little lighter too?

On forgiving

2008-09-09T22:44:00.001-05:00

A sermon delivered in chapel, based on Matthew 18:21-35
___________________________

Peter says, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?”

It sounds like a pretty generous offer to me, particularly when I hear his question immediately after the preceding passage, the one in which Jesus teaches the disciples that if a brother sins against them they should go to him in private and if he refuses to repent, then take along a couple of other people to confront him and if he still refuses to repent, then take it to the whole church, if he still won’t listen and repent, then they should treat him like a tax collector, like someone who isn’t one of them. That’s harsh!

And so when I hear Peter say, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” I find myself ready to pat him on the back and commend him for his generosity.

I suspect he thought he was pretty generous too. He heard the encouragement to confront the one who wronged him in the context of his Jewish upbringing which taught him that if a brother sinned against him, he should forgive him three times. So, when he offers seven instead of three, he really is being generous.

Yet, Jesus, the one who had already told them to confront the one who sinned against them and hold them accountable, says, “Not seven times, but I tell, seventy-seven times.”

His response is a challenge to us, isn’t it? Oh, we struggle with the encouragement to confront the one who wrongs us, probably because the passage holds some difficult sayings about binding and loosing, and we don’t like to think about cutting people off or treating them like tax collectors. Or maybe we struggle because we don’t like conflict, and the idea of confronting someone when we’ve been wronged is hard for us to agree to.

The truth, though, is that if we’re honest with ourselves, well…the truth is, if I’m honest with myself, that part of me that’s very oriented toward justice, working on behalf of those who have been oppressed and hurt by injustices committed by those in power, I want to yell with Jesus, “Yeah! Confront them! Call them to repentance!” And in some way that feels more satisfying than asking someone to forgive the person who’s wronged them.

It’s all a little messy for us, isn’t it? It felt really messy to me when I sat with this passage in preparation for today’s message. I sat with the passage while thoughts of people I know who have been hurt badly by senseless acts of violence or prejudice or abuse ran through my mind. Can we really ask them to forgive? I sat with the passage mindful that in a couple of days we reach the seven-year anniversary of a terrible act of violence in our country, an act of terrorism that’s affected us all deeply and I wonder, what does it mean to ask those most deeply hurt by what happened on 9-11 to forgive? I wonder, how do we call a nation, a government to forgive?

I think it’s difficult for us because forgiveness has been thrown out to us in a rather casual fashion….maybe it conjures up images like this one that it did for me, images of my tired mother, weary from all that she had going on in her life, weary of the fighting and bickering between my brother and me who often said, “I don’t want to hear it! Just kiss and make up!” My friends, no kiss was ever so bitter as the one demanded without justice first! And while in the long run forgiving my brother for irritating or annoying me may really have been as easy as kissing and making up, to glibly suggest that someone hurting from a genuine, painful offense to just kiss and make up, to tell them to just forgive is to cause harm.

That’s why I think holding the two passages together is critical. The two acts of faith that these passages point to need to be held in tension. Our justice-seeking is an act of faith that leaves us empty if it doesn’t point us toward something different, if it isn’t meant to bring about the long-hoped-for reconciliation promised in the kin-dom of God. That’s what I see happening when I hear that our nation’s response to the cries to “Never Forget” what happened on 9-11 is to take the scrap metal from the twin towers and make a battleship! Doesn’t that just lead us down a never-ending road of revenge and hatred?

Without forgiveness, reconciliation, peace, transformation cannot happen. That’s a reality we’re faced with.

And our forgiveness is shallow and meaningless if it doesn’t also name the offense committed and demand change. That, too, is a reality we’re faced with.

As people of God, we stand with those who are hurt and work for change. And as people of God, we also seek to forgive, setting ourselves free to embrace the promised transformation.

The parable Jesus told shows us how we find our way through the messiness. A king demands that a servant pay the debts he owes. The servant begs for the king’s mercy, asking him to be patient until he can pay it off. The king has mercy on him, sets him free and forgives the debt. But the servant, we’re told, immediately encounters another man who owes him money, and demands that the debt be paid. When the fellow servant says he can’t pay and begs for mercy and patience, the first servant, the one fresh from his experience of forgiveness, has the man thrown in prison. When word of what the first servant did reaches the king, he calls him wicked for not having pity on his fellow servant, particularly after having been shown mercy himself. Then he hands him over to be tortured.

Jesus concludes the parable with a difficult saying, “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” That difficult saying tempts us to be distracted from the point. We want to debate whether or not a loving God would actually do that to us. But, as anyone who has actually struggled to forgive can tell you, it’s really a moot point. We need not be distracted, because the reality is that when we don’t forgive, we’re holding ourselves prisoner to the anger that for awhile protected us and pointed us to the need for justice. We torture ourselves, making ourselves prisoners to the past and to the pain. And we cut ourselves off from the very work God wishes to do in our lives. Forgiveness sets us free from those things…..when we’re ready. It declares that we no longer believe the past holds such significant sway on the present and future. It declares our faith that change can happen. It takes time, there’s no question, and it is wrong for us to demand that anyone forgive. But when we keep working at this -- and I really think that’s Jesus point in saying seventy-seven times, that we keep at the work as long as there are wrongs to forgive -- then we open the door to peace and reconciliation.

And what helps us do the work? Remembering that we have been forgiven. That’s what the servant failed to do. He failed to take in the power of his experience of having his debt forgiven. So if you need a place to start in the work of forgiveness, if you find that there’s someone or a group of people that you just can’t forgive yet, then find another way to do the work of forgiveness. Don’t start with the big stuff if you aren’t ready. Asking someone to forgive the major offenses without doing the work to get there is like asking someone to run a marathon before she’s made it around the block. We can start by practicing forgiveness in our everyday lives, seeking to offer it where it’s possible. We can start by seeking to forgive ourselves. While we do what we can, we reflect on the multitude of times we have experienced forgiveness and let that move us to show mercy when the time is right. And when we struggle to believe forgiveness is possible, we can turn to people who have done the hard work and let them inspire and challenge us.

During my preparation for this sermon, I watched a documentary entitled “The Power of Forgiveness.” Near the end of the film, a Sufi Muslim man who lives in California, Azim Khamisa, is introduced. Azim’s story is extraordinary. His 20-year-old son was killed delivering a pizza to a group of young men who refused to pay. When Azim’s son, Tariq, told them they could not have the pizza, he was shot in the head in response. Azim used his faith to help him deal with his loss. He observed the prescribed period of mourning, then turn to his religious leaders for help deciding what to do next. He was told to do an act of charity, so after considerable thought, Azim, an investment banker, started a foundation in the name of his son. But he didn’t stop there. He went to the grandfather of the young man who killed his son and asked him to help him build the foundation. The two men now work together in schools and other community organizations to teach others that forgiveness is doorway to transforming the violence and hatred in their neighborhoods to peace.

Forgiveness is possible! The message of the gospel is that change can happen. Hope lies in the present and future. It’s based on the very real possibility of transformation. We demonstrate our conviction that we believe it’s possible when we act in faith and seek justice and forgive.

Who do you need to forgive today? Are ready? It’s okay if you aren’t, but I encourage you, as one who’s struggling with you, find some piece of the work of forgiveness that you can work on today, and open the door to transformation.

The unicycle

2008-09-02T21:35:00.003-05:00

The oak tree in Tommy Weaver's front yard stood well above the roof of his ranch style home. The branches stretched with broad shoulders and long arms to shelter the expanse of the front yard; its roots exploded through the concrete sidewalk in front of their house. It was impractical really. Summer time called for games of baseball and kickball, or hours of catch with a football or frisbee, but we could never play any of those things in his front yard. But the tree was good for climbing or for standing against to count with our eyes closed tight next to arms leaning on the tree while neighborhood kids ran in the dark through scores of lightening bugs looking for a good place to hide until someone stealthily reached the driveway to kick the can.

Summer days stretched lazily from the cooler morning hours of baseball and basketball and long bike rides around town through the hot afternoons of quieter activities in the shade of the giant oak and well into the night when our families sat in cheaply made lawn chairs with flimsy aluminum frames and fraying nylon strips that tenuously held us while we ate watermelon and drank slurpees in plastic cups with pictures of baseball players from the Kansas City Royals. Our brown bodies and dirty bare feet bore the marks of summer. Chigger bites swelled under cracked layers of clear nail polish from spots on our feet and legs. We relished in the freedom of summer. The neighborhood belonged to us and our days were our own to structure and plan as we pleased.

In the summer when Tommy was eight and I was nine, he got a unicycle for his birthday, May 25, two days after school was out. We had three months to learn to ride it. Our goal was to make it around the block once by the end of the summer, a trip that would take us up and down a hill and over crumbling sidewalks. We practiced for hours, falling off with each half turn of the pedals, the cycle dropping clumsily to the ground at our feet. We were stiff and clumsy. Each move came timidly, uncertain where it would take us. There was no one to teach, no one to say, "Lean forward" or "hold your arms out to keep your balance." We were left to experiment and see what position on the bike would keep us upright and what shifts were necessary to compensate for the terrain we traversed.

Our lessons eventually shifted to the thin patch of lawn under the oak tree. The bumpy roots mimicked the crumbling concrete on the sidewalk and the opportunity to keep the tree at arm's length while we rode in circles around its trunk gave us the balance we needed to stay on the unicycle long enough for our bodies to feel where it needed to position itself to stay on. Slowly we made progress, spurned on by the competition we offered each other, yet free to enjoy the pleasure of learning something new just for the sake of learning it.

The day came when we were ready to move away from the tree. After hours of practice, we were consistently circling the tree five or six times without ever having to touch it to keep our balance. We wanted to see how far we could go. I was timid at first and the unicycle quickly fell from under me, crashing down while my feet dropped to the ground to keep me upright. My legs and arms were tight, my jaw clenched. Over and over, I tried to keep my balance, but I kept falling off. I would make it two feet on one try and five the next, then fell with the first turn of the pedals. And just as I was ready to give up, in a flurry of frustration and anger, I pushed on the pedals with greater force and groaned through the stiffness in my stomach until with each turn of the pedals, I found myself moving another foot down the sidewalk. I went over the Collins' double driveway and past their house, crossed the Schmidts' driveway and before long my own house was no longer in sight. I breathed in deeply and laughed with delight while my body took over and kept the delicate balance needed to ride all the way to the end of the block, where I had to turn to go down the hill and around the block. I stayed on the cycle until sheer exhaustion kept me from making it back up the hill on the other side of the block.

That's the feeling of summer to me...beginner's mind with no attachment to an agenda, free to learn and explore, playfully finding a new balance that my body can learn and embrace.

And if I close my eyes, I can feel the warm summer breeze in my face and the sheer pleasure of effortlessly balancing on the unicycle down the crumbling sidewalk and around the block, the sheltering oak tree in Tommy Weaver's yard saluting my freedom as I ride past.

Sweat equity

2008-08-05T23:14:00.002-05:00

Just as a matter of record, I would like to point out that over the course of this summer, while building the one-bedroom cottage that I will be renting and moving into soon, I have acquired the following skills (with varying degrees of mastery):

Laying Pergo
Hanging sheet rock
Mudding and taping sheet rock
Applying structolite (like stucco)
Painting
Blowing insulation (eco-friendly, green insulation made of recycled newspapers!)
Roofing

I can't wait to move in! The place is going to be amazing!

TIHTFNTINZOBTC* #2

2008-07-08T17:39:00.002-05:00

Riding my bike to and from work a couple of times a week...

It's 10.3 miles each way, so the to and from gives me a good workout, a nice alternative to running. And I LOVE it! I swear I'm like a kid at Christmas. I love seeing the city up close and at a slower pace. I find myself connecting with it in a different way.

*Things I Have Time for Now That I'm not Zoning Out Behind the Computer

Things I have time for now that I'm not zoning out behind the computer #1

2008-06-28T20:00:00.003-05:00

Building a rotating barrel composter with a friend....

We took two designs we found on the internet and combined them to come up with our plan, purchased the materials, including the used plastic food grade barrel from the "barrel guy" who sets up shop on the grassy median at the exit off the highway we take to get to my friend's house (where I will be moving in August).

Down for the summer

2008-06-23T06:52:00.002-05:00

Perhaps you've noticed that there hasn't been much going on over here. I've been busy. First, there was a marathon of work-related travel. Mixed in with all of that have been days at the new home of some friends who moved out on the edge of town onto three acres of riverfront property. Personally, I think the place is a bit of heaven. Orioles and bluebirds and woodpeckers and pelicans and egrets and cranes....my, oh, my the birds! It's amazing! The place is so void of street noise and city sounds that the birdsong is amplified tenfold, and is interrupted only occasionally by the howl of a pack of huskies from the neighbor's yard next door and the longing wail of a train whistle on the other side of the river.

And....at the end of the summer I'll be moving into an apartment on their property!

My life is full of good things, and yet, I know there's still so much more waiting for me if I'll open myself up to it. I have some work to do to get there. I've known for a long time that one of the steps I'd need to take is to stop blogging, at least for awhile. I've felt guilty about "abandoning" what for awhile felt like community to me, particularly two and three years ago when my life was on the verge of some big changes and I had isolated myself from supportive people who could push me in the right direction. Many of you who still drop by here to read were a big part of giving me that boost to change. And my life is very different as a result. But, there are ways in which I still use blogging as a less than adequate substitute for the true intimacy I want, but honestly struggle to seek and receive, in the relationships I have. That's a habit I want to break. I want to quit hiding behind this brick wall here and start showing up more with the friends I have.

So, I'm dropping out of the blogosphere...for awhile anyway. I'm going to leave the blog up because I would like to return and use the space as an outlet for writing, but for the next two months, I won't be hanging around here or on Facebook.

I'm grateful to you all. I don't know where I'd be right now if I hadn't started writing here.

A marathon to end the silence

2008-06-06T09:06:00.007-05:00

I had a chance to say something this week that I've wanted to say to someone in my family for a long time. Before the weekend is over, I will tell the rest of my family the same thing and a journey which I started a few years ago will be over. It's hard to imagine how it will feel when it's done. I feel that surge of energy a marathoner gets when the balloon arch at the finish line finally comes into sight with about a half mile to go. There's nothing to gain from that sudden kick, but now that I'm so close to the end, I just want to be done.

I've rehearsed the conversation I had this week a thousand times. Though I have known I couldn't predict how it would go, it didn't go the way I expected it would. I prepare myself for the worst most of the time when I think there's the potential for conflict, and in this case, I had good reason to believe the worst would happen. It didn't. In fact, it was far better than I dared to imagine. Not only did I get to say something I've longed to say, I heard something said in return that everyone should have the opportunity to hear said by her own flesh and blood.

I've had one lingering question ever since, "Why did it take so long?" There is an answer to that question. The answer is found in several lifetimes of learned decency and silence that was thought to keep peace, values handed down by parents who were themselves taught to keep silences to avoid offense and shame. But at what cost?

I am a person who far too often holds her words. The pain of the last few steps of this journey is the awareness of all that I've missed out on because I didn't say what I felt deeply in my heart. I've been afraid I might offend. I've feared that I would be rejected and somehow that seemed reason enough to hold back deep convictions and strongly felt words that had the power to change things, and while I rejoice that those words have been spoken and have closed some of the space that separated, I regret that it took so long. I really regret that I allowed my parents' commitment to decency to hold sway over my own values and convictions.

Silence is the torrential rain that washes out the road that separates me from others. It keeps me inside the walls built with the bricks and mortar of my fear. The longer the silence is kept, the harder it is to traverse the way to another. The obstacles are harder to overcome. It becomes easier to stay apart and not take the journey to end the separation. I convince myself it's safer that way.

I've found myself wondering what's wrong with being offensive from time to time. It's a question that has to be asked if I'm going to challenge the assumptions that keep the silence intact. Recently I was reminded of two heated conversations I've had in my life that ultimately became life changing.

In one conversation, as a 23-year-old arrogant American, I proudly proclaimed the goodness of the United States' paternalistic military policies in South Korea to a group of Korean college students. To their credit, they didn't demonstrate outside my apartment throwing bottle bombs at riot police who retaliated with pepper gas, nor did they refuse to associate with me after that. They didn't even yell, "Yankee, go home," though I'm sure I deserved to be told that. Instead, they gently challenged me, and in the course of the conversation, I became deeply, painfully aware of my arrogance, of the ridiculousness of considering an 8000+ year old culture adolescent, in need of the gentle instruction and safekeeping of the great parent democracy I thought we had in the U.S. On a rare occasion, I opened my mouth to say what I thought and I offended good people with my misguided ideas, however well-intentioned they may have been. But they didn't leave me in my ignorance. They challenged me, I listened to them, and my life was changed for the better.

A similar conversation with my step-brother and his partner years later opened the door for me to accept myself. The words had to be said out loud, my fear and ignorance revealed, in order for me to find a way to truly hear what they understood from their own experiences. The offense caused is long forgotten, replaced instead with gratitude for the life-altering new awareness and understanding gained from engaging each other in that way.

For someone so quiet and afraid to say what she thinks, I've experienced a lot of transformation in the school of awkwardness and offense. I can't get back the years lost, and some of the distance that separates because of the secrets kept may never be closed, but I find hope in these final steps of a long marathon to end the silence that has separated me from people I love that the latter half of my life will be lived out of the realization that words not said cause more regret for me than words said out of honest conviction, however misguided they may be.

Coveting and learning from my annoyances

2008-05-23T12:01:00.003-05:00

I've been traveling a lot lately, and I'm finding that in each new place there is something I covet, something that seems just a little better than what I have at home. In some places it's the beauty of mountains or the coastline. In others, it's a more progressive mindset among the people who live there.

In Minneapolis, where I've spent the past five days, it's the food. I established a new tradition of trying, wherever and whenever possible, at least one restaurant that uses local foods. It's not always easy to find such places, but I hit the information jackpot when I walked into my hotel here. A monthly publication for tourists prominently displayed at the registration desk showed reviews of "green" restaurants. When I turned to the article, I discovered a listing of three places within easy driving distance of the area of town where the Festival of Homiletics was held this year. I carefully planned my schedule to allow time to slip out to each of these places.

The first, Cafe Brenda, was about as close to perfection as I've ever found in food. I had a dinner salad with my meal that consisted of fresh lettuce, carrots, red onion so sweet it tasted like apple, spiced pumpkin seeds, and watermelon radish. It was very gently tossed with a vinaigrette dressing that added a hint of flavor while allowing the vegetables in the salad to take center stage. Each bite was perfect, and I after two, I became firmly convinced that local, fresh, and organic is definitely better. Accompanying the salad was a plate of grilled walleye, seasoned with a blackberry ginger teriyaki glaze, and crusted with sesame seeds and almonds. The fish had light flavor that was amazing. Green beans, braised greens, and wild rice complimented the fish. I left the restaurant certain that I'd had one of the best meals of my life. I really can't explain it.

Subsequent days included trips to Red Stag Supper Club and Wilde Roast Cafe. The food at Red Stag was good, but did not compare to Cafe Brenda. The service, however, was fabulous. I sat at the bar and enjoyed the company of the bartender for the duration of my lunch. It was a slow day. I got a lot of attention, and our conversation proved to be the only truly meaningful one I've had since Tuesday. It's odd how that happens to me. I blame myself. I don't mix well in large groups, so I kept to myself a lot at the FoH.

There was much about the Festival that I enjoyed and will take back with me. I found a panel discussion with several writers to be the most helpful and challenging time of the Festival for me. Singer/songwriter Beth Nielsen Chapman was first to speak (and sing!). She used a computer/internet metaphor to talk about the creative process. I was annoyed by it. She talked about songs being in the ether and that all she had to do was download them. This struck me as extremely reductionistic. If this is how the creative process works, then why don't I have access to those songs she downloads. I still think it's too simplistic, and I suspect is an attempt at trying to explain something that seems impossible to describe. But what struck me is how quickly the others followed suit in describing their own creative processes. I expected at least one to disagree with her, but instead, they all described something similar.

I still think the metaphor and the descriptions are too simplistic. But, what I realized upon further reflection about my annoyance is that my problem isn't that I don't have access to that creativity. My problem is the I fear the process. I fear it so much that I can't sit still long enough to be inspired, to tap in and wait for the words to come, to keep wrestling with them until I understand. It's a fear of my own power, I think. There's something easy and comforting in assuming that I'm just meant to live day to day, happy and content with what I have, never wanting more.

The coveting, I believe, is an indication that I'm not nearly as content as I think I am. It's a holy discontent, I believe, and the covetousness is an expression of my laziness. I want what's out there, but I often lack the will and drive to do the hard work necessary to get it. The trick is to learn to embrace the discontent without spending too much time entertaining the self-pity coveting encourages.

I have a good life. When I think back to what I had two years ago, I can't complain about where I am now. But, I'd be lying if I said I'm satisfied. I want to be happy with what I have, but I realize now that being happy with what I have means accepting that the discontent I feel deep in my bones is part of that too. It needs to be embraced and understood and welcomed as an ally, a guide ready to show me that there is more for me than what I have now. I get trapped feeling guilty for wanting more. I have good friends who love me and accept me for who I am, who share their good fortune with me with such generosity that I'm often overwhelmed, yet at the end of the day, I go home to my quiet apartment alone. I travel to places where I know no one and a ten minute phone call to this friend or that back home helps me feel the connections I know there and seem to lose when I'm not there to be a part of the day-to-day activities we share, but it's never the voice of someone who wants to know the details of my day, who cherishes the small things I see and experience. It's not the sound of a voice I hear every night before I fall asleep that makes me long for the feel of her warmth in the bed next to me. I love my friends, but I want more. And that desire scares me.

I have a job that provides for my needs. I have opportunities to do some amazing things, but it doesn't fulfill my desire to make a meaningful, lasting difference in the world. It's important work, but it's not what I want for my life long term. I feel guilty about that too. There are people who don't have jobs. My own parents did work that neither found all that meaningful, yet they were able to grasp a deeper meaning in the way they provided for their families and worked toward providing us with opportunities for something more in our lives.

That too is a holy discontent. I am not doing what I'm called to do. The job I have now may be a means to an end. It may help keep me financially stable while I do what I need to do to be ready for that which I'm called to do. I find meaning in that, but I'm also grateful for the restlessness I feel. I can't be content with this job. The restlessness causes me to listen to the constant woos of a quiet voice inside of me that says there's more for me to do.

So I leave this place today, returning home to a life I love, but also grateful that I'm not fully satisfied. As hard as it is for me to admit, I want more for my life than what I have now. That may sound like a lack of gratitude, but I think, for me, it's an important step. I don't think I'm meant to be satisfied. Grateful, yes, but not satisfied.

Mary Oliver believes the fox has something to say

2008-05-07T17:02:00.002-05:00

And I couldn't agree more!

Concretegodmother sent this poem to me last night. It's given me a lot to think about. It's from Mary Oliver's latest collection, Red Bird:

Straight Talk from the Fox

Listen says fox it is music to run

over the hills to lick

dew from the leaves to nose along

the edges of the ponds to smell the fat

ducks in their bright feathers but

far out, safe in their rafts of

sleep. It is like

music to visit the orchard, to find

the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the

rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself

is a music. Nobody has ever come close to

writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot

be told. It is flesh and bones

changing shape and with good cause, mercy

is a little child beside such an invention. It is

music to wander the black back roads

outside of town no one awake or wondering

if anything miraculous is ever going to

happen, totally dumb to the fact of every

moment's miracle. Don't think I haven't

peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons

making love, arguing, talking about God

as if he were an idea instead of the grass,

instead of the stars, the rabbit caught

in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought

home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is

responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not

give my life for a thousand of yours.

Fabulous day!

2008-05-03T19:52:00.003-05:00

This day has been positively magical. It started with grilled pork chops for dinner last night and a chance to sleep in the fresh air on the sun porch at the new house some friends just bought. The house is on the river, so this morning I awoke to the sounds of birds too numerous to count.

The plan was to fish, but the river swelled after a storm on Thursday, making it impossible, so we sat and watched birds. The river right now is a stopping place for white pelicans returning to the Dakotas after a winter in Texas. Numerous other birds circled above and darted over the water in the beautiful morning sun.

But I was completely captivated by a Baltimore Oriole that must be nesting in their yard. I don't think that I've ever seen a more beautiful bird. The brilliant orange color is so striking I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I stood outside and watched it until he finally flew away.

I left around noon and returned home, eager to read about some of the things I saw. The night was busy and sleep interrupted by the dogs' fascination with the activity outside. I took a long nap this afternoon, a deep sleep that comes to me only when I'm totally relaxed. I did a few things around the house and then decided the new fishing pole had to be used. Today.

I drove out to the lake and fished for an hour and a half without a single bite, but while I was there, I saw a couple of bluebirds, the brilliance of their color matched only by a perfectly clear blue sky. At one point, I looked up and saw six vultures circling overhead. I decided not to take that as a sign of my impending doom, and chose instead to assume they had great confidence in my fishing skills. Alas, they were wrong, as I left the lake without so much as a hint that there were fish in it.

On the way home, a friend called. I was expecting her to call to tell me the homemade potato bread she was making was ready for me to taste, so it took me a minute to catch what she really said, "We have an owl on our front porch." She went on to explain that she thought, "This is the sort of thing Linda would like," but she delayed calling me thinking that by the time I got there it would have flown away. After about forty-five minutes of it sitting and staring at her, she decided to give it a try. I'm glad she did. When I arrived 15 minutes later, the owl was still there. I stayed for about 45 minutes more and there was no sign of it budging. You can see some of the pictures she got of it here and here. Don't hesitate to check out these links. You will not be sorry. The close up pictures of the owl are amazing!

Now, I'm home, relaxing while I eat a piece of still warm potato bread. The cat, not to be outdone by the rest of nature, is insisting on getting between me and the computer, trying to rest on my stomach and sleep.

It has been a most fabulous day!

The gift of a mantra

2008-05-01T23:07:00.003-05:00

I belong to a group that meets a couple of times a month. The facilitator of the group gave each of us mantras today, ones that she spoke to her about us. She chose them from the shakti mantras. Here's mine:

Om Akulayei Namaha [Om Ah-koo-lah-yei Nahm-ah-hah]

Translation: "Om and salutations to She who, having risen to the thousand-petaled lotus at the top of the head, is referred to as 'akula', having no perceivable genesis, lineage, or qualities whatsoever."

Receiving this from her and hearing the group's feedback was a powerful experience for me. I'm anxious to see what comes of using it in my meditation.

A walk in the woods

2008-04-20T21:42:00.002-05:00

I took a long walk in the woods today. 9-10 miles. About 4 of which were on top of snow pack deep enough that when I occasionally fell through, I sunk up to my knees. 1375' elevation change.

It's very tiring to hike like that.

It was a wonderful day. Tomorrow I head home. There will be a more substantial post in a few days, and some pictures. Now I will sleep. Very peacefully.

Why I love where I live

2008-04-18T14:14:00.003-05:00

If someone were to ask me today why I love where I live, I'd tell them this....

I love that I can pull up to a friend's house at 5:30 in the morning, a dog whom I love peering out the window at me, and load up my luggage in the friend's car to head to the airport, where I will catch a flight that leaves at the ungodly early hour of 6:45. Then, walking in to the airport ticket counter, I walk immediately to the front of the line, check my luggage and proceed to security. Having nearly an hour before my flight leaves, I decide to enjoy a little coffee before I endure the long winding line at security. My mocha consumed, I walk up to the security checkpoint and take my place at the end of the line and start slowly moving forward.

A couple of minutes later, I look up to see two familiar faces coming toward me in the line that has doubled-back. It's a retired pastor from the area and her husband. I had lunch with her on Wednesday. They're headed to Germany for two weeks. We chat until the line separates. I continue moving slowly forward, winding my way back and forth a couple of times more when I hear my name in a familiar tenor voice to my right. I don't even have to look. I know it's Mike from church. He's going to New York for a few days of fun. We chat a couple of times when the line's winding brings us together. In between visits with Mike, I meet a couple from church who are headed...um...I can't remember where.

I've never lived anyplace where I regularly meet people I know at the airport. I do love this place!

I'm in Colorado for a couple of days of work and one big day of hiking! Woo Hoo! There's much to think about while I traverse the trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. I met with a minister at my church yesterday to talk about my application for the credentialing process. I don't know what I expected, but he was far more affirming and much less cautious in his enthusiasm about the possibilities than I imagined.

Could it be that ordination will actually happen this time? You'll understand if I'm not quite ready to believe it will just yet.

Re-posting just for the heck of it

2008-04-16T22:46:00.002-05:00

This memory has been on my mind for several days now, namely because some friends of mine and I have been talking about a quality of mine some of them find weird...the ability to sit with someone in silence and believe that it is a powerful and moving experience. This post from Father's Day 2005 speaks volumes about why that is the case for me:

Yesterday was Father's Day. My dad passed away two and a half years ago. He was actually my step-dad, the only father I knew well. I still miss him, especially this time of year.

Father's Day falls at the point in June when the summer in Missouri starts to grow hot and dry. For years I sneaked away for the weekend, carrying little more than a couple of pairs of ratty jeans, old t-shirts, and my fishing pole, to spend time with him silently casting lures and bait out into ponds where fish might or might not show interest in what we had to offer.

We would wake up early, stop by the grocery store to buy chicken livers for the catfish, and make our way to one of several family farm ponds in the area around his hometown in southwest Missouri. Many of the ponds were in fields where cattle grazed. We would drive his truck as far out as possible and trek the rest of the way on foot, carefully passing under electric fences and around the curious glances of bored cows. Words were few. Our ears were tuned to the droning of locusts and grasshoppers and the lonely calls of red-winged blackbirds and quail.

Conversations consisted of "what are you using?" and "have you gotten a bite yet?" My dad was not given to deep conversation. He would never have thought it necessary to talk about the meaning of life, but I never doubted he considered it, and I was always certain that his understanding of it was worked out while standing on the edge of a pond, rhythmically casting his fishing pole. God was there in those moments with him. With no words to put distance between us, we understood each other.

If heaven is a physical place that in any way resembles this earth, my dad is standing on the edge of a pond, silently whispering gratitude for a life filled with fun, family, and friends. The fish aren't in much danger because he's never been that concerned about catching them. He stands there knowing that he lived his life well, loving his family, showing care and concern for others in ways both big and small.

And in some way, I'm there with him, silently content to bask in the warmth of his love and acceptance, knowing that if I never did another thing of worth or value in this world, he would still be proud of me.

Teenagers and ministry as vocation

2008-04-15T15:38:00.003-05:00

I have to speak to a group of teens about ministry and vocation soon. I've been given a 30-minute slot of time during which to talk. While they eat.

This kind of scheduling is not my idea of a good plan.

Any thoughts on how to make ministry as a vocation as engaging (or more so) as pizza and the banter to be enjoyed with dozens of others their own age? I need help, you all! I know I'm in trouble. I think pizza and teenage banter is going to be way more interesting that what I have to say!

Friday Five: Makin' a Move

2008-04-11T09:49:00.003-05:00

This week's Friday Five is about making a move. I don't think I've ever done a Friday Five. The topic this week though really grabbed my attention, and I haven't had much blogging mojo lately anyway. So here goes....

1.How many times have you moved? When was the last time?
As a kid, I lived in four homes in the same small town of 15,000, so while I had the experience of packing up and moving, I never experienced leaving behind friends and family until I went to college. My life since then has been different. I've had six major moves in the 22 years since I graduated from college, and several smaller moves within the towns I've lived in each of those six locations. My last move was 18 months ago, to where I live now. I hope to stay here for a good long while. No place has felt more like home than this. But, I have been here long enough to become reacquainted with some of my less than stellar personal qualities that have often led to my decisions to move in the past. I was full of adventure and wanderlust in my early adulthood, an independent spirit, afraid of bothering people, and of getting too close. I still love to travel, but I also love to come home, to a familiar place where I have a routine and where there are people who know me, but love me anyway.

2. What do you love and hate about moving?
Each of my moves have been to places where either work/ministry or school offered a chance to learn and explore things that were new and exotic to me. I love that about moving, but I hate the inevitable loneliness of being in a new place. I don't make friends easily, so a new place means a lot of work to get to know people and build relationships that are supportive. I also hate packing and unpacking!!

3. Do you do it yourself or hire movers?
I've always done my own moving, with little help even from friends - because I hate bothering people. This last move, however, my new employer paid my moving expenses. I still did all of the packing, though. I just didn't have to carry the boxes or furniture up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. In 100+ weather.

4. Advice for surviving and thriving during a move?
This last move forced me to do things differently and as a result, my advice is very different than it would have been two years ago. I arrived in my new town two weeks ahead of the moving truck, so I didn't have boxes to unpack for awhile. In the absence of stuff, I got out to explore my new surroundings everyday and was more intentional about going to events and places where I could meet people. I think that approach really helped me settle in to the new place more quickly. Of course, I still have only one picture on the walls, and there are boxes that have yet to be unpacked, an odd little thing left over from living with the ex who never made room for me and my things in her house, leaving me to store my things in a shed behind her house for the five+ years I lived with her. It was a ridiculous thing to put up with and I regret that I didn't care more for myself more than that, but it did shift my relationship to things.

So, I say, use a move to simplify your life and get down to just the basics, and be intentional about making relationships and connection to the landscape of the new place a higher priority.

5. Are you in the middle of any inner moves, if not outer ones?
I'm learning to be more tolerant of discomfort in my life, an inner move that is needed, but not especially easy, and contemplating a suggestion that I could take more risk in relationships as an invitation to an inner move that is both terrifying and exciting.

What would you do?

2008-04-08T19:20:00.001-05:00

I've been mulling over a situation that, as it turns, isn't a situation after all, but could have been. While glancing at profiles on an online dating site, I came across a picture that looked just like a friend of mine. A friend who is in a committed relationship. Fortunately, I was able to get access to additional pictures associated with that profile, so I was able to verify that it is not my friend, but it's left me wondering. The primary picture on the profile looked just like her!!!!

What would you do if you found a friend on an online dating site, one whose relationship status would make looking for a date seem a bit shady?

FINALLY!

2008-04-07T22:59:00.005-05:00

Rock! Chalk! Jayhawk! KU!

2008 NCAA Champions in Men's Basketball!

It seems like I've been waiting my whole life* for this: 75 to 68 in overtime!
Unfortunately, since Memphis beat UCLA to make it to the final, I didn't win the coveted banana bread prize for the Chalice Lighters pool I was in. I can live with that.
________
*It's only been 20 years since their last title, but that's long enough.

The shy person's guide to solving problems at work

2008-04-03T18:02:00.002-06:00

53 easy steps to solving a problem at work:

Go to church.
On Wednesday night.
In time to eat dinner.
Forget to pick up name tag when you walk in to the church.
Sit at a table full of people you know.
Leave an empty seat next to you at the dinner table.
Wait for gregarious church member to sit next to you.
Visit with gregarious church member.
Be appropriately impressed when he knows your full name without the aid of a name tag.
Tell the truth when he asks what kind of work you do.
Learn that he has a client with a business near yours.
Learn surprising information about business owner's business.
Realize that business owner might have a solution for a big problem at work.
Tell gregarious church member about the need at work.
Watch the wheels spin in gregarious church member's head.
Notice that it's time for chapel to start and say goodbye.
Forget to get gregarious church member's contact info.
Forget to give gregarious church member your contact info.
Go to chapel.
Go to class.
Go home.
Sleep.
Get up.
Get ready for work.
Start e-mail to boss at work about possible solution.
Realize boss will think you're crazy for e-mailing at 6:00 a.m. when you will be at work that day.
Delete e-mail.
Have long phone conversation with friend before work.
Go to work.
Meet with boss.
Forget to tell boss about conversation with gregarious church member.
Remember to tell boss about conversation during meeting at work.
Go to boss's office after meeting.
Tell boss about conversation.
Realize you don't know what kind of work gregarious church member does or what kind of client business owner is for him.
Guess what kind of work gregarious church member does.
Get boss's preference on how to proceed.
Contact minister from church to get contact info for gregarious church member.
Think about calling gregarious church member.
E-mail gregarious church member instead.
Answer phone when gregarious church member calls.
Find out gregarious church member talked to business owner last night on his way home from church.
Get contact info for business owner.
Give contact info to boss.
Talk to boss as she passes through your office and learn that she is on her way over to see business owner.
Listen to the pouring rain start while boss is walking to see business owner.
Wonder if you should take car to pick up boss.
Relax when rain stops.
Talk to colleague about employee appreciation luncheon.
Let boss interrupt conversation with colleague to report on meeting with business owner.
Find out that business owner may have just the solution you've been looking for for six months or more.
Join boss in celebratory dance.
Eat chocolate.

With one "random" conversation at dinner last night, we have likely solved a big problem at work in less than 24 hours. The solution was literally in our backyard!

If a fox could talk...

2008-04-02T06:19:00.004-06:00

...I'd ask her why she keeps crossing my path every time I'm preoccupied with questions of romance or career. What does this animal of the between times and places have to say to me? Is she coming to reassure? To challenge? To warn? To confuse? Am I even asking the right questions?

Kite flying on Easter afternoon

2008-03-23T19:57:00.005-06:00

I had decided I had too much to do today to keep this week from being completely crazy to accept an invitation to dinner I'd been given yesterday. A phone call after church from a friend going to the same dinner brought me to my senses and convinced me I could take the afternoon off and go out into the country for an Easter gathering.

My mind is full. I was given a great gift at the end of this week, the unqualified acceptance of my former boss, the one who recruited me to seminary 20 years ago, the one who launched me on my career in seminary administration. He enjoyed a great deal of renown in the Southern Baptist Convention years ago. He's since surrendered his ordination and is teaching religion courses at a state school here in my current state. Next fall he will teach a course for us at the seminary.

The closer association necessitated my coming out to him much sooner than later. I felt enough urgency in telling him to ensure he heard it from me that I opted to e-mail him, rather than wait until we got together. His response was quick and gracious. We'll be getting together on Friday to talk some more. There's much to catch up on. I've yet to find words to articulate what this means to me. I'm not sure I really even know what it means yet, but it's not for lack of trying to figure it out. I've longed for an accepting connection to my past. I'd honestly given up hope I'd ever find one.

There are other things occupying my attention as well. My Lenten discipline opened me to things I hadn't expected this year. Once I decided to give up the questions of adequacy to see how my relationship to what I've dreamed of doing for years changed, it was amazing how clearly I saw what I want to do once those questions were taken out of the picture. It hasn't been easy. I've had to face some truths about my self that haven't been easy to swallow. I've had to accept that I have been a greater hindrance to my own achievement than I've been willing to admit in the past. The amazing thing, though, is once that admission is made, it's hard to support staying stuck in that place. And, indeed, there's been much that's happened to rouse me from that place of complacency and inaction. I've quit trying to make sense of it in any sort of logical way, but it has felt like the messages at church lately have been in lock step with where my own heart has taken me.

I'm applying to enter the credentialing process with the Unitarian Universalist Association, a process that will eventually lead to ordination. Though I've seen what I want clearly, I do still feel inadequate to the task, more than I ever have before, with a lot of new reasons to feel that way. I guess what I've learned this Lent is that I can move ahead anyway.

I had laundry to do today, and housecleaning, and I thought journaling about this morning's sermon and how it affected me seemed like the most important things to get done. I feel a sense of urgency about what lies ahead. Instead, I spent a portion of my afternoon flying a kite with an eight-year-old, learning from him the ways to keep it in the air as the wind shifts and changes. In the time we spent, I learned about a bully in his class who thinks he's going to hell. I heard about his teacher's new baby, a girl, and the legends about people who live in the area around him. He told me what he misses from the city he left behind when his family moved out into the country several months ago. He offered me his jacket when the wind nearly succeeded in chasing me back inside. And I shared in his joy over "the best gift ever," kite string on a spool with handles that help him reel it in quickly and keep it under control more easily.

I feel like my spirit is emerging from a dark place, beginning to take flight, pushing toward the sun, riding on the currents of a cool spring wind.

Is it me?

2008-03-20T21:34:00.002-06:00

You know, last week, I sort of just laughed off the whole flat tire, cat sick, mom in the hospital, rental car guy locks the keys in the car with the engine running gaff. Really, it was so ridiculous, who couldn't laugh.

So yesterday, I took the car in for some repairs. There was a horrid belt screeching noise that started late last week, so as soon as I was able to go without the car for a day, I took it in. No problem. My fabulous mechanic found the problem, but had to wait for a part, so he kept it over night.

Today, I worked from home since I didn't have a way to get to work. I didn't mind. I like working from home. It's nice to have PPBob keep me company.

So the mechanic calls to tell me it's ready, and I arrange a way to get there, and as soon as I'm out of the vehicle and my ride is gone, I notice that the driver's license and ATM card that I put in my pocket was GONE! Panic insued. Immediately.

My very, very gracious mechanic handed me my car key and sent me home to find a means for paying him. I returned and did just that. I looked around all of the places where I had been between the apartment and the mechanic's shop, and didn't find anything. When I returned home, I checked my account to see if there'd been any unauthorized activity. There had not.

I went to dinner with friends, who took pity on my pitiful self, as they have each time I've had one of these "experiences," and then went to their place to watch a movie.

When I got home, I checked e-mail. There was an alert from the bank. I checked my account. It appears whoever "found" my card loves movies. Blockbuster, Hollywood Video, twice. Kwik-i-Mart, Walgreens, and some other ridiculous charge...to the tune of nearly $180. Fortunately, he/she got nowhere at Walmart; the fraud protection person I spoke to at the bank said he/she attempted to use it there but was declined, probably because he/she didn't know the pin.

They've canceled the card. I'll be able to have the money for the charges returned as soon as they officially post to the account, and I can get a temporary ATM card at the bank tomorrow. I'll have to get a replacement license as well, and I'm guessing in the grand scheme of things this will amount to little more than a couple hours of my time and a lot of annoyance.

But I have to tell you, I'm ready to call "uncle."

Anyone have a good cleansing ritual? It's time to clear the negative energy around me. My friends are going to run when they see me coming!

Unusual foray into political commentary

2008-03-19T18:35:00.002-06:00

My cynicism reared its ugly head yesterday. I avoided listening to Obama's speech until this evening. I'll admit I was afraid to listen to it. I've come to appreciate Obama's leadership and call for change, but I was afraid that the controversy surrounding the quotes from pastor Jeremiah Wright's sermons would push Obama take the business-as-usual, pansy-assed approach of distancing himself from controversy in the name of political expediency that dominates the world of politics today. I wanted to believe that he would offer something different, but my cynicism honestly expected that he wouldn't.

I just finished watching the speech. While I'm not normally given to tears by speeches from politicians, I'll acknowledge a lump in my throat by the end of this one. To my utter amazement, he forcefully disagreed with the statements that have been played over and over again, denounced the shallow sound bite analysis of relationships and issues, beautifully named his dilemma and the nation's real struggle with racism, AND stood by a man who has obviously had a powerful influence on him. That is exactly the kind of change in leadership I think is necessary to move this country in a different direction.

I don't agree with Obama entirely. His strong denouncement of Dr. Wright's statements was too forceful in my opinion. I'm not offended by what the pastor said. I think he was making some important points. I also understand that preaching good news in a prophetic manner sometimes requires saying things that make people uncomfortable. I would not consider myself a follower of Jesus Christ if that were not the case. I have no doubt that Dr. Wright has said things with which I would disagree. I've never met a preacher who didn't. I might also choose to say some of the same things in a different way, but I have never ministered in a context like his, nor have I ever had the guts to speak as prophetically as he, often to my own shame.

A few years back, Jeremiah Wright preached at my PhD school, Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University. I did not attend. I was in the dungeon of PhD coursework at the time, trying to keep my head above water and believing that I didn't really have the time to go to any of the events during that week's conference. I regret that I didn't hear him. The reports I received from fellow students afterward were glowing, full of rave reviews and deep appreciation for the messages he brought. In recent months, the Black Church Studies Program at Brite selected Dr. Wright to be the recipient of an award in honor of the contributions he's made in the course of his ministry. The award will be given at a banquet at the end of next week.

In the past few days, Brite has received numerous phone calls and e-mail criticizing the seminary for honoring Dr. Wright. Some of the messages have expressed hatred and bigotry in shockingly candid language and tone. The seminary's administration has taken the courageous step of affirming the decision to grant the award and has posted a statement on the website further honoring Dr. Wright's accomplishments. I have not always had positive things to say about my PhD school, but their handling of this situation has deepened my sense of pride in having studied there.

I understand why Obama used such forceful language to distance himself from the ideas expressed. I'll even admit that I think doing so demonstrated his ability to be leader for all of the people in this country and to help us move toward healing the pain and suffering of racism. Nothing has made that more clear to me than the angry response leveled at Brite. The pain is deep, and the solutions will not be easy. It is a deeply complex problem that requires both the prophetic word of ministers like Jeremiah Wright to rouse us from our numbness and indifference and the authentic conviction and courageous diplomacy of a leader like Barack Obama to help us see a way forward.

Missing my normal life

2008-03-17T16:56:00.002-06:00

My usual routine has been badly interrupted the past six weeks. I've been gone more than I've been home, and when I've been home, I've been sick most of that time.

I miss blogging things that are more than stream of consciousness and reports on my boring life.
I miss eating decent food.
I miss running.
I miss my friends.
I miss the day-to-day interactions with people at work.
I miss morning wake-ups from PPBob.
I miss regular journaling and meditation.
I miss evenings at home, reading and writing in an unhurried fashion.

I got home last night and had a normal day in the office today. But my usual routine feels foreign to me now. I sat at work a little while ago dreading going home to an empty house while simultaneously dreaming of nothing more. It's weird, I tell you!

Update

2008-03-14T20:40:00.002-06:00

Mom's fine. After a wild round of "where's she going?," she ended up in rehab in her town, like we'd planned originally, but not without considerable string-pulling to make it happen. The flu has all of the hospitals around that area full!

PPBob is also home and feeling better, though very tired from the harrowing experience of spending two days at the vet's. We have a new vet at the clinic whom I love! PPBob has a different opinion, but she's not paying the woman.

I changed the flat tire this morning and got two new tires this afternoon. I'm feeling rather pleased with myself for doing that without much effort! I will tell you, though, I'm very, very glad that I was on a neighborhood road when it happened. I couldn't tell until I got the wheel off, but the tire blew. Seriously blew! It could not have happened in a better spot at a better time. I'm grateful I wasn't on the turnpike.

I'm about as tired as a person can be. I slept 2.5 hours this afternoon and can barely keep my eyes open tonight. But, tomorrow I go to the farm! Woo Hoo!

Free association from the vortex of anxiety

2008-03-12T16:16:00.003-06:00

If you've been missing any anxiety the past few days, I know where it went. My mom and my brother sucked it all out of the universe on Monday. Fortunately, I think they're giving it back.

My mom had a knee replacement on Monday. She's doing well. She's already walking around, mostly with a walker, but some without. I had no idea she would be doing so well at this point. Unfortunately, the rehab unit they were to transfer her to tomorrow is not accepting transfers because the flu has the hospital at capacity and they are short-staffed. We're waiting to hear what alternatives to the original plan there might be.

My oldest brother and sister-in-law were here until yesterday evening. I haven't spent that much time around them in a long time. I've had some revelations about family that are helpful. I'm waiting to find a good metaphor to describe what I'm seeing now. When I do, I'll write about it.

The hospital where my mom is staying is in a larger town between her town and my city, though a good bit closer to her town. I needed a night at home last night, so I drove a little further and slept in my own bed. I arrived home to find a sick cat. She hadn't eaten much and there were no "packages" in the litter box after two days. I left with her tow to take her to the vet this morning, before I headed back to see my mom. On the way to the vet, I heard a noise from the rear of the car that kept getting louder, until there was a good "thump, thump, thump," and a wobbly drive. A flat tire. When the loud thump occurred, PPBob screamed really loud and raced to the front of her cat carrier, effectively pitching it forward off the passenger seat into the floor board of the car. I was just two or three blocks from some friends' house, so I drove on there and got one of them to take me to the vet and to a car rental place. There were no cars at my usual place, so I called another, made a reservation, and learned that it would be an hour and a half before the car would ready, so she took me to her home and I waited for the car rental people to pick me up. After the agent checked me in, he took me out to the car to check mileage and fuel level. He opened the door, leaned in to turn it on, checked the mileage, then closed the door. It locked. With the keys inside and the engine running. He checked me into another car.

Fortunately, that string of events seems to have burned off all of the excess anxiety, so this afternoon has been good. Mom's more well-rested and I've gotten some work done.

Hospital stays require a lot of ridiculous questions, like "How do you feel today?" Necessary, I know, but it often seems the answer is obvious. The most ridiculous one I've heard this time, though, came from a person in anesthesia. She came in to check on my mom yesterday, stepped just inside the door, introduced herself, and with clipboard and pen in hand asked, "So how was your anesthesia?" Doesn't it seem highly likely that the person asking the question is in a much better position to answer that question than the person she's asking? I mean, by it's very nature, anesthesia, if done right, is meant to be forgotten.

I have a couple of opening lines for blog posts about things that inspired me the past few days. I hope to get to those posts soon.

Hope all is well in your world.

The good, the bad, the ugly

2008-03-08T23:28:00.004-06:00

Good: Very good, actually! I made a drum today. It was a fabulous experience. The strings need to be tightened a bit more, so I left it with the person who led the workshop and will get it in a few days. I'll post a picture when I get it back.

The process started with the selection of the wooden drum itself. Then, I wrapped cloth and tied knots around three rings that would be used to hold the drum head in place. All of that was done last night. This morning, I decorated the drum with pictures of the red-winged blackbird totem I posted last year and put a nice lacquer finish on it.

After the goat skin head was thoroughly soaked in water and softened, I began the arduous task of string the drum through the knots on the rings. It took a long time, but I managed to get mine tight enough, pulling with all the strength I had, that it's almost ready to go. The workshop leader will tighten it a little bit more with a special tool he uses, and I'll be good to go.

Someone please warn my neighbors that I intend to practice. A lot.

Bad: I hate to admit it, but I've gained weight over the past few weeks since I was sick and have been traveling. I haven't been running regularly since December. That really needs to change soon.

Oh, and daylight savings time is bad. I hate changing the clock!

Ugly: Watch the following video for the ugly... The audio is from a state representative here. No further explanation should be required.

Newsy

2008-03-05T22:22:00.002-06:00

Lots of travel this week, which seems to make my thoughts disjointed and hampers my efforts to write coherent narrative. There's a lot going on in my world though.

Tomorrow is the last of several recruiting trips before I take a week off to be with my mom during and after her knee replacement surgery. It's been fruitful, but I'm tired of driving, eating out, and sleeping in hotels. Once I get back from my mom's, things will slow down slightly for me with the travel, well, until mid-May, when it becomes insanely busy.
____________
I bought some vanilla soy milk a few days ago. I've used it in my coffee in the mornings, which isn't bad, but I just had my first glass of it. Bleck! It tastes like Kaopectate! Chocolate soy milk is fine, but it doesn't work for cereal or coffee.
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Speaking of milk, goat's milk sure does taste good. My friends the farmers, the ones who have goats and make goat cheese and grow a lot of good food on their seven-acre sustainable farm, are on the cover of a local magazine. Nice picture of the two of them with a goat. Ahh... I e-mailed to congratulate them and found out, as of Monday, they have five baby goats, and one of the sheep gave birth to triplets. That's a lot of babies! There will be more.
____________
I've been intrigued by a blank on an application I'm filling out for this thing I'm doing. It's not the typical "Check the box that best describes your racial/ethnic identity." Instead, it says, "(Optional) Please describe your cultural, racial or ethnic background" and then there are four lines on the form on which to do it. That could be fun. :)
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A friend sent an e-mail to four of us today asking if it was "tattoo time." The five of us have all been talking about getting tattoos, and yet, none of us has made a move in that direction. So, after church tonight we went tattoo shopping. It's my first time to be in a tattoo parlor. The two we visited tonight provided two very different experiences. The art work at the two places was quite different. The prices quoted were quite different. The artist I talked to at the second place made a copy of the piece I brought in and will do a sketch to show some of the modifications I asked about. He's going to give me a call when it's ready for me to see. He was way more helpful than the first guy, his art work seems better, his price was less than half what the other artist quoted, AND he encouraged me to shop around and check out a couple of other places.

I am excited about getting the tattoo. I thought I'd be freaked out when I finally started looking into it seriously. I never thought I'd be the kind of person who'd get a tattoo, but my friends, I believe I am.

Walking through an open door

2008-03-02T12:19:00.005-06:00

For a couple of years (or more) now, I've been working at recovery from depression and other symptoms of some bad choices in my life. Many of the changes are pretty firmly established, though there are times when I have to remind myself to do what I know works and helps. During that time, I've searched for and worked at understanding what needed to change to keep from making the same mistakes again. And, with a lot of help from good people in my life, I've been successful.

For a long time I've been afraid, unable even, to think of what my life might look like in 10 or 15 years. I won't say it's easy now. As little as six months ago, when asked that question, I was completely stumped. I couldn't imagine my life 10 years from now. I wasn't ready to accept that I had responsibility for deciding more of my future than a few days or weeks at a time. I think that's pretty normal for someone who is grieving. I've often suggested to those I've worked with who were grieving not to look any farther ahead than they could cope with, even if the most future they could tolerate was five minutes. When the future for which we've hoped is shut down by some loss, it can be painful to imagine how we'll manage a different future. In times like those, it's easier to imagine a future two days from now than it is to imagine two years from now. We can imagine making it two days, but not two years.

As the work of grief is done, the future begins to open up again, allowing new ways of thinking and dreaming to emerge. I am sensing that in my self now.

Something shifted inside me while I sat on a beach in Oregon last week. The sun had set, but there was still light in the sky. The fog was moving inland, lowering the sky. Looking out at the surf, it was hard to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. The whiteness of the churning surf blended beautifully with the swirling clouds of fog blowing in to shore.

I sat on the beach, legs crossed, shoulders relaxed and back straight. My arms rested on my legs. I steadied my gaze on a rock just past the shoreline. I let my thoughts wander, not allowing my mind to attach to any one of them. As the last light of the day faded, it felt as though the sky was closing in around me. The rhythmic crashing of the waves on the shoreline was my mantra, a way of bringing myself back into the moment. It was uncomfortable sitting there while the light faded. I felt some fear emerge. I wanted to stand up and walk or leave. I wanted to control the moment by heightening my attention to the surroundings around me instead of trusting that I would be alright. I continued on past the discomfort and for a brief time felt my self slowly blend into the landscape around me. It was a powerful experience, though it lasted for a short time.

I got back in the car and headed back to Portland, but I continued to reflect on the experience. The question of what I want to be doing in 10 years kept popping up. I felt the same discomfort at first thought of the question that I did when I was sitting on the beach meditating, so I sat with the discomfort and breathed my way through it, instead of escaping to another question or thought that was less uncomfortable. On the other side of the discomfort was a greater sense of agency and hope. For the first time in a long time, I felt ready to take responsibility for a longer view of my future.

As I felt that, it became more obvious to me what some of the blocks have been, some of it views on middle age and what a responsible person my age or a person 10 years older than me should be doing, some of it regret and shame about what I've failed to achieve in the last 10 years of my life.

On the return flight, I read Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea. Some friends gave it to me after they read it a few weeks ago. In the book, Lindbergh uses the metaphor of a shell to reflect on the different stages of her life. She imagines her life as a series of shells lined up, each stage represented by a different kind of shell. Her reflection on transitioning into middle age named beautifully for me what I think has been trying to take shape in me for some time now:

We Americans, with our terrific emphasis on youth, action and material success, certainly tend to belittle the afternoon of life (her term for the period from forty or fifty on) and even to pretend it never comes. We push the clock back and try to prolong the morning , overreaching and overstraining ourselves in unnatural efforts....In our breathless attempts we often miss the flowering that waits for afternoon.

For is it not possible that middle age can be looked upon as a period of second flowering, second growth, even a kind of second adolescence? It is true that society in general does not help one accept this interpretation of the second half of life. And therefore this period of expanding is often tragically misunderstood. Many people never climb above the plateau of forty-to-fifty. The signs that presage growth, so similar, it seems to me, to those in early adolescence: discontent, restlessness, doubt, despair, longing, are interpreted falsely as signs of decay. In youth one does not as often misinterpret the signs; one accepts them, quite rightly, as growing pains. One takes them seriously, listens to them, follows where they lead. One is afraid. Naturally. Who is not afraid of pure space--that breath-taking empty space of an open door? But despite fear, one goes through to the room beyond.

My life has not followed a typical pattern. What precipitates the sense of emptiness for me is different than it is for those who marry and have children and watch them grow up and move away from home, the events that prompted Lindbergh's reflection. The sense of urgency is no less intense, and the feelings of discontent, restlessness, doubt, despair, and longing that she names are every bit as real for me. I don't look on the next 10 years of my life in the same way I saw 30 from the vantage point of my 20-something self. I am more deeply aware of limits, but the future is still wide open. Maybe in accepting the limits, I gain a greater sense of responsibility for the choices made about the future. The choices can be safe, or they can be risky. Maybe what happens when I look at the future now is a deeper awareness of the great temptation to choose what's safe.

The path I choose to take to reach the place I want to be in 10 years is going to require a lot of uphill climbing. The fear that's led to inaction, that's kept me in the place of not-quite-a-minister, not-quite-a-clinician, not-quite-a-PhD, not-quite-in-a-relationship means taking steps in middle age that I had the opportunity to take when I was younger. It will be harder now, because I'm aware of the time lost. Shame litters the path creating barriers that I must climb over. The difference now is that I recognize the hard work ahead AND I believe it's possible to do it.

I don't know why I've fallen into the trap of thinking life is nearly over, though I do recognize that culture's voice has likely played a large part in convincing me it is. Or, maybe it has something to do with the fact that with this last birthday, I'm now officially older than my dad was when he died. Life isn't over. A stage in my life is done, but there's much more that lies ahead. My life will not be my father's life. My life will not be my mother's either. It will be my life, and in saying that, I am making the commitment I know is necessary to take responsibility for those choices that will make it my own life.

May it be so.

My idea of a perfect day at the beach

2008-02-28T20:51:00.003-06:00

Edited to add a link to more Oregon Coast photos here

Multnomah Falls

2008-02-28T20:30:00.004-06:00

Edited to add a link to more Columbia River Highway photos here.

Columbia River Gorge

2008-02-28T20:22:00.002-06:00

A scenic drive

2008-02-27T00:24:00.003-06:00

I came here to work. Honest. I sat at a display most of the day today, and managed to get a great deal of work done while I was there.

But... I took a local seminary's recruiter's suggestion and headed back north to the Columbia River Gorge to drive along the Columbia River Highway. I took my time, stopping to see waterfalls along the way. It was an absolutely perfect day, partly cloudy, mid-50s, a little bit of a breeze. I could not have planned a better side trip for the day. There will be pictures when I get home.

I drove on up the interstate for awhile after I came to the end of the scenic highway. I turned around to return and drive on to Eugene, OR, just before sunset. The darkness slowly enveloped me while I chased down the sunlight heading west toward Portland. The last light of the day hovered over the river on the horizon until I finally exited to get something to eat....salad with smoked salmon. Yum!

Tomorrow, I'll return to Portland by way of the Oregon coast. If the weather's as good as it was today, I'm in for a real treat. Even if it's foggy and cold, it'll be a treat. I love the many moods of the coast. Whatever the day offers will be wonderful!

The smell of the ocean

2008-02-25T11:34:00.002-06:00

I returned late last night from a weekend trip. I'm leaving this afternoon for another. Fortunately, though, I'm headed where I may get to smell the ocean and feel the cold ocean breeze on my face. Assuming my schedule and the weather permit on Wednesday afternoon, I'll be able to drive along a beautiful coastline on my way back to airport city from city where I have business. It's not much, but it's the best I can do this time, and given that I live about as far from the ocean as a person can be, I'll take what I can get.

I have two more trips next week, both short and should only require one night away from home. The following week, I'll be with my mom while she has knee replacement surgery. I'm going to be very happy to see the end of March on my calendar!

A sermon

2008-02-21T17:45:00.004-06:00

Telling Stories
John 4:5-26; 39-42

The Samaritan woman’s testimony to the town’s people is really remarkable when you stop to think about it: “He told me everything I have ever done.” (v. 39) Here is a woman whose reputation looms so large that she is known even by those who just happen to pass through town. People had been telling the story of everything she had ever done for years.

“Did you hear about the woman who lives on the edge of town, you know, the one who has been put out by five different husbands?”

“Yeah. I hear she’s living with another man now and that he hasn’t even bothered to marry her. Oh, the poor dear. How does she do it? It must be just awful to live that way.”

“Poor dear? Are you kidding? I hear those husbands were all well within their rights to put her out.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. You just never know what you can believe these days. I do feel badly for her. She must be awfully lonely. I’ve started to strike up a conversation with her several times, but I don’t know. That’s risky. I’m afraid of how it might make my husband look if people knew his wife was associating with her.”

And though the stories they told may well have been behind her back, or maybe they were told in her presence, she knew what was being said, and perhaps even at some point let go of the idea that there was a different story to tell. The power of voice, of whose story gets told, has a way of doing that to us.

She was accustomed to being the one who hushed conversations when she walked into the room, the one no one spoke to when she went to the well. For years she’d gone during the early part of the day to draw water, when it was cooler, like the other women, but after awhile it became easier to endure the heat of the sun in the middle of the day than it was to deal with the impact her presence had on the women of the town. It’s hard to walk into a group of people who know you by your reputation and as a result, refuse to allow you to be a part of the community, to join in the conversations, to have relationships with others.

So it’s surprising that what struck her about the encounter with Jesus is that he told her everything she had ever done. There must have been something different about his telling.

How do you tell her story? Do you tell about a woman who had lived a hard life, maybe made some bad choices along the way, but also suffered the pain of rejection, the heavy weight of guilt and shame?

That makes for a pretty good story doesn’t it. It makes Jesus look pretty good too. The Jewish teacher sits down with a woman who had shown poor judgment in her life leading her to make some mistakes with men and offers her eternal life. He’s gracious that way, not afraid to sit with the sinners.

I think we have to be careful how we view her from our position of 21^st Century western privilege. We run the risk of seeing an autonomous woman who had the freedom to make choices about her marital status, and thus her position in society, because that’s our experience, or at least we think that’s our experience. Life was clearly different for women then though. They were more likely to be viewed as property to manage than as people with freedom to make their own choices.

I think it’s pretty hard for us to know how much of her life’s condition was the result of her own choice and how much was the result of society’s proclivity to exclude. We have to be careful about how we tell others’ stories. No matter how gracious we may think we’ve been in the telling of the story, we may still fail to fully grasp its truth.

So what made Jesus’ telling of her story different?

John introduces the story of their encounter by telling us that Jesus had to go through Samaria on his way to Galilee from Judea (v. 4). It was not the custom for Jews to walk through Samaria. There was a way around that made as much sense for him to take as it did for him to go through Samaria. But something compelled him to go through and not around.

He came to the place known as Jacob’s well. He was tired and thirsty and though it was the middle of the day, a woman, a Samaritan woman, walked up to the well to draw water and he asked for a drink.

I wonder how the woman approached the well. Because I’m inclined to think she was there in the middle of the day for the express purpose of avoiding people, I imagine her working really hard to keep from making eye contact with Jesus. I picture a woman trying to sneak up to the well without being seen, trying so hard to blend into the sky around her that it startles her when Jesus speaks to her.

But, she does something surprising. She responds to him. She points out his error: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (v. 9) She cuts to the chase. "Who are you?," she wants to know.

Thus begins a conversation about ancestors, including an interesting allusion to Jacob, the one for whom the well was named, you know, Jacob, the deceiver, the one who lived by the name given to him at birth until he had a profound encounter with a stranger, maybe God, maybe an angel, who knows, maybe himself, and insists he won’t stop wrestling until he has been blessed. And the stranger responds by giving him a new name, a new story to live by. He became Israel, one who strives with God and with humans and prevails. (Genesis 32: 22-30) That is their ancestor Jacob. His story is part of Jesus’ and the Samaritan woman’s shared heritage. I don’t think it’s a mistake that this encounter happens at his well.

In this conversation about ancestors Jesus makes a curious reference to living water, and the woman takes that and runs with it. She sees his offer as an end to her striving. She will never be thirsty again. She’ll never have need for water, never have need to walk to the well in the midst of those who’ve rejected her, never have need to walk there in the middle of the day. If he will give her this living water, perhaps she’ll be self-sufficient and she can free herself from the suffering she experiences everyday of her life. (v. 15)

But the conversation takes an interesting turn here. It exposes the woman’s misunderstanding about what she needs to end her suffering. Jesus asks her to go get her husband and bring him back with her. (v. 16)

Can’t you just feel the tension in the air when he says that to her? Can you see the discomfort in her face? Can you feel her vulnerability?

Perhaps in a last ditch effort to cover up her exposed life, she tries to hide. First, she tells a partial truth: “I have no husband.” Jesus is not swayed. He calls her on it: “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband;’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” Then she does what any good theologian would do when feeling vulnerable. She turns to heady theological conversation. She tries to distract him with the one point that has divided his people from her people: “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Who could resist a good debate?

Or maybe she’s just testing him, seeing if he comes to her genuinely or if he’s just using her life’s condition to further solidify his position of power over her. Maybe she’s asking him to show his hand before she risks acknowledging the truth in his presence.

Jesus shows her he understands what separates them, but he calls her to see something different. He calls her to worship in spirit and in truth.

His telling of her story is different. He tells the truth, but he does it to liberate her, not for his own benefit - to show that he is better than she is - and in doing so, he frees her to reconnect with those from whom she has been isolated for years. His call to truth-telling is rooted in the conviction that the truth will set her free. He empowers her to tell her own story. It takes a lot of courage to do that. He doesn’t tell her to do it. She does it on her own. And she does it with urgency.

Now I’ll make a confession here. I don’t know if I’ve told the Samaritan woman’s story faithfully or not. Telling someone else’s story is always pretty risky, and nine chances out of ten we end up revealing as much about ourselves in the choices we make about how to tell the story than we do about the person whose story we tell. In hearing my telling of the story, perhaps you hear that I am a person who knows what it means to have someone else tell her story for her and in turn to resign herself to believing it’s true. Perhaps you know what that’s like.

If that’s what you hear, then I hope you also hear that I am someone who knows the powerful impact of speaking one’s own truth in the presence of someone who does not wish to use it for his own benefit. Doing so may not convince the masses to see us any differently, but in the telling, we become convinced of the truth of our own lives.

What would you hear if the Source of Life told you everything you have ever done?

Winter gardening

2008-02-16T11:12:00.003-06:00

When I was a kid, the mail nearly every winter day was heavy with the weight of seed catalogs and farm implement sales bills. My dad loved to garden. Even more, he loved to plan for his garden. He studied the catalogs with the keen insight of an experienced scientist. His purchases always included a carefully determined mixture of tomato, green bean, and sweet corn varieties that were known hits and others that were experiments, attempts at taking the best sweet corn ever up a notch higher or producing a tomato crop that would outdo last year's. No garden ever received more loving attention, particularly in the winter months, while the ground lay frozen and dormant.

I think of Lent much like the time my dad spent planning for his garden. Like the tilling of the soil and the anticipation of the seeds that would be planted, my Lenten disciplines are preparations for growth, removing that which blocks it, taking up that which is needed to nourish.

I'm new to the practice of observing a Lenten discipline. I grew up Baptist. I knew nothing about the ashes, except that they were something the Catholics did, and the Baptists had determined Jesus made no longer necessary. Though my worship professor in seminary worked diligently to correct all the years of Baptist irreverence for all things liturgical in his students and teach us a thing or two about the Christian year, I still don't have the deep intuitive sense about the meaning of some celebrations on the Christian calendar.

I admit I don't get how giving up caffeine or sweets or sex or whatever helps one prepare for growth. More to the point, I haven't yet figured out how it helps me. I do understand that it's meaningful for others. I've heard many stories about how the absence of something that's part of others daily lives reminds them to focus on God, to reflect on that which gets in the way of them connecting with God. I've just never had any success finding a deeper connection with God that way.

Instead, following the pattern I started a few years ago, when I decided that I was going to give up the habit of "catastrophizing" for Lent, I've chosen to consider the patterns of behavior or thinking that keep me from fully connecting to God and to those around me and choosing to allow the period of Lent to be a time-limited experiment of giving up those patterns, knowing that I can take them back up afterward, if necessary, but also realizing that in most cases they are things I don't want in my life anymore and that after 40 days of living without them, I'm much better able to let go of them for good.

Giving up the habit of catastrophizing opened me up to one of the greatest transformations of my life, and while I don't expect that kind of dramatic change to happen every year, I do see the potential a yearly tilling of the soil and examination of what's needed for growth can bring to my life. The imposition of ashes is a reminder of my mortality. Life is short. I don't have forever to wait for those things which are most important to me to just happen. For life to have the meaning I desire, I have to be intentional about the choices I make. Letting go of patterns of behavior or thinking that get in the way of that kind of intentional living seems to make the most sense to me in the season of Lent.

My Lenten discipline this year started calling to me some time in November or December. I didn't have to reflect much to decide what I wanted to give up. It emerged naturally over the course of several weeks, like the cycle of growth that planting, harvesting, and waiting that exists in the natural world around me.

Still, I'm struggling to let go. I'm trying to give up the questions of inadequacy this year, the ones that ask: Am I smart enough? Good enough? Creative enough? Attractive enough?, etc. I know the patterns well. I even understand the role they play. But letting go of them means taking up the discipline of risking and working hard to move toward those things that I want most for my life. Letting go means having faith to move beyond that which has held me back most of my life.

I'm not asking anyone to tell me I'm enough, because someone else's perspective isn't what I really need. What I need is courage to believe what I already know is true, because if I truly believe it, my actions will follow.

That, my friends, is my struggle in the darkness of winter, while I pore over the seed catalogs of possibilities for my life.

My view

2008-02-15T15:16:00.004-06:00

This has been my view for the last couple of days....

Since the fever broke last night and I'm on the mend, my view has changed today. You can imagine my excitement about plans to go to the farm for dinner this evening!

Hopefully I'll have something more interesting to blog about after today.

Live blogging the flu

2008-02-14T11:58:00.002-06:00

The first signs of feeling human again appeared late this morning after the Tylenol kicked in and I'd had a cup of coffee. This flu bug really knocked me out. If you haven't had a flu shot yet and can still get one, I highly recommend it. I'll be more diligent about getting one myself after this.

I'm still coughing (and driving the cat insane in the process) but my energy seems to be returning. After a trip to the grocery store wore me out yesterday, I'm not willing to give the newfound energy a good test though. I do, at least, feel like sitting up to read today. That's a definite improvement and will help keep the boredom at bay, the most life-threatening symptom I experienced yesterday.

I have a sermon to write for chapel next Thursday. If this improvement continues, I may be able to knock out my first draft later this afternoon. That would be a good thing!

Stay well, my friends! I wouldn't wish this stuff on anyone.

Commiserate wtih me

2008-02-12T17:05:00.000-06:00

Eleven hours after waking up today, I've achieved the primary goal I had for the day: get home and go to bed. I woke up with every joint and muscle in my body aching and my chest feeling like someone has taken a vice grip to it. It's that stuff that makes it hurt to raise your pinkie, you know, the flu. Unfortunately, I was 250 miles and two meetings with prospective students away from home.

So I got through the meetings, drove the miles, dropped things off at the office, returned the rental car (a Mazda 3, NOT a Mazda 5, thank you!), and changed the sheets on the bed, and now here I lay with a warm, purring cat next to me, ready to crash for the day.

So why am I blogging? Because apparently the only thing I hate worse than feeling like crap is not having anyone to commiserate with me in my agony.

What good is a blog if you can't use it to drum up all the sympathy you need in such circumstances?

Time-of-day quiz

2008-02-10T09:25:00.000-06:00

You are breakfasty, like a pile of pancakes on a Sunday morning that have just the right amount of syrup, so every bite is sweet perfection and not a soppy mess. You are a glass of orange juice that's cool, refreshing, and not overly pulpy. You are the time of day that's just right for turning the pages of a newspaper, flipping through channels, or clicking around online to get a sense of how the world changed during the night. You don't want to stumble sleepily through life, so you make a real effort to wake your brain up and get it thinking. You feel inspired to accomplish things (whether it's checking something off your to-do list or changing the world), but there's plenty of time for making things happen later in the day. First, pancakes.

Sounds about right. Mmmmm....pancakes.

Try it, if you like. via JM