a month in brief

A few friends have kindly brought to my attention the fact that I’ve not updated this fine blogspot since May 14, 2008, which, I’m told, was a Tuesday. The fact that the last day I updated was a Tuesday strikes me as being of little relevance, aside from the fact that it illustrates the astuteness of the reader who observed it—thanks reader. The fact that the last day I updated was May 14th, however, presents what appears to me as an interesting angle.

In the interest of catching this space up to speed I had it in mind that I’d take fragments from journal entries leading from the point of departure (the already established date in May) to the present (a fine Wednesday evening, October 15. Practically the next day, give or take a few months…) Flipping to the entry most closely correlating with the beginning date I was please to find that I’d written in my personal journal on May 14. Abbreviating this entry presents little challenge as it consists of a single sentence in the middle of a page;


5-14-08



“Why am I still here?”


5-15-08

“…He and I stayed up till morning talking while D. dozed next to me on the futon, eventually climbing to the loft. I wish I could recount everything A. and I talked about that night. It was exciting. There aren’t many conversations I would call exciting. We covered addiction/recovery, speaking the truth, personal development, purpose/calling, his desire to channel the fantastic stories that seem to be falling on him from above—oh the dreams that stirred—thoughts about community, collaboration & faith. I realized eventually that there would be no natural end to this flow and suggested we follow D’s lead and sleep awhile. A’s tiny frame somehow fit curled in the window seat. I made my bed of the futon, still folded as a couch…The next morning D. and I walked to the shore of Lake Michigan…On the trail that encircled it we encountered a jogging Superman and Ronald McDonald on a bike. We wound up walking all the way downtown to see the absurd, magnificent Bean. It was afternoon by then—we took the train back so we’d have time to be with Az. as she anxiously awaited her wedding. I love city trains.

Pop said Mom doesn’t want me to go to Palestine because I’ll marry a Palestinian and join the cause. He suggests an Irishman instead, as long as I don’t get swept up in the IRA. I told him not to worry, A. thinks I’ll never marry; after all, I’m Amy Nee.

5-26-08

Driving to the lake I felt excited. The sun was high and warm. The sky was blue with islands of clouds. The trees were luminously green. I loved the light that spilled onto the curving road, laced by trees shadows. I love the mix CD Laura had made reminding her of our time together. I loved that I was about to be immersed in water. Sometimes I’m afraid that I might be having too much fun…
It’s odd how one’s sense can acclimate. I didn’t notice the extra-terrestrial, unbroken hum of the cicadas until Monica pointed it out to me. There are so many sounds out here; a cacophony or a symphony depending on how your ear is turned…

What does it mean to be a Christian, and have I the will to live it? Yes. Faith is a gift – but, the songs must be sung or they will be forgotten.

5-27-08

When I thought I might not make it through today, I remembered Jesus’ words to his disciples: “You feed them.” They’d just returned from a journey on which they’d not even been allowed an extra cloak as they approached villages of strangers with a radical new Way. Now, they’d followed Jesus with the hope of rest and were instead faced with thousands of hungry men and women.
“Where will we find bread for all these?”
“You feed them.”
How small are the challenges I face in light of others tests and trials! And how shamefully evident that it takes rough patches to remind me that I need more than me…

…In class today I had the women write their visions for the future and realized I have no such thing.

5-31-08

J., who’d come to meet me at the car was standing at my side. In the living room, with no lights on, M. sat in the recliner, playing guitar and singing “Sound of Silence.” We nodded an acknowledgment…
J. introduced me to one of the women. She had a tiny from and steely, shoulder length hair. The other, I had already met.
While M. and L. showered, J. and I tried to learn the hymns MA had given me to practice for the Indiana-Kentucky Synod. My fumbling attempt at finding the melody on the piano left us laughing more than singing.


And that is all for the month of May. This may be a bigger project than I’d anticipated.

what to do?

Sometimes I don’t know how to ask the questions. Then I turn my mind to wondering why and am further distracted from what it was I wondered in the first place. Often I am not even aware of what I’m thinking at all. This seems terribly wasteful. I waste a lot of minutes too; lurking facebook, waiting for my opponent to move in scrabble, looking in the cupboard when I’m not at all hungry, reading without paying attention to the words, acting without paying attention to the acts…these minutes melt into hours and days and isn’t it a wonder how much life is lost like leftover food dumped down the disposal.

One thing I have been reading and paying attention to though is C.S. Lewis’ Perelandra. In the chapter I recently completed, this entity, like our devil, that had overtaken the antagonist, Weston, was arguing against a seemingly arbitrary command of Maleldil (God) in order to convince the green Lady (a kind of Venetian version of Eve) to break it. Ransom, the hero, was there to protect the lady from our world, the earth’s, first error by defending Maleldil’s command. He spoke of the pure love made manifest in obeying even when the good is not evident:

“I think he made one law of that kind in order that there might be obedience. In all these other matters what you call obeying him is but doing what seems good in your own eyes also. Is love content with that? You do them indeed because they are his will, but not only because they are his will. Where can you taste the joy of obeying unless he bids you do something for which his bidding is the only reason?”

I remember Simone Wiel saying something to this effect in her book Waiting for God (which I’ve never finished reading and cannot, for the life of me, find), and Bonhoeffer too in one of the first excerpts found in his collection of prison letters and papers. To obey is the highest good as it supersedes our own idea of good and falls into an act of pure trust and love. I used to adhere to this way of thinking. I recall being a particularly passionate advocate of it. When I lived in an apartment in Winter Park, FL, I desperately wanted a kitten. The very thought of it sent me skipping and singing. I was going to name it “Obedience,” or “Scroll.” But lucky kitten, it didn’t get a name from me. Pets were not allowed and though many a tenant of that complex had one, I decided to abide by the contract I’d signed. During that time I was diligent in the reading of scripture and in prayer. I embraced the law and found energy and life in devouring and digesting it.

My thinking has turned somewhat in the past couple years. Turned away from what some term “blind faith” toward a more critical view of the bible and of Christian traditions and social mores. Have I grown “older” as the green lady says of herself in moments of enlightenment, or am I being broken by the “wisdom” of the world? Part of the difficulty in discerning how to be obedient comes in the extraordinary number of commands the bible and the church deliver to us. Then there is the process of distinguishing the commands contrived and heaped on by man and those that are actually of God. I tend towards the belief that we must examine the context and intention behind biblical mandates. Yet, in doing so, in asking “did He really mean that” I fear the awful resemblance of that question to the one the serpent asked Eve in the garden, “Did God actually say…”

I believe Jesus gives what is called the greatest of the commandments, and I recklessly paraphrase, “the law is summed up in this; love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor as yourself.” Then again, Jesus does say other things in commanding ways and there is too that follow up question, “how do we love?” As a personal response to this question my colleague, Larry, calls himself a “Matthew 25 Christian,” referring to that passage where those who meet with Christ are told with approbation;

“I was hungry and you fed me,

I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,

I was a stranger and you welcomed me,

I was sick and you cared for me,

I was naked and you clothe me,

I was imprisoned and you came to me…”

though they did not know it was him, they did it to “the least of these.”

Still though, this seems to fall into the category of obeying what already seems good. Perhaps part of the complication of being obedient to love is when you have to say “no.” When you have to point out to a person that they have the ability to meet their own needs so you are not going to do it for them. Is obedience being willing to look less than amiable to perform the truly loving act? I am not entirely satisfied with this conclusion.

I do believe Jesus is the ultimate example. Through him and with the law and the prophets we can come to a better understanding of the nature of God (if we use these resources and accounts wisely); who he is and what he’s about and to align our lives to his principles if we so desire. Three things I am aware of as recurring themes: life, light (this I take to be synonymous with truth) and love—and these three are as one, though they are distinct, not on is whole without the other.

I am perplexed.

good morning!

I don’t know how to describe this. The glorious sensation of living. I can only call it gratitude and even for that I am grateful. As the wind that blows so beautifully today, so the spirit moves and though I can’t see it, the effects are evident and oh so lovely.

I haven’t written much lately. Right now I’m listening to Jacob Fentress on myspace music. I’ve a good half hour before I leave to pick up my sister. There’s no excuse for sitting idle and with a heart so full how cruelly negligent I would be to selfishly keep it to myself.

Part of the reason I’ve refrained from writing, besides my overwhelming unwillingness to be disciplined in approaching things not urgent, is that I got tired of hearing about myself. (Then too, I wasn’t sure who I’d be writing of if I wrote about myself.) For a woman who claims to care for the world and its welfare I am amazingly uninvolved and ignorant. At twenty-five years old I am just now becoming comfortable with asking questions out loud. Without questions how can anyone even understand what is outside or even be sure of what is inside. Even now it’s a battle to overcome the fearful reluctance to reveal my lack of knowledge and the thoughts that flounder through my mind are so often unspoken. And how foolish! For the more I protect myself the nearer I am to death.

“Wake up, oh sleeper, rise from the dead and Christ will shine on you.”

This verse, found somewhere in Ephesians, has long been a favorite of mine and one of which I so often need reminding. So many days I walk through, asleep, ignorant of the life that soars and sings around me.

I woke this morning at 6:15 a.m. to a resident of Healing Rain asking me if the alarm was off and if it was okay for her to go outside and smoke. I’d been sleeping on the couch of the community house. My first overnight at work. I fell asleep for another half hour or so then woke again without an alarm and feeling well rested. Outside on the porch a couple of women were talking over coffee. I went out to join them and they met me with laughter, “you’re so funny Amy, you must be happy all the time, A. said even when she woke you up you were smiling.”

I am always happy? That was enough to make me laugh. Though, looking at my life, there is no reason I should not be. What a strange aspect of our nature that instead of rejoicing in the good we look to the problems and lead ourselves to a state where our usefulness wanes and our spirit is diminished. In the moment I look toward my best self; in the midst of all my faltering unbelief I continue to believe, to move forward, to say with thanks, “I am living, I am strong, I am free—thanks be to God!”

thanks and then some

As life continually propels me forward, certain situations arise to draw me back. I am revisited by sentiments I thought I’d left long ago, far behind. Bike riding, wind-swept clouds, leaves falling; I’m falling. I love it when nature takes its course and leads to innocent wonder and childlike delight. I’m disconcerted when nature takes its course and leads to wondering what happened to lead me so far from who I thought I was to be.

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

This is (I think) among Thomas Merton’s most famous quotations. I assume it is because Merton’s eloquent expression of his existential and actual journey so resonates with that of most of us humans. I have as of late come to the realization that I am not where I want to be. What this means in the scheme of pursuing my vocation, I don’t know. Does God call us to one particular thing or to walking faithfully through many passing particulars? I’m inclined to think the latter is more likely and thus, though I’m not at the most satisfying point on life’s road, I am on it, and He is with me. I hope.

The day after Thanksgiving I went to a meeting. Hannah, Jennie and Amblyn went hiking. At some point Jennie split off to go take care of some things at camp. She was lost for sometime and upon her arrival related the fear of being alone in the woods, without any idea of which direction was right.

The day after the day after Thanksgiving I stayed at Jackson House. Hannah and I went hiking. We continually lost the trail and wandered, looking for places where fellow travelers had preceded us and left remnants—worn paths, colored strips wrapped about the trunks of trees—of their journey. It was fun to find our way. Sheila even helped once, when the path was too obscure for our urban eyes to recognize. She also kept dashing between our legs as we swished through piles of leaves and wobbled along precarious edges; less helpful, but a fun addition to the adventure. With the three of us together the getting loss only enhanced our enjoyment. Everything is more frightening alone. I imagine sometimes that even for the agoraphobic, the true fear is not the crowd, but the realization of inner loneliness it elicits.

Hannah has been with me for so much of my little life’s journeying. For 21 years she slept in a bed across the room from me. Even still, when I wake at night, there is a moment of sensing her presence and simultaneously being confused by its absence. When an emotional distance came between us for a time, her presence was only accentuated in my mind, a plaguing presence I couldn’t shake or push aside. In Kentucky she has been my faithful friend and weekend companion. I don’t doubt the slopes in my mood of late relate to knowing that now there will be a physical distance of indefinite measure and no mental conjuring can diminish it. Admittedly, I am over-dramatizing an inevitable human experience. As pragmatism necessarily infiltrates my life, I cling tightly to the right to constructing dramatic prose.

My depressed mood does not in anyway denigrate the appreciation I have for all that has been and is. In fact, in the past few weeks, I have enjoyed some of the sweetest days in my memory. I am so grateful. I give thanks for the time with my sister that I have had (and still will have) for all my family who set my head spinning with glorious amazement. Our earth, great heavenly gift, is a treasure beyond my ability to express and Kentucky is a worthy representative of its beauty. I love the friends I have, though I know they too are transient.

Everything is transient. In adulthood we come to realize an aching, abiding lack. We are not home. There is, I think, no such thing as home in this world. Rather than allowing that to overwhelm one with despair though, embrace the freedom this truth presents. No one place is home. Thus, everywhere we go, everyone we meet; we can share pieces of what home means. Everywhere we go, everyone we meet, we can offer and view glimpses of true family—that is the body of Christ—and true home—that is God’s presence. Everywhere we go, everyone we meet; though lack presses us on, the fullness of grace carries us through.

war: what is it good for?

When the “war on terror” began in 2001, I didn’t know what to think of it. I was seventeen, a freshman in college, utterly self-absorbed. One of the first things on my mind was whether I'd still be meeting up at Steak n' Shake with the boy I had a crush on.

I’d never paid much attention to politics and at the time war seemed like little more to me than political rhetoric. My parents were republicans and I found my feathers ruffling at attacks I heard against that party and it’s elected president. A sense of familial loyalty and proclivity toward self-protectiveness incited me to a defensive stance. My defense though was wordless. I couldn’t support a war I knew nothing about especially when all I knew was that I was frustrated and disgusted by war. And so I avoided the issue and almost forgot.

Six years later, my heart is sick reflecting on the damage we’ve done and our inability to make amends. What have we done in response to hate and contempt, but breed more of the same? Is there any way to fix what has been broken?

I lead a bible study at the substance abuse recovery center where I work. Lately we have been discussing the book of Esther. What begins as a Jewish Cinderella story ends with a Persian massacre. For those unfamiliar with the story, see the book of Esther. After reading about the protagonist Mordecai’s reciprocation (all Jews are given the right to annihilate their enemy’s on the 13^th day of the month of Adar) to the antagonists Haman’s original edict (all Jews are to be annihilated on the 13^th day of the month of Adar); one of the woman in our study group interjected,

“Mordecai is no better than they are.”

Though we were able to toss around some ideas about his possible motivation and to labor over the lead-weighted question, “what other option did he have?” Whatever his motivation the end result remained the same. Haman was punished for wanting to kill the people group he perceived as his enemy. Mordecai was honored for doing the same.

I tried to explain the context of the situation, “this was a violent time…” but before we were able to move on it occurred to me, “this is a violent time…” Where is the difference in the Jewish celebration of Purim, the commemoration of this day when those who threatened the Jews were overcome by violent force, and America’s celebration of the 4^th of July?

Bishop Robert Brown is quoted in A People’s History of the United States as writing,

“We are not hated because we practice democracy, value freedom, or uphold human rights. We are hated because our government denies these things to people in third world countries whose resources are coveted by our multi-national corporations. That hatred we have sown has come back to haunt us in the form of terrorism…instead of sending our sons and daughters around the world to kill Arabs so we can have the oil under their sand, we should send them to rebuild their infrastructure, supply clean water, and feed starving children…in short, we should do good instead of evil. Who would try to stop us? Who would hate us? Who would want to bomb us? That is the truth the American people need to hear.”

Bishop Brown writes with the assumption that the war is motivated by greed. There are those who would argue,

“We are working toward building a strong independent Iraq!”

If this is so it begs the question,

“Do we have the tools necessary to accomplish this endeavor?”

It appears to me—I concede a considerable degree of ignorance on the matter—that we entered equipped with only enough to destroy. Before the business of repair was underway, we were spent. I am reminded of Jesus of Nazareth challenging his disciples in their decision to follow him:

“…which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’” (Luke 14:28-30).

And how we are mocked! Among the many tragedies of our current overseas entanglement is the increasingly apparent fact that the cost was not counted. Another tragedy is that those who did not elicit the cost are paying the highest price. Another still is that we perform these acts under the guise of being a “Christian nation.”

For Christ’s sake, if you will enter into war, don’t do it in His name. Even if attacks were truly specified and limited to militant terrorist Muslims, where is there any instance in scripture where Jesus performs or promotes a violent act against a group of people? The only instance of physical aggression I can recall takes place in a Jewish temple:

“And Jesus entered the temple and drove out all who sold and bought in the temple, and he overturned the table of the money changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons.” (Mat. 21:12). This he did to address a serious issue of deviance occurring within the religion he shared, within the nation he lived, within the temple he worshiped.

Perhaps war is inevitable. I haven't the scope of vision to see every angle, nor the artistry or stamina to argue the view from where I stand. But, please God, let history remember; there is no such thing as a Holy War.

get over it

Today felt like fall, finally. The recalcitrant summer has raised its arms in defeat and gone into preparation for the next year, I hope it loses track of time and gives us a long, lively spring.

I told a friend of mine I’d not spoken with for sometime of the project Larry had given me of “developing an edge…I don’t want to toughen your tender heart, just for you to build a little shell around it.” And yet he tells me to “come down off the bleachers and join the game.”

“Seems like opposing efforts,” I said.
“Not at all,” he replied. I didn’t feel like arguing.

I told this friend over the phone, he said, “You sound different, you sound like you’re getting that edge.” I received this with a sense of satisfaction and sadness. Coming from him I knew there was some disappointment that I’d even engage in such an endeavor. He thinks I ought to always live in “AmyLand” as Larry calls my dreamy idealistic state that leads to skipping steps and soft singing at any random time.

I don’t know that I feel the edge. I still want to believe every word the ladies in recovery say despite the knowledge they may be wheedling or manipulating or using me. I still wander through the terrain or my inner landscape arriving back in the moment without a clue where I’ve been. I approach the development of an edge with caution, knowing a part of me exists already with a proclivity toward cynicism. Then, even Jesus said, “be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.” it is possible to balance, to love in truth. Truth is hard. Love is hard too, come to think of it.

I feel the load I’ve been laboring under lately is lifted, at least lightened. Our fourth roommate moved in yesterday. I came home from work and walked into a room full of furniture. “This doesn’t look like my apartment,” I thought. Lindsey, Amblyn and I have been spending the last two months on camp chairs and sleeping bags. Maureen had said she didn’t plan on bringing her furniture until Sheila was gone.

“I saw the empty room and thought, ‘Oh hell, I have so much nice furniture to share.’” She said in her matter of fact, shrugging way. Maureen is lovely. Last night I cooked dinner for she and Amblyn and I. When Lindsey came home we set up the living room, put pictures on the wall, celebrated a house that looks like a comfortable home.

Earlier that day I’d had a meeting with Martha, my manager, Larry’s wife; the model of a mature women who has mastered the dualism of professionalism and femininity, gentleness and strength. Just being around Martha is a pleasure. Having a meeting was even more so. It was our first since I’d started working. Of everything we discussed that hour the greatest for me was the reassurance that she was happy I was there. I am still such a child, longing for approbation.

In Martha and Larry I’ve found the mentors I often wished for in my adolescence. I wanted someone who could see potential in me while aware of the roughness that shielded it. In my experience most people either see only all good and are enamored, or they are indifferent, regardless of what they see. An example of how Larry and Martha defy this: My inability to make a confident decision and aversion to even attempting this is maddening to Larry (and debilitating in my line of work) who levels a blow with immediacy and accuracy. While we were sitting on the porch swing outside the admin building the other day, lamenting the tenacious grip of summer temperatures, I said,

“We may as well be in Florida with this weather.”
“Florida must have been the perfect environment for you…the weather is always the same. You’d never have to make a decision or change.”
“Yeah, but I hated Florida.”
“See there. I believe that deep in your marrow you want to make decisions.”
“I do.”
“If you really do that’s something I’m willing to help you with.”
“Thank you.”

And Martha. In our meeting she calmly assured me.

“Maybe these things you’re perceiving as personal weaknesses are just areas you’ve never been exposed to.” There are expectations that are high, but not unreasonable. Practical, precise Martha counsels me on the value of checklists, appropriate questions and at the end of it all, acceptance. For the first time in my life I am encountering adults that I trust and respect almost on a level with my parents. And how precious it is to witness their love for one another. Today, with the wind blowing yellow leaves from trembling grey branches; Larry, Martha and I walked from the house to the admin. building. He put his arm around her shoulder and cradled her tiny frame. She laced her fingers through his. They laughed together over something I can’t remember.

Today Larry took to calling me “Pickle.”

“That’s a good nickname, I think I’ll stick to that…I’m going to make a pickle song just for you (Larry is a master of impromptu ditties, even the lawnmower man has a theme song). You’ll be surprised when we’re in a meeting and I introduce you, ‘Here’s Amy ‘Pickle’ Nee’.”

I wouldn’t be too surprised.

Re-reading this I’m a little amazed and ashamed. I do need to get off the bleachers. Even when I’m physically in the game my mind sits up there, watching. I’m focusing on a single player, the one that’s out there running around brainless because her minds too busy watching herself to be engaged.

pressing on, pressing in

This morning I didn’t wake up until it was light outside (that is, aside from when I woke up to let Sheila out). That doesn’t happen very often. At first I felt a little bad about this in that it implied laziness, lack of enthusiasm; something of that ilk. It was too late to go to the Catholic church, St. Clare’s, and I’d already determined to not go to the Vineyard. “Perhaps I won’t go to church today,” I thought. The Pinnacles were beckoning. “Perhaps I’ll just spend some time in meditation and study. I’ll have some alone-time.” (As if spending a weekend with no one else at home did not suffice in cultivating my proclivity toward loneliness). I’ve been wrestling with the idea of giving up on several different things-Sheila, work, Kentucky, religion, myself, hope in relationships-reaffirming in my own mind the inclination to believe that I am at heart a quitter. At Healing Rain we’ve no tolerance for negative self-talk and I try to apply this to myself as well. What is this feeling doing for you is it getting you what you want? “Pick a church and go to it, ya goon.” Close enough.

I’ve been thinking about a Lutheran church that Michael had told me about when I first moved here and he thought I was Episcopalian. St Thomas Lutheran Church in Richmond. The pastor, Andy, I had once met while part of the Rockcastle Volunteer House. We took a field trip to visit the intentional community he shares with some other folks. I was enchanted with the families in that community, the way they lived and loved each other and respected creation. That was the day a certain fellow walked from Berea to Mt. Vernon to propose to me; the beginning of a dismal journey with trick ends, bends, new beginnings and answers that turned into questions that I've given up asking. That to say, thought of the community was pressed prematurely from me. The church though came up in conversation and I decided to look it up online this morning.

In the “What We Believe Section” of St. Thomas’ website they had written this about sin, “Sin is anything that we allow to fool us into thinking that God is not really there, we are not really human, or others are not really worth it.” (Lord, have mercy) They’d written other things too, in short simple statements about God and Women and Heaven and Hell; things I believe that I believe. I decided to go. This morning, before leaving for church, I took Sheila for a walk and felt new hope about my life here. I will press on and as I turn to the right or to the left, I will listen for the whisper of the Spirit to say, “this is the way, walk in it.” I still feel a foggy uncertainty, a weary melancholy, but faith abides.

“For there is still a vision for the appointed time;
it speaks of the end,
and does not lie.
If it seems to tarry, wait for it;
it will surely come, it will not delay.
Look at the proud!
Their spirit is not right in them,
but the righteous live by their faith.”

Habakkuk 2:3-4 from today’s reading.

William Penn said, “The adventure of the Christian life is to do what we would not dare attempt without Christ,” (or something to that effect). Most things that are expected of me are not things that I am naturally inclined toward attempting. But oh how I love an adventure, and oh how Jesus Christ (wonderful mystery) loves me.