My Racist Life

I was born and raised in the United States Army.  According to 2012 statistics, 40.1% of Active Duty personnel identify as racial or ethnic minorities (Black or African American, Hispanic, Asian, American Indian or Alaska Native, Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander, multi-racial, or other/unknown).  My dad is a physical therapist, and so I spent a lot of time around other MEDDAC staff of a variety of races and ethnicities – officers and enlisted, those with high levels of education and those with less.  
 

My earliest memories are of living in Bremerhaven, Germany, where one of my closest preschool friends was a black boy named Teddy.  His dad was either a surgeon or an anesthesiologist (I can’t quite remember which), and he and my dad were friends.  Often, when Teddy’s dad had to be in the OR, he would invite my dad to come along to watch and learn.  At the time, the base housing complex we lived in had a lot of older kids, and far fewer younger ones.  I was about 4 years old, and Teddy must have been the same.  We stuck together on the playground, against those mean 5^th graders who spun the merry-go-round too fast so we would fall off.  

Later, when my sister was born, our Hispanic Latino neighbors who lived across the hall would cheerfully send their small dog over after dinner each night to clean up under her high chair.

My dad played on various softball and volleyball teams growing up, filled with a variety of races and ethnicities – again, representing the broader culture of the U.S. military.  

This was the world I lived in.

At the end of 4^th grade, I was diagnosed with bone cancer, and my dad was transferred to a post in Maryland, so that I could be treated at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.  You meet a lot of people when you spend that much time in the hospital.  The first night we spent there (having been medevac’d in on a cargo plane), we met Jennifer – a six year old black girl who had the same diagnosis as me, and her mother, who was an Army cook.  

In the ensuing weeks, months, and years, I met, interacted with, and was cared for by people of a variety of races and ethnicities.  Black, Asian, Hispanic – doctors, nurses, nurses assistants, orderlies, cleaning staff, cafeteria cooks and cashiers, radiology techs, gift shop and bookmobile volunteers.  Fellow travelers at the hospital and local Ronald McDonald House.  

In 5^th grade, I had my first real crush on a boy.  His name was Bryan, and he was an African American kid in my class.  I found him cute and kind, a little more thoughtful than the rest of our male classmates who were, age-appropriately, mostly rather obnoxious.  

As I grew, these sorts of interactions continued.  Even as I finished treatment and my family moved on, I found myself engaging with people of diverse racial backgrounds because of where we lived, where I went to school, and who my dad worked with.  When my parents hosted the occasional party, men and women of all ethnicities hung out at my house – some even spent time with us during the holidays, when they couldn’t take the leave to go home to their families.  

This was all perfectly normal to me.  The only reason that I can now recall these interactions as having any relation at all to race is because I’ve been culling my memories for months.  

All of this is not to suggest by virtue of personal anecdote that I am not racist because I “have black friends” or whatever.  

No.  The point I want to make is that, from early childhood, I interacted with and was comfortable around people of all races and ethnicities.  And now I'm not.

I will freely admit that I am no longer comfortable around blacks, Native Americans, Asians, and other people of color.  Does this make me a racist?  Probably, but then, from what I’ve learned over the last few years in “anti-racism training” and “diversity awareness workshops”, I always was racist, and I always will be.  According to reigning social theory, it is impossible for white people to not be racist, and is impossible for any non-whites to be racist.  Ever.  Anywhere.  In any culture.  Or any location.  I’m not sure if there’s some sort of “racist gene” that is coded into my DNA, that individuals of color lack, but somehow or another, I’ve been educated to understand that I cannot not be a racist.  

Which is bad.  I mean, you’re not supposed to be a racist, right?  But if you’re white (like me), you can’t help it.  So naturally I feel guilty about this.  Now, the guilt is not the biggest issue.  I’ll deal with that, I guess. (Although, for the record, I have yet to hear anyone suggest that the sin of racism is in any way forgiveable by a Holy God. So maybe I won’t deal with it.)

What I can’t avoid is the discomfort, the self-consciousness, the self-focus, the incurvatus se - oh look, there's another sin - that now hallmarks all my interactions with people of color.  

If I see someone on the street or in a store, do I look at them (or is that staring? Judging?  Wondering why they are here – in this store, on this planet?)  Do I not look at them (or is that avoiding them? Rejecting? Dehumanizing?)

Do I say hello? If I say hello will it sound sincere?  Will it be interpreted as sincere? Will it look like I’m “trying to not be racist”?  Oh, who am I kidding?  I’m an introvert.  I really don’t say hello to random strangers on the street, ever.  But this person doesn’t know that.  If I don’t say hello, will they think it’s because they are [fill in race here]?  

What about something as complicated as counting the change I receive, rather than tossing it into my wallet?  Or checking over a restaurant bill twice?  If I do that to a clerk or waitress, will they think it’s because I don’t trust them, rather than because that’s just what I do?  God forgive I have to ask a person of color for help – in a classroom, in a store, on the side of the road if my car has broken down.  What if it looks like I think they are all “the help” and exist on this planet to serve me?  If I don’t ask, when I clearly am in need, does the person notice and assume that I don’t want their help? 

And when a person of color initiates a conversation with me – what happens if I, as an introvert, am annoyed by unnecessary small talk?  What if they ask for help that I’m simply unable or unqualified to give? Will they interpret that as animus?  

The list goes on. 

And it makes me sad.  It makes me sad that if I ran into my friend Teddy, who taught me to dip my French fries in mayo, I wouldn’t know how to interact with him.  It makes me sad that the gynecologist can’t send their dog over to vacuum up baby food in my house anymore – because isn’t that just an extension of the Hispanics-as-cleaners stereotype?  It makes me sad that Jennifer, who once displeased her mother and amused all the rest of us when she got so frustrated with her prosthesis that she threw it in a lake, sees me as an oppressor rather than a friend and fellow cancer survivor.  It makes me sad that all those doctors and nurses and other people who cared for me did it not because they enjoyed their careers, but because of some institutionalized power structure that requires people of color to serve whites.  It makes me sad that all those people my parents welcomed into their home over the years apparently viewed my family as patronizing rather than loving. 

It makes me sad that “anti-racism” efforts have made me more racist than I ever was.  

Congrats to those who feel better by this state of affairs.  

Count this unforgiven, unforgiveable racist out. 

What's In A Name?

Warning: More CPE-ish-ness ahead...

This year - and this semester, in particular - I've been doing a lot of work (or rather, God's been doing a lot of work) on figuring out (revealing) who I am.  Not who everyone thinks I am, or who everyone wants me to be, or explicit or implicit expectations of me, or what the narrative of my life has been up until this point.  But me.  Me.

What do I like/want/need?  What has God created me to do?  Who am I?  For so long, without even realizing it, I've been and done everyone else's expectations - probably up to and including the Accuser's.  (He's a devilish one...)  And it hasn't been intentional, for the most part - mostly it's been because a) I don't think I know how to do anything else, b) I'm a nice person and I do what people ask me to do, and c) I trust other people more than I trust myself.

So learning to be my own person has been hard.  I feel like I'm constantly peeling back layer after layer of personal junk to "find myself" - ugh, this sounds so new-age-y, but that's not how I intend it - and sometimes that "me" underneath all the layers is really sensitive, because it's had so many defenses built up around it for so long to keep it from hurting.  Like the way certain skin sunburns super-easily because it's never exposed to the sun, "me" has been "clothed" for years, and when I finally let it see the light of day, it's really fragile.

Something that has been important to throughout the years is my name.  I don't know why, for sure, why my name has been so critical.  I have very few nicknames - only one, really.  Most people don't know it, and only people who are super-close to me are allowed to use it.  I've had friends and quasi-family attempt to call me by this nickname, and I absolutely hate it.  My parents, a couple aunts and uncles on my dad's side, and my high school BFF are the only ones who are allowed.  People who just presume to use this nickname annoy the crap out of me.

Other than that, I don't really have any nicknames.  I don't really like them all that much, and besides, my given name is a shortened-nickname-form of a lot of other people's given names.  It was a super-popular name at the time I was born.  And therein lies the problem.  My whole life, whenever I'm in a group of any size, there's always someone else with my name.  Even if it's a nickname for them, it's the same as my name.  And so, whenever someone says my name, there's always a genuine chance that they're not actually referring to me - either directly or indirectly.

That's been really hard for me, especially this year, and especially as I'm trying to live into me and who I am.  One of my best friends on campus has the same name as me (although hers actually is a nickname).  We're good friends, and I love her to pieces, and we have spent much of the past school year attached at the hip.  I mean, we're together basically all the time.  Right down to the same job and the same class schedule and the same friends.  And it's been great.  I love having her around, and I'm so ridiculously glad we're friends.

Of course, everyone else notices that we're always together, and simply refers to us in the plural.  Never us individually.  Or when I'm with other friends and they reference her, it feels strange - like, they're talking about someone who isn't me, but they are using my name to do so.  And also: and yes, I'm such a girl, so deal with it - she's all the -er's, compared to me: smarter, prettier, funnier, cuter, cooler, better, more popular, more fun, more Christian, etc.  I don't begrudge her these - it is what it is.  But being around someone who has my name but is way more awesome than me all the time gets hard, and it sometimes feels like me and my identity just get lost in the shuffle - because my name hardly ever refers to me, or at least to me exclusively.  

This really hit home last Sunday when a friend and I went to hear another friend preach in worship.  Same Name As Me Friend did not come along.  Afterwards, while Preacher Friend was greeting congregants, the friend that I had come with and I were visiting with the senior pastor.  When Senior Pastor learned my name, he said, "Oh, you must be the one Preacher Friend talks about."  Oh, really?  Hmm...I guess.  I didn't know Preacher Friend talked about me to his pastor, but that's cool.  Until Other Friend jumped in and said, "Well, maybe.  We hang out with another one a lot too, it might be her."  And then it hit me.  Oh, right.  I forgot.  It probably is her.  She's the cool one, the one that people are interested in and want to talk to and about.  Nevermind. 

So, I think that I need a nickname.  Something that when I hear it, I know it means me and not anyone else.  Even if it's rarely uttered by others, because they are talking about some other person with my given name, I need that space for my identity.  Because it's not just about one or two people, it's about that from the time I was in kindergarten, I've always just been part of a group of people with my name.  I need to know that there's something about me that is unique, and that I'm not just second-string owner of the name.  It needs to be something that fits me and suits me, something I can live with and feel like is actually me, not just some name I picked off the shelf.  Something that's mature and professional, but fun and playful at the same time.  Something that feels like me.  Suggestions?

Update

So graduation turned out to be pretty okay.  I was sitting (mostly) by friends, and it turns out that we're all friends on a day like Graduation Day, so, yeah...

The service was...eh...mostly good.  Between Baccalaureate and Graduation, they managed to put together some decent worship.  My fam was around, so I had dinner with them afterward, and then got up the next morning to open at work. 

Excellent. 

Now I've just got a couple days left until I head home for my sister's wedding.  Eh.  I feel like every support system I have is systematically being stripped away.  In a way I suppose this is good, because it's forcing me to rely on God in ways that I don't know that I've had to before.  People who were my close friends are just sort of...not...anymore.  The friends I have that I'm still close to are so far away, and it sucks not having them around to be with.  By the time I get back from the wedding, another of my friends here on campus will have left to start her new job.  I'm really happy for her - I'm just going to miss her.

And I think that's part of my struggle with going home for this wedding.  I say "going home" because that's where my parents are, but really, Kansas isn't home for me.  I lived there the last three years of high school.  I haven't been there longer than 2 or 3 weeks since I was a college sophomore.  The people that I'm friends with from high school no longer live there, and the high school classmates that still live there I'm no longer friends with.  I'm headed to my parents' house where they are basically the only people I know or care about, to be drowned in the fact that everyone else but me has the one thing I really want.  

I suppose that's covetous or jealous on my part, and I wish it wasn't.  Because I'm trying really hard not to be jealous or bitter, it just hurts so much.  It's like being the last puppy at the pound, or kid at the orphanage.  Everyone else gets picked except you, and not only do you know it's happening, you're actually having to watch it, and what you want more than anything is someone to pick you.  Should I be joyful and content nevertheless?  Probably - I have the "one thing needful", after all.  But what do you do when your heart is so broken it can't break anymore?  How do you be joyful and content then?

I was deep into Psalm 51 last night, because I just have a bad attitude and a bad heart about so many things right now.  Sin, death, and the power of the devil are just so oppressive.  So often when we talk about freeing the victims of oppression, we mean the ones who are being sinned against by other people.  But what we often don't talk about is that those who are doing the sinning - to be trapped in jealousy and covetousness is every bit as oppressive - it's just that you're being oppressed by the devil himself, rather than somebody else.  And that's almost worse.  Maybe. 

It's days like this that I wish (modern) Lutherans hadn't ditched the tradition of private confession and absolution.

Graduation Day

A friend asked me today on the way to church how I "feel about today."  I told him, "I don't know.  I don't know how I'm supposed to feel."  Which doesn't really matter, I suppose.  I should feel what I feel, not what anybody else tells me I should feel.  But still.

I feel like all my friends are just super-excited - as well they should be.  Graduation is exciting.  It's a good thing.  It's a ritual to mark all that we've done.  But I'm just not super-excited.  I mostly just want it to be over with. 

Part of it, I think, is my introverted hate-being-the-center-of-attention self.  So, at least there will be 174 other people there.  Still and all, that 5-10 seconds of me, by myself, up there.  What if I trip on the steps or miss some kind of cue or walk faster or slower than I'm supposed to or any other number of things that could happen?  The only thing I hate more than having everyone watch me is looking ridiculous while everyone is watching me.

Part of it, I think, is feeling really...separated...from my friends right now.  Like the people I care about most, I'm most distant from, because of all sorts of reasons.  Some of them are in a different class, and they're all off on internship, and I'm sad that we don't get to do this together.  Some of them I've just been less connected with lately - somewhat intentionally on my part, and somewhat intentionally on their part.  

Part of it is, I think, feeling like this thing is ending, but nothing else is really beginning.  I'm more than a month away from the draft, before I know anything else about what is happening.  Just...hanging out.  Going to a couple ordinations this week, and then I'm going home for my sister's wedding.

And that's part of it too.  What's next is that I'm spending three weeks at home getting ready for her wedding.  Which will definitely be long enough.  I'm frustrated because I'm the only person who is taking that much time off from work and - life, really - to be there for this wedding, and no one seems to really appreciate that.  I don't live there anymore, and I don't have friends there, and there's really nothing for me to do except...be in my parents' dealing with wedding stuff.  And every time we talk about the wedding, I feel inadequate.  Like love is the one thing I haven't proven I can be successful at, and what's wrong with me that this is true?  Every time my mom goes on one of her "I can't believe how wonderful Fiancee is" monologues, it leaves me feeling 4 inches tall.  Like if I were only skinnier/prettier/more graceful/more ladylike/more alluring/more perfect/smarter/funnier/ontologically just...better...somehow, someone would want me.  But I'm not, and no one does, and so I'll just have to a) try harder at that particular endeavor, and b) gird my loins, try my hardest, and do all these other things, so that at least I can claim I'm successful at something, even if it is entirely by myself.  And I'm just not looking forward to being confronted with that every moment of every day for three weeks. 

Part of it is, I think, that I'm just not sure why this is that big of a deal.  There was never any doubt in my mind that I would graduate, that I would be able to complete the requirements to obtain this degree.  It's not my dream, it's not my life's goal, it's just...apparently the direction God has led/is leading me, and it's where I am now, so, whatevs.

And I think because I think all of these things - that I don't feel the way I'm supposed to, that I'm disconnected from the people I care most about, that I don't have anything really to look forward to, that I don't think it's a huge deal - makes me feel even more like I just don't really fit in anywhere right now.  Because I don't think anyone else feels that way...which makes it hard to be excited...let the cycle begin again....

Eh.  I'm ready for it to be over, that's how I feel.  Is that terrible?

"Vocational Discernment"

So, if you know me at all, you know that I've done a lot of work on so-called "vocational discernment" in the last couple of years.  Very few of you know the extent of it - the nights of tears shed and fears faced, days of believing the white devil and trusting my own reason over God's grace, listening to the lies in my head and rejecting the truth that anyone else told me.  Praying and worshiping and reading and writing and very seriously trying to wrap my head around "what God wants me to do" vs. (?) "what I want to do" vs. (?) "what the world wants me to do".  I worked so hard at "giving it all to God" and discerning Truth and almost literally "taking up my cross and following him".  And I think I would say that it's been good for me, on the whole, even if it hasn't always been particularly healthy. 

Nevertheless...

By the time I came back from internship - and even probably half-way through first semester - my prayers were just begging God for clarity.  I was really messed-up inside and not even really seeing through the glass dimly, more like staring at a ceramic coffee mug.  On the other hand, I was almost afraid to pray for that clarity, because of what I thought He was going to say.  (See?  I told you I was screwed up...still am, a little bit...)

And so I came back for my senior year prepared to apply for PhD programs - I honestly thought that's what God wanted me to do.  Ok, that's a lie.  If I had had the ability to be honest with myself at the time, I probably would have noticed that the PhD thing felt forced.  I mean, sure, I'd love to teach at the undergrad level - it was so important to my own faith formation, and I'd like to do that for other kids.  And maybe that's in my future at some point.  But in my most honest moments, I can recognize that it was this: I'm the smart one, that's what I have going for me, and I'm a good person who always works as hard as possible - I must get this doctoral degree to prove that I'm not a slacker and living up to who I'm supposed to be.  Yeah.  Screwed. Up.  

Lois Malcolm's Holy Spirit class was fantastic for this - the Holy Spirit - through her teaching - has done such a good job of freeing me from this identity that has been imposed on me - it's the narrative that has always been told to me about me, and I haven't known how to step out of it, or away from it, or...just not make it my primary identity.  So I'm working on that.  And it's getting better.  Slowly.

And then I preached in chapel a couple weeks ago.  As I mentioned, it felt so, so good.  It was fun and joyful, I felt alive.  I felt like, "there is something to be said here, and apparently I'm the one who's going to say it, so, here we go".  I had a lot of good feedback from students and faculty afterwards, and it felt really good - although it's so not about me, it was totally a God thing.  I know that a couple people watched it online, and that was nice - to feel like people were interested enough to watch. 

But on Monday I got a package from a friend who had clearly watched the online broadcast - but who didn't tell me she had done so.  She wrote me a lovely card, and then she made me art that draws out the main themes of my sermon, cites a myriad of excellent Scripture passages, and has my name and date on the back.  I opened it in the presence of several friends, and in the midst of a lot of stress, so I didn't have time to really absorb it.  But when I went back to it that night, it brought me to tears.  I really put my heart into that sermon, and I hope that God was able to speak through it.  It felt so right, and so me.  And this beautiful art says, "That was authentically you, Katie.  This gift for you is for you.  The person who you are." 

Thank you for seeing that, Mary.  Thank you for seeing me. 

All Over But the Shoutin'...

And just like that, I'm done with seminary.  How weird.  Actually, I've been done for a week now, since senior grades had to be turned in last week, but today was my last class.  I'll be honest - it feels weird.  Like, wait, what just happened?  The last four years have absolutely flown by - where did they go?  Lost in a whirlwind of classes and friends and CPE and internship and crazy people and awesome professors and "vocational discernment" and work and books and tragedy and comedy and just ... incredibleness.  It's just...gone.

I'm not sad, per se.  Just...sentimental.  The saying-goodbye piece is different here than in high school and college.  Of course, there's the last day of classes and baccalaureate and graduation and and and.  And maybe I'll be sad then.  But my friends are all leaving at different times and different paces.  You bond differently in seminary, or at least, I did, than in high school or college.  There are a couple college friends that are people I care about very much still, but very few of them are people that weren't in "my class".  Those few who weren't are people who, for whatever reason, I just stayed - or became? - close to.  But so much of high school and college revolves around "your class".  Basically everyone is in and out in 4 years, and while we all go off to different colleges or jobs or grad schools, being that graduating class is the main thing.

Seminary has been much different.  I've bonded with people over faith, over key experiences, over classes and professors and - frankly - the important things.  The things that have made me friends with people from high school and college who were in "not my class".  There are people who have graduated before me - and who will graduate after me - who are my true "classmates", my true friends, the ones who I know will be there with me and for me when the road ahead is tough. We all come from different places, and we are going different places.  Some of us have been here 4 years, some 2, some 10.  But love - the love of Christ - has brought us and bound us together.  And I am so, so grateful.

I'm not much of a name-dropper, but I'm doing it here.  Maybe because I need to tell this to myself, maybe because I want to let the people I love know that I love them, maybe because I need to give thanks to God for all that he's given me.

I am grateful for Katie - who I think was possibly my first "seminary friend" - one of the first, anyway.  And she is also, I think, my "last seminary friend."  I am grateful for her companionship, her laughs, her hugs, and her always understanding what I'm trying to say.  I'm grateful that she has been attached to my hip, and that she drinks wine with me, and tries to convince me that I need to not tolerate people's crap.

I am grateful for Liz - she who understands the strangeness of home.  I'm grateful that she never judges, never condemns - I'm grateful that she lifts me up and dusts me off when I need it.  I'm grateful that she is such a good listener, and that she loves Jesus and is always as excited to see me as I am to see her.

I am grateful for Rachel - I'm grateful that she pushes to places that I need to go, and I'm grateful that she tells me who I belong to and how much I am worth.  I am grateful to her for showing me what freedom in Christ looks like.

I am grateful for Brian - I am grateful that he has taught me to stand my ground, and to seek the Truth at all times.  I am grateful for his ministry, and the call on his life, and his ability to preach the Gospel - even to me. 

I am grateful for Andrea - I am grateful that she is kind and sweet and loving and pastoral.  I am grateful that she so often confirms my suspicions about what ministry looks like, and I am grateful that she teaches me so much.

I am grateful for Angela - I am grateful for her quirky, honest takes on life, love, and ministry.  I am grateful that she makes me reevaluate my presuppositions, and I am grateful that she makes me laugh and loves so deeply.

I am grateful for Susan - I am grateful she picked me, Angela, Andrea, and Brian.  I pray that, in the end, it may turn out to have been as life-giving of a choice for her as it was for all of us.

I am grateful for Will - I am grateful to him for reminding me that good guys do still exist, and that they love Jesus, and that said love bleeds out into the rest of their lives.  I'm grateful that he has been such a fantastic co-HR, that he humors me and my quirks, and pushes me when I need to be pushed.

I am grateful for Tim - I am grateful to him for teaching me about boundaries, and how hard they are to draw, and how necessary.

I am grateful to Melinda - I am grateful for her honesty.  I am grateful for her laughter, and I am grateful to her for reminding me - the former MA - that MAs still exist.

I am grateful to Susan - I am grateful to her for her faith and for her witness.  I am grateful for her prayers and for her example.  I am grateful for her help with my Prophets paper.

I am grateful to Dr. Jacobson - I am grateful to him for slowly, by example, teaching me what it means to live the life I've been given.

I am grateful to Dr. Koester - I am grateful to him for providing the inspiration for so many sermons I will preach.  I am grateful to him for asking the important questions.

I am grateful to Dr. (?) Fever - I am grateful to him for showing me what responsible, faithful Biblical scholarship looks like.  I am grateful that he provided a setting where I could learn to get along with St. Paul.

I am grateful to Dr. Malcolm - I am grateful that she taught me what it means to be free.  I am grateful that the Holy Spirit works so powerfully through her words.

I am grateful to Dr. Throntveit - I am grateful that he understands what it means to teach the Bible specifically to people who are becoming pastors.  I am grateful for his faith, and for his desire to build up the faith of his students.

I am grateful to Bishop Foss - I am grateful that he is kind and caring and loves Jesus so much.  I am grateful that he has accepted God's call to be exactly where he needs to be.

I am grateful to Mike - I am grateful that he pushed me towards this vocation, even when I didn't really want him to, and even when I thought he was wrong because of so many things I couldn't tell him.

I am grateful to my candidacy committee - I am grateful that even though they are crazy, they made me fight for my voice, and fight for my call.

I am grateful to God - I am grateful that he has stuck by me, his unworthy servant, despite my repeated attempts to not listen, my repeated instances of totally misinterpreting him, and my general failure every day to live as though I actually believe in him.  I am grateful that he still loves me. 

The Age to Come

Yeah.  I'm pinning my hopes on Christ, in the age to come, because I gotta tell you, there's a lot about the current age that I don't like.  Like death.  A good friend's mom passed away recently, and to be perfectly honest, the whole thing just sucks.  I don't like that people die, and leave grieving loved ones behind.  I don't like that it leaves kids without mothers and husbands without wives and the world with fewer good people to help make it a better place.  These are the times where I'm just completely, 100% ready for God to fix it already.

Things About Today

Today was a superly-productive day, and I'm closing it by just feeling generally really good about things.  So, here's a list of what happened today - actually, in the last couple days, I guess...

• Finished and turned in a kick-ass paper on the Holy Spirit.  Well, at least the intro and conclusion were kick-ass.  The middle part might not be so much.  Also, the whole thing was 6400 words.  It's been a long time since I wrote something that long.
• Finished and turned in a final project for my Ministry with the Mentally Ill and Their Families class. 
• Showered. (Trust me: Today, that counts as an accomplishment.)
• Got several emails I'd been meaning to send, sent.
• Organized a whole stack of mail and bills.
• Bought a freaking adorable Creighton t-shirt.
• Bought textbooks for the class I'm picking up the 2nd half of this semester.
• Got something for myself off my Amazon Wishlist, since I was there anyway.  (The Guys and Dolls DVD.  Love, love, love that movie.  What girl wouldn't run off to Cuba with Marlon Brando?)
• Got rejected from St. Louis U.  Well, that's the Jesuits for you, I guess.  Actually, it's ok.  It really wasn't my first choice.  Probably 2nd from the bottom, actually.
• Got a letter from my Compassion daughter.  She's so adorable - I just love little kids!  
• Realized that my insurance was being more reasonable than I first thought about my surgery.  
• Drank a lot of tea. 
• Started my annual ritual application of Jergens Natural Glow (which they have now added SPF to!).
• Created a to-do list for the rest of the week.  
• Had a couple really good conversations with friends.  
• Skipped German class.  (I really had to get those papers done!)
• Cleaned my room
• Made hard-boiled eggs for breakfast
• Remembered how much I like "reading for fun".  

So...that.  Yes.  Yay.

HO-ly Hannah!

Wow....

Well thanks to all the friends who have sent me love and hugs in emails, phone calls, text messages, and in person the last few days.  Apparently my last post made me sound like I'm about to jump off a cliff.  I'm really not.

Looking back over the last few things I've written about my own personal life, I realize that they all seem really dark and depressing.  And yes, I've been on a giant emotional roller coaster for much of this year, and especially this semester.  But things are actually good, too.

It's so "CPE" to say that I've been doing a lot of "hard emotional work", but the truth is, I have.  This semester I'm taking a class on the Holy Spirit, which I think is going to qualify as the best class I have taken in seminary.  Over and above Genesis to Revelation, and Gospel and Epistles of John.  And they were awesome.

But one of the primary themes of this Holy Spirit class is just how freeing the Holy Spirit is.  For better or worse, I'm one of the good girls, and I can recite "live not by the letter but by the Spirit" and "for freedom Christ has set you free" and "you have been saved by grace through faith, and this is not your own doing" backwards and forwards blah blah blah.  But apparently I forgot that it applies to me.  I am realizing just how much I have let "the flesh" - the things of this world - determine who I am and what I want and what I need and what I "should" be doing, rather than living in the freedom of the Holy Spirit.

So I think part of my darkness and depression probably stems from remorse over that, and processing how to fix it now that I know it's a problem.  It's sort of like doing a deep-clean on a closet, or something: it might actually get worse before it gets better, even though you're on the right track.  And honestly, even as I write this, and try to live into that freedom that I have in Christ to be who I am, I can almost feel the spiritual warfare going on inside my brain.  The collision of the old age and new age, duking it out for my concentration and allegiance.  But no more!

The ruler of this world can take a hike!

(But I might need my friends to remind of this from time to time...)  

Relationship-ness

I am tired.  I am really, really tired. 

Part of what's going on, I suppose, is just the general "being a senior" thing.  Every time I've "been a senior" (high school and college), I've clung like crazy to everything and everybody - all the lasts, and the never agains.  All the perfect memories and ridiculous drama.  All the best friends and favorite teachers.  What can I say?  I'm an emotional sucker. 

And I'm there again now.  It's making me crabby - I want to spend every free moment with my friends, experiencing our life together, and alternately, I want to not see them at all, thinking, I think, that I can protect myself from hurting by guarding my heart and my life.

So I think some of my "tiredness" is really my own typical senioritis.  Part of it, also, is not knowing what's next for me.  I don't know if I got into any grad schools.  I have to wait until April to try to get approved, and if that works, then I'll do assignment in the fall.  So there's the knowledge that all of this is ending, but that there's no new beginning to look forward to.  Who knows what will happen?  It could all come together, or I could fall flat on my face. 

Some of it is the spinster factor.  I thought by now I would have my life together - career, husband, kids.  I have none of that.  None.  I hate it, it's scary, it's depressing, and it's embarrassing.  What is wrong with me?  Why can everyone else get it together, except for me?  Why can every other girl find a boy who loves her, except for me?  Why can everyone else be normal, except for me?  

So there's that.  And tied in with that, I think, and a big, big part of it is just being tired of saying goodbye.  I have never lived more than three years in one location.  I have always said that I loved growing up in the Army, and the opportunities it afforded me to see the world, to learn and grow in ways that so many others didn't, to be open to new things and new people, and so on.  But I'm in a place right now where I don't like it.  Where I realize that for the last thirty years, all I've done is say goodbye.  Over, and over, and over again.  I'm tired of the fact that I have no home, that going to my parents' house is like going to a hotel, that I have no childhood friends, that I have no roots. 

I am tired of making friends only to see them (or me) leave.  I'm tired of everyone I love eventually not being around anymore.  I'm tired of having to work so hard to maintain the relationships I care about.  I'm tired of being at least a four-hour drive away from anybody I've known more than four years.  I'm tired of knowing that in 80...79...78...days I'm going to graduate and the same thing will happen that's been happening all my life: all of the people I love and care about will be gone. 

And I hate this because it's keeping me from enjoying the things that are good - the time I do have with everyone.  Because every time I laugh, I think to myself, "I'm never going to get to do this with this person again".  I'm tired of being afraid to be anywhere in public for fear that anything - everything - God only knows what - might cause me to start crying. 

And I'm tired of it not being okay to feel these things.  I'm tired of the voice inside my head that keeps saying, "Come on now, get it together."  I'm tired of feeling so pathetic every time I go through this stuff in my head, and I'm tired of feeling like the only acceptable answer to the question, "How are you?" is "Fine", even though I'm clearly anything but. 

Ugh.  I'm sorry for letting all the not-fine-ness and depression leak out all over the interwebs.  Ah well, it's my blog.  Don't like it?  Don't read it. 

Surgerized

So...my surgery last month went great, at least, as great as I guess these things can go.  Long story short, it's over. 

My mom came up the day before, and we scoped out the day surgery center and the best route to get there.  The day of, we got there about 6 am, checked in, waited a long time...and finally got in.  I'm such a lightweight - the Ativan alone knocked me out.  I remember about a minute and a half after the nurse gave it to me, and nothing thereafter.  Also, I hate general anesthesia.  A lot.  I don't like the foggy "what's going on??" feeling that comes afterward, and it always makes me nauseous. 

Interesting note, though: I told the anesthesiologist that I always get sick after general, and his first question was, "Do you get carsick, too?"  Well, golly gee, yes I do.  I'm the only person I know who can get carsick while driving, in fact.  (Only my parents' car, that they are about to get rid of, thank goodness.  But still.)  Also, side note: when I was on chemo, the worst drug they gave me, adriamyacin, always made me sick, but "carsick".  I remember that it wasn't straight-up nausea, I really did feel motion-sick, to the point that I couldn't even read because that just made it worse.  Huh.  Brain chemistry = weird.

Nevertheless, I was under for less than an hour, and afterwards, I managed to avoid taking vicodin or anything else wonky for pain, just a strict regimen of ibuprofen for several days.  I came home and slept the rest of the day, most of Saturday, and a decent portion of Sunday.  I have a couple totally fantastic friends who came over to keep me company, bring me coffee, and help me stay up late so I could sleep better.  Friends are the best. 

By Monday, I was even (mostly) ready to go bridesmaid dress shopping, so my mom and I traipsed all over town doing that.  (Long story, more later.) 

Upshot of the surgery is: they burned off "seven or eight" spots of endo, and everything else looks really good.  So that's good.  Of course, I was terrified that they were going to tell me my whole body was encased in this crap and there was nothing they could do and I would never have babies blah blah blah.  And, of course, none of that happened. 

So, for the time being, I'm just chilling out and seeing what happens.  My doc said to let him know if I want to take Lupron.  I don't.  So, we'll see what's next.  At least some symptoms do indeed seem to be better already, so praise God for that! 

These Men

There's an absolutely fantastic scene from Season One, Episode Five of The West Wing.  The episode is titled "Crackpots and These Women", and the scene comes toward the end of the episode.  The video is here (sorry, it won't let me embed it), and you should watch it.

I was thinking about this scene this past weekend as a friend and I were doing the typical girly thing of talking about guys - and wondering if there's an equivalent scene in a movie or TV show somewhere.  Given some specific circumstances, my friend and I started from a point of "boys are dumb: throw rocks at them".  But with old black-and-white movies on in the background, our discussion came 'round to how much we actually really like guys (frustrating though they may be at times).  We talked about how we missed the "good ol' days" of Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra - back "when men were men".

When there were clearly defined gender roles, and it was okay to like them.  When women could (and did) appreciate what men "brought to the table" and like them just for being men, and vice versa.  Aah, who knows?  Maybe I'm over-romanticizing the past and there never was such a day.  But it just seems like in generations past, men and women behaved in a more civilized fashion towards one another, their interactions were bathed in respect (even if not "like" or "love") and propriety.

It seems to me that feminism - as the movement has played out - has destroyed much of this.  No one I know is against the "novel idea that women should be treated as equals" (or whatever that snarky quote is).  No one I know thinks that women should be denied the vote, or the right to own land/property, or the opportunity for education or a career.  But unfortunately, feminism has devolved into something that is not about lifting up women so much as it is about tearing down men.  And that's unhealthy, unhelpful, and unScriptural, and yes, we are reaping the consequences.

From what I can tell from my own interactions with men, many of them are awkwardly trying to suppress their natural instincts to care for/respect/protect/serve/sacrifice for women in general, because a door held open or a warm jacket offered or an inappropriate remark confronted would imply that a woman is not able to care for herself - that she "needs" a man, and "everybody knows" any woman would find that offensive.  I know many men who withhold making remarks in class or meetings because their contribution will be dismissed as "the white male perspective".  I know men - good, solid, honest, strong, faithful men - who are terrified of asking a woman out or even complimenting her, lest it be construed as an oppressive attempt at objectification.

And that's a darn shame.  Because men aren't all losers - in fact, most of them aren't.  Most men aren't so busy watching football that they miss the births of their own children, or so concerned about beer that they're too distracted to feed the kids vegetables at dinner, or so entranced by a hot woman in the store that they proceed to talk about her to their wives later that evening.  Most guys aren't objectifying every woman they meet or thinking that women are incapable of managing their own lives or interested in oppressing and subjugating the local womenfolk.  Most guys are great - because God made them after his own image, and it was "very good."

So to honor that, I've put together a list: 100 Things I Love About Men:

1. when they roll their shirt sleeves up halfway between their elbow and wrist
2. they know how to build a fire 
3. watching them drive a manual transmission
4. they get excited about a sporting event and start discussing it passionately
5. they make fun of women for doing dumb woman things - peeing in groups, etc...
6. when they take voting seriously
7. when they volunteer to lead a prayer 
8. making a special point to hold the door open for a woman - or another man
9. that they know stuff about cars
10. not needing to ask for directions
11. being secure enough in their masculinity to recognize when it's time to ask for directions
12. that they kill bugs and rodents - even at 3 am
13. when they take their families to church
14. holding a woman's coat to help her put it on
15. being patient when women take a long time to get ready
16. being manly and protective of all women, even ones they aren't married to
17. when they don't add sugar or cream to coffee
18. they will eat practically anything
19. they love to play with babies
20. they are a little bit afraid of babies
21. when the elevator smells all manly after they've just been in it
22. when they are not afraid to follow a woman's instructions to look in her purse to find _______
23. when they refuse to look in a woman's purse out of respect (and a little bit of fear)
24. that the good ones don't seem to know how good they are
25. they are good at fixing things
26. mocking - but secretly liking - chick flicks
27. asking permission to kiss a girl
28. not asking permission to kiss a girl and just doing it instead
29. when their hand gets a little bit sweaty holding a girl's, because they're still a little nervous
30. that they lend a girl their jacket when she is cold, even if it makes them cold
31. patiently explaining the rules of a particular sport...again...
32. when they play "football" with folded up pieces of paper and their thumbs
33. playing actual sports with friends
34. finding ways to be competitive about absolutely everything
35. when they aren't afraid to admit that they can only focus on one thing at a time
36. winking at me from across the room
37. knowing that I need a hug and obliging for as long as necessary
38. when they chop wood for a fireplace
39. they know how I take my coffee - even if it's different from theirs
40. when they offer to carry a woman's luggage
41. they know how to pack the trunk of a car
42. when I announce that chivalry is dead and they go out of their way to prove otherwise
43. when they are really good at listening, especially when it's stuff that's hard to talk about
44. that they are moved to tears more often than girls would expect
45. they will sacrifice anything for their families
46. when they can speak a second language
47. they know when it is therapeutic to offer someone a beer
48. when they can cook
49. when they have dirt under their fingernails from working hard 
50. watching them tie their ties
51. watching them loosen their ties
52. most of them are secretly really smart about at least one subject area
53. when they are so proud to have a son
54. when they are incredibly protective of their daughters
55. when they take care of their pregnant wives
56. when they teach their sons how to treat women
57. when they teach their daughters to demand proper treatment from men
58. they know how to grill meat
59. when they are manly enough to cry
60. when I haven't talked to them in a year and they still remember my birthday
61. washing the car in the driveway on a summer afternoon
62. they can change their own oil
63. they can build stuff
64. they stand up when a woman enters the room
65. when they refuse to work on Sunday
66. when they work on Sundays so their employees don't have to
67. "Hey Lady!  How are you?" (said with a big smile as they walk into a room)
68. shoveling snow
69. when they change their plans just to be with you
70. that they can be "crazy dumb boys" and still, I care about them
71. when they can charm the socks off any woman from 3 months to 85 years old
72. they try to make me laugh
73. they are often more likely than women to simply say what needs to be said
74. when they gently touch my shoulder in an anxious situation, as if to say, "it's okay, I got this"
75. they're not afraid to make fun of themselves
76. how little tolerance they have for female drama
77. that they truly have no idea anything on this list makes them attractive
78. when they ask "How are you?" and "How is your family?" and actually care about the answer
79. when I discover that they have quietly adopted my opinion about something as their own
80. when they are honest enough to admit that they simply don't care about something
81. unexpected hugs
82. when they turn me on to a new food or drink
83. the lengths they will go to in order to solve a problem
84. when they know how to pronounce my last name correctly - and do it
85. shuffling cards
86. first thing in the morning text messages
87. when they tell me my geekiness is cute
88. they want to see women use the gifts God has given them
89. when they use my name a lot when they talk to me
90. when they're willing to admit their weaknesses and confess their sins
91. they stretch out their entire bodies so as to take up the maximum amount of space possible
92. when they take responsibility for organizing activities/hanging out
93. they ask a woman's father for permission to marry her
94. firm handshakes
95. when they respect my sex/violence comfort levels in the movies
96. they take being manly seriously, and work to be seen as such
97. they take care of their sick wives
98. they "don't get sick"
99. they like stuff that blows up
100. they're made in the image of God - which must make God pretty awesome

Musings...

I've always been a little weirded out by the idea of a "muse", you know the supposed spiritual-ish source of inspiration for artists.  I tend to associate it with paganism and fake spirituality - a fiction at best, a denial of God's glory and inspiration at worst.

But lately I'm starting to wonder if there's somewhat of a truth to it.  I say this because I know that my own writing (for myself, not the "required for class" kind) sort of comes in fits and starts.  Some of that is related to my schedule, of course, and when I manage to find time for myself, and what I'm thinking and feeling and passionate about.

But it also seems that some of it is related to the people I spend time with.  Just in the last month or so, I've realized that being with certain individuals makes me desire, or even feel compelled, to write.  Not in a crazy "OMG this is insane and I have to write it down right now so the whole world can hear me" kind of way.  No, in a kind of way that says, "I am confident in who I am, and what I believe, and what I've been gifted to do, and I'm going to do it now."  In a way that unwittingly nurtures me and my gifts and call, and that softens my rough edges without suppressing who God made me to be.

If our gifts are to be used for the building up of the body of Christ, could not the body of Christ build up our gifts?  And could not certain specific relationships, grounded in and led by the Holy Spirit, do so to a greater degree than others?

Maybe "muses", for Christians, don't have to be about pagan spirituality from which we run screaming.  Maybe they are people on this earth, given to us for a specific and significant reason, through whom the Lord works powerfully to inspire the nurturing and use of our gifts - not for our glory, or their glory, but for His glory.

Lord Jesus, lead me in the paths of righteousness, for your name's sake.

Can I Get An AMEN?!?

"Why do you call me good?" Jesus answered.  "No one is good but God alone."  ~ Mark 10:18

Indeed.

That is all.

Some "Me Time"

I haven't written yet about the crazy road trip I took last week.  (Two weeks ago, now?)  Anyway, "Big Church" that's providing my internship supervision was taking a bunch of staff to a "big church get-together" at Gigantor Church, my home congregation.  They asked if I wanted to go.  Um, yes. 

Problem, though.  They wanted to drive down all day on Monday, do the "get-together" all day Tuesday, and then drive back Tuesday night.  Um, no.  First of all, I'd be super crabby by the time we got back, because that is way too much time in the car, and so not enough time with Gigantor Church or people who live in Gigantor Church Town.  Second, I've been looking for a chance to get back to College Town, which is an easy drive from Gigantor Church Town. 

So instead of driving down with the Big Church staff on Monday, I left Sunday right after church and headed for College Town.  I had dinner with an old college professor and his wife, spent the night with my college roomie, and then coffee in the morning with another former professor.  Then I headed over to campus and spent some time wandering around there, and ended up having lunch my major-department secretary.  Then I hit the road to Gigantor Church Town, got my oil changed at the best place ever, met Big Church staff at the hotel, and then we all had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. Phenomenal.

Tuesday was the "get-together" with staff from about 10 other "big churches."  There were tours of the building, a worship service, lunch, and some hangout-with-your-interest-group time.  By mid-afternoon, we were ready to head out.  I met my BFF for a quick dinner, and then hit the road for Seminary Town.  Spent the night with friends on the floor of a dorm room, visited one of my parishioners in the hospital (total God thing that one of my people from my intern congregation would be having surgery at this out-of-town hospital right when I was going to be there), grabbed a very fast lunch with my CPE group, swung by discipleship group, met with my advisor to work on my class schedule, and then hit the road back to Small Town for the Church School Easter Pageant.

Wow.  Okay.  So, takeaways from this crazy four days:

• There is a very large part of my heart that is in College Town.  An extremely large part.  Simply put, it is home for me.  When I came around the curve of the interstate and saw the first big green sign that said College Town, with the down arrow for the right lane, I breathed a sigh of relief just to be there. 
• My college professors are awesome, and they know me so well.  I had really been stressing about a lot of things, and they were able, separately, but sort of together, to pull it all out of me and help me get my head on straight. 
• Rural ministry is not for me.  And it is okay to say that. 
• "Pick up your cross and follow me," "deny yourself," and "sacrifice" does not mean "Make yourself miserable for Jesus."  "A new creation" does not mean "continue to reject/not use the gifts God has given you because you think that they/you are 'not good enough,' and cram yourself into a lifestyle/career that is really not what you're suited/called to, because you're convinced that God 'wants to make you into a new creation.'"  Taking on a career and a life and a calling that you are passionate and joyful about is not selfish, elitist, or arrogant.  The "different members" of the body of Christ is for real.  If you're an arm, be an awesome arm, and don't worry about whether you're supposed to be a liver, or whether God would love you more if you were a spleen.  Just be a fabulous arm. 
• God loves me.  When Awesome Senior Pastor of Gigantor Church preached at worship on Tuesday, he said lots of great things, I'm sure, but what I heard, that I remembered, was "I know we're all church people and we're used to judging other people's sermons instead of listening to them, but for today, please just hear that God loves you."  I had not heard this in a very, very long time.  It was very nice to hear.
• I think I am a strange introvert.  I need the quiet time to "recharge", but too much quiet time and I turn into a crazy person.  I need people around me.  I need friends and relatives and engaging conversation and intellectual stimulation. 
• I'm definitely looking forward to being back on campus - I just wish that so many of my friends weren't in the class below me and thus, going to be gone on internship when I get back.

New Year's Resolution, February Edition

So last month, I wrote that I had made a few New Year's Resolutions, one of which was to, basically, start doing the things that people who have a life do.  To stop putting my life on hold, just because it's not the life I thought I would have. 

Alison recently wrote a post wherein she stated that "life doesn't come with odometers."  It wasn't really about this topic, but it was a great turn of phrase, and in my mind, brought with it a very interesting perspective.  An odometer does several things - it tells us how far we've traveled how much longer until we get where we're going, and it tracks certain expected maintenance tasks - refueling, changing the oil, replacing the timing belt and tires, etc...

I was thinking about how this applies to life: I think that we (ok, well, me anyway) tend to view birthdays as miles on an odometer, with all the attendant expectations.  College.  At 18.  Graduate school at 22. Good job at 25.  Married at 26.  Kid at 28.  Second kid at 30.  And while some of that is perhaps changing a bit, as average age of first marriage goes up, I think that general narrative still exists in many of our minds.  I think I sometimes view life as, "Hey, I forgot to fuel up at 25.  I'm getting on toward 30, and not seeing anywhere to get a new timing belt.  Etc..." But it occured to me today, as Alison said, that "life has no odometer." 

Life is just life.  And even though everybody tells you that you need to change the oil every 3000 miles, the reality is that if you use Mobil One, you can wait 7500 miles.  And I always use Mobil One.  :-)

So cheers to that! And on to the February edition of my New Year's Resolution...

Professional Politics

I've come to the conclusion that professional politics is basically just pretending to accomplish morally sanctimonious ends by means of immoral thoughts, words, and deeds, and whose practitioners (most of them, anyway) attempt to self-justify via large amounts of alcohol and illicit sex.

I'm tired of losing friends to this.  I'd like them back.