update from the east

What a quaint college town.  In the summer. Which means this town is probably a pretty buzzing place during fall and spring.  But starts to close at around 7 p.m.  Some places stay open till 10:00.  There is certainly potential…

I’m sitting in a coffee shop: Uptown Espresso Bar.  You can probably guess: old wooden tables and chairs, and mismatched lamps, some on, some not.  A vague breeze blowing through the windows.  The (male) barista keeps dashing into the bathroom.  Totally normal.  Wasn’t all that hungry, but I think I’ll have to come back and try the quiche.  And the cookies. Both smell delightful.

This is a town full of pizza places.  I guess that’s also to be expected.  But I haven’t tried any of them yet.  I’m also a little nervous to try the Mexican restaurant.  I’m sure it’s fine, but I just left Texas and the disappointment would far overshadow the appreciation of melted white cheese and brownish-grey beans.

My first meal in Kutztown was at the Airport Diner, the only 24/7 establishment in town.  The menu is basically a binder and everything is the specialty.  I had some sort of chicken sandwich–good but ultimately forgettable.  My boss introduced me to the Pennsylvania German anomaly of “hot bacon dressing”.  Drenching iceberg lettuce.  Delicious, yes, but I’m still convinced I was eating iceberg and bacon grease.  Nothing “dressing” about it.

Went to the local farmer’s market/antique hall on Saturday.  Enjoyed an Italian Pretzel roll.  Meat and cheese in a pretzel.  Pretty sure I burned my tongue on the first bite, but also pretty sure it was worth it.

There are Mennonites everywhere right outside the town.  I took a pair of pants to get hemmed at a Mennonite Dry Goods Store (on reference from the department secretary).  (Yeah, I accidentally bought Long-Length pants.  Thought I could pull it off.  Nope. Just not that tall.).  The last few mornings after leaving the building in which I live (on campus), I turn around to hear the clop-clop, and see the black shape of a horse and buggy.

Not sure what I’m going to get used to first, the ubiquity of the horse-and-buggy or having an office.  Both are pretty damn cool.

I should know.

Moving ought to be old hat for me by now.  Four years in and out of college dorms, three years in and out of seminary dorms (well, one dorm, one room, three years.  Small miracle for this girl), two summers back and forth for internships, ten months of long-distance cavorting, and a move to the Lone Star state.  I ought to have this down.  Five days and 1645 miles later (who’s counting) I’m face-to-face with a summer of boxes, suitcases, and hauling junk up staircases.  The moving, the goodbyes, the transitioning, as routine as it is, never feels ‘normal’.  At least this time I could admit to being bad at change.
I fight it with every fiber of my being.

It always sounds like a fine idea; oh, sure, I’ll pack up and drive several hours away and start something new. I love meeting new people, I say.  I’ll get to know another town or city.  But then I get there.  And it’s not home, and I realize that my car was full of my stuff.  My people are back where I left them.  And it sucks.  Like a punch in the gut.

Forcing the strange to feel familiar to ease the dissociation.

The first time I moved to DC I had my own place and the silence was (pardon the cliché) deafening.  Oh, how I cried.  Museums will crowd you out with the loneliness if you let them.  I laugh at myself remembering that summer, though, because the first two weeks compared to the last couple months were like night and day.  I remember it now as one of my favorite summers.  Once it felt familiar, once I found my people.  Sometimes, though, even people can’t help the suck.  Moving to Waco should have been beautiful.  Living with friends, knowing people around Baylor and Waco.  The hard part would already be done.  I couldn’t let myself feel at home, though. Not in 105 degree heat, and not in wide-open, flat, awful Texas.  Not without him.  Oh, how I cried.  Fought hard.  I fought allowing Waco to become my home, and to allow the new people in.  But Waco won.  A week ago I drove away from the heat and humidity.  And drove away from home and family.

Change is hard.  Transition sucks.

But this time?  This time will be different, right?  Because this time I know.  That’s what I keep saying.
Here, let her tell you:

The only time that change was not so hard was starting seminary.  I loved it.  It was easy.  Some of the best friends I still have were some of the first friends I made in that perfect northeast town.  So this time, in some small way, feels like a return.  Closer to that place that settled immediately into home.  But it’s not Princeton, and my friends are closer, but not down the hall.

But I’ve come by faith.  Following opportunity and calling and the peace of ‘knowing’.  Still fighting, finding, searching, allowing home to be here.

dates.

No, not that kind.

Andrew Bird concert in Dallas: March 22

10K in Austin: March 29

Comps: Scheduled.  April 21, 23, 24.  Get it done.

Spring Youth Retreat: April 24-26.  Take exams. Vomit everything I know about three different subjects into a USB drive.  Go hang out with youth for a weekend.  Re-focus.

Oral Exam/Proposal Defense: Sometime the following week.

Students’ final papers due: May 1

Over the Rhine concert in Austin: May 2 (I will go by myself if I have to)

Going Away Dance Party: Better happen sometime in between above and below

Car packed and drive out of Waco: May 11

Arrive in Kutztown: May 15

Start teaching at Kutztown University: May 18

Present at National Assoc. of Baptist Professors of Religion (mouthful): May 30

[yep. still all happening]

here we go.

It’s all happening.

At another time in my life, someone I used to know would say that often describing all sorts of other things that were happening. Things coming together. Things moving forward.

When I moved to Waco, it didn’t feel like everything was happening. Everything was new and different and I hate moving, I hate new and different. (At least now I can admit that.)  Everything kept changing that first year. More new. More different. More difficult. But those things are other stories for other days.  One of the questions I hear most regularly is “how much longer do you have?” which is closely akin to “how long will you be in Waco?” The answer shifted to “Until I finish.”  That answer is typically accompanied by clarifying that unless some reason manifested to move me from Waco, it just made more sense to stay planted, keep plugging away, and carry to completion what led me here in the first place.   I never imagined the “unless…” would finish its sentence.

But here I am. Preparing for the something that is giving me cause to pick up my somewhat-reluctantly made roots and plant them else where for a little while.

In November I happened upon a teaching fellowship program through the state university system in Pennsylvania.  It’s for the summer, it’s aimed at cultivating diversity in the college educational experience; it’s focused on teaching. It sounded ideal.  I applied. And I got the job offer.  And the news got better—would I be willing, would I be available to extend my stay for the school year.  Better, yes, and bittersweet.

I’ll be going to Kutztown University for the first part of the summer to teach Religion and Society. Then I’ll be at Bloomsburg University until the end of the school year, teaching Intro to Religious Studies and a couple electives. (If anyone is interested in covered bridges, you should come visit me. Also, Autumn, anyone?!)

It’s all happening, indeed. In May, I will pack up clothes, books, music (my necessities) and drive to Pennsylvania. I am taking another few steps along this journey and this calling.  I will be finished with my comprehensive exams, and will have defended my dissertation prospectus (all successfully, God willing).  I will continue along the road, following my heart.  It’s all happening. It’s all falling into place. And it’s good, it’s life affirming and it’s exciting.

My heart is full of gratitude and anticipation. And it is heavy knowing what and whom I will leave back in Texas.  A year is a long time. Yet not so long at all.

It’s all happening.

the sanctity of what

There seems to be a fundamental disconnect in how we see ourselves as functioning members of society and the implications of the presence of an Other on that identity. If I see myself as “one from many” (E Pluribus Unum—dolla’ dolla’ bills, y’all), and my One identity is equal to—no better, no worse—than the Ones in the Many, my understanding of the Others takes on a mantle of humility, respect, and mutual dignity. However, if I somehow see these Others, the Many, in all their differences, their vulgarities, their beauty, their ugly, their oddities, their strangeness, as ultimately a threat to who I am, then that, eventually, turns everyone into an enemy. What is civil and what is necessary turns into a fight over what is good and what is evil. What is criminal turns into a question of what is sinful. What is permissible, what is a choice, becomes a threat to my sanctity.

It seems that the fundamental disagreement over what constitutes a civil right is akin to the definition of a human life. If we re-read the constitution we will find—in black and white—that only the whites truly counted. And, really, only the white men. And, really, only the white men who were prosperous enough to own land. Which reflects a much larger gap between our wealthy and our poor today. Our constitution reflects a definition of persons that is somehow quantifiable in percentages (what does 3/5 of a man look like anyway?). Thankfully, the Bill of Rights soon followed. Amendments that allowed for a recognition of past wrongs, expanding the definition of Person to include all men. And eventually, thankfully, all women. Though, ask any African-American (or non-white-looking person living in our borders), or look at the tear-streamed faces of John Lewis, Jesse Jackson, the countless others without famous names on November 4, and ask them what it means to be a person in this nation. You won’t hear much taken for granted coming from their lips.

thank you.

From Salon.com. (read the whole thing here)

When you don’t take your own career and reputation seriously enough to pause before striding onto a national stage and lying about your record of opposing a Bridge to Nowhere or using your special-needs child to garner the support of Americans in need of healthcare reform you don’t support, I don’t feel bad for you.

When you don’t have enough regard for your country or its politics to cram effectively for the test — a test that helps determine whether or not you get to run that country and participate in its politics — I don’t feel bad for you.

When your project is reliant on gaining the support of women whose reproductive rights you would limit, whose access to birth control and sex education you would curtail, whose healthcare options you would decrease, whose civil liberties you would take away and whose children and husbands and brothers (and sisters and daughters and friends) you would send to war in Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Russia and wherever else you saw fit without actually understanding international relations, I don’t feel bad for you.

I don’t want to be played by the girl-strings anymore. Shaking our heads and wringing our hands in sympathy with Sarah Palin is a disservice to every woman who has ever been unfairly dismissed based on her gender, because this is an utterly fair dismissal, based on an utter lack of ability and readiness. It’s a disservice to minority populations of every stripe whose place in the political spectrum has been unfairly spotlighted as mere tokenism; it is a disservice to women throughout this country who have gone from watching a woman who — love her or hate her — was able to show us what female leadership could look like to squirming in front of their televisions as they watch the woman sent to replace her struggle to string a complete sentence together.

In fact, the only people I feel sorry for are Americans who invested in a hopeful, progressive vision of female leadership, but who are now stuck watching, verbatim, a “Saturday Night Live” skit.

Palin is tough as nails. She will bite the head off a moose and move on. So, no, I don’t feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for women who have to live with what she and her running mate have wrought.

just desserts.

John Claypool has said that too often we rely on the eyes of Justice, rather than looking through the lens of Generosity (according to this morning’s sermon).

I believe they are two sides of the same coin. That justice, in fact, is supposed to be generous. At least the justice I read about from the prophets, and hear in the words of Jesus. It is because God is generous, that God is fair–that it is because we do not deserve what we receive that God is just and generous—that it doesn’t really matter what we deserve.

I believe there is a difference between getting what we need and getting what we want. (I guess Fulghum was right.) The parable today of the workers in the vineyard each getting a day’s wage, regardless of the length of their days’ work. It causes us to balk—unfair! I believe in the absurdity of the story. The absurdity of what is fair–to us–finding definition in what others receive (or don’t receive). The absurdity in recalculating ‘need’ based on other people’s (un)deserving. The workers in the story all get what they need. Maybe they deserved more or maybe they deserved less. None of them walked away rich. They remained day laborers, their pockets contained a day’s pay. They received their daily bread. There is absurdity, I believe in even attempting to line up according to desert, or order of appearance. Last, first, doesn’t matter. What matters is that we come at all. And we receive what we need.

And maybe others are lazy. Maybe they don’t deserve subsidy after subsidy. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe generosity is what matters. And generosity in the form of provision of needs. I believe that we all deserve to have our needs met. And I believe that food, clean water, good education, safety, and adequate healthcare are needs. Generosity, therefore, might just be providing all of these things for all God’s children. Because it doesn’t matter at the end of the day our assessment of their deserving, but it does matter that we all are given, and help give to others, daily bread.

fuel for the flame

I’ve refrained from forming words regarding the election since the candidates have been chosen, and the circuses have ensued full swing. Why add any other voice to the choir—the unintelligible drivel of lipstick, pigs, and (false) sexism will just drown it out anyway.

Perhaps I’ll always be gullible, but I continue to be surprised by the noise to which I wake up every morning. The amount of outright bullshit that we are fed under the guise of ‘nourishment’—sensationalist headlines offered to us as ‘breaking news’. I watch and read these ‘news’ stories and ‘interviews,’ I hear about the games campaigns are playing—and yes, McCain/Palin I’m talking about you—not allowing the press to talk to Sarah Palin until they show her ‘deference.’—and I am outraged. Why are we not calling these people on their games? This is a woman who very likely could be president, we do after all scrutinize vice presidential candidates because of the clear and present danger that they could ascend the throne, as it were. Sarah Palin is not running for beauty queen (anymore), she is on the ticket as the potential leader of the free world—a very broken, corrupt and unjust world, but The. Free. World. Nonetheless. And her ‘people’ want the press to show her deference? How much confidence does that show in their candidate? If they were truly confident that the woman who might lead us is capable, then they would welcome the scrutiny, welcome the questions, welcome the opportunity to prove themselves. Rather, they are hoping that her gender and her ‘pretty’ will fool us all and will be enough to cover up her vast and scary inadequacies and utter incomprehension of who We are, what the Constitution says, and even the conception of “God’s task.” I ought to know by now the limits of the intelligence of the voting populace. Yet, I keep hoping… “Surely they’re not buying this.” I watched both conventions (okay, one more than the other), but how do we look at an overwhelmingly old, white, male, homogenous gathering of Americans, and think, yes, they understand me, they understand my neighbor, they understand the ‘tired, the poor, the huddled masses.’ They don’t. And the garbled response to straight forward questions, the muddled justifications for earmarks, war, and wealthy privilege, should prove to us anything but ‘straight-talk’ and ‘maverick’.

But somehow they’ve duped a good portion of us. Judging by the microcosm of public opinion represented by Facebook, Sarah Palin’s record on leadership corresponds very little to her ability to lead. But rather her identity as a pretty, Christian, mother is all we need to know. Since when do we assess who understands our country and is best equipped to lead it based on with whom we’d rather grab a beer? I don’t care if I’d rather ‘hang out with’ the Obamas over the McCains (though, incidentally, I would), but I care about what Obama cares about, and hope for my country what Obama hopes for my country, and believe in the kind of collective responsibility and public welfare and justice that he does.

A couple of links for you (thanks Traci):

Some fact checking. Also, of course, check out this. (the link wasn’t working–but it was supposed to go to www.factcheck.org)
She says it better than I could
A slideshow from Alaska

lump.

I cry every time I come back. It usually starts as a lump in my throat about a day or so before my scheduled departure. The first one, or two, or ten times the reasons for the rising and the welling were obvious; what I was leaving behind, versus what I had to return left me justifiably mourning, terrified, angry. But now, still, the lump remains, the tears still brimming. The ‘why’ a little more evasive. I hesitate to write that to not sound dismissive of my home that does exist in Waco.

I guess at its most simplest, it continues to be a matter of what I leave and to what I return. It all seems so much more complicated now; love is not involved on one end, and what feels (felt) like misery has retreated on the other. But this feeling of imminent dread manifests every time I’m set to board a plan back to Waco, which clearly is not at all a true reflection of the life I have and the friends that are my family in Waco.

But still, I battle this constant feeling of restlessness.

I almost left. Almost turned my back completely. And did not decide to stay in Waco and at Baylor lightly. I chose this place, this life, this program–chose it multiple times, and do have faith that I belong where I am, doing what I am doing. I feel lucky to have a faith community and to have good friends. That restless part of me–the part that continues to refer to Waco as “home for now”–grabs hold when I travel away, when I’m in place that feels more like me, and with the people that know me and have become a part of who I am. This makes me realize that in some way I am a little less myself in this restless time. Though I can’t fully explain it, I suppose being restless and being ready for the next thing is ‘normal’–so normal it’s cliche.

In spite of it all, every time I return. And find another part of me in another place to call home.

serendipity

I bought my ticket to go home for Christmas. After debating the dates in my head and with my dad–do I use Waco as my starting point, but not come home until Christmas Eve, or do I save some money, leave from Dallas and have a few more days home? If I waited and left from Waco it would certainly be “easier”: free parking, a 10 minute drive to the airport, use less gas, don’t have to bother any other people with my plans, blah blah blah. But there’s the stress of traveling on a holiday (or holiday-eve). If I leave out of Dallas it saves some money now, and I’ll get to be home for a bit longer. (”Get” to be home–as if that were the main objective…ha. But I digress.) So I was looking at the flights and it would have been the same price to fly out on either Dec. 20 or 22 (but not 21. Go figure.) Either way I figured I’d come back on the 30th. Back in time for Waco-Rockin’-New-Years-Eve. I chose the 20th. No real logic.

That was this morning.

This afternoon the hidden logic revealed itself. I checked the mail and the lone item in the box was Over the Rhine’s Live From Nowhere, volume 3. At long last. I knew it would be later than promised. For good reason. And I knew they promised something ‘extra special’. They did not slack this time. Enclosed with my copy of the album was a ticket for me and one guest (or me, my spouse, and my children. cool.) to come to the Christmas “gathering and acoustic performance” in Cincinnati. December 21. I did not know OtR’s schedule when I bought my ticket. Nor did I know that I would get in for free. I will be home in time for the show, and I will bend over backwards to be there. (Which, after yoga today, is much more a threat than a promise.) Now, who gets to be my ‘guest’?

Thanks Karin; Thanks Linford. See you in December.