Wandering and Wondering

a post-Valentine's day post

2012-02-15T11:21:00.010-08:00

Yesterday flew by and not once did I say "Happy Valentine's Day" to my deserving-of-Valentine's-wishes husband. But I can't say I'm sorry about it, because despite the lack of verbal expression, we spent our most meaningful Valentine's Day together yet.

It's no secret to the friends around us that our housemates and Family, Matthew and Katie, have faced dark, uncertain times during the past several months. But amidst that uncertainty sprang forth (and is still springing forth) the fruit of confession, repentance and abundant growth. God is doing a new thing; The Clarks' marriage is, indeed, a new marriage.

We couldn't have dreamed that we'd be spending this Valentine's Day with each other, seated at the table together.

So, last night the 4 of us celebrated. Cooked. Dressed up (I, with my Nana's wedding ring on and a pair of earrings, that latter a gift from her that were worn for the first time last night.)

{Nana's ring}

We ate, "Mmmmmm"-ed at the butternut squash soup and creamed corn and chocolate mousse pie. And we spoke to each other the things we loved and appreciated and needed most in each other.

Your encouragement. The way you held on. Your love. That you would even live this life - this strange-to-the-outsider life - with the Family at the Malcomb House.

{the setting complete with pint glasses and our wedding day pictures}

We remembered together, laughed together, and celebrated our housemate's [Jason] newfound friendship and kindred-spiritship with a California girl.

A Valentine's Day to remember.

Mr. Cooley's House Show Appearance

2012-02-12T12:40:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Breezy Torres who captured this video, especially while navigating low lighting, and for sharing it with us!

on the edge of memories

2012-02-11T14:55:00.000-08:00

My mind is now imprinted with the most memorable of days with Nana - the growing up. The old house on McInnis Drive, yellow-tiled floor, sink overlooking the sloping backyard and bird feeder, toast piled high at breakfast, the mini-glasses filled with orange juice. The sheets hanging on the clothesline, twin beds with Garfield and Smurf sheets, Nana allowing us to sleep way too late to then quietly make her way down the hall to wake us up, the Big Wheels in the driveway, yard work - dreaded yard work - and rolling down the huge hill.

I know that I cannot go back, I know. Some of these memories I've not thought about for years, years. They're so vivid now; I'm standing there right on the edge of them, in the doorway of the kitchen, behind the hedges, watching my 12-year old self rake leaves. I am there again.

And at 3am I am there, too. I wake up to these former things that are coming back to life in my memory.

___________________________

Grandmother. I imagine people taking me a little less seriously when I tell them my "grandmother" has passed on, that maybe this doesn't affect us as deeply as the death of a parent or spouse. And so I am more eager now, than ever, to call her Nana, to make her more human, more personal to everyone.

He was right - she's the most selfless and humble person we knew. She gave us every ounce of her; yes, everything, at any time. And this was her Round 2. Perhaps what she'd screwed up the first time would be come her teacher, presenting her the opportunity give again, teach anew, mother again. So, she did.

And she changed the course of our lives.

Who would we be without her? Where would our paths have led us if she'd not walked them with us?

Our thankfulness runs deep.

{Written October 12, 2011}

the desk, the garden, the writing pen

2012-02-07T19:27:00.001-08:00

She crawls out of bed, shuffling to her bathrobe which she grabs by sheer memory, with eyes barely open. The shower warms her awake, and she hopes for the darkened coffee, pressed and hot, to help her make it out the door.

It does.

She swipes the nametag - access granted - then makes her way to the half-moon cubicle. Waiting ensues; the computer is slow. Emails, finally, projects, the iPad, restrictions lifted - access granted - and sooner than later, the paid workday is done.

Not many blocks 'til home, driveway empty, skies gray. She is ready to prepare, to step, to begin.

Friends, driving, Diet Rockstar. They pass the field of horses, stables just ahead. Their work is cut out for them - find the wheelbarrow, carry the shovels. Dig up the things discarded; bring them home to give life. To nourish. To be needed.

She spreads the earth, evenly, purposefully. Can it already be the time to work, to sow, to wait? Is it really time for death to be over and for life to begin?

The rain is starting; she is finished, in perfect time.

Now, she spins her pen between her fingers, passing to and from, piecing thoughts together. And she writes. Too, she sings (and sings). All day, it's been in her, to write. She picks up her pen; she writes.

new way made, old day laid to rest and be remembered

things we prayed, heard, now seen; and we are thankful

the revisiting

2012-01-31T15:39:00.000-08:00

there are a million memories I'd love to relive

of times when our knowing was new

bookstores and drumbeats and candlelight glow

so many good things we'd behold

but too many things that couldn't be ours

led down two different broken roads

still this Grace brought us back here

to embers that sing of the Love we've always known

and 10 years is too long to speak of

there's so much we won't understand

I don't really want to go back there

but I do want to know you as friend

I do want to call you my friend

tired sabbatical

2012-01-07T10:07:00.000-08:00

To go or to stay, I'm asking to hear

to keep or release, these things familiar.

Living in the land of anxiety, questions,

I cannot understand; answers

I care not to find.

I am tired.

Security, I have; what has always been.

But will this be a reason to hold on?

I'm unable to hear, not willing to be still

You might answer... and I am afraid.

I am tired.

And what might they say if I

choose another way? "Look what she's

given up - stupid," could they say?

Truth, I know. No matter their words.

But real are the voices all the same.

Of these thoughts, I am tired.

Rush, rush. Tomorrow, back to the

rushing around we now know.

Will I stand sure or will I collapse,

pronouncing us...

tired.

{Written September 25, 2011 in Nashville}

Sorrow with joy: year in review

2012-01-04T22:30:00.000-08:00

"Abbye, walk carefully in the night."

Profound? Actually, just a word of caution from an old friend upon our departure from Starbucks tonight. But it seemed profound, so I had to include it!

This post is about what we've gone through, lived with, carried together.

When we turn the pages of magazines, change the channel on the television and click NEXT on our browser to read the next blog entry, we will see a lot of looking back on that year we knew as 2011.

Musicians and actresses will be heralded as the 'best of'; red carpet walkers will hear, "What were they thinking?!"; and Biggest Loser contestants may resolve to make this the year to finally gain control of a life that's spun out of control for far too long, chronicling for us viewers the straws that broke the camel's back in the final months of this last year.

But if most of are honest, this year, and all the ones before and ahead, are sorrow together with joy. Sorrow because things are not right; joy because this is life lived incarnate, being word in flesh, because Jesus is the Word made flesh.

Sorrows are real. Friends sit in darkened living rooms from unpaid utility bills and unexamined hearts. Children suffer under the evil of abusive caregivers, powerless to escape, believing this is what family is doomed to be. Truth without grace crushes; grace without truth cheats one from real depth.

Yet, the joy is real, too! A neighbor and community volunteer, whose heart beats for the children who play on our streets, has found gladness in paid work. Employment, praise God! Music is created and shared and loved in our living rooms and front porches. Meals are cooked and laughter is heard in the kitchen.

Once more, another year later, we remember that joy and sorrow can dwell together; after all, the rest of us do...

Remembrances: the footstools

2011-12-19T15:56:00.000-08:00

Stacked in the corner,

remembrances of you.

Green, orange, black,

of childhood tumblings

and vague happiness;

its exactness, I cannot recall.

A wide open pond; the biggest I'd known,

yet small enough for our two pairs of eyes

fishing poles

turtles

later, fried shrimp

the taste, remembered on my tongue.

Stacked in the corner,

remembrances of you;

worn places, from years of movement.

Lean back, prop your feet,

feel the brandy go down.

Though I did not see; yet, I know.

So little did you allow,

yet these feet-proppers became

chairs for the wee ones

until one day, I'm sure,

we became outgrown and

recognized your raised voice, come down hard.

Stacked in the corner

of our home now -

what most do they remind me of?

Family and fireplaces and

dogs running 'round

and the corner of old,

where eventually they retired.

Another chance, I will give them

to be used and loved

as before they became old news.

Stacked in the corner,

remembrances of you,

and a chance to begin again.

{Written October 22, 2011}

a Family to fall into

2011-12-13T20:28:00.001-08:00

"If we didn't have Family to fall into, we would have just fallen into... nothing."

What's happening, amidst student Christmas parties and dinner invitations and homemade pumpkin muffins, is that Family is being made. We knew in our heads that we were Family when we began a journey of living together, but now we know because we're actually living it.

Meals are cooked, promises are broken, desperate phone calls made, jobs lost (jobs gained!), cries heard, prayers desperately prayed. We bend, we stretch. We come, we go. In weakness, we are made strong.

Sitting in the car on a too-cold evening, we agreed: where would we fall if not into the arms of Family? If we, the Body of Christ, aren't near enough to stretch our arms and catch each other, then we're not near enough.

photo credit: breezy torres

breezylucia@gmail.com

2011-11-29T11:05:00.000-08:00

Two worlds lived in
by day, by dark
the pace of the racehorse
the calls of the streets

And in these two worlds
I cannot leave the other
the memory of running
the memory of rest
the memory of running away

words on the page: book reviews

2011-11-27T19:48:00.000-08:00

For the next several posts, with other topics scattered here and there, I'm going take a stab at reviewing the books I'm reading. It never fails that I want to get some of this stuff down, think it through, yet that rarely happens with the housemates. Our reading preferences go in exactly 4 different directions most days.

And what am I currently reading? Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent: Travels in Small-town America.

Bill Bryson is one of my all-time favorite authors, a travel-writer who is unique in many ways, but one that always shines through is that he was born and raised in Iowa, fled to England, then came back, in this book, to stumble upon as many small towns in America as possible.

At first glance (through chapter 12): though he is transparent about his stereotypes about the South, it doesn't quite make up for the face that he obviously doesn't spend enough time here to know us. But then again, he didn't set out to become friends with the towns he visited; he never sets out to make friends. It's part of why he's so darn funny.

Despite these stereotypes, he's already got me laughing out loud at inappropriate times, in classic Bryson style - always a good sign.

Stay tuned for more on this book!

the curse of comparison

2011-11-08T10:17:00.000-08:00

She is thinner. He is more handsome. Their children are better behaved. That church has cooler music. He is a better teacher. She sings more beautifully.

Comparison abounds in us. We seek to outdo - or, at best, match-up - with those around us. Every cell phone company promises unlimited this and unlimited that. Every big box store promises the lowest prices. And our own desire for greatness and affirmation press us to compare ourselves, endlessly, to those around us.

While it isn't wrong to want our broken parts to be more like the good in others - the good that races after Jesus - the bulk of comparison just really stinks.

My comparison? Community. This is going to sound silly to some, but... I compare our community here at the Malcomb House with others who, in my mind, are living it bigger and better. They have bigger potlucks, and know the kids on their block better, and grow better gardens, and "do community" better.

But somewhere in this thinking the line can become blurred, where comparison strives to become competition (a contest for some prize, honor, or advantage. dictionary.com) and threatens the very meaning of community. What prize could we be competing for? We run in the same direction, for the same prize, set before us in Jesus, more than enough for all of us.

This is no prize to be won by only one, the best. This is the prize we can only win by going along with others, by winning it together.

Pates Family Singers: October 29!

2011-10-18T16:35:00.001-07:00

Back in June we loaded up the hospitality van (light blue '97 Honda Odyssey) with our music gear and drove only a few blocks to Waynoka Cove, where our friends are sharing life, growing vegetables, and now, hosting music festivals.

It was, without a doubt, the most fun I've had sharing music. It was undoubtedly the coolest night of the summer (a mere 89 degrees, I'm sure), with homemade baked goods and tiki torches and people of all shapes, size and color. I was reminded that though the Kingdom is not yet fully come, it is still also already here and still being built.

And now, on October 29, The Pates Family Singers will play with some other great Memphis musicians at the Fall Music Festival at Waynoka Cove. {Click here for details} We're super-pumped to celebrate community and music and goodness with these good folks!

We hope to see you there!

{music & lyrics} for Nana

2011-10-09T18:04:00.001-07:00

Today's been a day for writing and remembering. Here's some of the outflow of that. This is a raw, just written, still-needs-work recording, as are all of my {music & lyric} posts!

The lyrics are below the video...

(I'm sorry I don't have better recording capabilities. The timing of the vocals and video is off.)

You were a breath of fresh air

in a world where no one tells the truth

and we watched you take the high road

time and time again

You were the faithful one

in a world where faithlessness rules

and we watched you take the hard road

time and time again

{chorus}

I see the picture of you

there in that wedding dress

and it's my face I see all wrapped up in yours

So I'll gladly carry all the good you've given me

as you've moved along

You were a patient teacher

showing us what we didn't know we needed

Now we'll walk in the ways

that you've been walking all along

We'd walk in and you're at the kitchen table

waiting to help us work it out

and you listened, how you listened,

to our youthful carrying on

And we listen as you tell us

a story we'd heard time and time before

But how could we have known

oh, soon we would know,

you were giving us so much more

taking care

2011-10-05T13:19:00.000-07:00

"I don't make coffee," Pop, my 78-year old grandpa, declared today. "Your dad's been making the coffee." So, two-heaping scoops later, the coffee's brewing, and we're standing around the kitchen on round 3 of the same story, something about how Joan (my grandmother, Nana) used to buy plate lunches for some of her friends at the Senior Center.

Meanwhile, while she's laying in a hospital bed, unaware and unable to feel, while I think of the words to tell him that she's not doing so well, because taking care of him also involves telling him the truth in a way that he is able to receive it.

On Monday eve, with work-tired minds and Starbucks in hand, we rolled down the Interstate, leaving Memphis behind. I think now that the most difficult thing was not the knowing that she would be connected to tubes and machines, or even that I might not make it home to see her alive. Maybe the most difficult thing was that I may have missed the last of who I know her to be, the Nana who slipped me $20 on my last visit, who receives my letters in joy, who showed us meaning in the washing of dishes and the hanging of clothes on the line.

And though the end of breath and heartbeat has not yet come, what life is left has changed - for all of us. Already we're taking care of one another in ways we did not need to only a week ago.

A drive to the hospital, so mom can allow tears and thoughts to come.

Reminding each other of the Grace given us through her, all of these years.

Holding Nana's hand, though she cannot feel it.

And of course, brewing the coffee.

My season here to help take care of this family I love will be short - shorter than I wish it could be. But when I leave them, and when I leave anyone in the future, I'll say these words, "Take care!" and I'll remember what this means. That we not only take care of ourselves, which is what I usually think of when I send someone off with this, but that we take care of the ones whose life and breath are tangled up in ours.

And in taking care of each other, we, too, take care of ourselves.

Today, take care.

Sabbatical poetry: on perceptions

2011-09-25T18:15:00.001-07:00

Others have named you -

some hope-filled, some presumptuous.

But what do you call yourself?

From the corner of Malcomb

we've watched you live on for almost

4 years - from too far away,

from up here.

Has it taken too long for me

to open eyes, admit the not-knowing,

emerge from myself?

Admit I don't know you,

and I never will this way.

Others have named you -

hopeful future, yet a desert.

But what do you call yourself?

Is there any future besides statistics,

any hope beyond the corner store?

Will the gunshots ring out

forever?

Will the color of skin determine

our words, your ability

to ignore me completely?

Will the pattern of history

dictate your tomorrow?

Will you name yourself before others can?

Others have named you -

and I am the other.

Can I let you name yourself?

beginnings: a Nashville sabbatical

2011-09-23T15:40:00.000-07:00

The basil grows tall at the end of the sidewalk. The front porch is bathed in the sunlight of early eve. The fresh air of North 2nd Street floods in through the screened door.

Novella Carpenter's urban Oakland farm and Frederick Buechner's notes on telling the truth are spread on the floor in front of me, alongside journals for Scripture reflection and scribbled lyrics.

Though I've never started a sabbatical before - intentional space for hearing, seeing, knowing - this doesn't seem quite too bad of a way to do it. I hope to offer to you some outpouring from this time, if I do in fact get filled up to the point of being able to pour out to you.

But more than anything else, I'm here for this - to be present.

growing up in wisdom

2011-09-11T09:24:00.000-07:00

"...the foolishness of God is wiser

than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God

is stronger than man's strength.

Not many of you were wise by human standards;

not many were influential;

not many were of noble birth.

But God chose the foolish things of the world

to shame the wise.

He chose the weak things of the world

to shame the strong."

{1 Corinthians 1: 25, 26b-27}

When do people start naming someone as "wise"? And how do you get wisdom? Do you pray harder and longer? Just ask for it once? Does it happen overnight?

As I've read through Paul's first letter to the Corinthians many times this year, I can't get away from wisdom. It is clear that we need to be seeking that which is wholly other than man's wisdom, so much so that this human wisdom isn't even comparable to the foolishness of God! How much more, then, shall the wisdom of God outweigh human wisdom?

God is giving me wisdom - day by day, trial by trial, question by question. In reading this morning, I believed it, felt it, understood it a bit more. Where did it come from? When did this wisdom start growing in me?

Our friends, our Family, are surrounded by difficult circumstances, people touched by real life, who often lack the insulation of privacy and great wealth and power (the kind of power that gets you out of tough spot for the right payment in return). And in these circumstances, helplessness is easy to feel - all too easy. In fact, helplessness is what I always begin with.

And in this helplessness, only the Giver of Life, the One who has food and drink that will forever satisfy, can speak into our brokenness, our helplessness. We collapse on the floor to cry out to God. We lie awake in the middle of night, interceding. We sit in dimly lit living rooms, helping our sister hold on.

And it is in those circumstances, God's wisdom is growing in us. We can't help but become wiser when we enter into the Real World of walking with God's children - both those who know his Name and those who have yet to follow the Way of Jesus.

May you also be given the grace to enter into the the lives of those around you, carried only by the Love and Wisdom of God.

stories at bottoms of stairs

2011-09-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

Every day bears new stories, new faces, and difficult decisions. There are children whose school uniforms are two sizes too small; grandmothers raising grandbabies; cabinets stripped of food; and houses smothering their occupants after a cut-off notice went… unnoticed.

Though every day bears new stories, somehow they start sounding the same. Our hands get weary, our ears turn deaf, and our hearts turn to something like stone. Which stories are true? How do we help without hurting? What is the right response – and when is ‘no response’ the right response?

I have lived, alongside many others, with these tensions for many years now. I’ve dropped my head to my desk, cried as I write down phone messages, and stormed down those stairs to a persistent visitor who rarely tells me the truth.

And I cannot say I’ve got good answers. Oh, I’ve got some answers… to a very few number of questions. And most of those answers came after the telling of the story, after the writing of the check, after the wiping of the tears. Some would even say those answers came too late.

___________________________

She’s around my age – mid-20s – with three children. She’s relentless, chases after things, tries until she can say she’s tried with everything she’s got. And this time, all she needed was $50 to keep her air conditioner running in the 110 heat index of Memphis. I like this girl; she’s kind and seems honest. She might even remind of myself – bright eyes, high hopes, more optimistic than is sometimes good for us.

Maybe that’s why, with one hour to go until cut-off time, we hugged, made small talk, and I handed her a check, for a measly $50.

I wanted to sit down and talk; I needed to know more about her story. There are other things we need to address. What about next month? What about school? Is your brother ever going to contribute to the household income? But those questions have to wait. Transportation and children and “temp” agencies hold a firm grip on her schedule. And so I will wait, too.

____________________________

Life can start feeling a little worthless, a little like all these things don’t matter - $50 and hugs and prayers and follow-up phone calls ending in, “I still don’t have a job.” The dead ends and disconnected phone numbers can wrench the compassion right from your stone heart.

But I cannot quit; I cannot forget my own dead ends, my own fruitless pursuits, dark decisions, and faith-killing sin. I cannot forget, and so I’ll keep walking down those stairs.

a thought on family

2011-08-29T16:27:00.000-07:00

In the middle of Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird", sharing her two cents about writing groups and how good they can be, she told of a group of 4 writers who got together.

They've gone from being four tense, slightly conceited,

lonely people who wanted to write

to one of those weird little families we fashion

out of whoever's around us.

They're very tender with one another.

They all look a lot less slick and cool than they did

when they were in my class,

because helping each other has made their hearts bigger.

(p. 159, emphasis mine)

poem: contemplative girl seeks autumn

2011-08-23T18:57:00.000-07:00

cinnamon sprinkle, anticipation of the autumn

blueberries baked, almost feel the cool breezes

feeding a stereotype, contemplative coffee-sipper

stare out the window

to round up my thoughts

it must mean more to feel the fingers on the page

to keep the printing press oiled

some resemblance of human

this you say as you rush, blenders and mixers

is this your art or your work?

watch their exchange, the naming of names

more than a game - this is home, this is space

soy and agave and dark and light roasts

swishing and washing and pouring

"extra-special order", we call it with grace

though extra, we need you to pay

these sounds and routines and rushing around

give rhythm to a mind that's been scattered 'round

your chaos is my put-togetherness

your ignoring, my attention paid

a day to gather, and dream of the months

when scarves will wrap 'round

eyes will shut tight

against winds and cold; I anticipate.

your banters and love and schedules

will continue on, uninterrupted

and I will come seeking and finding

familiarity in your names and home;

maybe, to me, you'll say, "welcome home".

Andrew Peterson: why we listen

2011-08-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

And I love to watch you listen to the music

because you sing to me a music of your own

as I cast out all these lines

so afraid that I will find I am alone, all alone

(Andrew Peterson, 'Many Roads')

Some listen for good guitar riffs, others pick out great lines, lyrics that are poetry. Some need perfect vocals, while others feel at home when he forgets the lines to his own songs.

Even from the back of the room - a room without much character, color, warmth - we were there, we were on our way to Alaska, just weeks away from cancer's sweep of death, fishing poles tied up in the back with our beloved in the front seat, by our side until the end of the road. We knew the beauty and sometimes-perceived-defeat of marriage, dancing in fields of land mines; we imagined the despair of Hosea's calling after his unfaithful wife.

Was it just the good storytelling? Could anyone have told the same stories, taken us on the same journey? Or was it the humanness of our Brother who did, indeed, forget the lines to his own song, only to catch the lyrics in his inner ear monitor (thanks to his road manager) just in time to keep us on our toes, but still please our ears.

Did we come for perfection? Or did we come to be included in the story, to be given glimpses of life lived, put to a melody?

Before we ended this sweet night, we filled up the room:

After the last tear falls...

there is love; love, love, love...

We'll see how the tears that have fallen

were caught in the palms

of the Giver of love and the Lover of all

and we'll look back on these tears as old tales.

(AP, "After the last tear falls")

housemates: attempts at the ordered life

2011-08-18T14:25:00.000-07:00

Dinner ready at 6:30? Eh, let's shoot for 8 instead. Meeting at 8:30? We'll get around to it by 9 or so. Let's talk about order: chore lists minus the legalism; a hospitable dinner table; lessons in composting and recycling {creation care, we do seek}; Bonhoeffer's words on "life together".

We've arrived at a place with 5 people, spread between 3 bedrooms, with all shades of personality, organization (or lack thereof - I speak of myself here), and preferred flavor of juice. The house isn't settled, but our souls are on our way. Our patterns and rhythms aren't completely learned, but we already know who likes to shower in mornings, middays, or evenings. Our moods will shift, but so will our ability to extend grace - hopefully, for the better.

This is our attempt at the ordered life.

juice only, please! // Day 1

2011-08-10T16:11:00.000-07:00

Celery, cucumber, spinach, green apple, lemon... or, you can just call it today's lunch. In juice form. I'm serious.

Apparently, this fad is going around right now, this juice-fasting business. Well, we signed right on up, and here we are, drinking our dinner.

How am I feeling? Slightly depressed, mad, hungry, blah, blah, blah. So, why am I doing this? That's a good question, one I couldn't answer to a friend at the coffee pot today (coffee which I had to smell and not partake in). But I do know the reason: to get rid of some crap in my body. To be disciplined for once. To quit the out-of-control love I have for stuffing my face (I said it out loud!)

And this is Day 1.

Reading: "Bird by Bird" [Anne Lamott]

2011-08-07T17:20:00.000-07:00

From the introduction:

That thing you had to force yourself to do - the actual

act of writing - turns out to be the best part. It's like discovering

that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine,

what you really needed was the tea ceremony.

The act of writing turns out to be its own reward.

(Anne Lamott, "Bird byBird", emphasis mine)

If you spend any significant amount of time with me, you know that I love to write - my journal goes with me everywhere - and I'm giving myself more and more space to do it these days. Songwriting discipline, more frequent blogging, etc. But spend too much time writing, and I can easily convince myself it's stupid and meaningless.

Thank goodness for this introduction!

Memphis is not Vermont

2011-08-04T13:21:00.000-07:00

...and never am I more aware of this than when it is 106 degrees Fahrenheit with a 121 heat index. And so, I will post some pictures to remind me of dear Vermont. [I still love you, Memphis.]

[baby Niyah and Auntie Abbye]

[statue of Jesus, welcoming people to this chapel built in the, seemingly, middle of nowhere. A popular stop for cyclists, as it is in the middle of a often-used trail.]

[Island Pond, VT]

our living room has a couch now: on selflessness

2011-08-02T19:57:00.000-07:00

When you reach a certain point in marriage and still don't have children, you begin to hear more and more conversations about how children teach you how selfish you are, how they expose so many of your dark places. And I believe this is true (trust me, I knew my friends before they had children! Heh!)

But since we don't have children, this begs the question: are we doomed for endless days of selfishness until we have children? Are we not fully loving and fulfilling the potential God has for us? Why does marriage exist - solely for procreation and "learning how to be unselfish 101"?

We've thought about this; we talked about it. And now, here's a picture of a couch.

Right at 48 hours ago, we didn't have a couch in our living room. In fact, we haven't had a couch in this room since dear Ty-pod moved out. But now, as new friends are here to stay (for now, at least), we've got a couch! And this couch means something important to me.

It means that we're challenged to share our space, to make room for someone else's furniture (and conversations and food preferences and shower schedule and needs). But one of the perks is that we get to enjoy this awesome couch and their good cooking skills and their knack for making us laugh, like, all the time.

We, in our own context, are learning what it means to be a little less selfish. We don't have children, but we do have Family.

[and now, a picture of a baby who ate too much cake]

bearing fruit//lessons in remaining

2011-07-31T16:08:00.000-07:00

You've felt it - surely you have. Three and a half years have passed, words have been said, changes have been made, still other needed changes will never be made (or so it seems), many have moved on, and even fewer have remained.

Remain in me; I will remain in you. (from John, chapter 15)

How can we hang on? How can we keep going? How did You do it?

But today, with an armful of greens and oranges and "hill country reds", I saw what three and a half years can mean - three and a half years of digging and hoping and preparing and turning over and watching new life spring up only for the disappointment of fruitlessness to be the end result.

Remain in me; I will remain in you.

poem: though the streets may beckon...

2011-07-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

remember yesterday
it's not so far away
streets and smells and the looks they gave
easy money
with pain you paid
and your children left to another

remember yesterday
shouting matches
fight for life
this life is hard; it's true
but a chance, you've been given
could it be the last?
we cannot know

remember yesterday
but live for today
give grace, speak truth, seek Jesus
because many yesterdays ago
Someone dreamed you up
gave flesh, and bone, and life
this Someone, Creator, has gone to great lengths
for you, for me, for us
give grace, speak truth, seek Jesus

[written on July 13, 2011 // you've come this far...]

[[suggested soundtrack: "Painting Pictures of Egypt" by Sara Groves]]

it's a full house

2011-07-12T20:07:00.000-07:00

These are the faces of the folks living at 554 Malcomb Street...

And these are a mere few reasons why it's so dang good...

>> late-evening living room prayer

>> homemade peach crisp

>> lots o' laughter

>> mock chicken patties that taste so much better than you think

>> surprise guests on air mattresses... who speak fluent Mandarin

>> someone to help hang towels out on the clothesline

>> porch concerts

>> red bell peppers, fresh from the garden

>> end-of-day talks that help us all sleep better

>> workin' it out

Not every day is easy, but many days are better than you expected they might be...

an appropriate patriotism: [Independence Day]

2011-07-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

As we are here, watching sparkles of light over New York City, I confessed to my family, "I need to learn how to have an appropriate kind of patriotism."

"What do you mean?" my mom asked.

"I mean that I need a patriotism that is thankful for and loves my country, but not with the hatred for other nationalities that seems to come with most folks' patriotism [read: most Southern Mississippi patriotism]."

Because I would be dishonest if I didn't say that I am thankful for where I live; there are many things about the United States of America - job opportunities, absence of war and bombs, freedoms that truly are freedoms - that I am thankful for. And I can and will still acknowledge the injustices and imperfections that are present here in the USA. It is no secret to any of us that no matter our nationalities, we live in countries with flawed citizens, led by flawed [and often desperately inadequate] leadership, with flawed laws.

So today, I pray for an appropriate patriotism, never rising above my neighbors all over the world, and never, ever above my allegiance to the Kingdom of God [on earth, as it is in heaven].

a piece of string

2011-06-28T16:36:00.000-07:00

What can a piece of string do? What can a piece of string do when tied to a piece of wood for a handle? It can start a less-than-perfect lawnmower to cut a less-than-perfect yard by two fellas who are trying hard to make honest money by doing honest work.

And when that one string breaks, leaving one strip of grass uncut, you learn how frustrating a piece of string can be; that same piece of string that held the whole thing together can turn its back on you and make the whole thing fall apart.

Then it finds grace in the amount of $40 that says, "All is well; God honors hard work," and sends them on their way.

a list: the top 5 things I've learned...

2011-06-27T08:07:00.000-07:00

... while traveling across the ocean to China.

1 | Privacy is a luxury. We know, practically, that in many places in the world people live in much smaller spaces with much larger families, generally (minus the "much larger families" in China). But this time, I actually learned something from this. I like to be alone, and I like to be alone in spaces with quiet and air conditioning and a flickering candle to remind me that the Holy Spirit is indeed present in this space. But all those things cannot become my necessity - Christ is my necessity.

When you sit next to a pastor in a restaurant who's been in prison for 3 years - you come away changed. In that cell, there was likely no candle to remind him... there was just the very Truth that the Spirit was abiding there with him there.

2 | Choosing to follow Jesus is an "all in". I'm reminded of the parables Jesus told that go something like this: Who constructs a building without first laying the foundation, counting the cost? Who goes to battle without knowing how many soldier he has and what he's up against? Will we really follow? To my brothers and sisters in China, it was an "all in". Not that they claim to have arrived or to have attained perfection... yet they are all in.

3 | Traffic in the US is not chaotic. I'm not sure I'll ever complain again, not after having my arm grabbed by my Chinese brother exclaiming, "Wait!" - only to rescue me from a speeding cab driver.

4 | In my experience, the Chinese people are very gracious. In almost every setting, our Chinese hosts - from hotel clerks, to fellow believers, to servers in restaurants - were gracious and patient with our total lack of language skills. In fact, they often disappeared to find someone who could speak English to us. What a contrast from the US! Imagine our disappointment when our return flight, with US-based attendants, was filled with rude interactions between our Chinese passengers (some with limited English) and the impatient and ungracious attendants. Very sad.

5 | Jesus is real. I could add many, many words, but most simply, I can tell you is that my faith was propped up in ways I couldn't have imagined during my time in China. Jesus is real!

success: in whose eyes?

2011-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

Success: (2.) the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like. (dictionary.com)

There are multiple definitions of success, and I'm sure we could come up with ones similar, but this one names a particular version of success that is easy to see in American culture: "making it". But it isn't uncommon for me to tilt my head, squint my eyes, give a "hmmmmm" and wonder, "I'm not sure about this 'success' thing."

In particular, I'm not sure about success and how we measure in the Church; Jesus is to where our eyes tilt upwards. What do you think was counted as success in the Kingdom he was bringing? How did his life measure as successful?

And what about the Church? It isn't uncommon to see us measuring success in just these terms - wealth (is our "giving" good enough this year?), position (who has the most titles - Dr., Reverend, etc.; what is our position in the community?), honors (I live in a city where there is a "best place of worship" vote in a local publication).

The following article is a beautiful story of a life - a father - whose son, among many others, has been deeply shaped by a man who, in fact, turned down numerous opportunities to make himself more successful, but often took the "lower road" (which ended up being what many of us as followers of Jesus recognize as a truer success).

Click here to read this story, posted on RabbitRoom.com.

{music & lyrics} East Asia: Runner's Song

2011-06-12T20:14:00.000-07:00

To be taken care of, loved, shown the ropes, translated for, and saved when you are risking your life across 4 lanes of traffic - this is not to be taken lately, no sir. In fact, when this happens, you do what any thankful person does: you write a tribute song.

{ps - the timing on the audio and video is, er, less-than-good. So you might want to just listen.}

East Asia: a dimly lit soccer field

2011-06-10T13:56:00.001-07:00

First things first - some of us almost didn't arrive. All but 3 members of our team tumbled out of their taxis and risked their lives cross the every-man-for-himself street, to soon thereafter be greeted by mostly-shy college students.

But where is that other car? Our dear Runner attentively waited for them, while we made our way to the soccer field, where we awkwardly gathered in a circle, forgetting for a moment how to make a circle, and introduce ourselves, the Americans.

Once into smaller groups, with the purpose of practicing English by asking questions of each other, I'd drawn a few aspiring musicians to my group, awed to be sitting by a "professional musician" (which is a. not me and b. extremely kind and flattering of them). "Can you play the first song you ever wrote?" Hemming and hawing ensued, followed by a few phone calls, a mad dash to a dorm room, and next thing we all know, a guitar's magically appeared, with a little circle of music happening on this now-dark soccer field.

"Every day, every day, I want to be more like you;

but every time, every time, my plans fall through."

Well-received. And in the meantime, I'm shaking off the time-travel I just did to my sophomore year of high school, when that song was written.

a student who really loved practicing English

But I'd rather sing about story. So, I asked if I could be allowed to play just one more, a song about songs. "This one," I told them, "is about all the stories I've written songs about, ones from long ago, ones about people I may not even talk to much anymore. But they aren't useless; those stories aren't irrelevant. They've made me who I am."

I remember every name and every face

and every road trip that we ever made.

And I count every single one as my blessing

'cause I know my life never went unlived.

No, they don't break me, they don't break me anymore...

they just make me... who I am.

["Who I Am," by AWP]

What I didn't tell them was that some of those songs, especially some of the most painful, were often very difficult to sing at one time in my life. But I wrote them anyway, sang them anyway. They were meant to be shared and offer something to the listener, maybe someone who understood how it felt to be in that story (or maybe someone who only understood after having heard the song, and needed those very words to bring them to understanding).

And I watched in the circle as those words imparted some understanding. In some hearts, memories were stirred, stories of their own. I saw it; I know it was there.

We owe them - all of them - the sharing of stories. And one day, they won't break us anymore.

Music: a Porch Concert

2011-06-09T09:42:00.000-07:00

What's this all about? Our friends over at Waynoka Cove have a beautiful community gathered around them (and beyond their own walls and street), and we're getting together to celebrate this! They've been building a workspace for artists, neighbors, building projects, etc. - all the specific uses are still being considered. And many people have given gracious gifts to the building of this workspace.

Though it isn't quite complete, we're celebrating all that Jesus is springing up in the hearts of his people, growing gardens, building workshops, and living together and loving each other. Come join us! (and bring a snack and your lawn chair/blanket!)

you're invited to
A Porch Concert with
Abbye & Jeff Pates
with friends Matthew & Katie Clark

in celebration of community
and new creative space at Waynoka Cove

Wednesday, June 22, 2011
@ 7pm, 3116 Waynoka Dr., Memphis, 38111
(this event is free of charge, but we will take up a donation for completing the shop)

East Asia: an overview update

2011-06-07T09:00:00.001-07:00

Though there will be many more updates in the days to come (complete with stories and pictures, of course), here is a link an overview update I wrote last week for my Church Family.

Click here to read.

books: The Last Days of Old Beijing

2011-06-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

While on a stroll through a local bookstore, I picked this up:

Might you call me obsessed since my return? Maybe. But being in a place for 11 whirlwind days can only give you so much insight, so I'm getting as much as I can, even from 13 hours + one ocean away.

Be still, my beating heart.

East Asia: colors

2011-06-03T16:16:00.000-07:00

There are some things that can't escape your notice in East Asia (that big country we visited that starts with a C) and some of those things are the colors, oceans of color. When you sit at the table, drive (or swerve) down the streets, climb the walls, or turn your eyes upward - there is the color.

Color reminds me of a Creative Maker who puts life into things that we couldn't imagine needed it. We need food to live; but do we need the cherries to be so beautiful, shiny and eye-catching? We need people to work and do business [and make messes], but do we need them to have such humor, such smiles, such personalities? May you find Real Life in these photos!

And then there's color that isn't seen by the eye, but that swirls around in the conversation, in the exchange of stories, in the depth of honesty. The color of friends, of Family.

the return

2011-05-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

On this Tuesday, I've had a good night's sleep after a grueling day of travel (smooth-sailing logistically, but too long to have to stay awake). Now, I find myself mourning the loss of our time in China, something I'll do for several days now, I'm sure.

Until a time when I am ready to write more, some lyrics:

11 days long, and I'm carrying you with me

the sound of your voices, the stories we keep

and though we cannot go back there as much as we want to

you're my Family forevermore... forever and evermore.

(written in Chengdu airport)

gardening: signs of God's attentiveness

2011-05-14T23:00:00.000-07:00

This marks our third year as urban gardeners, tilling soil, shoveling manure, and turning our food scraps into compost. Each year we learn more. Challenges? How to get the tomatoes to actually grow; how much water is too much water?; fungus; grubs; and just generally how to keep stuff alive and get a good harvest from our plants.

Here's some pictures of the beginning...

[Cool weather crops that will see the end of their season in another month]

lettuce with a name I can't pronounce

and we're growing a LOT of it!

red kale, graciously given to us from the GrowMemphis folks who had too many seedlings

to plant in their own gardens

actually, it has purple tones instead of red; so pretty, nonetheless

(Jeff likes to make "kale chips", thanks for Michelle Forlines. Just bake the leaves in the oven!)

this cilantro plant was a surprise

We've been gathering up bits of gardening wisdom every chance we get. Farmers from the Urban Farms outdoor market; friends whose brains are very science-y and know what nutrients come from what plant and what should NOT be planted in that same spot, lest those certain nutrients be too much for that second plant to handle. (see? too science-y for me already.)

tomato plants we couldn't fit in the garden (they found a good home.)

bell peppers, leaning from the big Memphis storms

And we're so thankful. Even after these 3 years, where there's evidence of change in us, more commitment, we still rely so much on the wisdom of others. But really, we rely on the miracle of life, the order of Creation, God's attentiveness to all that is real Life.

"Gardening, in other words, will teach us to trust less

in our own might and to rely more on the grace of God.

As every gardener knows, we are not the ones who control life.

We can only prepare the way, through humble attention to the demands of

weather, plant and insect life, topography, etc. and then

let the grace and power of God take over.

[from p. 145, "Mark 10: Care for the Plot of God's Earth..."

in School(s) for Conversion: 12 Marks of a New Monasticism]

We all make art...

2011-05-12T11:04:00.000-07:00

Art House America: my new favorite place, where I believe that I belong.

'Of Gods and Men': a lesson in staying

2011-05-08T14:06:00.000-07:00

Since last night at 9:30pm, I've not been able to let go of the images, the whispers, the "decision table" as I'll call it, where a candle is lit, presumably a visible witness of the Holy Spirit's presence at that table.

To go or to stay? This question swims underneath the chaos and violence of Islamic terrorists who are nothing like the Muslim village which they are currently terrorizing, along with the rest of Algeria, in this story of a group of French Cisterian monks.

My dreams were filled with images from the movie; during today's sermon, I was flashing back to the film; and when I awoke in the night, my mind was trapped by the decisions of the monks. The decisions to love, to stay, to speak truthfully when hatred started them in the face, machine gun in hand.

I've never been so moved by pictures of community and grueling honesty; I'm ready to re-examine much about my life and my commitment to the Prince of Peace.

A review says this ("spoiler alert", if you read this review): "The theme may be piety, but Mr. Beauvois and his cast do not address it piously." I disagree. The theme is love - gut-wrenching love.

You must find this, and you must watch it. But before you do, ask for eyes of love.

life, real life!

2011-04-24T16:20:00.001-07:00

Easter flowers and post-lunch art

Every other day of the week, I can easily see the darkness. No, it's not difficult for me. I can let my eyes wander to the words that tear down, the respect that isn't there, the hurt that keeps on hurting, and the drugs that keep on peddling.

But today was a celebration... that life is real! And we've been celebrating since sundown Saturday, and what a celebration it's been. Not only have we had loads of laughter, grilled meat, and Snickers salad (yes, you read that right), but also children and color and accents (thanks to our Brazilian friend, Leo).

And other signs of life that will keep on teaching us what it means to live.

Here's a glimpse of the life that's growing around here...

field of lettuce

cucumber sprouts peeking through

peas that are eager to reach their trellis

scary beard and the children it scares (just kidding:)

Stay tuned for a detailed garden post and the life that's come to be in the form of peppers, tomatoes, kale, lettuce, cilantro, peas and more!

date day: car-less and people-full

2011-04-22T17:57:00.001-07:00

It was a rich afternoon and early eve for us, with a cycling trip out to Shelby Farms, dinner at Cheffie's Cafe on the return ride, and some side trips through neighborhoods that remind us there are real people dwelling in our city.

We stopped four different times to talk to people - some we knew very well; others we'd only seen from a distance but took the time today to properly introduce ourselves. It was a delightful day, a reminder that getting out my car, onto a bike, and setting off without an agenda, results in goodness.

So hide your car keys and go outside!

24-hour adventure: a walk in Nashville

2011-04-15T13:10:00.001-07:00

It was a whirlwind trip, but a college roommate, her delightful baby, homemade pizza, the hospitable Forlines (and lovely Michelle) and a beautiful trek were all included, making this the most memorable 24-hour trip yet.

We had wicked storms the day before, this tree and broken bridge being evidence

Radner Lake behind us... she's a beaut (and so is Michelle)!

Before this was taken, we had some time to read some Scripture aloud to each other.

Going back through these pictures only remind me of our Autumn, North Carolina road trip, with no reservations, just our road atlas and a craving for elevation and breathable air.

There is some cool story about this particular scary spot, but I can't remember... possibly because I was so scared.

A sneaked-off-to spot on the edge of something steep.

The Rockies may not agree, but for us Southerners, this is hiiiiigh.

And of course, the yellows of flowers and the rushing of water do a girl good once in awhile.

What a girl wouldn't give for a rushing river and a mountain today...

"work" and "instant" | are they opposed?

2011-04-13T10:12:00.000-07:00

Pondering today what instant-everything has done to us. Do we need it? Twitter? Facebook? This blog, even? Is there a way for me to practice slow, thoughtful, intentional things (writing, talking, being with people) when I'm becoming more and more conditioned to do everything instantly, before it leaves my head?

In a brief (or "instant!") search I can find almost any name of a person I know, my church, and that random guy from college who I thought was really cute. And I can know a lot of what they're thinking and feeling right then. At least, a scratch on the surface of what they're thinking and feeling.

But maybe some information was meant to come to us, stew in our minds and hearts, and then not go back out to others until it's been given time to be with us, time to do its work.

Are we letting information, thinking, writing, life, do its work?

raw. veggies. juice. all week.

2011-04-13T06:18:00.003-07:00

It hasn't been real easy, but here's a photo of breakfast this morning (though juicing is the best part of raw-fooding):

apple, grape, strawberry, pineapple juice - fresh! Mmmmmmm!

Stay tuned to http://foodieforhire.blogspot.com for updates on Urban Farms Market adventures with cooking and this week's raw fooding. Lettuce wraps, spelt, and almonds, oh my!

garden: what are you growing?

2011-03-30T16:24:00.000-07:00

We thought you'd never ask!

Well, folks, it's almost April, which means we've got baby lettuces in the ground, as well as little pea sprouts and a variety of herbs - basil, rosemary, and sage. (All pictures below are from Seed Savers Exchange, where we order all our seeds!)

a lettuce I can't pronounce

red kale

sage

basil

We've got tomatoes and bell peppers growing in a greenhouse, awaiting warmer temps and a bit more growth until they're ready to go into the stubborn, clay soil of Memphis. We hope that year #3 is better than the first 2. Don't get me wrong - those years weren't bad, but they certainly weren't our best. Okra and cucumbers have been some of our best crops each year.

But we're so hoping to be better tomato growers, for one, which is such a staple food for many of us cook-from-scratch folks. Plus, we like to can them!

And as a little bonus, we've got strawberry plants, too! I'll soon take pictures of the progress of our plants instead of grabbing them all from some website where their plants look so perfect.

Saturday morning songwriting

2011-03-26T11:08:00.001-07:00

A window, sketchbook, guitar, and heavy heart.

The house empty of other humans, except me, so I'm taking this opportunity to do some songwriting. Other than the curious smell that's overtaking our house the past 24 hours (it smells like something died, which puts fear in me that something actually did die in our house. a mouse, perhaps? let's hope not...)

A sneakish peak. Often my songs start off as a sort of praying, just singing and playing, continuously, until they come together.

"SOS changed my life."

2011-03-17T19:53:00.001-07:00

If you live around Memphis, or at least, around Binghampton, Orange Mound, and a slew of college campuses and youth groups who frequent 2505 Poplar, then you hear this a lot: "SOS changed my life."

And it is no less true for me.

Summer 2005 was my time as a summer staffer, and a sweet one it was. The marks are still visible - friendships (Matthew, Brian, Larry Ray, to name a few); the current job I'm in; the love for volunteer coordinating (if only they needed me all year...). But the best overflow from that summer is the one that's still happening.

About three times a year, we [Jeff and I] are given the gift of leading worship at SOS camps - Spring college camps (our fav!), Summer at SOS114, and Fall Camps. And it is indeed our gift to lead these campers in their time at SOS. Their passion, their hands raised, their fearless top-of-the-lungs singing.

The best? When my guitar stops, and their voices make the music, raising praise to the One; when I become less, and the Body of Christ worships with One Voice.

SOS changed my life; and SOS keeps changing my life.

"...the healing of that old ache."

2011-03-13T06:46:00.000-07:00

It is often a long loneliness, a feeling of "being on the wrong side of a giant set of glass doors" for Wesley Hill, a celibate gay Christian. But to this feeling of being outside these doors, looking in, he's found great meaning and comfort in the words of C.S. Lewis:

Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with

something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside,

is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation.

And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honor

beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache.

(from C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses)

In Wesley's book, "Washed and Waiting, Reflections on Christian Faithfulness and Homosexuality", he gives us very vulnerable pieces of himself - struggles, confessions, despair - but also invites us to rejoice and walk with him in Truth, deep friendship, and the road of this "old ache" that he is coming to see as his ministry to the Church, to the world (or the pieces of the world to which he is connected).

It's a beautiful book, and it reminds me of larger conversations about love, sexuality, marriage, singleness, and intimacy (not reserved, or even only made for, marriage). What a gift Wesley has given us! He has laid himself wide open for us to know - even those of us who couldn't give this gift of friendship to our own homosexual friends - in hopes that we will be the Church, telling the Truth, celebrating both marriage and singleness (which equals celibacy, when faithful to Scripture) and a myriad of other things we should be celebrating.

After all (and I agree with this), "we must call into question any notion that the supreme expression of human love is found in marriage." (Wesley Hill, "Washed and Waiting...", p. 112)

Marriage is good; many other ways to live and love are, too.

Lent: remember that you are dust

2011-03-09T15:16:00.000-08:00

Ash Wednesday. Today. Next to Anna, Book of Common Prayer in our hands, hearing “Is this not the kind of fast I have chosen?” (from Isaiah 58)

{Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.}

Make space to sit with God, to sit with the Church, with Family. In living rooms, kitchen tables, those footstools from the 1960s – the ones your grandpa left behind – that everyone loves so much. Wherever, whenever, just make some space.

{And remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.}

The bread, the common cup, Eucharist. The Lord be with you {and also with you}. Even though we have not loved our neighbor. Even though we have not heard the cry of the needy. Still, forgive. Still, we repent. Have mercy on us!

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Amen.

"We need a break."

2011-03-02T19:03:00.000-08:00

No, not me and Jeff. Me and Facebook. Facebook and I. Whatever.

We need a break.

Why do I need time off from Facebook? Same reason I need time off from any other time-waster, over-connected, shallow thing which robs precious time and space from my life. I could give too much attention to many other things - and I have and still do - but Facebook is the most notable in my life right now.

It's been a long time since I spent hours on Facebook, but when I sit down to my Profile for 10 minutes at a time, 4-5 times a day, I feel it. The time adds up. And for what? To check messages or comments? From whom? People I rarely see, or those I'm truly connected to? (And if I'm truly connected to them, FB isn't what's feeding our relationship to begin with!)

And so that's why I'm taking a break. I'll begin on Ash Wednesday and continue through Lent, maybe longer. I'll continue to blog, because writing is and has always been important to me (scrolling through status updates has not).

In the meantime, check out this great article by Ron Sider, "An Open Letter to This Generation"

labels: am I a Christian; or do I know and follow Jesus?

2011-02-28T11:29:00.001-08:00

Interchangeable to many, though becoming increasingly distinguishable to many others, is she a Christian or does she follow the Way of Jesus the Christ? Is he Christian in form; follower of Jesus in meaning? Or a Christian in form; follower of the way of the world in meaning?

These are important questions, and they are being asked ever more often (thankfully!) We were given a gift this weekend in our Church body, a gift of being stretched, taught, and challenged about whether or not we really should spread the gospel of Christianity. "It's all about Jesus!" you might say - but is it? Is Christianity all about Jesus? (meaning, are they one and the same?)

Have you examined this gospel that your Church body shares? Is it the Gospel of Jesus the Christ; or the gospel of the western Church, of a religion? Did Jesus enter into darkness and humanity to establish a new religion?

Easy questions to answer on the surface; deeply life-changing (and method-changing, meaning, the method in which we give away the Gospel) and often divisive at their core.

May we think on these together... more thoughts to come.

There's no time to wait!

2011-02-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

Two and a half hours we've been waiting in this room, the waiting room of Baptist Minor Medical. Temperature-controlled, relatively quiet (except for the constant rattling-off of newscasters on CNN news), cushioned chairs, clean bathrooms. Nevermind these above-quality conditions - two and a half hours is a long time to wait. And don't you think we haven't gotten an earful of it.

Our short-term neighbor here on this side of the waiting room (thankfully, she's just now gone back to the exam room) was plenty vocal for all of us. She even went to the front desk to ask if they knew how long it would be, as they - obviously annoyed - replied that they told her from the beginning it would be 1-1/2 to 2 hours (which can really mean 2-4 hours). Then, she proceeded to mutter expletives or other signs of frustration for the rest of her wait.

In the midst of this, she called as many people in her cell phone's address book as she could cram into that 2 hours, giving us the pleasure of hearing her rudeness, argumentative nature, and less than quiet demeanor (while on the phone with Greyhound bus company, "Can I speak to someone who speaks English? Because you obviously don't understand my question.")

As I listen and take this all in, I've been struck by the lack of gratefulness. Much of the world has to walk miles, maybe even for multiple days, to reach a place that can offer healthcare. Then, among throngs of others with ailments, wait out-of-doors, even in extreme weather conditions, with a hole in the ground a few hundred feet away in which to use the bathroom.

But is there another option?

Sure there is; and people choose it all the time. Stay at home. Don't acknowledge sickness or just become numb to it and hope for survival for as long as possible.

This is a hopelessly insufficient look at health and access to care for much of the world, especially from someone who hasn't had to use these services, but from most angles, gratefulness is a good starting place.

This is not an excuse to not work for change where healthcare is concerned for our friends in desperate situations (both in the U.S. and around the world) but for my neighbor in the waiting room, gratefulness is the only thing that could have changed her perspective today.

music & lyrics: the Job song (as in, Job from the Biblical narrative)

2011-02-04T16:03:00.000-08:00

*Some friends have suggested more music on the blog, so here's to that request.

While reading through my ten daily chapters today, rotating through various books, one of those is Job. So every day, I get to read a chapter of Job, which means lots of "Cursed be the day I was born!" and "Job, how can you question God? He is just; he only rewards the righteous" and so on and so forth. I really love reading the book of Job.

In fact, this reading is reminding me of a time in college, a "dark night of the soul" as I remember naming it (credits to Richard Foster for that phrase). I felt such a kindred spirit with Job, the back and forth with friends who just kept talking and talking and talking, and after all that, an answer from God... that leaves him with this: "My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you." (Job 42:5)

And so, the Job song was born.

(My eyes drift somewhat ceiling/heavenward at times; sometimes I forget I'm recording and get a little lost. Bear with me.)

(... and the lyrics)

We keep teaching all these rules we know

making up more as we go

and I know all the answers

I've memorized them well

still I'm just so tired, or can you even tell?

These few years have been hard on us

the same old questions over and over again

but I've just kept on praying

in the darkness, on the floor

hoping that you hear me crying, Lord...

'cause my ears have heard

and my mouth has spoken

and I know all the words

still they leave, they leave me broken

but if only I could see you, then maybe I'd believe

Not much changes here from day to day

we'd rather be set in our ways

but I see people dying

people hungry to be loved

when will that be enough?

[chorus]

You made the stars, you made the oceans

you made the mountains, you made me

you make us live, you make us laugh

you make us breathe (3x)

and before my ears had heard of you

but now my eyes have seen

and Lord, I may not understand

but I believe

dual blogging

2011-02-04T14:37:00.000-08:00

Jeff and I are blogging together (I'm still blogging here, too!) over at Foodie for Hire. Right now, we're taking the No-Chain Challenge, so go check it out. New blog today!

More to come here at Wandering and Wondering.

Choose: just or unjust?

2011-01-17T11:25:00.000-08:00

Like a partridge that hatches eggs it did not lay

is the man who gains riches

by unjust means.

When his life is half gone, they will desert him,

and in the end he will prove

to be a fool.

(Jeremiah 17:11)

Documentaries, in general, are a good thing. Sure, we can watch too many of them and overwhelm ourselves; "take their word for it" without seeking further information; allow this to suck our time away from being with humans, face-to-face. But many documentaries bring to light important issues, ones that we find ourselves right in the middle of.

Yesterday, the Geigers and I watched Black Gold, which is about the unjust purchase, trade, etc. of coffee, particularly from Ethiopian farmers (highlighted in this film). We already knew, without a doubt, that coffee and its farmers are one of the top most highly abused crop/producers in the world.

Today, I will choose. I will pay more money for coffee fairly traded (which is not always guaranteed just by a label declaring "Fair Trade"). Today, I will choose to use the resources entrusted to me in just and whole ways.

How will you choose?

washing dishes: a practice in the presence

2011-01-10T19:01:00.001-08:00

Tonight we went "off the grid" (not using electricity, at least, partly) for the evening, using only candlelight for our Family dinner (the Pates + Jason). Admittedly, I was inspired by my reading of GOOD magazine: the energy issue, just before dinner, and as soon as the fellas returned from the grocery, I announced my "suggestion" (which I had pretty much decided already. I still need lessons in submission to my community, eh?)

We cooked with light, but as soon as the food hit the table (grilled cheese + tomato soup, of which Dane F. would hopefully give scratch factors of 5 and 8, respectively [we canned our own tomatoes]) it was candlelight and conversation.

We even washed the dishes by candlelight, taking candles from room to room. I washed the first half; Jason, the second. When I handed over my shift, I challenged him to find one or two things he noticed, liked, etc. about washing the dishes by candlelight.

And he said this: "The candlelight turns this into a reflective time. I can practice the presence of God, surrounded by candlelight which automatically triggers prayer for me, the nearness of God."

We both agreed that candles are a very real reminder that the Light - Jesus the Christ - is with us, around us. During my dish-washing shift, I took note of the icicles outside the window, illuminated by the candle on the sill.

Icicles, reflection, peace, the very real Light, the presence of Jesus.

Sometimes it "pays" to go "off the grid"...

Songwriter's Retreat: endings and beginnings (+ quotes!)

2011-01-06T09:39:00.000-08:00

Well, we did it. We took off from the normal, everydayness and took the plunge into the intensity of songwriting in community. In the end, we wrote and recorded 13 songs, some which came to us as one word or phrase; others with a better skeleton; still others which were mostly finished but needed the ear and voice of another living soul. All were our seed-songs, given to each other to help them grow up.

Stay tuned to hear what happens with this collection of souls and songs. Some of us are getting married; others are going to Ghana for many months. And the songs will eventually make their way into the final stages of songmaking (mixing, re-mixing, and still more mixing!) Hopefully your ear will lend a listen!

As for the rest of this writing, below are some of our favorite qoutes (and pictures!) from the weekend, of which I gave context where needed to understand why something was said the way it was said (though mostly, when you're tired and silly, you don't know why you say what you say!)

from The Quote Page

Songwriter's Retreat 2010

(before recording a live clap-track for one of our songs)

"Should we clap off-beat on purpose?" Katie

"No; that'll happen naturally." Matthew

"They were so few in number but they had so many brains!"

Eric & Matthew

"I'm sorry I screwed it up (meaning the vocals in the song)." Matt

"You didn't screw it up, that's just the way you sing." Abbye

"Abbye, your voice is angelic!" Katie

"Well, it's debatable..." Abbye

"Don't touch my butt, Katie!"Matthew

"But your butt is just so touchable." Abbye (chiming in)

(Uncomfortable laughter from Matthew)

"Hey, you opened it... the can of worms, I mean, not your butt." Abbye

*Disclaimer: No one touched anyone else's butt. Ever.

(While looking at a picture being drawn)

"Is that Abbye?" Katie

"Um, well, this girl's black..." Eric

"Urethra Franklin!" Matthew

(in a conversation that somehow led to bladder infections)

"God, your company is so dreary." Matthew

(sometimes it's difficult to get those lyrics right)

"Tongue, what?!" Katie

(you really shouldn't eat from street vendors in Ghana...)

"Be astonished! We are common men with a mighty message." Eric

(Inspired by the reading of Acts 4:13)

Songwriter's Retreat, Day 4: freedom in confession (or "What you learn from being cooped up in a cabin for 4 days")

2011-01-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

Confession happened in the Bear Cub Cabin this morning. By day 4 of sleeping, eating, collaborating, and singing in a two-story, 4-bedroom cabin, (with 5 people) we are bound to be short with one another, inconsiderate, and selfish at times. We have proven that even 5 artists, excited to be together, aren't immune from the sin of selfish ambition and the world's voice that says, "Your wants and needs matter most."

But even though we've not always been considerate, we've filled the air with confession and gentleness. A few of us took some time to speak of the envy we've felt about friendships, lack of confidence in our ability to find the right harmony, the strain of time-constraint when recording music that includes multiple musicians and vocalists.

And in speaking some of these things, we've been met with forgiveness and relief... which is, indeed, a relief! And with this confession, forgiveness, relief, we've grown in greater intimacy wth these friends, whether or not we knew each other's middle names or how we take our coffee before we came together this week.

I don't think we expected confession when we came here. But depth in relationships doesn't happen without honesty; I'm so thankful for these friends who helped us live into this.

What else have we learned from being cooped up in a cabin for 4 days? That meals are better by candlelight, unhurried, d r a w n out. That butter is better than margarine. That damp wood will not successfully build a fire! That togetherness is good. That pumpkin chocolate-chip muffins are best when microwaved for 20 seconds, then eaten with a glass of milk (this lesson we really learned!)

Oh, we've learned a lot; we've gained a lot. We've gained a truer picture of how we can submit to one another; we've gained new, deeper friendships; we've gained a real togetherness.

Songwriter's Retreat, Day 3: ten bookmarks

2010-12-30T10:04:00.000-08:00

We are listening, hearing the Scriptures read aloud. Ten bookmarks*, ten books, ten chapters; five voices, around the fire, the prayer candle. The 'Beatitudes,' the genealogy of Noah (the one who will bring us relief from the ground which was cursed), reminder that Jesus brought reconciliation.

Two more songs written today, and yes! We are caught up on recording! Our songs are all so different, unique, which has really struck all of us. When we give a seed-song over to the ears and eyes of another person, they will almost always hear something that we could not have heard on our own.

And what do the rest of us do when one person is tediously recording vocals, guitars, etc.? We read. And draw. And snap pictures. And hold in our giggles... all in silence, of course! It isn't uncommon that as soon as we hear Matthew tap the spacebar (which stops the recording), exhales are heard around the room, followed by loads of laughter. But the best of it all is that we are always together during this time. Somehow, even amidst our various activities, there is a certain togetherness, a unity in our time. A mystery, we can call it.

We, at different times, have been stricken by this mystery, the beauty of it all. In moments throughout the week, the lenses have come off. And when they've come off, redemption is concrete; the Family of God is a real, intimate community; confession and honesty are healing, a necessary piece of dying to ourselves, our individual arrogance dashed.

Another late night, but oh, how it's been worth it...

*In Eric Papp's Bible are ten bookmarks, in ten different books of the Bible, representing ten chapters to be read daily. He's really loving this method of reading Scripture, and he shared it with us. Let us know if you'd like to know more about this for your own reading!

Songwriter's Retreat, Wednesday (Day 2): Emergency naptime!

2010-12-27T18:59:00.000-08:00

As the lunch conversation ended, quiet was falling upon us and eyelids were heavy. At least, mine were. So, as the dishes were being washed, and a nap seemed really nice, Emergency Naptime was declared!

Hour-long (or more) naps ensued. All was well.

Today's outpouring of songs was good, encouraging. Each of the groups came together with songs mostly filled out. The girls got together with some folky tunes and harmonies; prayers from Scripture and hymns of old. The guys offered up some haunting ("in a good way") melodies.

Now, here we are, shakers, hand drums, and mandolins going wild, with 4 songs left to get down before the night is done. And I have to say, the Emergency Nap gave me the energy I need to make it through!

Katie gave us a word today about worship, naming us outpourers. We all worship, we all pour out. But what is in us to pour out depends on who and what we worship. I sense this week that we've been filled up with the richness of friendship, honesty, reliance on God through dark times; and now we get to pour out from those things.

Thank God for Emergency Naps, Family, and the gift of song to lead us in the pouring out!

May the lyrics and melodies bear fruit in the lives of those we may never see or know...

Songwriter's Retreat, Tuesday (Day 1): bringing our seed-songs

2010-12-26T19:17:00.000-08:00

We began our morning slowly, quietly, with breakfast and some time spread throughout the house, alone with our journals and prayers. Today's journal entry for me is so different from my last - pleading and crying out for friends back in Memphis who are in the throws of addiction. [Lord, have mercy.]

But this morning, I sat on Lake Pickwick, watching the land around us rise up just a bit, like they are saying to the Smokies, "When I grow up, I want to be just like you!" A good space for writing.

We came together mid-morning for Family prayer, then we split off into groups to write songs together, which was wildly and excitedly successful! Matthew, Eric, and I headed downstairs with two sets of phrases in our hands and a baby of a melody swirling around... a seed-song.* By the time we re-emerged to the top of the stairs, Katie and Matt were on their second song.

We then took some time to teach each other; our tunes were vastly different. Then throughout the day, we took our little seed-songs and watched something beautiful grow from it. We've been adding harmonies and layers and having fun. It's long work to record, but here in the lakehouse, we're finding much joy in it. To write and record songs in less than 12 hours is such a treasure. How did we get here, away from our regular jobs and commitments? A gift from God, we know this is true.

Then there's all the laughter - at the dinner table, during recording (exactly when you are NOT supposed to laugh, of course).

I can still hear the harmonies, the many voices of Family, ringing in my ears...

*I owe the use of this word, "seed-song," to Sara Groves.
**All photos taken by Eric Papp

Songwriter's Retreat, Monday eve: arrival to the Bear Cub Cabin

2010-12-24T08:57:00.000-08:00

We've made it; 9pm, and I am the last one to barrel through those doors, arms full of excitement, song lyrics, and weariness from the workday and the nighttime drive. But yes, we're all here.

Although 3 people had to back out at the last minutes (flu, snow, wisdom teeth), I can't help but sensing that those here in the Bear Cub Cabin are going to become a Family nonetheless, we who escaped the wrath of winter storms and viruses. We've changed the guitar strings, setup the recording equipment, and bought enough food to keep us fed for several days.

This was born out of a desire to know what it's like to give our songs over to our friends, and maybe even to those we'd just met. All of us in that cabin had written something of value (isn't all writing of value, in some way?) - songs, journal entries, long letters - but we'd always written alone. One individual's thoughts getting down on the piece of paper or computer screen in front of us.

And we'd known Community in our living rooms, on the stage leading worship, in the throws of grief, but still we'd not really submitted ourselves and our melodies to the larger group, our Family.

What do we expect? What are we doing here? What is worship anyway? These are the questions we raised and gave over to the voice of Community this week. And what we do know is this: we will write; we will pray; we will listen; we will sing.

And now we will rest, for the hour is late.

*all pictures taken by Eric Papp

Songwriter's Retreat: the beginning

2010-12-22T09:53:00.000-08:00

What is a Songwriter's Retreat? Who put this together for you? Where are you going? And what are you doing again? (And why do you need a whole week to... write?)

These were some great questions we received in the weeks leading up to our getaway to the tippy-toes of the Appalachian Mountains. These questions led us into some great conversations about why we write songs, why it's good to write together and especially how this week would be much more than just writing. We would write, sing, record, and above all that, pray, listen, and worship together. We decided to stop settling for, "Wouldn't it be so great if we holed ourselves up in a cabin for a week and wrote songs?"

This time, we did it.

And over the next several days, you can step back into last week with us and catch a glimpse of what it was all about, living in the Bear Cub Cabin, cooking meals, singing songs, reading Scripture, and laughing at Matthew's ridiculous clapping routines.

We hope you'll share the journey with us!

Advent: arrival of the Light

2010-12-10T21:13:00.000-08:00

We stood in the middle of the bare apartment, with only the streams of light from the parking lot sneaking in through the worn out blinds. There were 5 of us, including the "wee one". It was a desperate evening. Half-truths were told. Promises made. Breaths held. Hope clinging on by its fingernails. Terribly sincere prayers were prayed. We are waiting for an advent.

Advent, which I've recently learned means, literally, "arrival," is fitting. We are awaiting the arrival of many things, but mostly for the rescue of these dear friends.

I've tried to intentionally be a much more expectant, patient participant in the Advent season, something that not many others around have helped me to be. But of course, we are all products of culture that doesn't allow for waiting. We are always connected (cell phone email, Twitter, laptop), always informed (24 hr. news channels, the world wide web), and always on the move (new city, new house, get to this appointment, rush to this event).

We rarely have to wait.

But tonight, tomorrow, in that dark apartment, there is nothing but waiting. The control was never - is never - ours. We have nothing but our hopes and expectancy, that Light will come and dispel the darkness, the darkness in which we sometimes feel suffocated. We hope for the Rescue and Redemption from One promised to us.

O come, you who are Light!

The fashion obsession: learning from Benedictine sisters

2010-11-17T09:59:00.000-08:00

My husband likes to shop for new clothing; it's just true. It isn't uncommon for me to see him emerge from the bedroom, dressed for the day, in something completely new, something I've not yet seen. Then with a, "When'd you get that?" he grins softly and proceeds to tell me when, where, and what a good sale it was. Or he'll tell me he's been looking for a shirt just like this one for so long... and I give him a hard time.

But as much grief as I give him, I, too, would love to buy new clothes all the time. I find myself lusting over the latest styles (especially this new hipster-phase we're currently in) and wanting to look put-together, good, fashionable.

Fashion changes frequently for a reason - because people buy into it, because we like to please each other. We'll take the newest fashions because we like them... or because the world tells us to like them. I'm not sure which is true.

Today, however, I'm learning something from the perspective of the many different Benedictine sisters (that's right, they're not all alike!) around the world. Apparently, there was a point in the past few decades when the sisters were "freed" from having to wear the cumbersome, long, black habit (think, tent-like dress), and you can imagine that many abandoned it with gladness. (*For more on this, read the chapter entitled "Women and the habit: a not-so-glorious dilemma" in Kathleen Norris', The Cloister Walk)

Yet, despite this freedom, this chapter highlights glimpses of the more pure reasons for the habit, at least some form of the habit, and the many good things it stands for, the things it helps the sisters reject. See this:

"...some sisters feel that to express themselves as women, they need to wear bright colors, make-up, and jewelry, but I have a hard time with this. Even if we're not spending much money, the fact that our nice clothes are hand-me-downs from the second-hand store isn't obvious to others. I wonder if we've bought too much into what society holds up to us as beautiful and acceptable in a women." (p.325)

Or consider this symbol of the habit, and beyond that, how it practically leads a sister (and this applies to monks, as well) in the choices she makes about fashion:

"I am most interested in monastic dress as a form of renunciation, a sign that one is not preoccupied with fashion and possessions." (p.327, emphasis mine)

And finally, something I'm keeping before me all day, these words from the perspective of the author, who isn't a lifelong sister, but has spent much time in short-term residences with the Benedictines:

"'Thank God for the things I do not own,' said Teresa of Avila.

I could suddently grasp that not ever having to think about what to wear was freedom, that a drastic stripping down to essentials in one's dress might also be a drastic enrichment of one's ability to focus on more important things." (p.328, emphasis mine)

Thank God for the voice of the Benedictines.

Paradox of the Psalms: an excerpt

2010-11-08T12:40:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from Kathleen Norris', The Cloister Walk, the chapter entitled 'The Paradox of the Psalms:

"I learned that when you go to church several times a day, every day,

there is no way you can 'do it right.' You are not always going to sit up straight,

let alone think holy thoughts. You're not going to wear your best clothes, but whatever

isn't in the dirty clothes basket. You come to the Bible's great 'book of praises' through

all the moods and conditions of life, and while you may feel like hell, you sing anyway.

To your surprise, you find that the psalms do not deny your true feelings

but allow you to reflect on them, right in front of God and everyone." (emphasis mine)

clothespin liturgy

2010-11-01T20:18:00.000-07:00

It takes three clothespins to hang up a bath towel; two for hand towels; one for a cloth napkin.

And of those six clothespins, there are many stories. One may have water spots (or mildew) on it from being left on the line in the rain. Another looks almost new, perhaps being left in the bottom of the bag most times, hardly even given the chance to see sunlight. All of them, though, were used for many years, clipped onto bedsheets, towels, and my grandpa's socks.

My Nana's hands used these clothespins for as long as I can remember, where sometimes my brother's or my hands helped pin the bedsheets onto the line. We all knew there was nothing like the fresh scent of sun-dried bedsheets. We'd sometimes send these same pins flying off the clothesline as we ran through the sheets, occasionally bringing them down on top of us.

On this day, as I take the towels and sheets down from the clothesline, I think, "Gosh, maybe I should supplement these clothespins with some new ones, some fresh ones." And they would get the job done.

But then I think of all the stories I'd miss out on remembering each time I walk outside with a hamper full of wet sheets. I think of how long it takes to carefully hang things up to dry, which in turn offers much time to feel the wind, to see the cat creeping after a critter in the back yard.

And it makes me think that it's a little like liturgy. We come up with new things - songs, responsive readings, and the like - and they "get the job done". But when I turn to page 12 in the United Methodist Hymnal; pray the Lord's prayer; recite the Apostles' Creed with a room full of people I may or may not know personally; I think of those who have gone before.

I remember the disciples asking Jesus, "teach us how to pray". And I pray with them.

When doubt is creeping in, I say the Apostles' Creed and remember the millions who believe this with (and for) me. And I say it with them.

Today, I "recited" the clothespin liturgy, remembering those who have gone before in my family, roads walked, stories told, children running through the fresh sheets as they blew in the wind. I need these stories just as I need the clothespins to keep my garments on the line.

This is my clothespin liturgy.

poverty is ugly; injustice sucks

2010-10-28T14:00:00.000-07:00

I've been listening to one of the audios from Urbana '09, a roundtable about intentional Christian communities living among those who are poor around the world. The voices in the roundtable are from folks who are from many nationalities, living in many different locations, both in the U.S. and abroad.

One of the contributors is at one point speaking to the group of college students, young adults, addressing that they will soon be asked to consider making a 1-2 year commitment to serving among the poor somewhere in the world. Here's a paraphrase of what he told them:

"If you go for a year or two, have the humility to say, 'I'm going on an exposure or learning experience'; have the humility not to say, 'I'm going on a short-tem mission trip' - Don't go and say, 'I'm going for a year or two to impact the poor' because honestly, it's more about you than the poor. And that's not bad; that's good, that's needed.

But think beyond that. We need people to say 'I want to to do this for the long haul.'

Living in the slums is hard; poverty is ugly; injustice sucks."

It's more about you than the poor. That's not an easy description to hear of our short-term ventures. He goes on to explain himself more fully, that if there are good communities, churches, systems, etc. in place, then the 3, 4, 5 people you touch might go on to really experience true life change. And that is good. He isn't saying that we will not have impact; he is asking us to reconsider what impact we imagine we're having and to be honest about how much of our experience is about shaping ourselves.

But recognize that the long haul is what we need. It's very easy to "go" but it is another thing to "stay."

Finally, another voice from the roundtable offered to us this important thing:

"We need to be willing to live to be forgotten."

community: discoveries and questions

2010-10-25T10:23:00.000-07:00

During this past week, even the past month, I've learned much about myself; we all have. With 5 adults and 3 children currently living under one roof, the holy and the terrible are more easily recognizable.

We've discovered that one bathroom can go a long way, that dishes need to be washed often, and things will undoubtedly be dirtier with three chlidren, all under the age of six. We've discovered that life is complicated, honesty is valuble, and that answers lead to more questions. Most importantly, we've discovered that it is absolutely necessary to be the very presence of Jesus to our neighbors and friends, wherever we are. We love, serve, and follow a Living God, not a faraway god who pays no attention to us. Yet many will never know he is Living because we have not embodied Him.

And the questions are where we are now. Never before have welcomed this many people at one time into our home, particularly in "crisis" mode. But without these new questions, we wouldn't be pushed to seek answers, resolutions, or at least a less destructive path for the next time (not that this path has been destructive; it has bestowed much peace on our new friends).

How much space do you really need? Where can we go for rest and quiet? What time should "quiet hours" begin in the house? What spaces are private and what spaces are communal? Should everyone be held to a general standard of cleanliness, even in their own sleeping spaces?

This is just a short list of questions, ones that, no matter how petty they seem are nonetheless important to the life of our house, one where hospitality is central, humanity is honored, and rest is a necessity, lest our flames die out before they've even scorched the wick.

Pray for us; indeed, we need you to speak into us!

Finally, an encouragement, a "what it takes" for the weeks ahead:

The holiness we need [a "spirituality fit for the margins"] is

simultaneously strong and tender. It is a holiness of heart that can

experience genuine horror at evil, but also see human beings

for what God intended them to be.

It is a holiness that trusts God for redemption

and therefore can sustain hope.

(p. 125, "Friendship at the Margins,"

by Christine D. Pohl and Chris Heuertz)

Matthew 25: we will keep this before us

2010-10-20T10:53:00.001-07:00

Matthew 25: 34-40, to be exact...

"Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me some food; I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger and you welcomed me; I was naked and you gave me clothing; I was sick and you took care of me; I was in prison and you visited me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?'

And the king will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."

And you probably know the rest...

How can it be so easy to think first and mostly only of ourselves; likewise, how can it be so easy to overlook everyone else?

Have mercy on us, Lord!

**note added, 10/25/10**

See this brief reflection on Matthew 25 from "Friendship at the Margins", by Christine Pohl and Chris Heuertz.

"When we recognize the significance of Jesus' words in Matthew 25 that inasmuch as we have welcomed 'the least of these' we have welcomed him, we begin to understand the extraordinary kind of identification and oneness available to us. As we love and live among those most likely to be overlooked--those who are poor, hungry, despised, imprisoned or sick--we find ourselves in intimate relationship with Jesus." (p. 122)

friendship

2010-10-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it is of no surprise to you, but this I've found to be true: we mostly come to friendship on our own terms.

But what about those, "Hey! You too?!" moments, where you suddenly discover the spark of your friendship. Your iPod (or CD player for us old schoolers) has 75% of the same music; you dream of living in all the same places; and you are addicted to the Office and that new show, Parenthood.

I do love these friendships! How, then, could this springing up of friendship be "on our own terms" if we didn't even plan it?

We're drawn to people with the same interests, the same lifestyles. And if not the same, then people who we think are cool, those that we get "friend crushes" on (and I loudly speak for myself here!) I find myself constantly saying, "She is very cool. I must know her."

But with whom should we be seeking friendship? Those like us? Those on the margins of society? Those who might need us for our transportation, checkbook, and listening ear? Those who keep us away from a dinner with other friends because they need to get the grocery store?

My heart weeps at the friendships I keep on my terms, and my eyes have seen a much truer picture of friendship...

"...and the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself."

canning: past and present

2010-09-25T11:25:00.000-07:00

Today is certainly a canning kind of day. I strolled through the Farmers' Market around 8:45 on this fine Saturday morning. With a load full of spelt, tomatoes, and apples, I took some time to sip my coffee and listen to the mandolin and guitar-pickin' before me, with two cutest 60'-somethin' fellas I've ever seen. The breezy air finally felt like the Autumn it should be, and after receiving some canning advice from the Dodsons, a family of farmers, off I go to a full day of kitchen-work.

And no measly kitchen-work this is. Right now, at 1:28pm, I'm only halfway through the applesauce process. We love our homemade applesauce, though last time we froze it; this time we're canning. I think it will be much tastier UNfrozen.

Now, all that's missing is Michelle, the one who started this all for me. Here's to you, friend, and all the lessons you taught me about slowing down, eating vegetables, and dropping in to see your friends unannounced.

Live together? Why?

2010-09-11T19:45:00.000-07:00

It seems a good time in the life of our household to talk about why we insist on having others live in our home. As we enter another season of being a Family, with our brother Jason, we're eager and excited. With every housemate comes a new dynamic, new gifts, and new challenges. Tonight was spent with what is pretty usual with a new housemate - lots of get-to-know-you conversation, heavy topics, family history, etc. - the things that you just couldn't get to in a normal night of hanging out, but with hours of being in the same space, you now have all the time in the world for!

We frequently get many questions or many responses such as, "I could just never do that," and "How long are they staying again?" and, plainly, "Why?"

Why? Because we love it. Because life is much richer with 1 or 2 more than just the two of us (though the Pates are pretty fun). Our marriage thrives (though we have the usual disagreements and frustrations). Our living room is filled with laughter and conversation. Prayers are prayed. Dinners are cooked. Bills are shared. Burdens are carried. Gardens are grown.

The things we once carried alone, we can carry with others. When a relationship is broken, a family member dies - there is another to help us carry the load, to cry the tears. When faith is shaken, when doubts are heavy - there is another there to stand in the gap, to "believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth," alongside us.

Our marriage, our faith, our very lives, are strengthened as we live and work together with the brothers and sisters who live under this roof for 3 months, 6 months, 1 year, indefinitely.

And that, friends, is why the door is always open.

2010-08-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

Below is an expression of why Audrey Assad, a new music artist who I am growing to love, loves attending Mass, why she finds Catholicism beautiful. This has been encouraging to me, her knowledge that worship is not so much experience, but moreover, it is simply and wholly... worship.

I did and do take solace in the Church, as a sparrow makes a nest in an old, solid oak; the Church’s very age and wisdom speak quietly for themselves, silently drawing in wanderers like me. Jesus loves wanderers and prodigals; and the Church must welcome them with open arms–in my case, she did, and warmly at that. I find it beautiful about Catholicism that worship, in her way, is not so much an experience as it is an act of the will; yes, the senses are engaged by the sweet, thick smell of incense at the altar, the soft flickering of candles, the otherworldly melodies of chant; but ultimately, as a Catholic, I go to Mass to worship–to give Jesus the honor and glory He is worthy of; I go to Mass because I love Him. [taken from http://saltandlighttv.org/blog/?p=14845]

May we be reminded, when the temptation to choose brighter skies and greener fields ("polished" worship music and ultra-moving sermons), that we shall worship because we love Him.

the Magic Hour at the river

2010-08-19T18:54:00.000-07:00

He once spoke of the Magic Hour, that dusky burst of color, all magic and such. You can see it on hillsides, on trains, on rooftops, but have you ever seen it from the perch of a rock, resting on the shores of the Mississippi?

She's a mighty river, it's true, but none is more perfect for watching and waiting and breathing in the wet air of the Deep South. None is more perfect, on this night anyway, for the Magic Hour. Though sweet serenity might sing through the hillsides, a swiftly pacing barge drifts right past you, the backdrop on this particular night. It's of no matter - who can spoil the Magic Hour? Even clouds and rainstorms only spread a veil over this happening, yet still it is there.

You've not known a good evening until you known an evening on the banks of the Mississippi, breezes and voices from the north, all gathered together for this Hour... and once it's passed, the lingering begins. For who can turn away so quickly? "Ah, it is gone so soon!"

But tomorrow it will return. The Magic Hour at the river.

Here at the magic hour

time and eternity

mingle a moment in chorus

Here at the magic hour

bright is the mystery

plain is the beauty before us

Could this beauty be for us?

["The Magic Hour" from

Counting Stars, Andrew Peterson]

He first loved us.

2010-08-09T13:41:00.000-07:00

Everyone wants to change her, but does anyone love her?

She passes by their front porch day after day, towards the convenience store, or headed home with no utilities and a stench that keeps unwanted guests away. She sleeps on a mattress, on the floor, that, thankfully, hasn't been used as a bathroom by the dog yet. She lives here with her boyfriend.

And they want her to live somewhere else; she needs a change.

After all, the baby is coming. Don't they have to think about the baby? The innocence. Yes, they've got to get her in another house.

And so they do.

But before long, she's back to her old house, says it just wasn't what she wanted. But the baby, there's still the baby. She's growing out of her clothes; yes, she needs new clothing, or better yet, they'll clean out their closets for the gently used items that have hardly been worn before.

Yes, let's get her cleaned up; she needs a change.

But she doesn't wear the clothes; they're not her taste. She's happpier with what she's already got, with what she already knows. Thanks, but no thanks.

She's gone; she just walked out. She had a fight with the father of her child and left the only person who cares for her unborn baby, someone who might even care more than she does. Where did she go, they ask. She's over on Millford Station, that's where she always goes.

He's so tired of this; with another man's dime, he goes to buy a drink to drown out his anguish of being left again (so many times that he stopped counting).

But they know she'll be back; she always comes back. And this time, they might not be waiting around to help. They just might be finished with this. They can only reach out so much. She has to choose to respond.

You want to change her, but have you loved her?

how to know your neighbors

2010-08-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not great at knowing my neighbors, actually. I'm consumed with busyness, just like the rest of us, much to my disdain sometimes. But what I do know has been put to the test.

How do you know your neighbors? Cook some food.

Not just any food, though. Hamburgers and barbecue balogna (Ba-lone-ee). Hot fries and brownies. Those are the foods that we all, errr... that most of us like.

The humidity and the heat index of 115 may threaten to keep us away, but alas, the will to be neighbors overcomes the desire to stay inside where the air conditioner runs strenuously.

Of course, I don't know my neighbors after just one cookout, but I do see some familiar faces, meet some new ones, and learn some good facts: "Oh! You live in the little blue house on the south side of the street?" And so it begins.

Let us be neighbors!

out of the heaviness: a poem

2010-07-17T10:28:00.000-07:00

The world is heavy; we are all heavy.
We weigh so much, what with all our burdens,
and then we lay up those burdens on others.
We speak things we don't mean -
some of which we thought we meant -
others of which we spoke because it would make
this fleeting
moment
easier.

We hurt and drag and lead on.
We cause much hurt,
much sadness,
much hardening of hearts.
But can we help it?
Oh, the need for grace, my love, even for you;
even for me.

I'm no saint; I'm no lover.
And even on my most holy days, I am
but a fraud.

Maybe I know not what holiness is;
Maybe I cannot know.
Mystery, you say?
Washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Grace.
Light.
(Opposite of dark; opposite of heavy.)

I saw the light.

(written in the dim light and late hours of sadness and heaviness)

$84 Million... is this OK?

2010-07-08T16:21:00.000-07:00

If it weren't for Ty living in this house, I wouldn't be blogging about this, because I probably wouldn't know about it. But now I know, and now I will blog.

Rudy Gay has just signed a 5-year contract (Google this for more accurate details) for $84 Million. He's been with the Grizzlies for several years already. I don't know the rest of the details (maybe I should read them more closely before I post this).

Is $84 Million OK with us? Will anyone be around to help Rudy Gay know how to deal with this much wealth? Is this much wealth OK? Money can be used in a million (no pun intended) different ways, a million different good ways. But tragically, it often isn't. I don't know Rudy Gay, but I know even masses of Jesus-followers in our city delight in his return, yet will we be moved, burdened by $84 Million?

God embodied: a lesson in love

2010-06-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

"...God had to be embodied, or else people with bodies would never in a trillion years understand about love."
(Lauren F. Winner, "Girl Meets God")

We look for love in a million places, in a million ways, with a million failures. We not only fail in finding it for ourselves, but we fail to love because we are also trying to express love to others in those same failure-like ways that we sought it for ourselves.

Let us look at the nature of our Living God, embodied in Jesus, for some clues about how to love!

Allowing himself to be served (loved) by those the world taught his people to despise - a drink of water from the Samaritan woman for a thirsty Jewish man. (John 4: 1-30)

Meals, and probably some laughter, with "crooks"! (Luke 19: 1-10)

Washing the disciples' feet - He, the one they followed and looked up to, washing their dirty feet? Never! "If I don't wash you, you can't be part of what Im doing." We must allow ourselves to be served (loved). (John 13: 1-17)

We want to understand about love! Teach us, Jesus...

the dishes, the compost, and the clothesline

2010-06-21T19:53:00.001-07:00

current music: don chaffer, Up Before the Sun, from the album "What You Don't Know"

What might they have in common, you wonder? They're teaching me lessons. I've learned much these days from the dishes, the compost, and the clotheslines. Some lessons are similar; some very different. All are very important.

Timeliness. The dishes pile up; the compost begins to stink; the clothes need a certain length of time on the clothesline, or they'll be damp and then you have to hang them up all around the house to finish drying. These things usually need to be done promptly.

Routine. We scoff at routine, most of us free-spirited, relational types. We value spontaneity and freedom. But let me tell you, routine can be good for the soul, can be the path of holiness. With the snap of a finger, spontaneity and freedom turns into selfishness, and there you have it: the dishes are piled up and stink so much that you can't tell if the compost or the sink smells worse. And you forget to put your clothes out in the morning, so you do it when you rush home at 5pm, and they don't have enough time to dry, and then you're backed up and start it all over the next day.

How to be kind to my husband. Hanging clothes on the clothesline takes time. And the other night I brought them in, discovered they were still damp, and immediately got in a crabby mood. This is when I treated Jeff unkindly, in fact, I was downright mean. I'm learning that too easily am I swayed away from kindness.

Slowness. Washing the dishes causes me to slow down. I have to take some time to look out the window, notice the neighbors house, listen to the sound of the water, and I have to make sure the dried cheese comes off the plate. No one wants to come behind me and eat my dried cheese. So, I have to slow down and wash the dishes.

Dang, there are a lot of lessons to be learned here! I can think of 3, 4, 5, more... Oh, 6! Many of these lessons have to do with simplicity, and what is simple is not always easy. What is easy isn't always good or righteous. And so we seek simplicity, in action, in speech, in spirit.

What lessons have you learned from simplicities of your life?

Finally, in all these lessons, praise be to the One who isn't in a hurry, who loves us wholly, beautifully, and without fear of time slipping away, for He does not live in the time and space as we do.... praise be to God!

Michelle & Dane: A tribute to neighbors

2010-05-28T07:28:00.000-07:00

First, in case Dane has the opportunity to read this, I want to assure him that - in the interest of privacy on the big, wide and wild world of web - I am refraining from using last names.

Now that's taken care of, on to the tribute...

I bet they're up early, not the sleep-in-er types, visiting with family they've been missing and longing to see for a while now. Memphis is but a memory, close enough to feel the humidity, but far enough to know there's no going back. At least, that's how it seems it might be.

Michelle and Dane were the best of neighbors. And friends. But the best of neighbors are friends, and so my definition of neighbor has been redefined. After all, "And who is my neighbor?" was the question asked to Jesus, as a way of getting around true love and mercy, and we know that He expanded for us in that one parable what it means to be a neighbor (but that's surely for another post).

One of my earliest and dearest memories with Michelle is that she was comfortable being together and now always "doing" together. On Sunday afternoon laundry day, she'd bring over their loads of laundry, along with some knitting, a book, and a need for napping, and so the next 3 hours of "being" ensued. What a joy to have the kind of friend who can be in the same room with you, resting, reading, or talking when necessary. The memory is vivid, and the lesson has left its mark - being together is just as important - if not more important - than "doing" together.

Another favorite memory is of garden conversation, all of us on different tasks with our shovels and spades and plants, talking away, hearing each other, learning from each other, and on the occasion, disagreeing with each other. But we were doing all this together, and before you knew it, 2 hours had passed and the garden was well on its way to somewhere other than a plot of weeds!

Dane was never short on conversation, and few times in life do you meet someone who can engage just about any topic with well thought out opinions and gleanings from readings and teachings on the subject. Dane is not only really intelligent, but he's really thoughtful, and can even muster up the courage to admit he's not thought something through instead of spouting off things that are untrue, just for the sake of ego. He liked to be right, too - don't we all - but mostly, he was just really great to dialogue with, in a really meaningful way, a way that did not leave me unchanged, but spurred on "toward love and good deeds" (Heb. 10:24).

How long could this tribute be? We could talk about Pancake Sundays, and Saturday mornings at the Farmer's Market, and Michelle teaching me how to can tomatoes. There's also the night we sat around and sang with her siblings in our living room, and the Sunday evening prayers, and Farkle. The quirkiness of Dane's love for spare change (under washers and dryers at the laundromat or next door in the car wash), knowing I could call Michelle for an onion or an egg, and the joy we all received from reading "A Severe Mercy".

It was a good two years - a really whole and full two years. How many times does someone move in and out of your life, only to leave you wishing that you'd done this or said that or spent more time together? I'm delighted to know that none of that is true with these neighbors, friends, brother and sister, bound together as we were for two years (and still are, forever).

Michelle & Dane, this is your tribute to the neighbors, friends, truth-tellers, lovers, and Family that you are.

Go with God...

across the miles

2010-05-22T20:19:00.000-07:00

It's all a Mystery, these miles, the depth of which we love and care for each other. And it isn't the first time, isn't the first person. This connection, we know it with others. Only a few, yet it's very real.

Sometimes we discover it over Saturday morning pancakes; other times in 5-page letters. Sometimes we discover it on car rides in the Vermont mountains and sometimes we feel it when the wind blows just right.

Aislinn and I were talking tonight - she, in Vermont and I, in Memphis - and sometimes you could hear a voice quiver, the tears almost coming. It isn't uncommon for us to long to be together, this sister who I've never lived in the same town with. But beyond all explanation, we're bound together; we are Family.

"Is this what the apostles felt like?" Aislinn asked tonight. When they were so far apart, each trying to inspire and encourage the Church in the place where they were; encouraging them to move ahead, to love each other, to bind themselves together, to forfeit the idols and prejudices and traditions that kept them steeped in division. Is this what it feels like to send your words, on paper, over miles and miles of river and road, hoping it reaches the ones that the same miles cannot separate?

"One day we won't see through a glass darkly..."

Praise be to you, O God, for binding us together!

everybody wants commmunity

2010-05-16T18:27:00.000-07:00

(**Note: "everyone" in this post doesn't mean "everyone." But you'll know what I mean.)

In the not-so-distant past, I read this:

"Everybody wants a revolution, but nobody wants to wash the dishes."

This came from an intentional community, folks living together who are both different and alike (both of which can be annoying when you live together). From that phrase (which I love, by the way), I gather this: everyone wants to do the "radical" things; everyone wants to change their neighborhoods. Everyone wants to move in together these days and show the world a new way to and have potlucks and transform lives and provide jobs and grow their own food (and the list goes on and on and on and...)

But no one wants to wash the dang dishes.

In our home, this isn't really a problem... but weeding is. And so here we are at a new phrase.

Everybody wants community, but no wants to weed the garden.

It's true for me; it's true for our dearest and best. Lest we settle in to a routine, to the ordinary, to the things that need doing each and every day (like washing dishes and weeding gardens), we instead chase after busyness and adventure and the next best thing (or the next best schedule-filler!) Oh, when will my soul be content with the ordinary-ness, of which the fruit is some of the best things in life: closeness in relationship and homegrown okra!

Let's get busy with washing and weeding!

stability and "roots of love"

2010-05-09T13:22:00.000-07:00

"To practice stability is to learn to love both a place and its people. ... Without roots of love, we easily become slaves to our desires, using the place where we happen to be as a staging ground for our ambitions and manipulating the people around us so they might serve our objectives. ...until we give ourselves to a place--until we care enough to learn the names of its flowers and its second cousins--stability's wisdom suggests we cannot know about the One who so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. [Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, "the Wisdom of Stability"]

Swirls of questions in my soul. They've always been there... "always" meaning, all the time I've been in this place. Am I here selfishly? To play a part? To complete my salvation in the eyes of the ones for whom living in these places is the most holy choice for living out one's faith in Jesus Christ?

One thing I know: people need loving; God's children need caring for. "We saunter in all broken and messed up inside," lyrics to one of my recent songs. And yes, all of us saunter in all broken and messed up inside. Even those of us whose holiness seems to outrank the rest of them, who have ever - Lord have mercy - thought we'd reached something, figured something out, "gotten" it. We are fractured and disconnected; and the whole point of Jesus is connection, putting back together, reconciliation.

In talking about how hard this is... this commitment to community, to stability, to even confrontation that arises in community, Jonathan offers this:

"The purpose of the confrontation is not to vent my anger or to 'get something off my chest.' It is to regain a friend that I have lost. The point is reconciliation." (chapter 4, "the Wisdom...")

Lord, have mercy! And give us roots of love.

homemade cheese grits and tornado sirens

2010-05-01T15:04:00.000-07:00

That's the short story of my morning. I began at 7am, somewhat prepared (more "somewhat" than actually "prepared") to jog in my first-ever 5K - The Binghampton Community Church 5K, to be exact. Instead, I woke to hear tornado sirens and since I have a secret love for ominous-looking skies and thunderstorms, I watched the local weather on and off, interspersed with some napping here and there through most of the morning.

Then cheese grits started sounding good. So I made some. (along with scrambled eggs, toast, french press coffee, and straight-from-the-juicer carrot/apple/pear/orange/lemon juice that Jeff made... yow!)

So, I thought I was going to do one thing, and ended up with something else. And it was very good.

I've also spent a good portion of the morning reading "What Paul Really Said About Women: An Apostle's Liberating Views on Equality in Marriage, Leadership, and Love," by John Temple Bristow. I'm taking notes and really, really glad I'm reading. It's a good next-read after my time well-spent immersed in Donald M Joy's, "Lovers - Whatever Happened to Eden?" (now titled "Two Become One," which some would say is a much-better title, but forfeited the cool, 80s-esque book cover).

I'm thankful for the voices of good friends and authors who can have these conversations with us, unafraid to challenge the traditional roles of women/spouses that never really seemed quite right in the practicality of my own marriage, as well as the example I was handed down from my parents (which also broke some norms in some ways, which I am thankful for).

Just because we are the Church doesn't mean we can't ask, "Maybe what 'has been' is not what 'should be'". We have not arrived; we are not the most enlightened. There is still room to grow! I recommend these reading with open hearts and open minds!

And finally...

May Grace and Peace abound...

piano, reborn

2010-04-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

Piano is my first instrument. Did you know that? Probably not. Most of you have only seen me with a guitar. Well, lately I've been playing a lot more piano. I've got 6 years worth of slacker-ness to make up for. I'd play here and there but never anything you'd call diligent or dedicated or with much heart. And I've been wondering why this is.

Maybe when you go to a piano lesson once a week, for 11 consecutive years, you just want to set it aside. During those years, there were many times I didn't want to play, but I did it anyway. And I'm so glad I did. Now, it's coming back around, and a love is growing inside me. This time, I find myself wanting to play. Despite the difficulty of reacquainting myself with the feel of the keys under my fingertips, the crescendos and decrescendos, the soul of playing more than just mere notes... yes, despite all of that, I'm enjoying this.

Why did I ever let it fall away? Why did I forsake such a beautiful instrument? It's a lost art, piano-playing is. I'm convinced of this. Everyone wants to play guitar. You can learn more quickly, you can take it anywhere - and these are reasons I love guitar! But I'm so glad piano was my first instrument, so glad to have the opportunity to keep playing.

This weekend I'll join 4 or 5 fellow musicians, all who took lessons under the same wonderful woman. We'll celebrate 25 years of her studio, diligently teaching children (and a few adults) despite a lot of their apathy and rottenness. (Indeed, I was rotten sometimes. One time, during a studio Christmas party, I was talking during the movie and being generally disruptive and disrespectful, and she made me go sit out on the porch! Love that woman.)

What a joy to be back with these friends, playing and singing and remembering friendships of long ago.

Humanity still shows some glimmer of Light!

Spring has a way of making me into a neighbor...

2010-04-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

Indeed it does.

Spring is in full-swing here in Memphis, and I'm am really in love; I mean, really in love! We're trying to enjoy it fully, and so far, so good. Took some kid-friends to the botanic gardens plus a picnic, then the next day, Jeff and I picnic-ed at the river (the Mighty Mississippi). Then to an outdoor concert to sway and sing along with Derek Webb and Sandra McCracken, with the cheese, wine, and other picnic-ey items spread out on our blanket (are you seeing a theme here?)

Spring is good. The strawberry plant in our front flower bed has grown like crazy in 48 hours; I'm not kidding, at least half an inch, maybe more. Seriously. Seriously? Seriously.

But really, Springtime can make you into a good, or at least a better, neighbor. It's no longer dark when you get home from work, and everyone's in a better mood than in 20 degree February, and something about the way the sun sets in the Spring just makes you feel good. It makes you feel a little more alive.

Don't we all feel the little deaths of winter? The strawberry plant goes into hiding, the trees are skinny, and some days you want to lock yourself inside... so maybe you kind of die a little inside, too.

But then comes the new life. And somehow I find it inside me to step off of my safe little porch and out onto the sidewalk. Down the street and onto someone else's porch. Into a living room I'm unfamiliar with and finally leave with the hug of a sweet woman who prays for us even though she doesn't know our middle names. Maybe she doesn't even know our last names. I don't even know hers. But we're neighbors, and we know it.

Summer is coming, and in Memphis... that can [for me, at least] mean more withdrawing... from the scorching heat, the mosquitoes. So, don't let Spring get away... step off your porch, friends.

Be bound up by grace and peace!

music & lyrics: a forgiving song

2010-03-31T19:37:00.000-07:00

something new that just came about, partly behind a desk that can leave me wishing I were outside and partly by the glow of the living lamp that I love so much...

we saunter in all broken and messed up inside
drag it up the stairs to keep it by our sides
but I'm so tired of this
so tired of talking to you about this

it's easy to name the things we did not make
good or bad or we'll just wish them all away
oh, we're good at this
a little too good at this

maybe we all need to be forgiven
maybe we all need to forgive them
we all need to be forgiven
and move on...

the walls are growing so much stronger by the day
the defenses they're growing just the same
but you look so tired to me
so tired of all of this

what would the people say if we tore it all down
and started with nothing but empty hands
most of them would just turn and walk away
they'd turn and walk away...
would that be okay?

it's time

2010-03-29T10:44:00.001-07:00

Spring days, seed-planting, and a constant flow of "guests" (Family, really) through our home - it is indeed time for a new post. But there isn't time right now, and so hang on to your pants... I'll be back soon.

In the meantime, be bound up by Grace and Peace!

plants need nurturing... you know, like children

2010-03-07T17:41:00.000-08:00

The Pates-GeigLines-MaddieSmith-otherswelcome Multi-Family garden has bee-gun. Yes, that's right... let the growing begin, folks. Melissa and I spent the afternoon planing lettuce, spinach, and onion bulbs (that we're not sure are going to grow). We still have many seeds to begin indoors, and I hope we rise to the challenge this year and actually grow our things from seed. Last year we had to end up buying a lot of plants that didn't take from seeds.

You can sow the seed but you can't make it grow. We can nurture it and do just we think that little baby seed needs.... yet, alas, the growing isn't up to us.

Just you wait, there will be more garden profoundness to come!

In other news, this de-distractions Lenten season is proving to be a good one. Kind to me, gentle to me. Allowing space for silence and music and mopping floors. TV goes off more, "social networking" is non-existent (well, except for this blog today - but it's Sunday!), and for all of this... I am quite thankful.

I guess I'm being nurtured as well.

memoirs on the passing life

2010-02-09T10:08:00.001-08:00

Entry #2: The Long 3 Months

For 3 months my grandfather, Papa as we called him, fought for (or clung to) life. During that time, I wasn't around much; I stayed connected through 2nd hand information. But I really just kept waiting. Honestly, I was surprised he lived for so long. My memory of him in that hospital was burned as one where he seemed miserable, not really living. (Yet, in the past couple of days I've been taught/re-thought what it means to be living; the mind and spirit can be very alive while the body, what we measure "living" by, continually withers away.)

Living 5 hours away keeps the reality at bay. I knew he was sick; I asked for updates. But I wasn't present, and in many ways, I didn't want to be. Papa and I weren't close before, why would it matter now? That isn't fully true, that it didn't matter, but it's what ran through my head a lot of days. My family-my caring, dedicated family-was present the whole time. They tirelessly made daily visits to the hospital, and later, the nursing home. Mrs. Libby, my "adopted" grandmother," made soup and brought diet coke and read her book by his bedside.

Still he clung.

During this time, and looking back, I didn't desire to visit or to be close to the situation. This isn't my nature, to turn away from closeness, to choose to be emotionally uninvolved. In fact, it's quite the opposite of my personality. But this was quite different; it brought out something in me I've not seen before. I thought, why be connected to him then, when he's dying? And besides, we'd never had many conversations that didn't end in his telling me he wish I'd done something his way instead of mine, more or less.

So that's the waiting. Not much happened healthwise during this time, except for ups and downs in his condition, amidst the continual "down" (he would never be able to live at home again, never be free from the care of medical personnel). And I guess I waited for him to die. I didn't want him to die, yet I wanted him to be free from his misery.

Next time I'll carefully (as to not offend or disclose anything too personal) tell you what I've learned from watching my dad and aunt, his children, go through the death of their dad. It's quite different from my experience, yet it's taught me much.

Thanks for reading; may you think through your own grief, past or present, in losing those you love, and know God's grace in a very real way.

memoirs on the passing life

2010-02-06T08:22:00.000-08:00

Entry #1, here goes something...

He had a stroke in early November, exactly 3 months before he was buried.

Hearing he was sick didn't bring to surface many emotions, initially, until I came home to visit and the serious tone in my mother's voice called out to my tears.

And seeing him in the hospital bed was even worse. How could this man, known more than most things (to me, anyway) for being a opinionated, controlling, and a bit bossy, be lying in this bed so completely vulnerable and unable to speak clearly? It's a question many ask as they watch the once strong and healthy lie in a bed, now described as sickly and immobile. And it's a disheartening sight.

But I think it was particularly difficult for me because he had never let himself be vulnerable before me, never really needed my help, my hand. But now? It was his very sustenance, the help of someone else. Completely dependent on the grace of God and the love of Family and strangers. And for 5 hours that day, I sat with him, mostly wordlessly, and tried my best to discern his needs. Do you want an ice chip? Do you want a cold washcloth on your forehead? Do you want me to just stand here and hold your hand and watch the football game with you? All of the above.

It was a meaningful day for us, to be able to care for him for the first time in my life. Odd, isn't it, how too many of us only become vulnerable when we're forced into it? That we wait until the end of life to let ourselves need someone else? I left that hospital thankful - thankful for the chance to be needed by him, for some sort of reconciliation to take place, thougth not by any means fully completed.

I drove home listening to Sara Groves' new album, "Fireflies and Songs" and crying because in some way, I'd just experienced feelings similar to what she felt when she wrote down these words:

"It took me by surprise, this old house and these old feelings
walked 'round and looked inside, familiar walls and halls and ceilings...

sad, fruitful, broken, true."
[This House]

Grace and peace be ours, those who know full well that sadness and reconciliation and brokenness and hurt can all co-exist, who hold it in our hands wondering what to do next...

the newest housemate

2010-02-03T20:18:00.001-08:00

many of you know... we like housemates. :)

and so we have a new one, whose things are being put in order as we speak. He won't officially be sleeping here until the weekend, but his coming is evidenced by multiple ottomans/storage units, new pictures for the walls, and an impressive DVD collection... (and I mean impressive...) We're so excited to share our home with Ty, "our" meaning, all 3 of ours. It'll truly be our home, since he's bringing a lot to the family - a fantastic couch, new TV, and other items placed throughout the house. And that's what we want... things to share. :)

So, I bid you good night on this Wednesday evening, as I listen to the Wailin' Jennys, the sound of cake-making (Jeff winning over his co-workers), and the arranging of items in the room next door. Life is truly a gift... thank you, Jesus.