Such an appropriate line for the last few days and weeks.
I have thirty minutes left of my workday, and I'm choosing to write. I've done so much editing that it's spilling over into my personal life- editing out people, things, ideas, places and routines. Yes, there is a time and a season for everything. But even if for just the next 25 minutes and 45 seconds, I want to create something, even a 100 word blog, and not edit anything else.
Through my job, I've learned to get right to the point. There is only space for 1,000 words, yet I get 1,750 from a writer. I've learned to cut a lot of what's unnecessary. I feel very pared down. I laugh to myself because it's this strange combination of having less but feeling a little weighed down at the same time. It's hard to let things go.
Tomorrow will be more beautiful. Some things will be different. Some things will be the same. "The whole world is moving. I am standing still." And that's ok.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Waking Dreams: Stone Cup Reflections
As I sit in Stone Cup, one of my favorite coffee shops in Chattanooga, I realize that the people I see around me were in my dreams last night. Or did I just see them yesterday and the day before? Maybe that seems like a dream. I'm getting used to seeing people I know all around me again. After having been on the West coast for some time and moving around so much, I'd almost forgotten what it's like to see familiar faces. Some of the faces are new, but the feeling of this place is the same: a regular hang-out spot, an office for some. In a way it's a "room of one's own."
There are always more than a few fashionable people walking around this place. Chattanooga has style. There are people studying, writing, and sitting on the patio looking out at the river and the people below. There are interviews, mentoring sessions, DTRs (Define the Relationship talks) and reunions here. Always. There are those people who talk too loud and those I wish would come talk to me. The bulletin board is plastered with events: fundraisers, organic farm tours, fashion shows, festivals, and other community events that I've put in my planner.
If I listen closely enough, I hear people dreaming together. Plans are being made for the future, ideas being shared, excitement being uncorked, and the feeling of being a Chattanoogan is in the air.
One of the things I love about Chattanooga is the possibilities. Yes, there were possibilities in Washington, a lot of them. But here, every face has a name. Every idea has an origin in a person you've seen walking Walnut Street Bridge. Every dream can be a reality. Chattanooga is one huge sounding board, and it's more than that– it's a city of resources to make things happen. It's the people that have stood to be counted. It's the community that never settles for mediocrity. We are a city that cares about its people, about the quality of life, about making a difference.
I know that I could walk up to just about anyone in Stone Cup right now and ask them what they dream of, and everyone would have an answer. Some answers would be the same; some would be totally unique. The exciting thing is that Chattanoogans are dreamers, and I want this city to be a city of waking dreams.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Flight #1738 – Written May 1, 2010
It's flooding in Nashville. No sign if the storm's gonna let up. I left the rain in Seattle to come back home, back to where I came from, to the soil that grew me up. Lo and behold, the bottom's fallen out from the sky.
I fully intend on making it to that crawfish broil in Alabama tonight, even though my flight has been delayed in Chicago for three hours. I figure I need to start things right when I land.
I won't be home 'til I get to Chattanooga– not when the plane touches down in Nashville, not in the town in grew up in, not in Huntsville or Fayetteville or anywhere else but the Scenic City, Tennessee.
I don' think home will be what it was when I left it nine and a half months ago. Yes, somehow it will be that same– the same buildings and many of the people faces. Maybe it will be me that will be different, too. How could I be the same?
As the plane is now shaking in the sky, descending into the storm clouds of Nashville, I'm reminded that although home is comfortable, it has its own floods.
May God be with me.
Amen.
Re-learning Recycling
I only lived in Bellingham, Washington, for four months.
Granola City, I called it.
Ex-hippies, new hippies, bicycle riding, organic-focused, fair-trading, local-minded, environmentalists with a mission: to be a green city of green people.
Bellingham: The City of Subdued Excitement, as it is named by its people and by the city mural painted on the side of a historic building downtown. It's true– the excitement of the city is subdued, but the personality of the city is strong and unmistakable.
The house I stayed in on Williams Street with my host family, the Gauthiers, was just a ten-minute bike ride from downtown. It was renovated using recycled materials, most things from the Re-Store. The Gauthiers had gardens in the back yard where they grew most of the vegetables used for daily cooking, and we received a weekly delivery of local, organic fruits and vegetables to supplement what we couldn't grow ourselves. There was also a chicken coop at the house with eight pet hens that provided fresh eggs every morning for my breakfast.
The Gauthiers rode their bikes whenever they could– not just for exercise but to be as "green" as possible. They camped and hiked as many weekends as they could, enjoying the great outdoors that is Washington. After my first camping trip with them, which was culture shock to this city girl, I began to realize that I could get by with less– less stuff, less electricity, less people, less buildings, less unnecessary baggage.
On Sundays, we went to a church called Mosaic, a group of real Christians sans the bulletins, the hymns, the "Sunday best" and everything that goes with a 10:30 a.m. service. Less structure, more freedom, and a lot of genuine love for the community and each other. Refreshing. Sunday mornings, when we did actually meet in a building, we had community breakfast, everyone bringing a dish. And before we began to sing and worship, we sat about six to eight people at a round table enjoying breakfast together. These tables in the middle of a rented room were our church pews. I always found it funny, but inspiring, that the Gauthiers brought their own plates, silverware, and cups to church so that they could wash and resuse them, not wasting anything. No unnecessary trash.
Leftovers rarely get thrown away. Everything possible was recycled. This was life in Bellingham.
If I learned anything, it was something about recycling.
Life throws a lot our way. We take it in, process it, and we decide that some things are worth getting rid of. Divorce, death, hurt, loss, disappointment– they are by-products of life, and they are things we want to throw in the trash can. In my own life, I found that the landfill in my heart was filling up quickly, and if I didn't address the problem soon, the trash was going to overflow into less hidden places.
For several months I questioned God. I felt sorry for myself, and I pointed my finger, demanding answers. (I didn't get any.)
I had to learn to be alone, and in a lot of ways, I had to learn to let people back in. For the most part, my energy was spent trying to "figure things out" while I was living with the Gauthiers in Bellingham. I moved in with them only days after my parents signed divorce papers and only two and half months after my friend Katie was killed in a tragic accident. I was 2,500 miles away trying to throw of all my unanswered questions and hurt away.
I learned to recycle.
Reduce the garbage to begin with. To be fair, reduction is the hardest part. I don't have total control of what happens in life. But, we can learn to navigate through our lives as best we can, re-routing when possible, or at least bracing for impact.
Reuse the energy. Now I write. I'm trying to use the energy and emotions for something good, something positive. I'm taking my emotional plates to church with me so that I can wash and reuse them. I can't keep throwing things away. I'm being more conscious of what I invest in so that maybe there will be less sitting on the curb at the end of the day.
Maybe I can invest in things that will decorate my home after they're used up. Jars on the shelf holding fresh flowers. We've all got hurt places that we wish could be restored.
Its a conscious effort. It's easy to throw things away. It's hard to recycle. But it's good, and it works.
Granola City Recycling: Reducing the emotional landfill one plastic knife at a time.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Both/And (Real names have not been disguised.)
"Most things worthwhile in life are difficult."
It's a saying that I've heard countless times before, but coming from Frank, it sinks into my heart. I didn't expect when I met Frank that we would be "kindred spirits" as he says, but now I see that Frank was just as much a part of my journey as his wife Kristen- who was a more obvious (and dear) mentor and friend.
I almost fell in love with Frank's son, which is how I met Frank. All roads lead to Rome.
His name was Ansel, and for everything about him that I hated there were at least three other things about him that I loved. On my journey out west in Bellingham, Washington Ansel became a friend and someone I grew to care about quickly and deeply. He believed in me and my dreams and what I wanted to do with my life. He also pointed out my impulsiveness, my flighty-ness, and my unwillingness to listen. At times, I hated him; at others, I felt like I could love him forever for who he had been to me.
When I hit a wall in Bellingham- out of work, out of money, homesick, and neurotic- I decided to fly back to Tennessee with what little money I had left. I wanted to be home for the holidays, despite knowing that "home" and "family" wouldn't be what they had been when I left for the West coast. Divorce papers signed the day before I got on a plane, home life was going to look radically different. Chattanooga, my chosen home, would be refreshing. Friends, my church, my small group, my city, my parks, my taverns, my local bands, my everything- would refuel me for my journey in Washington. With the support of Ansel and others, I took a "break" from the journey.
I must interject at this point, that when I left Bellingham for Tennessee that November, I had met Frank and Kristen only twice. Kristen and I had become close through phone calls and emails, but to me, at this time, they were still "Ansel's parents."
Hindsight is 20/20, and I know now that the "break" from the journey wasn't a break at all. It was part of the journey. At home I evaluated why I left in the first place, what I had hoped to gain, how God fit into my plans (Yes, I see the error in that line of thinking), and what I had to lose. I also broke communication with most people I knew in Washington in order to clear my head. This "break" also included a break-up.
Kristen and Frank, with Ansel's acceptance of the idea, opened their home to me so that I could come back to Washington with a roof over my head while I tried to get on my feet. Ansel and I had parted ways, but he believed that I could make it with the guidance of some mentors- in particular his mother.
Certain (something that one can never really be), I came back to Washington, not ready to give up on the journey. Wanting to see myself in Seattle living the city life- going to Mariners games, watching Seahawks football (GO HAWKS!), donning my rain jacket with pride, and becoming cooly sarcastic and fashionable- I spent countless hours on my little Mac computer to send countless resumes to non-profits, marketing firms, communication departments, cafes, and any other establishment that I thought would give me a paycheck for my talents. Eventually, I found work, but that is another chapter entirely.
Frank was out of work when I arrived in Washington, and he had been since November. It's amazing to me that at such a time of uncertainty in their household Frank and Kristen let me in. They were a God-send in my life at that time, and they proved their faith by taking in a girl they hardly knew. Their sacrifice was a challenge to me, for who I wanted to be- the kind of person who gives fully of themselves when someone is in need.
Frank wasn't worried about work. He had a peace in knowing that God would provide. Money was tight, for sure, but he wasn't worried. He took life one day at a time, sometimes not making the most of that time, but still- he just went on living. His hands weren't shaking, and he hadn't lost his appetite(which is the state I easily fall into when times are rough). He prayed, and he lived.
Frank moved from Baltimore to Seattle with a friend when he was around my age, and from what I can tell, he was pretty adventurous and care-free. He moved without a job and without knowing where he would live. (Kindred spirits, we are.) Now, he's married to Kristen, an amazing woman, with three (almost) grown boys and a job with the largest technology company in the country. He had his wild days I'm sure, and there were bumps in the road without a doubt, but his life worked out beautifully. For him, it was worthwhile to leave everything behind in the pursuit of life.
I don't believe there isn't one right path. I don't say this in general, and it doesn't apply to every argument. For example, I believe there is one path to eternal salvation for my soul. No two paths look exactly the same, but in their essentials, yes they are the same path. I believe in one God, one Savior, and an ultimate Truth. I'm a college-educated Southern girl with a degree in English, which means that my understandings of philosophical and spiritual truths are a mixed bag of traditionalism and enlightenment.
Yes, God has a Will, but I don't dare suggest that I can ever fully know it. He draws me close to him, close enough to feel the beating of his heart sometimes, and then I am close enough to hear what his heart might be saying. I believe there are times that my head is resting on his chest, and it is at those moments that my path seems most clear. However, to hold a God that I can understand, to trust in a God whose plans are always decipherable, is not a God that is bigger than I am. I don't presume to always know if the path I am on is the one He would have chosen for me- but then again, He chose not to choose my path when He gave humanity the gift of free will. Whatever path I am on, I'm not alone. I know that He loves me. Of that I am certain- it's the one thing about which I will claim to be sure.
Kristen taught me and guided me in listening to the Spirit, and Frank taught me and guided me in the letting go of rigidity. Frank taught me that life isn't black and white. It's not either/or- it's both/and. God might not have an either/or path for my life. Either I go out and learn some life lessons, exploring the great unknowns or I stay home where I'm rooted, without exploration of growth. No. It's both/and. I will learn life lessons and explore the great unknowns and be rooted. I will bloom in a both/and world.
God isn't either/or.
He's not both/and.
God is.
All the categories and the putting of my life into boxes isn't what this is about. If Jesus truly is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, then "most things worthwhile in [Jesus] are difficult."
This is true. Thanks, Frank.
It's a saying that I've heard countless times before, but coming from Frank, it sinks into my heart. I didn't expect when I met Frank that we would be "kindred spirits" as he says, but now I see that Frank was just as much a part of my journey as his wife Kristen- who was a more obvious (and dear) mentor and friend.
I almost fell in love with Frank's son, which is how I met Frank. All roads lead to Rome.
His name was Ansel, and for everything about him that I hated there were at least three other things about him that I loved. On my journey out west in Bellingham, Washington Ansel became a friend and someone I grew to care about quickly and deeply. He believed in me and my dreams and what I wanted to do with my life. He also pointed out my impulsiveness, my flighty-ness, and my unwillingness to listen. At times, I hated him; at others, I felt like I could love him forever for who he had been to me.
When I hit a wall in Bellingham- out of work, out of money, homesick, and neurotic- I decided to fly back to Tennessee with what little money I had left. I wanted to be home for the holidays, despite knowing that "home" and "family" wouldn't be what they had been when I left for the West coast. Divorce papers signed the day before I got on a plane, home life was going to look radically different. Chattanooga, my chosen home, would be refreshing. Friends, my church, my small group, my city, my parks, my taverns, my local bands, my everything- would refuel me for my journey in Washington. With the support of Ansel and others, I took a "break" from the journey.
I must interject at this point, that when I left Bellingham for Tennessee that November, I had met Frank and Kristen only twice. Kristen and I had become close through phone calls and emails, but to me, at this time, they were still "Ansel's parents."
Hindsight is 20/20, and I know now that the "break" from the journey wasn't a break at all. It was part of the journey. At home I evaluated why I left in the first place, what I had hoped to gain, how God fit into my plans (Yes, I see the error in that line of thinking), and what I had to lose. I also broke communication with most people I knew in Washington in order to clear my head. This "break" also included a break-up.
Kristen and Frank, with Ansel's acceptance of the idea, opened their home to me so that I could come back to Washington with a roof over my head while I tried to get on my feet. Ansel and I had parted ways, but he believed that I could make it with the guidance of some mentors- in particular his mother.
Certain (something that one can never really be), I came back to Washington, not ready to give up on the journey. Wanting to see myself in Seattle living the city life- going to Mariners games, watching Seahawks football (GO HAWKS!), donning my rain jacket with pride, and becoming cooly sarcastic and fashionable- I spent countless hours on my little Mac computer to send countless resumes to non-profits, marketing firms, communication departments, cafes, and any other establishment that I thought would give me a paycheck for my talents. Eventually, I found work, but that is another chapter entirely.
Frank was out of work when I arrived in Washington, and he had been since November. It's amazing to me that at such a time of uncertainty in their household Frank and Kristen let me in. They were a God-send in my life at that time, and they proved their faith by taking in a girl they hardly knew. Their sacrifice was a challenge to me, for who I wanted to be- the kind of person who gives fully of themselves when someone is in need.
Frank wasn't worried about work. He had a peace in knowing that God would provide. Money was tight, for sure, but he wasn't worried. He took life one day at a time, sometimes not making the most of that time, but still- he just went on living. His hands weren't shaking, and he hadn't lost his appetite(which is the state I easily fall into when times are rough). He prayed, and he lived.
Frank moved from Baltimore to Seattle with a friend when he was around my age, and from what I can tell, he was pretty adventurous and care-free. He moved without a job and without knowing where he would live. (Kindred spirits, we are.) Now, he's married to Kristen, an amazing woman, with three (almost) grown boys and a job with the largest technology company in the country. He had his wild days I'm sure, and there were bumps in the road without a doubt, but his life worked out beautifully. For him, it was worthwhile to leave everything behind in the pursuit of life.
I don't believe there isn't one right path. I don't say this in general, and it doesn't apply to every argument. For example, I believe there is one path to eternal salvation for my soul. No two paths look exactly the same, but in their essentials, yes they are the same path. I believe in one God, one Savior, and an ultimate Truth. I'm a college-educated Southern girl with a degree in English, which means that my understandings of philosophical and spiritual truths are a mixed bag of traditionalism and enlightenment.
Yes, God has a Will, but I don't dare suggest that I can ever fully know it. He draws me close to him, close enough to feel the beating of his heart sometimes, and then I am close enough to hear what his heart might be saying. I believe there are times that my head is resting on his chest, and it is at those moments that my path seems most clear. However, to hold a God that I can understand, to trust in a God whose plans are always decipherable, is not a God that is bigger than I am. I don't presume to always know if the path I am on is the one He would have chosen for me- but then again, He chose not to choose my path when He gave humanity the gift of free will. Whatever path I am on, I'm not alone. I know that He loves me. Of that I am certain- it's the one thing about which I will claim to be sure.
Kristen taught me and guided me in listening to the Spirit, and Frank taught me and guided me in the letting go of rigidity. Frank taught me that life isn't black and white. It's not either/or- it's both/and. God might not have an either/or path for my life. Either I go out and learn some life lessons, exploring the great unknowns or I stay home where I'm rooted, without exploration of growth. No. It's both/and. I will learn life lessons and explore the great unknowns and be rooted. I will bloom in a both/and world.
God isn't either/or.
He's not both/and.
God is.
All the categories and the putting of my life into boxes isn't what this is about. If Jesus truly is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, then "most things worthwhile in [Jesus] are difficult."
This is true. Thanks, Frank.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Daffodils (Narcissus pseudonarcissus L.)
Home.
There are some people who can make it anywhere. I think I could be one of those people, but just because I can doesn't mean that I should want to.
My time hasn't been wasted. I've worked hard, and I've accomplished some things. I've had a good look at myself, and I've been faced with the reality that I can't always have what I want. It's been an eventful year. This time last year I had just accepted a job in Bellingham and was anxious to come visit at the end of May . By July I had moved out here, ready to begin a new adventure. What I didn't realize is that the adventure is within myself. It's not to be found out West.
Yes, location plays a role in an adventure, for sure. I have no regrets in coming back to Washington in January to give it a second chance. Washington has provided a retreat, a quietness, a place to dream big. But you know what I dream about? Having people in my life- not a job, not a place, but people that I care about. What good is a job or a city that has everything you could ever want if you're alone?
The answer is different for everyone. I'm not claiming to have it all figured out. I'm not claiming that I've found the secret to living well. I have a friend who spent the past 4 months on the other side of the world by herself. She made friends of course, but she went alone. I really connected with that- but she and I are not the same person, and we didn't have the same experience. Is she braver than me? Maybe so. But my life is my own, and I can't live in on someone else's standards.
Yes, I want to be successful. I want to be able to take care of myself, but I also don't want to be alone.
I love Chattanooga. Maybe someday I'll end up in Nashville or some other place in the south, but for now I think Chattanooga is where I'll be. It's the kind of soil I bloom in, and I don't want to wither anymore. I need TN sunshine. I've learned that although I have an adventurous spirit, I'm not suited to leave the South alone and on my own. Nashville, where I have friends, maybe. But not somewhere alone again. It sounded poetic and exciting- it's lonely and not as glamorous as I imagined.
"When visiting Tennessee in the spring it is hard to miss the daffodils blooming. They are everywhere, along roadsides, in the woods and scattered throughout fields. It is little wonder that these cheerful plants are used extensively in home gardens. Preferring well-drained soil and plenty of sunshine, daffodils are a top choice for Tennessee gardeners."
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Jesus, the Bachelor, and Cliff Lee
Am I really writing this? Oh, I am.
I've been waiting on this job- this perfect-in-almost-every-way job, but it's in Silverdale. This small geographic discrepancy in where I am currently shouldn't seem like a big deal; however, I LOVE Seattle and really want to live close enough to it that I don't have to take a ferry. I mean come on, the Mariners just got a new pitcher (Lee) who is very cute and only 31 and how am I supposed to be at the games if it takes me an hour and a half to get there?! Am I a sports fan? No. (Well, in Washington I am.) But the point is that I love the city and all the Seattle-ness of it. Silverdale has the navy and retirees. I want city life, big city life. So I'm wrestling with this desire to be where I will be happy and the desire to be where I'm "supposed" to be. It's in God's hands.
I've been looking for a car. A cheap car. A good car. A pretty car. And I can't be pleased because I'm picky and without much funding. Ugh. I can hear my parents' voices in the background...
I've also been watching The Bachelor, thinking about love, and contemplating Jesus. Yes, I've been thinking about how the Bachelor, Jake or whoever he's been in the past, is or is not like Jesus. I don't know that I want to go into all of it here, but this is my line of thinking...
Personal, simultaneous relationships with multiple women. Savior, redeemer, friend, lover. The One. Will you accept this rose? Making the cut. He likes the blondes. He can fly (Jake is a pilot). Again, personal, simultaneous relationships with multiple people... I know this is weird. Am I drawn to the Bachelor because I see Jesus in this, albeit a pretty twisted and skewed version? Maybe it's just the idea of redeeming love that is resonating with me. I don't know where this is going, but maybe someone will read this and say "Wow, my thoughts don't make any sense either sometimes. I'm glad there is someone just as quirky out there blogging."
And props to my dear friend Jessica who is blogging about her Southeast Asian adventure: This Trail Needs No Blazing. It's much more interesting than this.
I've been waiting on this job- this perfect-in-almost-every-way job, but it's in Silverdale. This small geographic discrepancy in where I am currently shouldn't seem like a big deal; however, I LOVE Seattle and really want to live close enough to it that I don't have to take a ferry. I mean come on, the Mariners just got a new pitcher (Lee) who is very cute and only 31 and how am I supposed to be at the games if it takes me an hour and a half to get there?! Am I a sports fan? No. (Well, in Washington I am.) But the point is that I love the city and all the Seattle-ness of it. Silverdale has the navy and retirees. I want city life, big city life. So I'm wrestling with this desire to be where I will be happy and the desire to be where I'm "supposed" to be. It's in God's hands.I've been looking for a car. A cheap car. A good car. A pretty car. And I can't be pleased because I'm picky and without much funding. Ugh. I can hear my parents' voices in the background...
I've also been watching The Bachelor, thinking about love, and contemplating Jesus. Yes, I've been thinking about how the Bachelor, Jake or whoever he's been in the past, is or is not like Jesus. I don't know that I want to go into all of it here, but this is my line of thinking...
Personal, simultaneous relationships with multiple women. Savior, redeemer, friend, lover. The One. Will you accept this rose? Making the cut. He likes the blondes. He can fly (Jake is a pilot). Again, personal, simultaneous relationships with multiple people... I know this is weird. Am I drawn to the Bachelor because I see Jesus in this, albeit a pretty twisted and skewed version? Maybe it's just the idea of redeeming love that is resonating with me. I don't know where this is going, but maybe someone will read this and say "Wow, my thoughts don't make any sense either sometimes. I'm glad there is someone just as quirky out there blogging."And props to my dear friend Jessica who is blogging about her Southeast Asian adventure: This Trail Needs No Blazing. It's much more interesting than this.
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