NowNotYet

I've moved!!

2011-02-09T07:52:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone,
I've moved my blog. Please meet me here:

www.karenbeattie.net

Come on over!!!!

Karen

Another Christmas down....

2011-01-20T10:57:00.000-08:00

My family doesn't have much luck when it comes to Christmas. To us, it's When Bad Things Happen.

It all started even before I was born. My father's mother, my grandma Mable, died of cancer in early January, 1964, right after Christmas. It was 5 months before I was born. I don't remember her, of course, but I know the stories, and I have the quilt that my great aunt made for her while she was sick.

Despite her death around the holidays, my childhood Christmases were full of joy and gifts and anticipation. No problem there. But then Christmas took a turn for the worse again in 1997. My other grandmother, Edna Wistrom died on December 23, 1997. And then my mother died suddenly, unexpectedly, tragically, exactly three years later, on December 23, 2010.

I always get a little depressed right before the holidays. This year was no exception. I fight it. I try to fill the season with activity, parties, gift-giving, and advent readings to help me keep my mind focused on what it's really about: waiting for Christ. But this year I felt like I was losing the fight. I was too lazy to put up a Christmas tree, although I did pick up some cheap greens from Trader Joe's for the mantle. A lonely stocking hung from our mantle. It was a stocking David's grandmother knit for him when he was young. I had stuck it in a trunk in the living room after his sister-in-law sent it to us a few month ago, so it was easy to pull out. I was too lazy to dig through boxes in our storage room to find my stocking. I barely listened to any Christmas music.

I'm not sure why the season pulls me into the dark depths of depression. I suppose the anniversary of my mom's death, and my grandmothers' deaths has something to do with it. And a reminder that here David and I are, a year older, and still waiting for our adopted child to appear on our doorstep. Christmas is a bummer without kids around. And the fact that our family -- my siblings and nieces and nephews -- are all scattered, so it's hard for us to get together for the holiday. And David's parents are both in a nursing home.

But I think the reality, is, many people experience the same thing around Christmas. Our culture has created a picture of Christmas: A beautiful, complete, healthy family gathered around the Christmas tree opening gifts on Christmas morning. Fireplace roaring. Cinnamon rolls in the oven. You get the idea. Maybe that was your experience of Christmas this year. It has been mine in the past. But even those perfect pictures typically aren't so perfect. Let's all face it: Life is so not picture-perfect most of the time, as hard as we strive to make it that way.

I have fond memories of childhood Christmases, spent with family and cousins and visits to aunts and uncles and grandparents. Of opening gifts and being thrilled with a new toy or piece of clothing. Of finding fun items in my stocking. Of a traditional Swedish Christmas Eve meal with my grandparents and cousins. We'd read the Christmas story, and we'd celebrate Christ's birth. But of course, when you're young, it's all about the gifts....

But these days, I'd really prefer to just skip over Christmas completely. I wouldn't mind if I could just fast-forward from Thanksgiving to January 1.

I am not a child anymore. And the reality of life, and how imperfect it really is, has caught up with me.

It seemed like a cruel joke when I got a call at 5:00 a.m. on Christmas Day from my brother, telling me that dad was in the ICU with a dissected aorta. A very serious condition that was life-threatening. Seriously? 10 years almost to the day of my mother's death? My dad is in the ICU?

David and I were in Springfield, Missouri, on our way to Dallas to visit his parents. We immediately packed up our things, checked out of the hotel, and drove north to Iowa.

We didn't know if my dad would make it. The doctors offered a grim prognosis. David and I drove up I-35 silently, looking out at the frozen corn fields, slowing down when the roads were icy, jumping every time my cell phone rang with more news.

When we arrived at the hospital, my dad was still alive. In fact, the prognosis seemed a little better. The dissection was in the descending part of the aorta -- not the ascending. Apparently, that was good. But, still, things seemed touch-and-go for a few days. Would he have to have surgery? If so, there was a chance he wouldn't make it. The doctors gave us vague answers to our questions. They just didn't know what would happen. So we waited.

The ICU waiting room was well-designed, with pullout couches that allowed for a fairly good night's sleep. Families claimed corners and groups of couches as they waited. The waiting room was two stories. We had a corner on the first floor, in the back, where the TV was. But we didn't watch much TV. Instead, we talked, went into the room to visit dad, greeted numerous friends and extended family that stopped by, and tried not to worry. Mostly, we just waited.

It's exhausting to wait. Days blur into each other. Day's turn into nights. I slept on the pull-out couch for three nights, being woken periodically by frantic families sobbing at some tragic news coming from the ICU. A few times each night, I would wake up, and go upstairs to Dad's room to check on him. I wanted to make sure he was still breathing. I wanted to make sure the lines on his heart monitor were still making even mountains and valleys.

I remember when we were small dad would come into our rooms and put his hands on our backs to make sure we were still breathing. Now the tables were turned.

As we waited, it occurred to me that Advent is all about waiting, too. Waiting for the birth of Christ. For Christ to break into our crazy, chaotic, often mundane or painful lives, to help us catch glimpses of the kingdom.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about how to balance the pain and suffering, with the good and the joy. How do the two co-exist? For a long time, I used to think it was all or nothing -- either things were really bad and therefore proof that God DID NOT LOVE ME. My mother dies suddenly -- I FEEL CHEATED. My father is in the ICU on Christmas Day -- WHERE IS MY PICTURE-PERFECT CHRISTMAS? Or, things were really good, and I felt loved. A publisher is interested in my writing -- GOD IS SO GOOD! Or we passed the financial portion of our adoption homestudy -- PROOF THAT GOD LOVES ME.

Good or Bad. Suffering or Joy. Nothing in between.

But lately I've been trying to reconcile the two. Figuring out how they co-exist in my life. Not letting the bad things totally overshadow the good. Or the good let me whitewash the bad. Realizing that often they are two sides of the same coin -- suffering offers a new perspective. Pain allows for unexpected growth. Death brings new life.

I spent hours in that waiting room -- waiting for news, waiting for doctors, waiting for my dad to turn a corner, waiting for sisters to come to relieve my night-watch, and as I sat by my dad's bedside, watching the monitors, worrying at his labored breathing, or his low blood oxygen level, I realized that it wasn't overwhelming me. Unlike when my mother died 10 years ago, when my whole world turned upside down, I had an inner calm that whispered, "God is still good." "Something holy is happening here. Open your eyes, you will see it."

Even though I was scared shitless that my father could die, I had peace.

And then I realized that maybe I had experienced a profound kind of Advent after all. Not the picture-perfect family around the fireplace kind of Christmas. But an Advent filled with excruciating waiting. And then a deep realization that Christ had already arrived in the midst of the chaos.

I wanna be like Mattie Ross

2011-01-16T06:14:00.000-08:00

To tell you the truth, before this past year I never understood what was so great about movies made by the Coen brothers. Fargo? Too violent. The Big Lebowski? Meh. Burn After Reading? Silly. I haven't even seen No Country for Old Men. (Although now I'd like to see it. And I may give the Big Lebowski another try, since I'm in love with Jeff Bridges.)

But then I saw A Serious Man. Maybe it was the subject matter. Maybe the timing was right, since I heard the movie was based on the book of Job, and I feel like my life has been somewhat Job-like in the past few years, with a series of unfortunate events.

If you haven't seen the movie, it’s about a character named Larry Grobnick. Larry is down on his luck. His life is crumbling around him. His wife is divorcing him, his teaching career is threatened by a disgruntled student, and his children are spoiled and whiny. But he’s been a serious man. He’s done everything right. So why are these things happening to him?

He asks his rabbis – but they have no answers.

Many people I know, including myself, feel like Larry. We do everything right. But we end up feeling like Hashem (a Jewish word for God), doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain. Hashem doesn’t reward us for our hard work.

Larry’s brother, Arthur, is also questioning God. He has a boil on his neck that he spends hours in the bathroom trying to drain. He’s not married, is unemployed, and apparently, is homeless, because he’s sleeping on his brother, Larry’s, sofa. He’s socially awkward, and in trouble with the law.

He complains to his brother about Hashem. “Hashem hasn’t given me s**t!” he sobs to Arthur one night, when he’s at his wits end. Larry tries to comfort him by saying, “You know, sometimes we have to help ourselves,” but his comfort and advice seems empty because Larry feels abandoned by God, too. All they can do in the end is embrace one another and sob.

Larry and Arthur are looking for answers. They’ve grown up in a religious environment where they expected things to be black and white. But when the uncertainty and unfairness of life creep in, their spiritual world-view begins to fall apart.

I love the fact that the movie offers no easy answers. In the end, none of Larry’s rabbi’s can give him comfort. The movie ends with even more questions.

In contrast, Mattie Ross, the main character in True Grit, has a faith that never waivers. Her father is murdered. And she knows no one will seek justice for the murder unless she does it herself. In her voice-over in the beginning of the movie, she says, “You must pay for everything in this world one way and another. There is nothing free with the exception of God’s grace.”

In Stanley Fish's Opinion article about True Grit in the New York Times, he writes:

"These two sentences suggest a world in which everything comes around, if not sooner then later. The accounting is strict; nothing is free, except the grace of God. But free can bear two readings — distributed freely, just come and pick it up; or distributed in a way that exhibits no discernible pattern. In one reading grace is given to anyone and everyone; in the other it is given only to those whom God chooses for reasons that remain mysterious.

"A third sentence, left out of the film but implied by its dramaturgy, tells us that the latter reading is the right one: “You cannot earn that [grace] or deserve it.” In short, there is no relationship between the bestowing or withholding of grace and the actions of those to whom it is either accorded or denied. You can’t add up a person’s deeds — so many good one and so many bad ones — and on the basis of the column totals put him on the grace-receiving side (you can’t earn it); and you can’t reason from what happens to someone to how he stands in God’s eyes (you can’t deserve it)."

In the movie, Mattie plows forward, seeking justice and her belief in God and grace. The only problem is that grace, once again, isn’t bestowed by heroics or “being good.” Bad things happened to Mattie along the way. And at the same time, “Lucky” Ned Peppers and her father’s murderer, Tom Chaney, keep getting away, experiencing lucky breaks. It brings to mind the psalmist’s lament, “Why do the wicked prosper?”

Mattie falls into a snake pit. She almost dies. It seems like all of the grace is being bestowed upon the bad guys. Grace seems random. Or, as Mattie says at the beginning of the film, “free.”

Yet Mattie’s faith never waivers. In the background, throughout the movie, we hear the melody of the old hymn, “Leaning on the everlasting arms.”

I used to look down my nose at people like Mattie. So sure. So black and white. Never questioning. I thought they were small-minded and naive. I tend to be more like Arthur and Larry. Always questioning. Thoughtful. But the result, at times, is that my faith is tossed around by each wave of circumstances and unfortunate event: Wondering where God is when I’m going through something difficult. Wondering why seemingly less deserving people prosper, while I struggle to keep my head above water. I bought into the idea that I had to do everything right to receive God's grace. I want everything to make sense.

I’m a Larry. But I want to be a Mattie. After spending years questioning, and living in the gray, I think there’s something to be said about simple, unwaivering, unquestioning faith. A faith that believes God is good and will have the last say, no matter what horrible thing is going on in my life at the moment. A faith that is so strong that even as I’m sitting in the ICU waiting room on Christmas Day, wondering if my father is going to die, I still believe God is good.

I admire Larry and Arthur. There is a time for questioning. A time for wondering about God’s goodness and what it all means.

But as I start a new year, I’m going to strive to be like Mattie Ross. That spunky, so-sure-of-herself 14-year-old girl, with the type of faith I admire, and who inspires me to start “Leaning on the everlasting arms.”

Keeping watch

2011-01-04T04:58:00.000-08:00

I creep into the
Hospital room
Wires dangling
From his bruised arms
Machines beeping,
Numbers on the screen
Tell where he resides –
This world?
The next?
Life.
Fragile at beginning and end
We watch
And wait
Monitors blinking
Lines making steep mountains and valleys
In the delicate balance
Between the now and not yet
Tonight,
They reassure me
Blood still courses through his heart…
This heart
So filled
With love
It bursts

Oh love that will not let me go.

2010-12-08T09:14:00.001-08:00

Oh love that will not let me go,
You were there
On my first birthday
A cake in Ann’s hands.
Amy’s arm around my high-chair
Sara’s smile, beaming at me.
My mother, standing behind
Like a hen gathering her chicks
Happy at my birth.
It’s not how I remember
Those lonely years
But now I know
You were like a ghost,
Hidden in their faces
I see you now
There.
In the song I sang in the sanctuary
Surrounded by voices praising you
That sweet choir echoing off
The stained glass and Easter-egg walls
Oh love that will not let me go.
You were there
My friend,
Arms around me
Holding my bones together
When we put my mother, her wax
Hands folded over her breast
Into the cold January ground
And you were there
When the ultrasound
Loudly announced the
Silence of the tiny heart
No longer beating
O love that will not let me go
I didn’t know it
Because you hid
Or I was blind
I screamed at you
I shook my fist
Ghost-God
You love to hide
But I have searched
And found
You.
Hidden in all of these things
Oh love, that will not let me go.
Now I know
You were there
All along.

Another poem...

2010-11-12T13:29:00.000-08:00

Channeling Carl Sandburg

City of big shoulders
You seduced me
With your strong, steel towers
And crystal lakefront
Shimmering rectangle windows reflecting
The sunset — orange, pink, blue
Sinking across the prairie sea
So far from here, and silent
I look at your impenetrable façade
From my car on Lake Shore Drive
Oh, what twists and turns of my
Life came to this moment, in
This place.
Your Meis van der Rohe buildings
Stare at me. Cold. Absent.
You have taken so much.

I wonder
What it all means.
Why I decided this and not that
How I came here and not there
You are a part of me now
Your creaking, putrid El trains and
Homeless beggars
Your elbowing executives
Your insecure Lincoln Park girls in high heels
Your North Shore entitlement and
Desperate drug dealers on my corner
Your noise and chaos
And heat and sorrow
And struggles and concrete
Energy and beauty
Have sunk deep into my bones
I think often of leaving you

But iron sharpens iron
You have made me what I am
Thank you. I hate you
I’m addicted to you. I want to leave you
You are a part of me
Your tentacles are woven into every part of me
I cannot get free of you
My dysfunctional lover
You are my home.

desire

2010-11-05T05:41:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time
Since I saw myself
Clearly in the reflection of
The fountain, my face found
Among the copper pennies
Wishes tossed.
Hope.
Desire.
How many came true? And how many
Strewn, like dead leaves in Fall
At the bottom
My face, distorted. Tired.
I carry with me
A heart full of pennies.

Bright Star

2010-03-01T14:28:00.000-08:00

David, my niece Claire, and I watched "Bright Star" over the weekend. Beautiful movie about poet John Keats and his three-year relationship with Fanny Brawne. Heart. Wrenching. Made me want to go back and re-read all of my Romantic poetry texts from college.

Anyway, I highly recommend the movie...

Here's the actor Ben Whishaw reading "Ode to a Nightingale"

Ode to a Nightingale

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,
That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South!
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stainèd mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs;
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

Looking for Abundance

2010-02-14T05:09:00.001-08:00

We went to St. Thomas a few weeks ago. After our year of layoffs, financial disaster, and crisis, anxiety, the trip was like a long, cool drink of water after being in the desert for 9 months.

I felt guilty going. I added up all of the money we’d be out because we weren’t working during that week. Plus, even though we were staying with friends, who were also paying for half of our airfare, I still wondered whether or not we should be spending any money on leisure, since we still have some debt to pay off.

At the same time, we were exhausted. Burned out from scrambling to come up with money, with looking for work, for not blaming each other and trying to keep our marriage from derailing, like many marriages do in the midst of financial crisis. I was tired of trying to keep it all together. Of worrying about money. About beating myself up that we were even in this situation.

For six months, I've had a great gig at an agency. David has been working three part-time jobs. We're paying down chunks of debt. We have a little breathing room, even though we still don't feel totally secure. But I'm coming to the conclusion that maybe we’ll never feel totally secure, and that's okay.

So, in a moment of weakness, when David announced that he had found cheap flights to Puerto Rico, and that we could fly free from Puerto Rico to St. Thomas and then stay with friends while there, I told him to book the flights.

As the date for our vacation drew nearer, and I started adding up in my head how much more money I could make if I worked that week, I started feeling more and more ambivalent about our vacation.

Should we take time off work? What would other people think, knowing we were recently unemployed and now we're jetting off to St. Thomas?

I talked to my dad the night before we left, and told him how I was feeling.

“Oh, you’re just like me” he said. “Remember, we never took vacations. It was work, work work.”

“Just go and have fun!” my dad said.

So we did.

I embraced what I considered a gift, thankful that David and I were able to go on a trip. A trip that we couldn’t afford without generous friends.

Abundance.

I've always had trouble with that concept. For me, I think I've lived out of a place of depravation -- always seeing what I don't have, and concluding that I don't deserve good things. I could spend years in the therapist's office trying to figure out why. But in the meantime, I'm discovering that abundance isn't about how much you do or don't have, but a way of seeing, and knowing what to look for.

I'm discovering that I tend to miss the true abundance in my life because I'm looking for it in all the wrong places. I moan because I don't have a big house, or a child, or enough free time to write. But in the meantime, I'm missing what's there. Abundance may come in smaller packages. In the breakfast my husband cooks for me, or the job filled with nice people and challenging work that helps me pay the mortgage. The girlfriends who call me for coffee, and evenings curled up with my cat by the fireplace.

When I really think about it, my life is overflowing with abundance.

The night we arrived on St. Thomas, our friends took us out for dinner. Then David and I collapsed in bed after a long day of travel, and after a long year of financial stress. I felt my body melt into the bed, and into my husbands body as I curled up next to him. I heard the tree frogs chirping outside, and the faint sound of the ocean waves. A warm sea breeze gently blew through the windows.

"We’re in paradise." I said. “Huh?” David grunted, as he was drifting off to sleep.

“We’re in paradise” I said again. But by then he was out, and I was left to my thoughts.

Maybe this coming year will bring more abundance. I will look for it. And for grace, in the small things. Maybe it will be in a child joining our family. If not, then maybe grace will take another form.

I've already seen how the past year has brought good things. David and I have grown closer because we have weathered the storm together. We have grown closer to family and friends, because we were forced to be vulnerable about our struggles. Our priorities were shocked into the proper order.

During the next year, I have faith that God will give me more than I could ever ask or think.... and I vow to keep my eyes open to see it.

Things of Beauty

2010-01-16T08:42:00.000-08:00

Fyodor Dostoevsky once said "Beauty can Save the World."

I know in some ways it saved me during this past year. I'm relieved 2009 is over. I'm sure many people feel like that. Layoffs, financial disaster, unemployment, foreclosures. We were in the midst of that. In the middle of my months-long unemployment (even though I now have a long-term contract position, I don't yet have a fulltime job. But I thank God daily for work.), I had to literally live day-to-day: "Today we have enough to eat. Today we still have a home. Today was have warm clothes." Every time I looked a few months down the road, I would panic, wondering if our money would run out, or how long the unemployment would last.

Our struggles pale in comparison to the suffering I see in Haiti today. We're not wandering the streets looking for loved ones who are trapped in collapsed buildings. We're not wondering whether the Red Cross will deliver enough water. We're not stepping over dead bodies in the streets. I can't imagine....

Yet, in the context of my comparably comfortable world, I don't want to discount our pain. I can acknowledge it while knowing some people have far worse suffering. It is still difficult to wonder what the future will bring. Whether or not we will ever adopt a child, whether or not we will have regular work. To possibly let some dreams die.

At night, during this past year, I would crawl into bed and read. It's my favorite time of the day. The day is done. Work is done. Now I get to read beautiful words.

Kathleen Norris, one of my favorite authors, at one point in her life replaced religion for poetry. The beauty of the words and ideas were enough transcendence for her. Faith in poetry was the only faith she needed. While she ended up going back to church and finding God again, I can relate to her feelings.

Not all books are transcendent. But a few I read this year have been. And not just books. Art, architecture, relationships. When things seem especially difficult, the beauty in this world, in contrast, stands out in relief, as if to say, "Hey, look over here! Don't miss this!"

So here's my list of Things of Beauty 2009:

Elizabeth Strout, author "Olive Kitteridge" (winner of Pulitzer Prize)

Olive Kitteridge is one of the best books I've read in years. Olive Kitteridge is a collection of short stories held together by the character of Olive Kitteridge who appears in most of them. The second chapter, "Incoming Tide" as a stand-alone short story rates up there with the best of Flannery O'Connor, in my humble opinion.

Richard Rohr, another author I discovered this year. In the midst of my layoff, his book "Everything Belongs" helped me to make sense of it. He writes:

"In God's reign, everything belongs, even the broken and poor parts."

And:

"We are at a symbolic disadvantage as a wealthy culture. Jesus said that the rich man or woman will find it hard to understand what he is talking about. The rich can satisfy their loneliness and longing in false ways, in quick fixes that avoid the necessary learning. In terms of soul work, we dare not get rid of the pain before we have learned what it has to teach us. That's why the poor have a head start. They can't resort to an instant fix to any problem: aspirin, a trip, or some entertainment. They remain empty whether they want to or not."

The Modern Wing at the Art Institute. Thank you, Renzo Piano.

Sailing on Lake Michigan on a gorgeous fall afternoon.

Kitka: Sanctuary, a Cathedral Concert. I sing in an all-women's Nordic Choir. My friend, Nell, from the choir, introduced me to the music of Kitka. Thanks Nell!

My niece's wedding. She lived in an orphanage in China until she was 8. Now she has a college degree and a wonderful husband. Her life is a beautiful story.

Our "Open Mic" Christmas Eve. My talented nephews read poetry, played the violin, guitar, piano, to give us a glimpse of beauty on the night we celebrated Christ's birth.

Songs in Haiti. I heard a news report about how the night after the earthquake, as people were on the streets, their homes destroyed, the Haitians started singing, and their songs continued through the night. Out of ashes comes beauty. Or, as the poet Rumi writes, "Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure."

My prayer is that the people of Haiti will find beauty and treasure in the midst of ruin. And that in some small way, it will save them.

Welcome to 2010

2010-01-14T08:15:00.000-08:00

My poor, poor Blog. I have left it neglected and abandoned. And in the neglect of my blog, I feel I have let a little bit of my voice has died.

I must admit, I started having a love/hate relationship with blogging. After doing it for 4 years, I felt a little burned out, like the well had dried up, and I didn't know why I was doing it anymore. I think in this era of "social networking" and blogging, we (or I) often feel like I'm not significant or maybe I don't even exist if I'm not being heard in the cyber-world. So, I think I was rebelling against that feeling, and I sub-consciously thought, "what would happen if I just stopped it all? Would people still like me? Would I spend more time doing things that seem more significant? Would I still exist?"

Well, I'm still here. Now that I've proven that I can exist without blogging, I'm yearning to get back to it. I think it's a natural desire to be heard. To tell stories. We all do this in different ways. And as a writer, I guess one way I can do that is to keep blogging.

I miss that connection I have with my handful of readers. I miss the small opportunity to express myself and tell my story. I miss writing something other than website copy. I guess I just miss this outlet.

So I've decided to start blogging again, and see what happens.

So here's to 2010. David and I are both working again. Compared to a year ago, we are very thankful. But if it's one thing I've learned in the past year, it's that "security" is a very slippery thing. Jobs come and go. Bank accounts can be depleted in an instant. Things that we tend to count on -- like a good economy, a stable government, always being able to find work -- we have discovered we can't really rely on. But when all else is crumbling around me, my faith grows. My perspective clears. My priorities get re-aligned.

2009 was hard, but I'm grateful for the way my soul has expanded. Part of me wants 2010 to be easier and more comfortable, with more financial success and less trauma. But what will I miss out on if that happens?

Theology of Surprises

2009-06-29T09:33:00.000-07:00

Many of you have read my posts about my growing obsession with my Beloved Community from Old St. Pats. Love these people.

Anyway, I attended a dinner last night and Terry-Nelson Johnson, the spiritual formation guy at Old St Pats spoke about the Theology of Surprise.

Basically, in a nutshell, it's what happens when you say to yourself, "This is NOT what I expected!"

That's what I say about my life pretty much every day. This is not what I expected.

But just when life is not what you expect is when God can surprise you. Good things can happen. Just not what you expect.

And surprised are often difficult, but full of grace.

Like a job loss. Not what I expected. But filled with good things like getting to spend more time with my husband. Feeling like I can finally follow some of my dreams because, really, I have nothing more to lose. Finally getting out from under the 9-5 cubicle grind.

So are we open to these surprises?

Often, I must admit, I am not. I want security. I want to know the rest of the story. I want predictability.

I must discipline myself to be open to surprise. To let go of my illusion of control (because, really, it IS just an illusion), and the arrogance that I've "been there, done that."

I want to be open to living differently. To taking the side route. Not letting the feeling that "all surprises have passed me by" become reality.

There's new life coming....there's new possibility....something new can happen if we are only available, vulnerable, open, and humble.

God joins us in our chaos. He's with us in the surprises that are difficult but full of grace.

Amen.

What's going on?

2009-06-19T08:07:00.001-07:00

Looking at my number of blog posts for the past few months, I'm averaging about one a month. That's pathetic! I'm not sure why I'm not posting more. I guess it's because I think no one will want to hear about my rants about my lack of work, our lack of money, or this stinking economy.

It's a scary time, people....I don't know if anyone else is feeling it like we are, but it's frightening to think that we don't know what the future holds. I've always had the feeling that if I lost my job, or the freelance work wasn't coming in, I'd be able to make it by temping or working at Starbucks. But with so many people out of work, even those jobs are hard to come by.

But we are thankful for the little work that we do have. David is freelancing, and working part time at a counseling practice (although it will be a while before he builds up his client base...), and I just landed a website project that will keep me busy for a few weeks.

Every day I see things that make me grateful for what David and I have: A roof over our heads. Food. The work that is trickling in. We have friends and family and each other.

In Chicago, we always see homeless people begging at intersections. They wait for the light to turn red, and then they walk in between the two rows of stopped cars with a cardboard sign that reads "Homeless and hungry, please help" or something like that. Most of the time you see the same people at the same intersections. It's hard to know what to do. Once, I was eating a sandwich in my car and one of these beggars looked into my car longingly. I handed him the untouched half of my sandwich, and he stuffed it into his mouth. Other times, I give money. And sometimes, I just look away and pretend not to notice them outside my car window. It's hard -- I've heard that you're never supposed to give homeless people cash because they may spend it on drugs or alcohol.

I've noticed lately that different sorts of people are begging at these intersections. They're not the typical homeless men with dirt-caked jeans and mismatched shoes, who feign a limp to elicit sympathy. The other day I saw a 30-ish middle-eastern woman who was holding a picture of her three children. She was clean and had a desperate look on her face. I had no money with me, otherwise I would have give her the entire contents of my wallet.

At least we have food. And while I'm frustrated that our adoption is on hold until we find steady work, in some ways I'm grateful we don't have three children to feed.

When you feel uncertain about the future, it forces you to focus on today. On this moment. I will go crazy if I think months down the road. I'm just living day to day, and as scripture says:

"For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?"

I've always been a worrier. And there are times when I still wake up in the middle of the night and think of all of the Worst Case Scenarios: What if we don't find steady work? What will happen if we run out of money? What if the economy doesn't turn around soon?

But slowly, I'm learning to let go of that worry and just focus on today. And maybe that's the lesson I'm supposed to learn through all of this.....

More graduations!

2009-06-06T07:16:00.001-07:00

Last weekend I attended my niece, Claire's high school graduation. She was valevictorian of her class. As you can tell, she didn't get her smarts from her aunt Karen, seeing as I don't even know how to spell "valevictorian." I think there's a "d" in there somewhere.....

She wrote a lovely, very mature speech that had to do with not judging people on how they seem on the outside, and that it's never too late to pursue your dreams. I hope she remembers it when she's my age. I hope I can remember it as I sit in front of my computer screen and wonder if I'll ever eeeek out a well-written novel.

I saw her writing notes on the backs of her graduation photos to give to her friends, and remember doing the same thing. These gorgeous and talented young men and women who are her friends have their whole lives ahead of them. College! Oh, what a fun and special time when your whole world is opened up. I remember leaving a philosophy class one day feelings like I was on drugs -- the euphoria was that great. And leaving chapel after hearing an inspired speaker and feeling like I could change the world.

Now, 20-some odd years later, after reality has smacked me in the face more than once, I still have those feelings once in a while. I wish I had them more often. But that doesn't mean that life isn't fulfilling and beautiful and adventurous. It's just that it looks a little different than it did on the college campus when I was wearing Izod polo shirts, a plaid skirt, knee socks and loafers (okay, it was the preppy era). Growing up means realizing you have more limitations than you think you have, and you discover that you may not be able to change the world, but you can change your small little part of it. And maybe you're not going to be a famous novelist, but the small things you write will maybe speak into the life of one person. And that's enough.

You also discover that maybe God needs to change you before you can change the world. You need to learn how to love better, and give better, and be more kind and less self-centered.

These are not easy lessons. But opening yourself up to them brings great rewards and fulfillment. And not learning them will lead to a small life of self-absorption and bitterness. Who wants that?

I wish I could tell my nieces and nephews all of the lessons I've learned in the past 20 years. I wish I could spare them the difficulties in life. But they will have to learn their own lessons, in their own ways.

My advice to them is to:

Not let fear keep you from love, or the work you love, or the adventures you want to pursue.

Keep your eyes open for grace. You'll find it in the most unexpected places and times.

Learn how to love unselfishly.

Remember that treasures will be found in the midst of ruin.

Don't live someone else's dream.

The most important thing -- even more than being successful or smart -- is waking up every morning and wondering who you're going to love that day.

Oh, there's so much more. But these are all lessons that will be learned through living your life. So just be open to them.

Oh, and don't forget to keep hoping, even when it seems like there is no hope.

That's the most important one.

Spring = Hope

2009-05-25T10:27:00.001-07:00

I love Spring. It's filled with sighs of relief that we survived winter, and we can once again venture outside and enjoy the weather. Here in Chicago, Lake Michigan lures us with its wide open beaches and sparkling blue water reaching to the horizon. Flowers bloom, skies clear, the sun makes an appearance on more days than not, we go outside without jackets or socks, and we celebrate. We acknowledged my birthday on May 16 (I'm not sure I 'celebrate' birthdays anymore), and in our family, we're celebrating graduations, engagements and new chapters.

My niece, LiJen graduated from Anderson University a few weeks ago. She also got engaged to a really nice boy named Josh who she met in China last summer. We love Josh. He fits right into our family.

Next week I'm flying to Ohio to attend my niece, Claire's high school graduation. She'll be coming to Chicago in the fall to attend Wheaton (yipee!). Her big brother Drew is graduating from Princeton in a few weeks, and then he's on his way to teach in China.

Then, David graduates from Northwestern June 20. (double yipee!). He already has some counseling work lined up, so his new career is off and running. And I just finished my first book the day before my birthday.....

With birthdays, graduations, flowers, blue skies, warm weather, new books and chapters, Spring is most of all about hope. That there is beauty and celebration after the long hard winter. That there is work after layoffs. That one starts down an exciting new career path after the hard work of school. That a beautiful little girl who started her life in an orphanage turns into a gorgeous young woman with a college degree and a terrific fiance.

Like I said: I love Spring.

Process and Procedures!!

2009-03-31T10:47:00.000-07:00

So, I had to visit to the Unemployment Office today. It's a wonderful chance to see the wheels of bureaucracy at work. Inefficiency, incompetence, and waiting. Lots and lots of waiting.

The first time I visited the unemployment office, a few weeks after I was laid off, a short, pock-marked man ordered me to take a number at the door. It was late in the afternoon (rookie mistake), and my number was 264. I sat down in a cold plastic chair. In front of me was a whole row of cubicles designed for unemployment officials to meet with unemployed people like me. Unfortunately, out of 8 available cubicles, only two were occupied with helpful unemployment officials. "They should hire me to help out," i thought. "Heck, I need a job and they need someone to sit in one of those cubicles...."

Soon they called out the next number: "170!" the official yelled. I looked again at my number -- 264 -- and realized it was going to be a long afternoon. I had to wait for 96 people in front of me in line to meet with one of the two officials, one of whom kept taking breaks to go outside and smoke a cigarette. Unfortunately, I hadn't brought anything to read (another rookie mistake), and sat there, for 2 1/2 hours, while I watched the unemployed around me becoming more and more aggravated and desperate. It was actually bizarrely suspenseful -- would they get through all of the numbers before the 5:00 deadline? Would the crowd of frustrated unemployed people stage a revolt if the unemployment official took yet another break to smoke his Camels? Would the woman talking too loudly on her cell phone win her argument with her boyfriend? The drama, the drama....

Finally, at 4:45 a woman emerged from a back office and spoke with one of the unemployment officials. Apparently, she was in charge because suddenly, after a slow-moving afternoon, 15 minutes before closing time, things started to happen. Numbers were called. Extra workers came of of their offices to help out (what were they doing all afternoon?) And Before I knew it, I was being summoned over to talk to someone in one of the back offices. I was out of the unemployment office by 5:00. It was a bureaucratic miracle.

Well, today I had to make another visit because a few days ago I received an ominous letter in the mail saying I might be accused of fraud because I hadn't reported some freelance income a few weeks before. Yikes. I didn't know I was supposed to. My freelancing income was under the amount that would affect my weekly unemployment benefit (you can make up to half of your weekly benefit amount before they start decreasing your unemployment payment -- which means I can make up to $192.50 a week before they start decreasing my payment).

The problem is -- even if I make more freelance income, do I report it the week I actually work, or the week I get a check in the mail? Sometimes, it takes clients a month or more to send me a check.

So this time I went to the unemployment office in the morning (having learned my lesson). My number was 69. When I sat down in the plastic chair, I heard them call out "Number 50!" I was thrilled. I only had to wait for 16 people ahead of me to meet with someone.

Plus, this time, I brought two books, a soy latte, and some notes for a freelance project I'm working on. I was prepared!

Turns out this time I didn't need it, though. Within 15 minutes, I was approached by an official who asked me what I needed. I showed her the ominous letter.

Oh, yes, we've been getting lots of those lately. Here, I'll find someone to help you.

I was seated across the desk from a young lad about 27. He was fresh-faced and eager. But he was still learning the ropes. I told him my dilemma: I didn't know I was supposed to record my income because it was below my alloted amount. He understood. He said it was no problem. I wasn't going to be accused of fraud. Yay!

But then I explained my other dilemma: Often, even though I work during a certain week, I don't get paid until a month later. So I'd prefer to report my earnings the week I actually get my check, so I'm not left without unemployment or a paycheck. He thought that would be fine, he said, but he had to double-check with his boss. He was new, after all.....

So, he went off to talk to his boss. Soon, he returned with his boss, a short woman with permed hair. She was shaking her head. "No, you have to report your income the week you WORK, not the week you get PAID," she said. I started to protest, "But that will leave me weeks where I have no income at all -- no unemployment, no freelance income...."

"Doesn't matter," she said. "Process and procedures. Process and procedures! We have to stick to the process and procedures!"

"But it's not like I'm cheating the government. I'll still report the income -- just a few weeks later than when I actually did the work."

"Nope, then you're running the risk of committing fraud!" she said, "You have to stick to the process and procedures!"

So....David and I may be penniless in coming weeks. All due to PROCESS AND PROCEDURES.

Our wonderful, brilliant government at work....

A little break from job-hunting

2009-03-17T06:33:00.000-07:00

I love Arizona. I've only been there during the winter, though, and my love affair might come to an abrupt end if I vacationed in Phoenix in August when it's two million degrees in the shade. But after an unbearably arctic winter in Chicago, I couldn't
resist a cheap flight to the Valley of the Sun. Mind you, this was a week before I got
laid off. I saw bargain basement prices for flights from Chicago to Phoenix, and I went for it. Since I could crash at my friend Sheri's house, I figured I couldn't beat a short long-weekend vacation with one of my best friends, and also see another good friend, Heather, while I was there.

Then I got laid off. "I can't go." I told David. "We can't afford it!" But I had already paid for the ticket and it was non-refundable. So I could either go for the weekend, or waste a ticket which we had already paid for. Plus, David practically forced me to go. I think he was tired of being around a wife suffering from season affective disorder.

So I went....

A trip to Arizona is more than just a warm-weather vacation for me. It's a chance to see a friend I've known since I was 12. And a chance to reconnect with my good friend, Heather, who was someone I hung out with a lot before she moved South and before I was married.

I hadn't seen her since my wedding, and I missed her.

The first thing I noticed when I landed in Arizona was the sun, of course, and the light. The light is so different there. It's more "yellow" than in Chicago. In Chicago, the sun casts a cool light. In Arizona, it's a warmer color. Why is that? And the smells! I would take a walk and smell the orange trees, and something that smelled like sage. In Chicago, I just smell smog.

Anyway, the weekend was wonderful. Heather and I spent time climbing Camelback Mountain (not all the way!), and hanging out at a cool cafe down the street from her condo. We hung out by the pool.

Then I spent a few days with Sheri, visiting the Phoenix Art Museum, and the Chihuly installation at the Desert Botanic Gardens. It was a perfect break from job hunting (although I did a small freelance project while I was there!). And seeing so much beauty was food for the soul....

Facebook, we have a problem....

2009-03-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Facebook,

I don’t exactly know how to tell you this – so I’ll just say it.

I’m breaking up with you.

I know I owe you an explanation. It’s me. Really. It’s not you.

You see, at first I was enamored with you. You were my ticket to an exciting social life. Being an introvert, you gave me over 100 friends. Think of that. Me, a bookish middle-aged homebody collecting over 100 friends in just a few weeks! I finally felt popular, cool and hip.

I loved you for that.

Of course, most of the friends I collected were nieces, nephews, sisters, brother, my husband and old college friends I haven’t talked to in 20 years. But hey, it made me feel good that so many people “friended” me.

I loved spending hours with you. In our honeymoon phase, I couldn’t get enough of you. I wanted to know what my friends were doing every minute. I would read the latest update from that guy I barely knew in college, and see photos documenting my friends’ seemingly perfect lives. I stalked my friends’ walls to find out what was going on in their worlds. I no longer had to pick up the phone to find out. I just had to click on their wall, and I’d know how they were feeling, what they were doing, and what time they were going to bed.

In the first months of our love, I wrote and rewrote my status, trying to come up with something witty and smart. I carefully edited and cropped the photos I posted. I didn’t want anyone to see me at a bad angle. Maybe if I cropped the photos just right, I might bear a slight resemblance to Tea Leoni and acquaintances I hadn’t seen in years would think, “Hey, she’s really aged well! She looks happy and successful!’

I craved comments. They reminded me that people were noticing me. Little ol’ me! They were interested that I just had oatmeal for breakfast. And they cared that I had survived a hellish commute on the train. Never before had anyone been so interested in the mundane details of my life. It made me feel loved.

I thought about you constantly. Even at work. I logged on in-between projects, hoping none of my colleagues would notice I was updating my status instead of working. I couldn’t get you off of my mind.

But then everything changed.

I started feeling empty and bad whenever we were together. I realized that my friends seemed interested in my photos and status updates. But often, that was the extent of our friendship. It was my fault just as much as theirs. I was just as guilty of merely trading status updates instead of picking up the phone and asking someone to meet me for coffee. But still, I felt vaguely bad that our friendship didn’t go beyond our virtual walls.

And I realized I felt jealous. I started comparing the carefully selected photos of my friends with my own carefully cropped photos. And guess what – I didn’t measure up. I started feeling like I needed to be something more – more successful to impress that old college friend. More beautiful, so that I would get more comments (and the right kind of comments) on my photos. More witty in order to prompt people to react to my status updates. And more financially stable so I could post pictures of a wonderful beach vacation.

I just can’t do it anymore, Facebook. You’re slowing stealing my soul and making me dissatisfied with the life God has given me. Spending too much time with you caused me to want to be someone different than who God has created me to be.

I think I deserve to spend time with someone who likes me for who I am, and knows the real me. The me who is more complex that what could ever be expressed in a 10 word status update.

All of those hours I’ve spend browsing the photos of my 100+ friends, and reading their wall postings? Those are hours I could have been writing a novel, or spending time with my husband, or knitting or painting or having coffee with a friend getting to know them and all of their joys and struggles and disappointments – not their Facebook persona.

I’ve decided I’d rather have real, deep, meaningful friends than the kind you offer. I want real community. Not brief, status updates. I want real, live flesh and blood hugs, not a little icon placed on my virtual wall.

Don’t get me wrong. You’ve given me a lot. A chance to connect with old friends. A way to see photos of my nieces and nephews. A way to keep up to date on the latest news.

But I don’t think that’s enough to keep us in a long-term relationship. I will miss you, and remember the wonderful times we had together.

I need to find myself again. And find my community.

And you know, God doesn’t even have a profile on Facebook, so I have to log out in order to be friends with him. I think I owe him some status updates.

So, goodbye for now, Facebook.

Don’t try to contact me or send me status updates. I will be busy living my life.

Unemployment: Day 9

2009-02-11T10:57:00.000-08:00

I suppose I'm typical of most people who get laid off. There's a whole bunch of emotions -- anger, fear, shame, sadness, panic, loss of control, self-doubt. At first, after a day and a half of crying and panic, I felt a surge of hopefulness and calm. I started enjoying sleeping in, got a few leads on freelance projects, was distracted from my panic by furiously updating my resume and web site. Decided to trust God.

But that only lasted a few days. Then I started once again thinking about our situation. David's in school fulltime, has an internship, and a fellowship. He doesn't have enough time in his days to work more than 15 - 20 hours a week. So it's up to me to fill in the rest of the income gap. With the economy the way it is, I'm imagining thousands of resumes, like an email tsunami, crashing simultaniously into the inboxes of the HR departments of the various companies I'm applying to. I email resumes, or follow up on a freelance lead, and then stare at my computer, waiting for a response. It's really enough to make one as CRAZY as a cat chased by a vacuum cleaner.

I try to create order in my day. Get up, take shower, check email, look for jobs, send out resumes, revise resume to make it sound more "creative and hip", wait. And wait some more. Try to think of people I can contact. Rinse, repeat.

At some point, I pry myself away from my computer and go to the gym. I'm doing everything I can to remain sane. Working out helps. I might be unemployed, but damn, I'm going to be the best-looking, svelt unemployed person to walk the streets of Chicago. It's sort of like seeing an old boyfriend and wanting to look hot so he'll regret ever dumping you. I'm imagining myself bumping into one of my old co-workers 20 pounds lighter, with a glowing tan, and casually saying "Oh, getting laid off was the BEST THING that's ever happened to me!" As they trudge back to their dark, dank cubicle.

I've noticed something good in all of this. It seems like people are becoming more compassionate. Many have lost jobs, or lost money in the stock market, or know of a friend or relative who lost a job. In our mutual economic panic, we're becoming more human, I think. Our downstairs neighbors, who we rarely see, invited us out for breakfast last Saturday. An incredibly shy classmate of David's stopped him in the hallway at school and hugged him. A freelance contact of mine, whom I've worked with but don't know well, sent me a compassionate email, vowing to help me find work. We've taken our eyes off of our money, work, achievements, things, and started looking at one another. Instead of buying that HDTV, we're helping each other through this difficult situation.

It's a good thing.

Now excuse me while I go check my email again.

Top 10 things about getting laid off

2009-02-04T03:07:00.000-08:00

1. You get to sleep past 6:30 a.m.
2. No more commute on the smelly EL
3. You can start dreaming of a whole new career
4. Two-hour lunches with friends
5. You can watch Oprah
6. You realize that things are so bad and out of your control that that only thing you can do is surrender
7. Forces you to trust God (see above)
8. Makes you realize what's really important in life
9. You lose weight from the anxiety
10. Can wear the same outfit every day and no one will notice

I'm finding ways to laugh at our situation. The comments in response to this NY Times article, "You're Fired! But your outfit's great," had me rolling on the floor. Especially comment #4 re: pleated pants. Maybe it's because I was reading it at 4:00 a.m.

What I wore when I was canned: Jeans that were tattered at the hems, a cool sweater and kickin' red cowboy boots. Glad I wore the red boots. But really wish I had washed my hair that morning. Dang.

Tuesday I woke up and washed my hair. Fresh start....

Sunday morning worship

2009-01-18T14:46:00.000-08:00

Today we didn't go to church. Instead, David studied and I took a walk by the Lake. It's 17 degrees. But the sun is out. This time of year, that's a big deal.

It's been a hard winter, and it's only January. I won't lie to you. I've been fantasizing about moving south. I hate to admit that, since I've always taken pride in being a "hearty Midwesterner" who can take these grueling arctic blasts for four months. But the past two winters have been humbling. I'm getting too old for this. Too weary to dig the car out of a snow drift one more time. Too tired to trudge to work from the train in 2 feet of snow. To disgusted with one more pair of boots ruined by the combination of snow, salt, and melted "sludge" that collects in the street gutters.

No one cares how they look when go they to work in the morning. Typically stylish and sophisticated Chicagoans who work in the Loop now waddle down the streets in full-length black down coats, snow boots that are more practical than fashionable, and layers and layers of scarves, hats, mittens, ear muffs, and ski masks. I even saw one guy wearing ski goggles. He's smart. That wind that whips off the river as I walk to work feels like straight pins stabbing my face and makes my eyes water and nose run.

We are hearty, but human. And we're already tired of winter.

But today we got a reprieve. The sun was shining brightly. It felt warm -- even though it was only 17 degrees. I drove to my favorite coffee shop, which is two blocks from the lake, and on a whim walked to the beach. I had my camera and took these shots. Then I just sat on the pier and felt the sun on my face.

It felt like God's grace warming me in the midst of this brutal season. And I gave thanks, and prayed that Spring, and along with it, Easter, would come quickly.

From Wendell Berry

2008-12-16T07:11:00.000-08:00

I know that I have life
only insofar as I have love.

I have no love
except it come from Thee.

Help me, please, to carry
this candle against the wind.

-- Wendell Berry

Glimpses of the Kingdom

2008-12-13T05:37:00.000-08:00

I remember several years ago, in the early 90s, when I was hanging out with a bunch of people from my former church, a few who were theologians. Up until this point, I was going along in my faith, stuck in a theology that wasn't really working for me anymore. I'd been questioning for a long time....I think I emerged from the womb questioning. I remember when I was about 6 or 7, asking my mother: "How do we know the Bible is true?" My poor mom. She never really knew how to deal with me, and the question probably shocked her a little. She answered: "Well, we just KNOW...!" I remember her hard emphasis on the word "Know" -- I can still hear it 35 years later. Maybe for my mother she did "know" in her own way. She had been through enough in life at that point that maybe her experience of God brought her a confidence that yes, it's real. We can trust it.

But to my 7 year old soul, that response probably appeased me for about 5 seconds. It also taught me that there was something wrong with me. That maybe I shouldn't question. That I should just go along and BELIEVE.

Well, obviously that didn't work. I had questions. I had doubts. And for most of my childhood I stuffed them down into my tender, young soul. There was nowhere else to put them. And then when I turned 30 I started spending $100 a session spilling them to my therapist.

But there have been a few people along the way who have created a safe space for my doubts. And a new way of looking at faith. And let me know that my questioning was okay. And that not having hard, simple, answers is actually a good thing. An "aha" moment for me was when I realized that faith isn't about answers -- it's about mystery. And when I embraced that mystery is when my faith started to emerge again, like the tiny green crocus plants in front of our condo that poke up through the snow in March.

Another "aha" moment was in the early 90s when my theologian friends started saying that the Kingdom of God is here. Now. Right now. Here. Really? NOOO! It's in the future, I tried to tell them. You know -- when were all raptured. Right now we're just biding our time. Waiting. Until the future, you know.

But slowing I started getting that yes, the Kingdom is here. Maybe not in all of its fullness, when everything will be made right. But God is doing something here, now, to heal our souls and to give us glimpses of how things can be made right. It's Now, Not Yet (thus the title of this blog).

Richard Rohr writes:

"Jesus clearly says the kingdom of heaven is among us (Luke 17:21) or 'at hand' (Matthew 3:2, 4:17). One wonders why we made it into a reward system for later, or as someone called it, 'a divine evacuation plan' from this world. Maybe it was easier to obey laws and practice rituals for later reward than to actually be transformed now."

I've been humbled recently at the privilege of getting to participate in seeing other people start understanding this message that the Kingdom is here -- now, and you can be transformed. There is hope!

Last fall David and I attended The Beloved Retreat. This year, I was asked to help be a part of the team that leads it. And I saw glimpses of the Kingdom. The NOW part of the "Now, not yet."

So we met at the Seminary at St. Mary's by the Lake in Mundelein, Illinois. I saw lives transformed. I saw people finally understanding that Christ came so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly. I was reminded once again that in order to have that life, we need to let go of some things that aren't working anymore. I saw salvation happening. Oh my gosh -- what an exciting thing.

On Sunday morning that weekend, I got up early and walked to the lake. It was so quiet. The sun was coming up. I was freezing. The lake was frozen and Canadian geese were honking quietly, or roosting on the ice with their beaks tucked into their wings to keep warm. I saw a 6-point buck lazily wandering off into the trees. I waited for the sun. And waited. And waited. It felt like it was taking forever and I almost gave up and walked back to my dorm room to get warm. But the colors in the sky kept changing, and I was mesmerized. Often, I've discovered, the colors of the sky just before sunrise or sunset are more beautiful than the colors of the actual event. Maybe the same is true when we're waiting for Christ to come. In the "now" we can be mesmerized at the beauty of the transforming sky, and our transforming lives.

Whew!

2008-11-21T04:08:00.000-08:00

Anyone out there still reading this? Sorry for the absence. Life has been a little crazy here, and won't be letting up any time soon.

We knew going into this month that it would be a little mind-numbing. We've had lots of visitors -- LiJen (niece) and Josh (her new boyfriend) for a day (the little love-birds), and then my good friend Sheri was in town the evening of the election (GOBAMA!) We drank wine while sitting on the couch watching the happenings in Grant Park. I guess we could have been down in the park, but we didn't have tickets and wondered if we would even hear the speech if we were too far away. So we didn't want to take a chance. Plus, I hate crowds.

Then, we had our wonderful fundraising concert on November 9. It was amazing how well everything came together. We raised about $4,500 -- more than enough to get our homestudy done! That was our goal, because once we finish the homestudy, we can apply for adoption grants. You can read more about it here.

Then last weekend we took a whirl-wind trip down to Atlanta for the wedding of David's long-time friend, Stephen. It was great to get away for a little while and spend time with friends.

This weekend I'm staffing the Beloved Retreat. For the past 6 weeks our team has been meeting to plan for the weekend, and write our "narratives." The whole weekend is about stories -- the stories we tell each other about God working in our lives. And the more I'm around these Old St. Pats friends I'm more and more convinced that they're "my tribe." I don't feel like an outsider anymore (since I'm not catholic). The way they are living out their faith is very familiar to me. I'm grateful to have this opportunity to help others experience the retreat like I experienced it last year.

I will post photos of all of these events soon, and will try to update more frequently...!

From Dante

2008-10-20T15:34:00.000-07:00

"But whatsoever of the holy kingdom
Was in the power of memory to treasure
Will be my theme until the song is ended."

--Dante, Divine Comedy

New adoption blog here. Website coming soon...

2008-10-14T11:06:00.000-07:00

So I haven't posted for a month and I look on my "stat counter" today and see that you're still checking in. Sorry to have disappointed you every time you've click onto my blog for the past month only to see the same, old post staring you in the face.

I can make excuses and tell you that I've been busy (I have).

Or I can tell you the truth and say that I haven't been in the mood to blog. Blogging takes energy. And a certain amount of inspiration. And when you know there are a handful of people who are loyal followers, you sometimes feel obligated to post regularly. It's a big responsibility. Okay, it's not that big of a deal, but some times I don't want the pressure of having to come up with something half-way intelligent to say. That's what I do at work all day -- try to come up with witty, smart things to say about financial products. Ugh.

But here's some news: I've started a new blog that will be dedicated to our adoption. You can find it here.

We're also putting up a Website that will give you even more info about the adoption with a link for donations. I may try to link the blog and the website, if I can figure out how to do that!

I'm finding out how technologically challenged I am.

Oh well.
Enjoy the new blog. I'll try to start posting more often. Stay tuned for the new website...

On being Pro-life and Pro-Obama

2008-09-16T07:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, I promised I wouldn't talk about politics. But I just can't help myself. I found this fascinating article on the Huffington Post written by Frank Schaeffer (son of Francis Schaeffer).

Frank and his father were leaders in the original pro-life movement. Now Frank is a supporter of Obama and in this article answers the question "How can you be pro-life and pro-Obama?

He writes:

"The Republican leadership is not pro-life. They are simply against abortion for reasons of political expediency. They are also for torture and military aggression. And they chose a literal executioner for president; a former governor who has more blood on his hands than any other modern American governor; Mr. Texas-sized, Capital Punishment-with-no-mercy-no-pardons hang em' high himself.

The Republicans have contributed to climate change by coddling oil companies and car companies and ducking the hard environmental and energy policy questions for thirty years. They have literally sold our country to the highest polluting bidders from the Saudis to the Chinese. Therefore the Republicans have literally risked the ability of our planet to sustain all human life born and unborn. So much for human life values.

Who will help us to become a nation that values life -- abortion rhetoric aside? Obama."

On politics

2008-09-08T07:28:00.000-07:00

I haven't written too much about politics lately. Most of you know I support Obama and will vote for him in November. But I don't want to talk to you about it, because some of you may be voting differently and we could go round and round about our different views and that will make me grumpy.

The introduction of Sarah Palin into the race has stirred up strong feelings in me along with everyone else, it seems. Sure, she's well spoken and I like the fact that she decided to keep her downs syndrome baby. But I also despise her views on the environment and animal rights. Some Evangelical Christians seem to think she's the best thing since sliced bread. I don't. (And while I'm a Christian I don't really consider myself "evangelical". But that's a whole other discussion).

But what bothers me more than Sarah Palin and her oil-drilling, moose-hunting, wolf-killing ways is that every election year I feel that politics separates me from friends and family.

I don't like it. It makes me uncomfortable. So I tend to keep quiet about my feelings and beliefs and when one of my friends says something like "So, what do ya think about that Sarah Palin?" I make a generic comment like, "well, she seems spunky!" Then I start talking about the weather. I don't want to talk to you about it. I'm not going to try to convince you that my views are better than your views.

However you vote in November, I will still be your friend. Because what connects us is usually something that transcends politics.

Whenever I get stirred up about this political race and the fact that my candidate may not win in November, I have to remember that if we put our hope in politics, we will always be disappointed.

I read Daily Kos, the progressive, liberal political blog, and then I hop on over to Greg Boyd or Scot McNight's blog (read his post, "Voting for President? 2 -- posted on September 5) to regain my perspective.

Whoever wins in November, life will go on. I will continue to work toward the kingdom of God by loving those around me and trying to heal what's broken in this world in some small way.

What does it mean to be "blessed?"

2008-08-30T07:06:00.001-07:00

My online acquaintance Lori Rooney has a wonderful post that details her experience with infertility and then adoption. While Ted and Lori are much further along in their adoption journey (now parents of the beautiful Abe!), and while no two of our stories are exactly alike, the experience she writes about is very familiar to me.

I did get married at 40, so at some point during my 30s it occured to me that I may never have children. Somewhere along the way I mourned that a little, while still clinging to a tiny hope that I would be one of those women who had no problem getting pregnant over 40. It was not to be....so while I mourned (and mourn), I'm not sure I feel it quite as acutely as women in their early 30s who thought they still had plenty of time, who thought they SHOULD be able to get pregnant with no problem. Who still have tons of friends around them conceiving babies with little effort.

My grief has had a little bit more time to sink in and I've had more time to process it. But it's still there and rears it's ugly head, especially now that I'm 44 and that door will be slammed shut for good in a few short years (if it isn't already).

Lori writes about her experience with comments like "It's too bad you can't have your OWN baby." Hence, the title of her blog "Our own Rooney." Their adopted son is their "own" baby.

But for people who are infertile or have a child through adoption, there's a constant bombardment of comments from people who aren't out to hurt, but do so anyway, mostly out of ignorance.

This is true of so many things. The pain in one's life is unique, and even friends can say something that pushes a button, set something off inside of you. They don't mean to. They just don't know any better. They don't know your experience. They can't understand what a simple statement feels like to the person experiencing a certain kind of pain that is so far from their own experience.

I went through this when my mother died. People say the stupidest things. But I learned to forgive because I realized that they can't really understand unless they've been through it.

Well, there's a phrase that has been pushing my buttons lately. I've heard a handful of people say it, and both times it was from people who have several biological children and it was said in the context of those said children. The phrase is (drum roll....):

"I just feel so blessed!"

Okay, I understand that there's nothing wrong with that phrase in and of itself. I'm glad they feel blessed. They should feel blessed. But when that's said to someone who's struggling with infertility, and struggling to come up with the money for adoption, it feels like a poke in a fresh wound with a parring knife.

What I FEEL when I hear that phrase is: "I'm blessed because I have children. That means that you're not blessed. I have a gift that God hasn't given you. So na-na-na-na-na. I guess you're doing something wrong that God hasn't given you this gift."

Now, I KNOW that isn't the intention of the people making this comment. In fact, I think if I ever told them how I feel when they say that they would be mortified. These aren't the kinds of friends who are out to gloat or hurt me. But through the filter of my pain, that's what I hear: Gloating.

It's also made me really start wondering what it means to be "blessed." I haven't really figured it all out yet. There are times when I feel blessed, and times when I don't. When it comes to the child issue, I don't feel "blessed." But I think there's something wrong with a theology that defines "being blessed" as having lots of children. Or a big house and lots of money, for that matter.

What does it mean to you to be "blessed?" I'm curious. I feel like I need help figuring this out.

It seems to me, too that it's all very relative. You can feel blessed compared to one person (I feel blessed that I have good health, when I think about my two friends who have died of breast cancer), but I don't feel blessed when I think of my friends who got pregnant easily after age 40.

So I know I"m thinking about this all wrong -- my obsession with "comparing" myself is all out of whack.

Is God "blessing" me? What does that mean? Could I be "blessed" with an internal transformation and humility because of what I'm going through? If so, that's not something other people automatically see, so maybe to them I don't seem as "blessed" as I would if I had a couple of kids running around.

I just think we need to be more careful when we throw around that term, because some blessings are obvious. Others are hidden in the midst of what seems like a huge struggle or in the midst of pain.

God's blessings are complicated, mysterious, seemingly random but they're probably not, and unexpected.

So when someone says "I feel so blessed," I will be happy for them, and then realize that blessings come in all shapes and sizes and the blessings I have may not be so obvious.....

Old Friends

2008-08-24T18:03:00.000-07:00

My college roommate Nancy came to visit this weekend. I hadn't seen her in 17 years. She was driving through Chicago on her way to take her oldest son to college in Michigan. They crashed at our place Saturday night and we took them on a quick tour of our lovely city. First we drove down to Millennium Park, then to Intelligentsia Coffee, and then we picked up a Giordono's pizza.

Nancy and I were roommates my Junior year when she was a Sophomore. I didn't know her before we were roommates. I was a Residence Assistant in my dorm that year (a really bad one, because I let the girls in my unit listen to ROCK MUSIC, which wasn't allowed in our small Christian college), and she was a transfer student. We hit it off and I remember that year filled with lots of laughter, listening to Keith Green on my 8-track tape player, talking about boys, and eating lots of pizza and ice cream from Mom and Pops restaurant across the street from our dorm. She's one of these very self-possessed, confident people who I admire. I remember her telling me that I should grow my hair longer (I had a hideous short and permed hairdo), and so I did, because she seemed really more with it than I was and I trusted her opinion. I also remember her wearing flowered jeans..which I thought were so cool. She talked a lot about this guy named Kent who she met at the college she had transfered from. It's the guy she eventually married, leaving school early the next year to tie the knot. I was a little nervous for her because she left school before she graduated just to marry a guy who, in my opinion, she barely knew. But I also admired her moxie for taking the risk. I guess it paid off -- they've been married for 20 years.

We kept in touch the first few years after college. I visited her in St. Paul Minnesota, and then in California. She and Kent eventually moved to a small town in Minnesota and had 6 children. I moved to Chicago and we lost touch for a long time. Then, a few years ago, I got a call early one morning. It was Nancy.

"God just told me to call you," she said.

I was glad he did.

So we've been emailing for a while and then got to see each other this weekend. One of the good things about getting older is that you get to have friends who have known you for years and years. Friends you have a history with. Who knew you way back when.

Nancy is still the Nancy I remember. Beautiful, confident, funny and smart. Plus, she now has six wonderful kids -- all of whom she home schools! We're kindred spirits when it comes to books. We've read many of the same books and share favorite authors like Kathleen Norris, Marilynn Robinson, and Anne Lammot.

It's interesting where our lives have taken us. I doubt either of us could have imagined in 1985 where we would be today. She didn't want children -- now she has six. I never could have imagined I'd be a writer living in a big city -- and I've lived here for almost 20 years. We both have much better haircuts now and have our pizza and ice cream binges under control (well, except for this weekend with the Giordonos!). We're a little weathered by the struggles of life, but better for it, I think. We live very different lives, but we're still connected by the bonds that were forged 23 years ago in a dingy cinder-block dorm room eating pizza and laughing together and dreaming about the future.

Nancy and me in California, 1991. The tot in the stroller is now going to college.

Nancy and me, Chicago 2008.

Nancy and her two oldest boys.

A Sunday walk by the lake

2008-08-10T15:39:00.000-07:00

If you haven't figured it out by now, I love taking walks. It gives me time and space to think, and it's a nice workout. David would prefer that I run with him. I think that's his biggest disappointment in our marriage -- that I turned out not to be a running buddy. Oh well.

Here are photos from today's walk by the Lake on a perfect Chicago day.

What to watch when your husband is away

2008-08-04T08:37:00.000-07:00

David was in Dallas visiting his parents last weekend. So I took the opportunity to watch whatever I wanted. (WhooHooo -- I had the whole weekend without him mocking myTV viewing choices!) So I rented the 1985 Canadian Broadcasting version of Anne of Green Gables. Now, if David had been home, he would have rolled his eyes and left the room. But it was just me and Lucy, and we wanted to be transported back to the turn of the century. It was just what we girls need to help us to escape from our troubles (well, Lucy's only trouble is that she doesn't like the dinner menu most nights).
So we curled up on the couch together and were transported to Prince Edward Island, Green Gables, and the mis-adventures of the orphan Anne Shirley.

This version has the wonderful Colleen Dewhurst as Marilla Cuthbert (who reluctantly agrees to keep the orphan after the orphanage accidentally sent them a girl instead of a boy orphan who could help with the farm). Richard Farnsworth is cast at the wonderfully and loving Matthew Cuthbert (Marilla's brother), who falls in love with Anne from the beginning, despite her rough edges.

I have to admit the story paints a fairly rosy picture of Anne's life after she's adopted by Marilla and Matthew. Sure, she has her social mis-haps and kids at school tease her about her red hair, but she adjusts to school beautifully, the whole community embraces her. A few neighbors must get over the fact that she's an ORPHAN, but they always end up being charmed and won over by Anne (played by Megan Follows).

Then there's the DREAMY Gilbert Blythe, played by Jonathan Crombie. He's the original McDreamy, I think. But Anne will have nothing to do with him because he teased her once about her red hair. The whole movie you just want to shake that girl and tell her to GET OVER IT ALREADY! CAN YOU SEE HE'S IN LOVE WITH YOU? AND HE'S SO MCDREAMY!

But Anne is stubborn and leaves the audience in suspense about her romantic life until the very end where we're left with a little tiny light of hope about Anne and Gil.

David got home Sunday afternoon and I watched the last 2 hours of the movie Sunday night. During his breaks from his editing work, he caught a few scenes of the film and believe it or not, he was laughing at Anne's antics and wowed by the wonderful acting of Colleen Dewhurst. I guess he's been charmed by Anne of Green Gables as well....

Amazing

2008-08-01T13:17:00.001-07:00

Let me introduce you to my new favorite CD. David got me a "surprise" gift the other day. I love his surprise gifts. They're usually something he's run across that he knows I'll like. And he's usually right, as is the case with his latest gift of this CD by Rickie Lee Jones. And that makes me feel like he gets me, which is the best feeling in the world, because I go through most of my life feeling like very very few people get me.

Anyway, when I read the website explaining how this CD came about, I fell even more in love with it. You can read the story here.

Basically, the songs are based on the words of Christ, but improvised by Rickie Lee Jones in what sounds to me was a recording session that was mystical, mysterious, and spirit-filled. Not sure how else I can describe it. When she was finished recording the first song, the rest of the people in the room were speechless. The result is raw, honest, authentic and edgy songs that reflect our often doubt-filled relationship with God.

Additional comment: If you decide to purchase this CD, you may want to listen to it in the store first. It's a little on the "edgy" side and her lyrics aren't for those who love straight-forward, easy-to-understand sing-along Christian tunes. So it's not for everyone. Jones doesn't even consider herself a Christian -- but her songs are a response to reading a book called The Word by her friend Robert Lee Cantelon, who is a Christian. You can read more about it in this NY Times article.

A walk in the city: Summer

2008-07-24T18:43:00.000-07:00

Photos taken during a lunchtime walk. Chicago in the summer....almost makes up for the hellish winters.

Living small

2008-07-22T08:51:00.000-07:00

I often wake up in the middle of the night and worry. I worry about a lot of things. Like my various illnesses (see post below), or I worry about the adoption, or paying bills. As David could tell you, I'm never at a loss for things to worry about. His nickname for me is "Ms. Worst-case-scenario." Nice.

Sometimes, I worry that we're so far behind "where we're supposed to be" at this point in our lives. You know, big house in the burbs, 2.5 kids, minivan, large retirement funds. Then I realize how silly I am. I mean, why try to keep up with the Jones's when the Jones's have already lapped us about 6 times? And is that what I really want, anyway? Or do I just think I want it because that's what I'm supposed to want?

It's all very confusing, and you'd think at this point in my life I'd have a better idea of who I am and what I want. But it's all muddled and mixed up with society's expectations, what my family and friends want for me, and my obsession with competition. I have a drive to compete with everyone around me, and at the same time, I hate competition. More often than not, I'll just let the other person "win" because I don't think I can win anyway. I'd rather just step off the track and drink a Gatorade. It's my way of short-circuiting the whole thing.

So as I see people around me buying bigger houses, popping out more kids, buying more expensive cars, I have this urge to chuck it all and run in the other direction. As David and I cleaned out our rented storage unit last weekend so that we could save $66 a month on the rental fees, I kept wondering why we have so much stuff. We almost came to blows as we were trying to squeeze my cool antique church pew in our little basement storage room. We rearranged boxes of junk that we haven't cracked open for 3 years. Old books, knick-knacks, grade-school papers. When we got married we got rid of tons of stuff, but we still have so much. And it's weighing us down.

So lately I've been thinking maybe we should be really counter-cultural and get rid of everything and be total odd-balls. I want to sell our place and buy a really tiny house, like this. It's one of the tiny homes made by the Tumbleweed House Company.

Then I want to sell our car and buy a minuscule car like this Smart Car.

I want to live small and light. It sort of like traveling to Europe with a backpack instead of a trunk. It will make the journey so much more pleasant and allow us to focus on the scenery.

Summer in the city

2008-07-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

Chicago's at it's best in the summer. Beautiful sunny days and lots of festivals and events. Last weekend we spend a wonderful afternoon with our friends Dan and Celeste at the Folk and Roots Festival. Dan and Celeste took Polka lessons in the "dance tent" (David and I only lasted about 10 minutes then we sat on the sidelines watching and taking pictures.)

Polka! Celeste is Polish....and determined to teach Dan how to Polka.

Call the doctor...

2008-07-12T05:28:00.000-07:00

In the past few months I've had:

breast cancer
heart attack
skin cancer
Lou Gehrig's disease
MS
Carpel Tunnel syndrome

I also think I may suffer from a wee bit of hypochondria.

It all started with a pain in my bosom. I tried to ignore it at first. I tried to remember the words of my doctor, who told me breast cancer lumps rarely cause pain. But the more I thought about it, I was convinced it was....something. Something serious. I mean, I've had three friends die of breast cancer in the past few years. So my friends and I can no longer kid ourselves that "we're too young" to get breast cancer. Right?

So when I got home I tearfully broke the news to David: "Honey, I think I have breast cancer."

To be honest, this isn't the first time I've mentioned my breast cancer symptoms to him. This happens about once every other month.

He looked at me, gave me a big hug, laughed and said, "Not again?!!"

I sighed, and started laughing, too. I knew I was being a little bit, well, alarmist. And sure enough, a few weeks later I got a mammogram and it was all clear.

Mysteriously, the bosom pain went away. Well, it didn't go away, it just moved to my legs and morphed into an achy, tingly feeling. Then I was convinced I had Lou Gehrig's disease. Or MS. Didn't my friend who has MS say her legs were tingly?

Suddenly, I felt too weak and exhausted to work out. I imagined the next few -- the last few -- years of my life as I declined and became weak and paralyzed. I would be brave and stoic and profound and maybe even write a book about my experience. I would make enough money so David could live comfortably without me.

I went to the doctor and told him about my exhaustion. Turns out it's not Lou Gehrig's disease. Or MS. It's probably just the side-effects of my headache medication. Whew. I dodge a bullet with that one.

But I was still worried about the red spot on my neck that kept itching. I first noticed it one day at work when I was wearing a beaded necklace. I figured the necklace was scratching my neck, leaving a red patch. But after a few days of going necklace-free, the spot was still there. In fact, it was bigger and redder. I started getting suspicious. I called my sister, who recently had a spot on her skin removed. "Was your spot itchy and red and wouldn't heal?" "Yep. That's exactly what it was like!"

So I had skin cancer. But I didn't panic. This was just the mild form, not that big nasty melanoma kind, so I could wait a few days before seeing the doctor. In fact, I was going out of town for the weekend, so it would have to wait until the next week. My days of sun tanning were finally catching up with me. It was the first of many skin cancer removals, I was convinced. I imagined my aging body with not only wrinkles and sun spots, but with divots from all of the skin-cancer removals. It was the beginning of the end.

So I went away for the weekend to a women's retreat and the whole time noticed the skin of my fellow retreat-ers. They had smooth skin. Beautiful skin. Not skin pocked with the scars of skin cancer. I was sad, but accepted my fate.

Mysteriously, though, a few days after I returned home the red spot started to fade. It didn't itch any more. Then, surprisingly, it was gone! I had dodged another bullet. I didn't have skin cancer after all!

Then came the heart attack. I had pain in my left arm. Achy pain, throbbing pain. Wasn't that a symptom of a heart attack? At work I kept my index finger on the artery in my neck. I felt my heart beat. I wanted to make sure it was still there. If I was having a heart attack, wouldn't my heart beat feel weird -- maybe racing or erratic or something? For the next few days I was fully in tuned with my heart beat and achy arm. Then the weekend came and my arm felt fine. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized my arm just hurt when I was at my computer. Typing. Maybe it wasn't a heart attack after all. Maybe it was just Carpel Tunnel syndrome.

All of the sudden, both of my arms ached and I felt tingly in my hands. I Googled my symptoms. Google: A hypochondriac's best friend.

Sure enough, my symptoms perfectly matched Mayo Clinic's list of warning signs for Carpel Tunnel syndrome. Then I started reading what can happen if it's not treated. It can cause permanent damage in your hands, making them useless. The treatment is surgery where they cut open your wrists. Surgery that would leave long, ugly scars.

I decided not to let it get that bad. Excuse me but I have to go now and call the doctor. When I see him maybe I'll mention this mysterious pain on my scalp...

Obscure movie recommendation

2008-07-11T09:55:00.000-07:00

I typically don't enjoy animated movies. They bore me. I don't know why. But David brought home "Persepolis" last night and I was blown away by it. The animation is unique and beautiful, like a graphic novel, and the writing is smart and provocative. It's based on Marjane Sartrapi's autobiographical novel of the same name, and tells the story of her childhood in the midst of the Iranian revolution. I wish I would have seen it on the big screen, instead of our dilapidated hand-me-down television. The movie's about an Iranian, but it's filmed in French with English subtitles. It was nominated for an Academy Award for best animated feature, and also won an award at Cannes.

It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon....

2008-07-06T06:58:00.001-07:00

My friend, Jane called me up on Friday and asked if I wanted to go with her to a live broadcast of "A Prairie Home Companion" at Ravinia (an out-door amphitheater on Chicago's North Shore). Jane has a good friend from college who's a writer for the show. Fun job, eh?

It was a perfect evening, and we had a wonderful time. We even got to meet Garrison Keillor.

Okay, he looks a bit goofy in this photo, but it was between posting a photo of Garrison Keillor looking goofy, or a photo of me looking goofy. So, it wasn't a hard decision....

Um, never mind....

2008-07-06T06:31:00.000-07:00

Sigh.

This post is hard to write, especially after telling you all in my previous post that we were moving forward with the adoption. Well, now it's on hold again.

We had a heart-to-heart with our Social Worker last Thursday. The long & short of it is that we need to wait until December to really move forward. There are several reason for this, but mostly it's because David is in school right now and not making much money. Our situation doesn't look great on paper -- even though last year we made a 6-figure combined income, and once he's out of school next year we'll be rollin' in the money (well, not really, but at least we'll have two salaries again.) The other reason is because we want to adopt an older child (over 2 years old), once we get the homestudy done the adoption could move very fast. While some people are waiting over a year for an infant, we could be matched with a child in six months or less. It really would not be a good thing if we got a child while David's still in school. So it's safer if we wait until December to make sure we don't get a child before next summer.

To be honest, I'm relieved. The whole reason we were trying to get started because we're, well, on the "older" end of the acceptable adoptive parent spectrum. It was my understanding that because of David's age, we had to move as fast as possible before we "aged out" of the system. However, we found out last week that Ethiopia really only looks at the adoptive mother's age. Whew! You'd think I would have known this already, after all of the reading and studying I've done, but Wide Horizons was very vague about it and I felt like everything I read said something different. So it was a relief to get the official word from Wide Horizons (thanks to a call to them from our social worker), that we'll be fine if we wait six months or even a year. (On a side note, the person at Wide Horizons told our social worker that she was working with a 70 year old woman who is trying to adopt! Can you imagine?!)

Having an extra six months will also give us a chance to pay off some debt, which will make us "look better on paper." And by then David will have a better idea of his career opportunities after graduation.

Anyway, the only risk in waiting is that international adoption is a moving target. Things could change in Ethiopia at any time. They could decide to change the age cut-off or decide to tighten the adoption requirements (like China), or the whole program could shut down for some reason (like Guatemala). So that worries me a bit, but this whole thing is a lesson in Trusting God. Not something I'm very good at.

Basically my whole life has been about WAITING -- so I don't know why this would be any different. Maybe God is continuing to teach me patience. Maybe I just haven't gotten it yet.

During my 3-mile walk yesterday I listened to a sermon by Tim Keller titled "The Timing of Jesus." It was a good reminder that our timing is not God's timing, and usually when we're forced to wait that means God's up to something that we don't understand and can't yet see. But that we have to believe in his goodness.

Hmmm, I think I'm going to listen to that sermon every day for the next six months....

One step closer....

2008-06-18T08:06:00.000-07:00

We're moving forward again with the adoption. We got stalled there for a few months, after dental and medical bills kept eating away at our freelance income that's trickling in. But now we're back on track. We handed in more paperwork to The Cradle this week. We also had to write our "autobiographies" -- a 5 - 7 page story of our lives -- so the social worker can get a better idea of who we are. Next, she'll schedule individual meetings with us to talk more, then we have one more meeting with her where she'll come to our home and make sure we don't live in squalor. I guess I should pick up that 3-foot pile of clothes I have in the corner before she arrives. And wipe down the stove, which currently has a layer of cat hairs sticking to it. Cooking grease and a cat shedding her winter coat is not a good combination. I swear I wipe it down every other day (the stove, not the cat), and the cat hairs just find their way back.

Now that David is finished with school for the year, he can spend a little more time working and making money for the adoption. Plus, our friend Val graciously offered to
help us put together a fundraising concert, which we're hoping to have at the end of July / beginning of August. We have "talent" lined up and we're just trying to find a great venue....that's free. No easy task. Here's the lineup so far:

A friend of Val's from Chicago's Lyric Opera will be singing (thanks Val!)

Our friend John Judd will perform a theatrical piece with our other actor friend Celeste. John just finished shooting a scene with Johnny Depp (!) for Depp's new film about John Dillinger. If his scene doesn't get cut, you'll see John in the very first scene of the film -- he's playing a prison guard that Depp beats up with a revolver.

Our friend Rae Ann will sing a few numbers.

Val will play a piano piece (I think)

Nordic Voices of Chicago (my choir!) will perform

Our friend Mike Lipuma will read some poetry

David might sing a few tunes.

Hopefully we'll have a few more acts lined up before the big night, but I'm getting excited about it. Even if we don't raise a lot of money, I think it will be fun!

Stay tuned for more info.

Nephews!

2008-05-31T08:48:00.000-07:00

Here are some photos of my weekend with the family. My "little" nephews -- the four youngest of my 10 nephews -- are getting big and like to tell jokes with the word "poop" in them. What is it with little boys and their obsession with bodily functions? Hmmm.

Well, I humored them and laughed at their jokes. I tried to get pictures of them swinging, but ended up with lots of leg photos. That's okay, because I love little boy legs. They're all knobby kneed and puppy-like. And the green Crocks really rock....

Prayer request

2008-05-22T07:13:00.000-07:00

Pray for Steven Curtis Chapman (Christian musician) and his family. Their youngest daughter, adopted from China, was hit and killed by a SUV driven by their son. I can't think of anything more tragic. Read about it here.

Steven Curtis Chapman and his family have adopted three daughters from China and have created a foundation that helps other families adopt.

Rich and Poor

2008-05-21T09:08:00.000-07:00

After hearing last night about friends who recently received a financial windfall from the sale of a business, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be rich and poor. Curiously, I haven't felt envious or jealous of my friends, although I have turned around in my mind the concept of having a large amount of money -- we could pay off debt, afford our adoption, feel more secure financially. Yes, it would be nice, I admit.

And I can't help but think how crazy life is. What will I say to my friends next time I seem them: "Congratulations! You deserve it!" But who deserves what in this world? If my friends "deserve" a windfall, does that follow that Ethiopian children I read about in the paper yesterday "deserve" to be starving?

Or would I say they are "blessed?" We throw around that term a lot in the Christian community, but what does it mean?

I am truly happy for my friends. Maybe they can live a little more comfortably and send their kids through college, and not have to worry about money.

But jealous or envious? No. And I don't mean this to sound holier-than-thou or self-righteous. But sometimes I think having a lot of money isn't really the gift that we make it out to be in our culture.

My all-time favorite sermon was given at Fourth Presbyterian Church by author and poet Kathleen Norris. In the sermon she talks about being rich and poor and quotes Psalm 62 that says "Do not set your heart on riches, even when they increase." And Psalm 49 reminds us that no amount of money will prevent our death, and states that "in their riches, people lack wisdom: they are like the beasts that go astray."

Norris goes on to say "In our riches, we lack wisdom. And we often seem to need hardship to bring us to our senses..... The theme of wealth and poverty is reflected throughout scripture. The conclusion is this: God upsets our apple carts, the precious idols of the status quo. That which we see as rich and powerful and wise God exposes as foolish and weak; that which we despise as poor and unworthy is treasured by God as a pearl of great price.

"For God knows," Norris continues, "that when we think of ourselves as self-sufficient in our riches, we are truly poor. Our lives wither away, and in our desperation for control, we stunt the lives of others, even those closest to us -- our parents, mates, and children. But when we come to know ourselves as we really are: weak and unfortunate creatures who need the love of God and other people, it is then that we are rich."

Despite my tiny bank accounts and annoying debt and frustration over our adoption moving slowly because of our finances, I truly feel rich right now. In this hardship I feel humbled and totally dependent on the love of God and those around me. And I feel something shifting in me, in the deepening of my character, in my relationship with David, in my trust in God. In my tiredness and discouragement, something feels deep and rich and full. As Kathleen Norris says, "I feel myself -- my weak, weary, and withered self -- to be every bit as rich as a queen."

How to entertain yourself when you're trying to save money.

2008-05-11T11:44:00.000-07:00

David and I have been watching lots of DVDs lately. I don't know how long it's been since we've been to a movie in a theater. I miss the popcorn, but it feels good to save money. We're trying to stick to a "cash only" system, which is going pretty well. I find it challenging to see how long a $10 bill will stay in my wallet. I haven't bought any clothes in 2 months (whoo hoo!), I'm bringing my lunch to work every day, and instead of stopping at Starbucks every morning, I fix my own "iced Americano" with a espresso machine my brother and sister-in-law bought me for Christmas several years ago (thanks Scott & Jerilynn!). All of this is an effort to 1) pay off some debt. 2) try to pay for an adoption 3) get David through school without using our credit card.

So if you're wondering how the adoption is going....it's going very slowly. Sometimes I'm embarrassed at how slowly it's going. It's not because we're ambivalent. It's because we're trying to do too many things at once.

But there are some good things: I have a great job that I love and pays me well, David is half-way through school, we're learning a great lesson on how to live within our means, I'm being forced to deal with my feelings and attitudes about money and being a part of our consumer-centric culture, and we're having to trust God with the adoption.

We're also finding that we can entertain ourselves without spending much money. Here are reviews of some books and DVDs that I've discovered recently....

Movies:

Lars and the Real Girl:

On the surface this movie seems odd. It's about a guy who starts "dating" a blow-up doll. Weird, eh? But it was one of Christianity Today's "most redemptive films of 2007", so I thought I'd give it a chance. I found a gem of a movie. It even made me cry, which is rare (David is the "crier" in our family). This movie is all about community, connection, and love. It's about healing someone's loneliness by loving them, quirks and all. Two quotes I love from the film (I'm paraphrasing here). One is when Lars is going through a tragedy (I don't want to give away the plot), but a handful of older women in the community come to his house with food and sit in living room knitting. Lars, in his grief, comes down from upstairs and sees them and says "what are you doing here?" One of the women says, "We're just sitting. That's what we do when someone is hurting, we just come and sit." For some reason, that scene made me cry and reminded me of hearing author Thomas Lynch (who's also a funeral director), say that what we should do when someone dies is "Go to where the pain is." Something as simple as just sitting with someone is a powerful form of love.

The other scene I love from the film is when Lars and a friend come out of a bowling alley and it's snowing. Lars says "I was really hoping that Spring was here." His friend says "No, Spring is never here until Easter...."

Maxed Out:

David rolled his eyes when he saw I rented this movie. It's all about credit card debt in America and how it's making the poor poorer. "It'll just make you depressed" he said. But I watched it anyway. I think everyone should watch this movie in order to have a better understanding of how credit cards, banks, mortgage brokers prey on the poor. Our financial system in the country is truly evil. And it motivates me even more to get out of the (small) credit card debt that we have. In fact, I really just want to sell of everything and go live in a shack in the desert, stuff my money under my mattress, and grow my own food in the back yard.

Books:

Organic God, by Margaret Feinberg

I've written before in the blog about my cynicism toward Christian Publishing. But for some reason I keep getting asked to be a judge for the Evangelical Christian Publisher's Association Gold Medallion Book Awards (I think it's because my friend, Sherri, works there!). This year I judged the "Christian Life" category. While I found some of the books unbearable and not worth the paper they're printed on, there were a few gems in the bunch. "Organic God" by Margaret Feinberg is one of them. She's a nice, fresh voice and is apparently well-known in the younger "emergent" crowd. While this book isn't incredibly deep, she's a solid writer and I read the book through in one sitting.

Eat, Pray, Love, by Elisabeth Gilbert

My sister recommended this book, so while I was in the Dallas airport, after the security guard had confiscated about $50 worth of Aveda hair products from my carry-on bag (okay, I knew I wasn't supposed to be carrying on liquids in a larger-than-six-ounce container, but do they really think someone could blow up an airplane with Shampure??!), I went into the airport gift shop and bought this book to make myself feel better. I saw that Anne Lamott had recommended the book, as well, so how could I go wrong?

I must say this book brought up a lot of different feelings for me. While I liked her writing, I felt myself getting angrier the longer I read. (Sorry, Amy & Anne). First, she apparently "meets God" in the bathroom at the beginning of the book. But then at the end, decided it wasn't really God, but just her "more mature" self calling to her from the future (Whaaaat?). Her theology is really all over the place. Second, she leaves her husband, but because she declines to give more information about what went wrong in their marriage (to her credit), she comes across as being selfish and narcissistic. For all we know, she left because he didn't make enough money and she wasn't ready to have children. So...off she goes to Italy, India, and Indonesia to "find herself" and heal. Each section gives lots of juicy information about the country, culture and her spiritual journey. She's witty and I envied her adventures. Sure, everyone wants to escape the hard parts of life and travel around the world for a year. But that's just the problem. I think she would have done her spiritual life a lot more good if she had stayed at home (and in her marriage?) and faced the choices and commitments she had made. As a result, I didn't really respect her "spiritual journey" that didn't seem to lead her anywhere substantial.

While friends and I drove to the Festival of Faith and Writing a few weeks ago, we had an argument about this book. Apparently, people either love or hate this book (if you read reviews on Amazon.com, you'll see about 200 negative reviews, and about 200 positive ones). One of my car-mates was defending the book, saying that ALL memoirs, just by definition, are narcissistic and self-centered. And that Gilbert, while we may not agree with where she lands spiritually, her spiritual journey has integrity within her own spiritual paradigm.

Maybe. But I tend to agree with something I heard Kathleen Norris say later at the conference: That memoir isn't just about the person writing about their story -- it must be about something bigger, more universal, more redemptive.

That's what I didn't get from Eat, Pray, Love. That's just me. Feel free to disagree....

Three years down

2008-05-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

As of yesterday, David and I have been married three years. We celebrated by going out to dinner, eating grilled calamari, and watching two episodes of Battlestar Gallactica on DVD (our new favorite series). Whoohoo! We're such a wild and crazy couple!

David surprised me by picking me up at the El station with three red roses and all dressed up ready to go out to dinner. When we got home, I put the roses in a vase on the kitchen table and caught the cat munching on the leaves this morning. I'm glad she's enjoying them, too, although she might think twice if she accidentally bites into a thorn.

At dinner we started dreaming of our future. One that includes a little Ethiopian baby, and maybe even a few years living in the Virgin Islands. There's a slim possibility that David's current part time job editing for the VI Source could turn into something more. But we're just dreaming....

Maybe it will happen, maybe it won't. In the meantime, we'll keep plugging away -- David with school, me filling out adoption paperwork, doing laundry, watching Battlestar Gallactica, enjoying the blooming flowers in the neighbor's yard, and trying to find God in our lives. We're praying. Praying that the adoption will happen if it's meant to. And thanking God for what we have.

I asked David last night to give me his opinion of our marriage thus far. "I think we're pretty solid" he said. I agree. But I think we're more than solid. I like this adventure we're on. My friend Angie said that we've only just begun our story. There's much more that will unfold. I like the chapters we've written so far.

The Bluest Eye

2008-05-02T13:54:00.000-07:00

"Each night Pecola prayed for blue eyes. In her eleven years, no one had ever noticed Pecola. But with blue eyes, she thought, everything would be different. She would be so pretty that her parents would stop fighting. Her father would stop drinking. Her brother would stop running away. If only she could be beautiful. If only people would look at her."
-- The Bluest Eye, by Toni Morrison

I read "The Bluest Eye" in a writing class at Columbia College about 10 years ago. I was one of the few white women in a class with an African American teacher and about 6 other students, half of whom were African American. I was a minority, and felt guilt when we were discussing The Bluest Eye, and how Pecola just wanted to be beautiful, and in her mind that meant "white."

I remember thinking, in my naïveté "how can a little black girl think she's not beautiful?" I looked at the black women in my class. One woman was thin and wore the coolest, hippest clothes. She pulled her loose curls back in pony tail and bangles hung on her small wrists. Her brown eyes sparkled. I wanted to be that cool and beautiful.

Besides that, the girls had a certain rapport with the African American teacher. They were always telling inside jokes about African American culture. I felt left out. I wanted to be one of them.

At the same time, my heart broke for Pecola Breedlove, and reading The Bluest Eye gave me a greater understanding into the African American experience.

I've been thinking a lot about things like this as we move forward with our adoption. Will our little girl think she's not beautiful just because she's black? If David and I are going to bring an Ethiopian child into this country, we can't afford to sit back and not do everything we can to understand the racial divide in our country.

Listening to Jeremiah Wright over the past week, it's obvious that we as Americans have a long way to go. There's still so much anger and so little forgiveness (on both sides of the racial divide). Where will that leave us, as a racially mixed family trying to navigate and overcome that divide? Will we be a part of the healing? Will our love be enough to protect our child from racism?

None of these questions is enough to make us stop our adoption. But I know we have a lot to learn and think about. And now I'm even more determined to learn more about how it feels to be African American, and how I can do my small part to help heal racial wounds. I owe it to our child. And I will do everything in my power to help her to know that she's beautiful and made in God's image....even if she doesn't have the bluest eyes....

A morning on the EL

2008-04-28T06:51:00.000-07:00

I got a seat on the EL this morning, but cringed when an obviously mentally ill man got on the train and stood right in front of me. He had three teeth, wore dirty gloves and an ancient winter coat. He was clutching a Dunkin Donut's bag. Like many mentally ill people, he was muttering to himself...a running commentary. "Oh, brother, I thought. Just what I need on a Monday morning. This is exactly why I hate riding the EL. This guy is making everyone uncomfortable."

Those around him moved away, but I was stuck in my seat. So I just stared ahead and tried not to provoke him.

"The loud speaker's at just the right level. Sometimes it's blasting.....I have my jelly donut here, but I can't eat it...it would be too much chaos...it would slop all over...and they never put napkins in the bag....the little boy wanted a donut, but his mother wouldn't let him....maybe it was for religious reasons. Those polygamist women in Texas....they're strange...what's the deal with them...."

After a while, I started laughing. Everything this guy was saying was sort of...true...and funny.

I looked up at him and he looked at me. I smiled. "You're making me laugh" I said to him. He smiled back.

Now he had an audience. I was sad for him, but also still a bit wary. I didn't want to encourage him too much. What would he do?

"I talk to myself", he said "because I live alone. I've lived alone for 50 years....except for my two cats...they're fixed...the male cat, he didn't like that...he's a mean one, he weighs 30 pounds and has diabetes. I've had him since he was 7 months old....he's still 49% feral....and 51% he listens to me....he's mean though...but I believe there's good in everyone...even animals...."

I realized that maybe he wasn't mentally ill. He was just lonely.

This went on for the rest of the el ride. The guy's voice was getting louder. Now he was speaking directly to me and I could tell the other riders were uncomfortable that I was encouraging this guy. They moved even further away from him and shot me some dirty looks.

"Before I had them fixed, I had to duct tape the doors closed so the male cat couldn't get to my female cat. But one day I came home and he had pushed that door open....even though I had used 2/3 of a role of duct tape!....but I got them fixed because that helps the cat population and the smell....

He got off at my stop. "You're getting off here, too?" He asked. I nodded and smiled.

I hurriedly got of the train and was walking in front of him. I half-way turned around and said "Have a nice day."

"Hey, maybe I'll see you on the train again." He said.

"Yea, maybe" I said.

Then I walked down the stairs and into the April rain.

Partying with the Writers of Faith

2008-04-20T18:11:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend with other writer friends at the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin College and my parched soul was filled to the brim. I think we writer-types (even those of us who don't feel like writers sometimes), go around feeling odd in a world of normal, and when we get together for these gatherings it's like coming home, or finally finding others members of our odd tribe. We discover maybe we aren't so weird after all, and that all of our quirks and insecurities and ways of thinking are just a part of being a writer. That all of us, even those who are successful and have published books and go on book tours and speak at festivals, have doubts and fears and insecurities. That writing doesn't come easily, even for the most talented.

I think in the past few years, as David and I have settled into marriage, that I've forgotten parts of myself. It's so easy to lose yourself in marriage. To get caught up in every-day life and paying bills and working and hopefully helping the other person become what God has created them to be. This is all fulfilling, and more so than I ever thought. But to put words on paper and write truth and craft the stories that happen to rattle around in my head is what I feel called to do. I try to deny it, and forget about it. It's too hard. I'm not disciplined enough. I'm afraid of failure. But, as writer Mary Gordon reminded us this weekend, "To be a writer is to fail and fail again."

I saw friends there I haven't seen for a few years. Had wonderful conversations about faith and writing and God. Listened to authors speak about their writing. I wish I could have brought you all along. Here are tidbits I can at least share with you:

"Christianity isn't about what you think, but it's embodying the faith. 'Blessed is the one who hears the word and does it.'" -- Scot Cairns (poet)

"Sometimes we pray just by doing what needs to be done." -- Kathleen Norris

"The storytelling impulse is a saving grace -- it reminds us that we are made in God's image." -- Kathleen Norris

"Sunday morning got hijacked by the scientists." -- Rob Bell

"Faith is to trust your instincts to be true to your calling." -- Elizabeth Berg

"Beauty is born in play." -- Katherine Patterson

"Three things are needed for beauty: Integrity, harmony and brilliance." -- Katherine Patterson

"In truth-telling is great beauty." -- Katherine Patterson

I now look like Jane Fonda in Klute

2008-04-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

I went to get a long-overdue haircut on Thursday. For those of you who know me well, you know I inherited a lot of hair-anxiety from my mother. You see, my mom had very fine, thin hair that caused her much grief. She tried everything to get her limp locks to do something...anything. She permed, colored, curled and sprayed. She tried different gels, mouses, curling irons, and shampoos. She was never satisfied.

From the time I was 12, my mom started giving me home perms. She projected all of her hair anxiety onto us girls, saying things like "We'll always need perms to give us 'body'". So I just assumed I was destined for a life of perm rods and frizzy hair. It also meant I kept my hair short and layered -- because "our hair is just to thin to grow long." I will spare you the pain of looking at photos. When David saw these old photos of me, his comments were "You look like you have an afro", and "You look like a cartoon character."

Thanks honey.

I gave up perms long ago. I no longer have a white-girl afro. And thankfully, my hair anxiety is mostly gone.

But I had to laugh when I walked in the door Thursday night after getting my hair cut and the first thing David said was, "Hey, you look like Jane Fonda in 'Klute.'"

So yes, people, I have a 1971 hooker hair cut. Just the look I was going for.

Searching for the sun in Dallas

2008-04-01T08:17:00.001-07:00

We came to Dallas for a few days to visit David's parents, and secretly hoping to see the sun again. Is it still there? Does anyone know?

Instead, we've been sitting in the family room of David's parents' nearly-empty house looking longingly through the sliding glass doors to the overcast skies and the pool in the back yard. I'm trying to imagine what it would be like to sit by the pool soaking in the sun after the longest, drearies, snowiest winter in history. But alas, my dreams of the sun are only dreams.

The only time I saw the sun this weekend was when we ventured to the Dallas Museum of Art for the J.M.W. Turner exhibit. Light and sun appear in most of his paintings...which are amazing. I really have no words to describe the exhibit. It was overwhelming. It's the largest collection of Turner paintings ever exhibited in one place and after a while it's "beauty overload". He's one of the first landscape painters and through his use of light and color and sky portrayed a sense of the "sublime". He also wrote poetry and in his later years (early -mid 1800s) started painting more impressionistic -- before there was anything called "impressionism". The only reason I know all of this is because I saw the exhibit with David, who used to write about art for the Tribune, and his friend, Stephen, who's an artist. These two guys know art...and I often feel a bit ignorant around them. I stand there looking at a painting, trying to come up with at least an intelligent question to ask. Mostly I just stand there admiring the painting while I listen to the two of them talk. It's like having my very own art tutors.

We are flying back to Chicago tonight (after having our flights canceled yesterday), and it's supposed to be sunny in Chicago tomorrow. We'll see. I may have to hang on to my memories of Turner's paintings to remind me that there is still something called "the sun", and that it's yellow and warm -- and sublime.

Adoption Update

2008-03-19T09:46:00.000-07:00

We had our first meeting with our social worker last week. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I was a little nervous. Would she have a good first impression and think we are good candidates to parent a child? Or would she think we were too old, too weird and too poor?

But overall, it was a very nice meeting. I like our social worker. She's been at The Cradle (our home study agency) for over 20 years. We talked for over 2 hours about why we want to adopt, why Ethiopia, what age we should consider, our backgrounds, etc. Nothing too probing yet. At the end of our conversation, she gave us a stack of paperwork to read and fill out. It's a bit daunting, but we're just taking it one step at a time. Right now it looks like Ethiopia is a good fit for us, and we're thinking about adopting a 3-4 year old. However, our social worker seemed to think the younger the better (for attachment reasons and because we're first time parents). So our age preference may get younger. If that happens, we may need to find another International agency, because Wide Horizons doesn't let you choose the gender of the child if you want a child under 3. Or, we would need to be open to a boy. Not that I'm against adopting a boy, but I have 13 nephews and I know how much energy they have when they're 3 -- they're constant motion! I seriously wonder if David and I would have enough energy for that.

So we're starting the paperwork, taking classes (we're required to take a day-long class at The Cradle in April and a handful of on-line classes), and then we'll meet with our social worker a few more times.

We're still working on our web site. We're hoping to get it finished this weekend.

In the meantime, check out the blogs of two of my on-line adoption acquaintances. They're in Ethiopia right now meeting their children for the first time!! Kristin and her husband are picking up little Marin, and Lori and Ted are getting to know little Abenezer. Adorable, eh?

A walk in the city

2008-03-08T11:51:00.000-08:00

My new office is in the "River North" area of downtown Chicago, so we're close to Michigan Avenue, The Loop, etc. It's been too nasty outside to really take advantage of the neighborhood, but the other day when it was at least above zero and the sun was peeking out, I took a walk. Here are some pictures:

My office is on Superior Avenue, home to lots of galleries. I love these glass heads. I want to buy one.

Yes, ice falls off of the high-rises. People have died from being hit by falling ice. But I'm always curious about these signs. By the time you see a chunk of ice falling to the ground, wouldn't it be too late to get out of the way?

Here's the steeple of Holy Name Cathedral. About 13 years ago, when I was working in this exact same neighborhood at a mindless job and suffering from severe depression, I spent many of my lunch hours in this sanctuary. It was right after I had been dumped by a guy who I knew I didn't want to marry, but who had betrayed me and left me confused and hurt. I would sit and stare at the gorgeous carved wood crucifix that hangs in the front of the sanctuary and try to feel God's love.

Here's a ballerina in the Sak's window. I don't shop at Sak's because it's too expensive and the sales people are really snooty. Plus, what does a ballerina have to do with anything?

Here's Michigan avenue. I think it's about a mile or more if I walk from my office to here and back. It's a nice little workout during lunch.

The Hancock Building. It's a nice view from the top. Oh, and the thing to the left is the original Chicago water tower that survived the great fire.

Thanks for taking a walk with me today. For our next walk, we may venture into the notorious Cabrini Green neighborhood, which is being "gentrified." All of the former residents have been forced to move out, the public housing buildings are being razed, and the yuppies are moving in.

"I am sicker than a dog"

2008-03-03T08:21:00.001-08:00

That's my new six-word memoir.

It figures. I was just bragging to a coworker last week that I NEVER get sick. HA. HA. Then two days later I'm suffering from a headache, stuffy nose, achy muscles and sore throat. I tried to plow through my weekend chores, but I had to lie down and rest every 30 minutes. I managed to pick up the house, pay some bills online, go to the grocery store. But that's about it. Otherwise I was on the couch moaning and snuffling.

Feeling a bit better this morning, although I AM SO READY FOR SPRING! Today I woke up to rain that is supposed to turn to snow this afternoon. Ugh. I contemplating taking a sick day, but couldn't decide if I was sick enough. So I took a shower, felt a bit better, drove to work in the rain, and now here I am at my desk. I'm am feeling better. It's amazing what a Grande Iced Americano can do.

Thanks to all who contributed a Six Word Memoir. I think Jane's was my favorite: Love and loss have softened me. Knowing what she's been through in the past year, it is very poignant. Read her story here.

I guess the Six Word Memoir is making the rounds. Salon.com had readers write their own. Here are some of my favorites:

"Failure was apparently an option here"
"Frankly, it is all about me."
"Don't even try to plan it."

And my all-time favorite: "Fat man in a sweater vest."

Maybe I have a strange sense of humor, but that one made me laugh out loud!

Now, here's the memoir i WANT to write: "Found my path, walked it fearlessly."

But unfortunately, too many times I question the path I'm on, and I let fear get the best of me. Then I'm paralyzed. If I could only be sure of my path and walk it fearlessly. How does one get there? How do you get to a place where you're confident of your path and have the courage to walk it with boldness and without fear?

***
Well, maybe I'm going to answer my own question: We handed in our application to The Cradle last week. We've been assigned a social worker for our home study, and so we're just waiting to get a phone call from her to set up an appointment.

It's scary and exciting at the same time.

And to make it even more exciting, last week David gave me the BEST VALENTINE'S DAY PRESENT EVER.

He gave me flowers on Valentine's Day, but told me he was "making" another gift for me that wasn't done yet. So I waited all week for my second Valentine's Gift. To be honest, I thought he was writing me a song (I couldn't think of anything else he would "make" for me). But last Sunday he finally revealed his gift: An adoption website! Yep, he's creating this whole adoption website where we can tell everyone about our exciting Ethiopian Adventure. It's almost done, and we'll be posting the URL soon. So stay tuned.....

Write a six word memoir!

2008-02-22T12:14:00.000-08:00

I've always wanted to write a memoir, and now I have. In six words. (It took me about 10 minutes). I found this fun link to an online magazine where you can submit your six-word memoir. Here are some examples:

"Gloves off. Rings off. Marriage over."
"Sixties hippie chick finally grows up."
"I am more than six words."

I tried it and here are four six-word memoirs I wrote.

"A Baptist girl finally blossoms late."
"Questions never answered, but peace found."
"Hesitant observer finally joins the game."
"Never stops hoping for good hair."

Which one should I submit?
Let me read your six-word memoirs!

I knew there was a good reason I like Obama

2008-02-21T08:09:00.000-08:00

Ever taken the Meyers-Briggs personality test? I'm an INFP, for anyone who's wondering. I'm an "Idealist".

Turns out Barack Obama is, too. He's an ENFP. Read about the personality types of all of the candidates in Emily Yoffe's fun article in Slate.com today. It explains a lot...

Learning to love the EL...again.

2008-02-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

When I first moved to Chicago several years ago, I loved riding the "El". It made me feel urban, young, chic, streetwise, and cool. I didn't even mind when it was crowded. I reveled in being part of the masses of humanity taking the train "to the Loop" to work. It was gritty, loud, crowded, and fun. I liked seeing the tops of two flats and the back porches of condo buildings whizzing as I rode to work.

But somewhere along the line I became disillusioned. The crowds started annoying me. I noticed I no longer liked strangers bumping up against me or pushing me aside as they tried to squeeze into a too-full train car. Then I had a job in the NBC Tower, which was several blocks from the El station. It was a difficult time in my life. I was in the process of trying to transition from working in the Christian publishing ghetto to something different -- I wasn't sure what -- and I was taking fiction writing classes. I was temping for a company in the NBC building, which turned into a full time job. But a job I hated. It was a job where my skills weren't being used, where I didn't fit in, and where I felt like I was spinning my wheels. In the winter, the walk from the El station to the NBC building was, well, hellish. The NBC building is near the lake, and to get from the El to the building I had to walk through a large open plaza that during the winter was like walking through Antarctica. I would arrive a work windblown, frozen, with watering eyes and a red nose. And all that to get to a job that I despised.

That experience soured my love for the El. It no longer held any romance for me. Now it was like a mean ex-boyfriend.

I was relieved when I left that job to work as a freelancer. My main client was in a northern suburb, and I got to drive to work, where there was a huge black-topped parking lot. FREE Parking! I couldn't believe my good fortune. I suddenly loved the large expanses of green grass in the burbs and the huge yellow-lined parking lot. I loved listening to NPR in the car and the 10 Starbucks on the way to work. The "El" I had had broken up and I had a new lover: My car.

My new job is a half-block from the El station. At first I tried to deny this. The first couple of weeks on the job I drove to work, "To make my transition easier," I told David. But parking is scarce, and if I couldn't find a free spot, I'd end up parking in a lot where I paid $13. After a few weeks I had to be honest with myself: We couldn't afford to spend that much. So I knew I had to make up with the "El" and learn to love it again.

I really have it quite easy now. David often drives me to the El station near our house. I'm near the "top of the line" so I usually get a seat. It's only a 30 minute ride to work, and I only have to walk a half-block from the El station to the door of my office building. Plus, there's a Starbucks right around the corner.

But I still have "El" baggage. I loathe waiting. Standing on the El platform waiting for the train is a test of my patience, especially in the cold. But I'm learning to enjoy the ride. Today I sat on the side of the train and felt the sun on my face. I noticed all of the church steeples on the way downtown. I like "people-watching" and find it interesting that you can tell what stop we're at by the type of people who get on -- the former frat boys and sorority girls at the Fullerton Station. The more diverse crowd at the Howard Station. When I take the train to Logan Square for Nordic Choir practice on Monday nights, I'm riding the El with hipsters and artsy types.

I'm trying to see my morning commute as meditative. Being quiet and contemplative in the midst of the chaos of humanity. To see each face that gets on the train and wonder who they are, what they're thinking, what they're struggling with. Or sometimes I just sleep (or try to).

Maybe one day you'll see my photo here.

This website was created by the sister of my good friend Mrs. Metaphor.

Migraines "R" Us

2008-02-19T13:52:00.000-08:00

I woke up today with a migraine. This is my fourth migraine in the past week. Just when I was feeling hopeful that maybe, just maybe, the daily Beta-blocker I take to prevent migraines was finally kicking in and getting my headaches under control. I hadn't taken my other medication, Relpax, for a few months, so I was hopeful. (I take Relpax when I actually have a migraine.)

My error is thinking that I can actually control what goes on in the veins in my head. And believe me, I try. I stay away from "triggers" that set off the headaches. These (for me) include red wine, aspartame, getting too hungry, getting too tired, getting too stressed, and strong cheese. It's a delicate balance. There are other things I can't control -- like changes in weather (the barometric pressure sets them off), and cold wind, and hormones.

Every time I get a migraine, it's a guessing game as to what set it off. The cold front that came through yesterday? My lack of sleep? Too much caffeine? Stress at work?

Last week my headaches were triggered (I think) by the following:

Wednesday: I took a walk at lunch. It was sunny out, which fooled me into thinking that it was actually WARM outside. So I didn't wear a hat. It was really only around 18 degrees outside, and I think the cold wind on my head and the bright sunlight set off my headache.

Thursday: I had a big meeting with one of our clients -- a client who used to be my employer. I was nervous about the meeting, and about seeing former colleagues. Bingo. I had a splitting migraine after the meeting.

Saturday: I went out for drinks with friends. I avoided red wine, which is known to trigger migraines. Instead, I had a martini. A splitting headache followed. Apparently I can't consume any alcohol anymore.

Monday/Tuesday: Last night I felt a migraine coming on at about 8:00. I couldn't think of what would trigger it, except that I waited a little too long to eat dinner, and a cold front was coming through Chicago. I guess that's what did it. Since I had taken Relpax three times last week, I didn't want to take it yet again...The stuff is expensive and the side effects make me nervous. So I went to bed last night without drugs, hoping I could sleep off the pain. Nope. I woke up at 5:00 this morning with a splitting headache. Knowing that I needed to go to work in a few hours, I took a Relpax and went back to bed.

This is my life with migraines. A constant balancing act, trying to make sure I don't consume the wrong thing, don't take walks when it's too cold, don't get too stressed, or too hungry or too tired.

At least now I have drugs to take. The Relpax usually works well. But I hate taking it. If I don't take it, the headache could last three days.

I get depressed, sometimes, thinking about how I have to deal with this pain on a regular basis. I wonder "why me?" and I envy people who don't get headaches. What is that like, I wonder? During times why I'm suffering from a series of migraines, I measure my days by my head. Yesterday my head was "foggy" and my forehead felt "stuffy." I felt down and discouraged all day, like I would have to live the rest of my life with the pain. ON bad days I feel frail and sickly, and walk around looking pale with dark circles under my eyes.

But today is a good day (after the Relpax kicked in). My head feels clear and pain free. I feel more hopeful. I'm hoping this feeling will last for a while.

Oh, if you want to read more about migraines, check out the Migraine Blog on the New York Times web site.

Today's entry is about the hallucinations or "auras" that some people get before their migraine starts. Sounds kindof cool. I don't get auras. Just the pain. bummer....

Why become a Vegetarian?

2008-02-15T12:00:00.000-08:00

Greg Boyd, who I've mentioned before in this blog and who wrote "The Myth of a Christian Nation," recently wrote two posts in his blog about why he's a vegetarian. Good stuff, I say. This guys is a kindred spirit in many ways....

Cuteness, Valentine's day, Lent

2008-02-15T07:46:00.000-08:00

I have a new online acquaintance, Kristin, who just got a referral for a three year old little girl from Ethiopia. Check out her blog to see photos. (scroll down.) How cute is she?! Since we're hoping to adopt a little girl around this same age, I get really excited seeing photos like this. Kristin said they only waiting 5 months for a referral, which is encouraging. They're traveling soon to get her.

I also got excited when a friend recently sent me a picture to hang in our child's room. It was such a thoughtful gift. David put it on top of the bookshelf, where we can see it and be reminded of what's to come. I can't wait to decorate the room.

****

I'm usually not one for Hallmark-created holiday's like Valentine's Day. But it was very nice to come home last night to a clean house and flowers on the table. My husband's the best.

****

I was going to give up sugar for Lent, but that lasted about a day and yesterday I ate two cupcakes and three pieces of Valentine's chocolate. So now I'm a failure at both Lent and Weight Watchers. Lord have mercy.

So instead of giving up chocolate for Lent, I'm taking the advice of Scot McNight and saying the Jesus Creed every morning and evening until Easter:

Hear O Israel! The Lord our God, The Lord is one.
Love the Lord your God with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.
The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself.
There is no commandment greater than these.

Interesting Factoid

2008-02-08T09:41:00.000-08:00

Tom Skilling, our revered weatherman, says we've only had 11 minutes of sun so far in February.

That's ELEVEN MINUTES! And I was probably sitting in the office during that whole sun-shiney event and missed it.

Finding Redemption in Film

2008-02-01T10:34:00.001-08:00

Here's Christianity Today's list of "The ten most redeeming films of 2007." I've seen about half of these, and with 12 inches of snow on the ground, I may go out and rent the other half this weekend!

Apologies

2008-02-01T09:04:00.000-08:00

Hello dear readers. I apologize for my long absence. I started a new job on January 7--a 9-5 fulltime job. No more freelancing for me, no-sir-ee. And I'm actually quite happy about that. After spending five years in the corporate world DREAMING, SALIVATING, WAITING for the day that I could freelance again....I finally had the opportunity to freelance again in June of 2006 and realized, "Um, oops, I'm not happy with this arrangement after all."

I missed having colleagues. I missed getting up every morning and having somewhere to go. I felt lost and bored during the times when I only had a trickle of work. And I got tired of having anxiety attacks wondering if the work would pick up again.

The final straw was when David decided to go back to school to get a degree in counseling. Good decision. He's happy and working toward something that he's thought about for a long time. But that left us with no steady income, and that had to change. So the combination of all of these factors made me start contemplating a fulltime gig again.

Thankfully, around this time one of my freelance clients approached me. Good timing. Maybe divine? Who knows. But it's an agency where I've wanted to work for a long time. I love the work they do. The people are cool but not ego-driven. And I get to wear jeans to work everyday. You can read more about the agency here.

Check out the book they designed for the Dior exhibit at the Chicago Historical museum. Very cool. And they do work for the Morris Foundation -- which is all about animal rights. Right up my alley.

So I'm getting used to the commute (only 30 minutes on the train). I like having co-workers. I feel creatively challenged. And they pay me a lot. So it's all good.

And hopefully now we'll FINALLY get our adoption started! We're chomping at the bit, but felt like we needed to get ourselves into a more financially stable position before we got going full tilt.

So here we are. Now that I'm more settled into my new schedule and life, I hope to post more.

The Joys of an Imperfect Christmas

2008-01-06T08:31:00.000-08:00

Seven years ago on December 23, 2000, as I drove my two-door Saturn along I-80 to visit my family in Iowa for Christmas, I complained to my friend, Loren, who had agreed to ride with me to Iowa City where his parents lived, that I was weary of the same old Christmas routine. At 36 and single, I typically drove to Iowa for the holidays, and spent a week absorbing my mother’s perfectionism and anxiety, observing my siblings’ families celebrate together, and mourning my singleness. I was hungry for a change in scenery – not just at Christmas, but in my life in general. And for some reason blamed this on my mother, who took upon herself a frenzy at Christmas, wanting everything to be perfect for her children and grandchildren, cleaning and decorating the house obsessively, shopping 24/7 to find the perfect gifts for every family member, planning the traditional holiday meals, and basically doling out packages of stress to everyone around her. Perfectionism – the gift that keeps on giving.

Mom’s Christmas frenzy was often hard for me to take. I wanted her to sit down and just BE. I craved peace at Christmas, not perfectionism. I now realize while her perfectionism drove her….so did her love. She wanted Christmas to be the perfect experience – for us. But at the time, I couldn’t see that. Seven years ago, she was the easiest one to blame for what I perceived as the sorry state of affairs in my life. I longed to be normal and married, like my siblings, who traveled to see in-laws every-other Christmas, leaving me as the pathetic “single” who hung out with her parents like an unpopular high-school student left at home to play Scrabble with mom and dad on prom night.

I think back on the conversation in the car with Loren and the guilt overwhelms me. I wanted things to be different. Be careful what you ask for. About an hour later my life changed irrevocably when my brother told me, as I talked to him on my cellphone in the frozen parking lot of an Amoco station, that my mother had died of a heart attack at approximately 11:00 that morning, as she was wrapping gifts to make our Christmas perfect because she loved us.

I thought about that Christmas seven years ago, as I do every year, as David and I drove to Dallas to visit his parent. Yes, I now have in-laws to visit, but it's not the scenario I imagined.

My mother-in-law has Alzheimers. I don’t think she knows who I am. At our rehearsal dinner the night before David and I got married 2 and a half years ago, she turned to me and asked “Is it somebody’s birthday?” I laughed as I helped her cut her pizza. It was sad and funny, but I was in too much of a wedding daze to let it affect me.

She has declined since then. She now lives in an assisted living home, recently broke her hip, so she can no longer walk. Someone has to help feed her. She barely talks, and when she does, it like an infant babbling. Her life has come full circle.

As David and I drove through sunny and flat Oklahoma, I thought about how much my Christmas routine has changed. To be honest, I was dreading this holiday. David and I were going to stay in his parents empty house (it’s going on the market soon), visit them in the assisted living home, and try to play peacemakers to his feuding siblings. Fun Christmas.

I had imagined a mother-in-law who would become a friend. I imagined Christmases with the two of us cooking up a meal in the kitchen together, and hearing stories about my husband’s childhood. Maybe even a confidant, a second mother with the luxury of less baggage than a biological mother. What I got was a mother-in-law who doesn’t even recognize me.

But there were gifts found in unexpected places throughout our week in Dallas. It was sunny and I felt my normal Christmas depression lifting as I sat out by the swimming pool and the sun warmed my face. It was too chilly to swim or sunbathe, but just having the sun on my face lifted my spirits. And the week was a lesson, for me, on learning better how to love. I knew it would be a difficult week. I wasn’t expecting much. So I took Anne Lammot’s words to heart: “We’re not hungry for what we don’t have. We’re hungry for what we don’t give”. So I decided I would do the giving.

On Christmas Day I offered to cook a squash lasagna. My sister-in-law, Kelly, and niece-in-law, Chelsea, are both vegetarians, so we collaborated to make some great veggie dishes for Christmas dinner. It was a gift spending time with them in the kitchen, as I got to know them better and all three of us talked about our love for animals and how we became vegetarians. We put together an awesome Christmas dinner, with lots of veggie dishes. We had brought David’s mom and Dad home from the assisted living home, and they seemed to enjoy the time with their family.

Then a few days later my niece-in-law’s daughter, who is only 2, spiked a high temperature and became really sick – so I went with the two of them to Emergency Room. We spent 5 hours there, and I got to know Chelsea, a single mom, a little better and fell in love with Rylie, her daughter. Rylie and I are now best buds.

On Friday David and I want to the Assisted Living home to visit his parents. Emma Lee, David’s mom, was sitting in a room full of basically catatonic Alzheimer’s patients. They were all fully dressed, and some were sitting around a table. We could tell all of the patients were cared for and loved. But what do you do with a room full of adults that can’t talk, walk, or even interact, really?

We wheeled Emma Lee into the hallway and tried to talk with her, which wasn’t easy. But she smiled occasionally and we struggled to make conversation. We sat next to a piano, and I tentatively started playing hymns from a Baptist hymnal. I can only play songs with no sharps or flats – and only the right hand notes. This after 7 years of piano lessons. My mother, who was an accomplished church pianist and wanted me to be one, too, would have cringed.

I started with a few Christmas carols, like “Silent Night” and “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” Then we moved onto old Baptist standards like “At Calvary” and “When We All Get to Heaven” and “Oh Sacred Head Now Wounded.”

Emma Lee tried to join in singing a few hymns. I saw a spark in her eyes, and she seemed to come out of her Alzheimer’s coma for a few minutes. David started crying.

And I felt my mother there with us – my head is filled with images of her sitting at the upright piano, playing hymns from the Baptist hymnal, much more eloquently than I was playing. It seemed fitting that my mother and my mother-in-law were there together at this utterly imperfect Christmas, as I eked out hymns about a Christ-child who gave us the gift of himself that we might have hope. Then I realized I no longer felt hungry.

Adoption update

2007-12-20T07:44:00.000-08:00

Last night David and I went to a meeting at our homestudy agency, The Cradle, here in Evanston. It's the first step in our homestudy process. Yes, we're on our way! Next I have to fill out an application, and then they will match us with a social worker who will get to know us and find out if we're fit to parent. This part of the process takes 4 - 5 months, apparently. After that, our "dossier" will be sent to our other "placing agency," Wide Horizons for Children, who will send everything to Ethiopia and then we'll start the wait to get placed with a child.

It seems like it's taken us forever to get to this point. I'm just so ready to get moving and feel like we're making progress. And it makes me nervous that so many people are starting to adopt from Ethiopia..I'm afraid something will happen...like they'll start putting age restrictions on their adoptions, or the country will be too overwhelmed to handle all of the adoptions...or something. I have to keep reminding myself that we're not in control, and that if we're supposed to have a child, it will happen one way or another. It's all about trusting God...and it's so hard.

One of my adoption/online friends, Lori, and her husband just got their referral. Check out this referral photo on their blog. Okay, doesn't that picture just make you want to go to Ethiopia and adopt about 10 babies?!

Barack, The Holidays, and Hope

2007-12-18T07:07:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to stay a safe distance from the presidential campaign and not get too dogmatic about my love for Barack Obama, because I think ultimately politics is not the solution to what ails us. But my dad, who lives in Iowa where he meets all of the presidential candidates every election and knows the ins-and-outs of all of their policies, keeps asking me why I like Barack Obama. "Oh, I don't know...he's just....cool and refreshing." Such a deep answer, I know, which I'm sure doesn't garner much respect from my father. He's probably just rolling his eyes.

David Brooks, my secret Republican crush, articulates me feelings about Obama in his column in the NY Times today.

I think what it comes down to, for me, is INTEGRITY and SELF KNOWLEDGE. Here's an excerpt from his column:

"Obama is an inner-directed man in a profession filled with insecure outer-directed ones. He was forged by the process of discovering his own identity from the scattered facts of his childhood, a process that is described in finely observed detail in “Dreams From My Father.” Once he completed that process, he has been astonishingly constant.

Like most of the rival campaigns, I’ve been poring over press clippings from Obama’s past, looking for inconsistencies and flip-flops. There are virtually none. The unity speech he gives on the stump today is essentially the same speech that he gave at the Democratic convention in 2004, and it’s the same sort of speech he gave to Illinois legislators and Harvard Law students in the decades before that. He has a core, and was able to maintain his equipoise, for example, even as his campaign stagnated through the summer and fall."

Okay, that's all I'm going to say about politics.

*******

Changing subjects: There's an interesting article in Salon.com today about why the new athiests are ignorant about God. You can read it here.

It's an interview with John Haught, a catholic theologian at Georgetown University. He has some interesting things to say about what athiests don't know about religion, how evolution and theology can be compatible. But what struck me was what he had to say when the interviewer asked him: "Why can't you have hope if you don't believe in God"

Haught says:

"You can have hope. But the question is, can you justify the hope? I don't have any objection to the idea that atheists can be good and morally upright people. But we need a worldview that is capable of justifying the confidence that we place in our minds, in truth, in goodness, in beauty. I argue that an atheistic worldview is not capable of justifying that confidence. Some sort of theological framework can justify our trust in meaning, in goodness, in reason."

Believing Christ is the justification for hope is what I cling to during the holidays. My usual holiday depression has been kept at bay by my crazy schedule, a few days of sunshine, and Sufjan Steven's Christmas CDs. Oh, and the Lexapro probably helps a little, too. But our wonderful church, Old St. Pats, is the true salve. In church on Sunday I was wondering, really, what people do without God. During this advent season, each Sunday they have a member of the church tell his or her story. Last Sunday a woman told about how her husband died in her arms of heart failure, and 6 months later, her infant daughter died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. How do you find hope in the midst of that? I'm constantly amazed at the testimony of people who have been through the most horrific things that life brings. Sure, I feel beaten down by every day life. But these stories constantly remind me that there is something to this Christmas story. That if THEY can go through THAT and come out feeling loved by God....then yes, there is hope. Maybe that's what it means to being Christ in the world? Telling our stories of hope.

Happy Santa Lucia Day

2007-12-13T08:13:00.000-08:00

For the past few weeks I've been donning a white gown and putting a glittery wreath on my head to celebrate Santa Lucia with the Chicago Nordic Choir. Every time I do this, I feel a bit foolish. I remember attending a Santa Lucia festival at my grandmother's Swedish Covenant Church a long time ago. The "Lucia" wears a crown of candles, and her young, virginal court follows behind her in a processional to celebrate the saint.

Now that I'm a member of the Nordic Choir, I've just been going along with this tradition, not really knowing what it means. Something about "light" and of course a saint named "Lucia". But a few nights ago we sang a Lucia concert at a Lutheran church in Evanston and one of the church members read the story of Lucia. Finally, I understood the meaning of the candles, white robes and red sashes we wear around our waists.

Here's the Lucia story:

"The origins of the Santa Lucia tradition are not in Scandinavia, but in Syracuse on the island of Sicily around 304 A.D. According to the Sicilian legend, Lucia's mother, a wealthy lady, had been miraculously cured of an illness at the sepulcher of Saint Agatha in Catania. Lucia, a Christian, persuaded her mother in thankfulness to distribute her wealth to the poor. So, by candlelight, the mother and daughter went about the city secretly ministering to the poor of Syracuse.

Unfortunately, this was during the last great persecution of Christians in the reign of the Emperor Diocletian. The pagan young man, to whom Lucia was engaged, took a dim view of this distributing of her dowry, and denounced her to the prefect, Pascasius, who ordered that she be seized and tortured. Miraculously, when neither boiling oil nor burning pitch had the power to hurt her, she was blinded and slain with a sword. Her martyrdom is recorded in ancient sources and in an inscription found in Syracuse.

How or when this legend and tradition came to Värmland, Sweden, no one knows. With the coming of Christianity to Sweden shortly after 1000 A.D., missionaries and priests may have told the story to inspire new converts. Another possibility is that sailors from Sweden may have been captivated by the popular candlelight festival of Santa Lucia in Italy and brought the tradition back with them. A newer theory, requiring more research is that St. Birgitta (1303-1373), during her stay in Rome (1349-1373) in her effort to get papal approval of the Bridgittine Order for women, probably wrote home to Sweden telling of the Lucia legend which was widely known in Italy. As Lucia Day comes at the darkest time of year, the candies of the ministering Santa Lucia portend and witness to the True Light-the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. On the morning of the thirteenth of December, the strains of "Santa Lucia" are heard everywhere in Sweden as the white-robed maiden comes out of the night with her burning crown of candies dispelling the darkness. In honor of her martyrdom, It has long been the custom to donate money on Lucia Day to institutions working for the blind."

Now, when I wear the white robe and carry a candle, I will know that I am a witness to the True Light, Jesus Christ.

Thankful

2007-12-03T13:03:00.000-08:00

It's often hard for me to be thankful. I'm a cup half-empty kind of gal, as my husband often reminds me. I pine for things I don't have, while overlooking all of the great things in my life. Someone once suggested writing something you're thankful for everyday. Maybe I should do that, just to remind me that, okay, I have it pretty darn good.

I'm reading a memoir my sister and niece both suggested -- "Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls. I bought it two days ago and am almost finished. It's good. Anyway, it's the story of life with parents who are irresponsible, selfish, and basically unfit to parent. Neither of them can hold down a job, and the four children end up fending for themselves, to the point of digging through the school garbage to find the remains of other kids lunches to eat. Their shack of a house has no running water and they can rarely afford electricity. Once Jeannette becomes an adult and becomes a successful reporter in New York City, the one thing she's most thankful for is a hot bath and being clean everyday.

So what am I thankful for? After reading this book, I'm thankful for a warm house, money to pay my electric bill, a hot shower everyday, parents who worked hard to provide for me.

I'm also thankful for a loving husband who makes me dinner and cleans the kitchen (among other things), good friends, a cute cat curled up next to my computer, siblings who are fun to be around, my 10 nephews and 3 nieces who have made being childless a little easier, my dad who taught me to love to read -- and encouraged me to write, and the Sufjan Steven's Christmas CDs.

Most of all I'm thankful for the hope that Christmas brings.

Here are a few photos from our Thanksgiving in Iowa.

Siblings who actually like each other.

Niece Ellie likes to cook. For the record, my waist was never this small.

David teaching my youngest nephews how to play "Casino". He's such a good influence.

The little boys adore their older cousin Alex.

There were 23 of us all together. We were only missing 2 nephews and a spouse. This i s a typical scene when we're all together -- some watching football, some getting ready to go somewhere (to the mall? To the coffee shop?), and basically just hanging out. I'm thankful I get to hang out with this gang.

Beloved

2007-11-18T19:15:00.000-08:00

"All I want to say to you is 'You are the Beloved,' and all I hope is that you can hear these words as spoken to you with all the tenderness and force that love can hold. My only desire is to make these words reverberate in every corner of your being, 'You are the Beloved." -- Henri Nouwen

This weekend David and I went on a retreat from 38 others from Old St. Pats. We stayed at a Catholic seminary and were drenched in God's love all weekend. It was an amazing experience. I don't think I can even articulate what the weekend was like, except to say that it was filled with stories of God working in the lives of his Beloved, and it gave me hope. Hope that even when our lives are broken, we are Beloved. Even in the midst of tragedy or just the mundane tedium of life, we can live abundantly.

I went to the retreat feeling defeated, tired, sad, and depressed. I left feeling hopeful and refreshed.

There were lots of cool statues.

And there were crosses everywhere.

Even on the doorknobs. I wanted to steal one of these doorknobs but didn't think it would be appropriate seeing that we were on a spiritual retreat.

Here's David being contemplative.

At the end of the weekend we were given these crosses to wear.

To remind us that we are loved very much by Him.

Adoption update

2007-11-13T15:08:00.000-08:00

We have "Part A" of the adoption application finished. It mostly consisted of reading documents and signing our names to prove the we read them. Now we're waiting for money to drop from heaven because we have to pay the first adoption agency fee when we send in "Part A"...money which we don't have right now. But at least we have the application finished! That's a start and it feels good. It will sit on my desk until we can scrap together the money.

From reading blogs and other adoption related articles online, I don't think we're alone in wondering how the heck we're going to pay for this adoption. Many PAPs (prospective adoptive parents) start the process with a leap of faith. So here we are, leaping. I've been researching adoption grants...I'm going to apply for them all and see what happens. For some reason I'm skeptical we will qualify for any of these grants. I tend to have this "I never win anything!" mentality, and I feel like there are probably so many other PAPs out there who are applying for the same grants and who are much more needy than we are. But we're both writers and so I figure we can at least plead our case fairly well on paper.

I'm also praying daily for more freelance work...

I've been thinking a lot lately about this decision and all of the questions we'll have to face from friends, family, acquaintances as we go through this process. The first one I've had to answer already is "Why Ethiopia? Why not adopt domestically?" The simple answer is, 1) We feel drawn to Ethiopian adoption for humanitarian reasons. 2) We feel more comfortable with the International adoption process (which is much different than the domestic process), 3) we meet the qualifications for Ethiopia.

Do we feel "called" to adopt from Ethiopia? I don't know. I DO know we feel called to adopt, period. And for whatever reason we feel Ethiopia is the right decision for us right now.

I've also been thinking a lot about what it means to have a multi-racial family. Will our family and friends look at us differently? Will unknown prejudices come to the surface? Will they love our child even though she is black? Black....there, I said it. It's a loaded word in our society. Sure, I have nieces from China. But being "black" in America carries its own burden. I've even asked myself if it's fair to bring an Ethiopian child into American society. Are we going to pile burdens on her that she wouldn't have had to deal with in Ethiopia?

More and more, I'm realizing that adoption is complicated. Sure, we will provide a child with a loving home and parents and an education they probably wouldn't have gotten in Ethiopia. But the cost is high. Taking a child from her culture, her people, her heritage. I still think its the right thing to do. Otherwise these AIDS orphans will languish in an orphanage, and maybe end up on the street. But there is a loss whenever a child is adopted.

An article written by a Korean adoptee in today's NY Times says it well. You can read it here.

Here in Chicago, and Evanston (the suburb just north of the city), we frequently see racially mixed families. White parents with black children, white husband with black wife and mixed children. We will fit right in. And we are starting to get to know other families who have adopted from Ethiopia. Here in Chicago these families get together once a month for social activities. I'm looking forward to being a part of that group. We will work hard to help our child stay connected to Ethiopia and other Ethiopian kids.

It's a lot to think about. This whole process is overwhelming, exciting, scary, and thought-provoking. When it comes down to it, I feel like there's a little girl who's waiting in Ethiopia for a new family, and we just have to go through this process to bring her home. Please pray for us...and pray for her.

No Mo' NoBloPoMo

2007-11-08T05:48:00.000-08:00

Since I didn't post yesterday, I've officially failed the NoBloPoMo. Oh well.

Nothing bad has happened to me yet, unless one of my readers decides to sue me or something. I have a new respect for bloggers who post at least once a day, or more. It's not easy. I guess I just don't have enough to say, and it takes a while for the well to fill up. For me it takes longer than a day. I'd rather wait until I have something half-way interesting to say than just try to come up with something (anything) to post.

Since I'm still waiting for inspiration for another post, I'll just share a photo with you today. Sheri, my friend and maid-of-honor was in town for the weekend. We went out for dinner in Little Italy and caught up over wine and homemade pasta. We've known each other since we were 12. Here we are 31 years later....

What kind of Christian are you?

2007-11-06T19:53:00.000-08:00

Christianity Today posted an article today reporting on a survey that identifies 5 different types of Christians in America. They are:

Active Christians 19%

* Believe salvation comes through Jesus Christ
* Committed churchgoers
* Bible readers
* Accept leadership positions
* Invest in personal faith development through the church
* Feel obligated to share faith; 79% do so.

Professing Christians 20%

* Believe salvation comes through Jesus Christ
* Focus on personal relationship with God and Jesus
* Similar beliefs to Active Christians, different actions
* Less involved in church, both attending and serving
* Less commitment to Bible reading or sharing faith

Liturgical Christians 16%

* Predominantly Catholic and Lutheran
* Regular churchgoers
* High level of spiritual activity, mostly expressed by serving in church and/or
community
* Recognize authority of the church

Private Christians 24%

* Largest and youngest segment
* Believe in God and doing good things
* Own a Bible, but don't read it
* Spiritual interest, but not within church context
* Only about a third attend church at all
* Almost none are church leaders

Cultural Christians 21%

* Little outward religious behavior or attitudes
* God aware, but little personal involvement with God
* Do not view Jesus as essential to salvation
* Affirm many ways to God
* Favor universality theology

So what kind of Christian are you?

Church baggage

2007-11-05T07:21:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking lately about the baggage we all carry around to church. For those of us who grew up in church -- whether catholic, protestant, or other -- we have memories, good and bad, and now that we're all grown up we get to carry that around as we seek our spiritual home.

For me, it has not been easy. I went to a church yesterday that some of my friends attend. There are many good things about this church. It's diverse. The church is not interested in getting too big...instead, it starts other churches in communities throughout the city. I like that concept. I liked the preaching. Last week (yes, I've gone two weeks in a row because the first week David was studying for a midterm, and this week he was out-of-town), I even TOOK NOTES! Nothing that raised a red flag during the sermon.

But then, during announcements, it happened. There's always something that makes me cringe...something that takes me back to a bad memory or experience...back to that time before I delicately extricated myself from the fundamentalist mindset and view of scripture. The pastor announced the JOSH McDOWELL seminar for the teens. Josh McDowell? He's still around putting the fear of God into poor, earnest, unsuspecting teens? The "Evidence that Demands a Verdict" Josh McDowell? Geesh...I haven't heard that name in decades.

Instantly, my "fundamentalist" radar went up. Then I read in the bulletin that both of the pastors -- who's sermons I actually liked -- went to Moody Bible Institute. Yes, the same Moody where I was practically fired for my belief that women can be ordained. Okay, so this was 15 years ago. Maybe I need to work on forgiveness. Actually I think I have forgiven my former bosses (both men) who told me I had no future at Moody magazine because of my beliefs. (One of those men, ironically, was fired from Moody years later for sexual harassment).

But even though I've forgiven them, I still disagree with their narrow mindset...not just on women in ministry, but a myriad of other things as well.

So it's a dilemma. I envy people who don't have this baggage. Who don't have an inner radar that makes them cringe during an "alter call" or tune out during a sermon-gone-bad because they've had to sit through too many uninspired sermons during their lifetime they can't bear to sit through another, or who count the number of women on the platform, or theologically deconstruct each worship tune. But I really doubt there are too many people out there without baggage. Who are a clean slate.

I think most of us have some kind of baggage. I know many, many people who have baggage from growing up Catholic. I understand how the rituals and liturgy could turn empty and meaningless. And I know the institutional catholic church can be just as legalistic and maddening as the evangelical/ fundamentalist church. And, they don't allow women to be ordained, either.

But when I go to the Catholic mass, at least I don't have to deal with MY baggage. At least, not yet. Maybe if I go there long enough, I will develop Catholic baggage as well.

Sometimes I can put my baggage aside. I call this "putting on my filter"...where I filter out everything I disagree with or makes me cringe and just focus on the nuggets that are good. Like on Sunday...I tried to focus on a few things from the sermon that I thought were applicable to my life.

But that gets tiring after a while.

So I think I'll stick with the Catholic church for a while, where I can recite liturgy and take communion and don't have to leave church exhausted from "filtering." For me it's a fresh way of worshiping God....and new perspective. Just like I can imagine my friends who grew up sitting through Catholic masses see God in a whole new way when they start going to an Evangelical church. Maybe we're all just looking for new ways to see God. And that's okay.

A Poem

2007-11-04T20:15:00.000-08:00

SMALL WIRE

My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider
hang her baby on a thin web,
as doth the vine,
twiggy and wooden,
hold up grapes
like eyeballs,
as many angels
dance on the head of a pin.

God does not need
too much wire to keep Him there,
just a thin vein,
with blood pushing back and forth in it,
and some love.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
So if you have only a thin wire,
God does not mind.
He will enter your hands
as easily as ten cents used to
bring forth a Coke.

-- Anne Sexton

Dial-a-prayer

2007-11-03T19:22:00.000-07:00

Our TV died a few weeks ago. I went to turn on the TV from the remote control and nothing happened. I tried pressing the switch on the TV, still nothing. It was gone. Died in its sleep....a nice peaceful death.

We thought about going without. In fact we did for a week or so. We spent a lot of time sitting on the couch staring at each other...and going to Best Buy to lust after the flat screen HDTVs.

Then we got a FREE TV from friends...just out of the blue. We were babysitting their little boy, and mentioned how nice it was to watch a movie on their TV because we didn't have one...and they said "hey, we have an extra TV in storage -- it's yours!"

I was thinking today that I've never bought a TV. My parents gave me one. Then I upgraded to a huge black box that my friend, John, gave me when he moved to Tokyo three years ago. I bought his couch and loveseat, and he threw in the TV for free. Now our newest free TV.

The only problem with our new TV is that we haven't yet figured out how to connect the DVD player. So tonight, instead of settling in with my knitting project to watch "A Mighty Heart", I had to settle on Antiques Roadshow. After that, the choice became very bleak (we don't have cable). Right now, my choices are: Football game (ack!), one of the various CSIs (I don't have the stomach for it--all blood and gore), Home Shopping Network (everything is so UGLY), a ballroom dancing championship, two Spanish-language channels, and a religious channel program, "Morris Cerullo" who claims all of my problems will be solved by calling the prayer help-line at 1-86-756-4200. I'm seriously thinking about calling. We do need a financial miracle...so maybe Morris can help. What do you think?

Maybe Morris could help me with my prayer dilemma: I feel like I'm asking for too much, most of it having to do with money. And no, it's not money to buy a new TV. I'm asking for money to help put my husband through grad school, or to pay off our debt, or to give an orphan a home. It feels like just way too much. Should I be asking for everything all at once? When David decided to go to grad school, I felt like we were taking a huge leap of faith. And then we decided to adopt...something I have felt called to do for ages, and we're not getting any younger. So we're also stepping out in faith with the adoption. So do ya think God can handle it all? Would he be so generous?

David thinks I'm praying all wrong. And he's probably right. I really do believe prayer is more about listening to God, and having a relationship with him. Being thankful, and communing with God. I do believe that. But I've also experienced God answering my specific prayers. And Scripture says, "Ask, and you shall receive", so what does that mean?

Prayer is such a mystery to me, which is probably what it's supposed to be. Maybe Mr. Cerullo can help. I think I'll call him now. Or maybe I'll just call the Home Shopping Network and buy a homely purse.

Day Two

2007-11-02T20:24:00.000-07:00

It's only the second day of NaBloPoMo and I've run out of things to say. Or maybe there's just too much pressure. Which begs the question David asked me, "So what happens if you miss a day?"

"Uh, nothing."

"And what happens if you post every day of the month, do you win a prize?"

"Uh, no."

"Then what's the point?"

"I don't know! Just the satisfaction of knowing I did it...."

"Well, I don't really get it."

Oh well. He's in St. Thomas now. He flew down there for two days for a business meeting. I was going to go with him, but then decided it wasn't worth spending the money on an extra ticket for only two days of warm weather and beach relaxation. So maybe we'll go in the spring for longer than two days.

I feel a bit lost when he's not around. Suddenly, I have too much freedom. I can leave my clothes on the bathroom floor...watch whatever I want on TV....see any movie I want (today I saw "Elizabeth" with Cate Blanchett), and eat only fruit for dinner. Like I did when I was single, only now I don't have many single friends to call for a movie or dinner.

I did get very excited today when I heard that Project Runway season four starts on November 14! Tim! Nina! Michael! Heidi! Yipee!

NaBloPoMo!

2007-11-01T14:14:00.000-07:00

This is National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo)and after much thought and prayer (not really), I've decided to give it a shot. So that means I have to post every day for the month of November! We'll see if I can do it....I don't excel at regularly scheduled schedules. I don't schedule I don't plan. I DO write list of things and see if I can check everything off within, oh, the next year or so. But that's about as regular as I get.

So wish me luck.

And for your laughing pleasure, take a trip down memory lane.

View from the deck

2007-10-27T07:54:00.000-07:00

The sky has been doing some interesting things lately. Here are photos taken from our back deck.

Birthday happiness

2007-10-26T06:56:00.000-07:00

David celebrated a birthday yesterday, but I won't tell you which one. I should say that I celebrated his birthday, and he just came along for the ride, grudgingly, since he doesn't like to acknowledge his birthday. He was busy all day with school, but we did manage to squeeze in a dinner with our good friends, Frances and Stephen. David has been friends with them since college, along with Frances' husband, John, who couldn't join us because he's appearing in an off-Broadway production of Crime and Punishment. David and John were neighbors when they were in high school in Dallas. They bonded by smoking unfiltered Camels in David's bedroom. Okay, that was a long time ago and David no longer smokes anything. Whew. (just so you know). Then John and David went to University of Texas together...along with Frances and Stephen. John and Frances got married when they were 19 or 20 or something like that.

I love David's friends (who are now my friends). In fact, when I met David's friends and saw how cool they were and how much they loved him, it made me love him even more. I think you can tell a lot about a person by the friends they keep.

Stephen is an artist. We're going to an opening of his tonight at a gallery here in Chicago. He also has this incredible show opening in Dallas at the Conduit Gallery. If you're in Dallas (I think one of my readers lives there:)...be sure to see it.

Anyway, a good time was had by all. David survived another birthday. And yes, he did get a new JACKET. And it's perfect. Almost....

Adoption & weird cats

2007-10-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

I don't often post two entries in one day, but I guess I just have a lot on my mind. Adoption update: I'm in a tizzy. Yes, a tizzy. I'm all confused about our agency. I thought I had made a decision: Wide Horizons for Children, a very reputable agency that has connections to an agency here in Evanston (which would make it easier to get our homestudy done). Wide Horizons is in the Northeast, so it would be nice to have a local connection with The Cradle here in the area. But lately I've been hearing a lot about Gladney. Gladney has less experience in Ethiopia, but it is still very reputable, and is faith-based...and the wait times are shorter. So even though we've started down the path with Wide Horizons, I'm having second thoughts. I have a call into both agencies to get more info...and I haven't heard back. So it's very frustrating because I just want to get on with things! We're not getting any younger!

To make it all worse, I start obsessing about making the "right" decision. AS if we'll get the WRONG child if I choose the WRONG agency. How weird is that? David thinks I have OCD...because I have obsessive thoughts about these things. I seriously lose sleep and get into this strange thought patterns. What's that about? Misplaced anxiety? Hmmmm.

Well, please just pray that we'll have clarity about what to do. I don't think either agency would be a bad choice. But I do think it's a very important part of the process. I get very excited about having a little girl.. a 3 or 4 year old...running around this place. I was eyeing the playground on my walk by the lake yesterday. How fun to have a little person to take to the playground. To walk to school. I see photos of these kids and long to provide love to a child who's just waiting in the orphanage for her family to come and take her home.

IN the meantime, we treat our cat like our child. Which is why we need a child, because our cat is becoming very, very spoiled. We worry about what she'll do when we have another being to take care of and she's not the center of attention. Here's photo of her favorite sleeping spot: on David's legs. She's obsessed with his legs. If he's not sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, she will cry until he sits down. Then she'll hop up on his legs and settle in. I don't get it, because his legs aren't that soft. I will try to lure her with a perfect spot on my lap....but she'll just turn up her nose and jump on David's legs.

Brian McLaren rocks....

2007-10-25T08:33:00.001-07:00

Brian McLaren has a new book out. You can read about it on his website.

I also recently read an interview the Wittenburg Door did with him recently. Here's an excerpt:

"DOOR: How do you reconcile the need to affirm orthodoxy without becoming exclusionary snobs?

MCLAREN: I think we begin by deciding that we need a third alternative that rejects being careless about truth on the one hand, but that also rejects being exclusionary snobs on the other. I think a part of what's going on in these conversations requires us to look at the Bible in some fresh ways. We're not paying less attention to the Bible but we're realizing that we also need to pay attention to the ways we read or interpret the Bible. We need to go back and uncover our assumptions about how we think the Bible is supposed to function in the Christian community. For example, even though no Christian scholars that I know of support the dictation theory of inspiration—you know, that God dictated the Bible to the Biblical writers the way Muslims believe God dictated the Koran to Mohammed—I'd have to say that an awful lot of the preaching I hear sounds like it assumes the dictation theory. It's a lot more Koranic than incarnational, at least to my ears. And many of us assume that the Biblical writers must have written like reporters for The Wall Street Journal or Business Week. But maybe they were writing more like Annie Lamott writes one of her confessional books, or more like Mary Oliver writes a poem. So maybe we're learning to take the Bible literarily, not just literally, and to respect divine inspiration as an artistic reality more than a journalistic process."

I love what he says about taking the Bible "literarily" and not just literally. REading scripture in a journalistic, "just the facts, ma'am" kind of way sucks the life and beauty right out of it. It's the view of scripture I grew up with. It's not until I saw the scripture in a different way that I because excited about reading it. It's less concrete, and that makes it scary in some ways. But so much more like an adventure, and a mystery.

And here's more food for thought from David Fitch's blog. Be sure to read the rest of his entry here. I'm afraid of taking something out of context and changing his intent. But I like this portion where he talks about truth being "always on the move" and truth that is recognizable, but not controllable.":

"....I don't believe that emerging conversations never arrive at truth. If I said that I need to clarify. For I believe that the weakness in deconstructive theology (and my emergent thinker friends to the extent they use it) is that truth never "lands." I think there is a difference. Allow me to elaborate.

To say truth never arrives might be construed as asserting that deconstruction does not believe in truth (truth with a little "t" or a big "T"). I don't think this is accurate. For there is truth, truth "always on the move," truth that is recognized but not controllable. The deconstructive thinkers (which Tony Jones and Brian McLaren find helpful) DO SAY that the truth never FINALLY arrives. Yet I think there is something constructive in this part of deconstructionist philosophy. There is, in a manner of speaking, a way that truth is always provisional. There is, in a manner of speaking, a way that truth (with a small "t") is bound by context and language and is always in process of being embodied. There is, in a manner of speaking, a way in which there are always voices excluded which must be heard which change the nature of the way we communicate truth and highlight parts of it we weren't seeing before. Deconstructionist approaches to truth push for all of this. For deconstructive ways of thinking keep the truth open (in the clearing of Hiedegger's ontico-ontological difference). And so despite the detractors, there is truth here being "manifested" into and beyond the linguistic cultural structures we have been given."

So we got a new camera...

2007-10-16T22:39:00.002-07:00

...and it was very traumatic. Because you know, I had to make the PERFECT decision, being the perfectionist that I am. The documentation of our lives depends on this one little square box...and it has to document our lives while making us look really hot while doing so. That's a lot of pressure for one little metal box.

During the first 2.5 years of our marriage, we've been getting by on David's old 35mm, disposable cameras, still shots taken with my video camera (which aren't very good quality), and the photos taken by friends and family member who may or may not remember to send us PDFs of their photos. I'm embarassed to say we only took about three photos of our honeymoon with a disposable camera. I know, we're pathetic.

Since I was tired of begging friends and families to send me their photos, and tired of having to take the disposables to Walgreens to get photos developed or put on a CD, we finally decided to bite the bullet and get a digital point-and-shoot. A small, fit-in-your pocket, moderately priced model. You know, the perfect camera for cheap. I'm always doing that....wanting everything for nothing.

It's probably not the best time to buy a new camera, anyway, seeing that I haven't had work for two weeks, we're trying to pay for school, and adoption, and save for taxes all at the same time. But I figured it would never be a good time, so we just had to do it.

So where to start? Consumer reports? We printed out the CR ratings and took it to Best Buy. The didn't have most of the models listed on the Consumer Reports ratings. So we fondled the shiny cameras for a while and left just as bewildered as when we arrived. Then we took to the internet, reading reviews and comparing models. Just as confusing. Then, to add more frustration, I decided to query friends while we were out for drinks the other night. All five of them had a different answer -- Canon...Fuji....Nikon....ARRGGHH!

Finally, on Sunday David suggested we just stop by a camera store -- a REAL camera store -- not Best Buy, and ask the experts there. So we went in and there was this guy behind the counter who looked somewhat intelligent. Not like the pimply-faced teenage employees who wander the aisles of Best Buy and offer to "help" even though they know absolutely nothing about the products.

The guy was very nice and smart. At least he came across like he knew what he was talking about. We were leaning toward a Canon, but the nice man informed us that Canons break down a lot. I guess the lenses get stuck or something. He was very much against us getting a Canon. Hmmm. So what do we buy, then? He showed us a Nikon Coolpix. It was very Cool. It was even red, and shiny, and very very skinny. It was like the anorexic camera. I kept thinking it would slide right out of my hands as I was taking a picture and I wouldn't even realize it. Then he showed us a FujiFilm camera. I didn't like the way it looked as much as the Nikon, but it felt a little heftier in my hands. I like a little meat on my camera, I decided, as I cupped the little box in my palms. After about 45 minutes, we had it narrowed down to the Nikon and the FujiFilm. Tough decision. Finally, the nice man took a photo of David with each camera. The FujiFilm photo seemed so much better -- clearer with great color. And the nice man also told us that Fuji's never break. They really sturdy and reliable. He was a really good salesman.

So we left the store, telling Jonathan (because by then we were on a first-name basis), that we'd think about it.

So I did for a few days....and today, after much thought, discussion, prayer (okay not really)...I went back to the store and bought it.

Here are a few photos of our "garden" taken with our new camera. Our garden is really just a few pots on our back deck. I wish I had taken photos when the flowers were in full-bloom this summer....they were gorgeous. Our garden's not much, but I like sitting out here in the morning with a cup of java. I also like the ivy growing on the wall of the neighboring building. It makes me feel like I'm sitting in Wrigley Field...but without the baseball (which is a plus for me).

I don't claim to be much of a photographer, but I'm happy with the quality of the photos so far. I'd like to take a photography class someday and learn how to take really great photos with all of the manual settings, etc. Then maybe we'll by a fancy schmancy camera with all of the manual controls. But for now, I think I'm pretty happy with this little point and shoot.

Jackets!

2007-10-10T06:51:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, Fall is finally here. Yesterday I jumped the gun a little and wore a wool sweater vest to two client meetings I had down in the loop. It did get a little hot on my walk back to my car, but I didn't care. I was wearing a sweater vest! Today it is truly fall, with gray fall clouds and a nice stiff breeze. People are walking around in sweatshirts and sweaters. It may even be time to put away my flip-flops and start wearing jackets.

I decided recently that I need a new jacket. An "in-between" coat, as I like to call them. Something that will take me through the transition from summer to winter. A jean jacket is the perfect fall coat. The only problem is, I'm a bit tired of my jean jacket. I'm a jean-jacket junkie. Jean jackets are stylish, and add a nice casual touch even over the dressy pants I wear to client meetings. But I wear it everywhere. The elbow are almost worn through. I just need a change.

So I think I need a new jacket....but if you came into our house, you'd never know it. Our tree rack is swollen with jackets. Windbreakers, fleeces, jean jackets, rain jackets, down vests, army jackets. The tree looks like it could topple at any moment. And there are even more jackets in our hall closet...Wool coats, down coats, parkas. Most of them, just so you know, belong to my husband. He's always on the quest for the "perfect jacket". He has yet to find the holy grail of coats.

I tease him often. "How many jackets do you NEED?"

"But this one is too short" he'll whine, pulling one of his many jackets off the rack.

"And this one is too hot when I ride my bike....I need a jacket that breathes."

Yesterday he walked into my office and said "I saw a really great jacket at Uncle Dans. It's just like my Columbia windbreaker, only it has GORTEX!" I could sense the excitement in his voice. I could tell that maybe he finally found "the one perfect jacket."

"Well" I sighed. "Maybe for your birthday."

"Yes!" he said, raising a fist in the air. To be honest, his obsession with jackets makes gift buying a lot easier.

But I know what will happen. I'll buy it for him, and he'll be excited for a few weeks, until he finds something wrong with it. Maybe the pockets will be in the wrong place. Or the snaps won't close right. Or it will be too hot when he rides his bike.

And the quest for the perfect jacket will go on.

Another 80 degree day. Sigh.

2007-10-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

Where the heck is autumn?! I have to say I'm sick of these 88 degree days. I might be kicking myself for saying this come February, but bring on the cold weather! I'm tired of sweating. I'm tired of the humidity. I'm tired of getting into a hot car. I'm sick of my tank tops and shorts.

We Midwesterners like our change of seasons. It's one of the advantages of living in the Midwest....feeling the cycle of weather, the rhythm of life. By the end of summer, we're ready for autmun. I'm ready to breath in that crisp cool autumn air. My sweaters are tired of hibernating.

I know what will happen....we'll go directly from 87 degree days to 30 degrees and snow. Sigh. I just want a few months of 60 degree days, turning leaves, and sweaters. Is that too much to ask?

Um...turns out it's not Poison Oak.

2007-10-03T06:59:00.000-07:00

AAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!

Okay, so I go to the doctor yesterday after a week of scratching my legs into a bloody pulp. I was hoping the red bumps would magically disappear, but after waking up yesterday with new bumps on my thighs and going crazy scratching the patches behind my knees, I decided it was time.

I made the call. I went in. The doctor looked at my legs. "You don't have poison oak, you have mites."

What???!!! ARRRRRGGHHHHHHHH!

"Mites? Creatures actually living on me, chomping on my skin?"

"Yep. They're oak mites."

"So they're crawling on me? Are they in our bed? On our cat?"

"Well, I don't know about your cat, but you might want to call the vet about that."

Turns out David and I are the victims of oak mites, (aka itch mites), that have been plaguing the Chicago area and munching on Cicada larva.....and humans. Like us. We're hosts to microscopic parasites. They fall from the Oak Trees, and are tiny enough to blow on the wind until they land on a hospitable human.

The kind Dr. Ettner, after I was finished screaming, wrote me a prescription for Scabies medication. More screaming ensued.

"Scabies?"

"Well, they're not Scabies, but I figure if this stuff kills Scabies it will kill Oak Mites."

So last night David and I covered ourselves in Scabies cream and went to bed. This morning we washed it off. Then I dumped my entire bed into the washing machine.

Now I'm hearing tiny screams of dying mites. Our pro-life stance on bugs has been thrown out the window.

Books, writing, yada yada yada....

2007-10-01T19:23:00.000-07:00

About a year before my grandmother died, I went over to her apartment and interviewed her about her life. We talked for awhile as I recorded our conversation, but to be honest it was hard to get much information out of her. She wasn't a woman of many words. But I did ask her what she felt was her biggest accomplishment. She said, "well, I think it was having my three children." And then she rambled on for a while about my mother, aunt and uncle, and then her grandkids. She was very proud of us all. But as she was talking about us grandkids, she went down the list. "Well, there's Amy, an attorney. Then there's Julie and Kris, both nurses, and Scott, an attorney, and Phil, a chemical salesman, and then you.....now what do you do?"

I sighed. I'm a writer, grandma. "Oh," she said, "Yes, a writer."

Another time I told a cousin of mine I was writing marketing materials for an Insurance company. "Oh, so you're an underwriter?"

"No," I said impatiently. "A WRITER!"

Why is it so hard for people to understand what I do for a living? Maybe it's because I haven't published a book, so I'm not really a writer until I have something on the shelves of Barnes and Noble. Or maybe it's because they're not used to having a creative type in their midst. Teachers, doctors, nurses, attorneys, they can understand. But how, exactly does one make a living as a writer?

Hmmm. Well, to be honest I've been trying to figure that out for the past 20 years, so maybe I shouldn't be so hard on my family. I used to write articles for magazines. That was a little more tangible for my friends and family. But for the past 9 years or so, I've been writing more obscure things...like brochures and websites and postcards.

I'm now basically a "copywriter"....and if you live in Chicago or New York or anywhere else where there are ad agencies, you probably know other copywriters out there and have a vague sense of the advertising industry.

What does a copywriter do? Well, it's more than just writing a few words for an ad. It's creating concepts, brainstorming ideas with art directors, learning about the product or company who's your client, and trying to figure out their "voice." Their "brand voice" is very important. How does a company want to present themselves to the world? What tone will best communicate what their product is all about? Smart? Warm? Cocky? Arrogant? Intelligent? Friendly? Accessible?

It's also about working closely with designers and art directors so the copy and images/design play off of one another. It's sortof like putting together a puzzle. The pieces have to all work together to form a complete picture of the company or product.

I like the problem solving aspect of these projects. I like working with other fun, creative people. I like figuring out the brand voice for each client, and helping them achieve their goals. It's creative and challenging.

Click here to see an example. It's a microsite I just finished for Navigon, a German GPS device. What is a microsite, you ask? Well, click on the link and find out! You may also see some online advertising for Navigon (these are called "banner" ads). I also wrote those. Except not the ones that are on the, um, crass side. Those were written by another agency. I have to admit it's not writing that's going to change the world, but I had a blast with this fun new agency I was working with on this project. I had forgotten how fun it was to be a part of a creative team.

I'm hoping to do more work for this agency (Elevate Studios), but until then, I'm contemplating a 3 month project with the Chicago Board of Trade. They're renovating their website since they recently merged with the Chicago Merchantile Exchange. We'll see if that pans out....

Since I finished the Navigon project, things have been a little slow. So I've spent some time finishing "The Lost: The search to find 6 out of 6 million". I started it on our Michigan trip and it took me a while to finish (it's over 500 pages long). Wow! is all I can say. That's my reiview. "Wow"! My only complaint is that he almost includes too many details. It gets a little bogged down in places. But what a story.

Now I'm on to "There is no me without you."

And I've been itching my legs -- turns out I have poison oak, too!

There Is No Me Without You

2007-09-22T10:14:00.000-07:00

As you know, I've been obsessively reading Ethiopian adoption blogs, and I'm also a member of the Ethiopian adoption Yahoo group. For months I've been reading about a book titled "There Is No Me Without You" by Melissa Fay Greene. I kept thinking "I really need to buy that book." Greene's a journalist who's written for the New Yorker, The NY Times and various other publications. She wrote this book after visiting Ethiopia and meeting a middle-class, middle aged Ethiopian woman, Heregewoin Teferra, who had lost her daugher to AIDS. The woman thought her life was over and no longer wanted to live without her daughter. But one day she was contacted by a local Catholic priest, who asked her if she would help take care of an child with AIDS who had been orphaned. She agreed. Everyone else was afraid of AIDS...but Heregewoin wasn't. She didn't care if she was infected, because she thought her life was over anyway. Soon more and more children were put into her care -- all orphans of the AIDS epidemic. She ended up with more than 40 children in her care. This book tells her story.

Well, two days ago I visited Melissa Fay Greene's website and found out she was going to be speaking at the Barnes and Noble bookstore in Evanston! So David and I went. What a delightful, intelligent author. She was funny, humble, smart, and passionate. She told her story about how after writing the book, she and her husband adopted four of those orphans in Heregewoin's care (for a total of 9 kids -- 4 biological, one adopted from another country, and 4 from Ethiopia). David and I came away inspired. Even though Ethiopian adoptions are on the rise, it only solves the problem for .0007 percent of the Ethiopian orphans. Obviously other solutions besides adoption are needed for helping the millions of Ethiopian orphans. But David and I are excited about being part of the .0007 percent solution. At least there will be one less orphan begging on the streets of Addis Abbaba.

We continue to research agencies. I think I have it narrowed down to two: Wide Horizons for Children, and Childrens Hope International. Everyone tells me this is the most difficult part of the process. It is overhwelming. But we're just taking it one step at a time.

While we're on the topic of African orphans, I highly recommend the documentary "God Grew Tired of Us" about the journey of the Lost Boys from Sudan. Truly amazing, eye-opening, sad, but also inspiring.

Vacation Aftermath

2007-09-21T15:44:00.000-07:00

As a reward for his insane hike up the sand dune (without me), David is battling a nasty rash. Somewhere on his hike he must have encountered Poison Oak. That's what he gets for being so ACTIVE on vacation....!

Michigan

2007-09-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

David and I went to Michigan last weekend for a last little fling before a two-year school marathon. I love Michigan. We went to the Warren Dunes on Saturday. It was a little cool, but otherwise perfect. We got out of the car and I was salivating over the wide expanse of sand, the deep blue waves, the clear blue sky. Perfect for putting down a blanket and reading away the afternoon. I reading a book called "The Lost", about a man who goes on a quest to find out what happened to six of his family members during the Holocaust. Good read.

Since there were only about 10 people on the wide beach, we had our choice of perfect beach-reading spots. But David immediately said, "Let's walk down the beach to get away from all of the people."

"ALL of the people?" I asked? "You mean all 10 of them?!" All I wanted to do was plop down on the sand. We had bags, blankets, water bottles, and jackets. But being the obedient wife that I am....we walked and walked and walked down the beach. "Where are we going?" I inquired at one point during our beach treck. "Oh, just a little further. Maybe about half way to where those people are." I looked down the beach to the two specks at the other end of the beach, and sighed. It's hard walking in sand...especially when all you want to do is sit down and read. David walked 10 paces ahead of me, impatient.

"I just don't see the point," I said. "There weren't that many people at the main part of the beach!" Well, that was the wrong thing to say. David got all upset and said, "Does it kill you to do a little walking?" Which hurt my feelings.

We finally found a spot on the sand, laid out our blankets, and I immediate started reading. Not David. He was off to the dunes to do a little climbing. He was gone for an hour, and I saw him jogging back on the beach. Yes, JOGGING....after he'd climbed a dune. If you've ever been to the dunes, you know this isn't an easy task. It's like climbing a Midwestern version of Mount Everest. But it's worth it when you get to run down the dune and pretend you're moon-walking.

While he was reaching Base Camp 3 on the Mount Everest Dune, I lay on my blanket soaking in the sun, and feeling a bit guilty for not getting more physical exercise. But we were on vacation, I had to remind myself. Why should I feel guilty for not exercising?

I didn't know this when I married him. It wasn't in any of the books we read about "Questions to ask before you get married." But I've discovered on vacation we have two very different styles. My perfect vacation includes RELAXATION. Isn't that what vacations are for? To unwind, relax, catch up on reading? Davids perfect vacation includes ACTIVITY. He wants to DO THINGS. The result is we end up looking at each other and asking "What is your problem?!"

We finally compromised. I convinced him to lay on the blanket with me for a while. He took a nap. Then I agreed to climb another dune with him. So we packed up our gear, and trekked to the nearest dune. It looked daunting. But I followed David and climbed up, huffing and puffing, until we got to the dune's equivalent of the Hillary Step....a sharp almost verticle incline of sand that I had to get past in order to get to the top. David was already there. I climbed on all fours....with dune grass and sticks scratching my legs, and finally grabbed a tree and pulled myself up to the sharp ridge to the top. I turned around and gasped -- it was gorgeous! The water looked like it was miles below us, we could see the outline of the Chicago skyline, and the shadows of clouds passing over the lake. We sat there, side by side and felt the wind on our face. I had to admit I wouldn't have climbed up the dune without David's prompting. I guess his style of vacation isn't so bad after all.

We sat on the dune for a while, then picked up our bags and bounded down the sand like crazy, goofy moonwalkers.

Flannelgraph Jesus

2007-09-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

My ancestors started a church in the small Iowa community of Adelphi. From what I understand, the church didn't start out as a Baptist church. It was a congregational, or community church, or some other generic denomination, but then a new pastor came to the church sometime in the 50's, maybe, and the church became Baptist. It was a big controversy. Some of my relatives left, but my immediate family stayed on and we became Baptist. It's still a sore spot within the Beattie clan. Those who left still hold a grudge toward those who stayed, and vice versa.

We attended this church, the Adelphi Calvary Baptist Church, until I was about 12, when two deacons had a fist-fight on the front lawn. Then we started going to a church in the big city of Des Moines that was "contemporary." The singers used hand-held microphones. It was really controversial at the time. Oh, and they even used taped accompaniment. That was controversial, too. But we thought we were really cool going to the new "contemporary" church. But that's another story.

The Adelphi Calvary Baptist church, the one my ancestor's founded, sits on a hill, and there’s a valley inbetween the old home place -- the 80 acres where my Scottish ancestors settled in 1856 -- and the church. You can see the steeple from the highest point on our hill. Here’s what I remember. I remember the pews smelling like Pledge. And the green sculpted carpet that I walked down on the 4th verse of Just as I Am. And my mom playing the old Hammond organ. We always sat on the right side of the church, in the front, so my mom could easily slip out when it was time for the altar call. I can still see her sitting straight-backed, pumping the pedals of the organ in her bee-hive hairdo. She always seemed so serious. She practiced early on Sunday mornings...and it annoyed me because the whiney droning of the organ that wafted up the stairs from the living room to our bedrooms at 7:00 a.m. In my hazy dreams before waking, I would hear "The Old Rugged Cross," and "Softly and Tenderly".

The church basement smelled like bathroom sanitizer. And my Aunt Colleen was our Sunday School teacher and used flannel graph, pasting the figure of Christ, and the disciples onto the cartoon-like scene of a Middleastern landscape. She would tell the story but was interrupted by the head of Christ drooping down off the graph. She would have to turn around and flatten her ample hand on top of Christ’s head. He would stay upright next to his disciples but then we would watch as first his scalp, and then his eyes and ear and finally his chin would peel off the board again. A bobble-head Christ was much more interesting than listening to my aunt read scripture verses from the gospel of Luke that didn’t really make any sense.

At the time, these were stories that were just that: stories. What did they mean? What did it really have to do with our lives of kickball, Nancy Drew mysteries, and catching salamanders in the back yard? We memorized scripture -- one new verse every Sunday. I usually waited until Sunday morning to memorize the verse, quickly reciting it in the 5-minute car ride up the hill to the church. The verse stuck in my head for about 30 minutes -- long enough to recite it in class and get a gold star. By Sunday morning dinner it had left my head and landed in a heap of other temporarily memorized bible verses.

The rationale for memorizing these verses, we were told in Sunday School, was so that during those hard times in life we would remember the verses “written on our hearts”. You never know when you might find yourself stuck in a prison cell without a bible. I guess World War II was a close enough memory for the adults in our church that this was a distinct possibility. Plus, we were still in the Cold War with communists....so you never know when you might be taken prisoner and sent up to Siberia.

I was obedient and memorized the verses, while imagining myself in a cinder-block cell sitting on a cold floor. Luckily, I would find a piece of stone and write scripture on the walls – and all of those verses would come back in an instant. I’d find a crack in the wall and whisper them to my prison neighbor to be an encouragement in between our torture sessions. We’d be bloodied and bleeding, but we’d comfort ourselves with scripture.

In reality, I’ve only remembered bits and pieces. I don’t know where they are in the bible. I can’t recite entire verses. I'll be in bad shape if I'm ever sent to Siberia by the Communists. My husband seems incredulous that I don’t know more about the Bible. For pete’s sake, I have a minor in Bible – a requirement at my small Christian college.

But I did get the gist – that he came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly. That In our suffering we will grow. That it’s important to have deep roots so that we’re not tossed to and fro by the waves of life. That love is patient and kind and selfless. That to really live, you have to give away your life....like Christ did for us.

I used to feel guilty and bad for not being able to quote scripture, until I realized I live it every day and it is so much a part of me that I can't really recall the exact words. The verses didn't stick in my brain, but I think they seeped into my heart. Although I've never been in prison or tortured, I've been a prisoner of my own sick thinking, and unhealthy patterns and depression and loneliness. I've been tortured by ugly thoughts and bad relationships and the mundane-ness of life. And I've been through loss and grief. Battered by this fallen world. Through it all I know that God is good. That He loves me. That all shall be well. And that resurrection happens all the time...in the midst of ruin.

I have a little angst about the little white church on the hill. But those flannelgraph lessons pointed me in the right direction. I had to cast off all of the pieces of that legalistic Christianity that didn't work, and that I found out later were just constructs made to feel certain people feel more secure and okay. And somewhere along the way, the cartoon, bobbing head Jesus jumped off the flannelgraph board and became real.

This too shall pass

2007-09-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

I'm been feeling a knot in my stomach all day. The ball of anxiety that feels like gerbils in one of those clear plastic balls that allows them to run around without being eaten by the cat. The gerbils are restless today. They snuck up on me when I wasn't expecting it. Maybe it's because David started school today and the reality of our schedules for the next two years is sinking in. OR maybe it's because I found out I have to write 36 pithy headlines in 24 hours. It's a lot of pressure, being pithy. It makes the gerbils frantic.

Or maybe my anxiety is about the end of summer, or my hair, which hasn't been cut in three months, or the fact that we have to come up with school money and adoption money and I don't know where it's going to come from. I'm just waiting for it to appear. Out of nowhere. I just think we're due for a miracle or two and so I'm expecting God to come through any day now. So I'm waiting. Anxiously.

David gave me a backrub. He thought it might help. It didn't.

Then he told me to take a nap, because he thought that might help. I laid down under the afghan in the bedroom, but couldn't sleep because my mind was racing. So I got up and made a fruit smoothy.

Now I'm hoping that writing about it will help. The gerbils are still restless. I have to write 36 headlines. Maybe I'll go for a run and see if it will quiet the beasts in my stomach.

All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

Ethiopia or bust

2007-08-31T09:27:00.000-07:00

Months ago I promised a post about Ethiopian adoption. So here it is. It took me so long to write this because I've been obsessed with adoption blogs, websites, etc., trying to figure out what "we're supposed" to do about adoption (i.e. what God is calling us to do). I had alway thought we'd just hop on a plane and fly over to China and adopt a daughter or two. I loved the idea of my kids having Chinese cousins in LiJen and Ellie. But alas, with China's new rules, we're too old. (I guess that's better than being too fat or having a "face deformity", which would also disqualify us). We're also disqualified because we have histories of depression. So China isn't a possibility. I was dreaming of my niece, LiJen, (who's in college studying Social Work and who wants to work for an adoption agency), flying to China with us to pick up our child. It would have been a poignant story, eh?

I'm also going through all of these thoughts about having a biological child. Okay, I realize I'm about 15 years too late. Of course. That's the story of my life. And it's probably human nature that we want something when we can't have it. But for some reason I've been reading / hearing things lately that make me feel like I"m missing out on something. Like a few days ago when a friend said "Giving birth was a profound spiritual experience." Oh...I guess one that I'll never have. Bummer. Or an article I read last week about a woman who described giving birth to her son as like "A life passing through me," and having her daughter was like "A piece of me broke off and created another life." Wow. Sounds cools. I guess I won't get that experience, either.

Getting closer to adoption makes you think about all of these things. I've always wanted to adopt. But I always thought I would have a biological child as well.

Then there's the complicated process of getting a child through adoption. My idea of "just hopping on a plane" to get a child is so naive. There's paperwork, tons and tons of it. Then it's all the decisions -- What country? Which agency? Older kids, younger kids? Sibling groups? Now or in a year? All of these things to decide. It's truly overwhelming.

Then there's my aversion to the "pack" mentality. I don't really want to do what everyone else is doing. More and more people are going to Ethiopia to adopt babies. Now I'm freaking out because I've heard that they might tighten the rules just like China....and so we have to move FAST in order to get our kids before 1) they're all taken or 2) Ethiopia decides we're not qualified to raise one of their orphans. Crazy mind games, I know. In reality, I've heard there are more than 2 million AIDs orphans in Ethiopia. Last year 751 Americans adopted Ethiopian kids. I'm sure this year it will be even more, but geesh....it's still a drop in the bucket. There are still millions of kids who need homes.

I know David and I have more than enough love to give a child. I know there are children out there who need homes. Now, I'll just have to trust God to bring us the child we're meant to have.

So this blog might soon turn into an adoption blog. Stay tuned.

Great America

2007-08-26T15:45:00.001-07:00

Eight years ago this month I went to the airport to meet a refugee family from Kosovo who had travelled from a refugee camp in Macedonia. They got off the plane with only one duffle bag that held all of the possessions they managed to grab from their home before the Serbs came with guns to force them out. The four little girls (ages 6 months - 8 years) were covered in red blisters from having scabbies. They were all so thin. My friends and I didn't think the baby would make it to the parking lot. Apparently they had eaten only bread and tomatoes in the refugee camp.

For the next year I sponsored them, raising money for rent and food, helping them find jobs, gathering donated clothes, taking them to the public health clinic for immunization shots and to take care of the scabbies, helping them apply for Social Security cards, teaching them how to ride the train, shop in a grocery store, and basically how to live in an American big city. Needless to say, it was intense. They were extremely appreciative, but also depressed and dependent. I saw another side of America -- one of red tape, paperwork, complicated forms, passive-agressive beaurocrats, isolation. A land of plenty but also of processed food, city apartments with no yard for the kids to play in, and bad inner-city schools.

I often thought maybe they'd be better off back in Kosovo. But then I remembered that at least here no one is driving them out of their home with a semi-automatic weapon (with the exception of one neighborhood where they lived that the police called the "Juneway Jungle."

I never knew if I was doing too much for them, or too little. But in time I found my boundaries, and they found their way. In the process they basically made me a part of their family.

They've made some bad decisions, which was hard for me to watch, but in each case they seemed to bounce back and get it together. Now the oldest daughter will be a Junior in High School. Dad has a good, solid job. Mom is working in a hotel -- difficult work, but she has friends who are co-workers. And she likes to contribute to the family finances. Each time I visit they offer me tea, Turkish coffee, and on special occassions, what they call "pita," which is sort-of like Greek spinach pie. They know it's my favorite.

I was visiting them earlier this summer and Florije, the oldest daughter, mentioned that she wanted to go to Great America, an amusment park north of Chicago. They girls had never been to an amusement park. Suddenly, I had a great idea for their birthday presents this year. My women's small group contributed money, and we bought the whole family tickets to Great America.

A few weeks ago, on a Monday, David and I took them to the park. It was a perfect Chicago day -- in the 80's, sunny, low humidity. The older girls kept talking about the rollercoasters. So David and I told them to pick which one they wanted to go on. They picked the "American Eagle", a big, creaky wooden monstrosity that made my stomach flip just looking at it on the map. We waited in line for 45 minutes. Finally, we got on the rollercoaster train, pulled down the bar that would keep us on our seats, and away we went. Okay, I haven't been on a rollercoaster for a while, and discovered that what made them so exciting when I was 20 is exactly the thing I don't like now: The feeling of flying off the track, of being bounced around on the track until my neck hurt, of the feeling of my stomach jumping into my chest. Yikes. In the middle of the ride I thought, "Never again!"

Well, the girls had similar feelings. As soon as we got off, Florije said, "I don't want to do that again!" Which turned out to be a good thing because we spent the rest of the day riding on smaller rides with short lines. They had a blast. And I just kept thinking how good it was to see them smile.

The Theology of Farming

2007-08-22T10:14:00.000-07:00

I read an encouraging article in the New York Times today. "Of Church and Steak: Farming for the Soul" reports more and more Christians are paying attention to how our food is made, and how the animals we eat are treated. The article profiles one farmer, Scott Lively, an evangelical Christian who raises his animals humanely and is the largest organic meat processor in the country, Dakota Farms. He sells a lot of his meat to Hasidic Jews, who eat Kosher meat -- meaning the animals have to be raised and slaughtered according to Hasidic laws (which means humanely).

Here's an excerpt:
"Mr. Lively adheres to a diet he believes Jesus followed. Like Mr. Wiesenfeld, he says the Bible prescribes that he use organic methods to respect the earth, treat his workers decently and treat the cattle that enter his slaughterhouse as humanely as possible.

“We learn everything from the Old Testament,” Mr. Lively said, “from keeping kosher to responsible capitalism.”

Humane, sustainable practices like Mr. Lively’s are articles of faith for many Americans concerned with the way food gets from farm to plate. But they are even more deeply held matters of faith for a growing number of farmers and religious groups. In the past few years protecting the environment has emerged as a religious issue. Now, something similar is taking place in the way people of faith view their daily bread."

Oh, and I was surprised to discover the article mentions my friend, Hope Egan's book: "Holy Cow! Does God Care What We Eat?"

So if you prefer not to become a vegetarian and forgo meat altogether, you might try eating Kosher meat. At least you'll know the animals have been treated humanely. I agree with many interviewed in the article -- it's a spiritual and moral issue.

Who said memoir was dead?

2007-08-17T15:17:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I started writing a memoir. I wrote a few chapters and thought they were decent, and so I put together a book proposal and took the proposal, along with a few of the chapters, to a writing conference. I tentatively gave it to a couple of acquisitions editors I know. One of the editors, before even reading the proposal, was very blunt. "Wow, memoir is on its way out. Unless you have a unique voice like Anne Lamott, it's really tough to get something published." Well, I knew I wasn't like Anne Lamott...so that pretty much quelched the inkling of confidence I had.

Needless to say I was discouraged. I put the manuscript away and haven't touched it since. I lost steam and any excitement I had for it -- I guess I get discouraged easily.

And I keep looking for signs that the memoir as a genre is dead. Low and behold, about 3 years after my editor friend was ready to give the last rites to memoir -- I see more and more on the bookstore shelves. I love memoirs. I always have -- even way back when they were called "autobiographies." That's why I wanted to write one: because I've always heard that you should write what you like to read.

I recently read two spiritual memoirs that I loved. One is a recommendation by, who else, Anne Lamott. I read in a magazine somewhere, in one of those columns that asks famous people what they're reading, that Lamott was reading a book called "Take This Bread" by Sara Miles. So I ran out and bought it.

It is, as the title suggests, all about food. She's a liberal, a journalist, activist and a lesbian. Okay, not your typical candidate for being drawn to Christianity. But one day she stumbles into an Episcopal church and is invited to take communion. Her life is instantly changed.

After her conversion, she takes Jesus literally when he says "If you love me, feed my sheep." She starts a food pantry at the Episcopal church, and eventually dozens of other food pantries around San Franscisco.

When I was younger, communion in the Baptist church was just an after thought. A ritual that was tacked onto a service once a month. Grape juice in little plastic thimble-sized cups and Saltines broken into little pieces. As I've experience communion in different churches and traditions throughout my adult life, it's become central to my worship experience. When my friends and I tried to start a little church a while back, we started a communion tradition where we would walk up to the communion table and say "I bring ______ to the table." Often, for me it would be "I bring anxiety to the table" or "I bring sadness to the table." The minister would break off a hunk of break (not a mere Saltine) then say, "Because of this bread, you can have peace and joy. Because if Christ's blood, you have new life."

This ritual was meant to remind us of the continual transforming power of Christ. Now, as David and I go to Old Saint Pats, we have communion every Sunday. We walk up the marble-floored aisle and hold out our hands as the priest says, "the body of Christ" or "The blood of Christ". Amen.

"Take this Bread" reminded me once again, of the centrality of communion to the Christian life....a constant and tangible reminder of our changed lives and the power of Christ in our lives.

"Easter Everywhere" by Darcey Steinke was waiting for me at Barnes and Noble the other day. It was a surprise from my husband. He called me and said "Hey, stop by the Barnes and Noble, I'm having them hold a book for you there." He wouldn't tell me what it was. But when I stopped to pick it up and read the back cover, I was once again grateful for a husband who "gets me."

I took the book home and read it in one day. I just have to say, it's one of the best spiritual memoirs I've read in a long time, and her voice is NOTHING LIKE ANNE LAMOTT! Take that, my editor friend. Memoir is not dead, and you don't have to be like Ann Lamott to publish one.

Anyway, Steinke grew up as the daughter of a Lutheran minister. But as she becomes an adult, she abandons the church. She moves to NYC and publishes novels, she's beautiful, successful and seems to have everything, but she feels empty. So she tentatively starts exploring the faith of her childhood. But this time she attempts to find out what it really means, which looks much different than the shallow faith she inherited from her minister father. She realizes that her looks, success, etc., will not fill her. She quotes Simone Weil: "One has only the choice between God and idolatry. If one denies God...one is worshiping some things of this world in the belief that one sees them only as such, but in fact, though unknown to oneself imagining the attributes of Divinity in them."

If you're looking to read books that have neat, tidy conversion stories that leave no unanswered questions, then you shouldn't buy these books. But if you're okay with conversions that are on-going, are more about questions than answers, but show how Christ meets someone where they are....you might like these books as much as I did.

Now I'm going to go work on my memoir.

On Marriage

2007-08-08T09:04:00.000-07:00

I often wake up around 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. It's a bummer because then I can't get back to sleep because 1) David's breathing (okay, I'm easily distracted), 2) Or the cat is taking up 3/4 of the bed and I can't move my legs, or 3) I start thinking about my lack of work, having too much work, or the state of my filing cabinet, or a million other things. So often I'll get out of bed, eat a banana, pull a book off the bookshelf, and lie down on the couch. Then of course, the cat appears and wants to recline on my chest, making it hard to read. But the other night I managed to read a few pages from a Henri Nouwen reader titled "Seeds of Hope." Here are his thoughts on marriage, which I really like:

"Marriage is not a lifelong attraction of two individuals to each other, but a call for two people to witness together God's love. The basis of marriage is not mutual affection, or feelings, or emotions and passions that we associate with love, but a vocation, a being elected to build together a house for God in this world, to be like the two cherubs whose outstretched wings sheltered the Ark of the Covenant and created a space where Yahweh could be present. Marriage is a relationship in which a man and a woman protect and nurture the inner sanctum within and between them and witness to that by the way in which they love each other...

The real mystery of marriage is not that husband and wife love each other so much that they can find God in each other's lives, but that God loves them so much that they can discover each other more and more as living reminders of God's presence. They are brought together, indeed, as two prayerful hands extended toward God and forming in this way a home for God in this world."

You're right

2007-08-06T07:47:00.000-07:00

I don't really want to be like Dooce. She's weird. But you have to admit she has an adorable child. Thank you all for your comments and affirmation. I now feel motivated and encouraged to keep blogging. As my friend Jackie told me in an email "You weren't having an identity crisis until you went to the LAME conference!"

So I'm swearing off reading certain other blogs, because I have this habit of observing other people's lives. Maybe it's the writer in me -- I've always been an observer. For a writer, that's a good thing. But the downside is I observe, and then compare. It's the comparison that drags me down into the pit of envy. I feel I never measure up -- or my life never measures up. So I'm reading, observing, comparing instead of leading my own life! It's sick, really. And duh, maybe I'd be more content with my own life if I were actually living it.

So, from now on I'm going to stop comparing (i'm sure easier said than done), and focus on the life I've been given. As my new favorite writer Wendel Berry writes, "but you mustn't wish for another life. You mustn't want to be somebody else. What must do is this: "Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks."

I am still thinking about how to change this blog, especially knowing how difficult it is to comment. I want this blog to be a discussion, not just a monologue, which is why I value your comments. So switching the blog to a different blog hosting service might be the answer. Or maybe there's a way to adjust Blogger to make commenting easier and I haven't figured it out yet.

I'm going through an identity crisis

2007-08-02T08:38:00.000-07:00

I don't know who I am anymore. As a blogger, anyway. To be honest, I just started this blog on a whim, without much thought. Well, my only thought was, "Let's just give it a try and see what happens." Since then, I have a loyal following of about, oh, 2 people. And one is my husband.

Well, on a whim (See, I can be spontaneous), I attended the BlogHer conference here in Chicago last weekend. As of last Friday, I didn't even know what BlogHer was...but then I was reading someone else's blog and she mentioned it and I thought, "why not?" So Saturday morning I skipped my Weight Watchers meeting and drove down to Navy Pier to sit through workshops and meet other women bloggers only to find out the my blog is TOTALLY LAME! I had no idea. I've been introduced to this whole new Blog world that includes blogs that are better than mine, like Dooce and Sweet / Salty and magpie-girl and Fully Operational Battle Station

Okay, now I won't have any readers because you'll all be busy reading these other, BETTER BLOGS.

The conference left me a little embarrassed. So I decided that either I start taking this blog more seriously, or just keep limping along with David as my only reader (in which case I can just start talking to him more which means there's no reason to have a blog whatsoever.)

Here's what I learned at the conference:

1. Mommy Blogs are rampant. But they're becoming passe. Which is good because I'm not a mommy (yet).
2. People actually make money blogging. I guess you can advertise on your blog, get hired to write for corporate blogs, etc. The really popular blogs like Dooce get thousands of hits a day, so they're attractive to advertisers. Therefore, I would need to start getting more than 10 hits a day to earn money advertising on my blog.
3. To get lots of hits, you have to keep feeding your blog with new entries...like every day. You can't be lazy like me and just update when you feel like it.
4. To be taken seriously as a blogger, you need a unique design. Not a Blogger template (like this one).
5. You need to "brand" yourself. Which is part of the reason I'm having an identity crisis. What is my "brand"? Who am I? I'm not a Mommy Blogger. I'm not a Political Blogger. I'm not a 20-something hipster that writes irreverent posts filled with four-letter words and sexual escapades (like Dooce). So WHO AM I?
6. Being at the conference made me feel like I was in Junior High, wanting to be invited to the party with all of the cool, popular kids.
7. The really good blogs include great photography. I need to buy a camera. Any suggestions?
8. I need to decide what the purpose of my blog is. To make money? (To be honest, I don't really care about that, although it would be nice.) To keep in touch with friends and family? (In that case, staying small is okay.) To have a place to be heard? To have a voice to the "outside world?" I need to do some soul-searching.

The last workshop I attended was lead by Jen Lemen and Magpie-Girl and the title of the workshop was "Small is Beautiful." Most of the attendees had small readerships and they were claiming they didn't want to get any bigger. They wanted a small, loyal readership and a space where they could bare their souls. They said getting any bigger would force them to compromise, to change their voice, to become obsessed with the stat counter (the thing that keeps track of how many readers you have). I liked the vibe of that workshop. It seemed authentic and geniune, and it wasn't all about making money or being famous or whatever. I felt less pressure, like maybe I didn't have to figure out how to get thousands of readers a day. Maybe I want to keep this blog small and intimate, and keep my voice authentic.

All of this to tell you to stay tuned for possible changes to the blog. I think it's time to go to the next level, even if I'm never a Dooce.

All by myself...

2007-07-26T18:45:00.000-07:00

Here are more photos from Chris' wedding. Don't compare photo of David and me to the beautiful couple in my last post. We're old enough to be their parents. Plus, we had just driven 6 hours from Chicago to Akron and arrived 30 minutes before the wedding started. We had to change clothes in the bathroom. That was after David drove us to the wrong hotel. And after I asked him more than once if he was SURE we were going to the right hotel. Our plan was to meet my sister at the hotel where my nephew Drew (who was riding with us) could get his "wedding duds" from my sister, and where we could change, primp, and make ourselves presentable. "Are you SURE this is the right Hampton Inn?" I asked David again as we walked into the hotel. We were running out of time. "Of course!" he replied confidently. "But I thought my sister said there was a Marriot across the street. I don't see a Marriot."

Well, it was the wrong hotel. It was too late to drive to the right hotel and I got mad, and then David got mad and my poor nephew had to see us fighting. It's always so awkward to be in the presence of a fighting couple. It's so...embarrassing. Sorry Drew. But the good news was that the church was only a mile or so away (which is why David thought it was the RIGHT Hampton Inn...which I later admitted that his logic was, well logical). My sister met us there and all turned out well.

I forgave David and he forgave me and now I miss him because he's in Dallas taking care of his parents for the week. And I'm realizing that after perfecting the art of being alone during my 15 years of single adulthood...I have forgotten everything. I don't know how to be alone anymore. Monday night, after David left, I sat on the couch wondering, "okay, what now?" I ended up watching American Inventor, this reality show where average Americans invent something and they get the chance to win a million dollars. The three finalists after Monday night's show were a single mom who invented a bra that has no straps in the back so large-chested women can were backless tops, a junior high teacher who invented remote controlled vehicles that kids can design on the computer, and a hunky fireman who created a contraption that you put on your Christmas tree that will douse the tree if it catches on fire. I'm pulling for the fireman because he was really cute and his invention will actually save lives.

So, as you can see, I've been really productive in my "alone time." I used to be really good at it. I'd spend time reading, writing, praying, or call up friends and get some kind of social event going. But now I just feel....lost.

Today was better. I went jogging by the lake this morning, ran errands, and read, wrote a little and called a friend. I'm working tomorrow, so that will take up most of the day, and David comes back on Saturday. Yay.

Nephew #1 gets hitched

2007-07-23T20:00:00.000-07:00

We were all in awe of Chris when he arrived in our family. The first child for my sister, first grandchild for my parents, and first nephew for me. We spent many hours those first few months just staring at him sleeping. He was perfect. When he grew up a little he loved dinosaurs for a while, then legos, then the guitar. His hair was a dark blonde until he hit junior high school, then he dyed it blue and then bleach blonde, and then he shaved it all off and then grew it long. Every time I saw him it was a surprise. He was in a band for a while, lead worship music for his youth group, and his senior year of high school ran the 400 meters in track and won 4th place in state.

He was one of those maddening people who fall in love the first week of college (How to people DO that?!). He and Laura dated for four years (mostly) and got married this weekend, a few months after they graduated from college. (How do people DO that?!).

When he was about 2 or 3 my sister and her small family moved to Ohio. I visited shortly after they moved and slept on the couch. One morning I woke up sobbing because I realized I wouldn't get to see my sister, or my nephew, as much and I was generally depressed at that point in my life anyway. Chris woke up and crawled out of his crib. He ran into the living room in his soggy diapers. When he looked at me and saw me crying, he came over and put his head on the pillow next to mine so we were nose to nose. Then reached up and patted my cheek. I can still feel his soft baby skin and his hand on my cheek.

I haven't gotten to see him as much as I would have liked. But I tried to make it to Ohio often for football games, track meets, and high school graduation. Now he's married and starting life with his adorable bride.

They're impossibly good looking, full of life and possibilities. I want their lives to be easy and good and perfect. But inevitably they will encounter disappointment and struggles and conflict. And I will pray that during those times they'll feel God's presence more intensely, maybe even in the form of a sweet baby patting away their tears.