I've moved!!

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

www.karenbeattie.net


Come on over!!!!

Karen

Another Christmas down....

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

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

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.

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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!

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

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!!

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

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....

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

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

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....