And I can see the rising sun.” ~Rich Mullins

After an hour or two of bumbling through some Hebrew homework this  afternoon I realized that I’d better clear my head before heading to class or  I’d be a lost cause. I decided to head to school a little early and to find a spot on Elliott Bay to watch the sun glint off the water and seek a little rest for my spirit.

My soul, brain, and heart are weary because of school and because of life, and I am seeking, usually somewhat unsuccessfully, to learn how to both feel my feelings and care for myself in the process of doing so. For a few brief moments before class I sat in the grass, felt the sun, played with Instagram.  And listened to Rich Mullins, having just been reminded that Rich is someone I can always turn to both to understand me and to articulate my known and unknown longings, sadnesses, and joys.

Walking back towards school a woman caught my eye, wearing something whimsical and weaving grass in her hands as she walked. I tried to stop staring only to look away and into the eyes of a man carrying grass-woven flowers who began immediately to speak with me. Slow to comprehend, I worked at pulling my earbuds out of my ears as he handed me a flower. “The petals are for happiness,” he said. “And the grass for longevity.” He pointed out his wife (the woman who’d caught my eye) and told me their respective ethnicities. He introduced himself, and I, still trying to extricate myself from my headphones, shook his hand and told him my name as well.

Finally I was focused enough to actually grasp his words as he told me he’d been 145 days sober and that any little bit would help. I looked into his eyes and I fished around for a dollar, which extraordinarily I actually had on my person. “God bless you,” he said. “Bless you,” I responded, comprehending our interaction only as it was ending.

I could analyse the social and economic implications of our interaction. I could break down his sales pitch from the moment he caught my eye to the sentence he finally used to ask, without asking, for money. I could contemplate the efficacy of giving money to people on the street or trouble over the racial dynamics and power structures at play. But this time, at least for this moment, it wasn’t about those things but was instead about grace.

There I was felling lonely and listening to Rich Mullins sing, “Well, the grass will die. And the flowers fall. But Your Word’s alive, and will be after all,” when I was seen, spoken to, touched, and given a beautiful flower made of grass. I looked into the eyes of another human being and was met.

Most days I am full of doubt. Doubt about my vocation and my ability to ever truly live. Doubt about God’s goodness or maybe God’s presence or maybe just my ability to experience either. Doubt about whether facing the pain really does allow for new birth or just more sadness. And yet, even so Jesus shows up, all wrapped up in this flesh and blood, embodied in the sun, the water, the eyes of a stranger.

“And everywhere I go I see You. And everywhere I go I see You.”

It’s been a monumental week. Most notable, most exciting, most life changing has been the birth of my first niece, Grace Pearl. Born May 8th shortly after 8:00 a.m. My sister is a mother, I am an aunt!

Such major life changes take time to sink in, and there is some way in which she will remain ephemeral until I can actually hold her in my arms sometime in July, but already I’m in love through pictures and skype and texts. For once I am unequivocally grateful for technology. I’m so sad to be so far away and comforted by all of the ways that I can still join in even when mediated through screens. And thanks to my recent, long-avoided smart phone acquisition I can even show off pictures wherever I go. Watch out, if you run into me pictures will be shown! :)

When I think of all of the places I’ve been this week I’m a bit overwhelmed and ponderous. Sunday marked three years since we lost Mom to cancer. Monday I had my first Hebrew class and felt like a true M.Div. student. Tuesday I had a soul filling coffee date with a friend from Michigan–right here in Seattle. Then I sat in Old Testament class for six hours, tweaking my thinkings on the creation story and feeling the palpable presence of God resting on our professor and thus the room. Also, getting antsy realizing I just got the “it’s really happening!” text. Wednesday I became an aunt (!!!!!!!!!!), went to work, and finished memorizing the Hebrew alphabet. Thursday I tried (and failed) to finish all of my assigned readings for the week, had a ponderously hopeful end to a deep therapy session, and had dinner with some of my favorite Seattle women, introducing them to my GR friend. And made a new friend in my friend’s best friend and traveling companion (cheers to you if you followed that train), walked through Capitol Hill and didn’t feel lost, and had frozen yogurt to boot.

And for the past two full days I’ve been in my Multicultural Perspectives class attempting to honestly examine how I encounter difference and where racism still resides in my heart. Next month we will have the final two days of class and I expect to have even more to process as I work through all of the remaining material, readings, and experiences. But even now I’m starting to wonder: do I have the courage to become a person not just aware of injustice but an ally in the fight against it? Only time will tell, but I am reminded that in some capacity this may very well be what I was made for. Perhaps we all are.

I have this hope that I will write more about many of the things briefly mentioned in the post above, particularly when it comes to Multicultural class. But, turns out, when in grad school there’s a lot of writing to do and so blog post writing usually gets lost. There is so much I want to tell you. And there’s so much I don’t yet know how to articulate.

Mountains as I once imagined them.

I had a little victory tonight: I wondered what to do with myself tonight that would allow my mind and heart to settle into themselves and was worried that instead I’d numb my soul with television. Then I thought, “I want to color!” and followed it up with actually pulling out my crayons. What a perfect way to give my hands something to do while the rest of me ponders, and what a direct way to connect with the child in me who’s looking for a voice. And so I colored. When I was young I used to daydream about mountains. I’d never seen them, but they were in books and they filled my imagination with wonder. Since I couldn’t see them I would draw them. It occurred to me this week of glorious sun in Seattle, that my childhood dream has come true: I live surrounded by mountains on every side. And on the days they come out of hiding they take my breath away, just like I imagined they would.

Even though it is so hard, life is also so beautiful.

I thought I might have words, but it seems all I have is songs. The things I am learning, the things I am hoping are as of yet nameless. I am searching for myself and trying to be brave to see her, much less speak her. This song played on Pandora today, and though it was released the year I graduated high school and though I’d already given it my “thumbs up” it seems I never really listened.

I’m not completely enamored with this video (the official video is the second link, the first is just the song), though there is something honest about her simplicity that I do love, but this gives some words for what I can’t yet articulate and so in lieu of a real update I give you this.

But when my wings are folded
The brightly colored moth
Blends into the dirt, into the ground

Paula Cole – Me (Official Music Video). Watch more top selected videos about: Paula Cole

I am walking on the bridge 
I am over the water 
And I’m scared as hell 
But I know there’s something better
Yes I know there’s something 
Yes I know, i know, yes i know

It is Valentine’s Day, and rather than falling into my typical curmudgeonly pattern I’d like to share with you a song that speaks to me of what love truly is.

I’ve made it all the way to our reading week  break and haven’t managed to write any blogs yet. There are many reasons for that, but now that I have a few days off I have a few things stirring. Perhaps a post or two is on the way, but for now I’m sending you this song that not only speaks truth but also gives you a window into what I’ve been learning to believe even more deeply this term.

Well, I believe I’m packed to head back to Michigan, apart from the food items I’ll pull together tomorrow morning to sustain me during my trek. I’ve been feeling odd about this trip and trying to put my finger on why. This is what I’ve come up with: I’ve never before left home to go home in quite the same way.

When my childhood home was only an hour away from my adulthood home, going “home” for Christmas was usually a day or two affair of a quick jaunt in the car for a quick celebration before having to head back “home” for work. I had Christmas with my family and New Years with my friends. This year is a bit different.

I’m leaving a place where all of a sudden it feels like I’ve always been, and  go to the place I thought I’d always be. Somehow the intensity and uniqueness of my experience here in Seattle has made these four months seem longer, and of course they are more immediate. So, it really is starting to feel like home. But of course Michigan is home, too. Up until now everything my adult self has known has been in Grand Rapids, and my roots in GR go far deeper than they do here in the big city. The two are so far removed from each other that they feel absent from one another, which adds a stretched feeling to the “leaving home to go home” phenomenon. I will spend Christmas with my family, and who knows, maybe New Years with my “old” friends, while simultaneously missing my new friends.

When I think of all of those who I will be seeing when I get home to Michigan, I am grateful that at least this year I can make this trip. I need to anchor myself again in the reality of all that I have left behind. I think seeing those I love will help me realize that the two worlds continue simultaneously in ways that seem hard to imagine at the moment. Going back home will be so good. But it will also be odd because none of us are not who we were when I left.

All that I’m trying to say is, now more than ever I have two homes. No matter where I am, I will be present in one home and absent in the other. It’s a new experience for me.

I’m pretty sure I could make this a metaphor for Christ’s leaving home to dwell among us, but instead I’ll probably have some mint chocolate chip ice cream and head to bed.

Merry Christmas, everyone! May you know both home and longing for home this season.

I’m really excited because I just finished writing a paper for my spiritual formation class outlining my rule of life. A rule of life is a way to think intentionally about how you live your life and what things you think will bring you most fully into the sort of life you want to live. (Read more about it here.) Because I’m excited about what I wrote I want to share it with you. If you make it all the way through the rule (it’s rather long… :-S) you can read my thoughts on how and why I wrote it after that.

This was one of those things that was first chaos in my brain and then formed itself into order, which is one of my most favorite feelings in the world and which is why I think I’m excited to share it with you. Turns out writing a rule of life is illuminating. You should try it!

Tapestry of Life

I am committed to find balance in the interwoven purists of Personal Wholeness, Intentional Presence, and Relational Investment through a set of practices that lead me to greater depth and unity with the Divine. I think of my rule as a tapestry I weave with my life: each pursuit a different color, each category of engagement a different spool of thread, and each practice an individual strand of fiber. As I go through life I will choose different strands of practice to spin into the threads of engagement from which I will seek to weave an ever evolving pattern of life.

As I seek a continual balance of Personal Wholeness, Intentional Presence, and Relational Investment, I will explore practices in each pursuit that both comfort and challenge me. I will view my rule as a set of possibilities rather than a set of requirements. I commit to kindness and patience for myself, love for others, and submission to the transforming work of the risen Christ in all things.

Personal Wholeness

I commit to pursuing personal wholeness in body, mind and spirit. My ability to live at one with myself is intimately connected with my ability to commune with the Spirit of God that animates my being. As I become more fully the person I have been created to be, I will grow towards unity with the Divine. Out of this unity, my life will shine glory and love into the world. The threads of Personal Wholeness will include:

Inner Work and Soul Listening

The journey into personal wholeness cannot be undertaken alone. I will seek guidance, clarity, and challenge from a companion committed to helping me seek God’s best for myself and my life.

Strands of Practice: therapy, spiritual direction, pastoral care, soul friendship

Art and Creative Expression

I find connection with my inmost self and the Creator God through engagements with art and created beauty. I will be both creator and partaker of creative expression.

Strands of Practice: playing the piano, writing, creating visual art; attending concerts, writer’s conferences, and public readings; visiting art museums and cultural centers; attentiveness to street performers, public art, and well-crafted food.

Bodily Awareness and Physical Health

To experience personal wholeness I must learn to be in union with my body. Life in my body is the only way I am present in the world, and so I will both listen to and care for my body. I will seek ways to unify my spiritual practice with my body.

Strands of Practice: attention to emotion expressed in my body; cherishing my body as the sustainer of my life; caring for my body through exercise, sufficient rest, and healthy eating; unifying body and spirit in spiritual practice by burning incense, kneeling, singing, partaking in communion, lighting candles, practicing yoga, dancing

Mental Engagement and Lifelong Learning

I feel most fully alive when I am engaging my mind and am expending effort in learning. I experience wholeness and joy when my mind and intuition work together to understand new and complex things. I will also seek ways to put my learning and understanding into service on behalf of the community.

Strands of Practice: formal academic study, reading scholarly books, attending lectures, participation in book clubs or community classes.

Intentional Presence

I commit to intentionally seeking and dwelling in the presence of God. God is present everywhere, at all times, but becoming aware of this presence requires mindfulness and intentionality. I commit to exploring practices that will help me become attune to the presence of God in a way that is life-giving, flexible, and sustainable. The threads of Intentional Presence will include:

Prayer and Contemplation

There are many ways to practice prayer and contemplation in order to open myself to the awareness of God’s transforming presence. My rhythms of prayer and intention will shift as my circumstances change and as I am transformed.

Strands of Practice: lectio divina, centering prayer, Ignatian imaginatory prayer, daily examine, silence and solitude, the Jesus Prayer, walking a prayer labyrinth, prayer beads, daily offices, praying the Psalter, icons

Communal Prayer and Worship

Dwelling in the communion of the saints is a key component of experiencing the living presence of God. Communal prayer locates me in the Body of Christ, brings me into communion with the worldwide Church, and reminds me that my faith is to be lived in community. I find perseverance and focus when I pray in community.

Strands of Practice: Holy Eucharist, Taizé worship, daily offices, chapel service, community prayer and worship gatherings

Sacred Space

In order to know the presence of God I must create space in my life where I can be attentive to the voice of the Spirit. Sacred space includes physical places and metaphorical margins in life.

Strands of Practice: spending time outdoors in parks, forests, mountains, or near water; churches with expansive architecture; moments of silence; controlling busyness and over-activity in life; periodic retreats

 Relational Investment

I commit to the outward practice of my faith through relational investment. Just as God is in relationship within God’s self, I am created to live in relationship with others and the earth. God’s life of love calls me into a life of community, and I will experience the fullness of God’s life only when I am invested in relationship. The threads of Relational Investment will include:

Intentional Relationships

It is through mutual relationship that I most experience and extend the presence of God. When I bring my whole self to relationships I have the chance of being transformed by the image of God in another.

Strands of Practice: cultivating a few deep, long-term friendships; genuine listening and intentional presence with others in my work and personal life; taking risks and pursuing relationship; involvement in church or community groups of study, service, or fellowship

Simplicity and Justice

I am called to relationship with the people I encounter in my everyday life, but I must also live in relationship with the human community and the created order.  I will strive for greater unity with all of humanity and the environment through the pursuit of just economic practices, simple living, global awareness, and peacemaking.

Strands of Practice: financial responsibility in my own life, generosity and hospitality, simple living and purchasing practices, preference for local and/or responsibly grown produce, preference for well-crafted and locally made products, mindful transportation, continued awareness of justice issues and violence, buying thrift, community service, advocacy, inter-faith engagement

Prayer and Lament

The world is full of brokenness and death, but God has promised wholeness and life. Lament acknowledges the disparity between what is and what should be by calling on God to fulfill God’s promise and calling people to a vision of shalom. I believe that I am called to voice lament as an invitation to risk hope in both my own life and the life of the human community.

Strands of Practice: creating space for individual and communal words/prayers of lament and grief, prophetic speech calling for active awareness of injustice and brokenness, preaching a gospel of hope and love as an invitation to the shalom of God

Commentary on My Rule

My rule of life has turned out very differently than what I had expected. When I imagined writing it three months ago, I assumed that I would end up with a set of practices and rhythms that I would commit to practicing on a daily and yearly basis. What I ended up with, however, is a metaphor of art and a commitment to balance in a world of possibilities.

As I studied spiritual practices and as I took an honest look at how I am likely to live, I realized that if I wrote a series of specific practices and rules I would be bound to fail. I wanted my rule of life to be just that: life. I started writing by listing all of the things I could think of that bring me life. I was excited to look at my list and see a pattern immerge. I began to see that the things that bring me life involve peaceful relationships with myself, with God, and with the world. I also realized that while I am able to categorize my list in this way enough to write it, all of these things are interconnected and in reality cannot be lived apart from one another.

I think that a balanced life involves all things in mutual, interpenetrating relationship mirrored after the relationship of God within the Trinity. I cannot be whole within myself without connection with the Divine. I cannot know God without relationship with others. I cannot reach out to other unless I have a whole self from which to reach. I have written a rule that attempts to name the components of my life that must remain in balance if I am to experience the fullness of life offered by the living God.

While the rule is based on the simplicity of three main pursuits, the ways to live and balance these components are vast and manifold. In my rule I attempted to briefly describe the pursuits of Personal Wholeness, Intentional Presence, and Relational Investment, and I symbolized them using differing colors. I then listed the general categories that I find integral to my pursuits and spoke of them as the different spools of thread used to weave the tapestry. Finally, under each category, I used the idea of individual strands of thread that are spun into a string of yarn to symbolize various practices I might choose to engage. I found it very important to create a broad list of possible practices because this gives me both direction and freedom when it comes to how I live each day. My rule does not demand adherence to any specific practices, but instead invites me to examine where I need balance and what options I can explore to move towards union with God.

This is my first attempt at writing my rule and so I expect that it will shift and change over time. Right now I find that I am working more intentionally on Personal Wholeness than the other areas of my rule. In school I am taxing both my mind and my heart as I grown in both academic and personal knowledge. I look to my rule to remind me that it is important to put time and energy towards presence with God and others, but I have grace for myself for the ways in which I am able or unable to do this in any given moment. As I continue to grow and as my life circumstances change I suspect that I will find myself weighted towards the other components of my rule at other times. It is my hope that my rule will continue to gently call me into the life of shalom offered by the transformative presence of God.

… call it the shadow of myself. ~Over the Rhine

I just got back from seeing my favorite (Midwest) band play a wonderful show and so naturally I feel the urge to write. It feels like a very long time since I’ve written, but looking back I realize that it has only been three weeks. Time here is odd. It’s hard to believe that we’re only three weeks (more or less) from the end of our first term! And yet, there are days and moments that feel so full of thoughts, ideas, emotions, and change that they last forever.

What I have been trying to figure out is how to communicate to you what I have been experiencing. As I listened to Karin Bergquist sing tonight, I realized that of course the only way to explain anything is through poetry and song.

“All I Need Is Everything” was a surprise to hear in concert, being so old and all, but when I (re)heard these words my breath caught in my throat:

The wind blows through the trees
but if I look for it, it won’t come.
I tense up. My mind goes numb.
There’s nothing harder than learning how to receive.

This, this has been my experience these past weeks. Trying too hard. Freezing up. Wanting so much to learn how to receive  Just as the song goes on to say, it often feels that all I need is everything–inside, outside, to feel new skin. Still, I “feel the slip and the grip of grace again.” (Go ahead, have a listen at Over the Rhine’s website.)

I don’t know how to tell you who I am becoming, because I don’t know myself. What I do know is that I’m starting to recognize how important it is that I figure it out. Or at least make a good effort at it now and for the rest of my life. I’m feeling freedom to live into and out of things I’ve not had permission to believe before. I am recognizing the depth of my brokenness and trying to learn how to delight in my goodness.

It’s wonderful. And terribly frightening. It is vulnerable to speak my truth.

Even so I have hope because I still believe this too:

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I’m gonna learn to love without fear

(Born)

It’s reading week here in the land of The Seattle School, and it seems high time I send another update your way. I’ve just done a bit of reading and feel I deserve a break.

I really am not sure how to sum up these first seven weeks of school and the two months I’ve lived here, but two scenes come to mind, so I guess I’ll just paint them.

At Home in Homelessness

Last Thursday I splurged and went to see a show at the Moore Theater in rainy Belltown with one of my new M.Div. friends.

Sitting there in the balcony of a vast domed room I couldn’t help but think back on all of the shows I’ve seen at Calvin College back in my old life. The vibe in the room at the Moore was an odd one for quite a bit of the show and I thought to myself, “These people don’t know how to be a good audience the way the folks at Calvin shows do.”

But as the show progressed things warmed up. The main act, Joshua Radin, engaged the audience until we were all involved in the conversation, and I sunk into the pure abandon of live music. It was a lovely time, and I left feeling full.

However, as I thought back on the show and those moments of “Hello, Seattle!” that performers always throw out to energize the crowd, I realized that Seattle is not yet home. I want to be here, but is certainly not a place I feel I am “from”. I’m an observer and a cautious participant, but I am in no way a part of this city. And yet, although I think back on those shows at Calvin with a combination of fondness and longing, and though I miss being surrounded by people whom I love and who have known for more than two months, I in no way want to return back to my life in Grand Rapids. When I anticipated homesickness, I assumed it would come with a longing for life the way it used to be, but this is not the case.

And so, here I am in a state of true homelessness. Yet another form of liminality–the doorway, the in-between, the transition. And I think I am content to be here. Perhaps I am slowly learning to be more at home in myself. Perhaps the vision I have of the room beyond the opening door is one just promising enough and just terrifying enough that I am glad to be entering slowly and deliberately.

The Quiet Thrill

This story must be prefaced with the information that I have just listened to the audio book of Anne of Green Gables, and so Anne’s language is in my head. I find myself using words like “scope for the imagination , “romantic”, and “kindred spirit” as Anne’s little voice skips around my head and heart.

The week prior to reading week was a difficult one for me. My brain felt tired and my emotions were raw. I’ve been reading so many things and having so many conversations that I began to wonder how I could pull a coherent thought out of my head in order to write an upcoming paper (and one that summed up everything I had learned so far, no less).

Part of my education here involves interacting deeply with people and their stories in a group setting and then processing how I am reacting to and with the group. This teaching tool (called practicum) is designed to help us recognize both our strengths and weaknesses in interpersonal interactions. This experience is one of the reasons why I chose to come to this school–it takes me beyond book learning and in to personal growth. I know that without significant changes in the way I locate myself in the world, I will be ill-equipped to move into the vocation I hope to pursue. But all of this looking deeply at one’s self is difficult, and a week ago I felt overwhelmed with all of the emotional processing I was trying to tackle.

And so, Tuesday night and Wednesday morning were tough trying to push my way through paper writing while carrying my newest set of self-revelations and sadnesses. Just before I left for class Wednesday morning I hit “print”, packed a lunch, and set out for the bus. The grey weather has finally arrived here (after an unusually dry and sunny September and October) and so as I walked through the subdued morning light I was surprised to feel a quiet thrill run through my heart.

“Where is this Anne Shirley-like emotion coming from?” I wondered. And that’s when I realized how happy I am. The paper was hard, but also exciting. I’m finally having a chance to examine my theology and decide what I think. No one is telling me exactly what I have to believe, and instead I am following my heart and convictions. Every day a small hope continues to grow in me: maybe the gospel really is good news. Maybe this is the most beautiful story written and I get to join in.

Even facing my pain feels hopeful because when I sit around numbing my pain and living safely, I am all but dead.  In this place I am being invited into a hope for a way of truly living. To hope is dangerous. It requires admitting that things are broken and in need of change. Without hope I can just accept the deadening status quo, but with hope I must face the darkness. Facing the darkness hurts, but it is also life. And life is what I long for.

So, here I am at mid-term feeling worn out and hopeful. Ready for some rest and ready to keep exploring. I wrote to some friends that I feel “simultaneously deeply content and deeply disturbed”. That sounds like a very Seattle School thing to say, and so perhaps it is this place that is becoming home.

Well, here I am. A grad student. We’ve had two full weeks of classes now, or is it three? How do you count weeks of school when your classes are on Monday and Wednesday and the first Monday of class was superseded by Labor Day? At any rate, this was the week the famed Practicum began and so I feel that I have now truly entered my experience at The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology.

Tonight is a night when I’m feeling great about the world (cheap well drinks with the housemates has only served to elevate the mood I was already in) and so it seemed a good night to write. Had I written Monday you would have heard quite a different story. Which is to say, so far my emotional experience of all of this has been nothing if not up and down, high and low. I’m not really sure how to update you, so I’m just going to ramble for a bit and see what comes out. It’ll be an adventure we’ll go on together (continue at your own risk).

Today I had a small sense of euphoria as I exited the bus in Belltown (the neighborhood where school is located) because I had navigate my whole commute (which is only one simple bus ride, by the way) with no sense of dis-ease and very little (I was going to say “no” and then I remembered this was not quit true) stumbling around. As I stood at the corner of Wall and Western in the slight morning fog (it’s been sunny every single day since I’ve arrived, by the way) I looked down the hill at the ferry crossing the sound and thought to myself, “Wow. I am really here. This is really, really happening.”

I keep having these “pinch me” moments and I know I’ll have finally made Seattle my home when they stop happening. For now though I’m happy to keep waking up to find that this is all real.

Today we started with a particularly interesting (and to me invigorating)  class discussion non-violent atonement, followed by a hermeneutics class in which my professor spent the first 20 minutes trying to give all those with ruffled feathers and/or confused minds a bit of pastoral care combined with a lesson in church/theological history.  The class in which this alternate (to the current Evangelical paradigm) atonement was discussed is called Interpersonal Foundations. I’m honestly still trying to figure out what the class is all about (guess it’s time to re-read the syllabus once again!), but my sense is that our professor (and thus the school) is attempting to give us a foundational understanding of the nature of humanity and how we fit into God’s world. This being The Seattle School, the perspective is a bit wider than many of my classmates are used to hearing and one that is, naturally, music to my own soul.

Hermeneutics is a class that really excites me, which is partly because I’ve had a new-found interested in reading the Bible as Scripture (see this post) and so I’m looking forward to actually having some formal training on how to actually read. The other reason I’m enjoying the class is that this professor is the kind of person I’d like to grow up to be. He’s incredibly passionate, loves the church, feels perfectly safe thinking outside the box, will drop the incidental cuss word upon occasion (he’s Canadian, after all ;) ), and uses Batman and The Dead Poets Society to talk about reading the Bible. Also he starts class with the ringing of a Tibetan singing bowl. What’s not to love?

Of course, there’s also Dan Allender’s class, Faith, Hope and Love,  in which we all sit enraptured in the dark charisma of Dan. This class is being co-taught by a (Canadian, again) theologian who also is a fierce yet grandmotherly woman, which of course I love. I suppose I’ll just have to tell you about our current working definitions of “faith”, “hope”, and “love” sometime.  Already it’s pretty profound.

So, as you can tell, I’m enamored with my classes. (Even Interpersonal, which sometimes I’m still suspicious of.) The readings I’m more ambivalent about. Some of them I’ve loved, some of them I’ve waded through, and some of them I’ve hated for their sheer inaccessibility (that means you, Barth!). [Side note, I'm a little worried that my first impression of Barth will be something like my first impression of Steinbeck. Both are considered great writers of their time and both have much to teach me. Both are also traumatic to read when not emotionally or intellectually mature enough to comprehend them.] I’m grateful for my reading group where we come together to discuss the readings each week. Reading group is a way to connect with fellow students, have the mentorship of an “older” student, and have time to interact with the readings in a personal and clarifying way. It adds something to the weekly schedule, but I’m grateful that my group has made the time spent totally worth it.

Well, I suspect that this post is coming off quite positive, which is good because, as I said, this is how I’m feeling over all. But had I written Monday (or Saturday, or Friday, or Thursday) you would have heard from the overwhelmed Sarah instead. This is so much reading! I knew it would be an adjustment, but the trick is not in the knowing but in the doing. I’m going to have to learn how and when to skim. I’m going to have to learn how to get enough out of a reading and then Just Move On! This is not my way and it is a way I must learn.

And then, there’s practicum and papers asking us to reflect on our tragedies. There’s no way of hiding here, and hiding is one of the things I’ve learned to do well. I’m guessing that most of this inner work is not going to be the stuff I’m going to blog flippantly about, but it is work I’ll be doing and it will be hard. Although spending time in therapy is not a requirement for M. Div. students the way it is for counseling students, I’m thinking that it’s still going to be best for me if I see someone to process all of these things with. Whatever I end up doing with my degree, it’s going to require that I become a person who can be truly present with people in their brokenness (not the least of whom will be myself). If I am to do this well I need to be a person who sees myself clearly and who knows how to take good care of myself. For this I need help, and I intend to seek it out.

Ah ha, this has become an incredibly long post. As suspected this blog has turned into the 21st Century version of the mass e-mail. And so I’ll close by saying, I miss all of you who I left at home. I think about you frequently as you are the folks I wish I could be discussing these things with over coffee (or evening prayer). Mostly I feel overwhelmed with things to do every second (except for Wednesday night which feels a bit like Friday since it’s my last day of class for the week, and also the night with a great happy hour at Finn MacCool’s). Because I’m overwhelmed I never pick up the phone and rarely send an email. I hope I find a balance in which staying connected is something I am able to do more, but in the mean time know you are on my mind.

This post has been a lot of words so here’s a promotional video from the school that will give you a visual for where I’ve been spending my time.

Well, it’s about to really happen. I’ve been oriented and (re)oriented and tomorrow I’m actually starting class. I am filled with a mix of the emotions you might expect: anxiety and excitement. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in school so I’m anxious about remembering how to do things like take notes and write papers. But mostly I’m excited about all of the possibilities that lie ahead.

I’m still not feeling all that excited to be in a new place. I don’t like the fact that every time I realize I need something from the grocery store it is an act of effort and bravery to figure out where I’m going and how to park there. I don’t like the fact that every social interaction takes effort–even though all of the people I’ve met so far have been quite nice and welcoming. Even so there is something about coming around that slight curve on Aurora to suddenly see the Seattle skyline looming in the mid-ground that does make my heart leap just a little: The City!

Our days of Orientation (Friday, for all incoming students) and (Re)Orientation (today, for the whole student body) have been a much-needed reminder of why I’m here. These are my people. They speak a language that, even for all of its currently opaque-to-me dialect, is a language that I understand. They live a faith that I aspire to, a faith that is gritty and honest and full of hope. And this program I am about to enter, though unexpected, has designs to shape me into the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be–a person who loves deeply, wrestles relentlessly, and serves whole heartedly.

Onward!