I have just returned from the Canadian Theological Society's AGM in Victoria. It is included as part of the Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences, which meant being at UVic for one of the largest academic conferences in Canada, surrounded by scholars working within a wide variety of fields, not just theology. I had a chance to sit and chat (ok, sit and share a few drinks) with a group of Applied Linguists from UNB, and had a terrific conversation on the bus with an ethnographer from Ontario as well.
What struck me most though was how very at-home I felt in the midst of this group, even despite my "shock and awe" at being at my first really acad3emic conference. I kept introducing myself as the 'lowly Master's student' surrounded by PhD's and PhD candidates, but after the initial smirk, was very much encouraged for being there and participating in the discussions. Too few Masters level students attend, and the experience of being a part of that, and a part of the dialogue is certainly valuable. It is certainly a confidence booster to eb able to take part, ask questions and engage, and not feel as though I were completely over my head. I also was able to really pin down my place in the larger field of theological/divinity schools, as firmly falling into theology (and prancing happily on the line of ethics.) I have returned with new avenues of research such as space theory, and new contacts across Canada (and even one overseas).
In short, it was very affirming.
My summer then has been one of relative ease, at least from my perspective. Currently I am working two days a week in a yarn store, and picking up pulpit supply where I can. I am also trying to work on research and learning that I have not been doing in class, improving my Greek, learning the basics of Philosophy of Religion, and working with ritual studies. I am reading voraciously. Admittedly, I also need the money so am looking for another part time job of a day or two a week (so, you know, if you know anyone....) It is however proving to be utterly refreshing.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Where home smells like spring in Provence
Here the air smells like lavender, mixed with a hint of sage, the scent drifting up off a candle-diffuser sitting in the windowsill. I am finally wrapped up in clean clothing that smells like my own detergent instead of my mother's. I can sit at my own desk once more, surrounded by books cherished like the good friends they have been to me, with familiar mountains out my window and a cup of my favourite tea, as my cat plays hide and seek in the roll top of my new desk. In short, I am home. In short, it is wonderful.
Room by room, and bag by bag I unpack and tuck away the evidence of the holidays spent in Edmonton with friends and family, a city that does not feel like home, and hasn't since I left, but is filled with people I miss dearly. While there, I had thought that maybe I wouldn't mind going back, but I also realised that as much as I miss them all, my life is here now, and I have faith that this is where I am meant to be at this point in my life.
I came back with suitcases laden with merino, alpaca, and silk yarns, and the cutest little knitting snowman I think I have ever seen. I had wine from my father, food from my mother (who was cleaning out her cupboards, and I think occasionally forgets just how far away I live.) I had some clothing from boxing day sales, and linen tea towels from my stocking that clean glassware just perfectly. I am grateful for all of this, and even moreso for all the laughter and smiles shared with everyone (especially my nieces and nephew who could not be more adorable if they tried!) Yet all of these things get tucked away, bit by bit, piece by piece, until they blend seamlessly with my space and my memories, and so be it.
Christmas is over, and the New Year dawns, small as that may be. It is not the liturgical new year, already a month gone, or the academic new year, already a full semester done, but the new year nonetheless, so now, as I pack up and put away the remnants now past, I plan and look ahead to what becomes of them, and me, and this life I lead in this flat that smells of lavender and sage, and this city that weeps grey rain over green grass and blue sea.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Too Caught up To Start
I have been stressed lately - too stressed. I am a firm believer that there is such a thing as a healthy amount of stress, you know, just enough to keep you motivated, but not so much that it wears at your heart? That little push that comes from knowing a deadline is upcoming, but which ebbs and flows with period of higher stress (the few days before that paper is due, or that big meeting will happen), and period of lower stress (when you can, without any guilt whatsover, devote an entire day to lounging about and reading some fiction.) The problem for me is that I've been having far too much of the former and never enough of the latter. It shows too. My nails have been bitten to the quick (after growing so long and lovely!), I'm getting snappy, and when I did end up (unintentionally) taking most of a day to myself, well, I felt terrible as soon as I had realised how much time had passed.
Part of the problem is that I'm terribly guilty of what Alison May has called Lifestyle Accumulation Disorder. I have gathered so many things and ideas about what I should be doing, and intend on doing, and never enough time actually doing it. There are those hobbies that sounded like a terrific idea but never seem to last, or the books that I know I will never read. These are the intentions about how I should live, complete with books and methods with thirty days to transform myself into something else, make myself happier, be a better knitter, learn astronomy, or somehow or another make myself just a little closer to "perfect".
While I can always get rid of things around my house, and find paring down far easier than most, these are the things I struggle to let go of. They are not material objects, though they may be exhibited in the form of material objects such as paint pots and electronic files; instead, they are dreams. They are dreams of how life could be better, would be better, if only I managed to master this or that, or made myself into some strange combination of perfect housekeeper, erudite parish minister and theologian, have read all the great books of the Western Canon and then some (after all i am a lady-scholar), an artist of unknowable talent and depth, and all those things that Jane Austen says are required for a truly accomplished lady. In between all of this, of course, I am also a sexy wife for my husband, take care of my body with perfect nutrition and exercise, a terrific friend, and a treasure to all of my family. Oh, and somehow manage to turn myself into the most perfect, and selfless Christian, who turns all her influence over to the terrible injustices of the world. Of course, I cannot be all of these things at once, and there are things I know I will never be that terrific at.
Right now, I am trying to pare down though. I am trying to make concessions and acknowledge the things I will never be, and the talents and skills that I will not have any time in the near future. My expectations for myself are high, and only rise, and I am fine with that, after all I do believe that I should expect more from myself than I do from anyone else, after all, this body and mind are the only ones in my own control. My expectations though need to be just a bit more reasonable. The truth is, I am not just plain old getting rid of things that I am not currently using. I am; however, letting go of the expectation that I'll do them all at once. I can keep my piano (which I have only about a grade one education in), and my piano books, knowing that after grad school this is something I genuinely want to study again. I can keep the craft supplies, but admit that while I knit all the time, sewing is less frequent. I can accept that I like to paint, but am frustrated at my lack of skill, and just go for it when I feel like it. And I absolutely can accept that while I do enjoy these things, I do not have to feel guilty about my lack of training or practice, and that's just fine. I can give away the books I know I will never get around to reading, and keep the ones I cherish, and actually want to read at some point.
Part of the problem is that I'm terribly guilty of what Alison May has called Lifestyle Accumulation Disorder. I have gathered so many things and ideas about what I should be doing, and intend on doing, and never enough time actually doing it. There are those hobbies that sounded like a terrific idea but never seem to last, or the books that I know I will never read. These are the intentions about how I should live, complete with books and methods with thirty days to transform myself into something else, make myself happier, be a better knitter, learn astronomy, or somehow or another make myself just a little closer to "perfect".
While I can always get rid of things around my house, and find paring down far easier than most, these are the things I struggle to let go of. They are not material objects, though they may be exhibited in the form of material objects such as paint pots and electronic files; instead, they are dreams. They are dreams of how life could be better, would be better, if only I managed to master this or that, or made myself into some strange combination of perfect housekeeper, erudite parish minister and theologian, have read all the great books of the Western Canon and then some (after all i am a lady-scholar), an artist of unknowable talent and depth, and all those things that Jane Austen says are required for a truly accomplished lady. In between all of this, of course, I am also a sexy wife for my husband, take care of my body with perfect nutrition and exercise, a terrific friend, and a treasure to all of my family. Oh, and somehow manage to turn myself into the most perfect, and selfless Christian, who turns all her influence over to the terrible injustices of the world. Of course, I cannot be all of these things at once, and there are things I know I will never be that terrific at.
Right now, I am trying to pare down though. I am trying to make concessions and acknowledge the things I will never be, and the talents and skills that I will not have any time in the near future. My expectations for myself are high, and only rise, and I am fine with that, after all I do believe that I should expect more from myself than I do from anyone else, after all, this body and mind are the only ones in my own control. My expectations though need to be just a bit more reasonable. The truth is, I am not just plain old getting rid of things that I am not currently using. I am; however, letting go of the expectation that I'll do them all at once. I can keep my piano (which I have only about a grade one education in), and my piano books, knowing that after grad school this is something I genuinely want to study again. I can keep the craft supplies, but admit that while I knit all the time, sewing is less frequent. I can accept that I like to paint, but am frustrated at my lack of skill, and just go for it when I feel like it. And I absolutely can accept that while I do enjoy these things, I do not have to feel guilty about my lack of training or practice, and that's just fine. I can give away the books I know I will never get around to reading, and keep the ones I cherish, and actually want to read at some point.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Too much, too soon
I have a cold. I have the kind of cold that dwells like a worry at the back of my throat and is working its way up into my sinuses causing me havoc in more ways than I can count. It's not just a "common cold" as if that exists, but a clearly definable bacterial infection causing head-cold like symptoms. If I am lucky, the judicious use of a neti pot will keep it from turning into a full blown, and very painful, sinus infection.
See I haven't really had a cold since learning I have Coeliac's Disease. I had a couple days of flue which were really rather nasty, but never "just" a cold. My immune system was no longer so busy fighting off the invading gluten that ti could actually concentrate on the other invaders. My digestive system was actually providing me the nourishment my body needed from the foods that I ate. I had actually forgotten what it was like to just get a cold even though it has been less than a year since my diagnosis. I had forgotten just how fragile a human bdy can be.
The thing is, I needed reminding. I have been pushing myself, body and mind, harder these last two weeks than I have in quite some time. Between the long hours at school and associated stress of September, the work at church and nervousness that comes with new responsibilities, a steady stream of stress due to my volunteer work, and then long nights spent chatting at parties, socialising, and generally chilling with good people (I know better than to drink too much on nights like these), I have simply been expecting my body to do too much. I thought an evening off for exercise, and then brunch the next morning would be enough to recharge and then get right back into it. Not true. There was a birthday party and not enough sleep in between. There was the reality that, though I am confident that parkour classes will ultimately be excellent stress relief, and a life-enhancing practice (somersaults! squee!) I pushed too hard that first class. I tried to keep up with people in far better shape than I am. And I felt it for three days afterwards. I ached in muscles I had long forgotten existed, and even more in ones I knew about. It hurt to stand up or sit down, and I dreaded such basic activities as climbing a set of stairs. Note to self: When starting a new exercise regime, start slow, and not on a week when you are already too busy.
What I need now is radical self-care. I need to refocus my attention on realistic priorities and what is important here and now: Get healthy. Stay up to date in readings and assignments. If not, nothing else will get done at all. This means sleep, water, restricting caffeine, eating well, and doing light exercise. It means taking time out for spiritual practice, and family. It means making a list, dchoosing priorities, and then taking apart the extras. I means saying "no."
I hate saying no.
See I haven't really had a cold since learning I have Coeliac's Disease. I had a couple days of flue which were really rather nasty, but never "just" a cold. My immune system was no longer so busy fighting off the invading gluten that ti could actually concentrate on the other invaders. My digestive system was actually providing me the nourishment my body needed from the foods that I ate. I had actually forgotten what it was like to just get a cold even though it has been less than a year since my diagnosis. I had forgotten just how fragile a human bdy can be.
The thing is, I needed reminding. I have been pushing myself, body and mind, harder these last two weeks than I have in quite some time. Between the long hours at school and associated stress of September, the work at church and nervousness that comes with new responsibilities, a steady stream of stress due to my volunteer work, and then long nights spent chatting at parties, socialising, and generally chilling with good people (I know better than to drink too much on nights like these), I have simply been expecting my body to do too much. I thought an evening off for exercise, and then brunch the next morning would be enough to recharge and then get right back into it. Not true. There was a birthday party and not enough sleep in between. There was the reality that, though I am confident that parkour classes will ultimately be excellent stress relief, and a life-enhancing practice (somersaults! squee!) I pushed too hard that first class. I tried to keep up with people in far better shape than I am. And I felt it for three days afterwards. I ached in muscles I had long forgotten existed, and even more in ones I knew about. It hurt to stand up or sit down, and I dreaded such basic activities as climbing a set of stairs. Note to self: When starting a new exercise regime, start slow, and not on a week when you are already too busy.
What I need now is radical self-care. I need to refocus my attention on realistic priorities and what is important here and now: Get healthy. Stay up to date in readings and assignments. If not, nothing else will get done at all. This means sleep, water, restricting caffeine, eating well, and doing light exercise. It means taking time out for spiritual practice, and family. It means making a list, dchoosing priorities, and then taking apart the extras. I means saying "no."
I hate saying no.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
An Open Letter To Parliament
I have just returned from 5 delightful days in Ottawa. I was
surprised by just how much I enjoyed the city itself, which proved friendly, beautiful, and very walkable (at least in the area I was staying.) The conference itself was everything that a student conference should be: busy, stimulating, social, and memorable.
There is one thing that is sticking in my mind. I sat in on Question Period at Parliament on Tuesday, May 15th, and was simply appalled by the behaviour of the MPs that I saw there. I was prepared for the rhetorical antics, but not for the basic disrespect of parliamentary etiquette, and the flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the task of governance. I watched as MPs ignored the ruling of the Speaker of the House when he stood for silence, or even the basic rule of not continuing to yell across the floor as one exited, over the ongoing business after the hour had ended. I think what surprised me most though was that, while I saw poor behaviour from parliamentarians on both sides of the floor, the most egregious offences against the office of the Speaker of the House came from the sitting government who elected him to the post. This showed a disrespect of both the individual and the office.
I couldn’t help but leave feeling let down. I take government seriously, and though I may not always agree with the choices made by those who govern, and though I may have little personal respect for the individuals in office, I still revere the office itself. Do note that when I speak of the seriousness of governance, I do not mean sombreness, or sobriety, but importance, - of weight. That’s a funny word, isn’t it – revere? Reverence for government and the weight of leadership is sadly lost, and it is no more clearly made visible than in the lack of respect for the etiquette, and rituals of parliament. It is, unfortunately, a cycle that claws away at what is left of reverence on Parliament Hill, as these little rituals, like bowing to the Speaker in acknowledgement when entering or exiting, or waiting to be called to speak, serve to reinforce the seriousness of these offices, and these debates, in the minds and hearts of those who perform them, and the ignorance or mockery of them, results in minds and hearts that believe quite the opposite.
Our personal and professional rituals shape our ability to work and live in those spaces. We feel more professional in a pair of slacks, or a business suit than we do in our housecoats, and are, as a result, generally more productive after getting dressed. We sleep more easily in our beds if we have a pre-sleep ritual we observe daily that tells our minds and bodies that now is the time to rest. Equally, we are on our best behaviour before dignitaries, superiors, and respected family members because we take them seriously, and want to show ourselves at our best as an act of respect. By obeying the rules of engagement and order set out for Parliament, and respecting the offices held within, a sense of seriousness is upheld, and each individual therein is reminded of that weight.
So, this being said, how can we have faith that our governors are doing their best for Canada, when they cannot even behave with respect for one another’s office in our most public of arenas? How can we believe that we, as a people, are held important, and respected, when there is no respect on any side of Parliament? This is not to say they should agree, or that the opposition should acquiesce, but that all must respect the importance of the role of the other, and the voice granted them by the people of Canada. The sitting government must respect that though they have a majority, they were not elected by a majority in the popular vote. They must temper themselves accordingly, and leave room to listen to the content of the other voices rather than responding with conscious attention to it, rather than trying to return only to their own agenda. Sometimes the best answer for all involved, the most honest honest answer, is, "I don't know. I will have to get back to you." The opposing parties must respect the voices they represent, which means respecting both the content of their message, and how their behaviour reflects on their respective parties. They have the grave duty of ensuring minority voices are not unheard, while maintaining the dignity of those voices.
Finally, if those who are charged with the task of governance do not choose to take it seriously, then how can we, as those governed, ever take them seriously?
There is one thing that is sticking in my mind. I sat in on Question Period at Parliament on Tuesday, May 15th, and was simply appalled by the behaviour of the MPs that I saw there. I was prepared for the rhetorical antics, but not for the basic disrespect of parliamentary etiquette, and the flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the task of governance. I watched as MPs ignored the ruling of the Speaker of the House when he stood for silence, or even the basic rule of not continuing to yell across the floor as one exited, over the ongoing business after the hour had ended. I think what surprised me most though was that, while I saw poor behaviour from parliamentarians on both sides of the floor, the most egregious offences against the office of the Speaker of the House came from the sitting government who elected him to the post. This showed a disrespect of both the individual and the office.
I couldn’t help but leave feeling let down. I take government seriously, and though I may not always agree with the choices made by those who govern, and though I may have little personal respect for the individuals in office, I still revere the office itself. Do note that when I speak of the seriousness of governance, I do not mean sombreness, or sobriety, but importance, - of weight. That’s a funny word, isn’t it – revere? Reverence for government and the weight of leadership is sadly lost, and it is no more clearly made visible than in the lack of respect for the etiquette, and rituals of parliament. It is, unfortunately, a cycle that claws away at what is left of reverence on Parliament Hill, as these little rituals, like bowing to the Speaker in acknowledgement when entering or exiting, or waiting to be called to speak, serve to reinforce the seriousness of these offices, and these debates, in the minds and hearts of those who perform them, and the ignorance or mockery of them, results in minds and hearts that believe quite the opposite.
Our personal and professional rituals shape our ability to work and live in those spaces. We feel more professional in a pair of slacks, or a business suit than we do in our housecoats, and are, as a result, generally more productive after getting dressed. We sleep more easily in our beds if we have a pre-sleep ritual we observe daily that tells our minds and bodies that now is the time to rest. Equally, we are on our best behaviour before dignitaries, superiors, and respected family members because we take them seriously, and want to show ourselves at our best as an act of respect. By obeying the rules of engagement and order set out for Parliament, and respecting the offices held within, a sense of seriousness is upheld, and each individual therein is reminded of that weight.
So, this being said, how can we have faith that our governors are doing their best for Canada, when they cannot even behave with respect for one another’s office in our most public of arenas? How can we believe that we, as a people, are held important, and respected, when there is no respect on any side of Parliament? This is not to say they should agree, or that the opposition should acquiesce, but that all must respect the importance of the role of the other, and the voice granted them by the people of Canada. The sitting government must respect that though they have a majority, they were not elected by a majority in the popular vote. They must temper themselves accordingly, and leave room to listen to the content of the other voices rather than responding with conscious attention to it, rather than trying to return only to their own agenda. Sometimes the best answer for all involved, the most honest honest answer, is, "I don't know. I will have to get back to you." The opposing parties must respect the voices they represent, which means respecting both the content of their message, and how their behaviour reflects on their respective parties. They have the grave duty of ensuring minority voices are not unheard, while maintaining the dignity of those voices.
Finally, if those who are charged with the task of governance do not choose to take it seriously, then how can we, as those governed, ever take them seriously?
Friday, May 11, 2012
Moving into the Sun
I have a longstanding fascination
with very womanly things – homemaking, etiquette, crafts. I don’t say ‘girly’ because then I think of a
six year old me with blonde hair in curls tied up with ribbons, having tea
parties with her dolls. This fascination
though is anything but imaginary, but rather deals with very tangible things –
the peace of a clean, uncluttered house, with the lingering scent of the lavender
oil I add to my homemade cleaners, the way we behave in public to make the
experience so much more comfortable and enjoyable for all, or the feel of hand-knit
socks as I slip them onto my feet. Don’t
be mistaken, I am still an ardent feminist, but one who delights in traditional
feminine roles (for myself – I see no reason to force them on anyone who doesn’t
get the same joy I do from them.)
One of the nice things about
summer is it means I get to indulge all of these things guiltlessly. Well ok, mostly guiltlessly – I am working a
tech support job with early hours. I
work 6 AM to 2:30 PM. Mornings have
never been my strong suit, but at least they are consistent and I get to enjoy
long afternoons while the sunshine lasts.
No late nights though. I am
falling over by 10 PM. So I get to laze in
the warm afternoons, go to the market and sit knitting with my cats. I cleaned the house top-to-bottom before
starting work too, so everything is fresh and organised, and old things have
been donated/disposed of as appropriate.
I can simply relax in my uncluttered home, enjoy housekeeping and
baking, and do those things I love best – reading and making things!
I take great pleasure from very
simple pleasures in life, and in particular things I consider lovely like
teacups, and beautifully patterned broadcloth, or when someone leans an old
fashioned cruiser bike on a kickstand in front of a flowering bush. I have discovered Instagram, and have been
posting plenty of images of these kinds of moments. Chances are, I will end up writing about some
of them too. I would also like to change
my blog layout over the summer, and learn to program in Wordpress so I can
customise everything. Maybe if I feel it
is lovelier I will write more. Who
knows?
Sunday, February 5, 2012
(Re-)Learning to Pray
I have long hated prayer. I grew up in a home where prayer was taught in one of two ways. You could close your eyes, and speak in words to God, often following a prayer book, or keeping a journal to make sure you hit all the important points and people. In groups, you could pray, or more precisely worship, by speaking in tongues. You didn't know what you were saying, and what you were actually praying for which seemed to take out the portion of prayer which is intentional (considered in the wordy prayer I was taught to be very important). It seemed to be a sweeping, not of God, but of camp - of theatre. In the case of sitting down to pray, in words, on a schedule, well, to be honest, I just feel silly. I don't know how else to explain it.
As an adult I would be asked about my prayer life, and because, although I have always been deeply spiritual, I have felt so very remiss in my prayer life because these two forms were not useful to me. What I have learned is that I am not a kapothatic pray-er - I don't pray in word form - and that my experience with praying in tongues (usual in revival style meetings) is not uncommon. It can be theatrical. It can be, God forbid, competitive. This isn't to say it has to be, only that it can.
I am, as it turns out, an apothatic pray-er. I pray in quiet, and in feeling, and in images. On my own, I have been learning how different traditions include both forms of prayer, though some focus more on one than on the other. In Christianity, I have been blessed to learn of the great history of Christian mysticism centred on apothatic experiences of communion with God. Though it is useful to many "Our Father, Who art in Heaven..." is not a be all and end all, a perfect prescription for how every person will pray. It is just as prayerful to "Be still and know that I am God," to empty and open ourselves to the extraordinary fullness of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.
My Lead Pastor is on sabbatical, and the Minister in his place, one of our Ministers for Adult Faith Formation, has been bringing into our services the more Wesleyan, Reformed liturgy of her native Methodism. I've been struggling with this because we are including more spoken prayers, the service structured around our confession, and vocalised communion, and for me, this ritual is... taxing. Today though, during the sermon, she spoke of something else, of being lost in a moment during which Grace happens. That makes sense to me. I am learning though, that when I close my eyes, when I hear the prayers spoken by the congregation, but don't stop to read and speak, concentrating on the act of speaking, I can gain some comfort from the spoken liturgy as well. I can open a space, a moment, in which Grace can work, even though the prayers take the form of specific words.
I am no learning to relabel other spiritual disciplines as "prayer." Meditation, centering prayer, chant, walking and simply being in Creation, anything where I am open to the wonder of God, is prayer. Prayer is simply knowingly, being with God, and being in the same room as someone else, is being with them nonetheless. And now I wonder, if I know that my most intimate moments with my husband do not involve words, but merely being held by him, in love, why would I think that there could be no intimacy with God, without words either? Why did I think that wordless communion was somehow less? Because I hadn't been taught otherwise, so now, I'm learning.
As an adult I would be asked about my prayer life, and because, although I have always been deeply spiritual, I have felt so very remiss in my prayer life because these two forms were not useful to me. What I have learned is that I am not a kapothatic pray-er - I don't pray in word form - and that my experience with praying in tongues (usual in revival style meetings) is not uncommon. It can be theatrical. It can be, God forbid, competitive. This isn't to say it has to be, only that it can.
I am, as it turns out, an apothatic pray-er. I pray in quiet, and in feeling, and in images. On my own, I have been learning how different traditions include both forms of prayer, though some focus more on one than on the other. In Christianity, I have been blessed to learn of the great history of Christian mysticism centred on apothatic experiences of communion with God. Though it is useful to many "Our Father, Who art in Heaven..." is not a be all and end all, a perfect prescription for how every person will pray. It is just as prayerful to "Be still and know that I am God," to empty and open ourselves to the extraordinary fullness of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.
My Lead Pastor is on sabbatical, and the Minister in his place, one of our Ministers for Adult Faith Formation, has been bringing into our services the more Wesleyan, Reformed liturgy of her native Methodism. I've been struggling with this because we are including more spoken prayers, the service structured around our confession, and vocalised communion, and for me, this ritual is... taxing. Today though, during the sermon, she spoke of something else, of being lost in a moment during which Grace happens. That makes sense to me. I am learning though, that when I close my eyes, when I hear the prayers spoken by the congregation, but don't stop to read and speak, concentrating on the act of speaking, I can gain some comfort from the spoken liturgy as well. I can open a space, a moment, in which Grace can work, even though the prayers take the form of specific words.
I am no learning to relabel other spiritual disciplines as "prayer." Meditation, centering prayer, chant, walking and simply being in Creation, anything where I am open to the wonder of God, is prayer. Prayer is simply knowingly, being with God, and being in the same room as someone else, is being with them nonetheless. And now I wonder, if I know that my most intimate moments with my husband do not involve words, but merely being held by him, in love, why would I think that there could be no intimacy with God, without words either? Why did I think that wordless communion was somehow less? Because I hadn't been taught otherwise, so now, I'm learning.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
A Year Later
I have been meaning to write. I swear I have. I just logged in and realised that,well, it's been a full year without posts. One year and three days to be precise. Even better? My last post was a promise to post more.
This one is not a promise to post more - I know better than to say that I will. I will continue to post as the mood strikes, but I am now hopeful that the mood will strike more often. This may seem unlikely given I am busier than ever with coursework, church, marriage, friends and all of that, but I also have a lot more energy and focus. I have learned that I have at the very least a gluten intolerance, and at the most, Celiac's disease. I will go in for further testing soon, after a two week period of self-torture in which I eat gluten again. Even if the test for Celiac's is negative though, I am sticking with my gluten free diet which seems to leave me will a whole host of benefits, not the least of which is energy to be awake more than ten hours a day, and productive a good lot of it.
I have completed one semester at seminary, and it has been the most wonderful experience. Don't get me wrong. This is a Master's degree. It's tough. The expectations and the workload are high, but at the same time, I am enjoying it. Admittedly, this semester has not gotten off to quite as delightfully organised a start as the last one, but I am going to blame that on medical tests and the like. I've spent more time learning about my own body and health (rather than simply trying to care for it) than I did last semester, and my time management has adjusted itself around that, and not in productive ways.
Tonight I still need to read more for school, work on a couple of journal entries for one course, a poetic analysis for another, and maybe even get some reading done for a Book Club I will be hosting starting February 7th. fortunately, I still have time.
This one is not a promise to post more - I know better than to say that I will. I will continue to post as the mood strikes, but I am now hopeful that the mood will strike more often. This may seem unlikely given I am busier than ever with coursework, church, marriage, friends and all of that, but I also have a lot more energy and focus. I have learned that I have at the very least a gluten intolerance, and at the most, Celiac's disease. I will go in for further testing soon, after a two week period of self-torture in which I eat gluten again. Even if the test for Celiac's is negative though, I am sticking with my gluten free diet which seems to leave me will a whole host of benefits, not the least of which is energy to be awake more than ten hours a day, and productive a good lot of it.
I have completed one semester at seminary, and it has been the most wonderful experience. Don't get me wrong. This is a Master's degree. It's tough. The expectations and the workload are high, but at the same time, I am enjoying it. Admittedly, this semester has not gotten off to quite as delightfully organised a start as the last one, but I am going to blame that on medical tests and the like. I've spent more time learning about my own body and health (rather than simply trying to care for it) than I did last semester, and my time management has adjusted itself around that, and not in productive ways.
Tonight I still need to read more for school, work on a couple of journal entries for one course, a poetic analysis for another, and maybe even get some reading done for a Book Club I will be hosting starting February 7th. fortunately, I still have time.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Trying...
Wow, I haven't posted anything since April 2010. I suck at this. This is my (slightly insane) attempt to kick start the blogging again, and not let it be an entire year between posts.
I suppose I should start with a very short explanation of vicious cycles, at least they apply to my writing. The truth is, I just haven't felt inspired to write, and a lack of writing leaves me even less inspired to sit down and write. Have I done things worthy of writing about? Absolutely. I have read fascinating books, like The Forgotten Garden and The Namesake (yes, I'm a little behind the times on the latter one.) I have been knitting some really neat projects, like mesh grocery bags made with beautiful bamboo ribbon yarn, and scarves and mittens (I'm about to start my first ever set of gloves.) I have traveled a bit, at least back to Edmonton, and out to Montreal. I have a new nephew! I have all of these wonderful and potentially interesting things to write about, but I just haven't. And the more time passes, the less I feel inclined/remember to sit down and write.
So why have I felt so ridiculously uninspired? There are huge things in my life (time wise) that have been slowly eating away at me. I have an easy job. Too easy. Very boring. Very micro-managed. The longer I plug away at it, the more burnt out I feel, not because of overwork, but because of a complete lack of stimulation. Seriously, for the last week, I've been coming home, sitting by the fireplace, and watching all five seasons of Stargate: Atlantis back-to-back because I haven't had the energy to do much else except the occasional yoga class. I have been getting sick... a lot, and I strongly suspect its largely psychosomatic, and due to my sheer not-wanting-go-to-work-ness. Also, feeling rundown and burnt out mentally leading to feeling rundown and burnt out physically.
And for the big question: what am I going to do about it? Well, the good news is that it looks like it will only be until September, all things working out as hoped/planned. I only have to get through eight months, and then reboot. So eight months, huh? That's eight months of trying something I don't usually do. Eight months of paying attention to the things that actually make me happy, and provide me with the energy to do more during my off hours than blerg on a couch, and oversleep. So far, that's involved a lot of science fiction, knitting, reading, and walking. So far, it seems to be starting to work.
I suppose I should start with a very short explanation of vicious cycles, at least they apply to my writing. The truth is, I just haven't felt inspired to write, and a lack of writing leaves me even less inspired to sit down and write. Have I done things worthy of writing about? Absolutely. I have read fascinating books, like The Forgotten Garden and The Namesake (yes, I'm a little behind the times on the latter one.) I have been knitting some really neat projects, like mesh grocery bags made with beautiful bamboo ribbon yarn, and scarves and mittens (I'm about to start my first ever set of gloves.) I have traveled a bit, at least back to Edmonton, and out to Montreal. I have a new nephew! I have all of these wonderful and potentially interesting things to write about, but I just haven't. And the more time passes, the less I feel inclined/remember to sit down and write.
So why have I felt so ridiculously uninspired? There are huge things in my life (time wise) that have been slowly eating away at me. I have an easy job. Too easy. Very boring. Very micro-managed. The longer I plug away at it, the more burnt out I feel, not because of overwork, but because of a complete lack of stimulation. Seriously, for the last week, I've been coming home, sitting by the fireplace, and watching all five seasons of Stargate: Atlantis back-to-back because I haven't had the energy to do much else except the occasional yoga class. I have been getting sick... a lot, and I strongly suspect its largely psychosomatic, and due to my sheer not-wanting-go-to-work-ness. Also, feeling rundown and burnt out mentally leading to feeling rundown and burnt out physically.
And for the big question: what am I going to do about it? Well, the good news is that it looks like it will only be until September, all things working out as hoped/planned. I only have to get through eight months, and then reboot. So eight months, huh? That's eight months of trying something I don't usually do. Eight months of paying attention to the things that actually make me happy, and provide me with the energy to do more during my off hours than blerg on a couch, and oversleep. So far, that's involved a lot of science fiction, knitting, reading, and walking. So far, it seems to be starting to work.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Changes
Be forewarned: This post contains much discussion of clothing, and then some more neutral discussion at the bottom, after the cotton, linen and lace.
My husband and I agreed to go out for a nice dinner in celebration of the end of his assignments, all nicely handed in, and the acquisition, on both our parts, of jobs. He is working as a research assistant to an Aboriginal Law professor over the summer, turning a 17th century French-Ojibwe dictionary into a searchable database. I am working (as of Friday) as an admin assistant in a property management firm. I'll be honest, my job doesn't sound that interesting, but well, not only is it employment, but frankly, I have to agree with my minister, what I need right now is just another job, something I can go to, come home from and forget about, while sorting out everything else. Hey, I'm now employed!
Anyhow, back to dinner. We decided to go to Tojo's, the finest sushi restaurant in Vancouver, bar none. Tojo himself is phenomenal, but it's not something we can generally afford, but this, this was an occasion worthy of Tojo's. I dressed up in what I thought was a pretty, floral surplice dress with spaghetti straps, did my hair and makeup nicely, and put on a pair of heels. We met at the restaurant, being between home and the university, and well, the look on his face when he arrived... He was horrified. I was promptly informed that I was never allowed to ever wear that dress again, despite the fact I used to get tons of complements in it, and that it looked like a sac.
I went to the bathroom and checked.
It really did.
I checked the tag.
Large.
It really did used to fit, but somewhere between moving from Edmonton, getting rid of the car in lieu of walking/biking/transit, better access to fresh vegetables and seafood, and good local bakeries within walking distance, and well having been stressed out for part of it, over the course of about 20 months, I went from a size 9 to a size 2/3. Yes, women-of-the-world, you are now officially allowed to hate me.
My husband told me to go get a new wardrobe, seriously, he did. The dress incident was the tipping point for him, and when the stereotypically oblivious man tells you that your clothing doesn't fit, it really doesn't fit. And since I was about to start a new job in an office, with room for promotion and the like, I needed to look good, or at least, better than bag-lady. So, after emptying my wardrobe of all the ill-fitting clothing I had, salvaging what I could (and dropping two full garbage bags of clothing off at the Salvation Army, about 60-70 % of my wardrobe actually), and keeping some of the better garments to take to a tailor, I went out to shop.
Day 1: Dear God, please for the love of kittens and all things cute and/or holy, kill me now.
My body has changed, has it ever changed. I've always has tits and an ass, but my waist used to be much bigger giving me a more rectangular look from the front, and well, I generally looked rather top-heavy (Thanks Mom!) I could wear a lot of the same styles as my mother did, since her body type was similar just bigger, which was always helpful when she took me clothing shopping, and I knew what did and didn't work. Make sure you buy a large top (at least) to contain the girls. Avoid things that cinch at the middle or that is close-fitting around the tummy unless it is very structured. Make sure your pants have plenty of stretch/leeway in the bottom region for that booty. Cover up! These are the rules I am used to.
My old measurements? 38-29-38, bra size 34F, yup, all the weight was in the front and in the trunk. My new measurements? 34-25.5-35, bra size 32DD.
So trying on all the things I was comfortable with, I was let down. It was baggy, it made me look bigger than I was, it just didn't have any wow factor. Over 6 hours later I had a pair of khakis, and 5 tops, some of which my hubby wasn't entirely thrilled with, but still thought were better than the old ones. The only real highlight of the day was getting the pair of red, kitten heeled Mary Janes that I'd been eying for a few months but couldn't justify 170 bucks on for $35. They rock.
Day 2: Dear God, thank you kindly for my new body and my outlook on clothes!
I only went out because I knew where I could find a blazer to make more casual-tops office-worthy. My husband and I disagree on whether or not women can get away with sleeveless in summer in a business-casual environment. He says absolutely not (even cap-sleeves are questionable). I say yes, but only if it is modest everywhere else, is in a more formal fit and fabric, and the associated bottoms and accessories are also a bit more formal.
So I went to a different Gap clothing store, since the one where I got the khakis the day before had black and khaki blazers in all sizes but mine. I had even tried both downtown locations actually. So... I went to Oakridge instead, and lo and behold, not only did they have exactly one of each blazer left (both at half price!) but they were both in my size, with the right stance and length for my body. So I turned around and looked at the rest of the sale rack. Plain coloured, wide-strapped tank tops for ten bucks a pop? I live in these things come summer. So I bought black, olive and bright blue, and would have gotten a white but alas, no smalls. Then, as I turned, the sales associate was just bringing out a rack of jeans from the back, also nicely discounted. So in one hour including transit time, I had three tops, two blazers and a pair of jeans that made my ass look just yummy. My hubby can't stop looking at it actually, and that's never a bad thing for a marriage.
I went home feeling a lot better and did a little online research. I am a small-medium framed hourglass figure, more specifically an S-shaped hourglass. I found all kinds of tips and tricks on how to dress myself, and well, how not to dress myself.
Next stop? All the way down the B-Line and onto the Skytrain to go to Metrotown and a store that has never failed me in the past - Smart Set. Seriously, half the time I wonder why I shop elsewhere. Classic cuts and colours mixed with some trendy items, which is largely the style I like to have. And it didn't disappoint. They had plenty of spring and summer weight blouses that were tailored to fit my waist and curves, had enough fabric in the cleavage area to be appropriate and not slutty (made significantly easier by the fact I've dropped two cup sizes so I'm now in the region clothes makers aim for). I tried on all kinds of styles I'd never have thought to before, even colours I've never had (like coral) and it turns out, in the right clothing, man I look good.
I found pants that fit, finally a plain black belt (which is ahrder to locate than you'd think since everyone apparently makes funky/trendy ones instead), and even a bright red dress that hangs just perfectly and cinches right at the narrowest part of my body, and can be dressed up for work with a blazer, or worn with sandals on it's own in summer. I grabbed a few cheap pieces of jewelry to tie the looks together, thought about what will go with the scarves and accessories I have at home, and ended up with an actual workable wardrobe.
And I went home, exhausted, feet aching, but clothed.
So now, here I am. My old ill-fitting, pilled, worn-out hems, and generally just baggy clothing, gone. My ill-fitting academic program with no passion or interest really left, also gone. And finally, my period of unemployment coming to a close.
Instead I have a wardrobe filled with bright colours, black and white, structured clothing that looks sharp. I am beginning a class at church tomorrow evening, studying Marcus Borg's Jesus, as well as being in the choir and on a committee working to administer a year-long hymn-writing competition that is reflective of the progressive theology of the modern UCC. I begin working once more on Friday, at what promises to be a rather boring job (at least at first until I get new tasks), but which is a job that can keep me busy during the day and which I do not have to take home afterward, but can instead leave behind so I can concentrate on the things that really matter.
I had a bit of a makeover, but it's turned rather into an entire life-over, or rather seems to have come at what I can only hope is the end of one. I think I'm done with complete and utter upheaval for a little while, and am ready to start anew. I know this entire post may seem vain, materialistic even, but the reality for me has been a bit more profound. Day one, kill me now. Day two, I can do this, this change is good.
And in my life with all the ups and downs and the absolutely mindboggling breadth of change that I have experienced in the last 6 months, gone is the feeling of being completely overwhelmed and unsure even where to begin pulling myself out of it.
I can do this. This change is good.
My husband and I agreed to go out for a nice dinner in celebration of the end of his assignments, all nicely handed in, and the acquisition, on both our parts, of jobs. He is working as a research assistant to an Aboriginal Law professor over the summer, turning a 17th century French-Ojibwe dictionary into a searchable database. I am working (as of Friday) as an admin assistant in a property management firm. I'll be honest, my job doesn't sound that interesting, but well, not only is it employment, but frankly, I have to agree with my minister, what I need right now is just another job, something I can go to, come home from and forget about, while sorting out everything else. Hey, I'm now employed!
Anyhow, back to dinner. We decided to go to Tojo's, the finest sushi restaurant in Vancouver, bar none. Tojo himself is phenomenal, but it's not something we can generally afford, but this, this was an occasion worthy of Tojo's. I dressed up in what I thought was a pretty, floral surplice dress with spaghetti straps, did my hair and makeup nicely, and put on a pair of heels. We met at the restaurant, being between home and the university, and well, the look on his face when he arrived... He was horrified. I was promptly informed that I was never allowed to ever wear that dress again, despite the fact I used to get tons of complements in it, and that it looked like a sac.
I went to the bathroom and checked.
It really did.
I checked the tag.
Large.
It really did used to fit, but somewhere between moving from Edmonton, getting rid of the car in lieu of walking/biking/transit, better access to fresh vegetables and seafood, and good local bakeries within walking distance, and well having been stressed out for part of it, over the course of about 20 months, I went from a size 9 to a size 2/3. Yes, women-of-the-world, you are now officially allowed to hate me.
My husband told me to go get a new wardrobe, seriously, he did. The dress incident was the tipping point for him, and when the stereotypically oblivious man tells you that your clothing doesn't fit, it really doesn't fit. And since I was about to start a new job in an office, with room for promotion and the like, I needed to look good, or at least, better than bag-lady. So, after emptying my wardrobe of all the ill-fitting clothing I had, salvaging what I could (and dropping two full garbage bags of clothing off at the Salvation Army, about 60-70 % of my wardrobe actually), and keeping some of the better garments to take to a tailor, I went out to shop.
Day 1: Dear God, please for the love of kittens and all things cute and/or holy, kill me now.
My body has changed, has it ever changed. I've always has tits and an ass, but my waist used to be much bigger giving me a more rectangular look from the front, and well, I generally looked rather top-heavy (Thanks Mom!) I could wear a lot of the same styles as my mother did, since her body type was similar just bigger, which was always helpful when she took me clothing shopping, and I knew what did and didn't work. Make sure you buy a large top (at least) to contain the girls. Avoid things that cinch at the middle or that is close-fitting around the tummy unless it is very structured. Make sure your pants have plenty of stretch/leeway in the bottom region for that booty. Cover up! These are the rules I am used to.
My old measurements? 38-29-38, bra size 34F, yup, all the weight was in the front and in the trunk. My new measurements? 34-25.5-35, bra size 32DD.
So trying on all the things I was comfortable with, I was let down. It was baggy, it made me look bigger than I was, it just didn't have any wow factor. Over 6 hours later I had a pair of khakis, and 5 tops, some of which my hubby wasn't entirely thrilled with, but still thought were better than the old ones. The only real highlight of the day was getting the pair of red, kitten heeled Mary Janes that I'd been eying for a few months but couldn't justify 170 bucks on for $35. They rock.
Day 2: Dear God, thank you kindly for my new body and my outlook on clothes!
I only went out because I knew where I could find a blazer to make more casual-tops office-worthy. My husband and I disagree on whether or not women can get away with sleeveless in summer in a business-casual environment. He says absolutely not (even cap-sleeves are questionable). I say yes, but only if it is modest everywhere else, is in a more formal fit and fabric, and the associated bottoms and accessories are also a bit more formal.
So I went to a different Gap clothing store, since the one where I got the khakis the day before had black and khaki blazers in all sizes but mine. I had even tried both downtown locations actually. So... I went to Oakridge instead, and lo and behold, not only did they have exactly one of each blazer left (both at half price!) but they were both in my size, with the right stance and length for my body. So I turned around and looked at the rest of the sale rack. Plain coloured, wide-strapped tank tops for ten bucks a pop? I live in these things come summer. So I bought black, olive and bright blue, and would have gotten a white but alas, no smalls. Then, as I turned, the sales associate was just bringing out a rack of jeans from the back, also nicely discounted. So in one hour including transit time, I had three tops, two blazers and a pair of jeans that made my ass look just yummy. My hubby can't stop looking at it actually, and that's never a bad thing for a marriage.
I went home feeling a lot better and did a little online research. I am a small-medium framed hourglass figure, more specifically an S-shaped hourglass. I found all kinds of tips and tricks on how to dress myself, and well, how not to dress myself.
Next stop? All the way down the B-Line and onto the Skytrain to go to Metrotown and a store that has never failed me in the past - Smart Set. Seriously, half the time I wonder why I shop elsewhere. Classic cuts and colours mixed with some trendy items, which is largely the style I like to have. And it didn't disappoint. They had plenty of spring and summer weight blouses that were tailored to fit my waist and curves, had enough fabric in the cleavage area to be appropriate and not slutty (made significantly easier by the fact I've dropped two cup sizes so I'm now in the region clothes makers aim for). I tried on all kinds of styles I'd never have thought to before, even colours I've never had (like coral) and it turns out, in the right clothing, man I look good.
I found pants that fit, finally a plain black belt (which is ahrder to locate than you'd think since everyone apparently makes funky/trendy ones instead), and even a bright red dress that hangs just perfectly and cinches right at the narrowest part of my body, and can be dressed up for work with a blazer, or worn with sandals on it's own in summer. I grabbed a few cheap pieces of jewelry to tie the looks together, thought about what will go with the scarves and accessories I have at home, and ended up with an actual workable wardrobe.
And I went home, exhausted, feet aching, but clothed.
So now, here I am. My old ill-fitting, pilled, worn-out hems, and generally just baggy clothing, gone. My ill-fitting academic program with no passion or interest really left, also gone. And finally, my period of unemployment coming to a close.
Instead I have a wardrobe filled with bright colours, black and white, structured clothing that looks sharp. I am beginning a class at church tomorrow evening, studying Marcus Borg's Jesus, as well as being in the choir and on a committee working to administer a year-long hymn-writing competition that is reflective of the progressive theology of the modern UCC. I begin working once more on Friday, at what promises to be a rather boring job (at least at first until I get new tasks), but which is a job that can keep me busy during the day and which I do not have to take home afterward, but can instead leave behind so I can concentrate on the things that really matter.
I had a bit of a makeover, but it's turned rather into an entire life-over, or rather seems to have come at what I can only hope is the end of one. I think I'm done with complete and utter upheaval for a little while, and am ready to start anew. I know this entire post may seem vain, materialistic even, but the reality for me has been a bit more profound. Day one, kill me now. Day two, I can do this, this change is good.
And in my life with all the ups and downs and the absolutely mindboggling breadth of change that I have experienced in the last 6 months, gone is the feeling of being completely overwhelmed and unsure even where to begin pulling myself out of it.
I can do this. This change is good.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Looking For Suggestions...
For ways to green up my lifestyle.
I am trying to incrementally improve my lifestyle and decrease my impact on the environment. I'm actually doing pretty well and generally feel relatively good about this area of my life, but I know I can do better, and not in an obsessive-compulsive kind of way. I want to be green, but not insane, sorry to disappoint anyone about to propose moving to an eco-hut outside the city and living like a hermit with no footprint at all on a perfectly self-sufficient mini-farm.
I try to give myself mini-goals, and incorporate some new tip or trick I have run across once a week or every couple of days depending on what it is and well, what it costs.
This week for instance I started turning off the power bars attached to my computers and television when not in use, and stopped brushing my teeth in the shower (it takes too long and uses up more water.) So any resources, hints or tips would be much appreciated, and I will mention any interesting ones I run across.
I am trying to incrementally improve my lifestyle and decrease my impact on the environment. I'm actually doing pretty well and generally feel relatively good about this area of my life, but I know I can do better, and not in an obsessive-compulsive kind of way. I want to be green, but not insane, sorry to disappoint anyone about to propose moving to an eco-hut outside the city and living like a hermit with no footprint at all on a perfectly self-sufficient mini-farm.
I try to give myself mini-goals, and incorporate some new tip or trick I have run across once a week or every couple of days depending on what it is and well, what it costs.
This week for instance I started turning off the power bars attached to my computers and television when not in use, and stopped brushing my teeth in the shower (it takes too long and uses up more water.) So any resources, hints or tips would be much appreciated, and I will mention any interesting ones I run across.
Far from the Maddening Crowd
So it's Olympic time here in Vancouver, and for the most part, I'm avoiding a lot of it. The truth is, I am working at one of the pavilions (Russia House to be precise) most nights, catering to their guests and athletes, and that is almost enough for me. I actually wish I had not accepted this job, but well, I could use the dough. The problem is that working every night makes me not want to go to the other events, or means I'm too busy to go to the free concerts or too tired to get up and go to say, Granville Island.
The whole world is in my city, and I'm living behind my computer, and curled into my bed with a kitty cat.
I could be spending time with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend while they are in town to catch some events. I could have been volunteering at my church where they are opening the doors of that beautiful building and inviting in tourists and locals alike. I could be volunteering with one of the environmentalist groups who are helping with cleanup and spreading the world about simple every-day changes that can be made in people's lives (that make a huge impact too!) I could well, just be going out and enjoying the free events, and learning about other countries and trying all the various foods! Instead, I work 6PM until 2AM most nights, and am not even awake the next day until noon.
Ah well. Maybe, just maybe I'll drag myself out of bed and try to catch something on my next day off.
The whole world is in my city, and I'm living behind my computer, and curled into my bed with a kitty cat.
I could be spending time with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend while they are in town to catch some events. I could have been volunteering at my church where they are opening the doors of that beautiful building and inviting in tourists and locals alike. I could be volunteering with one of the environmentalist groups who are helping with cleanup and spreading the world about simple every-day changes that can be made in people's lives (that make a huge impact too!) I could well, just be going out and enjoying the free events, and learning about other countries and trying all the various foods! Instead, I work 6PM until 2AM most nights, and am not even awake the next day until noon.
Ah well. Maybe, just maybe I'll drag myself out of bed and try to catch something on my next day off.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Unexpected
As quickly as my pregnancy changed my life, and my entire orientation, no longer being pregnant hasn't. I miscarried earlier this work. I suppose in a sense it has as well, changed my life and my viewpoint as everything shifts around me, and my hormones play pinball with my emotions, but at the same time, the shift from no-children to children hasn't been shaken. The same is true of my husband. As he put it, he had adjusted to the idea of life with little one, and saw no reason to adjust back.
We will try again, sometime after my body has had a chance to recover of course. We had both accepted this, and both wanted it, this I suppose just gives us more time to prepare.
The hard part is this: how do you grieve for someone who wasn't even really alive yet? Outside of the abortion debate, the truth was this was a piece of parasitical tissue abut the size of my thumb, if that. There was no heartbeat, no movement, nothing I could feel or sense, or associate with a living, breathing, conscious creature. I had never held them in my arms, or even felt them alive in my belly, yet I loved them, and deeply.
I could give you the practical things that have changed, a laundry list of things done. I have withdrawn from school. Now is not the time to be an intensive program of study that holds little to no interest to me really anymore, because, let's face it, my mind isn't there. I have cut my hair, and let it go darker, though still blonde since that's what I was born with, just because I wanted a change and a break from my apartment. I have begun to lose myself in cookbooks and the market because it's a place I find solace in the smells of simmering stews, and the steady beat of my electric mixer, or the chopping of vegetables for salads. I went to a yoga class, rather than just practicing at home since I wanted to be around people, but not people who knew. These are just things, things to do to occupy time and offer some tangible bit of comfort or tactile distraction.
I would tell you all that I am praying, but largely I am not. I have no idea what to say even though I know that God knows what I intend wordless or otherwise, and understands infinitely more than I do. Yet this is proving even mor challenging than normal. I can continue to read my Bible, to pray or editate over text, but this, this I'm having a hard time giving over to God. I'm just not ready to let go and say goodbye quite yet.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
We will try again, sometime after my body has had a chance to recover of course. We had both accepted this, and both wanted it, this I suppose just gives us more time to prepare.
The hard part is this: how do you grieve for someone who wasn't even really alive yet? Outside of the abortion debate, the truth was this was a piece of parasitical tissue abut the size of my thumb, if that. There was no heartbeat, no movement, nothing I could feel or sense, or associate with a living, breathing, conscious creature. I had never held them in my arms, or even felt them alive in my belly, yet I loved them, and deeply.
I could give you the practical things that have changed, a laundry list of things done. I have withdrawn from school. Now is not the time to be an intensive program of study that holds little to no interest to me really anymore, because, let's face it, my mind isn't there. I have cut my hair, and let it go darker, though still blonde since that's what I was born with, just because I wanted a change and a break from my apartment. I have begun to lose myself in cookbooks and the market because it's a place I find solace in the smells of simmering stews, and the steady beat of my electric mixer, or the chopping of vegetables for salads. I went to a yoga class, rather than just practicing at home since I wanted to be around people, but not people who knew. These are just things, things to do to occupy time and offer some tangible bit of comfort or tactile distraction.
I would tell you all that I am praying, but largely I am not. I have no idea what to say even though I know that God knows what I intend wordless or otherwise, and understands infinitely more than I do. Yet this is proving even mor challenging than normal. I can continue to read my Bible, to pray or editate over text, but this, this I'm having a hard time giving over to God. I'm just not ready to let go and say goodbye quite yet.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Prayer & Tea & My Epic Lack of Discipline
Ok, so I am not the most disciplined person on the planet. Heck, I am not even close. I struggle with the idea of waking up at the same time every day, having a morning or night-time ritual, trying to follow a schedule, remembering to take my vitamins every morning.... I think you get the idea right? Now don't get me wrong. I see the value in structure and time management. I always look up to those people who get up in the morning, exercise (or not) and take time for breakfast and dressing nicely, and personal grooming (that isn't chapstick and a ponytail.) Every New Year's I resolve to become one of them. Every year I fail.
Yet I am having a child, and that means needing to learn to structure things a bit more. It's a simple fact. Kids do better with some structure in their life, and establishing routine is particularly important in early life and infancy (in as much as you can.) Over-scheduling and over-structuring is just as detrimental as complete freedom, I know (and thank you Lenore Skenazy for reminding over-involved parents of this), but my current style needs some tweaking before LOU comes into this world. (Lou - Little One in my Uterus. 'Cause you knew I was going to nickname the foetus living parasitically off my body for the next seven or so months.)
So this year, once again, I have resolved to improve my time-management skills and my self-discipline since I really do believe the two go hand-in-hand. This of course, brings me to the title of this post. Prayer. Prayer is a discipline, and as I have said, discipline is not my forte. So my prayer practice is lacking. Do I pray? Absolutely. Do I prayer regularly? Heck no. I talk (and rant, and complain, and plead, and occasionally try making bad jokes toward) to God as I feel like it. Some days this means I do a lot, some days this means not at all, and the overall lack of structure and almost mindless nature of it means that my prayer practice is really lacking in something, mostly in giving God a chance to answer.
So my minister introduced me to Lectio Divino in the fall. When I tried it then, it worked for me. The mindful reading, contemplation and meditation was an expansion on skills I had already developed as an English student in University. I have long been comfortable with text and looking into text and reading the black and white spaces on the page, and so adding a deeper layer, and more mindful practice to that was, while not easy, at least easier than just trying to force myself to sit down and "pray."
So maybe I can't follow the traditional monastic practice of getting up early to devote a full hour to the practice every single day, but I am going to try and add a (shorter) practice to my regular life, and with any luck, stick to it. So far, I am only a couple of days into this experiment and so far it is working. Every other day, when I get home from school, I pour myself a cup of tea and sit down with me Bible. Oh the tea is an essential component for me. A good cup of tea, herbal or otherwise, is part of the 'ritual' and helps get me into the right headspace by giving me something to focus my senses on, and thereby freeing up my mind for the spiritual work ahead. Then again, there are days when I truly believe that God gave us tea so that on off days, there would be an infinitesimally small, but infinitesimally comforting, physical manifesting of God's embrace. Ok, maybe I give tea too much credit...
So here’s to attempting to learn self-discipline, and who knows, maybe if I can make this work, maybe I can start exercising regularly or getting up and getting ready more than ten minutes before I have to be out the door?
Yeah right.
Yet I am having a child, and that means needing to learn to structure things a bit more. It's a simple fact. Kids do better with some structure in their life, and establishing routine is particularly important in early life and infancy (in as much as you can.) Over-scheduling and over-structuring is just as detrimental as complete freedom, I know (and thank you Lenore Skenazy for reminding over-involved parents of this), but my current style needs some tweaking before LOU comes into this world. (Lou - Little One in my Uterus. 'Cause you knew I was going to nickname the foetus living parasitically off my body for the next seven or so months.)
So this year, once again, I have resolved to improve my time-management skills and my self-discipline since I really do believe the two go hand-in-hand. This of course, brings me to the title of this post. Prayer. Prayer is a discipline, and as I have said, discipline is not my forte. So my prayer practice is lacking. Do I pray? Absolutely. Do I prayer regularly? Heck no. I talk (and rant, and complain, and plead, and occasionally try making bad jokes toward) to God as I feel like it. Some days this means I do a lot, some days this means not at all, and the overall lack of structure and almost mindless nature of it means that my prayer practice is really lacking in something, mostly in giving God a chance to answer.
So my minister introduced me to Lectio Divino in the fall. When I tried it then, it worked for me. The mindful reading, contemplation and meditation was an expansion on skills I had already developed as an English student in University. I have long been comfortable with text and looking into text and reading the black and white spaces on the page, and so adding a deeper layer, and more mindful practice to that was, while not easy, at least easier than just trying to force myself to sit down and "pray."
So maybe I can't follow the traditional monastic practice of getting up early to devote a full hour to the practice every single day, but I am going to try and add a (shorter) practice to my regular life, and with any luck, stick to it. So far, I am only a couple of days into this experiment and so far it is working. Every other day, when I get home from school, I pour myself a cup of tea and sit down with me Bible. Oh the tea is an essential component for me. A good cup of tea, herbal or otherwise, is part of the 'ritual' and helps get me into the right headspace by giving me something to focus my senses on, and thereby freeing up my mind for the spiritual work ahead. Then again, there are days when I truly believe that God gave us tea so that on off days, there would be an infinitesimally small, but infinitesimally comforting, physical manifesting of God's embrace. Ok, maybe I give tea too much credit...
So here’s to attempting to learn self-discipline, and who knows, maybe if I can make this work, maybe I can start exercising regularly or getting up and getting ready more than ten minutes before I have to be out the door?
Yeah right.
Monday, January 4, 2010
An explanation for the Absence
I know, I'm a terrible person. I have learned, over the last 27 years to accept this fact. I have made peace with my own horribleness, and make no apologies for my long absence. I will however offer you (as in you three people who occasionally read this) an explanation. Just before I was going to post something the second week of December, I found out something. I found out something huge. And by "huge" I mean ginormous, gargantuan, of such immense scale that I cannot in fact quantify it in a single sentence, or even twenty thousand.
I am pregnant.
Despite all efforts to the contrary, I am now expecting a child late August, early September. It's still very early, and things could happen. The chance of miscarriage at this point is still up around 20-25 percent. Nonetheless, I have not posted anything because I have had a one track mind. Everything has changed. My goals, and my hopes, well they are still there, my plans though? Torn to shreds. And I didn't want to say anything here until after we had told our families, which we did, while visiting them all in Edmonton over New Year's.
I'll be honest, I am petrified. I am also though very excited, very being the operative word there. This is a good thing, it's an absolute blessing, and already I feel so much for Lou (Little One in my Uterus.) It's frightening to think though that Eric and I are having a child. He's still in Law School. I am going to need to go back to school to take a couple of courses a semester a year after they are born to complete my own program. I still want to study theology, but now that's more an eventually. Did I mention my husband is still in Law School??? Did I mention I am still in school???
On a positive note: Think of all the delightful things I now get to knit!
I am pregnant.
Despite all efforts to the contrary, I am now expecting a child late August, early September. It's still very early, and things could happen. The chance of miscarriage at this point is still up around 20-25 percent. Nonetheless, I have not posted anything because I have had a one track mind. Everything has changed. My goals, and my hopes, well they are still there, my plans though? Torn to shreds. And I didn't want to say anything here until after we had told our families, which we did, while visiting them all in Edmonton over New Year's.
I'll be honest, I am petrified. I am also though very excited, very being the operative word there. This is a good thing, it's an absolute blessing, and already I feel so much for Lou (Little One in my Uterus.) It's frightening to think though that Eric and I are having a child. He's still in Law School. I am going to need to go back to school to take a couple of courses a semester a year after they are born to complete my own program. I still want to study theology, but now that's more an eventually. Did I mention my husband is still in Law School??? Did I mention I am still in school???
On a positive note: Think of all the delightful things I now get to knit!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
An update
I realise it has been quite a while since I posted. I am sorry, honestly sorry.
In the meantime, my grandfather has passed away, resulting in (yet another) trip back to Northern Ontario. It's a bit of a hike. I have to say though, I am extremely grateful that I went and the experience was extremely cathartic. For the most part it all went smoothly, even with my grandfather's former wife (they were separated, but that's another story). She is not a well woman. She is extremely narcissistic and did in fact expect the funeral to be all about her, but largely I was simply able to ignore it. I certainly did not appreciate her coming up and shaking my hand right after the interment saying, "Well wasn't this just a fun day!" I was polite, I swear! I simply said, "Thanks Gladys, I hope you are good." I have been praying for this woman. We were challenged to pray for someone who was unlikable or as Gary put it "Extra Grace Required," and I chose her. I'm still angry. I'm still strggling with this, and even thoughat this point I never have to speak with her or see her again, I am still trying to pray for her, though it would be easier to just stop.
Beyond that, school has kept me relatively busy despite my complete and utter lack of enthusiasm for any of it. I would give anything to just walk away here and now, but I can't. I have a horrible sense of responsibility that says I have to finish it. Also, it's true, Paul was a tent-maker. I need to finish this so that no matter what I so later on, I still have a profession I can fall back on. I do not want to be entirely reliant on my husband's income if I am unable to find a job in ministry or otherwise related to Theology. What if something were to happen to him? I know that's a bit dismal, but I'd like to think it also a practical consideration.
Right so maybe not the happiest, or even most entertaining post ever, but that's just how it is. Next up 7 exams in 80 hours... Screw you BCIT.
In the meantime, my grandfather has passed away, resulting in (yet another) trip back to Northern Ontario. It's a bit of a hike. I have to say though, I am extremely grateful that I went and the experience was extremely cathartic. For the most part it all went smoothly, even with my grandfather's former wife (they were separated, but that's another story). She is not a well woman. She is extremely narcissistic and did in fact expect the funeral to be all about her, but largely I was simply able to ignore it. I certainly did not appreciate her coming up and shaking my hand right after the interment saying, "Well wasn't this just a fun day!" I was polite, I swear! I simply said, "Thanks Gladys, I hope you are good." I have been praying for this woman. We were challenged to pray for someone who was unlikable or as Gary put it "Extra Grace Required," and I chose her. I'm still angry. I'm still strggling with this, and even thoughat this point I never have to speak with her or see her again, I am still trying to pray for her, though it would be easier to just stop.
Beyond that, school has kept me relatively busy despite my complete and utter lack of enthusiasm for any of it. I would give anything to just walk away here and now, but I can't. I have a horrible sense of responsibility that says I have to finish it. Also, it's true, Paul was a tent-maker. I need to finish this so that no matter what I so later on, I still have a profession I can fall back on. I do not want to be entirely reliant on my husband's income if I am unable to find a job in ministry or otherwise related to Theology. What if something were to happen to him? I know that's a bit dismal, but I'd like to think it also a practical consideration.
Right so maybe not the happiest, or even most entertaining post ever, but that's just how it is. Next up 7 exams in 80 hours... Screw you BCIT.
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Week of Dinners
I happen to be of the belief that to eat is to live... literally. I adore eating, and that means I have to cook, and have actually learned to quite enjoy that as well. I also realise that I eat far better than most people my age, no, I take that back. I eat better than most people.
My personal food manifesto:
I will eat. I will not scrimp on butter or salt. I will take my dessert and relish every single bite it. I will be grateful.
Yet, despite my love of butter, salt and the sweet stuff, I do eat quite healthily, mostly because I make the majority of my own meals. Well, to be more precise either my husband or I do - we both love food. As most people have heard, yes, we should watch fats, sodium and sugars, but chances are the stuff we add is nothing comapred to the stuff found in premade (and often overprocessed) foods.
So here is a week's worth of meals in my house:
Saturday: Frisee Salad, Pumpkin Soup and Mini-Rolls (from a local bakery)
Sunday: Lime & Honey Glazed Salmon with Basmati and Broccolini (care of Bon Appetit)
Monday: Roasted Potatoes, Peppers and Halloumi (care of Nigella Bites)
Tuesday: Leftover Night - Linguini with homemade Bolognese Sauce (which I froze last week)
Wednesday: Grilled Steak with Fingerling Potatoes, and Lemon-Pepper Kale
Maybe not a whole week, but still, enough, and all delicious. I'm really looking forward to tonight's Halloumi dish.
My personal food manifesto:
I will eat. I will not scrimp on butter or salt. I will take my dessert and relish every single bite it. I will be grateful.
Yet, despite my love of butter, salt and the sweet stuff, I do eat quite healthily, mostly because I make the majority of my own meals. Well, to be more precise either my husband or I do - we both love food. As most people have heard, yes, we should watch fats, sodium and sugars, but chances are the stuff we add is nothing comapred to the stuff found in premade (and often overprocessed) foods.
So here is a week's worth of meals in my house:
Saturday: Frisee Salad, Pumpkin Soup and Mini-Rolls (from a local bakery)
Sunday: Lime & Honey Glazed Salmon with Basmati and Broccolini (care of Bon Appetit)
Monday: Roasted Potatoes, Peppers and Halloumi (care of Nigella Bites)
Tuesday: Leftover Night - Linguini with homemade Bolognese Sauce (which I froze last week)
Wednesday: Grilled Steak with Fingerling Potatoes, and Lemon-Pepper Kale
Maybe not a whole week, but still, enough, and all delicious. I'm really looking forward to tonight's Halloumi dish.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Church Membership, Financial Stewardship and a Really Good Martini
So I finally did a few of the things on my list with respect to the church. For one, I committed myself to becoming a member which means I will there the next four Thursday nights for a series of classes. For two, I finally signed up for PAR, donating a bit each month (just fifteen bucks, but then again I have an annual income of less than three grand at the moment), seeing as I do get a lot out of the church and it's programming.
After the "Taste" portion of the "Come-Taste-See" series which I may discuss more after the series is complete, I went home and began my homework. First up was a powerpoint presentation on effective communication which took perhaps half an hour to finish up. Then came tackling a whole bunch of Auto-CAD work. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I hate this part of my program. I am a more theoretical-type. I like big pictures, and textual analysis, and anything involving thought and analysis. Sitting down to move columns and walls on a blueprint 25 centimetres East, and 150 centimetres south, then realigning walls, fixtures and spandrel beams to match? Well, I needed some motivation.
My recipe for a really tasty, very dirty martini...
1.5 ounces good quality English gin (I tend to like Tanqueray, but currently have Beefeater)
0.5 ounces Dry Martini Vermouth
3 large Spanish Queen olives
A really good glug of juice from the olive jar
You have to pre-chill the glass (just toss some ice and water in while you mix the drink). Toss the liquid ingredients in a martini shaker with a few ice cubes and go to town shaking it. Toss the ice and water out of the glass and place olives in bottom. Strain drink over olives. Sit down to plug out a few hours of AutoCAD (well, if you are me, otherwise just enjoy.) Do not under any circumstances drive for at least a few hours, especially if like me, you have the alcohol tolerance of a gnat.
After the "Taste" portion of the "Come-Taste-See" series which I may discuss more after the series is complete, I went home and began my homework. First up was a powerpoint presentation on effective communication which took perhaps half an hour to finish up. Then came tackling a whole bunch of Auto-CAD work. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I hate this part of my program. I am a more theoretical-type. I like big pictures, and textual analysis, and anything involving thought and analysis. Sitting down to move columns and walls on a blueprint 25 centimetres East, and 150 centimetres south, then realigning walls, fixtures and spandrel beams to match? Well, I needed some motivation.
My recipe for a really tasty, very dirty martini...
1.5 ounces good quality English gin (I tend to like Tanqueray, but currently have Beefeater)
0.5 ounces Dry Martini Vermouth
3 large Spanish Queen olives
A really good glug of juice from the olive jar
You have to pre-chill the glass (just toss some ice and water in while you mix the drink). Toss the liquid ingredients in a martini shaker with a few ice cubes and go to town shaking it. Toss the ice and water out of the glass and place olives in bottom. Strain drink over olives. Sit down to plug out a few hours of AutoCAD (well, if you are me, otherwise just enjoy.) Do not under any circumstances drive for at least a few hours, especially if like me, you have the alcohol tolerance of a gnat.
Friday, October 16, 2009
An Unexpected Afternoon
Yesterday I accidentally left my keys at home. I had changed my coat right before leaving the house (having realised that I needed the heavy-duty raincoat rather than the lighter one with an umbrella), and it turns out I left my keys in the pocket of the first coat. Well, having gotten out of class very early due to whizzing through a midterm and a cancelled lab, I found myself at the door to my condo building, no keys, and no husband to let me in for another 4 and half hours.
What's a girl to do?
I went around the corner and set up shop in Steeps, and opened up my laptop. I would like to insert a heartfelt thank you to the lovely staff of Steeps, a wonderful establishment I've been frequenting since 2001, in Edmonton, at the original Glenora location. Thank you for not kicking me out, or complaining that I spent about 8 bucks over 5 hours. You have my undying love and patronage, that and really, really good teas.
I must unabashedly confess to stealing wireless. The hotel across the street had an unsecured network, and I got just enough reception in the tea house to log on to Gmail, and chat with my husband a little, arranging for him to meet me there at 5 when he would be home. Unfortunately there were no outlets, and all of 20 minutes of abttery life left on my laptop so I couldn't continue as originally planned, working on some AutoCAD drawings that afternoon, and no access to my other schoolwork.
A pot of tea and a chapter of Marcus Borg's Reading the Bible Again for the First Time, I decided to go make a purchase which was both premature and belated. I needed a new Bible. It's my birthday in under a month, and I had intended on buying one then with birthday money, so in that way this aws a month premature, but this opportunity presented itself so wonderfully. (Seriously, if you ever want me to do something appeal to my sense of serendipity; I'm a sucker for it.) This was belated in that the NIV Study Bible I have had since a teenager really was no longer satisfying me, and had not been for a number of years. It's not so much the text itself, though the general lack of note about the choices made in translation did irk me, but the "Study" portion of it. Rather than trying to equip people to make their own choices and draw their own conclusions, the editors chose to portray a very rigid, very conservative understanding of biblical texts. As a former English student, I found this to be disruptive to the point of making it nearly impossible for me to read the text itself. I kept questioning the editors and wondering what else was changed to support their views, especially since after reading the preface I noted that they had even changed some word choices to 'better reflect their true meaning', though whether that was a comment on this edition, or the NIV translation in general, it never clarified.
Now, not to be entirely pessimistic, I really liked some of the historical information given in the edition. It included tables of distances, lengths, monetary values and the like that I found useful. The included maps are extensive, and detailed. The historical information about the rise and fall of historical monarchs and kingdoms provided for dating purposes, was also very useful, and generally historically accurate, especially the Roman era history. The utter insistence that modern biblical scholarship must be completely wrong because there is no way the Pentateuch were written by any author other than God through Moses himself, or that Genesis represents a scientifically accurate retelling of creation (despite containing not one, but rather two, often contradictory creation myths), or the idea that Jesus only spoke the parables one time each and therefore the presented version is an exact transcription of his storytelling, I just can't get behind. (Aside: regarding the last, I do think that chances are Jesus told these stories many times - that is why they are so well remembered. Now, as with all oral tradition, chances are, if they were told and retold, there were likely some differences in each retelling, though the core of the story remained consistent. This is purely based on my understanding of the tradition of oral storytelling.)
Now, maybe I could get behind the edition if the editors had chosen to elaborate on the arguments made on all sides of these debates, but they do not even detail their own argument, instead rather simply brushing off the entire debate in less than one full sentence, often attributing opposing viewpoints to 'evils' resultant from humanity's sinful nature (or even alluding to deeper, possibly demonic forces at work). I wish I was kidding here.
Anyhow, the short of the story is that I needed a new Bible. I made my way 6 blocks to Chapters, and found myself trying to choose between three editions. I had already decided I wanted an NRSV edition, which is widely used by my church. I also new that I wanted an edition which included notation about choices in translation, and other ways of translating the same words.
I found myself wavering between three editions;
Equipped with these two books I returned to Steeps (oh how I love thee!) and began to read. All I read (and read about) were the first three chapters of Genesis, the two creation stories. I read them myself, individually and against each other, then read the commentary, first Borg's then Kugel's, and then reread the stories. While I will not go into the insights, and understanding that I drew yesterday, I will say this. The next three hours passed quickly. I found myself immersed once more in the text (and the jasmine tea I was sipping), and struck by the beauty of it.
Do I believe that the Bible is divinely inspired or written? No. I do not. I see the Bible as the collective experiences and understanding of the very human people who wrote it, but those experiences with God must have been extraordinary to inspire them to write something that is still so beautiful, and so resonant two thousand years later.
I forgot my keys, but found one perfect afternoon.
What's a girl to do?
I went around the corner and set up shop in Steeps, and opened up my laptop. I would like to insert a heartfelt thank you to the lovely staff of Steeps, a wonderful establishment I've been frequenting since 2001, in Edmonton, at the original Glenora location. Thank you for not kicking me out, or complaining that I spent about 8 bucks over 5 hours. You have my undying love and patronage, that and really, really good teas.
I must unabashedly confess to stealing wireless. The hotel across the street had an unsecured network, and I got just enough reception in the tea house to log on to Gmail, and chat with my husband a little, arranging for him to meet me there at 5 when he would be home. Unfortunately there were no outlets, and all of 20 minutes of abttery life left on my laptop so I couldn't continue as originally planned, working on some AutoCAD drawings that afternoon, and no access to my other schoolwork.
A pot of tea and a chapter of Marcus Borg's Reading the Bible Again for the First Time, I decided to go make a purchase which was both premature and belated. I needed a new Bible. It's my birthday in under a month, and I had intended on buying one then with birthday money, so in that way this aws a month premature, but this opportunity presented itself so wonderfully. (Seriously, if you ever want me to do something appeal to my sense of serendipity; I'm a sucker for it.) This was belated in that the NIV Study Bible I have had since a teenager really was no longer satisfying me, and had not been for a number of years. It's not so much the text itself, though the general lack of note about the choices made in translation did irk me, but the "Study" portion of it. Rather than trying to equip people to make their own choices and draw their own conclusions, the editors chose to portray a very rigid, very conservative understanding of biblical texts. As a former English student, I found this to be disruptive to the point of making it nearly impossible for me to read the text itself. I kept questioning the editors and wondering what else was changed to support their views, especially since after reading the preface I noted that they had even changed some word choices to 'better reflect their true meaning', though whether that was a comment on this edition, or the NIV translation in general, it never clarified.
Now, not to be entirely pessimistic, I really liked some of the historical information given in the edition. It included tables of distances, lengths, monetary values and the like that I found useful. The included maps are extensive, and detailed. The historical information about the rise and fall of historical monarchs and kingdoms provided for dating purposes, was also very useful, and generally historically accurate, especially the Roman era history. The utter insistence that modern biblical scholarship must be completely wrong because there is no way the Pentateuch were written by any author other than God through Moses himself, or that Genesis represents a scientifically accurate retelling of creation (despite containing not one, but rather two, often contradictory creation myths), or the idea that Jesus only spoke the parables one time each and therefore the presented version is an exact transcription of his storytelling, I just can't get behind. (Aside: regarding the last, I do think that chances are Jesus told these stories many times - that is why they are so well remembered. Now, as with all oral tradition, chances are, if they were told and retold, there were likely some differences in each retelling, though the core of the story remained consistent. This is purely based on my understanding of the tradition of oral storytelling.)
Now, maybe I could get behind the edition if the editors had chosen to elaborate on the arguments made on all sides of these debates, but they do not even detail their own argument, instead rather simply brushing off the entire debate in less than one full sentence, often attributing opposing viewpoints to 'evils' resultant from humanity's sinful nature (or even alluding to deeper, possibly demonic forces at work). I wish I was kidding here.
Anyhow, the short of the story is that I needed a new Bible. I made my way 6 blocks to Chapters, and found myself trying to choose between three editions. I had already decided I wanted an NRSV edition, which is widely used by my church. I also new that I wanted an edition which included notation about choices in translation, and other ways of translating the same words.
I found myself wavering between three editions;
- The first was the Green Bible which appealed both to my wallet (being the least expensive), as well as my sense of environmentalism. I really liked the way it highlighted passages that could be read from that perspective (while recogniseing that they did not have to be), also it's printed on recycled paper. Unfortunately it did not include the Apocrypha, which I wanted very much to have easy access to. Having always been denied these texts in the more conservative churches of my youth, I really wanted to erad them to see why they were banned.
- The second was the Life With God Study Bible I had always enjoyed having a course of study within the bible itself, and this edition, upon first glance, seemed to fit better with my theology than the NIV Bible I had. Unfortunately, just as I "outgrew" my NIV Bible as I grew in other directons from the editors, I was worried the same would happen here. I was afraid that as my own thoughts changed, and developed, I would find myself at odds with the editor - actually I knew I would. While I have found many theologians and scholars whose opinions and insights I respect and cherish, there is always something I do not fully agree with. I never expect to find another person with whom I share perfect agreement with respect to our understanding of God, because different lives and different events and thoughts have shaped us.
- The final one I was consider was far plainer. It was a plain hardcover Bible, which contained the Apocrypha, and notes on translation, but no other commentary. (It does have nifty little woodcuts at the beginning of every book.) As you might guess, this is the one I chose. I can supplement my study with outside sources, but this should be a Bible that I can keep and use no matter where my journey takes me.
Equipped with these two books I returned to Steeps (oh how I love thee!) and began to read. All I read (and read about) were the first three chapters of Genesis, the two creation stories. I read them myself, individually and against each other, then read the commentary, first Borg's then Kugel's, and then reread the stories. While I will not go into the insights, and understanding that I drew yesterday, I will say this. The next three hours passed quickly. I found myself immersed once more in the text (and the jasmine tea I was sipping), and struck by the beauty of it.
Do I believe that the Bible is divinely inspired or written? No. I do not. I see the Bible as the collective experiences and understanding of the very human people who wrote it, but those experiences with God must have been extraordinary to inspire them to write something that is still so beautiful, and so resonant two thousand years later.
I forgot my keys, but found one perfect afternoon.
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