Random thoughts from a not-so-random life

Praise Song for the Day - a poem for President Obama

2009-01-20T12:50:00.007-05:00

This is the poem that was commissioned and read today for the inauguration of President Obama. (I wrote it from her reading, and I'm no poet, so the punctuation is mine - please forgive, but enjoy!)

“Praise Song for the Day”
by Elizabeth Alexander
On the occasion of the inauguration of
President Barack Obama

Each day
We go about our business
walking past each other
catching each other’s eyes,
or not,
about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise,
thorn and din.
Each one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in an uniform,
patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum
with cello,
boombox,
harmonica,
voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus,
a farmer considers the changing sky
a teacher says, “take out you pencils, begin."

We encounter each other in words,
words spiny or smooth,
words whispered or declaimed,
words to consider,
reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways
that mark the will of someone
and then others that said,
“I need to see what’s on the other side.
I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain:
That many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
Who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce
Built brick by brick
the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean
and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle
Praise song for the day
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring it out at kitchen tables

Some live by “love thy neighbor as thyself."
Others by, "first, do not harm,"
or "take no more than you need."

What if
the mightiest word is
Love.

Love beyond marital, filial, national
Love that casts a widening pool of light
Love with no need to preempt grievance

In today's sharp sparkle,
this winter air,
anything can be made
any sentence begun
On the brink...
On the brim...
On the cusp...

Praise song
for walking forward
in that light.

Duke Graduation - finally...

2008-05-14T13:23:00.004-04:00

On May 10, I finally graduated from Duke with my Th.M.

I feel very small next to this great chapel...

After a lot of work, sweat, and a few tears, I received my hood (a big fancy ceremony, like a knighting...)

My mother and sister came from Texas for the ceremony (Garin and Isaac were there, too, but we didn't get any cute pictures of them).

Celebrating 30!

2008-01-18T20:30:00.000-05:00

For my 30th birthday, we went to Nags Head - the beach in January! It wasn't exactly beachy weather, so we mostly stayed inside and played, but we did get to the beach long enough to take this picture!

30th birthday dinner party

2008-01-09T16:20:00.001-05:00

For my 30th birthday, we had a dinner party at some friends' house. It was delightful!

Garin had prepared a toast for me - it was very sweet. And, he ordered a cake...

How much do I love this cake? Chocolate cake with chocolate icing and chocolate ganoche - does my husband know me or what?!?

It's the last weekend of my twenties...

2008-01-04T20:32:00.000-05:00

...and I'm watching a marathon of Harry Potter movies. I suppose it's a tribute to my carefree childhood. Or regressing.

As I am reflecting on my life so far, I'm pretty well satisfied with it. I've actually done many of the things that I've wanted to do by the time I was 30. I've gotten married, had a kid, gotten 2 masters degrees, begun my career...the only thing I haven't done is go one mile on a hippity-hop. Aw, well, I can put that off until I'm 31.

A new job

2007-11-11T18:05:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow I start a new job. It kinda feels like the first day of school - I've been waiting for this day for a long time, and now it's here and I wonder if I'm ready...

Not just physically ready - like what if I forget my cell phone or what if I'm not dressed appropriately or what if I show up at the wrong place or time - but spiritually and emotionally ready. I've been in school most of my life, and I like school. There, someone tells you what to write about or think about or read about. I'm really good at following directions. Even in my job at the hospital I had a supervisor to tell me how to deal with my patients or what to say to myself when I was stressed. Now, I'm going to be on my own. I will have colleagues, of course, but they have their own case load to carry. Who is going to tell me what to say?

"Then the Lord said to Moses, 'Who makes a person's mouth? Who decides whether people speak or do not speak, hear or do not hear, see or do not see? Is it not I, the Lord?
Now go.
I will be with you as you speak and will help you in what you say." (Exodus 4:11-12)

God has called me to this work, and has equipped me for it, so I suppose I'm not really on my own. There is One who goes with me who cares even more for these children than I.

I believe, Lord; help me in my unbelief.

Labor Day weekend

2007-09-04T23:39:00.000-04:00

On Labor Day weekend, Grammie kept Isaac...

...so we could go out!

Rock on.

One month old

2007-08-09T10:49:00.000-04:00

Today my kiddo is one month old. It's very weird to me how young he is. Just after he was born, Garin and I were saying how rare it is to meet someone who is only 1 minute old, and then 1 hour, and then...well, you get the picture.

When do we stop counting minutes, hours, or even months? Yesterday was my 355th month birthday (which means today I've lived approximately 15,549,120 minutes). What if we had a birthday celebration every month? I wouldn't be opposed to getting presents every 8th day of the month, but I suppose I would get tired of the constant reminders of the passage of time. That's what makes things like the Olympics and Haley's Comet and Virginia's Quadricentennial such a big deal - we go for years without thinking about it, and then suddenly, we start getting election campaign ads in the mail and realize it's been four years since we voted for president. It is a big deal, isn't it? It only happens once every 4 years, or every 80 years, or every 400 years.

Still, I like counting the weeks and months since my son was born. I know I'll get tired of it someday soon, the weekly reminders that he is growing up fast. But for now, I'll wish him a happy one-month birthday, and enjoy the passage of time...

Memorials

2007-08-02T21:29:00.000-04:00

Two very important men in my family's life left this world on August 2. In 2000, my father's 17 month battle with a brain tumor ended peacefully at 2am, Wednesday, August 2. In 2005, my husband's maternal grandfather, PapPaw Mac, died 2 weeks after a diagnosis of lung cancer. These are two of the most influential men in the formation of my family's life, and here are some of the lessons I learned from their lives.

Dad taught me to try hard at everything I do, and that there is always room for improvement. After my basketball games, he would spend the ride home telling me what a great job I did. Then, when we got home, he would teach me some new moves in the kitchen, usually using my mom or younger sister as the defense.

PapPaw Mac told stories like nobody I know - it didn't matter how many times he had told it. His favorite stories were repeated over and over, an indication of the importance of the characters in the story. Most of these stories were about his two grandsons, Garin and Trevor, and he told everyone he knew about them.

Dad's faith was rock-solid. He knew that his faith was not only his own - he passed it down to his children through teaching and by example. His foundation was in God, and even though we might have disagreed theologically, I know that he would be proud of the path I have chosen.

PapPaw Mac loved his family more than anything - every few weeks we would get an envelope with a few dollars in it and a note saying he was just thinking about us. He never got to meet his great-grandchildren, but I'm sure he would have loved them as he loved us.

Dad taught me to laugh - he had such great sense of humor. I remember one of the last conversations we had - I was stressing out about my last semester of college and all the pressures I had at the time. His advice to me was to go dancing. That was what he told me - "Don't take things so seriously - when was the last time you went dancing? Just go have fun - there's plenty of time to worry about all this later."

It seems like our society gives men a bad rap - stereotypes about selfish, immature and unreliable men are everywhere. I am intensely aware of the blessing I received by having not just one but two legacies to appreciate, and for this, I am forever grateful.

A short story about the child growing in my stomach...

2007-03-24T13:53:00.000-04:00

So, last night, I went to this play at our local high school, and it was really good - dancing, singing, really loud music...anyway, as we were sitting there, the little baby that lives in my belly would start jumping during certain songs. He especially liked the song from "Thoroughly Modern Millie" sung by two girls who were really good..he went really crazy during that song! He also liked the song at the end from "High School Musical". Loud, crazy, fun song - and he was just dancing around. It was weird, but really cool.

My favorite time of year...

2007-01-04T14:49:00.000-05:00

My major life-events are crammed into the months of November, December and January. This time of year is like an overwhelming fountain of festivities: my wedding anniversary, Christmas, New Year's Eve, and my birthday. And, I'm not gonna lie, some of my favorite memories from this time of year are the presents I've received throughout the years. Some highlights (in no particular order):

- A Dorothy Gale doll with a porcelain face from Santa
- A hot pink 10-speed bike from Mom and Dad
- A 2-story Barbie dollhouse (that I had to share with my sisters, but still)
- An Este Lauder gift set from my hubby
- A beautiful camel-color, cashmere, calf-length coat from MamMaw and PapPaw
- A surprise birthday party with my family at O'Charley's for my first birthday in NC

Though the experiences have varied over the years and occasions, I remember many of the times spent with family and friends. I know it sounds cheesy, but as I approach the first day of my 30th year, I wonder what the next 30 will be like (yes, I know that's a country song, but still...) How cool to have lived this long so far, and I hope the journey is just as exciting in the future!

Holidays, hospital-style

2006-12-19T15:02:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about working at a hospital is that everyone has this really bizarre sense of humor. And it comes out in full-force during the holidays. Take, for example, the Christmas present I received from a colleague who works in the morgue - the gift tag on the package was a toe-tag (unused, I presume). It actually said my name on the top line and under "date/time expired" it said, "Merry Christmas!" Now, I know this sounds morbid, but to me it's a better use of a toe-tag than what they are normally used for!

There are other examples, like the patient who makes all her visitors wear a jingle bell necklace and sing "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" for her (at one point there were five of us in her room, singing in harmony, no less!), or the pediatric chaplain who wears a lit-up Christmas tree hat (the little red ornaments flash all over it!). And, of course, there are the edible treats from patients and families (I recieved a packet of "After the Last Supper Mints" with Da Vinci's Last Supper painting on the lid).

I guess the moral of the story is that there can be joy in the world, no matter how much life and circumstances may try to stop it. It's a beautiful thing to see a completely bald woman shaking her jingle bell and singing at the top of her lungs. A nurse recently told me that he chose to work on Christmas day because there is no place he'd rather be, no place that is more fun, that being with his patients and their families. "It's like the whole unit becomes a family - open doors, open hearts, everyone sharing with each other. It's what Christmas is really about!"

Joy to the World, indeed!

YAY Cameron Indoor!!!

2006-11-15T10:45:00.000-05:00

Here's the first (hopefully of many) pics from this season!

Pictures from the Campout

2006-11-02T08:04:00.000-05:00

Here are some pictures from the Duke Basketball Campout 2006 (for a full description, see "Why I hate that I love college sports," below)...

My loyal husband and I, braving the crowds of bad-dancers...

The lines of people - it doesn't look like it, but we are in lines!

The campground - the tents were pretty close together, and...

...some people didn't realize that their tents weren't soundproof.

But here's why we did it - and tonight's the first game!!!

I Don't Know Why

2006-10-31T13:27:00.000-05:00

I'm glad you ask,
but I don't have an answer.
I know you want a reply,
a resolution,
because I do, too.
Anything I could say would fall flat,
disappoint.

Why didn't you answer Christ
on the cross?
He asked, but there was no answer.
Why did you forsake him?
The only answer was the crying,
weeping,
of his mother at his feet.
The sun went dark
and all was still.
Three days later,
we still don't know,
a forgotten question
lingering in the dark,
crushed under the stone at the tomb.

Why did you forsake me?
A mother's mourning as an answer,
a father's last words, "I love you."
Why did you forsake me?
A sister's searching,
a friend's letter, "I miss you."
Why did you forsake me?
A husband's hug,
a favorite hymn, "It is Well."

Did you forsake me
in the tears of a mother,
the words of a father,
the journey of a sister
the letter of a friend
the embrace of a husband
the prose of a hymn?

Hold me close, O God,
and do not forsake me.
Be not far from helping me,
from the words of my groaning.

Why I hate that I love college sports

2006-09-27T13:53:00.000-04:00

A few weekends ago I spent 2 nights and one really long day in a parking lot. You see, the men's basketball team at the school I attend is really good. So good, in fact, that it is nearly impossible to get tickets for home games in the unusually tiny stadium without paying exorbitant amounts of money. Unless, of course, you are a graduate student at this university, which, for one year, I am.

This university affords its graduate students the opportunity to campout for a weekend in order to enter a lottery to win the opportunity to buy a season ticket for men's basketball. That's right, your prize at the end of this wicked weekend is a lottery, and the possible outcome of this lottery is that I could purchase season tickets. I think the people who came up with this were students of the Tom Sawyer school of marketing (second prize: painting a fence).

In order to complete the 36-hour campout with its alluring ending, you must check in every time they blow the whistle. They did this about 20 times throughout the weekend, with anywhere from 3 hours to 10 minutes in between whistles. It was an interesting psychological experiment - whenever a whistle blew, 2000 people came running to stand in line. (I still twitch whenever I hear a whistle - looking for a line to stand in, I suppose.)

The best part, though, was Sunday morning. Not just because the campout was over, but because of the way that it ended. At 5:30a, while it was still dark, we were awakened by stadium lights and someone playing "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes. I truly thought that Jesus had come to call us all home. As I stumbled out of my tent, crying, "I'm a-coming, Lord!" I realized that I had made it. I almost cried.

Our group of 8 people who entered the lottery together got 4 tickets. That's a pretty good ratio, considering there was one group of 16 that only got 2 tickets among them.

Thursday, November 2, is our first game, and I was assured throughout the weekend by veteran campers that at that first basketball game, all the campout-anguish would be worth it. Well, I'll be the judge of that. And, because I do love college sports, it probably will be worth it...just maybe not enough to ever do it again!

Why I love college sports...

2006-09-02T16:50:00.000-04:00

This weekend marks the beginning of college football season, and while I actually live in the heart of college basketball country, there's just something about this opening weekend that is so exhilarating.

First of all, there's "College Gameday" - an ESPN original broadcast from a different college campus each week. The announcers face the cameras with hundreds of college students behind them, holding up signs that taunt their opponents. This is what I love: the signs. Sometimes they simply say, "Hi Mom," or "We're gonna win," but every now and then there is a real thinking-person's jewel to be found.

For example, today, College Gameday was broadcast from the campus of Georgia Tech, who will be playing Notre Dame tonight. One of the signs displayed by a rabid Yellowjackets fan read: "Calvin: defeating Catholics since 1509." Now, in order to understand this sign, you should know that GT has a great player named Calvin Johnson, and that Notre Dame is a Catholic school, and that John Calvin (born in 1509) was one of the major leaders of the Protestant Reformation, which broke from the traditional (and state-mandated) church for the first time, ever. It's funny, really. And I love that you have to know church history to get it (very rarely do I get to utilize my seminary training in the sports world, so I jumped at this chance).

Anyway, it's fun, to me, to see people who are devoted to a sport for the love of the game - for the competition and camaraderie.

Bedtime for Bonzos

2006-08-21T22:58:00.000-04:00

This weekend, we inherited two kids for a night - a 7yr old girl and a 9 yr old boy. Before I go any further, I really do need to say that these kids are awesome - truly hilarious, wide-open, entertaining offspring of two of the coolest people in our church.

But they're still kids, and that's a fish I'm just not ready to fry.

It was really fun being parents for a night, until bedtime. We finally started wrapping up "Shrek 2" on Xbox around 10:30, and then trudged upstairs, where G timed them each brushing their teeth for a full 2 minutes. Then, into pjs for the girl (the boy just crawled - well, jumped - into bed fully clothed) and lights out.

Too dark. Fortunately, I come from a long line of night-lighters, and I have several miniature plug-in lightbulbs for just such an occasion. Better? Good.

After lying in my own bed for approximately 1.5 minutes, I hear a very unnerving crash in the other room, and then, pitter-patter, knock-knock-kncok. "Hey, Rachel, look what I found!"

I should say that the stuffed animal that she found was not the first thing she discovered that night that I had forgotten about - earlier she found our candy basket. Yep. Sugar + Children + Darkness = not much sleeping for Rachel.

A half-hour later, I busted up the giggle-fest - "I know that the only way that y'all will calm down is if a grown-up is in here with you, so I'll lay here on the floor until you fall asleep."

"I'm not sleepy."
"Okay, then count to 100."
"I have the hiccups."
"Okay, then hold your breath."
"It's not working."
"I'm done counting - now what?"

Alright. I seem to remember several chapters of The Chronicles of Narnia doing the trick for me when I was younger. Except my parents were way too smart to let me find the candy basket an hour before bedtime.

After 3 chapters with Lucy, Edmund, Susan, Peter and Mr. Tumnus, they were finally drowsy enough for me to go back to my bed. I have no idea what time they fell asleep, but they were all in their places with bright shiny faces the next morning at 7:30. Playing Xbox. Probably re-discovering the candy basket.

I have a lot to learn...

Somebody else's Scarecrow

2006-08-11T20:15:00.000-04:00

I consider myself a fairly unselfish person, generally. However, every now and then my narcissism jumps up and bites me in the tushy. These are the moments when I realize that my whole outlook on life centers around my story. Just such a moment happened the other day.

After a year of fighting through a pretty grueling residency with 5 fellow chaplains, we were saying our goodbyes. We cried, we laughed, we promised to write. I was walking to my car with one colleague who is especially dear to me, since we not only went through the residency together, but we did an internship two years ago. For anyone who has taken a unit of CPE, you understand the underlying meaning when I say, "We took CPE together." It means we cried, we laughed, we grieved, we celebrated. It is an experience that can make or break a relationship, and often those who have gone through the soul-searching are bonded with a special tie that comes from being in the proverbial trenches together.

As we were saying goodbye to each other, she stopped and said, "This is the hardest goodbye - what can I say to you? It's like on the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy had to say goodbye to the Scarcrow. You've been with me since the beginning."

As sweet as that sentiment is, in that moment, my first thought was, "Hmm - I thought I was Dorothy." It was a little reality check to realize that I am someone else's Scarecrow. I guess, in a way, we are all actors in each other's stories. Who's the main character? I suppose it's all in the camera angle.

A really dumb thing...and, also, don't try this at home.

2006-07-31T10:33:00.000-04:00

Before I tell this story, I have to warn you, if you have any kind of maternal/paternal stake in my husband's life, any instinct that wishes to protect him from danger, even danger from his own stupidity, then you should probably not read the rest of this entry (I will give you one hint, though, if he was seriously injured, you probably would have heard about it by now). However, if you are up for a good laugh at another's blind trust in his own good luck and denial of his own mortality, then read on...

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, and we are using our free time to recover from a recent trip out of the country, both physically and laundraically (i.e. washing clothes). I am unloading the dryer when from upstairs I hear the beginnings of a thought process which can only end badly. "I wonder how many times our [non-existent] kids will want to slide down these stairs in the laundry basket?" I'm in a silly mood so I answer, "Probably thousands, and, hey, you should try it first - that way, you can say, 'yes, son, I tried doing that and that's how I broke my hip...'" The reply: "Yeah, I think I could do it. I would need to wear a helmet though...and pillows - I definitely need pillows." What. the. heck. He's kidding, right?

I come around to the foot of the stairs to confirm that, no, he's not kidding. He has strapped his bicycle helmet on his head and two pillows around his waist. There he is, love of my life and father to my non-existent children, squatting into a blue plastic laundry basket, perched precariously at the top of our wooden staircase (which end in a short stretch of hardwood floor, followed by our closed, solid-metal, front door). He gets back out of the basket. Thank God - he was kidding. "I think I'm gonna need more pillows." "Wow," I stammer, still assuming this is a joke. "Okay, well, hold on. Let me get the video camera so that when the insurance company accuses me of killing you, they'll see that you did this voluntarily."

By the time I come back with the camera, he is strapped in, muttering something about keeping his weight back in the basket. He begins scootching the basket toward the edge of the stairs. As I press "record", he begins to tip forward, the look on his face a combination of crazed-adventurer and 13-year-old boy. As he takes off, I give one last warning, "If you break that laundry basket, I'm going to be so mad at you."

About halfway through his 2.5 seconds of glory, the look on his face changes from adventurer's glee to doomed terror. He reaches out for the bannister as the basket gets going faster than he is. Next thing I know, my husband, love of my life, is lying on his back on the floor next to our front door, face frozen, eyes staring wildly at the ceiling. I can see him doing a mental checklist - "I can wiggle my toes, I can wiggle my fingers..." He immediately began deriding himself for not thinking to pad the floor at the bottom of the steps - "That's where I needed to put the pillows - and on the front door, too! Man, how could I not think of that?"

I hope you will be happy to know that he did not, in fact, break his hip. It was his tailbone, and it was just a very deep bone bruise (which he claims that even now, weeks later, still bothers him when he climbs stairs). And, I'm also pleased to say that he didn't break the laundry basket. He is appropriately thankful for having escaped with the least amount of damage possible, and I think we all learned that it doesn't matter how much padding you carry with you if the place you land is a hardwood floor.

Universal language

2006-07-01T15:57:00.000-04:00

Today I walked downstairs to the sounds of "Telemundo" on our TV. Now, I must say, my husband and I are not diverse enough to know Spanish, and Telemundo does not typically make appearances on our TV screen. I was curious until I walked around the corner and saw what was actually on the screen:

The World Cup - Brazil vs. France

You must understand that my husband is a sports nut. Nut? Oh, no, that's not really the right word. It's more like a lifestyle. ESPN sponsors us - "Tonight, Stuart Scott hosts: 'Dinner with the Hills' on ESPN." (Stuart Scott is a name I shouldn't know.) My grandparents gave him a subscription to Sports Illustrated for his birthday, and he said, "It's the best present I've ever gotten." (Does a wedding ring count as a present?) I have walked in to find him watching Female Trick-Shot Pool on ESPN2. (He has been following Allison whats-her-name for a few years now - evidently she's the Tiger Woods of Female Trick-Shot Pool.)

So, when Brazil (the favored team to win the World Cup) plays France, and none of his regular channels carry it, so what? It's only a slight problem that he doesn't understand what the announcers are saying - when they replay a foul, for instance, he might not understand the commentary about it, but he knows it was a foul. And after a player took a ball to his sensitive area and landed on the ground in pain, one commentator said, "Ouch" - no need to translate that.

I tend to give him a hard time about this, but really, I admire his dedication to something. It is amazing how sports can be a universal language. For example, when we were watching the NBA draft this week, after JJ was picked, we heard a shout of excitement from our teenage neighbors (whom we truly don't have anything in common with!) And today, around the world, people are glued to their media outlets, watching grown men kick a ball. It makes me kinda glad that it's on, in Spanish, at our house. In a way, it links me to the world - even if I don't understand the words.

2006-06-29T09:43:00.000-04:00

"Tilting toward chaos..."

2006-06-23T09:40:00.000-04:00

"Without God, great human powers demonstrate their weakness, their 'flesh,' by their inability to preserve the cosmos from tilting back toward chaos." (Allen Verhey, Professor of Christian Ethics, Duke Divinity School)

I have been thinking a lot about the "scandal" going on at the institution for which I work right now. Whatever the legal outcome, the fact remains that there was a lot of irresponsible, immoral and unethical behavior on the part of certain students. But why are we surprised at this, when they have been indulged by their governing authorities up until now? Why are we shocked at the instances of unethical actions by our soldiers overseas, when certain political leaders are found guilty of political scandal on our own soil?

I love Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. It is such a beautiful study of human behavior and society - this is Mr. Darcy explaining to Elizabeth why he is such a pompous jerk: "As a child...I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit...I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own."

Mr. Darcy expresses his gratitude toward Elizabeth for saving him. She spoke the truth to him about what he had become, and because of his love for her, he had motivation to change. But, how will an entire society change? I agree with Dr. Verhey - in our own human power, we are weak, unable to "preserve the cosmos from tilting back toward chaos." Our country has come to rely upon "the immortal soul...some divine spark of reason...the human capacities to think and choose and 'have dominion'...the capacities to trust and hope..." rather than in God, the One Who gives these capacities.

"The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners - of whom I am the foremost. But for that very reason I received mercy, so that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display the utmost patience, making me an example to those who would come to believe in him for eternal life. To the Ruler of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen." (1 Timothy 1:15-17)

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

You deserved it.

2006-06-21T12:04:00.000-04:00

Last week, I was recounting to a colleague the early morning drama at my house, which consisted of various liquids spilling on my countertops, my floors and myself. When I told her how I had knocked a huge cup of coffee all over the counter, she responded, “Aww, poor baby.” I went on to describe how I had spilled yogurt on my lap while driving, to which she responded, “Now that you deserved – you shouldn’t be doing anything in your car besides driving.” Sure. True. I should only drive when driving. Aside from the fact that that’s not going to happen, the “you deserved it” theology feels uncomfortable.

For example, should I treat a 65-year-old smoker with lung cancer differently than a 65-year-old runner with degenerative kidney disease? Where does “you deserved it” fit in here? I realize that the smoker might have different issues (i.e. guilt, regret), but does the runner not have similar issues? If we are being honest, what do any of us "deserve"?

I have no answers to this, only questions. When the people I love, and the people they love, are hurting, "you deserved this" or "you didn't deserve that" seems insufficient.

You'll understand when you're older.

2006-06-02T21:24:00.000-04:00

Tonight, at a softball game, all the boys got to hit, but the little girl didn’t – so I made it about age. I was so concerned that she not feel like she was being kept from doing something because she was a girl that I told her, “It looks like only the kids in elementary school get to hit tonight.” And thus I contributed to her education about the virtue of being "older"...

The thing is, I don't understand why being “older” is a virtue in itself. Does being “older” ensure that you will understand life, that you will know what it means to have grief, to experience loss? What about the 14-year-old whose dream of winning the National Spelling Bee in front of millions (okay, probably thousands) of prime-time television viewers is crushed by the word “weltschmerz” in the 19th round of head-to-head spelling? Or the 12-year-old who now lives with her aunt because her mother was deported after their car was pulled over in a crackdown on illegal immigration? Or the 5-year-old who will not even have the chance to learn from life because he was executed in his home along with his parents, grandparents and siblings?

When I am shocked by a 3-year-old lying in a coma because his step-father shook him in anger, it is not because I have not lived long enough. When I don’t have any words to say to a family who’s just received news that their mother has a non-curable disease, it is not because, in my youth, I cannot imagine their grief. In my “short” 28 years, I have had my share of heartache and loss.

I rather like the phrase, “If you’re a young fool, you’ll be an old fool.” Nothing is guaranteed to come with age – whether 10, 40, or 90, you can choose to engage in life or withdraw from it. Experience can be a great teacher, but unless the student is willing, the lessons will be missed. The lessons are all around us, no matter how young or old we are.

What I love about dogs.

2006-06-01T13:12:00.000-04:00

The thing I love about dogs is that they are not swayed by anyone else's opinion of me.

Just the other night, G told our dog to attack me (in that playful, "we-haven't-trained-her-to-do-anything-much-less-attack-someone" kindof way). At his command, she promptly licked his pointing finger. Then, he proceeded to explain to her all the reasons that she should attack me, and she responded by wagging her tail and licking his knee. Twice. After a demonstration of how he would like her to attack, she finally came over to me and put her head on my lap.

At that moment, I realized that nothing anyone else could say to her would change her opinion of me. Someone might say to her, "Rachel doesn't pick up her socks and then acts like it's somebody else's fault that her house has socks all over the place," but she'd still run up to the gate each time I pull into the driveway. Or "Rachel volunteers to do all these things and then complains that she doesn't ever have enough time to herself," but she'd still wag her tail helicopter style whenever I come into a room. Those words mean nothing to her; she is devoted to me because of who I am.

I wonder if God's like that.

Ode to a youth group lock-in, or, "How I lost 10 years off my life this weekend."

2006-05-26T13:52:00.000-04:00

At 9:30pm Friday night, we begin our journey to defy the nighttime, to dare the moon to tell us to sleep, to caffeinate our bodies into a delirium, and laugh at the sunrise as the last few strains of "High School Musical" play on the television.

At 11:00, the bowling alley turns off the fluorescent overhead lights, turns up the '80s rock, and turns on the blacklights to begin the event known to an exclusive late night fraternity as "Cosmic Bowling." Previously unseen patterns of shooting stars and bowling pins suddenly appear on tables and floors in the purplish lighting, and bowling balls which, under harsh daytime lighting are simply lime-green, are illuminated with swirls of garish exuberance as they race down the lane toward glowing-white pins. What a sight to behold - an overabundance of stimulation for the senses!

It is a feeling of joy that continues as we arrive at our youth room, where we will be cloistered for the next 7 hours, a sanctuary of scratch-made brownies and processed cheese. A cappuccino maker appears, and the room is electrified with pubescent energy. We scoff at the night! It cannot tempt us with visions of pillows and comforters and sleepy-time tea! We will subsist on the pure liquid ecstasy of Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew! Shine on, shine on, Silver Moon, up in the sky! We pay you no heed! We will play Truth-or-Dare, Jenga, Scattergories, and a recently discovered game of Couch-Pillow Baseball, until well after the sun has again made itself known in the sky.

It is morning, and our quest is complete. We have, indeed, awakened the dawn, amazed to discover that the sun arises from its own resting place at 5:30am. In later reflection as I drift off to sleep, finally succumbing to the safety of my own bed, I can't help but acknowledge the aches in my body. The ironic thing is, I really enjoyed my stint as a youth, so why wouldn't I work with youth groups for the rest of my life? Ah, yes, because I'm old now. That's why.

The catharsis of typing

2006-05-24T16:38:00.000-04:00

What is it about typing that is so cathartic? The thoughts flow faster than I can type, yet I'm still clicking away to the sound of my voice in my brain.
And this blog - writing my thoughts for all the world to read - seems to be a kind of faux-intimacy. I think and type without worrying about who will read it and what they will think, because I may never meet these people, and for that matter, maybe no one will ever read this at all.
I guess the challenge is how to interact around the content of this blog with the people who read it. Or, maybe, to say the things I'm typing aloud to someone, or everyone, and use this space as a record of those conversations. For posterity (whatever that means).
NPR's StoryCorps recently made a stop in Durham. Their catchphrase is "Because listening is one of the most important thing you can do." Maybe. But maybe saying it (or typing it) is the most important thing you can do. Like Meg Ryan said on You've Got Mail: "I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, dear void."

I refuse to summarize my first post with a title

2006-05-22T10:10:00.000-04:00

In the 24 hours prior to Sunday morning, I'd had 1.25 hours of sleep, said a funeral for a dog, led a woman in prayer on our knees outside the emergency room where her roommate was being held after attempting suicide, met with approximately 35 members of a family whose 3 teenage grandchildren were killed in a car accident on their way home from prom, and I finally started crying in the car as I listened to the radio announcer describe how Barbaro broke his leg.

So I started a blog. A place to release to the infinite blogosphere those thoughts that sound great in my head, but I either forget by the time I have someone to tell, or when I do say it out loud, it doesn't sound as great as I thought. Free therapy for an introverted extravert.