FROM REV GALS...IT'S FRIDAY FIVE TIME...THIS WEEK, A LOOK INSIDE THE WARDROBE!
1. Are you a hoarder, or are you good at sorting and clearing?
Depends on what we're talking about...clothing, I'm good at clearing. Pens/paper, not so much! I've been clearing out lately too--feels good to lighten the load on all fronts!
2. What is the oddest garment you possess and why?
I'd have to go with the five paneled velvet jester hat with grosgrain ribbon bows and bells on each tip. The panels are black, deep purple, dark green, purple paisley on black, and little blue flowers on purple. As to why...saw the company at an art fair while in grad school and couldn't pass it up. Seemed like a "writerly" sort of hat! I've actually had more than a couple of chances to wear it! The students love it. They claim it suits me.
3. Do you have a favourite look/ colour?
Favorite look? For work, I'll call it practical comfort. I don't want to wear something I need to worry about...worry about what I am exposing, worry about getting it tangled or caught, worry about blooping something and not being able to wash it out. At the same time, it is practical for the occasion of need. If a skirt or dress is called for, so be it. Otherwise, I'm a khakis/tee/cardigan/hit the pavement and move kind of dresser.
Colors? Royal blue, orange, black, coral, rose...things that allow for a little contrast with whatever is on the bottom half.
4. Thrift/ Charity shops, love them or hate them?
Love the idea but usually find them way too overwhelming...too much chaos.
5. Money is no object, what one item would you buy?
Hmmm. A membership to khakis of the month club? Don't know on this one.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Nothing Rhetorical About It
I came across one of my favorite questions in the Gospels the other day—Who do you say that I am? Within those seven words is an endless fountain of contemplation that can be considered from a multiplicity of angles. Who at times might become what; say turns to draw, write, sculpt, see; am might slowly change to was or will be.
The first time I thought about actually answering the question was about nine years ago. Inquisitive by nature in school and at home as a child, I had known already that asking and answering questions could humble one’s self, open the heart and mind to a certain vulnerability. Either could expose a gap in knowledge and understanding as well as a curiosity and desire to expand. I remember thinking “How bold can you be?” Which was soon followed by “Then again, how many rhetorical questions does he ask? If the question is there, it is there to be answered.” There was also within me the joy of the back and forth exchanges that can lead to greater understanding, even in the midst of confusion. I realized that I wanted to know what my answer was. So pen in hand, I replied.
You are the raucous laughter and the wailing anguish of God; you are prophet, teacher, and friend. You are wisdom born of prayer, experience, and intimacy with God; you are sunrise and thunderstorm. You are gathering arms and quiet lullabies; you are word brought forth in the fullness of its light, its poetry, its beauty. You are courage and you are conviction; you are the sea wind that fills sails and sets birds to flight. You are eyes that see with a singular vision, ears that hear me before I have spoken, lips that speak to be understood; you are heart with an infinite capacity for truth. You are the perfect balance of haiku; you are body and you are blood; you are bread and wine and feast. You are justice, you are trust; you are compassion, pardon, and peace. You are human, you are spirit; you remain forever, in us, approachable glory.
What I wasn’t expecting was the reciprocal invitation to ask Jesus the question myself. There was nothing rhetorical about the reply.
Look at the stars! You are their brilliance in my eyes. Look at the water! You are my reflection. You are multicolored depths, like the wilds of the ocean. You are revealer and you are revelation. You are creator and you are creation. You are fine morning mist and tumbling, tossing, waves. You are the ever changing beauty of the moon; forever wondrous, forever inspiring, forever within my sight and within the reach of my arms.
Nelson Mandela once quoted Marianne Williamson in speech, saying that our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate—but rather that we are powerful beyond measure.
Faith teaches us that the power is the love of God working through us.
Go ahead. It's okay to ask.
The answer might just knock your socks off. That's okay too. Revelation can be like that.
The first time I thought about actually answering the question was about nine years ago. Inquisitive by nature in school and at home as a child, I had known already that asking and answering questions could humble one’s self, open the heart and mind to a certain vulnerability. Either could expose a gap in knowledge and understanding as well as a curiosity and desire to expand. I remember thinking “How bold can you be?” Which was soon followed by “Then again, how many rhetorical questions does he ask? If the question is there, it is there to be answered.” There was also within me the joy of the back and forth exchanges that can lead to greater understanding, even in the midst of confusion. I realized that I wanted to know what my answer was. So pen in hand, I replied.
You are the raucous laughter and the wailing anguish of God; you are prophet, teacher, and friend. You are wisdom born of prayer, experience, and intimacy with God; you are sunrise and thunderstorm. You are gathering arms and quiet lullabies; you are word brought forth in the fullness of its light, its poetry, its beauty. You are courage and you are conviction; you are the sea wind that fills sails and sets birds to flight. You are eyes that see with a singular vision, ears that hear me before I have spoken, lips that speak to be understood; you are heart with an infinite capacity for truth. You are the perfect balance of haiku; you are body and you are blood; you are bread and wine and feast. You are justice, you are trust; you are compassion, pardon, and peace. You are human, you are spirit; you remain forever, in us, approachable glory.
What I wasn’t expecting was the reciprocal invitation to ask Jesus the question myself. There was nothing rhetorical about the reply.
Look at the stars! You are their brilliance in my eyes. Look at the water! You are my reflection. You are multicolored depths, like the wilds of the ocean. You are revealer and you are revelation. You are creator and you are creation. You are fine morning mist and tumbling, tossing, waves. You are the ever changing beauty of the moon; forever wondrous, forever inspiring, forever within my sight and within the reach of my arms.
Nelson Mandela once quoted Marianne Williamson in speech, saying that our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate—but rather that we are powerful beyond measure.
Faith teaches us that the power is the love of God working through us.
Go ahead. It's okay to ask.
The answer might just knock your socks off. That's okay too. Revelation can be like that.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Basic language
I’ve been stuck on the soundtrack for Godspell for a little over a week now so it makes sense that a song from it is what came to mind during the 10:30 homily this past Sunday. The Gospel had the sea-tossed disciples asking a sleepy Jesus “Do you not care that we are perishing?” Peter was presiding and invited people to imagine ourselves back into the midst of a storm we had experienced at some point in our life. “Taste the fear,” he prompted.
I had no problem with that. During my tenure in southern Louisiana, a low level hurricane by the name of Lily swept through Grand Coteau and put a tree through our roof. I remember watching branches on the trees by the chapel bow down to the ground on one side and seconds later, with incomprehensibly yogic flexibility, flip up and over to touch the roots on the other side as well. I was watching this from the threshold of the kitchen door until I heard the snap of the pecan tree just beyond the steps and then the cracking and creaking of its trajectory before ultimately crunching onto and through the tin roof of the Cottage.
While sitting there in the gym reflecting on this experience and the aftermath of it when nature went berserk with new life of all types—think Genesis—I heard strains of “Save the People” from Godspell wafting through the memory.
“O, God save the people,
Save the people,
God save the people,
From despair.
God save the people!”
A request of a similar sort to the question posed by those gathered in the boat. A much more raw plea was my mantra at the time. Things do get basic in situations like that. And assurances we once counted on all go overboard.
It seems to me that the answer we seek is fairly basic too… A question I found myself considering was whether as easily as the plea came to my mind in the midst of the hurricane, was I as ready to accept the answer I faith-fully believed would come? Regardless of what that looked like? ”Do you not care??” “I do care.” “Save the people!” “I will.”
There’s no predicting the sea. No predicting the wind. No predicting God either.
Except, the water’s wet and salty; the wind blows things; and God is love.
Basic is good sometimes.
I had no problem with that. During my tenure in southern Louisiana, a low level hurricane by the name of Lily swept through Grand Coteau and put a tree through our roof. I remember watching branches on the trees by the chapel bow down to the ground on one side and seconds later, with incomprehensibly yogic flexibility, flip up and over to touch the roots on the other side as well. I was watching this from the threshold of the kitchen door until I heard the snap of the pecan tree just beyond the steps and then the cracking and creaking of its trajectory before ultimately crunching onto and through the tin roof of the Cottage.
While sitting there in the gym reflecting on this experience and the aftermath of it when nature went berserk with new life of all types—think Genesis—I heard strains of “Save the People” from Godspell wafting through the memory.
“O, God save the people,
Save the people,
God save the people,
From despair.
God save the people!”
A request of a similar sort to the question posed by those gathered in the boat. A much more raw plea was my mantra at the time. Things do get basic in situations like that. And assurances we once counted on all go overboard.
It seems to me that the answer we seek is fairly basic too… A question I found myself considering was whether as easily as the plea came to my mind in the midst of the hurricane, was I as ready to accept the answer I faith-fully believed would come? Regardless of what that looked like? ”Do you not care??” “I do care.” “Save the people!” “I will.”
There’s no predicting the sea. No predicting the wind. No predicting God either.
Except, the water’s wet and salty; the wind blows things; and God is love.
Basic is good sometimes.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Bearing the Ordinary
Every once and a while I dump whatever bag I am carrying at the time and imagine what story the contents might tell someone about who I am...
SparkCharts Advanced Spanish vocabulary/Idioms; orange Rhodia notebook/journal; My Life with the Saints by James Martin; second notebook full of notes and copied out Spanish vocabulary; new pair of shoes, purchased today; rain coat; Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone...in Spanish; Mary Oliver's House of Light; three pens--shades of blue, all fine point; my father's hanky folded into a neat square; spearmint gum; three bandaids; small pouch of change; wallet; keys; brochure from yesterday's trip to the WTC museum; chapstick; a small piece of hematite; a postcard from a friend; eyedrops; ibuprofen; a twisty; a straw; a napkin; a ziploc with some pretzels; the draft of a friend's children's book.
Nothing out of the ordinary, but all uniquely significant to me. That's the way it is, isn't it? Seemingly common place elements that combine to represent ME. I look at it all making a picture together and can say yep, that's me-stuff. That combination is a bit of revelation about who I am in the universe...and therefore too, a window into a unique aspect of God. I would know if something is out of place...heels, for example, or a pack of cigarettes. Those who know me would recognize that too. I find that rather comforting.
It reminds me of a story from earlier this year. Once, two kids who were working on the Middle School newspaper came up to me asking for a unique skill or ability or experience I had that would surprise other students. They were asking a group of us and setting up a guess who matching game in part of the paper. As I stood there and thought, one of them said "You know, you're going to be easy...anything you'd say would fit you and it would be easy to see because you...well, you're so YOU." "I'm predictable, then?" "No...," she said, "We'd know what you didn't do but nothing you did do would surprise us!"
My fervent wish is that they come to hear and experience more stories of the beautiful ordinary of people's lives and begin to say the same about God. "We'd know what you didn't do..."--discernment--- "But nothing you did do would surprise us"--with God, all things are possible.
SparkCharts Advanced Spanish vocabulary/Idioms; orange Rhodia notebook/journal; My Life with the Saints by James Martin; second notebook full of notes and copied out Spanish vocabulary; new pair of shoes, purchased today; rain coat; Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone...in Spanish; Mary Oliver's House of Light; three pens--shades of blue, all fine point; my father's hanky folded into a neat square; spearmint gum; three bandaids; small pouch of change; wallet; keys; brochure from yesterday's trip to the WTC museum; chapstick; a small piece of hematite; a postcard from a friend; eyedrops; ibuprofen; a twisty; a straw; a napkin; a ziploc with some pretzels; the draft of a friend's children's book.
Nothing out of the ordinary, but all uniquely significant to me. That's the way it is, isn't it? Seemingly common place elements that combine to represent ME. I look at it all making a picture together and can say yep, that's me-stuff. That combination is a bit of revelation about who I am in the universe...and therefore too, a window into a unique aspect of God. I would know if something is out of place...heels, for example, or a pack of cigarettes. Those who know me would recognize that too. I find that rather comforting.
It reminds me of a story from earlier this year. Once, two kids who were working on the Middle School newspaper came up to me asking for a unique skill or ability or experience I had that would surprise other students. They were asking a group of us and setting up a guess who matching game in part of the paper. As I stood there and thought, one of them said "You know, you're going to be easy...anything you'd say would fit you and it would be easy to see because you...well, you're so YOU." "I'm predictable, then?" "No...," she said, "We'd know what you didn't do but nothing you did do would surprise us!"
My fervent wish is that they come to hear and experience more stories of the beautiful ordinary of people's lives and begin to say the same about God. "We'd know what you didn't do..."--discernment--- "But nothing you did do would surprise us"--with God, all things are possible.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Verbiage
Friday Five...One Day Late! Based on the book Life is a Verb...
1. What awakens you to the present moment?
Feeling grounded myself--inside if not out; paying attention; listening to instinct; writing about it.
2. What are 5 things you see out your window right now?
Hmm...pigeons, a delivery truck, someone going through our garbage, a baby in a swimsuit and goggles riding by in a stroller, and rain-scattered tree pollen.
3. Which verbs describe your experience of God?
Accept; Give; Listen; Consider; Share; Expand; Saturate
4. From the book on p. 197:
Who were you when you were 13? Where did that kid go?
Oh Lord. I was a seventh grader who already knew her take on the universe was different than that of the majority of her peers but had no outlet for expressing it. That kid went on a long journey, met really good people along the way who gave her tools, friends who taught her about her own goodness, who loved her for precisely who she was, people who listened to her and said Wow!, and she ended up in New York trying to do those very things for others because she knows to her very bones that it makes a difference.
5. From the book on p. 88:
If your work were the answer to a question, what would the question be?
Is truth really stranger than fiction?
1. What awakens you to the present moment?
Feeling grounded myself--inside if not out; paying attention; listening to instinct; writing about it.
2. What are 5 things you see out your window right now?
Hmm...pigeons, a delivery truck, someone going through our garbage, a baby in a swimsuit and goggles riding by in a stroller, and rain-scattered tree pollen.
3. Which verbs describe your experience of God?
Accept; Give; Listen; Consider; Share; Expand; Saturate
4. From the book on p. 197:
Who were you when you were 13? Where did that kid go?
Oh Lord. I was a seventh grader who already knew her take on the universe was different than that of the majority of her peers but had no outlet for expressing it. That kid went on a long journey, met really good people along the way who gave her tools, friends who taught her about her own goodness, who loved her for precisely who she was, people who listened to her and said Wow!, and she ended up in New York trying to do those very things for others because she knows to her very bones that it makes a difference.
5. From the book on p. 88:
If your work were the answer to a question, what would the question be?
Is truth really stranger than fiction?
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sunday in the Gym with God
I admit it. My mind wandered during liturgy this morning—the first 10:30 AM Mass in the Xavier High School gymnasium.
Being asked to stand in as a lector necessitated a seat change that meant I was facing the congregation. The congregation…and the scoreboard. Not in the least athletically inclined in a sport that ever uses one, I still understand its purpose in helping people make sense of what is happening in front of them.
It got me thinking. Was I “Home” or “Away?” An interesting question. I was away from an accustomed setting but home within the people and the ritual practiced. And, after all, we were only next-door. I decided I was part of the home team and began considering what that meant.
Usually, if there is a home team, there is also an away team. Who is on that team? Going back in memory to my own time spent in gymnasiums, I could imagine that the person who feels like she or he is on the away team is one who might be afraid he or she will not be chosen or will be selected last or asked to sit on the sidelines. And, sadly, experience might bear that out. The one on the away team might be someone I see every day who has never heard that there is such a place as Xavier where they can come as they are and worship God, whose measure for our lives is not tallied in fouls, per se, but rather what we did with our time on the court, what lessons we learned and how we used that knowledge for benefit.
But it isn’t a game at all, life. It is a serious undertaking with unpredictable outcomes and we need all the help we can get.
It then occurred to me that the scoreboard was wrong. For at least an hour on a Sunday morning, the board was wrong. Our faith teaches us that with God, there is no “Away.” There is only “Home.”
No athleticism required. Score-keeping unnecessary. Cheerleading helpful.
Welcome to the team.
Being asked to stand in as a lector necessitated a seat change that meant I was facing the congregation. The congregation…and the scoreboard. Not in the least athletically inclined in a sport that ever uses one, I still understand its purpose in helping people make sense of what is happening in front of them.
It got me thinking. Was I “Home” or “Away?” An interesting question. I was away from an accustomed setting but home within the people and the ritual practiced. And, after all, we were only next-door. I decided I was part of the home team and began considering what that meant.
Usually, if there is a home team, there is also an away team. Who is on that team? Going back in memory to my own time spent in gymnasiums, I could imagine that the person who feels like she or he is on the away team is one who might be afraid he or she will not be chosen or will be selected last or asked to sit on the sidelines. And, sadly, experience might bear that out. The one on the away team might be someone I see every day who has never heard that there is such a place as Xavier where they can come as they are and worship God, whose measure for our lives is not tallied in fouls, per se, but rather what we did with our time on the court, what lessons we learned and how we used that knowledge for benefit.
But it isn’t a game at all, life. It is a serious undertaking with unpredictable outcomes and we need all the help we can get.
It then occurred to me that the scoreboard was wrong. For at least an hour on a Sunday morning, the board was wrong. Our faith teaches us that with God, there is no “Away.” There is only “Home.”
No athleticism required. Score-keeping unnecessary. Cheerleading helpful.
Welcome to the team.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Things Seen
...on my way to work today...
pigeons eating petunias; a woman playing a harp in Central Park (I took a short detour of my usual path to include a look at the reservoir); a baby gumming a bagel; my reflection in a puddle from sidewalk washing; an old man humming while he walked with his cane; a rumple-haired dog who looked as tired as its owner; And I can't say for sure...but I think I caught a glimpse of poetry.
pigeons eating petunias; a woman playing a harp in Central Park (I took a short detour of my usual path to include a look at the reservoir); a baby gumming a bagel; my reflection in a puddle from sidewalk washing; an old man humming while he walked with his cane; a rumple-haired dog who looked as tired as its owner; And I can't say for sure...but I think I caught a glimpse of poetry.
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