* not with ink

Last week, my placement tasked me with unpacking my "personal experience theology" - writing, sharing, and discussing my personal theology around many interrelated topics. As I wrote out definitions and thought about my experience of certain concepts, I was encouraged, challenged, and a little bit nervous. And then I shared it with my colleagues, and they asked me a bazillion questions, and pointed out common themes, and shared their insights into my insights, and it was lovely and terrifying and gave me lots of food for thought. And now I'm going to share some of these 'personal statements' with you. And, as always, I would love to hear your thoughts on my thoughts... Evil –  actively harming another, disregarding their autonomy and/or humanity, using them for personal pleasure or gain without their consent, intentionally deceiving  – when I think of my own personal experience of evil, I think of two types – my own temptations towards evil, towards disreg...

"I don't think I believe in anything anymore," someone told me recently. "Do you?" "I do believe in some things," I said. "Like what?" "I believe in love, in giving of ourselves in ways that make us more, not less. I believe in Jesus. I believe that he really lived, really died, really came back to life. I believe that changes everything. I believe that God is everywhere, and God is always acting, and sometimes we get to join in, and contribute to redemption and healing. I believe in old wounds healing over and broken things being made whole. I believe in relationships, in giving and receiving, in letting people in bit by bit, and discovering that we change each other, that we're not meant to go it alone. I believe in creating. I believe in contributing honest and hope filled beauty to the world in whichever ways we are gifted. Doing math or science or fixing things or being a parent or painting or simply smiling at th...

Sometimes life is like a bear hunt. Particularly the bear hunt immortalized in the children's action story/song . For those of you unfamiliar with the song, here is the first verse:  We're goin' on a bear hunt, We're gonna catch a big one, I'm not scared! What a beautiful day! Oh look! It's some long, wavy grass! Can't go over it, Can't go under it, Can't go around it, Gotta go through it! The rest of the song follows the same formula - we've got a mission, we have high hopes, we're excited and not scared, we encounter an obstacle that cannot be avoided...we overcome, and then we repeat. Such is life. The past week has been a bit of an emotional roller-coaster for me (and, from what I gather via social media, thousands of other people in the world, each for their own reasons, though sometimes events and tragedies unite us in grief). This morning I articulated some massive life-fears to a friend, and our conversation went like thi...

I have been back for four days. Toronto is hotter than Tarime, muggier, noisier, and more confusing. It is also home. In many ways, the past month feels like a surreal dream. It is separate, unrelated to this big city and my busy days of work, coffee dates, TV watching, sports-playing, and music-listening. I know that isn't entirely true. I don't want that to be true. the "streets" of Kyoruba But I also don't know how to make it so. I remembered this morning that three weeks ago, I wandered into a river just outside the village of Kyoruba, my skirt held above my knees, but still skimming the water, and stood in the sun. My hand on the shoulder of a young woman, I listened and prayed as the priest baptized her after baptizing her husband and another young man. I don't know how I had already forgotten this, the honour of being a witness to her baptism, the fear I felt about entering potentially-parasitic waters, the unity of being with brothers a...

Earlier this semester, one of my profs gave me a book called Enduring Grace: Living Portraits of Seven Women Mystics by Carol Flinders. It was a perfect gift out of the leftovers of her overflowing bookshelves... Although I'm only two portraits in, I am floored and amazed and encouraged. (I know, I am a weird, weird woman.) It's likely that I'll have many excerpts to share over the summer...here is the first round! My favourite 13th century German mystic, Mechthild of Magdeburg wrote this: "If I am truly to show forth the goodness of God, then I am obliged to speak of myself." A woman who loved God and knew her own self/voice. Boom. --- This poem excerpt runs along the same lines: Fish cannot drown in water, Birds cannot sink in air, Gold cannot perish In the refiner's fire. This has God given to all creatures, To foster and seek their own nature, How then can I withstand mine? --- And here's a statement from the author about g...

The last few years of my life have been full of feelings. ALL THE FEELINGS. Scratch that - my whole life has been full of feelings. All of them. Deep feelings. But the last few years have been full of accepting and acknowledging my feelings, which is a fairly significant shift from my previous framework.  I have long been uncomfortable with strong emotions. I didn't know what to do with them, or what purpose they serve. In my mind, feelings were an annoying interference with the rational and far more valued rational processes of the brain (this is a slight generalization, but not much). While I could usually identify how I felt, I didn't always understand why it was important to figure that out, or what good could come of telling another person the emotions I was experiencing, especially if they were "negative" or difficult feelings. It is not that I believed my feelings were irrelevant , but that they were subservient to my logic and my will. If I felt...

Last week I wrote a paper about Dietrich Bonhoeffer 's views on church mission and leadership. I didn't have (take) as much time to read as I would've liked, and kept my focus on related content, rather than the whole of his life and writings. But I came across these two quotes that didn't fit anywhere in my paper, and need to record them for posterity: on being separated from loved ones: "It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; he doesn't fill it, but on the contrary, he keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain." and on suffering: "The idea that we could have avoided many of life's difficulties if we had taken things more cautiously is too foolish to be entertained for a moment...To renounce a full life and its real joys in order to avoid pain is neither Christian nor human."

Last month, a conversation with my spiritual director went something like this: her: I'm sorry to leave you in the middle of this, but our time is up. And also, it seems like that's where you are . me: What do you mean? her: You're in the middle of this. It's not something you can solve or fix or change right now. me: Yes. That is true. her: I'd just encourage you to let yourself be there. me: Yeah...I don't have much choice. You can't run away from the middle. her: I think people spend a lot of time running away from the middle. me: Oh, for sure. I run away from the middle all the time. But the thing about the middle is, no matter how far you run, there you are. Still in the middle. Life currently feels like I am running circles in the middle of a massive field like this: View from The Middle I am trying to learn to stop running and look around and pay attention and just let myself be in the middle of a field. There are some p...

At various times in my life, I have been called difficult to know, "closed," an ice queen, a brick wall, intimidating and other related things. This has deeply bothered me. A few years ago, one of my closest friends went through an incredibly difficult situation. As I walked with her through some dark days, I wrestled with how much to ask about the source of her pain. I knew little about the specifics that had brought her here, and wondered how to be supportive when I didn't know what had gone awry. But then I realized something. What made me a safe person for her was, I think, not only that she could tell me anything without fear of judgment, but that she could also tell me nothing without fear of judgment. Our friendship is such that we recognize and respect the space between us , and we don't have to know every detail of every little story to love or be loved. Although there are plenty of little details and many many stories we do share! My point is this; in...

Last night I went to a Catholic seminary, and a priest gave a lecture, and he said a lot of semi-interesting things, but the one I still remember is this: "We are not meant to eat alone." In the celibate life, he said, this is one of the most difficult things (maybe I'm exaggerating this paraphrase? I'm not sure). As a parish priest, he calls his congregants and tells them he will be coming over (often) for meals. He promises to arrive at 5:30 and leave by 7pm. Only once, he said, he has been turned down. "We're not meant to eat alone! You know what happens when we eat alone? We eat standing up, over the counter. It's not good for our eating habits. And it's not good for our souls." Amen, I say. Amen and Amen. There are a lot of things I enjoy about being solo, and there are a lot of times I like to be by myself; mealtime is rarely one of them.

Exams are finished, papers handed in. I am back from the silent retreat where the snow fell softly for 48 hours and I curled up with books and wrote and thought and sat and breathed deeply. We trekked through the snow to the abbey for prayers. We dreamed and we prayed and we thought and we wrote, and I'm pretty sure we heard things in the silence. My Christmas shopping is one small gift from finished.The first gift has been given and received. After dinner out with my roommate this evening, we exchanged gifts - beautiful, lovely, thoughtful gifts. And cards. Cards with near-matching sentiments of prayerful care and gratitude for one another. I feel a great deal of gratitude this month, one extended sigh of relief. And yet, as I ponder the concepts of peace and joy, what they mean, and how we live them out, there is much to be somber about. This afternoon I took photos for a family whose baby was not expected to live two months, and now they celebrate Christmas with her. H...

Last week of classes. I feel a bit bittersweet. Like I haven't learned enough to earn any credits. There is still so much that I don't know; I wonder how I will feel at the end of the degree and whether it will still seem like such a tiny fraction of the things that could be known. Next week is exams, and then I'm going to get out of Dodge (Ford) City and have a silent weekend of thought and writing to see what to do with all that this fall has held, in and out of classes. I'm quite excited for a getaway, the friends coming along, and what it means to be together without speaking. No, seriously - speaking is not allowed inside the monastery we're staying at. I've started reading poetry before bed. It helps me unwind and encourages me to think creatively. I am almost finished a volume of Czeslaw Milosz' work that I started 18 months ago. Here is one I particularly liked last night: VOICE It was in hospitals that I learned humility and I walk, liste...

In the past two days, I've had two conversations about young men who seem to hold onto passivity and indecision as long as they possibly can. One of these conversations was with a peer and was about dating. The other was with a mother of a newly-adult-but-still-teenage son. In these dialogues, I proposed two fears that entangle my peers and I, and I would like to hear your thoughts on them. (Now, as I move from the described context into two generalizations about my generation - and subsequent generations - please note that I am not speaking only of a particular gender. Although I do at times grumble about seeing this in my male counterparts, we women are just as prone...) 1. Fear of failure. Of course, everyone is afraid of failure. But many in my generation have been raised without exposure to failure at all. We don't know how to recover from a mistake or a disaster or anything that is difficult . We haven't been equipped with the social or psychological tools to wor...

The light seems more suited for 9pm than 9am, but weather does what weather does, so my dad and I sit in the semi-dark of this Labour Day morning and hardly even notice that we should probably turn on a light. Long weekends are for many things, and one of them is thinking. Here are some of my thoughts: 1. My family is fantastic. We just are. I love each one of them - the sometimes-grumpy brothers, the just-in, jet-lagged parents, the hostess-with-the-most-cutest-baby sister, the in-laws who add so much goodness to our crazy, and of course, the kidlets. Oh, the kidlets. Stop growing, please! 2. I am officially a student. I don't have any notebooks. I don't have any books. I don't even own a desk. But I bought a few new* shirts and I have a schedule of mandatory orientation events this week and then I am going on a retreat with fellow students and some faculty, and then, voila, classes. It's a thing. 3. Last weekend. I'm still mulling over just how much I a...

Earlier this summer, a new friend asked me in an email if/when I first started questioning my faith. This is my response, edited slightly for clarity. I wanted to share it because it is honest but risky, and I want to be honest. I also want to ask you all the same question I ask her at the end... What about you? What's your story? I think my questioning started in high school, when I was 14 or 15. I had a lot of self-loathing; most of it came from the gap between how others perceived me (the good Christian girl) and who I felt I was (someone who didn't understand if or how my faith worked outside of church walls...) I didn't admit most of my questions and fears for years, and at the time I definitely accepted teachings that I don't anymore. The more I've seen and interacted with real life, picked up pieces of philosophy, and come to understand the methodology behind historical criticism, the more I've re-examined my beliefs. Having a friend who loves Jesus ...

Last night, I played ultimate frisbee in the rain. 1 hour and 45 minutes of rain. Pouring rain. Wind too. Did I mention the rain? I am a bit of a rain wimp, and as I stood shivering on the sidelines between shifts, I vacillated between two thoughts: Thought #1: I am winning. I am amazing. I am in the rain and I am not dying. Thought #2: Why am I doing this? Why am I shivering in this cold when I have a warm, dry home? What kind of macabre self-torture am I putting myself through? At the one hour mark, I said to my teammates, "I don't know if I can finish this game." I said the same thing ten minutes later, and ten minutes after that, and then maybe every 30 seconds until the buzzer went. We lost by a wide margin, but I got a ride home and was grateful for the warm shower waiting for me there. --- You all know I'm prone to reflection, and I've been thinking a lot this past week about loved ones who've been sailing rough seas for quite some time...

If you will allow me to point you over to Marc Johns' lovely site where today's art & note say all the right things. Sometimes, I spend so much time listening to everyone else's thoughts that I realize it's been a week or more since I've had a thought of my own. I hope to make some choices this summer that will shift this reality, so that I am listening to others, but also ensuring plenty of space to listen to my own self.

The comment that caught me was this: "We are basically saying, I deserve to buy a shirt for $10. " It was February, and I sat in Amelia & Varun's living room. We were drinking chai, of course, and laughing and talking about many things. Somehow, it came 'round to clothing and ethics. We discussed the desire to do right by the faceless masses involved in producing my (oh-so-fashionable) wardrobe, and the cost of living in southern Ontario. Is it possible to purchase ethical goods on my budget? I wondered. And then she said it. "By shopping at these stores, we are basically saying, I deserve to buy a shirt for $10. Instead of saying, I can't afford so I'll go without, we say, I deserve a shirt that is affordable, so I'm going to buy this one. " Deserve. What do I deserve? I deserve a closet full of clothes. I deserve to purchase 6 new shirts every season. I deserve to look good and pay less. I deserve to have enough clothe...

drafted August 15/2008 I wonder what it is that makes some people pronounce their "short-e's" as "short-i's." What I am referring to is the tendency to pronounce Men as Min, Wendy as Windy, Ten as Tin and so on. My friends who do this come from different origins, have different social circles, and some don't even know each other. Still don't have an answer to this. But I know which two friends I was thinking of when I wrote it. Both are male. Do girls do this too? Who knows. I am probably creating a thing, here.  Related: a few weekends ago I met a couple from Michigan who told me a story about going out for dinner in Washington, and at the end of the meal the wife gestured to her leftovers and said, "Can I get a box?" their waiter looked at her confusedly. She repeated her question, and then he said, "Ma'am, I believe you just asked me for a bax. I have no idea what that is." I find this story hilarious.

“Look at this!” I turn my arm to show her a bruise from yet another random mishap. “Woah! You’re getting pipes!” I’m confused by the genuine excitement in her voice. “What? Really?” “Yeah! Look at those!” I turn to the mirror, flex, and laugh. Maybe not pipes  but certainly less pipe cleaner  than usual. “Ooh, do you think maybe now I can do a push-up!? I’m going to try.” I cannot do push-ups. Not even one. Not even a girly push-up. It’s an ongoing joke in my life. But I kick off my slippers and put my face against the carpet – and lift. I groan, Gnnnnnnnnnn . And I do it. I DO A PUSH-UP . It is measly and it is girly, but it is a push-up. And then I do another. And then, just for good measure, ¾ of one more. How did this happen? I have not been working my arms on purpose. Ultimate Frisbee? Maybe. Probably. What else? “Great game, Beth,” he says, and I look up from the stuck zipper on my coat. “Thanks!” “You’re definitely getting better. You’re faster and your cut...