And another thing...

I have a younger cousing who will turn 14 next week. She's in 8th grade. She's the only child of my mom's younger sister. Aunt S was like a second mom to me while I was growing up, I love her, and my cousin. Via my cousin's MySpace page, I found out what she got for Christmas:

Laptop. laptop case, book, North Face Coat and a LABELERRRR!!!


OKay, I know that this was not a hard purchase financially for my aunt and uncle. But, good grief! Not that it's the same world, but I didn't get a laptop until I bought one to share with my husband this year at the age of 26. I bought my North Face coat for half price at a going out of business sale, and I had to save for a year for it still in college. And, darnit, why didn't I ask for a labeller?

To each his own, but I see my cousin headed for a life of spoiledom. Moreover, what the heck is she doing posting a bulletin on MySpace for all her friends to know what she got? I am from a rural area, I can bet you money very few if any kids got near what she did for Christmas. Sigh.

Why I think I'm probably the worst Christian ever, except maybe for Judas...

Today I had some of the art that we've collected over the course of our trips to Europe framed at Hobby Lobby. (Boy, that sounded pretentious.) I thought the framing guy smelled a little, uh, like a person smells when they don't wear deodorant, or when he's shown a lady like me 5 bazillion different options on matting and all she keeps saying is "I don't know. I don't think that's it. What do you think?"

But, when I got home and started on my little painting project, I discovered it was me who smelled. I had somehow forgotten to wear deodorant. Take away my schedule and all of a sudden personal hygiene eludes me. Now Ben at Hobby Lobby thinks I'm the somewhat ripe smelling and very picky lady of his day. Sigh.

Then, there was this lady. She bought our dining room table, which I had posted on Craigslist. Although my ad clearly states, and the norms of craigslisting clearly imply, that one is responsible for moving and hauling any merchandise, this lady either didn't read it, is used to people doing things for her, or she blatantly disregarded that information. Anyway, she showed up to move her new table, which I had taken apart for her, with a Ford Focus and 3 herniated disks. No friends to be found. And my husband is sick. Oh, and she showed up just as I was washing my brushes from putting the gray primer on the walls from above painting project.

After an acrobatic act proving that the table top (3 feet by 5 feet) will not, in fact, fit in a Ford Focus, and carrying all the stuff myself for her, the lady seems a bit put out and states how her truck is in Joliet, she can't get the table top until Saturday, yada yada yada. Okay, fine, I'll carry the table top back up, you pay me and come get your stinking table top on Saturday.

But, then, she asks, "Can I pay you extra to drive the table top over in your station wagon you said it fit in (30 minute drive one way)?" I said, "No..I'm in the middle of painting and No." We start discussing her coming to pick it up, and I stated that I could leave it in the apartment lobby for her to pick up even if we're not home. She replies, "Well, I'll need your help to load it, I can't put it in the car by myself."

So, now I feel guilty, and unsure where Christian duty ends and good boundaries begin. This lady had no hesitation to ask over and over again for more than was expected, and seemed miffed that a little extra dough wasn't what I wanted to leave my home when I was dressed in my painting clothes with primer drying on my brushes upstairs.

By the way, the primer dried on my brushes, and now our tub is a grayish hue of dried primer. Then I ran the hot water to rinse away what I had scrubbed off, and the shower curtain wasn't closed all the way and my floor and rug got completely soaked.

Now, 1.5 hours after the table lady arrived, I'm finally back to painting. What do ya'll think? Did table lady finding my selfish vein and I should have driven her table top away? Or are my brushes in the tub like my ox in the mire?

Mmmm, Christmas.

Be still my heart...

For the first time in nearly 4 years, we have cable television. No more turning the screwdriver to adjust the picture. We can actually watch NBC...and TLC, and SciFi, and FX, and HGTV, and and....Christmas comes early some years..

It's not you, it's me...

Really. You haven't done anything wrong. I just needed some space. And you, my friend the Internets, aren't the only one feeling my neglect. I'm avoiding real live people, too. And my dissertation, my comprehensive exams, that scholarship application, and so on and so forth. About the only person I haven't been avoiding is that guy in the bed next to me, and my clients. And I'd avoid my clients if my supervisor would let me...

I'm about to embark on what will be the busiest year of my academic career. Because I'm on an accelerated plan, my program is condensed from 4 years to 3 years, plus one year of internship. That means in the next 12 months, I'm on this insane roller coaster ride that is graduate school on speed. Practical and written comps, internship and clerkship apps, dissertation proposal defense, data collection, the list goes on and on.

But, lest I be all doom and gloom, I really do love my life right now. I'm doing exciting things. I'm spending more time with fewer people, friends and colleagues whom are dear to me. I feel hopeful about the future, and tolerant of the insanity of the coming months because of what it signifies...the climax of one of the hills on the journey of my life. The evidence of God's provision is all around me in the relationships, opportunities, and even the hard and rough areas in my life.

So, I'll be around. But, I probably won't have much to say. I hope most of you come 'round from time to time. (Read as: Don't leave me! I promise I'll have interesting things to say in time, and I will come back!)

In the spirit of the joyous nature of the Christmas break I am about to experience, I have been tagged by the Wonder from Down Under, Liz. Let us commence with convivality:

Six Things Nobody Particularly Wants to Know About the Person Who May or May Not Be Responsible for This Blog

1) I sleep with a stuffed gorilla named Alice. Shut. Up.
2) I grind my teeth at night, so I wear this ugly night guard thing to bed. Shut. Up.
3) I'm allergic watermelon. Clear the way to the toilet!
4) I eat cottage cheese with...potato chips! Yum!
5) For many, many years, I wanted to be a primatologist. You know, like Jane Goodall. I still love chimps, bonobos, gorillas, organgutans.
6) I think red heads are sexy. That's why I married one (kinda).

Lament for a break...

5 days off, and I'm drowning in school. And practicum. And clients. And TA work. And graduate admissions stuff. And trying to have a life.

I'm living for Jesus and that massage I have scheduled for Friday.

Hold the wheel and drive. Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there.

Being a UPS driver is what defines much about my father. Daddy always smelled slightly like burnt fuel, cardboard, and sweat. When I think of him, my mental picture is of him in his browns, smiling. He smiled a lot when I was a kid, even if he wasn't always happy.

Those browns were his uniform in most domains of my life. Daddy might have worked seemingly endless days and nights, but he coached my softball team. He showed up for school events. I remember waiting to see him hurrying across the field in that distinctive brown uniform. Hurrying to write out the batting lineup before the game. Hurrying to make it to my basketball game before the second half. Hurrying to awards night. Hurrying to church youth group. Always in those browns.

Daddy was not always an easy man to need. His struggle with depression and his anger hurt me as a child. I got yelled at. Spanked out of anger. Called names. I feared one day his anger would consume him. He'd have a heart attack. He'd die. He'd leave and never come back. He threatened to do any and all of those things at times. It was not easy.

Things got better. Medication helped. Daddy has spent the last several years growing, changing, regretting. Apologizing. Loving. Able to express the side of him that was obscured by his depression and rage for much of my childhood. It has been amazing to get to know the man who is so much like me. I always wondered who I was like in my family. Now I know. I have a father who I can relate to. We are affectionate these days. Like we are making up for those lost years where he raged. That time when my passion, my strong will, and my defiance were intolerable to him has been redeemed. I see his delight in me, my life, my joys, when we talk.

I remember other lessons with him dressed in those browns. Pulling me out to the garage to teach me how to change my spark plugs, change the oil, build something, fix something. He was dressed in those browns at every family dinner during the week before going outside with us kids to mow the yard, or to practice my softball swing, or my brother's jump shot. He even got that high school boyfriend of mine a UPS hat, the one he hated so much because the guy treated me poorly.

Daddy wearing those browns put me through college with a company scholarship. I remember how insulted he was that one year, when I was dating this jerk of a guy in college. Daddy got that guy a job at Christmastime working at UPS, and then jerk guy was too embarrassed to go out to dinner with my family after work wearing those browns. My dad knew what it meant, he wasn't just ashamed of his uniform, he was ashamed of Daddy.

The biggest accomplishment in Daddy's life is his safe driving. When he hit 25 years without an accident, there was a big to do. A company party, a nice blazer, a free vacation. The "Circle of Honor" they call it. I remember every year, my dad perusing the company reward catalog for his safe driving award for the year. The entertainment center in my parents' den. The under cabinet radio sitting in our storage unit, as we have no place to put it. Daddy and the whole family poring over that catalog, trying to choose the only type of bonus he ever got.

And those driving skills have saved our asses a few times. Daddy's skills were the difference between fiery crash and a close call on some family vacations. The way he taught me to drive still echoes in my head from time to time in sticky situations.

Daddy kinda feels like the outsider sometimes. Unlike Mama, my brother, and I, he doesn't like to read or think about big things. He does not think highly of himself. He struggled to finish high school, but his children both have graduate degrees. His wife at times has been a writer, a painter, a minister. Daddy does not see his ability to build over half of our house, or to fix most things as impressive. He thinks he's a dim bulb compared to all the shining stars in his family. But, he has his 27 years safe driving.

Until yesterday. It was a fender bender. The witnesses left, so no one to testify to whose fault it was, and the accident is inconclusive. No one was hurt, thank God. He didn't get fired, but only because he does have so many years of service under his belt. Now, for 12 whole months, one slip up, one ticket, one accident...on the job or off, and he loses his job. And definitely no more cool vacation, no more perusing the catalog. Daddy saying things like, "Driving is the one thing I'm good at, and now I'm not good at that."

I cried when I found out. Not out of disappointment. But out of shared sadness at the hurt, the injury of something key to one's identity. But I can't wait to get home for Thanksgiving. To give Daddy a hug. To tell him, no matter how many years of safe driving he has or doesn't have, that he has one of the most amazing accomplisments of all: that I feel completely loved and honored to have such an amazing man be my Daddy.

I'm so funny...

I selected this photo from my personal collection today as my desktop background. You know what this is?


It's a picture I took of a hungry hippo at the zoo in Budapest, Hungary this past summer.

IT'S A HUNGRY HUNGARY HIPPO!!!!


*I laughed at that for so long. I'm giggling now.

“You should make a woman angry if you wish her to love”

I have been absent from the blog world as of late. I probably have more clear thoughts and provocative fodder than I have had in a long time. However, hard thinking and personal reflection consume my energy in what is an already challenging schedule. Like small children do before making a large developmental leap, I have been conserving my energy and even regressing. I hope this regression is in service of a large leap that will take me over this current chasm in my life.

What is that chasm? It's the chasm of anger. I am full of a raging, seething, permeating anger. I've been making angry mix cd's. Lying on our bed screaming from time to time. It's the type of anger that makes me miss the release of having a sibling with whom to wrestle. My husband (an only child) is confused with my assertion that my wimpish jabs on his shoulder are signs of affection. I want to wrestle someone. I want to hold someone to the ground, and fight against my own being held.

One of my mentors said that it's like God is holding me in his lap while I punch the hell out Him with my elbows and fists, kicking and screaming. "I don't want this! Let me go!" What I'm angry about seems inconsequential, but what is important is that I am angry.

What makes me more angry is the admonitions of Christians not to be angry or to move on too quickly. The implication that my anger is wholly selfish, misplaced, or wrong makes me want to kick people in the teeth. As if anger is something you get beyond without falling completely into it. I'm screaming into the abyss. I'm Zach Braff and Nathalie Portman in The Garden State. And avoiding the anger doesn't work. And turning the anger inward isn't good. I did that for years, and it destroys you. The only choice is to leap, arms back, curly locks spreading behind me, into the full consuming darkness. That. That jumping. That's my faith. Faith that in the midst of shit, God somewhere smells like roses.

Because faith isn't faith if I build a fence around the edge of the chasm, put up warning signs, keep myself or anyone else from falling in. Nope, faith is to keep on walking, fall off the edge, and realize God is still the same. God's the same in the sunlight and in the darkness. And it sounds trite, and that makes me angry. My lack of words to describe it make me angry. That people tell me not to say "Fuck this shit." That makes me angry. That someone is reading this right now thinking, "Aww, poor Nicole, she's angry. I hope she gets over it soon." That makes me angry.

Yet, I remain aware that anger CAN be a sin. One of the deadly ones. Jump into the abyss, but don't breathe the air. Don't let it become your oxygen. It seems key to remember what my mentor said, "God will never leave you, Nicole." And, "I just had the feeling that I wanted to kiss you on the forehead, and give you God's blessing." I imagine this middle-aged black man in his cool metrosexual glasses and black shirt placing his lips on my very pasty forehead, and I almost laugh. That God will tell someone to bless me, this fat fleshy very white ball of being pissed off.

People these days want to touch me. Professors lay hands on my shoulder as they walk by, hands that never rested on me before. And friends want to hug me "just because it felt right." There are deep pools from which I drink, but I have to keep walking. And I can't see the next one. I get oases in the desert. When what I long for is to live on the beach.

Jumping into the abyss is tiring and disorienting. My organs are in free fall, I fear they'll liqueify if I make impact. I'm suspended. There's nothing to do but to fall. Falling too fast to look around and get my bearings. Life flashes before my eyes. I'm still falling...

Soul Making

Tonight we hear more from Alan Jones in his book Soul Making: The Desert Way of Spirituality (1985). Referring to the works of Graham Greene, we find:

First, the believer has an uneasy conscience, and so is incapable of committing atrocities (however minor) with equanimity. Second, the believer identifies with all human beings—the good, the bad, and the indifferent—and thus is an unlikely candidate for totalitarian seduction. Finally, the believer has a certain capacity for disloyalty—disloyalty to existing arrangements, to the principalities and the powers. The believer is not good at the usual excuses. The phrase, “I was only obeying orders,” would stick in the throat of the believer. The Nazi war criminal, Adolf Eichmann, has become the exemplar of this unimaginable obeyer of orders from above. He was pronounced perfectly sane; and, as Thomas Merton has pointed out, “It is the sane ones, the well-adapted ones, who can without qualms and without nausea, aim the missiles and press the buttons that will initiate the great festival of destruction that they, the sane ones have prepared.

Believers reject this kind of “sanity” and choose the kind of craziness that is committed to expanding existing horizons, crossing frontiers, and stepping over boundaries. They don’t believe in abstractions, which are the spiritual weapons of governments. They are suspicious when their “responsibility towards the State” is invoked. Their loving is local, particular. To quote William Blake, they know that those who invoke the general good are often “scoundrels, hypocrites, and flatterers.” The believer is a sort of subversive in the world, one of God’s spies trying to make room for hope.

Amen.

A wise man once said...

...to me today, "God is telling me to say to you, Nicole, "I will never leave you."

God will never leave you.

Today, this moment, this second, all I must do is breathe.

It's a mad, mad world...

There is so much, so wrong about this.

Reading my mind...

that's what Sarah Jane Grey is doing over at Faith and Foolishness:

For some reason, we believe that real graduate students are actually supernatural beings who never need to rest or eat, let alone spend an hour with friends or family, sit down with a beer and a good book, or take an evening away from school once in a while.

What's right with your church?

I have an entire post planned to complement my previous "What's wrong with your church?" post. But, I've been busy. I was probably wanting to rescue people from thinking bad thoughts a little earlier than I should, anyway. But, I had to share this. This video is part of what is right with the church I attend (but didn't this weekend..see previous post).

aMAZEing

Tomorrow and Tuesday are my fall break. I'll be spending those two days writing a psych eval (complete with Rorschach!) and editing that other one I wrote about last weekend. But, because I have Monday and Tuesday off, we were able to get away this weekend. Yay! Two whole days of playing on the weekend, feeling like a part of society that occasionally gets a day away to have fun without worrying about deadlines, clients, students, or whatever else we use to fill up our lives.

It was glorious. We drove up to Chain O' Lakes Illinois State Park. It was freezing and windy, but we rented a canoe anyway! We used only a little over an hour out of the minimum two that we purchased, but it was so great to get out on the water with husband. Last time husband and I were in a water craft that requires paddling, it didn't go so well.* This time it went smashingly. Even at the end (stop paddling means stop, not just one more stroke while we're trying to navigate ourselves close to the shore and the dock into a strong wind) when things became difficult, I did not scream, yell, eat husband's head, or threaten bodily harm. I think this means I'm mentally healthy, see * for an explanation.

After traveling over to a nearby Best Western (Rural Illinois isn't known for it's many housing options within our budget)and a meal at one of those breakfast all day local diner places called The Squire, we were ready for the reason we made our journey: The World's Largest Corn Maze.




Have you ever done a Corn Maze? If not, you're missing one of the quintessential rural expriences in this country. If you have been to a corn maze, how big was it? Because if it wasn't 24 acres and 10 miles of trails and fun, in the dark, then you haven't been to a corn maze. Several years ago, farmers realized that they could make a more viable income by building corn mazes and charging admission than they could by growing and then selling their corn at market. Over the years, most mazes have grown to have concession stands, hay rides, pumpkin patches, bon fires, big potato sack slides. Such setups can take a struggling family farm from barely making it to actually being somewhat profitable. Corn mazes are the domain of the local farmer, not the corporate conglomerate.

We're Corn Maze conisseurs. A corn maze is exactly what it sounds like. It's a labyrinth cut into a field of corn. Some are small (5 acres) but others are much larger (24+ acres). They're always more fun in the dark (flashlight optional, but reccommended) . Sometimes, corn mazes are even haunted with ghouls and goblins, Freddy, chainsaws, and Jason (flashlights not allowed). There are many approaches to navigating a corn maze. If it's haunted, there's usually no map provided, and you wander your way around, being scared to death, until you find your way out. This is a good way to experience a smaller maze. Other mazes provide you with no map, but a set of questions is provided. You'll come to markers along the way that have forks in the road labeled A, B, C, etc. You pick your set of questions on a topic, and then you choose your way through the maze by attempting to answer the questions with each answer corresponding to a particular path. You can typically select easy, moderate, or difficult sets of questions.

Then, there's the orienteering method. This comes with a map, a flashlight, and numbered markers throughout the maze. Each marker has a unique hole punch that you use to punch your map card throughout the maze. This is a great way to experience large mazes. Saturday night, we started in the waning light at 5:35ish. For the next 3 hours, we found our way to all 24 checkpoints, across all the acres and 10 miles of trails. It was 28 degrees F, and only being that cold can make you stand in line for 1/2 an hour waiting to get hot apple cider, a funnel cake, and nachos afterward. Yum-o.

A jaunt back to our hotel, some bad cable, and an uneventful and somewhat boring day in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and I feel refreshed. Maybe it's the rural roads we drove on the way back, the lack of chain restaurants among the places we ate, the canoe, the corn maze, or something..but I feel recharged and that burnout has been staved off a little while longer.

*The scene: Married one year, Clearwater Beach, Florida. Vacation with my parents and brother. Rented kayak on the ocean en route to a small island. Me: very depressed bitchy wife who isn't satisfied with breathing, much less with anything anyone else in the world is doing. Husband: never been in a kayak. While our camera is slowly dying in a puddle of water (what fun that was to discover!) my family is berating me for berating husband like the crazy psycho depressed person that I was. Then husband slips with his double paddle and clocks me in the head. Oh. My. Goodness. I almost cut him up and ate him. And he still loved me. I eventually got my head out of my rear, and via grad school and some good therapy, got a lot better. He still loves me. Hee! Thank you, God, for the wonderful man who is my husband, and for sharing him with me.

With a knitted brow...

I'm trying to learn how to knit. Correction, I'm trying to teach myself to knit. And this isn't easy. If you haven't noticed, I am the type of gal who is low on patience. I'm driven crazy by details. However, I also have a need to create. To produce. And being in graduate school does not feel productive. Graduate school is focused on the big picture, the future, the whole painting. I have a need to scrutinize. This feels like a spiritual discipline, to stick with something that is difficult for me.

See, I've always kinda breezed through most things. If I didn't like it (like math, let's say) then I could do well enough. I could master the material to make the A on the test, but then fail to retain the material or actually master it. I can write well enough to write an impressive paper, without reading the book.

So, with a knitted brow, and only one curse word, I knitted for 3 hours today. I produced nothing. But, I'm not giving up. Nope. I'm going to attend to the details until I get it right. (But if someone wants to pipe up with his or her own story of how hard it was to learn to knit, I welcome it!)

What a weekend...

This weekend I...
* Baked a sweet potato casserole and went to a Rural Psych social.
* Read 200 pages to finish this book.
* Wrote a 4 page book review paper on above said book.
* Read 5 chapters on psychodynamic theory (~150 pages). I still have 50 to go or so.
* Went for a 45 minute walk with my husband.
* Wrote the first draft of a psychological report.(Um, that's 8 hours of my life.)
* Read over 100 discussion comments on the online message board for the class I T.A.
* Forgot to put up a new folder for discussion this week on said message board,
until 3 days later after I said I would.
* Avoided answering emails from those students above.
* Watched the first two discs of Season 1 of Scrubs during meals and before bed.
* Wondered a lot how much longer I'm going to have to do all this crazy stuff.
* Ordered new tennis shoes online.
* Ordered a new ink cartridge online. (See previous unread 50 pages on Psychodynamic
Theory. We ran out of ink, so I couldn't print them).
* Praised God for giving me a husband who does laundry...joyfully.
* Wrote this blog entry.
* Going to bed.

Not dead, yet.

It's the middle of the semester. That week before Fall Break when clients are going off the wall, school is demanding, and friends are having crises. When my husband has to schedule an appointment to see me, and then I end up cancelling on him. That time of year. So, hold your horses, and when I get back we'll have a really good race.

WTF? Files

Is Desperate Houswives in Spanish on YOUR television? Hmm? Because IT IS ON MINE!! *Sigh* Somebody made a mistake!

Need some help...

Oh, the joys of being a TA a many and great. But, right now, I have a task that has stumped me. The prof I TA for is writing a book..has written a book...has a book coming out soon...whatever. I'm supposed to find the original source for this quote.

It is attributed to Oswald Chambers all over the place in secondary sources:
"The root of all sin lies in the suspicion that God is not good."

Any hints on the primary sources? An, I know that it's not from Oswald Chambers' The Philosophy of Sin.

Material Girl

I went shopping today. Please leave all the lame "when your husband is out of town, you go shopping" remarks in your head and not on my blog.

My questions is this: (I assume I'm talking to the ladies, but you never know.) What does one wear with Knee-high black leather boots with heels? I know they'll work with my really long denim skirt and a sweater. But how do I venture into the world of reasonably short skirts with knee high boots and still look more like a therapist than a street walker? Since I got that tattoo, I guess I really have to watch myself. ;)

Advice, please give.

Wal-Mart Joins the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce

My hometown newspaper has a "Sound Off" line where locals (yokels?) can call in and state their opinions on anything and everything. Anonymously. It's low class journalism, and just a bad idea. However, it's there. I'd love to link to it, but my hometown paper has instituted a registration system where only those who subscribe to the paper edition can actually read the online edition. Explain that to me, because I don't understand it. I use my parent's account to keep abreast of the happenings of my small, rural hometown.

Now, ya'll know I hate Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart is evil. It may be no more evil than other stores out there, but I know about the evils of Wal-Mart, so I have to act on my knowledge. Haven't spent money in a Wal-Mart in 4 years and counting. However, I think Wal-Mart is evil because of their labor practices, exploitation of its workers, taking out local business, etc. etc. etc. Click on that big banner at the top of my blog if you want to know more about that.

But, what are all the people in my hometown upset about this week? Well, Wal-Mart Joined the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce. Which, I don't give a rat's aspirin about. It does make me a little giddy, because with the informed yuppie and hippie populations of my generation not using Wal-Mart, they have suffered a bit. Now, Wal-Mart is ostracizing their very conservative shoppers from all across the rural America that keep them in business. Wal-Mart is self destructing. (*Gleeful smile.*) Oh, and Wal-Mart got rid of lay away. That's the final nail in the coffin for some, as well.

Below are the excerpts from this week's Sound Off Line. Now, no making fun of my folk. My folk are rural, but they are smart. They are informed. They are good folk. And the people below, are not my folk. But, reading the comments below will help you understand why I get a little anxious about heading back down South. My favorite comment is in bold.

Wal-Mart was not only in the news in recent days, the retailer also was on the minds of “Sound Off” readers, many of who were critical of two corporaate decisions. First, Wal-Mart announced it was ending its longstanding practice of offering layaway service and then, secondly, that it has joined the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce. Many religious leaders then called for a boycott of Wal-Mart, which also generated comments from readers.

Below are the opinions registered this past week:

Not everyone can get the Wal-mart credit card. Why are they punishing all their patrons? It is not fair, that they want everyone to use a credit card and have to pay their interest rates. They will lose a lot of business.

I think it is a shame Wal-Mart eliminated the layaway plan. Since they are promoting more use of their credit card, they are promoting debt. As if they didn't make enough money already, they want people to pay interest rates so their already fat wallet can grow fatter.

The first thing that caught my eye in Friday's DPA was Wal-Mart joining the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce. I believe Wal-Mart should treat each shopper as an equal individual, but that's a long way from joining their club. It sounds as though the Devil has taken over what a good man once put together, Mr. Sam Walton. My Bible says what is not of God is of the Devil, and the gay movement is not of God. Wal-Mart should go back and read the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.

I just read in the paper where the Baptists are boycotting Wal-Mart. That's good. Now maybe I can find a parking place.

If the Southern Baptists boycotted everyone or everything on its wish list, we all would be sitting at home chained to our bedpost. Please, get off the cross, someone needs the wood! I believe that I can choose where I want to shop or go on vacation. So dry it up, clean off your own porch before up you trash up someone else's.

I would like to know how these churches can get tax breaks when they talk about boycotting Wal-Mart. They are clearly stating a political opinion that should not be part of the church's responsibility. If some of them would have their way, all stores and restaurants would have to be boycotted. Let's see, sale of alcohol, sale of movies R-rated, sale of books that may not contain what they want, etc. So, I suppose people will need to put on burkas and hide behind them to be able to trade anywhere without these people thinking they have the right to cost people their jobs, etc. I believe homosexuality is mentioned several times in the Bible, since the beginning and no one has been able to change it. These are social issues that need to be handled by individuals and the church needs to preach the Bible and let people make the choice from what they hear in the pulpit... It is time to get back to separation of church and state. See the mess the pope has now.

About Wal-Mart helping the gay and lesbian people, giving them money to help pass this thing, I think everyone should boycott Wal-Mart and go elsewhere because they're not for everybody, just the gays and lesbians.

Reading the article about the local Baptists boycotting Wal-Mart shows once again how ignorance persistently rears its head over and over again with these religious groups which claim to not be “gay bashers.” Then what are you? I think the word is bigot. Isn't it? Isn't that what denying people their civil rights due to prejudice is, Baptist leaders? You can timidly call yourselves anything, but it comes down to being full of malice and hate. Jesus would not advocate such behavior. He never mentioned being gay, lesbian or transgendered. This is just personal fear and bias translated by using passages in the Old Testament to do your dirty work. Shame on you all. Your money and you time would be best served elsewhere.

Random notes...

This week, my wonderful husband is out on his own, being a writer, doing writer type things, and hanging out at all of our old favorite Knoxville haunts. That means I have to somehow make extroverted me deal with all this silence, quiet, and being aloneness that comes with a week of married singlehood. This includes such anomalies as making my own lunches, picking up my own dirty clothes from their random flungness on the bedroom floor, and feeding myself and two cats (kibble is for kitties, kibble is for kitties). From this, I've learned that I'm completely NOT ready to be a parent. Not until after graduate school. So, what have I been up to?

Well, I read Meg's great post on productive vs. fruitful. She has another one on suffering that I found pertinent, astute, and clever.

On Friday, before my dear husband left, we went to a hip hop show downtown at the Abbey Pub. Me! In all of my rhythm-lacking anxious whiteness, went to a hip hop show, and I. Loved. It. Please, do check out two great hip hop groups of artists. The other one is over here. If you've ever wondered what my husband looks like, he looks like Adeem, the rapper in Glue. (What a great name for a music group!!!)

I've been reading for advanced psychodynamic class, again, some excerpts from Soul Making by Alan Jones

This is how you have to be--like the dead; beyond cursing and praise, unaffected by the opinions of others.

Silence and a feeling of deadness seem to go together. To be utterly silent can feel like death. And silence is important to both the desert tradition and to psychoanalysis. As we have the the psychoanalyst's role is sometimes to sit with the patient and remain completely silent and apparently unhelpful.

'Stopping the world' is an exhilarating experience. Just for a moment, we have no chioce but to see all our dogmatic and philosophial baggage thrown overboard as we stand ship-wrecked on an unknown island. There we are, naked, stripped of the fig leaves of our prejudices and presuppositions. The believer's world is full of images of this "dying." It is strange how many believers are cuaght off guard, since some for of 'dying in order to live' is at the heard of all the great religions. Yet the really creative and free souls I have encountered all have been shipwrecked at one time or another. They have had their world taken from them and lived to tell the tale.

Last night, I had a long overdue, meaningful discussion about life, family, and becoming a therapist with my friend Sarah. She has the most beautiful hair in the world, and a beautiful spirit that is even better than her hair. But let's not talk until 2am again, okay Sarah? At least not on a school night.

I have also spent time being called out, by my clients. Or A client. Yeah, so ever tried to help another person become comfortable with silence when that's YOUR growing edge as well? It's not easy. Rewarding, but not easy. Said client called me on the fact that I always take a sip of water on my kick ass water bottle anytime I want to be maintain the silence, but am having a hard time keeping my fat mouth shut. Wow, how perceptive! So many of my clients would be great therapists. Many of them are so gifted in this sense of the word.

I've also been doing some psych testing. I'm getting to know the Woodcock Johnson. Written by Dick Woodcock and his colleague Johnson. How many slang terms for penis can you fit in one test name? It makes me giggle. Any suggestions for what a female version of a test name could be?

The greatest compliment anyone has ever given you...

Today, on Eric and Kathy in the morning, on 101.9 The Mix, they were naming questions you should ask every first date. One of those questions was "What's the greatest compliment someone has ever given you?"

I could think of a few meaningful moments to share, but then this afternoon my mom gave me a gift. She gave me the greatest compliment that I have ever had.

"You've broadened my picture of what a Christian is. Your horizon looks much different than mine, and I think that I like the way yours looks more than mine. You see much farther. I look at my horizon, and I see people like Jerry Falwell, and I'm fed up."

Thanks, Mama.

To all of you graphic designers, have you ever been dismayed at the church logos you've seen? Ever think, "I can design a church logo better than that?" Ever think, "Wow, it'd be really cool and effective for a church to use yada, yada, yada for their logo."

Well, then head over here to try your hand at designing a new church's logo. AND...you even win a small monetary prize.

What's wrong with your church?

Since coming to graduate school, I find myself asking this question more often. I've been more than just a little disillusioned with the fact that some very basic theological concepts, the corpus of church history, and other important aspects of the Christian faith were never introduced to me, though I grew up in the Church, with dedicated and faithful Christian parents. I wonder what exactly the goal of our churches, congregations, and church based ministry is if it's not to teach about theology, church history, and how to encounter God in ways that challenge people toward growth.

I sometimes wonder if I'll ever again sit in a church service without a somewhat critical eye. I'm that annoying person behind you who won't sing the lines of the song that have poor theological implications. I'm one of those who leaves angry when we have an entire service on the dark night of the soul, silence, and despair without a single time of silence in the actual service. I am the one that is just a little bit suspicious when the pastor is ALWAYS happy EVERY Sunday. It's the same suspicion I have in life or in the therapy room when someone always has it all together. That's just not reality. How authentic is that?

However, I don't feel cynical. I love the church that we attend these days. I am hopeful for the Church, and I don't want to be estranged from the body in that way ever again. I've encountered a preponderance of Christians who are uncomfortable with questioning, doubt, and turning a critical eye to our human manifestations of church, religion, and faith here on Earth. It's as if questioning who we are and contemplating the flaws of our attempts at being the Church are questioning God, questioning God's perfection or holiness. That's just not the case. In fact, failing to acknowledge and embrace our weaknesses and shortcomings leads to an unhealthy neurotic and narcissistic idealism that leaves us leaning on our own understanding and strength rather that our imperfection leading us to seek God more.

I'm convinced that we all do need to ask "What's wrong with my church?" It's not about criticism. It's not about tearing others down. It's about discernment. It's about an open forum so that disappointments do not turn into seething anger and contempt for the Church or a church. And the response we need to give when we're on the receiving end of suggestion, is not defensiveness. Nor is constructive criticism to turn into merely criticism or our only way of relating to others. There are always naysayers. If you're always the nay sayer, well, then it's a problem.

So, I am asking, what's wrong with your church? Not, "What do you not like?" But what is wrong theologially? What have you or another been hurt by? What's the institutional sin of your church?

Lately, what's been on my mind about the church we attend (and other worship gatherings I've been to lately) is the music. The music which we sing lately has taken on an unbalanced slant toward almost gnostic understandings of spirituality. Gnosticism devalues the physical and earthly world in favor of honoring the spiritual world as better than the physical one. The specific things that seemed especially problematic today were "Cause nothing on this earth is as beautiful as you" and, this one I can't remember exactly, but it was along the lines of "Jesus is like no one else on earth." I thought that the entire point is that Jesus was 100% "like" us, while also being 100% God. But, it's clear that both of these songs have a bit of bad theology going on. Hey, and it's just not contemporary praise songs, but classic hymns as well. Away In a Manger is one of the worst, with its devaluing of the human nature of Jesus.

So, is this a phase? Will my apophatic nature wane when graduate school is over? How do we deal with such frustrations and disappointments and still maintain relationship and love? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Procrastination.

My most recent time waster.

Les Miserables

I'm Jean Valjean!
(No, really.) Some people may see me as a little sanctimonious, but though I care deeply about doing right, I'm not above a little skulduggery in a good cause. Being in touch with my spiritual side doesn't make me an easy target... on the contrary, in fact. Which Les Miserables Character Are You?

Prescriptions in America.

I have a new medication. Having this medication means I'll be less likely to develop all sorts of chronic conditions, including infertility, diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, and stroke. How much? Well, the cheapest I've been able to find so far will set us back $160.00 a month. A MONTH! See, our student insurance offers no prescription coverage. Zip. Zero. And if I switched insurance companies, at this point this would definitely be a preexisting condition that wouldn't be covered for a year, anyway.

I know, check Canada. But to be honest, not having much luck on that front either. If anyone has any specific recommendations, I'd welcome them. Or, you can start the Nicole Medication Trust Fund.

Quotes from Soul Making

Probing doubt is the handmaid of faith. It is my way of entering the Interior Castle. ...the questioning process (by which I don't mean mere intellectual problem solving) itself is a revelation to me of God's gracious way of dealing with us. That is why, as believers, from time to time, need a break with their old ways of believing. Believers as well as unbelievers are in need of conversion. But it's easy to see why this approach doesn't go down too well in our culture. Few would want to be free of either their idolatrous imaginings or their fixed opinions. (p.19)

How am I to be in the world?....How can I be a believer in today's world in such a way that it involves my whole self--my passion, my intelligence, and my allegiance? My question always invites me to return to the desert. (p. 20)

Look! Weep! Live! These three great imperatives from the desert tradition open up for us a way of believing that is life bearing. They shape and order this way of believing so that it breaks us open (walled up as we are in our fears and prejudices) and begins to "make us over." In this process we are born again and again and again. Trying to be obedient to these three imperatives rescues me from the being mesmerized and rendered powerless by the sense of the unreliability of my own private judgment.

The first imperative is Look! Looking means a contemplative willingness to see what is there in front of us without prematurely interpreting what we see. The desert tradition claims that if we look long and accurately enough, the tears will begin to flow. thus the second imperative is, Weep! The fruit of honest contemplation is "the gift of tears"; and the sure sign that our attentiveness has been focused and honest and the tears cleansing is joy. Joy is the fruit of desert patience. Thus the third imperative, Live! (p. 22)

What do we see if we take the time to look? We see disconnection, absurdity, and glory--certainly these are contradictory things. If we look hard enough, we will see a great deal of glory and promise. Unfortunately, our vision is often distorted by our pain and suffering. But we need to look at pain and suffering if we are to see past them to the glory and the promise. There is real glory in a way of believing that tries to be honest about what it sees. This has, at least, the promise of maturity. (p.23)

Free wine...YES, free wine!

This winery is offering free wine to anyone with a blog who is over 21. It's verfiable through a number of sources. Post haste, go follow the directions and get a free bottle of wine. I just emailed to receive mine!

Division of Labor

Sometimes I worry that the division of labor in our household is not fair. During the school year, my husband takes care of most of the house cleaning, bill paying, laundry, and all that jazz. And just about the time that I start to wonder something comes up that is way involved and totally my responsibility in his eyes. Like a car problem. Or an elliptical machine to be put together. Or my new desk and it's million pieces. Or, in tonight's case, a multi-function fax/printer/copier that requires a preponderance of rewiring, new phone line running, and software hijinks. And when I do all of this, and he reads a graphic novel, I realize he has a pretty sweet deal. Until it's time to change the litter box.

WTF? Files

Read. Discuss.

Don't I look Radiant?

I long ago have forsaken the Relevant Media Group and its publications. Even if they publish my husband (or lately, don't publish my husband for various inane reasons), they long ago ceased to be Relevant for me. Then, when they published their women's magazine Radiant, the drivel in it just pissed me off further.

Yes, let's put our women over here in this corner. They don't need to worry about theology, current events, and what not. And, we wouldn't want to make our men worry about those pesky women's issues.

So, why did I go over their way today in the world of Internet? I don't know. Boredom. Needing to veg out after practicum and finding Nip/Tuck a little to dark for my countenance...maybe. Anyway, I am not even going to tear apart this list of "11 Women Changing Our Culture." Well, maybe since you asked...

1. Condoleeza Rice? Wouldn't that article be titled, "11 Women Changing Our Culture Into a Imperialistic Empire of George W."

2. Katie Couric, the woman who Debuts CBS News With First Pictures Of Baby Suri...

3. Angelina Jolie, an actress who has taken two husbands from other women, but claims "I never sleep with married men." Who dresses in rubber, and whom I've never seen in a role that wasn't ultimately all sex appeal and little substance.

4. Melinda Gates. Great, her husband got rich and she now can give a lot to humanitarian causes.

5. Meg Whitman, eh, don't know much about her. She's succeeding in corporate America, although Ebay has been in a decline for awhile. But I'm neutral on this one.

6. J.K. Rowling. Again, she's a good writer. She is successful. But I can think of other writers without penises who I admire a lot more. Try Anne Lamott, Ani DiFranco, or Margaret Atwood? Anyone?

7.Sofia Coppola. I honestly don't keep up with writers, directors, or actors much in film and television. So, I have no opinion on this one. But surely, there are other women out there doing better work than Marie Antoinette.

8. Christiane Amanpour. I don't watch American news. I might could pull off some respect if this lady worked for the BBC.

9. Danica Patrick. I'm sure it's damn hard to be a woman in a male dominated field. But changing out culture? Puh-lease.

10. Ali Hewson. Sure, she's doing good work. But being referred to as "Bono's better half" is a trifling trifling. Plus, she qualifies for the same "it sure is easy to make a difference when your husband is rich" category.

11. Shonda Rhimes. Creator, writer, and producer of Grey's Anatomy? I love that show, but I can't see much positive about what it has to say about relationships, women, or any of that. The women in her TV show can't get their lives straight 'cause they keep swooning for men, who get in the way. And not good ones, but cheating, cold, patronizing ones.

So, Radiant, thanks for nothing.

Advanced Statistics and Research....kill me now!

I'm sitting in Advanced Statistics. And I'm dying. The material and learning SPSS isn't difficult. The advanced concepts of research, I get. But the prof drones on and on and on. And any question, even a simple, "What menu did you click for that?" throws him off for 2 whole minutes. Then he gives a repetitive 15 minute explanation once he gets his bearings. All of this makes me want to poke. out. my. eyeballs. And, I have type like a snail because this lab has the loudest keyboards in. the. world. And SPSS, yeah, don't need to type to manipulate a data set. I'm off to download that pesky abstinence.sav data set. BAH!

Psychology and Christianity, The Care of Souls

This semester, I'm taking some phenomenal courses. (Completely excluding Advanced Statistics and Research, by the way.) The first of those courses is Advanced Psychodynamic Theory and Practice. Before you assume I'm a total Freud-head (I am), let me tell what makes this course so phenomenal. While, yes, this course is grounded in great synthesizing works on psychodynamic theories of persons and therapy, it also ties these theories to the contemplative spiritual tradition in Christian faith.

I know that this goes against the sensibilities of all those of you out there in the world who grew up in conservative traditions like I did. You know, that psychology is evil, all you need to know about people you learn in the Bible, Freud is godless and psychodynamic must be, too, all you liberals want to blame your parents, yada yada bullshit.

But all of that IS wrong. Before psychology commandeered the care of souls, the Church had a large tradition of caring for people, with many of the same ideas that are found in psychodynamic theories (maybe, one day, I'll quantify that statement with a post).

Psychology today, really, truly acts in the role of the Church, doing what the church no longer does. The way in which Christians have preempted cultural expectations and norms has led us as a body (in this nation, at least) to be harried, busy, and in denial of our most basic existential struggles and physical and emotional pain. Especially in evangelicalism, the church is no longer a sanctuary. It's not a place where the world slows. Where art inspires. Where the hurting of the world can convalesce, eat a healthy warm meal, and seek healing in the unhurried structure of a simple life.

Because of this absence of care for persons...for souls...in the church, the only place where one can take a vacation from the world would be one hour in your therapist's office or a psych hospital. Because we, the Church, have bought into the productivity lie, we measure ourselves. And we measure our productivity in breadth, not in depth. In numbers, not relationships. In people, not souls.

Alan Jones, in the introduction of his book Soul Making, sets forth that our one purpose in this world is "to discern our true worth and the One who bestows it." For only after we are loved do we know what love is in order to give it to others. Imagine saying that at your small group. I hope you can, but every small group I've been too would find that laughable. "I'm just trying to discern my true worth and God who bestows it. Until I get that, I'm not really ready to give much to the (insert ministry here.)" Mmm hmm...

I'm just now rounding a bend where I even fill I am full enough to give ANYTHING. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I gave. I gave even when I was empty. I think that along with high school valedictorian, I was trying to be valedictorian of church committees. I had never sought to know that I am beloved, or to know the one who makes it so.

For the past 5 years I have given exactly zero to a ministry on a regular basis. The first two years, I was so confused, depressed, and neurotically busy trying to avoid the still and quiet that I needed that I nearly thought I was never going to be normal again. I feared the silence. It would consume me, I thought. The negative thoughts I believed God thought about me, and the negative thoughts I thought about me would literally eat me alive, I would open the flood gates or the dam would burst, and I feared that I would drown in all that had been held back. The anxieties, the neurosis, the being so damn perfect all the time, the hiding, the everything.

But, being surrounded by others who had stillness in their souls slowly wore me down. I came to a point when I had to decide to let the stillness consume me or lose the hope of sanctuary forever. To listen to all the lies so that I could realize the Truth. I spent the next 3 years listening and learning to be beloved. To exude beloved. To believe that I am God's beloved. God wishes not that I lose another pound, that I make a better grade, that I do one more deed, that I have sex more often with my husband, that I clean my house more often, that I take care of yet one more person. Those have been 3 LOOOOONG years. Painful years. Years of silence, slowness. Of falling back into old patterns, and then stopping and removing myself from them. The transition has been all encompassing. It has involved relationships, friendships, music, art, books, school, some church, family, work, therapy. All those realms both affected and were affected by this transformation.

How did this transformation come about? I'd love to say my church, which was a small part of the puzzle, a reinforcer of sorts. But truly, it was psychology and a group of contemplative Christians who have found a home in psychology and therapy because the Church has nowhere else for them to go. My psychology professors have cared for me more than any pastor ever has. They have pastored me, shepherded me, or whatever you want to call it. But they sat and were not bothered by my messes. They didn't fix my messes, but were compassionate yet firm and truthful.

So, I am beloved. No debating its being tattooed just above my ass. And I'm ready to jump back into ministry. Yet, God says wait. Wait some more. I have more to teach you about Me and how beloved you are. It both thrills my soul and frustrates me. The frustrated part is really just concerned about what everyone else is going to think, because I now would give anything to keep tasting the goodness of God and being his beloved.

Jones, in his book is looking for a creative third way to be a Christian, and so am I. He quotes Walker Percy in The Second Coming:

And if the good news is true, why are its public proclaimers such assholes? And the proclamation itself such a weary used up thing?...as unacceptable as believers are, unbelievers are even worse...[the unbeliever] is in fact an insane person....the present day Christian is either half-assed, nominal, lukewarm, hypocritical, sinful, or, if fervent, generally offensive and fanatical. But he is not crazy. The present-day unbeliever is crazy as well as being an asshole--which is why I say he is a bigger asshole than the Christian. Because a crazy asshole is worse than a sane asshole....the rest of my life...shall be devoted to a search for a third alternative, a tertium quid--if there is one. If not, we are stuck with two alternatives: 1.) believers, who are intolerable, and 2.) unbelievers who are insane.

Let it be so.

My Beloved Tattoo

Sorry for the poor quality. This picture was taken with my cell phone. My tattoo was conceived by me, designed my my friend A, and inked by Rich Kocis at Peace of Art Tattoo in Chicago Heights, IL.

Rich, the tattoo guy, is really neat. He became a Christian 8 years ago, and has been in the business for 7 years. I never expected that when I'd get my first tattoo it'd be by a big burly guy who posts pictures of his family all around his art space, along with a scripture verse on a dry erase board, and with him occasionally breaking out in song alone with the praise songs on the sound system.

The amazing thing is that it didn't seem contrived or hokey, but very genuine. It all seemed very fitting because my tattoo is all about my journey over the last 3 years of my life, and accepting that I am God's beloved, and that God loves me not despite my imperfections, but because they are a part of me, who he created. One song, which I didn't recognize, that played throughout the process was about being God' daughter. Hmm. Quite possibly one of the most bizarrely meaningful moments of my life.

Inked...

Tomorrow...I'm getting inked. I'm all giddy and nervous and excited at the same time.

His fifteen minutes of fame...

I never knew I was sleeping with a celebrity. Check it out here. Scroll down, he's second on the list. And..go vote!

In which I make excuses for not blogging...

I haven't written anything of substance for awhile. That's because I'm thinking about important things that I want to write about. However, I am learning that sometimes letting ideas tumble around up there for awhile is the best policy. I just came home from my first History of the Church to 1900 class meeting. (It's from 6:30-10:00 PM on Tuesday nights, EGADS!)

When I wasn't imagining what my Nazarene professor with the huge beard looks like without said beard, I was contemplating the lecture on the sociology behind why the Christian church persevered through its early centuries and finally became the predominant religion of the West. I also realized that Conservatives are not Evangelicals. And with exponential decline, Conservatives may very well become extinct for many reasons, which I hope to describe to you here one day soon.

Oh, and all this relates to that post I've been promising for awhile on how Narratives are important, and how our faith is narrative, God works through narratives, and therapy, then is narrative, as well. It's in there my friends and when it's through tumbling, and I have some time, I'll try to share it here.

I made him sign a consent form..

*Setting: Our bedroom 11:00 pm last night.*

K: Hey, you wanna read this book before I take it back? It has interviews from the Onion. With people like Bob Barker and Conan O'Brien.

N: Hmm, yeah. You know, Bob Barker was who I always pretended I was married to when we played house when I was a little kid.

K: I officially can't touch you for a half hour.

N: No, no. I think I only like him because I was under the impression he came with all of those prizes. At least I wasn't behind the bushes playing show me yours, I'll show you mine with Megan Metz* like you were. And..and, what were those other girls names?

K: Samantha Stevens*, and Jessica Jablonski*.

N: Umm hmm. What kind of neighborhood did you grow up in? All those same letter name girls letting people touch their va jay jays? We must have a thing, cause Bob Barker is a same letter name, too.

K: Well, that's better than the alternative.

N: What you mean?

K: Well, Matthew Crawford* showed me his penis. See what happens when you don't give your kid a same letter name?

*Names changed but letters preserved to protect the innocent, and the guilty.*

Minutiae of Marriage

Setting: Our bedroom, with two loads of freshly washed laundry dumped on the bed.

*Me, frantically searching the bed, throwing laundry about*

K: What?

Me: Where are they? They aren't here.

K: What?

Me: (now searching the closet and the hamper) My black pants. The ones I wear nearly every day. They were dirty. Where are they? Here they are, hanging up in the closet. Why did you hang them up in the closet?

K: Because they were in the floor. If you put your things away and didn't leave piles of laundry in the floor, then this wouldn't happen

Me: I leave them in the floor so I know they're dirty, or in case I want to wear them...again.

K: Well...

Me: *Sigh* Now my pants are dirty and all the laundry's done. Guess I'll go wash 'em. Why would you hang up my pants? Why?

K: Don't leave them in the floor! I just put them back where they belonged. If not in the dirty clothes, then in the closet. I thought you were done with them.

Me: Okay, the next time I find one of your library books laying around out of your book basket, I'm taking it back where it belongs when you're done with it...the library!

K: Give me the pants...I'll go do more laundry.

Guess that was too high a price.

*************************************************

Next day, after reading this blog post:

K: Why'd you post that? It's silly. Not funny.

Me: I didn't ask for your editorial opinion. I asked if it said too much. Now I have to go post this, too.

Fucks and Rubber Ducks

I recently started seeing a chiropractor. (I have reservations about this too, but I was in pain and it's working. So, pseudoscience, I'm liking you right now.) Today, in the waiting room, four little girls were waiting on their mother to finish her appointment and they were watching a Veggie Tales video about a cucumber named King George(née King David), who has a penchant for rubber ducks.

The Veggie Tales video is described as such by Amazon.com:

King George, unlike most kings, spends most of his time in the bathtub, playing with his favorite toy - a rubber ducky. But George isn't satisfied with just his rubber ducky - he wants all the duckies! The king learns a lesson in humility from his brave soldier Thomas, whose ducky George had stolen. Eventually, George faces his sin and learns that it's always important to share with others.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but Veggie Tales' attempt to capture the essence of the Biblical story of King David is quite off. I don't think this particular set of circumstances in the life of King David were included in the Biblical narrative in order to teach us about sharing. In fact, seems more likely that the story is meant to communicate that some things aren't meant to be shared. Oh, like spouses...

One could argue that this excerpt is about lust or possibly rape, when David takes Bathsheba, the wife of his faithful soldier off at battle, and has sex with her...not that a woman had the right to deny her king in the time period. Or a story about objectifying others, when you can't restrain yourself all for the sake of a duck, er, fuck.

I think I could also make a case for loyalty as the central value, when Bathsheba's husband, Uriah the Hittite, is summoned home from war in David's attempt to cover up the pregnancy of Bathsheba. Uriah then refuses to go home to the pleasures of his wife to demonstrate his solidarity and support of David, his fellow soldiers, and the kingdom. Yeah, how'd that make David feel?

Something inside of me just crawled as I watched Larry the Cucumber act as a pompous king while Bob the Tomato, as servant Louis, sang to him about the wonderful, beautiful qualities of all the other ducks (fucks?) in his collection. This was the portion that activated that "something isn't right here" yucky gut feeling.

Louis: But sir, if I could just jog
your memory, you already have quite a few duckies.

King George: Those are yesterdays duckies.

Louis:
Huh? wh-what these are perfectly good duckies, why most of your
loyal subjects would love to have even one ducky this nice.

King George:
I don't like these, I don't need these, I don't want these any longer.
My affection for those duckies isn't getting any stronger. Just don't say I can't have what I want you couldn't be more wronger, don’t ask me to explain, there will
be pain if you don't go and get that duck!....................Our conversation is over.

Then Louis mutters something about a pie-war, and how he doesn't want to get sent out to the pie-war. Whuh? A pie war?

Oh wait, it gets better. They change the ending, too. Thomas/Uriah notices his missing duck, and while I missed this part, somehow he and King the Cucumber George learn to share.

No death at war, no baby who dies as a result of David/George's sin. The entire story is neutered. And when you neuter the atrocity of this story, you also neuter the sovereignty and grace of God. Because even with the atrocities committed, David is still a man after God's own heart, God redeems David's atrocities. Seems like there were some wise words spoken about this once...Jesus said: “He who has been forgiven little loves little” (Luke 7:47).

God still loves David, not in spite of his weaknesses and failings..but because they ARE David. God calls for holiness because he loves David, and God extends abundant, sufficient grace in both David's triumphs and failures. To pretty up the story, to turn it into some feel good movie about ducks instead of fucks, making up instead of murder, playing nicely instead of passing on a generational legacy of sin and suffering, takes away the power of God to overcome something so literally fucked up.

Now, some will challenge me that this is a children's tale, and what are we to do? Should we not protect our children from exposure to such horrendous things? Well, first acknowledge just how blessed you are that you get to choose what parts of reality to expose to your children.

But, I say, tell the story to your children. At an age appropriate level, but don't change the story. Tell your six year old, David was very bad when he did that with someone who wasn't his wife, but he also lied to his friend, who was very loyal. And he sent his friend off to war to die because he would rather do that than tell the truth.

So, if you think that protecting your children is by insulating them to the point that they can't handle the themes and stories of the Bible is the best course of action, we're not going to agree. Because when given lies and pieces that don't fit together, children create even more frightening fears and imagined threats in their imaginations. The story of David is a story of hope. No matter what you do, even things as bad as David, God loves you! God forgives you!

If we do not engage such honesty, we're giving our children rubber ducks..which aren't very helpful when at 12 someone asks them if they want to..well, you know.

Skydiving

My friend A suggested we do more fun things together this year, not just boring school stuff. Well, she asked me to go skydiving. Have you ever been skydiving? Would you do it? Would you suggest it for me? I'm a little, well, a lot afraid of dying. It's not the skydiving part that I worry about. It's the part where my parachute doesn't work and I get caught on the wing of the airplane and die some horrible death. Yip. That's what worries. Oh, and telling my real weight.

Open Letter to my former classmate who borrowed my book...

Dear former classmate who borrowed my book,

I know that Principles and Practice of Sex Therapy, Third Edition (Hardcover)
by Sandra R. Leiblum (Editor), Raymond C. Rosen (Editor) is a fascinating read. There are even portions in there about body work therapy, which is basically having sex with a person whose job is having sex with people to figure out their hangups. (Remember talking about how this was prostitution?)

I hope that the 15 calendar months and the $80 you saved by borrowing my book have afforded you the opportutiny to peruse the text at leisure. However, regardless of your circumstances and past promises to return it, I really meant my email that I just sent. I really don't want my book moving to California. And despite the juicy chapters on Body Work Therapy, you'll have to get your kicks and giggles by reading other sex therapy books. Try the anatomy one, it's got pictures. Up close ones.

Sincerely,
ME

Theology

My friend Josh L. sent this my way:



This is what happens when you frustrate people for 5 whole years while they study psychology and theology.

Neurotica

Breaking up is hard to do...

I've been cleaning all day. I'm not done yet. Not just a dust here, a vaccuum there type of clean. Nope, I've cleaned the cat's bathroom up and in and out (BLEGH!). Rearranged our linens and towels. Organized our extra paper products. Organized the bathroom cabinet under the sink. Finished unpacking from our trip. Cleaned the oven. All that jazz.

I even cleaned the top of the fridge, where no one in our family is tall enough to see, anyway. But, good thing because my parents are coming to visit in a week or so and my dad's tall enough.

I was so in a cleaning frenzy that I sent hubby back out when he got home from work. Don't feel sorry for him. The laptop, free wireless, and a I-C Honeydew Green Tea at Panera Bread isn't a bad gig on a Friday night, even if you're alone.

Around 8pm tonight I finally took a shower so I could go out and buy a few things I needed at K-Mart. (Bah on you, Wal-Mart). I always like to play a game in my head about what the cashier thinks is going on based on my items. I purchased: Two boxes of tissue, a Rubbermaid Storage Bin, a bottle of shiraz, and a wedding card. I would have guessed that I was anticipating a drunken night of tearfully packing up an old boyfriend's mementos before going to his wedding.

But really, we were out of tissues, I needed a drink to finish cleaning, and the cats are in need of a new litterbox and I'm trying something new for that. Oh, and we're going to a wedding tomorrow, but it in no way involves an ex boyfriend. So, there, cashier boy.

Something rose in me that felt exactly like grief, that throat-closing, heavy longing for the irretrievably lost.

Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. –Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

It's a phone call that you hope never to receive from a friend, especially not on the way to the rehearsal dinner for your own brother's wedding. Phone rings. You answer. Friend, T, crying. You ask what's wrong. "Nicole, S killed himself." S is her older brother, the same age as yours. What do you say to that? "I'm so sorry," I say. We've had the conversation about what this day would look like, God forbid it to come. It plays out nothing like expected.

He did it at my parents house. Why didn't he call me? I told him to call me. He didn't even say goodbye. My dad found him.

I'm so sorry. I love you.

I shouted that he needed help. No one wanted to listen, they wanted to stay in their denial. What kind of therapist am I if I can't help my own family? How can I go back to work.

I wish I could be there to be with you. You live so far away.. Your family lives so far away.. Do you need anything?

I wish you could be here, too. Sigh, why?

I don't know.

There's nothing left to say, T is clearly in shock, repeating herself. Bereft and exhausted, 12 hours after she first found out, thousands of miles away from her family. I hang up the phone. Part relieved that I get to escape from the grief by closing my cell phone, part annoyed that I must stand between my friend's utter loss and my own family's joy at my brother's rehearsal and wedding, part knowing that the overwhelming grief of my friend is chasing me in the down times, when I try to sleep, when I escape to sit, when I think of something that isn't immediate and action oriented.

Aware. Aware I'm being selfish. Aware also that I feel joy for my own brother who has managed to elude his depressive pursuer these many years. The last few years of my brother's life have been successful, fulfilling, joyful, and in pursuit of God. His own pursuer of depression, and my own, was never as unforgiving and relentlessly out of control as S's. Our bouts of melancholic sadness contemplated meaning, searched for purpose. S's gave themselves to bipolar excess. His past few years had been full of divorce, and alcohol, hospital visits, and wringing hands by his sister. It all seems very happenstance, much too random a pattern to who overcomes and who is consumed.

The grief continues for T, with the trip home, the funeral later this week. My heart breaks for her and my heart fears what experiencing such grief of my own would be like. Such fears make me caution my brother and sister-in-law to stay together on their honeymoon cruise, being cautious. Such fears make me say an extra "Be Careful" to my husband as he gets into the car. Such fears threaten to make me not live life, to lose my life to fear of loss.

T doesn't have that choice, the loss and hurt have come. I pray for her, although a believer for a few decades, she hasn't mentioned God, and I'm not going to bring up God's place or lack of it in this tragedy. I'm not sure what to pray for her..peace? hope? relief? God help her is about the only thing that seems to fit. Trusting that God knows more than I of what she needs.

BEST Water Bottle EVAH!

Camille (2007) with James Franco and Sienna Miller

When we were in Niagra Falls, there was filming for a movie called "Camille." A very hot and famous looking man had hordes and hordes of women screaming "Harry! Harry!" We were perplexed, took a lot of pictures because it seemed like we should, and promptly forgot about it during our stay at the Ghetto Inn of Niagra Falls.

A moment ago, I looked up Camille. That hot man? Well, that's James Franco who played Harry in the Spiderman movies. His co-star is Sienna Miller. I'll post some pics later. I saw a movie star in person, eh? I was okay, but Wasp Jerky was overcome with emotion and fainted.

Free Therapy

Watch this video and you may not have to come see me for therapy.

Mr. Apricot shoots you the bird, too!

This is NOT news.

I see your true colors...

I think I'm back to my true colors, I hope.

Church Sign Theology

Guess this church has never heard of like, Job, or Elijah, or David, or Jesus, even.

*Picture taken in Wisconsin while I was on a S'mores run for camp a few weeks ago.

Suburbs: Not All Bad

So, other than our church there is one other good thing about the suburbs: You can have organic produce delivered to your door. However often you desire (we get ours every two weeks), they will bring a box of goodies in the night. So, every Monday night a little fairy leaves us a box downstairs in our lobby.

So, for roughly 25 bucks, we got this week:
1 Head of Cauliflower
3 Bunches of Bananas
4 Nectarines
4 Oranges
1 Head of Cabbage
1 Cucumber
1 Head of Green Leaf Lettuce
4 Tomatoes
1 pkg Cherry Tomatoes
1 Cantaloupe
1 bag Green Beans

We actually meant to cancel this week's delivery, as we've got a jaunt out of town coming up, and we still had a head of cabbage, cauliflower, and a honeydew left from our last delivery. But I emailed up the church to see if somebody needed our extra, so it all works out for good, I guess.

Organic produce...to our door! It's the next best thing to growing your own. Well, I'm trying to do that, too. We have a little tomato plant, two pepper plants, and a strawberry plant growing out on the balcony, but that's not enough to supply much of anything. See ya later, I gotta go eat some fruit.

Ma'am, step away from the computer...

This will be my last post for the day so I can actually go and be a productive human being.

Since moving to the 'burbs of Chicago, we have been blessed to have found a church that has exceeded any expectations that I could have ever had. The entire experience has been incredibly healing in light of some of the wounds I acquired growing up in the SBC. But the church that God sent us to preaches the Gospel, values social justice and reconciliation on local and global levels, puts money and resources into art (including an art school), and has a well-developed and nuanced theology that has enhanced my own studies of Theology at school.

So, we were anticipating quite a large loss upon moving back to Tennessee. In Knoxville, there just aren't any churches that have the same values as those we had found to be central in our church here. So, occasionally, we'd jest about getting our church up here to plant a church in Knoxville, seeing how we're a church planting church. I started praying over a year ago about where God would send us when the time came to go back to Knoxville (the sense of calling to go back there has not waned). But, We had resigned ourselves to finding a church and had already started scoping a few out and asking around about possibilities so we could visit when we were in town.

But two weeks ago, at church, I was having a 'get to know you' convo with one of the pastors who doesn't know me (that'd be all of them...but one). We got around to the fact that we're from Tennessee:

"What part of Tennessee?"
"Knoxville."
"You're kidding me!"
"No, why?"
"Well, we're planting a church in Knoxville."
"YOU'RE kidding me."

Such a gift that I hadn't expected made instant tears spring to my eyes. I had not even said my prayers in earnest, nor hoped that God would answer my prayer in such a fantastic way. But God did.

So, we got introduced to Mark Nelson, the lead guy for planting the church. Every once in awhile I get down and I think of this church plant and I get all giddy inside.

One aspect of being here in Chicago that has bothered me the most is the consuming nature of my graduate studies and the little to nothing I've been able to commit to the Church. Reassurances from many levels have confirmed that I'm spending my time where I need to be, but I was kinda mad at God. God goes and brings us here, brings us to a Church body that has values where my gifts and types of ministry would thrive, where I could serve with those of a like mind and heart, and then tells me, "No"? It just didn't seem to make sense. If I had it my way, I'd quit school and do ministry all day every day at this church, because there are just so many things that match with God's calling, the gifts he's given, and my passions.

But, in some ways, it's making more sense. I'm being aware not to build this up into some idealistic fantasy that will leave me disappointed. Our church here is far from perfect, and so will be the body in Knoxville when it launches. But, to feel as if God is moving and shifting some big things...to see God moving people with vastly divergent lives to one place and to sense that you're a part of it..how could I not be excited?

This long post was all to say that the lead person of the launch team, who is in the area for an 8 week residency training, has a blog. Read up!

The WTF? File

Only churches in the American South would put their money into building a Statue of Liberty replica. This smacks of idolatry. And that's hard core coming from an Emergent. ;)

Wanna see my new desk?

Serious about blogging

Hello everyone. If there's anyone that even stops by anymore. Except for Ninjanun and my husband. Oh, and you, that person in Nebraska. You know who you are! You're faithful, my friends.

As of Thursday, I started a 7 week break from classes and clients. 7 WEEKS! This is the first time in 3 years that I've actually had some sort of break where I wasn't working 3 jobs, balancing grad school, wifehood, teaching, conducting therapy. I'm going to rock the heck out of this!

In light of this break and a fortuitous purchase of a laptop that arrives on Monday, I plan on blogging several events, past, present, and future. Such posts to look forward to are:

1.) A review of our mission trip to Hungary, and the (second annual) experience of being with Christian leaders in Europe, predominantly Eastern Europe. I always learn so much from them.

2.) A review of the long weekend we spent in Budapest after said mission trip, including what it's like to go to a bath and go out the exit when trying to go in the entrance when everyone who works there only speaks Hungarian. Stupid American!

3.) Some ideas I have about community building and what community is. This will include my recent ideas on narrative therapy, telling our stories, and how this all beautifully ties to the fact that God has given revelation through a narrative as well.

4.) My experience of a week of exploring and learning with some of my fellow grad students at camp in June.

5.) Impressions of Canada based on our upcoming trip to Niagra/Toronto/Buffalo.

6.) The hilarity of my brother's Tennessee wedding in a few weeks.

7.) My first ever Cubs game and trip to Wrigley Field.

Oh, and I'm sure I'll post tons about the two rooms a week organization frenzy I'm going to undertake. That started tonight when I bought my new desk at Ikea and started to put it together. Those FREAKING ANNOYING drawings! If they only labeled the top, then maybe I wouldn't have put it on the bottom and spent an hour fishing misplaced hardware out of impossible holes. And maybe one of my drawers wouldn't be crooked. The smiling man in the drawings only taunts me! Taunting, smiling man, you are the bane of my existence.

Grrr! But what is funny is that the hubby would only agree to let me buy the desk with a pre purchase agreement: he didn't have to help put it together! He's either a wise man or a jerk. Let me just say, there will be no stashing of his stuff on/in my new desk once assembled. Of course we sit maybe 2 feet apart in our little office, so his junk bothers me even if it's on his desk! Packrat! (He admits it.) BTW, his desk cleaning jaunt was inspired by my threat to throw things out with reckless abandon over the next several weeks.

Lastly, today el hubby and I rode our bikes to Blockbuster. You may think, "Oh no big deal." If you think that, you must live in some hippie shan-ri-la and not the Chicago suburbs. Riding the 6 mile round trip isn't a big deal, unless you focus on the big ass SUV's, tons of cars, and non functional cross walk signals. Oh, and there are no sidewalks in the parking lot. You've never felt truly alien until you've been an alien bicycle in the parking lot of Jewel.

All things considered, the bike rides to and fro weren't bad. We're going to try to do this more often, as we could go to Jewel, Subway, Blockbuster, Ace Hardware, Baskin Robbins, a bakery, a bank, or Burger King in this one shopping center. Bubble gum ice cream at Baskin Robbins might just motivate me to undertake a quick jaunt on the bike to pick up some brats instead of riding in the car.

Final note, I was forbidden by my spouse to buy anything plastic on Friday night..at IKEA! This is impossible, or near impossible. He mumbled something about living what I preach all the time about the environment. But it's so shiny, and only $1.99, and it has a cool Swedish name. Oh, except I was able to justify a plastic plate cover for the microwave. It was one item where a wooden substitute just wouldn't suffice. And while he may be a packrat, the hubby HATES a dirty microwave.

I'm 42% saved.

Thanks to Sarah, I came across this little quiz. According to it I am:
Emergent/Postmodern
71%
Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan
71%
Neo orthodox
61%
Roman Catholic
43%
Charismatic/Pentecostal
36%
Classical Liberal
32%
Reformed Evangelical
32%
Fundamentalist
32%
Modern Liberal
32%

I think this shows just how wrong this quiz is. I hated the questions, so I put myself in the middle a lot. Eh, what are you?

Muppet Suprise

Suprisingly accurate!

You Are Oscar the Grouch

Grumpy and grouchy, you aren't just pessimistic. You revel in your pessimism. You are usually feeling: Unhappy. Unless it's rainy outside, and even then you know the foul weather won't last. You are famous for: Being mean yet loveable. And you hate the loveable part. How you life your life: As a slob. But it's not repelling as many people as you'd like!

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

Reconciliation...

I know that I've been horrible at updating this thing. I basically have so much to say and talk about that I get overwhelmed when I sit down to type. So, I just don't do it. Also, there has been a hard set of circumstances taking up a lot of my time and energy lately. I'll try to talk about it here.

Although on the web, you'll find the Promise Keepers taking credit for the tenets of reconciliation listed below, they actually belong to a psychologist who wrote a book on reconciliation whose name I'm too lazy to look up right now. However, I don't think that these tenets refer only to reconciliation, but for building any meaningful community.

I will intentionally be vague, but right now I and a few others in my life are desperately attempting to both reconcile and build community with a group of people in our lives. And they aren't having it. There have been accusations, failures on both sides, and a lot of hurt. There is also a good chance that a small subset of us may end up in a position where we end up being the outgroup of two larger, quite powerful ingroups. And we're all Christians...

So, pray. Pray that my actions and those of all involved will be God directed. That we will sharpen one another while finding ways to connect that are healthy and God honoring. Pray that some big changes that need to happen will in fact take place. That we will all be drawn toward holiness. Pray that those involved can hear the intentions of the feelings spoken and work through our own interpretations to truly hear what others are saying.

I believe in God. I believe in His Love and Truth, and that in the end, I will see a purpose to why all that is going down is going down.

Also pray that I can actually leave this with God enough that I can get over my constant anxiety to do my presentation and 20 page annotated bibliography for this class that I'm in, too.


The Call:­ Reconciliation is Mandatory. 2 Corinthians 5:17-21

Commitment to Relationship: Ruth 1:16, 17

Intentionality: Intentionality is the purposeful, positive and planned activity that facilitates reconciliation. Ephesians 2:14, 15

Sincerity: Sincerity is the willingness to be vulnerable, including self- disclosure of feelings, attitudes, differences and perceptions, with the goal of resolution and building trust. Reconciliation involves Trust and Transparency John 15:15

Sensitivity: Sensitivity is the intentional acquisition of knowledge in order to relate empathetically to any diverse situation, person, place or organization.
Key issue ­ Reconciliation involves Knowledge and Understanding. Ephesians 4:15, 16

Sacrifice: Sacrifice is the willingness to relinquish an established status or position to genuinely adopt a lesser position in order to facilitate diverse relationships. Key issue ­ Reconciliation will Cost Philippians 2:3, 4

Empowerment: Empowerment is the use of repentance and forgiveness to create complete freedom in diverse relationships. Key issue ­ Reconciliation involves Repentance and Forgiveness. 2 Corinthians 8:9

Interdependence: Interdependence recognizes differences but realizes that each offers something that the other needs, resulting in equality in the relationship.
Key issue ­ Reconciliation involves Equality 2 Corinthians 8:13, 14

That's not mine, it's urine.

Today, I uncovered one of the most disgusting discoveries known to man. *Cue wavy flashback lines*

On Sunday, we do laundry. Well, my husband does the laundry (and cleans the house on occasion...that was a 3 year battle worth fighting ;) ). One of my shirts had gotten grease on it when we put together our new elliptical machine. The grease didn't come out in the wash, so he soaked it with bleach in the sink of the spare 1/2 bath. The one where the cat litter boxes are kept.

So tonight, I come home and it smells so distinctly like cat urine in our house, that I'm almost gagging. I start to step into the bath to spritz our ineffective oust sprayer, and there's my shirt in the sink. I think, "Oh yeah, my shirt that had the grease stain." Then I notice my white shirt is YELLOW. Cat Pee yellow, to be exact. I think, "Maybe it's just bleach that yellowed it. Let me do a very wary preliminary sniff."

It wasn't the bleach. Most. disgusting. moment. of. the. year.

Coveting prayer...

Lol, what a silly term, "coveting prayer." Anyway, I do ask you to pray for me as I have a big meeting Monday with my supervisor. Although she isn't aware of it yet, I am going to challenge the fact that the learning contract for my placement says 720 hours for next academic year. In fact, I refuse to sign on for that many hours. I am only required to do 300 hours to pass, and 400 average per year over three years in order to graduate. I already did nearly 800 hours for this placement last year, and I absolutely refuse to drive myself to insanity again. I also know better than to sign agreements that I cannot fulfill. With my dissertation research going on, and a full load of huge ass classes, including one of the hardest theology courses, I don't see myself having time to do that many hours even if I WANTED to.

So, worst cast scenario, they tell me to hit the road, months after all the other practicum spots are filled, leaving me with a black mark from an agency that takes only students from our school. Hm, that's probably not a very good thing. This could be big time stuff, people. I TA for the director of the clinic, which makes this much much messier. Oh my.

Sigh, damn my therapist for teaching me to say no.