I hate moving. I did it about eighteen times in thirteen years, and developed an absolute abhorrence for packing and hauling boxes. Hate, hate, hate. That said, I think I'm moving.
I went looking for a house for a new program we're starting at church. I found a great house, that is actually two flats. The upstairs one is the perfect size for the program. The downstairs one is, as it turns out, really great for me and my roommate. I've toyed with the idea of moving, because my current apartment is roughly the size of a shoebox and is kind of falling apart. But since I hate moving, I've kind of let it slide.
Well, I think I'm moving. Pros: more space, better neighborhood, off-street parking, nicer apartment, big porch, closets. Cons: moving, living downstairs from the people I'll be supervising. I'm determined not to become the house mother. It should be interesting.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Roadtrip Revelations
Have you ever had a revelation that you are completely screwed up?
This happened to me last night as I was driving home from a concert in NYC. To be fair to myself, the revelation was not that I am totally screwed up in all aspects of my life. Just one, really. Maybe more...but those have yet to be revealed to me. Anyway. Two things happened during this trip that caused the revelation.
The first is that I was sitting at a table outside a taqueria in Soho, chowing down on the best taco I have ever had in my life. Spit-grilled pork, in case you're curious. I had my mouth full of drippy taco when this guy I sort of know walked by. The reason I sort of know him is that a mutual friend tried to fix us up ages ago. He's great. We got along swimmingly. But then scheduling proved to be a problem, and we both decided to just let it drop. I ran into him again recently, and something sparked - even more than four years ago. We made plans to get in touch with each other in August, when allegedly, both of our lives will become slightly less hectic (ha). So you'd think that, when I see this person randomly walking down Bleecker St., and I am even more randomly (since he actually lives near there, and I do not) sitting there eating a taco, I would, you know, say something. But I did not, because I could not imagine the indignity of shouting at him, or even worse, running down the street after him to get his attention.
Because I am always the paragon of dignity, right?
So, I let him pass by, and it's fine. I'll see him again, or I won't, and life will go on. But there's the thing that left me kicking myself later. On most levels, I really am kind of laissez-faire about the whole thing, and float through life telling myself that it doesn't matter to me whether I am ever in a functional relationship. But it kind of does, or at least it matters that I would be able to be in one if the right someone ever came along. And the "what is meant to happen will happen" philosophy is great, until it possibly walks down the sidewalk in front of you and you just watch it go by because you're worried about...what? Some stranger seeing you be slightly idiotic? Whatever. So, I was irritated at myself, not necessarily even over this particular person, but over my complete unwillingness to take any kind of risk when it comes to my own love life.
Then I went to this concert. I know the band. I have a complex relationship with one of the members of the band. I have absolutely no hesitation when it comes to flirting shamelessly with him, asking him to do things for me, and generally demanding his attention. The complex part of this is that he's completely unavailable. Usually I don't find this to be a problem. We just are how we are, and I enjoy that little happy rush I get when I see him, even if that's as far as it's ever going to go.
But I was thinking about this on the way home, and about how much I am willing to put myself on the line in various situations, and I realized that I really only put myself out there, and that I'm really only honest, with men who are in some way unavailable. They have girlfriends or wives or live in other states or countries or are gay. That's when I'm comfortable, because I know what the final result will be. I'm willing to risk being honest with my feelings because it's not really a risk. If the relationship doesn't go anywhere, it's not because they weren't interested in what I put out there; it's because they were unavailable to begin with.
I also don't have to worry about someone genuinely wanting to be part of my life, which might force me to change some things. I like change in theory, I like it in church, and I really like it when it happens to other people. But I have built my life very carefully, especially the part of it that involves not depending on anyone else to be there for me. The idea of wanting someone else there, or God forbid needing them there, scares the crap out of me. As I drove home from the concert - alone, as usual - I wondered if I am even capable of having someone around that much. I have no idea; I've always kept my distance.
The irony of this is that I do a ton of weddings and spend a huge amount of time listening to people talk about their relationships and helping them work through issues. I'm really good with other people's relationships. Which of course makes me see all the more clearly how awful I am at my own. I'm not really sure what to do about that, because it also involves all these other factors, like my ridiculous schedule and the lack of interesting prospects. I guess for now I'll just be screwed up, but hey, at least I'm self-aware about it.
This happened to me last night as I was driving home from a concert in NYC. To be fair to myself, the revelation was not that I am totally screwed up in all aspects of my life. Just one, really. Maybe more...but those have yet to be revealed to me. Anyway. Two things happened during this trip that caused the revelation.
The first is that I was sitting at a table outside a taqueria in Soho, chowing down on the best taco I have ever had in my life. Spit-grilled pork, in case you're curious. I had my mouth full of drippy taco when this guy I sort of know walked by. The reason I sort of know him is that a mutual friend tried to fix us up ages ago. He's great. We got along swimmingly. But then scheduling proved to be a problem, and we both decided to just let it drop. I ran into him again recently, and something sparked - even more than four years ago. We made plans to get in touch with each other in August, when allegedly, both of our lives will become slightly less hectic (ha). So you'd think that, when I see this person randomly walking down Bleecker St., and I am even more randomly (since he actually lives near there, and I do not) sitting there eating a taco, I would, you know, say something. But I did not, because I could not imagine the indignity of shouting at him, or even worse, running down the street after him to get his attention.
Because I am always the paragon of dignity, right?
So, I let him pass by, and it's fine. I'll see him again, or I won't, and life will go on. But there's the thing that left me kicking myself later. On most levels, I really am kind of laissez-faire about the whole thing, and float through life telling myself that it doesn't matter to me whether I am ever in a functional relationship. But it kind of does, or at least it matters that I would be able to be in one if the right someone ever came along. And the "what is meant to happen will happen" philosophy is great, until it possibly walks down the sidewalk in front of you and you just watch it go by because you're worried about...what? Some stranger seeing you be slightly idiotic? Whatever. So, I was irritated at myself, not necessarily even over this particular person, but over my complete unwillingness to take any kind of risk when it comes to my own love life.
Then I went to this concert. I know the band. I have a complex relationship with one of the members of the band. I have absolutely no hesitation when it comes to flirting shamelessly with him, asking him to do things for me, and generally demanding his attention. The complex part of this is that he's completely unavailable. Usually I don't find this to be a problem. We just are how we are, and I enjoy that little happy rush I get when I see him, even if that's as far as it's ever going to go.
But I was thinking about this on the way home, and about how much I am willing to put myself on the line in various situations, and I realized that I really only put myself out there, and that I'm really only honest, with men who are in some way unavailable. They have girlfriends or wives or live in other states or countries or are gay. That's when I'm comfortable, because I know what the final result will be. I'm willing to risk being honest with my feelings because it's not really a risk. If the relationship doesn't go anywhere, it's not because they weren't interested in what I put out there; it's because they were unavailable to begin with.
I also don't have to worry about someone genuinely wanting to be part of my life, which might force me to change some things. I like change in theory, I like it in church, and I really like it when it happens to other people. But I have built my life very carefully, especially the part of it that involves not depending on anyone else to be there for me. The idea of wanting someone else there, or God forbid needing them there, scares the crap out of me. As I drove home from the concert - alone, as usual - I wondered if I am even capable of having someone around that much. I have no idea; I've always kept my distance.
The irony of this is that I do a ton of weddings and spend a huge amount of time listening to people talk about their relationships and helping them work through issues. I'm really good with other people's relationships. Which of course makes me see all the more clearly how awful I am at my own. I'm not really sure what to do about that, because it also involves all these other factors, like my ridiculous schedule and the lack of interesting prospects. I guess for now I'll just be screwed up, but hey, at least I'm self-aware about it.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
On the Anniversary of My Ordination
Today marks eight years since my ordination. Eight is sort of an in-between number, so the day will not be celebrated with a new tattoo or a trip to far-off lands or anything terribly exciting. Appropriately, I am spending most of today working like a maniac. Both of my colleagues are gone, so I'm preparing to preach and liturgize on Sunday and covering the pastoral visits, as well as coordinating volunteers for a summer lunch program, scrambling for details for our next mission trip, finding a house for our new long-term volunteer program, finalizing positions for said volunteer program, booking a church trip to Israel for fall of 2012, and doing all the other things that I usually do. It's getting a little nuts around here. Tonight I am going to play a gig at a local bar, if I don't fall over from exhaustion first. It's a good anniversary.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
And then I went away for about a month
I had all the best intentions of blogging while I was away. I mean, surely I would have interesting things to say while I was at General Synod for a week and then roaming around Europe for the next three weeks. And sure enough, I did have interesting things to say. What I didn't have was time or consistent internet access or the desire to spend my vacation blogging instead of actually vacationing. So, time for a bit of catch-up.
General Synod. This was about my tenth GS, and although I enjoy it, I might be getting a little blase about the whole thing. By the time you've been there a few years, you come to understand that the schedule is crazy grueling, and that in order to survive, you have to determine for yourself how to make time so as to not go insane or fall onto the floor in a heap. This year I was wearing multiple hats as a regular delegate, commission moderator, and member of a special advisory committee on church geekery (I mean, church order and governance), so I did a lot of multitasking to get everything done. I also skipped things that I knew would irritate me or waste my time.
In case you are a future GS delegate thinking, "Wonderful, I can just skip the things that bore me!" stop right there. Things that involve voting are never optional. Reports that are part of the actual meeting are not optional. Morning worship services in which God is referred to exclusively in antiquated, male language by a preacher who wants you to believe that he stands around acting like a tree on a regular basis - those are optional. The "ecumenical" meal where people of our own denomination talk at great length about how great ecumenical relationships are while the only member of another denomination present nods politely - also optional. I think I am going to write a guide to GS sometime, in all my spare time.
In the midst of all of this, I was also nominated for VP of the denomination. The way this works is that you become VP for a year and then pretty much automatically become president. I should not have been surprised to be nominated; I sort of thought I might be before I got there. But when it happened, it was a little odd. I was the only woman and a good twenty or thirty years younger than all the other nominees. Anyhoo, I was not elected, which isn't such a bad thing. I have a lot of years to get there if that's somewhere I'm headed. More upsetting to me was that one of the other candidates didn't get it, as I thought he would be fabulous. But the GS seems to try to balance itself, and this year we have a president who is female and eastern (i.e., suspected of liberalism, although she is not really a liberal at all), so clearly we needed to have a midwestern white man who could not possibly be less threatening to the status quo. Nice guy, and I'm sure he'll be fine, but...sigh.
And this is where my multitasking and my tendency to opt out of certain events bites me in the derriere. The people at the table behind me were apparently quite shocked that I was nominated, as I clearly "have no focus" and am "always late." These descriptions were a mystery to me, until I realized that they had no way of knowing that my fairly constant flipping from one screen to another on my computer and dashing back and forth from the staff table to my own seat are usually legitimate GS-related stuff, or that I'm late because I have six other meetings to attend, or that I have the detailed daily schedule and have read the workbook so throughly that I'm quite aware of when I need to be paying 100% attention and when I can take a moment to deal with something else.
And now I am out of blogging time and must go to a meeting. More on my month away later.
General Synod. This was about my tenth GS, and although I enjoy it, I might be getting a little blase about the whole thing. By the time you've been there a few years, you come to understand that the schedule is crazy grueling, and that in order to survive, you have to determine for yourself how to make time so as to not go insane or fall onto the floor in a heap. This year I was wearing multiple hats as a regular delegate, commission moderator, and member of a special advisory committee on church geekery (I mean, church order and governance), so I did a lot of multitasking to get everything done. I also skipped things that I knew would irritate me or waste my time.
In case you are a future GS delegate thinking, "Wonderful, I can just skip the things that bore me!" stop right there. Things that involve voting are never optional. Reports that are part of the actual meeting are not optional. Morning worship services in which God is referred to exclusively in antiquated, male language by a preacher who wants you to believe that he stands around acting like a tree on a regular basis - those are optional. The "ecumenical" meal where people of our own denomination talk at great length about how great ecumenical relationships are while the only member of another denomination present nods politely - also optional. I think I am going to write a guide to GS sometime, in all my spare time.
In the midst of all of this, I was also nominated for VP of the denomination. The way this works is that you become VP for a year and then pretty much automatically become president. I should not have been surprised to be nominated; I sort of thought I might be before I got there. But when it happened, it was a little odd. I was the only woman and a good twenty or thirty years younger than all the other nominees. Anyhoo, I was not elected, which isn't such a bad thing. I have a lot of years to get there if that's somewhere I'm headed. More upsetting to me was that one of the other candidates didn't get it, as I thought he would be fabulous. But the GS seems to try to balance itself, and this year we have a president who is female and eastern (i.e., suspected of liberalism, although she is not really a liberal at all), so clearly we needed to have a midwestern white man who could not possibly be less threatening to the status quo. Nice guy, and I'm sure he'll be fine, but...sigh.
And this is where my multitasking and my tendency to opt out of certain events bites me in the derriere. The people at the table behind me were apparently quite shocked that I was nominated, as I clearly "have no focus" and am "always late." These descriptions were a mystery to me, until I realized that they had no way of knowing that my fairly constant flipping from one screen to another on my computer and dashing back and forth from the staff table to my own seat are usually legitimate GS-related stuff, or that I'm late because I have six other meetings to attend, or that I have the detailed daily schedule and have read the workbook so throughly that I'm quite aware of when I need to be paying 100% attention and when I can take a moment to deal with something else.
And now I am out of blogging time and must go to a meeting. More on my month away later.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Harried and Horsewhipped
Whose idea was it for me to spend a week at our annual denominational assembly and then immediately take a group of church people to another country the day after I get back? Whoever it was is completely disturbed.
Seriously, it wasn't me. A lot of things that have always happened the same week of every year shifted this year. I planned the church trip thinking I'd have a week between my travels. Not so! So, I am trying to read the workbook for our assembly, and prepare the two reports I have to give while I'm there, and also get together my folder of travel documents and make last-minute arrangements for our group in Scotland. Did I mention I also have two weddings this weekend and am preaching on Sunday morning? Yes, folks, this week is a fun one.
So why am I wasting time blogging, you ask? Avoidance and procrastination, plain and simple. I'm going to go write a sermon now.
Seriously, it wasn't me. A lot of things that have always happened the same week of every year shifted this year. I planned the church trip thinking I'd have a week between my travels. Not so! So, I am trying to read the workbook for our assembly, and prepare the two reports I have to give while I'm there, and also get together my folder of travel documents and make last-minute arrangements for our group in Scotland. Did I mention I also have two weddings this weekend and am preaching on Sunday morning? Yes, folks, this week is a fun one.
So why am I wasting time blogging, you ask? Avoidance and procrastination, plain and simple. I'm going to go write a sermon now.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
I've been reduced from actual writing to lists
Yesterday I:
- wrote about half of a sermon
- ran three miles in steel-melting heat
- interviewed a candidate for a new position at church
- wrote employment offer letters to approved candidates
- visited two patients in two different hospitals
- had the weekly meeting with my ministerial colleagues
- sorted out a wedding crisis
- made arrangements to cover some of my programs while I'm jaunting around Europe
- helped lead a class on the Bible and homosexuality
- watched game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals
- got irritated at Luongo's tendency to freeze, Vigneault's tendency to keep him in the net too long, and the Canucks' tendency to play a game or two of each playoff series as though they are peewees
- spent some time on the Vortex patio with my peeps
- did laundry
- helped a friend respond to the bat that flew out of her closet at 3am.
Yesterday I did not:
- wash any of the stack of dishes that is taking over the kitchen
- put away the pile of clothes that keeps eating more of my bedroom floor
- go home at a responsible time
- write a wedding sermon
- realize that I have only one wedding this weekend, not two
- get enough sleep.
I am tired. That is all.
- wrote about half of a sermon
- ran three miles in steel-melting heat
- interviewed a candidate for a new position at church
- wrote employment offer letters to approved candidates
- visited two patients in two different hospitals
- had the weekly meeting with my ministerial colleagues
- sorted out a wedding crisis
- made arrangements to cover some of my programs while I'm jaunting around Europe
- helped lead a class on the Bible and homosexuality
- watched game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals
- got irritated at Luongo's tendency to freeze, Vigneault's tendency to keep him in the net too long, and the Canucks' tendency to play a game or two of each playoff series as though they are peewees
- spent some time on the Vortex patio with my peeps
- did laundry
- helped a friend respond to the bat that flew out of her closet at 3am.
Yesterday I did not:
- wash any of the stack of dishes that is taking over the kitchen
- put away the pile of clothes that keeps eating more of my bedroom floor
- go home at a responsible time
- write a wedding sermon
- realize that I have only one wedding this weekend, not two
- get enough sleep.
I am tired. That is all.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
How to Say the Right Thing
A young man from my former congregation is in the hospital with some unidentified but critical condition that is shutting down his organs in rapid progression. He was the twelve year-old who sat next to me at dinner during my interview and was thrilled that I remembered his name. He was the eighth-grader in my first confirmation class, laughing so hard around my dining room table that we spit out our popcorn. He was the teenager who mowed my lawn and adored my dog and moaned about school. He's the kid who kept in touch after I left, who chats with me on Facebook, who I stop by to see when I notice that he's working when I drive past his job. Now he's a nineteen year-old in a hospital bed with clammy, blueish skin, tubes running everywhere, his chest still cracked open under the blankets. They don't know what's causing all of this. They don't know if they can do anything. His parents are, understandably, a wreck. I'm not doing so hot either.
It is in times like this that I realize that I do not say the things that pastors are supposed to say. I'm not even entirely sure what they are, but I feel like I should be saying comforting things about faith and how God will make it all turn out alright and so on. But I can't. I have no idea if God will make it turn out alright. He might die, and it will not be alright for them if that happens. He may come out of this but have severe brain damage or other problems, and that won't really be alright either. Maybe in some greater cosmic sense it will be alright, and one way or another they will get through whatever it turns out to be, but I can't look them in the eye and in good conscience tell them that things will be anything approximating fine. All I can say with confidence is that God is somewhere in this, deeply loving all of them. But even that falls pretty flat when you're looking at your kid and the doctors are telling you he might not make it.
I'm probably supposed to be able to say something else about all of this, but I haven't figured out what that is yet. I might be a bad pastor because I don't know what that is. I don't know, I seem to do better with kids and non-church people. Kids don't have expectations about what a pastor should say, so they just respond to people being real with them. Non-church people often aren't big fans of the typical platitudes anyway, so my lack of answers works for some of them. But this pastoral care for church people thing, man, I don't know. Not really my gift.
It is in times like this that I realize that I do not say the things that pastors are supposed to say. I'm not even entirely sure what they are, but I feel like I should be saying comforting things about faith and how God will make it all turn out alright and so on. But I can't. I have no idea if God will make it turn out alright. He might die, and it will not be alright for them if that happens. He may come out of this but have severe brain damage or other problems, and that won't really be alright either. Maybe in some greater cosmic sense it will be alright, and one way or another they will get through whatever it turns out to be, but I can't look them in the eye and in good conscience tell them that things will be anything approximating fine. All I can say with confidence is that God is somewhere in this, deeply loving all of them. But even that falls pretty flat when you're looking at your kid and the doctors are telling you he might not make it.
I'm probably supposed to be able to say something else about all of this, but I haven't figured out what that is yet. I might be a bad pastor because I don't know what that is. I don't know, I seem to do better with kids and non-church people. Kids don't have expectations about what a pastor should say, so they just respond to people being real with them. Non-church people often aren't big fans of the typical platitudes anyway, so my lack of answers works for some of them. But this pastoral care for church people thing, man, I don't know. Not really my gift.
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