Food Tastes Better With the Windows Open

We ate with the windows open, and the food tasted better. I used to think this is something everyone realized but I'm less convinced this is true. One of the best parts of growing up in Michigan was the rhythm of the seasons changing. Can't imagine life without the ebb and flow. It's shaped my memories and spirituality.

There are things you do in particular seasons and ways you eat. Without even thinking, I think my body knows subconsciously what to do or at least is draw toward certain things. People who live in Arizona during the spring well, I'm pretty sure they don't think the food taste better with the windows open. They're already hot (or so I'm told). So air-conditioning has already come on. Can you imagine-air-conditioning in May?

Me either. But Dave, he thinks this is normal. Pretty much, we've agreed to disagree, I roll the windows down as far as they go & throw back the sun roof while he turns on the air-conditioning. In MAY, he turns it on in MAY. (*Caps for level of ridiculousness).

Tonight, I had an epiphany. I've been struggling through a season of life that didn't turn out the way I thought it would. Of course, my prayers have been filled with requests for God's help to see straight through my muddled thoughts and despair. Tonight (really this weekend as well), I started to see a clearing. While this season hasn't been full of next steps towards vocational fulfillment or getting much closer to building the family we hope we'll have some day, it's been full of some awesome people. For starters, Dave-(the weird air-conditioning guy), my pregnant sister (who've I've gotten to see more this year than any of the last 5 years), my family and well a few other amazing folks.

One of the ways they say we fail to see God, is "wrong vision". It's talked about in scripture too about how the people will never really be able to see God. Sometimes it talks about how God is a part of making this true and well, I don't understand that part at all. However, I am very guilty of wrong vision on a fairly regular basis. I wish it didn't take begging and pleading to start to begin to see right again but sometimes it seems to.

I'm not sure where things will go from here but my food is tasting better and hopefully, I may be able to see a little more clearly each day....May God have mercy and teach me to trust again....

*I saw this video tonight after listening to this song on Pandora. This is worth watching.

The Gift of Imperfection

I didn't come up with this title, I stole it from a book written by Brene Brown. In her book she provides insight as to how we can actually go about embracing our imperfection. I've read this book at least two times. Both, around the wintry season. 

No matter how many times it's been digested, the book still gets to me. In summary, Brown encourages us all to embrace our imperfections and realize these parts about ourselves which we often try to hide are often the sticky tack which connects us to all the other humans around us. We don't want it to be this way, at least I don't. It's much more attractive to think our shiny parts and brushed (and flossed) teeth do the trick. 

Yesterday, I was talking to a dear friend over the phone, for some reason (mostly because she knows my ugly parts already) I found myself telling her about two incidents in which I left the house less than fully clothed. Once in a see through shirt and once in my skirt leggings instead of my work out pants. Shared laughter erupted as our collective wardrobe malfunctions tickled our funny bones. Turns out, she had similar days even this very week. 

Sticky tack-like stories, connect us a little more. Reduce our isolation. Make us breathe easier and settle into ourselves. Yoga instructors would be proud of me if they knew what I did (when I told my see-through shirt story), they're always teaching me to "spread my sit bones" and realize my oneness with the Earth. Of course, it's much easier to tell a funny story on myself to a close friend than it is to really "spread my sit bones" in any yoga class. 

Some yogis find this lotus pose relaxing because they actual practice this pose more than when they hit up the $5 Friday night Yoga special. Practicing getting comfortable with our imperfections, our see-through shirt moments must be more than a once a day gig. One time, in the heat of an argument, I reminded my husband Dave about how things would go better in life for him if he laughed at himself more often. Still working to take my own advice. Day-by-day, imperfection noticed and embraced one-by-one....I'm getting closer.  Writing and posting this blog (without intense editing) is one way I'm embracing... Enjoy. 

Leveling the playing field

Topic: Advent

Writing location: Central Library

Joy spotted: As people relax, read, reflect and enjoy a warm, calm, orderly environment on the 3rd floor of the Central Library

Leveling of the playing field spotted: All sorts of people are here, from different social and economic realities and everyone seems as if they feel welcome

A place where I always feel as if the reality and the kingdom come is actually accessible: the library. Folks are welcome and seem to continually be welcomed, day-in-day out. The line outside the building each morning could be mistaken for the food kitchen line. It looks rather the same.

Except, it seems to me people are treated here with more dignity and respect than most food lines I've experienced. No one has the "you better not act crazy in here" look on their face been you walk in.

Each person is welcomed and greeted with respect.

Might the "do-gooders" and food kitchen servers come here for training? It may be helpful. And, free. 

Pink tights & Placentas

My dad, the writer, English teacher, artist, educator, dedicated father, husband and friend wrote (upon my request) about "kavod". Those moments in his life when he sensed, there was indeed an Other-invested Creator and Friend. Strangely enough, my birth was one of these moments for him.

According to him, it was a major awe-filled moment in life; one where holy was undeniable. He's told me this story a time or two, like most Pops would. However, this time, I read and took my breath away. Regardless of what I think of his faith or his practice of noticing the "hole-ly-ness" of life (which I happen to admire greatly)...my dad thinks, thought and continues to perceive my birth as sacred.

Having never witnessed a birth, it's hard for me to imagine exactly what goes on step-by-step but Megan the Midwife has convinced me, it's worth the show. But, if forced to imagine, here's what I come up with. Imagine the most painful, moment possible-multiply it by 10-add an audience of strangers and increase your vulnerability to the max and there you have it. Birth.

Mom says she went into training. Delivery training-she insists is necessary. Regular glasses of water. Pregnancy work-out videos, chic peas and maybe some pink tights. She was dedicated. Makes sense. She had waiting for two years and resigned her job to ensure she was ready to carry a little one into the world. Like all children, I haven't always been grateful in the ways I should be, but according to her I was a very well-behaved napping, sleeping through the night sort of baby. I'd say that counts as some sort of gratitude....

I still feel as if this sort of wholeness, holiness or sacredness is a little out of reach. So I guess, I need to bring it down a notch in order to feel like I can touch it. Most people know this about me, I need to see it to believe it. My professors would agree. One time, Scott tried to literally make me touch it- Katie's placenta after Evie's birth. While I was honored with such an offer, I respectfully declined while shamelessly staring at the sac full of life.

For me, I think kavod the wholeness, the holiness we long for makes us feel squeamish. Kinda like the sac. We know it's full of life, the possibility of change, newness out of pain-but to reach out and feel it... uh, we're just not so sure. This week I was reading Desmond TuTu's, "The Forgiving Book". In this simple read of a story, he proposes forgiveness-the release of responsibility of one's oppressor is essential for the unbuntu nature of our shared humanity. He makes no claims that it's easy, he and his daughter provide personal story to show you the way yet, it still feels out of reach.

Holiness, forgiveness-universal ideas shared not just by Orthodox Christianity but by many religions and dedicated wholeness seekers. I've found these words to describe several life experiences and yet, when I'm out of the time of trial or less under fire the day-in-day-out stuff catches my attention more readily. So here's where I think it's all at.

It's not every day we witness a birth (unless your Megan the Midwife or Audrey the Doctor) so most us have some trouble sensing kavod. Sometime we get to visit or grandparents and because they have lived way longer than us, they seem closer to the untouchable ideas but often they just seem human, earthy, full of beauty and what some may see as a bent towards self-even in their 90's.

If this is true, these ideas of wholeness or forgiveness just must have to be something outside of us. They have to be something gifted whether we are worthy or worked hard enough or said the right prayer or did the pre-pregnancy pink-tight work out. They must be like incense and mur, the untouchable, undeniable gift from a far which break into our stables and manure-filled inns lifting us beyond what we could imagine. These moments, aren't the lasting kind-I've decided but they're the kind which bring courage for the next awkward donkey ride into town to pay for our car tags because we had to leave the car at home for fear of getting pulled over on our way.

You know what kind of day/ride I'm referring to; the kind where you know the whole shameful mess could have been avoided if you simply followed the rules or religiously kept up with the potential fees you could be slapped with in the game of life. Simultaneously you're beating yourself up (not literally of course) and extending grace to yourself because you've been caught up in more important things like eating, sleeping, working, etc.

So, if I was asked for my definition of kavod it'd go something like this: the random moments when we feel fully awake and realize the Other is on our side. For good. 

Advocacy

The dance of advocacy for and with people who are being taken advantage of who are living in extreme poverty is a privilege. However, I am always humbled by the opportunity. Last night about 60 people gathered to create a space to get answers to questions residents of Rosedale Ridge have about their living conditions.

There is the very real potential that the 161 units and around 400 people could have to move from their homes come December 1. As with most issues of injustice, it's complicated. However, what's not complicated is people choosing to use their power and connections to work for justice.

But, often people, and most often-the church, doesn't choose this. People choose personal relationship and not wanting to offend corporations over being present with, advocating with and taking action for the oppressed.

In the midst of these advocacy struggles, as a person of faith-who firmly believes God is present and knows and hears and sees. I have learned to discipline myself to look for the grace, the signs that God is with us.

So for last night, God was with us in providing willing church people to assist in transporting people up and down the hill to get to the meeting. A Nazarene church pretty disconnected from the struggle, but they were willing to come. God was with us in allowing for people to express their anger and frustration but not hurt anyone. For this, I am grateful. God was with us in providing a group of people to be laboring together. Lindsey-her daily love deposits into the lives of young people and their families. Rachel-her constant dedication to advocate for the neighborhood, making sure people get connected to the resources they need and her dedication of her space, her church. Support from Jacob's Well to provide childcare for children who needed to be present with their parents. Heidi and the RDA team, willing to side with the injustice happening to residents while fully aware of the tensions between residents and neighborhood members.

And honestly, the news being present was a bit of grace to. They were another piece of accountability. Another way conversations had to go "on record". An African proverb says, "When you pray, move your feet". I resonate with this and am guided by this often. One with the other. Not separate from the other.

This is a key part of my pastoral calling. This is a key definition of what is looks like to be a "merciful peacemaker" while speaking, advocating and crying out with those who's voices are silenced due to their lack of status in the world in which we live.

God have mercy. Be with us all.

Provision

This question keeps running through my mind, "What if in life, there is never scarcity and only provision?"

What if what changes is our vision, our ability to see. Sure, we've all felt seasons of tightness, potential scarcity. Some of us, extreme poverty. And yet, God promises to be close to those who are without resources. Providing for them in ways, those with plenty wouldn't even see.

The closer I live to people who don't have much, the bigger my heart becomes. They believe God provides, I don't always.

Praying for renewed faith in God's provisions in my life and yours.

God please come, we long for you. Here and now.

Amen. 

No movement without breath

Today, being rooted in Kansas City is about finding the right employment opportunity. Over the past few months, I've been exploring many different opportunities. Broadening my thoughts to have conversations and after reflection on the possibilities, honing in on the specifics. Yoga practice helps with all of this.

Last week, our instructor reminded us how important it is to have “no movement without breath”. She confessed often times she holds her breath. So do I! I never had thought about it this way. As someone who is always working against anxiety which threatens to overwhelm through prayer, community and physical disciplines—I forget breath. It's what we need to be doing each minute of each day, but I forget....how does this happen?

Breath-so essential to my everyday existence and possibility of being a healthy human. The first step to self-care. Breathe! As I've had the chance to practice yoga during Jacob's Well Winter Institute offerings, being rooted has been practiced with my body. We're earthy beings. Connected to the ground. Grounded, able to breathe because of God's breath “ruach”-the wind breathed into the dry bones from Ezekiel's story.

Another thing Ashley said, struck me this week. “If we're not breathing, we're dead.” Dead?!? My first reaction was to respond as if this was ridiculous. But it's true. Without breath, we're stuck, we're not living fully. We are,in essence, dead.

So for today, I'm thinking being rooted means learning how to breathe here. This wintry-blustery air. The Blue and White kind of air. May God help me to breathe. Each day & stop holding my breath, but instead receive the gift the Spirit offers each minute of each day. Thanks be to God.  

The power of touch

 Two little girls. Long dark hair. Bi-lingual. New environment, a little afraid. 

In walks the white lady. 

Different from their mom's. 

Unsure of which language to choose. 

But able to communicate.... through touch. 

According to Psychology Today, "...We begin receiving tactile signals even before birth, as the vibration of our mother's heartbeat is amplified by amniotic fluid. No wonder then that touch plays a critical role in parent-child relationships from the start: "It's an essential channel of communication with caregivers for a child," says San Diego State University School of Communication emeritus professor Peter Andersen, author of Nonverbal Communication: Forms and Functions." 

Often overwhelmed with cross-cultural communication differences, it's easy for me to withdraw, pull away, hide because I wish the words I knew would be the same ones another knew.

Children are gracious

Quick learners 

Able to break down barriers 

Still willing 

To touch 

 

A reminder: Look for the feathers

While wandering around a card store last night, I found a reminder of a poem I've always loved. My dad was an English teacher for the first 10 years of my life, for his profound love of literature and learning I am profoundly grateful. My mom always took us to the library growing up and it was a place where I felt so free, free to learn, free to find as many interesting books as I could hold and free to explore the fictional world. For her willingness to cart 3 children into a different world besides her home even on days which staying in bed would have been more appealing, I am thankful.

By Emily Dickinson

Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul, 
And sings the tune--without the words, 
And never stops at all, 
And sweetest in the gale is heard; 
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm. 
I've heard it on the chillest land, 
And on the strangest sea; 
Yet, never, in extremity, 
It asked a crumb of me. 

Winter, for me, is the time when it's challenging to hear the song perched in the soul. Sometimes the hope song is buried in the snow. Sometimes it's blown away in a gust of wind. Sometimes the lack of sun simply feels as if it's hidden the Spirit always willing to comfort.

Winter must be both embraced and held at arms length. Doing both gets tiring. Last week, I went with friends to a yoga class offered through Jacob's Well. As always, I was reminded the posture with which to wait and embrace is best remembered with a few other people.

Esperar, the Spanish verb, to wait and to hope. I heard a mom whisper this word to her precious little daughter this week when she showed her a splinter in her hand. And it reminded me: wait....hope, look for the feathers.

Community Connections

Bright lights. A smile. An invitation. These are the types of people I love to run into. The kind who make you feel like you're welcome. Over the past couple of weeks, I've had e-mail correspondence with Donny Smith who is the Executive Director with NeighborWorks Community Housing Services of Wyandotte County. Throughout our e-mail exchange, he's made me feel like I matter and that he would actually like to speak with me in the future. When we met, he was friendly, he took my coat and made me feel welcome at the Friday networking event that CHWC hosts. 

Root: a part of the body of a plant that develops, typically, from the radicle and grows downward into the soil, anchoring the plant and absorbing nutriment and moisture.

In case you're wondering, (because I was), the radicle is the primary root, the big branch, the life-giving root where the rest of the roots grow from. Of course, as someone nurtured in the Christian faith tradition, I think of the vine and branches analogy. The understanding of life primarily flowing from another, our interconnectedness, our inability to sustain ourselves without connection to the radicle. 

Radicle. The main root. Not to be confused with "radical" or is it? After doing some rummaging through the papers and perusing through the library stacks, I discovered these two are related. Cousins, even. While there are several definitions offered for the latter, I like this one: radical-forming a base or foundation. 

For years, I've lived as if the most rad thing I could choose is to keep my options open, free. Able to travel. Not so much according to the definition, radical & radicles are about forming bases. Home bases. Growing downward into the soil. I'm guessing this guy would calmly nod "yes," if I asked his opinion. 

So in order to grow roots, I must find radicles which provide life sustaining nourishment. For today I'm grateful for two places that just feel this way when you walk in the door: The Keeler Women's Center and Community Housing Services of Wyandotte County. 

Rooted Thoughts: 1.16.14

Being Rooted looks like...
Taking a home ownership class
Buying a house in KC
Finding a park or two, maybe 3
Ordering fresh produce from Door-to-Door
Finding a CSA this summer
Going to the dentist (ha...)
Taking yoga
Learning about local concerts
Finding out how to recycle?!?!
Going to the library (they might even know my face now)

Rooted Musings: January 13, 2014

Last night at Jacob's Well, Pastor Tim preached on the Psalms, our practice of prayer and training our hearts. Often we are disconnected from the deeper desires of our hearts because we are humans who desire order and rhythm. One of the ways we tend to live shallow lives is by not intentionally moving into the rhythm's which order our days such as prayer.

Over the past two years, I had the opportunity to participate in the housing advocacy mission group with New Community Church. We met weekly for body prayer, scripture reading silence and advocacy reflections. This ordered my days in a way I believe was pleasing to God.

As Dave and I return to Kansas City, I'm reflecting and anticipating God to show us how to be rooted here in Kansas City. This last week this looked like:

1.) Attending a homeownership class with Neighborhood Housing Services
2.) Going to Loose Park as often as possible with Zona Bear (our 4 month old pooch)
3.) Making space to retreat with Dave (including Arizona basketball-Go Wildcats!)
4.) Starting to write on this blog again

For this week, I'm beginning to think that being rooted means allowing ourselves to be shaped by the pattern of our days. Prayer for us this week looked like silence, retreat and enjoying creation through play.

Tomorrow, I'll start volunteering with The Keeler Women's Center in Kansas City, KS. For this beautiful organization prayer looks like hospitality, providing spiritual direction and counseling to folks who wouldn't be able to pay for this resource and trusting God to send them the provisions needed to care well for women, men & children in Kansas City, KS.

Another rhythm I feel drawn into during this time of life is a regular pattern of service in the place where we live. Through Keeler, I'll be exploring being a conversation partner teaching English, open volunteer time to be used however is necessary, furthering my exploration of spiritual direction as ministry and potentially sharing my housing resource skills as well.

Praying for wisdom & the ability to discern the good path.

Books I am currently reading or pondering...

Tina Fey's "Bossy Pants"
"The Book Thief"-Thanks, Amy!
"Life of Pi" (A.m.a.z.i.n.g.)

Hope to read soon... Pastrix & Daring Greatly!

Rooted: A Return from DC

January 2014

Over two months ago now, Dave and I returned to Kansas City. This return was filled with sadness in leaving those we loved and a dream we had dreamed behind in DC. It was ridiculously painful to say goodbye to the justice fighters I'd encountered working for affordable housing at Manna, Inc. This group of people my friend Sarah has cultivated, pastored and gathered were profoundly beautiful. 

The time we shared together was a gift. All of it, the tensions, the differences, the diversity and the struggle. I'll never forget Marilyn going out of her way to communicate and to take care of me. Sarah's unending and creative hospitality amazed me day after day. Robert, oh, Robert-his chattiness and over the top dramatics threaten to scare me away a couple of times, but as I persisted in love, I began to see the heart of a wonderful man. A man who truly loves. And then there's Justin, her struggle through identity and belonging this summer challenged me and called me to prayer in a way I have not yet prayed. I can't hardly believe her life was saved, but Gloria does because she knows how to pray. 

These people loved me and I loved them, a whole freakin' lot. Jim and his southern drawl and constant willingness to pick a fight; Director Kelly and his subversive love & dedication. Charlene, her art, her humor and her boredom with a job which had long since demanded her deepest passions. All of these people, oh and Charles, his peaceful spirit; Easten, an incredibly talented teacher and Emily, the person I've met whose laugh marks her personality more clearly than mine. 

These people, the place, the city of DC. Of course, I fell in love with it but it wasn't the right fit for me. It became apparent, the fast pace was causing me to drown, feel overwhelmed more often than peaceful and practically, my body clearly told me in no uncertain terms, this wasn't going to work. A limitation. The girl who started off her twenties by setting out to conquer anything that got in her path or threatened her sense of self. This lady: met a boundary, a limitation.....or was it a purification, a refining rather?

The Sandal-ly Sort 

We met in Olive Garden, he an wise and seasoned soul, full of love and generosity of spirit. He listened, he didn't bulk at my pain, he paid for our lunch and said gracious things. He helped us think about how to accomplish the next steps in our dreams, he even shared his! There he was, an agent of reconciliation, giving grace, sending us in peace. His wiry personality and fiery spirit met mine & his kindness surpassed mine.

Oh and another, he came in the form of a brother. With a constant open invitation to be, he welcomed me at each turn without pressure or frustration. He allowed me to share in his life a bit. His thoughts were profound, his posture admirable and his love, his deep love for others & for justice, truth and the good gifts of God..self-evident. A shared football game, a Sunday meal, a night on the town and Thai food to boot. He opened his heart, his schedule and his friendship to hug me me right where I was at. And of course, when things started to get tough, he kindly and graciously sent encouraging texts, reminding me that he saw me, he knew my heart and he would stay on my side. The best kind of brother anyone could ask for. Full of life, dedicated to many and one of the most humorist, entertaining zestful humans I've encountered.

These folks I'm describing, they're those who were sent to walk a bit with me, with flesh on, the ones I could touch to remind me She (often turned He) saw me. With Her nurturing care and careful provision, God entered in this past year to reveal what this journey is all about. An encounter in DC sealed the deal for me, I can no longer claim a religion about what is not. I can't identify with folks who spend a whole bunch of time worrying about who's in the right or the wrong. Heady, academic debate intrigues me very little these days. I'm drawn towards those entering in, entering in to the systems of injustice and advocating for change, entering in to work places often focused on the bottom line and teaching people about joy, entering in to city councils who pride themselves on the power they hold over people's fate and bringing about just decisions, the kind of decisions Jesus would have overturned tables for if he still were walking around with sandals these days.

Instead, those with sandals look like a homosexual man ostracized by society, living with aids spending his days helping others with housing or taking them pretty flowers. Those with sandals look like a woman with Stage 4 breast cancer who will not let this define her fate and would be rather living, loving and pouring out her compassion on Anyone she encounters. Those with sandals look like a long blonde-haired white woman who's working to give up her privilege and power with each step that she takes, who uses her talents to advocate for what's right. Those with sandals like to party and can always be called upon to know the latest fashion but if there's a cry for help, a friend in need they'll drop every-thing, literally and respond. Those with sandals have some money and those with sandals sometimes hardly have the cash to buy a soda but... they were walking around, with skin on in the midst of the most busy city I've ever lived in. 

As is par for the course, I thought I'd find the sandal-clad folk behind a church door or inside an established institution. Sometimes the sandal-ly folks appeared there but they seemed to oozing outside of the doors and meandering around all out in the open. I thought I'd find further training about how to wear my sandals on from the priestly sort, those with the collar. This was not the case. Instead it seemed the collar was almost choking a couple of good men and they seemed to have lost their sandals, how in the world could they help me find mine?

Back to KC 

Oh, so back to the point, the return to Kansas City. One of the most juxtaposed decisions, I've ever made. My partner would be content to stay, my family was closer (such a gift) and yet there was something drawing me home. Rooted. This is the word I kept hearing, "It's time. Diane, give up the adventure, the chase the going after fame and academic success, just let your roots dig in a bit." 

The Sage 

“You've already been rooted for quite some time,” she said and she was right. Somewhere along the Kansas City journey which for me started out much like the dissonance of DC, had become home.

Kansas City: My Love 

I've yet to meet Dorthy but she and I agree. There's no place like home. I came to this place with a very clear yearning and drawing, simply to obtain a degree. But instead, I started to grow, to heal, to explore, to find faith and to begin to trust the most beautiful human. My love, Dave. How he made his way into my life or heart, I'm still not sure but I'm grateful. Of course, part of me wants to keep this gracious, loving, kind soul to myself. There are days when I want to do nothing like keep setting him free to explore and love and meet others. Set him free to wear his sandals out around....(for he's the sandal-ly sort). But thankfully, I come back to my senses and realize, this freedom, this mutuality of boundary and letting go. This pattern of attached-detachment, lets us be. It brings joy and life and love.

And the pup... 

Take Zona for example, I've never been the dog sort but when I met the man (David J.) I quickly learned he was. He's the kind who's more fully human around animals. Maybe we were all meant to be. The author of, “The Life of Pi” seems to agree. And so I began to open up my heart and my nostrils-to dog smells. Having a pup adds another dimension to our life and it takes something away. We're not as free, a night's stay in a hotel would require a bit more planning. But I think the fluffy pup is sandal wearer, too. He loves, he jumps and plays, he reminds us to walk and he fills our hearts with joy.

Where this next stage of obedience, response to open our hearts to rooted-ness will go, I'm not totally sure. But I'm along for the ride, and I'm guessing I'm going to meet a whole bunch more folks with sandals outside of the institutional doors and hopefully, I'll learn where to find mine.  

Thoughts on 31

It’s strange what’s happening. Slender strands of grey caress my temple. My laundry, instead of being strewn about the room, most often resides in a basket or two. But what really gets me is the coat situation. I frequently, daily in fact, hang the coats. You’d think it’s because we have a handy-dandy coat rack, but this is far from true. Instead pipes with warm water pulsing, coated in some sort of heavy duty paint serve as my closet. The hangers fit perfectly around the pipes and I hope each time they don’t accidently get too hot melting into gobbly-gook dripping on my head in the middle of the night. If it was just the coats, I’d understand and stop being alarmed but there’s more.

Instead of just paying bills on time each month and hoping for the best, eating out whenever and giving money away on a whim. I add it all up now, I keep track. Making sure we have money in savings, health insurance is cared for and we’ve planned ahead for our trip. When did this happen? I mean, I never used to care. I’d drive across the country never considering the cost, of gas, of food, of the employment days lost. But now, I think twice when I’m preparing to travel. Get this, I even have auto insurance. The kind where they’d come get you if you got stuck. It’s not in my dad’s name, I’m not on his policy. Nope. It’s all ours. David’s and mine.

And tomorrow, instead of sleeping in, I’m headed up early to get the alignment checked. This kind of stuff is for grown-ups and grandpa’s, don’t you think? But, I’m serious, I’m headed across town with a mission in mind. There are other weird things I do, I swear. Like the dishes…

Thirty.One. Not to be confused with the well-intended purse/bag company…nope. These are the number of years I’ve been alive. Most often when people say, “Yeah, I worked there for 16 years”. I think to myself, “Now, that must have been an eternity, I’ve not done anything for 16 years, the most I can think of consistently is 4. Years of school that is”. But now, when people say this, in the back of my mind, I think, “I’ve been working at living that long. It’s not that bad. In fact it’s sorta grand”.

Then I start to remember what it was like to load up my car in college and much to my mother’s chagrin, traverse across the nation from Michigan to Florida for a summer adventure. The freedom of driving and driving on an open road has and always will tantalize me. Or how about that time, we loaded the light green Elantra frequenting grocery stores, national parks and out houses for a bit. Sure we smelled a little but it was invigorating. Driving through the night until the trees became monsters. Me listening to Senifield. Laughing hard enough to cause concern for my sister, my partner in crime. She told me when we pulled off for gas that it was important for me to keep my eyes open even while laughing and if I didn’t think I could oblige, she’d take away the Seinfeld fun. I agreed, seeing was essential while driving down Highway 1 and I proceeded to tone down my hardy “ha ha’s”.

Since I was a bit concerned about the nice, yet intrusive grey ones, I told my friend. She said, “Oh yes, I have them too but Diane, don’t you think we’ve earned each one?” As I pondered, I concurred. Encounters with bounty hunters and defiant teenage children have peppered my past. Exuberant marathon finishes, rewarding academic rigor and deep self-reflection are written across the journals keeping track of my journey. There were the “Brian’s” of course, which the family kept track of like Thing 1 or Thing 2 found in Dr. Seuss’s kid stories. “Brian 1, Brian 2, Brian 3 or Brian 4,” they would ask. How embarrassing… yet how could they help themselves? It was hard to keep track. I’m sure Dad was the culprit who named the jokers who meandered through my life. The hairs no longer predominantly a light-ish brown color tell a story. They hold secrets of relationships tried and failed. But mostly, they’ve come since I’ve met the one who’s joined me for the life-long adventure. It’s like the color once exerting much energy to keep my hairs clothed has relaxed. Stop trying so hard to stay brown. It’s like those strands that hold the tale, are trying to get across a message to the rest of these years all mingled inside me.

I think they’re saying, “Relax. Don’t try so hard. You’re alright.” As they shed their original duty to guard and protect the outside world from seeing what’s inside, the beauty of each strand shows through. Not sure, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to follow their example. In some ways, I feel as if I’ve just begun. Thirty-one. Most say, “You’re so young”. But as one who’s lived all of those years, I feel far from fresh off the lot. I’d like to think my experiences win me a badge or an honor or two, but I think the reality is far from accolades. Instead, the brown wisps turned grey reveal a deeper yet often unperceived invitation. I’m invited to carry-on in this life deemed adventure. As Gandalf says we’re not promised we’ll be the same as we dance through each scene. But it’s my hope and my fervent prayer to follow the grays lead, relax and allow for the beauty taking root and growing deep within to be revealed….

Folded Petals

Petals layer upon layer

Folded

Surrounding pollinated stigma

Onlookers handicapped

From seeing

But the one within

Which the treasure lays

Her eyes squint

Unveiling delight

Glimmering

Out of her smallish eyes

Smile creases fight vulnerability

Potentially revealing

The placenta sign

Symbolizing new birth

Shy, still hiding

Behind folded

Petals

From Maya Angelou's "The Heart of a Woman"

The black mother perceives destruction at every door, ruination at each window, and even she herself is not beyond her own suspicion....Beyond her door, all authority is in the hands of people who do not look or think or act like her and her children. Teachers, doctors, sales clerks, librarians, policemen, welfare workers are white and exert control over her family's moods, conditions and personality; yet, within the home, she must display a right to rule which at any moment, a knock at the door, or a ring of the telephone can be exposed as false. In the face of these contradictions, she must provide a blanket of stability, which warms but does not suffocate, and she must tell her children the truth about the power of white power without suggesting that it cannot be challenged.

Almost Thirty

Opportunities to be seen scared me to death and still do. A stage full of people led to a day full of butterflies and lost appetites, a senior speech called for procrastination and only a little effort, what if they knew who I really was, how talented I was and passionate about all the intellectual yada yada, what would happen then? And now somehow I have started to realize this part of me I squashed in order to feel similar to the rest.

Truth be told, I’d rather write a story, read a book or learn about something which I never knew than watch a show, go to the movies or shop for hours looking for the latest fashion. Even though this is my tendency--parts of me love to find a bargain, can’t wait to learn a new recipe and delight in pretty things. It’s not that simple to become a lady and it’s way easier to hide. Hide my talents, hide my passions, hide my deep desire for faith, passion for community and Hope in what is yet to come.

Until now, I never realized but I join with most women who hide. I don’t hide because I mean to or because I think it’s right. I hide because it is the one thing amidst many confusing things which seem to be acceptable for being a lady. It’s seem everyone loves someone who is soft-spoken and doesn’t take up too much space. What if I start burst because all which I am holding within me is too good not to share. It’s like a colorful cake or a bouquet of flowers teeming with vivid color and life.

As it turns out, hiding deprives creation of the gift God has created in me. Hiding may seem like a way to "play nice" but it allows the most intricate parts of my humanity to waste away into nothingness, non-existence.

It takes away my song.

I’ve sometimes been told to be quiet, to not sing as much, to not share so much, to not offend or overwhelm and yet when I live like this-my dancing shoes put to the side-I might as well not be. Instead, with God’s help,I must start to embrace the intricacies and uniqueness of who I have been created to be.

These are my thoughts on almost thirty.

Encouragement on a blah week....

Last week was one of those sort of off weeks…you know, the one where you wake up on the wrong side of the bed and you think, “Oh, tomorrow I’ll get out on the right side” and then it never happens. You're just rolling on throughout the week, slightly off but not able to put your finger on it… In the middle of those sorts of weeks I am always really thankful for kind people who seem to be a little bit of encouragement along the way.

One of those groups of people was the folks who gathered for the Communities Creating Opportunity rally held at Union Station which Dave and I attended. We were invited by our friend Will as a part of the Kansas City Urban Youth Center. We and another 998 people came together to hear about ways folks in our cities have been suffering and struggling. I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I just want to go home and read a book or take a bath on a week night. It’s challenging to make myself present to the suffering in our city and our neighborhood but it is so important. We heard about how the state of Missouri allows pay-day loan companies to charge up to 2,000% on a pay day loan and how the average a person pays back on a pay-day loan in the state of Missouri is 450%. What?!

The organization CCO is working to put a cap on pay day loans. What good work and what a worthy cause. Besides the cause, the group of people gathered was breathtakingly beautiful. There were churches from Kansas City, MO and Kansas City, KS gathered together across the state-line, the mayor was present, school board members, pastors, Catholics, Methodists, illegal immigrants, students, young people and families. It was one of those moments when you realize this is what was intended. This group of people was meant to be together, peacefully, fighting for justice. It was encouragement in a very tangible form.

As if this wasn’t enough, when I arrived I saw my best friend in Kansas City, one of the professors from Saint Paul School of Theology, a student from Saint Paul, young people I have known since they were in elementary who are Student Leaders with the Kansas City Urban Youth Center, a Kansas City board member I campaigned with and lots more friendly faces. Therefore, this was a group of people who had found a way to not just invite the higher-ups, the elites who usually get invited to make change. Instead, all kinds of people were invited and all kinds of people attended. It seems to me our churches should look more like this than they do. How did they do this? They invited people to come and listen/hear about things which really matter and impact folk’s everyday lives: healthcare, debt, places to be, food, etc.

And there is one more person who was an encouragement along the way---Dave. When I came home all I wanted to do was chill and maybe go to bed early. I was less than interested in going to be with a group of people and yet, Dave-who knew I would be sorely disappointed if I didn’t go helped me get there by offering to run on the way there and hitch a ride back. What a guy?! I so appreciate him and his encouragement to me.
It’s in the blah week’s you really need those people/experiences in your life. And I give thanks.

Eyelash Flutter

Why does it take so long to still my soul?
Is it the sirens providing surround sound
Or does the internal noise drown out
The permission to rest
Reflection inches its way to the surface
Itching for a scratch
Space, to be
My soul stills for a moment
Only to be afraid of
The sense of worthlessness
It may feel if its not in
Constant motion
I crave to be trapped
Somewhere familiar
Without a car
No method of movement
Be it shoes or keys
Stilled anywhere
Long enough to experience
A slow, intentional
Eyelash flutter...