Here's to new beginnings.

I've really become someone who doesn't often post things of substance via social media, but I also try my hardest to be my authentic self to every group I engage with, which is creating a bit of a conundrum in my life right now. I know so many people, and leave a little of myself everywhere I go, that when I have news... social media is the easiest way to announce it. With that in mind, I'll take a deep breath and spit it out. Something small happened today with huge amounts of meaning behind it. As Brene Brown would say, a neurological event took place. I signed an addendum to my lease to stay at my little home, with my little cat, just the two of us. Of course, our housemate Brooke is staying on, and we found someone to attempt to fill the shoes of Ms. Jo... but my partner of 2.5 years and I are separating. Such a small moment, with a normal size piece of paper put into focus the fact that I am getting back to basics. I am moving forward in my life, not as part of a duo but as numero uno. I am honoring the grief that comes with that, and holding space for the good memories while making meaning out of the hard ones. I've got some really good things coming for me in the future, one of the many being a looming graduation but today I'm making space for grief. For the raw pain that comes from watching your partner pack, and the unknowns, the singular decisions, the unsteadiness that is a part of walking this life singularly. I do know one thing however, it is thanks to so many of you my amazing family, and friends that I know I am never alone. I'm never stuck, and I am never without support. I'd also like to take a moment and share what I learned: Ain't no shame in things not working out, or changing your mind, or being wrong. Don't you dare worry about what others are going to say. You can love a human in more ways than we have words, and sometimes honoring them is doing the hard thing. I am more loved than I can even imagine. Sometimes the hardest decisions are the best ones, and it takes courage to face an uncertain future. I'm gonna wrap this up cause I have a few little buddies that are waiting on me for some playtime, but I shall leave ya'll with a picture of the joy in my life. Henry Dennis Parker, being my emotional support cat. Note the paw touching me as I write this..

I want to live in a world

 I want to live in a world where the connection between a person’s spirit and their sexuality is honored and spoken about loudly and openly without judgment or agendas. Where people don’t tell upcoming generations, their impulses make them dirty, or their experiences define them. 

I want to live in a world where choice is recognized, but spirit is emphasized, celebrated as being individualistic and unique. 

I want to live in a world where young women are not told what beauty is or is not. Where young men are not given impossible guideposts to stretch for so they may “earn” their right to identify as such. Where you are not bound to the definition of either of those binaries; instead given the freedom to choose what defines you. 

I want to live in a world where young people don't learn what sex is from a multi-billion-dollar industry that feeds into those insecurities of image, perversion of consent, and the demise of true intimacy. Where we nurture our youth with knowledge in tandem with faith not doctrine and trust they will do the same.

Instead, we live in an society where explicit sex can be found by the touch of a button, ambiguous innuendos are the bases of prime-time TV, and implied sexuality saturates the sales industry. With this, I really, truly do not understand why conversations shy away from emotions, beauty, and connection. When did discussions of the expression of spirit become taboo? Too long we have put the expression of sexuality as the opposite of spirituality, and truthfully the two do not always go hand in hand. But, we are beings defined by the capability to feel. That double-edged sword is part of what makes us human. The very natural expression of those feelings is being individually pawned for resale when they are designed as a complete package. Time to start nurturing.

Pancake pie and life

This time of year is always difficult for me. I love fall. Pumpkins, cool mornings, boot season. At the same time, the changes in seasons often mean some mania that manifests, making sleep elusive. It is helpful to be self aware enough to know it is temporary. Annoying, but not dangerous. In case you were wondering, 4am looks the same as 8am. Only dark and a little quieter.
  Today, when I awoke for the day, I decided to try a recipe I found in the back of one of my Weight Watchers weeklies.

(Side note so I don't get fired: most things I've tried in the recipe section are delicious and I recommend giving them a try.)


Apple cinnamon oven pancakes. Simple right? Pie plate: check. Apples: check. delicious smell of vanilla, sugar, flour and eggs baking at 400: check. I remove this pie-like creation from the oven 25 minutes later. Risen and golden brown... pieces of apple gently peaking out through what appears to be a flaky crust. Score! I make the coffee and my partner (who was up with me at 4:30 bless his heart) comes down to wonderful aromas of a fall breakfast. I'm feeling like Betty freakin Crocker and excited to share my creation which has slowly deflated a bit as it cooled. I slice the pieces, elated at my treat and remove two triangles. I enthusiastically take a bite and am immediately reminded of the Friends episode when Rachel puts peas, beef, and sautéed onions in her English trifle. Why does my apple cinnamon pancake taste like bacon? My beautifully flaky and light creation is gooey and has the consistency of jello with bits of apple floating delicately on the top. Mocking me. I feel as deflated as my gross apple cinnamon disaster. I used the good eggs for that! 3 of them! Do you know how expensive eggs are?

(Side note: eggs are not as expensive if you do not have a soft spot for chickens who are mistreated and therefor spend the extra $2 that you don't really have to buy from the ones that say they are popped out by happy grass fed, free range, emotionally stable and beloved chickens.)

My beloved grabbed the Thomas' english muffins and made us peanut butter toast as a consolation. Encouraging me not to give up on cooking. Even though we both know I shouldn't make anything that isn't soup. Soup is my specialty. By specialty I mean the only thing that makes people say "that was great" who aren't just being nice to make me feel better.

 I do not have a career as a chef. That's okay. Though my future career has been on my mind lately. (Nice segue huh?) Last January when my beloved graduate program closed, I took it as a sign and immediately enrolled in seminary. In August I took my first chaplaincy class. "Death, dying and bereavement" which may sound like a punishment, but I was stoked to be attending. Each day for two weeks I went to class with a fun and knowledgable professor and classmates I enjoyed. Though something was missing.
 I realized as I took this class, that my outlook is still largely clinical. Our final paper requirements were to write "anything we wanted on death" and I took that to be an invitation to write on Persistent Grief and the various therapeutic techniques for it. Realizing that should I encounter such a thing, I would be required to refer my client to someone qualified for that.

 I'm not sure what made me google search pastoral counseling schools. I had done that last January and come up with nothing but Christian counseling programs (not the same). This time, Neumann University popped up in my search. I took a leap, and emailed the program director who informed me that she is a graduate of the Loyola program I had loved so much, and she would be happy to meet with me regarding their program. Feeling as if I am cheating on my current academic establishment, I took the 2 hour drive, official transcripts in hand and professional attire adorned and had what turned out to be an entrance interview. They would accept all of my Loyola credits (Wesley took 9 of my 33) and even some of my Wesley credits. Their program is very similar to Loyola's with more than one professor being a graduate from there. Neumann is a Franciscan institution (catholic) so as I finished speaking with Sister Susan, I asked her how they felt about LGBTQ issues and individuals. "at Neumann we align with Saint Francis of Assisi that 'All individuals have value and worth'" I told her that Quakers believe "there is that of God in everyone" and we agreed that is basically the same thing.

(Kudos to you if you're still with me at this point.)

 I've been torn as to whether I would share this publicly. I feel a bit sheepish for lack of a better term about turning directions again. But, I think I needed to study for awhile with Wesley to realize for sure where I am meant to be. I love theology. Its fascinating. I wrote one of my favorite professors this morning and explained it to him this way: "“Dr. W last week said 'The world is in desperate need to be presented with the word of God in a way that they can hear it.' I believe that is true, and that Wesley does a fantastic job at guiding the individuals who’s calling it is to do that. After much consideration, I believe my calling is to hold a sacred space for the pain they carry so that they may be able to hear those messages in a way that speaks to their heart and know they are not alone."

In closing, I am not a chef, that is for certain. My tools and gifts lay elsewhere. in art, empathy, and compassion. And apparently unconventional educational tracks that somehow always land me where I'm meant to go.

Questions

Below is a paper I wrote for my Worship class. I thought it might be nice to share.

          The assignment is to write a reflection paper on my own theology of worship. I’m finding this concept difficult, since I am currently struggling to identify what it is that I believe, and why I worship. I could write a paper regurgitating what I have learned about sacrament, church liturgy, and history, but that isn’t the assignment. Instead, I will write a paper on my truth, and where I am in the process.
            Susan White, in her book Foundations of Christian Worship wrote on Christianity and the social sciences. Since my most recent educational background was rooted in social science, this part of the book spoke to me deeply. White explains worship in a sense that I relate to and often discuss with my atheist friends: “What is fundamentally important in every case is not the historical reliability of the particular story but rather its truthfulness in the deeper sense.”

            The purpose of worship to all religions is about community, tradition, and an upholding of values that are important to that particular culture (White, p 23). It is not whether God actually flooded the earth and Noah was able to gather all creatures, but instead about the story within the story.

 I believe in the resurrection as a historical fact. I believe God walked as a man and suffered and died so that I may live, because I have experienced the grace of God in my own life. That belief is what makes me a Christian. I identify with the biblical accounts of the struggles of the old testament, and enjoy the various interpretations of the word. But I don’t believe it is all God has to say to all people, and I believe it has been used as a weapon in the hands of those who use its texts to oppress and judge others.

 I also believe those who experience God through the teachings of Mohammad, or a connection to Pagan beliefs are every bit as valid as my own. Therefor I struggle with the concept that Jesus is the only way to salvation.

            I believe in baptism. I believe in a commitment to raise children within the teachings of the faith that you identify with, because the support of a church family and the moral impact that has on a child is pivotal. There is also something comforting to me, about following a tradition from those that went before me. We’ve talked extensively in class this semester about teaching congregants why we do what we do, and how the reason behind it is more important than tradition. I think it is vital to know what the reason is behind the symbolism, but I believe there is an inherent value in the tradition as well.
             I believe there is a sanctity in vows that you make before God and others. But I am unsure if I believe there is anything divine about it. I partake in communion every first Sunday of the month. As a symbol for God’s love for me, and a renewal of my faith to God. But I struggle with the concept that we cannot have communion wherever it is requested.

            To fully call myself a Quaker, aside from the obvious of having to become a member, is to walk away from rituals, and Methodist church traditions I find comfort in. Hymn sings, communion, baptism, and a Christ focused service. Yet, when I worship in a Methodist service, I find myself missing the moments of silence, and the emphasis on inviting the spirit to speak through us.

 So often we invite the spirit into our Sunday services, but we do not stop speaking long enough to hear what message we might be receiving. My crisis of faith is feeling stuck between two worlds and not knowing which way to choose. It is not a question of why I worship, it’s a question of which way do I feel closest to God. In one service, I feel myself reaching to God, and in another, I feel God reaching to me.

            Holy Saturday service at Faith United Methodist where I have been attending, gave me time for reflection. The worship committee had arranged the courtyard of the church into “stations” numbered 1-8 and lit with candles. Starting at 7:30 in the evening, individuals were invited to participate in silent reflection at each station. There was a card with a verse, and then a prayer at the bottom.

The courtyard was empty when I arrived, I walked the labyrinth that is inlayed in the cobblestones, reflecting on Good Friday service, my faith journey, and this paper. I earnestly listened for a reply to my questions, but instead of an answer felt a compulsion to sit with my uncertainty a little longer. At the last station, a cross was lit next to a bowl of water. Sitting on the ground next to the crucifix I quietly renewed my promise with God. That I will be still, and go where I am led. That I will walk humbly, and do my best to be her hands.
                       -Abp 4/2017

Metanoia

Metanoia is my new favorite word. I've written it on notebooks, and used it as a mantra to my ever expanding life. "a fundamental change of mind and heart". This might be the only word to describe my inner space as of late.
          In one of my classes we have been discussing how it is grace from the a divine mystery that leaves room in our souls for change. In whatever way this concept translates to your understanding of life, it exists. It is seen throughout our lives in various but always significant degrees. It is both the seed of forgiveness and the growth received from acceptance. Grace is in our sorrow as the brief experiences keeping us from utter despair. It is seen in our joys, in our connections with our community and is cultivated by our relationships with others. This often unseen gift is what gives us strength.
         I was coherent enough this morning to watch the winter sky turn from black to pink. I watched from my bed as I was blessed with a dawning of a new day, and I am thankful. Grace.
       With a thankful spirit i see my life has continuously provided me with moments that can only be described as surreal. What is inspiring me, and changing me is not something I am ready to fully share. These are days of which words cannot fully explain. So please pardon the metaphors as they are the only way I know to make sense of it all.
         Moments of clarity are spreading forward like the light of a new day. That is to say I would be crazy to try and capture it. In vain I'm reaching out to slow it down, but all I can do is be present to the mystery as it unfolds. Grace.
           It is familiar, and yet unlike anything I have seen before. Both full of beauty and a nearly paralyzing fear which trudges ahead of impending change. If I examine it closely, it stems from the realization that everything is finite. Though what is life without the acknowledgement of an ending? Beauty would be missed, if infinity assumed. This has led to an honesty within myself that I've never experienced. A return to a mixture of self assurance and insecurity. This is new. This is surreal. This is grace.
          You know that game you play when you are silent with yourself? The magic question. "What would I do if I won the lottery?" or "If my life were a script, how would I write it?" My scene is playing out and all I can say is when the future you want is within your grasp you better leap for it. If I fall flat on my face, I'll get back up. Because I have to believe our experiences are what shape us for the better. All of this is created by listening for my cue. Embracing metanoia. Embracing grace.

-Abp 2016





(Metanoia definition acquired from Dr. Gerry Fialkowski)