LtD: The Hardest Year

Dear Debbie,

A lot of things have changed in the last year, and I don't know where to begin. For some reason the knowledge that if I went back and sat in my chair in the office you wouldn't be on the other side of the desk from me seems like the most dramatic change. Is your new job treating you well? Is it strange to be in different places and talking to different people regularly, and most importantly - have you been able to let the particular stresses of work at Geneva go? These are questions that I ask of you because I know I'll be changing jobs in the next few years and part of me is wondering how I'll ever let this place and these people go. I can complain all day, but working here makes me feel needed and like I'm a part of something, and it's hard to imagine that I could find that anywhere else. If you have, maybe there's hope for me.

It has been a long year in my world.

In October one of my residents died by suicide, taking her own life in my hall. Once upon a time that was a thing I couldn't imagine ever saying because it would be too horrible to contemplate; now I look at that sentence and think "that seems too simple, will people really understand how serious it was?" It's amazing how life can change your expectations and perspective. For weeks - even months - all I could think about was, what should I be doing? and what have I forgotten to do? and who have I failed to help today? Even now, six months later, I often do or think things that would have seemed absurd pre-October.

Other things contributed to this year being difficult, of course. We had to replace two RAs on our ResLife staff, although my hall staff stayed the same. Our Director of Student Activities changed positions at the University and so I became the interim SAC Advisor for the last half of the semester. Back in PA my newest niece was born, my parents faced serious health issues, and [it's hard to be away from my favorite sister who makes me laugh and talks about deep things and is beautiful and single and a total catch]*. I'm pretty involved in my church, and have activities there three evenings a week, and worship team early on Sunday, so Friday and Saturday night were my only evenings 'off'...unless I was on call and had to be awake and on campus for rounds. It got to the point where I had to force myself off campus for two hours on Thursday morning to maintain some sanity.

On paper it doesn't seem as extreme as it did walking through it. Most of the time I felt like a pinball being batted from one corner to another, reacting and supporting and doing stuff without the time or will to stop and think about whether I was doing stuff the best way, or even whether I was doing important stuff in the first place. Just a few months ago I might have been tempted to describe it as the worst year of my life. It has been a year of sorrow and tears, and late nights, and impossible conversations, and failures, and asking for forgiveness, and fear. I have always considered myself brave, and this year I came to know fear intimately.

I can't call it the worst year, however, because it has also been a year of grace. I now know more of the perfect love that casts out fear, and that works all things - even the deeply wrong things - together for good. Love isn't a fuzzy, happy feeling, and it isn't easy. Love clings to faith, and when faith seems disappointed, clings to hope. Day to day, sometimes minute to minute, I had nothing but the tiniest ray of hope that God has a plan for redemption. I will never see the whole picture, but I have had the joy of seeing people I love overcome difficulties and come out on the other side stronger. God's love is perfect, and each day it casts out just a little bit more fear until I can honestly say that this has been the hardest year, but I've made it through.

This is a letter that I started several months ago. It has been hard to find time and space to assemble my thoughts. But I need to write about this, and I had to start somewhere; hopefully more will follow.

Until then,
Ceci

*edited by request of said sister. You wish you knew what it said before, hmm?

Something Will Turn Up

I am currently unemployed. I knew that I was going to be unemployed since graduation marked the end of my usefulness to my alma mater, and so I got what many people would consider a head start on the job search. I began filling out job applications in January and continued slowly-but-surely until the present. I tallied my savings, told myself that I had a few free months before I had to start working on loan repayment, and moved back to my parents' house. I started off fairly laid back about the whole job-finding process; now I complete at least one application a day, and I have received exactly no responses apart from a few automated rejections.

Of course, my own response to silence and the occasional rejection is literary in nature. Either in my thoughts or aloud I announce, "Something will turn up!", thereby inviting both my favorite author and my favorite character to the experience; it's good to have company. Deep down, though, there's the nagging question of when - today? next week? at the end of the summer? If I dwell on that thought, there's an even deeper nagging question - is this really where God is calling me?

You see, near the end of the semester I had moments where I questioned whether my calm concerning the job search came from true confidence that God knew what he was doing, or from the apathy of exhaustion. As a moderately insecure introvert, every cover letter feels like a major emotional investment, and a risky one - not only am I sharing some portion of myself with complete strangers, I'm not convinced of the value of what I have to share. Am I accepting my circumstances and waiting for God's timing, or is it simply a defense mechanism?

Today I read an excellent post on the academic job search from one of my favorite blogs, Shitty First Drafts, and one piece of advice really caught my attention: "4. Be ready to bail on this whole academic career thing and decide what will trigger you to do it." I know it's early (and a bit melodramatic) to talk about bailing just because I haven't had a call back, but I do wonder what it would - or should - take for me to decide that this isn't my path. I have so many other dreams and interests... am I chasing the wrong one?

If I am, you would think God might have said something before I spent two years in grad school for higher education. Then again, his ways are not our ways... I'm sure something will turn up.

life is full of chances

Why did I buy a motorcycle? I never intended to. I thought I just wanted to learn how to ride (collect-a-skill, you know) and the next thing I knew I was riding to and from work and making weekend forays into scenic Ohio. Frances and I had a great summer.

When people find out that I ride a motorcycle, most take it as a cue to make some sort of comment on my character - I am brave or stupid, tough or reckless, interesting or childish. I can't really argue with any of these assessments because I am probably a little bit of all of those things. But I'd like to address them anyway, because time spent on the bike, without the radio, phone, and "frames" to distract me, is time spent in direct contact with the world and my own thoughts; it's the perfect place to expand one's philosophy of life*.

People say that riding is dangerous. A motorcycle has no frame or roof. It is balanced precariously on two wheels, and is more precarious in the case of precipitation. It has no seat belt. It has no airbags. When I climb onto my bike and take off, there is nothing but me, whatever gear I choose to wear, and the road, and then I travel at roughly 55mph, taking turns and dodging potholes, and being passed by vehicles that weigh five or ten times what Frances and I do.

I suppose you could call that dangerous.

I think this is an opportune moment for me to comment on the fact that motorcycles aren't the only dangerous way to travel. When you're driving down the road in fair weather I doubt that you think very much about it, but what exactly would you call "safe" about traveling at 80mph? Even if you are absolutely certain that you will do everything right, can you say that about the people around you? In fact, now that Pennsylvania is getting back to cold mornings and weather advisories this may be the perfect time to mention that weather alone has the ability to put our best intentions on their butts in the snow.

On a related note, at Christmas my family was talking about travel and the problems that it could create for your health insurance. "Are you sure that your health insurance will mean something in London? You make a mistake, step off a sidewalk wrong, eat the wrong food, and you could be in serious trouble." That sort of thing. In the middle of the conversation I found myself wondering how it came to be that risk elimination became the name of the game. Isn't life really about risk? Should you really not take a chance, or a trip, because all of the angles might not be covered?

I'm not saying is that riding a motorcycle isn't dangerous, I'm saying I could argue that driving a car is just as dangerous. I'm not saying don't think about the insurance, but should insurance really be the thing you think about first? If you believe in a God whose care for his creation is providential and omnipotent, do you really think that the presence or absence of airbags (literal or metaphorical) are going to make that much of a difference?

Life may be dangerous, but God is good. What do I have to fear?

I don't want to convince the world to drive recklessly, drop their insurance, or buy motorcycles. But here are some things I wish I could explain to the people who call me stupid, reckless and childish: The smell of the air when twilight touches the hills. The temperature drop that tells you there is water nearby. The soaring feeling in your soul when you drive over the crest of a hill or lean perfectly into a turn. My motorcycle is a practice of freedom and joy, not rebellion.

If you look at the world fearfully, it will seem filled with danger. You'll build up walls to insulate you from relationships, weather, experience, from all of the things that seem to make life dangerous. But if it's ultimately God's world... you can forget the danger and burn the insulation. Danger is opportunity in disguise, and life is full of chances that you never saw before.

And I think that's why I bought a motorcycle.

*case in point

auld lang syne

It seems to me that we pay a lot of attention to the passage of time: years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes. They're all measured and counted, recorded in our planners, wall calendars, photographs and timelines. Sometimes we have parties for them, like birthdays and holidays.

For thirteen years now I have spent New Year's Eve with my family and our neighbors - we play board games, we play pranks, we eat seafood, and we gather around the television to watch the ball drop at Times Square. On the one hand, it's a night like any other because we are simply enjoying each other's company and renewing relationships that might have been strained by distance and time (especially for those of us in school). On the other hand, I can't help but wonder if it's something more. Or if it should be.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have to wonder what it all means. What is the significance of a day passing, or a month? Or even a year - why does it matter that I know how many years I've been alive? Once upon a time I'm sure that it did, when months meant planting and harvesting, and each year passed was an achievement, something to be grateful for. But what does it mean now?

It has been my tradition to spend a significant portion of the week following Christmas journaling. It's not my normal style of journaling, where I wax philosophical and pretend that my stories are funny (you thought I only did that online, didn't you?). No, that week is about looking forwards and backwards, as if the stroke of midnight on the 31st is a street about to be crossed, and crossed safely.

Perhaps it is. You probably know the song Auld Lang Syne, which was written by Robert Burns in 1788. The song has a nostalgic quality that, for me, puts it up there with Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas when I want to be melancholy about the holidays. Both songs are about remembering what came before - the joy and the pain and the years gone by.

It wasn't until this year that I realized that Auld Lang Syne is about more than remembrance; in its solemn Scottish way, it is about hope for and confidence in the future. What I always imagined were statements: "If old acquaintances are forgot..." are actually questions: "Should old acquaintance be forgot?" It is a small difference, but it means everything to me, because the answer to the question is and should always be a resounding "No."

To answer that question of significance, I hope that I will learn to mark the passing of a year with solemnity and contentment, gratitude that recognizes that these days are gifts. I hope that I will not celebrate by force of habit, but because of real joy. I don't know about other holidays, but I hope that my new years are more like the questions in this song - times of remembrance, but also of making new memories. Who will I be in the year ahead? How can I honor the memory of those who were with us in the past? I want to learn to cross the street well.

About Christmas

Once upon a time, there was a girl who didn't particularly like Christmas. Every year she thought she would like it, she remembered what it was like to smell cookies and listen to Christmas music and buy presents, and then something would happen. The something was different every year - the headache of trying to find just the right presents, the way people tend to argue at family parties, or the painfully empty chairs that reminded her of the people she'd lost - but inevitably she would turn into a grouch between December 1st and 25th each year. She may even have been called "the grinch" by a few disgruntled friends and sisters.

And then one year... it just didn't happen. She couldn't explain why, because all of the usual things happened: shopping was a nightmare, politics and religion were visited in the same conversation, the best (or worst) family gossip was shared and picked over, and the chairs that should have been filled by the most loving and caring people were conspicuously empty. On top of all of this, the sickly-sweet bubblegum joy of Christmas radio was practically inescapable no matter where she turned. It should have put her off and she knew it, in fact she was waiting for it... only to discover that it didn't.

It wasn't a Christmas miracle. There wasn't any magic, no one fell in love, and she didn't start believing in Santa Claus again, but for the first time in a long time she was able to be with people and share the gift of togetherness instead of focusing on the headaches and stress and expectations.

She wasn't sure what made it so good. Maybe it was maturity. Maybe the desperate wishing for something to change had an effect on her subconscious. Maybe she was feeling sappy and simply didn't notice a lot of the things that should have sent her over the edge. Whatever it was, after five or six years of verifiable grinchiness, she was able to be especially grateful for the family and friends who helped her decorate, played the sickly-sweet bubblegum-joy songs, and chose to spend time with her before and during the holidays. They make life beautiful and make her feel worthwhile, and she can never thank them enough.

And she wanted me to tell you all that. Merry Christmas.

Beginning a Blog (after the fact)

It occurs to me that while I have a cute tagline to my blog title, I've never really taken the time to explain what "The Cross and the Sword" really means, and why I think it's such a big deal. To be honest, it's an idea that has been evolving for a few years now and I was afraid, at first, that it would be a passing thing and I would end up changing it a few times. If you've been with me for a while, you know that the tagline itself has changed a bit over time; somehow, though, the spirit of the cross and the sword have stayed with me, so here is an exploration of their roots and what (I hope) I can do with these themes in my life.

The metaphor of a cross and a sword began for me when I was at Miracle Mountain Ranch, 17 years old and newly graduated from high school. It is a long time since I looked like the stereotypical homeschooler, but not so far under my socially adapted exterior is a deeply committed nerd: a devoted Lord of the Rings fan (and fan-fiction/RP writer, she said with a nod to The Plaza), constant reader of 18th and 19th century literature, and a self-fashioned wanderer in search of chivalry, honesty and honor. That year at the Ranch I was the model apprentice, but there were a few people with whom I felt I could be myself. During training demonstrations in the barn we would sit in the loft and I would use graph paper to sketch fantastical coats of arms and brands, mustering all that I knew of heraldry to lend significance to the images and colors used in my creations.

One creation in particular stayed with me, because of its beauty and simplicity. The vertical line was too long to be a cross, the horizontal too plain to be a sword. I wrapped a casual line of color around it, from its arm to the point, then back to the other arm. I attempted to add plumes, to put it on a shield, to incorporate it into the Lion Rampant or some more glorious emblem, to use it as the "l" in my name, but in the end I found that none of the embellishments improved it and I resolved to leave it alone. Besides, the summer was approaching and I was far too busy wrangling my landscaping volunteers to be worried with developing my personal coat of arms any further.

After the Ranch, real life hit abruptly. For lack of a better idea, I found myself enrolled at a little school called Geneva College in Beaver Falls - for all that it was 12 miles from home, I had never heard of the city or the school before my mother suggested them - and I was "undeclared," which was code for: I want to know everything and I have commitment issues. Because of my interests in high school, I took a serious look at History and Creative Writing as majors, with Student Ministry thrown in there as a potential interest because I really wanted to impress a certain person from MMR. The college setting was a shock to my system, but in the honors program I found a few people with whom I felt safe enough to mention my love of imagery, icons and latin mottos. I sometimes wonder if they thought me crazy.

The battle to choose a major (and escape the incessant coddling of those in charge of Undeclared L&T "Focus Group") was intense, but brief; in the end, Terry Thomas's storytelling won me over and in the space of eight weeks I had declared for Student Ministry. I loved every one of my major classes, but I couldn't shake the desire to know everything, especially about the way people work. I have always been a people-watcher, and this tendency was incubated through the time I spent eating alone in the cafeteria and hanging out with Debbie in the Student Min Office.

You didn't know you had signed up for the story of my life, did you?

Contrary to what some people believe, student ministry isn't (all) about campfire songs and ice-breaker games. In addition to "ministry" classes concerned with the history and development of ministry, special studies in specific ministry models and situations, and three unique practicum experiences, we take quite a few Bible classes, along with theology, philosophy, and psychology. On top of this, I was at a liberal arts college with traditional "core" requirements: humanities, social sciences, political science, etc. I will never regret the time or money spent on these, ever. However, as I began to connect the dots of my learning and reflect on my experience as a homeschooler, an apprentice, and now as a college student, some difficulties became apparent.

When I say "difficulties," please know that I mean "things that are profoundly distressing"; so profoundly distressing that I don't really know how to properly express them most of the time; not in person, and not in print. At its heart is the question of Truth; in my Bible classes I was taught that Jesus said "the Truth shall set you free" (John 8), but in my experience Truth has been most associated with right and wrong. Beyond that, right and wrong often demarcate "us" and "them," "in" and "out," "valuable" and "valueless"; these in turn help "us," who are "in" and "valuable," to determine what should be cared about and who should be ignored.

We come to "know" what sin is and we believe it is our duty to preach against it; we come to "know"that sin is an abomination to God and we make it our duty to be appalled by it; we come to "know" that we have been redeemed... and we decide to cast the unredeemed world into hell's fire prematurely. Who made me the judge? What pride is it that rejoices in my personal salvation and then refuses to give that grace to others? I am not saying this of all Christians, or even all American Christians, but the pervasiveness of divisive, ignorant, and ungracious behavior within the church is well documented by recent research (i.e. You Lost Me and UnChristian). This should not surprise us, given the doctrine of the Fall.

The Bible calls the Word of God a "double-edged sword" (Heb 4:12), and I think we can agree that the simplest statements have been as destructive as a broadsword when used in the wrong place or time, or with the wrong attitude. Never in opposition, but certainly in contrast, Jesus tells us that knowing the Truth sets us free - and a few short chapter later he announces exactly what he means: Jesus said to him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the father except through me" (John 14:6).

What is the truth that we are commanded to know? What did the Word of God (John 1:1) do with ultimate power? He loved. He sacrificed. He redeemed.

Redemption cost all of him. How can I do less?

In the last few years, this has been the story of my life. I believe in truth. I believe that there are such things as right and wrong. I believe that it is vitally important to preach against sin, to teach what is right, to avoid what is wrong. However, my studies and experiences almost daily remind me that I was redeemed in spite of my sin, and it is not for me to withhold that redemption from others; in fact, it is my responsibility to share redemption with the world.

For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges thoughts and attitudes of the heart.
Hebrews 4:12

Tempting as it is, I cannot run into the world waving a bright sword and pretending that all things said in truth are just. This kind of power cannot be wielded by a child like me, unless its every move is constrained also by the love of Christ, the love that willingly approached the cross. And so, once in a while I practice drawing my childish talisman, a reminder to me that God has been weaving his plans into the fabric of my life since the beginning and will continue doing so until the end. I approach life with a cross and a sword... and every day I learn more of who I am between the two.

rain and Frost

Will I sound like a total nerd if I say that I love the scene in Daredevil when he walks out into the rain and realizes that he can see wihout his eyes? Ever since I saw it the first (well, the only) time, I have been fascinated by that image of living in a way that recognizes its dependence on a sense of touch.

Not that I have ever wished I was blind, but I want my life to be like that, and rain reminds me of that. No matter how cold and miserable it seems to be, whether it is those first few drops or the walk back to my apartment in a downpour, rain reminds me that there is a great big world out there that will keep spinning no matter how tragic my own problems are. And it will do more than keep spinning, because the feel of cool water on my skin reminds me that it will also continue to be full of beauty and wonder.

I have been one acquainted with the night
I have walked out in rain and back in rain,
I have outwalked the farthest city lights...

I've been told that Frost was depressed and is depressing, but I love to read and memorize him. He knew about the rain. And who knows, maybe a little bit of rain (or depression) is good for us. Maybe I'm crazy, but it reminds me to stop, and to feel.

(I stop here to spare you all of my favorite country songs)

The Life of the Beloved: A Book Review (of sorts)

I've been saying over and over to myself, "If an election is the end of the conversation, you're doing it wrong." Now that there have been a few days to absorb the fallout of our most recent election, I wonder what I should put my hand to next; I have many opinions about said fallout, but I think you'll agree with me when I say that I want to wait until some of the right-wingers have simmered down a bit.

To continue the conversation, then, I suppose I will turn inward. I recently joined a very secret society whose goal is to have all of its members read at least 52 books in 52 weeks. It is called 52in52 and... I guess it's not so secret anymore. No matter, you'll probably hear a lot about it this year. My first choice for this challenge was Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen, and although it is brief (119 pages) it has really given me a lot to think about.

What He Said

Nouwen had a friend who asked him to write something about spirituality that would speak to his "secular" friends in New York City. The preface and the conclusion tell the story of their friendship, and everything between is written in a very personal tone - the book is more like a letter than a manuscript, and that very thing makes it difficult to breeze through. You don't just skim a book when the author seems to be speaking directly to you, telling you that you are Beloved.

That word - Beloved - is the way Nouwen describes the entire human experience. He says that we must first realize that we are Beloved, and we spend too much time listening to voices that tell us we must earn Belovedness. Second, we are in the process of becoming Beloved; our life experience is completed by being "taken, blessed, broken and given," being sensitive to our Belovedness and realizing that we never have to compete for value and love. Finally, living as the Beloved, we have the joy of knowing that being Beloved is not a "spiritual" thing, it is an identity that we can embrace and a promise for the future, when there will be no more lying voices telling us we are worthless or cursed.

Some Reflection

I definitely recommend this book to anyone, anytime. If you read the preface and epilogue you find that  Nouwen's friend liked the book, but didn't think that it was exactly what he and his secular friends needed because it assumed certain things about reality that they were unwilling to accept. From my perspective, however, it was exactly what I need to hear and what I want my friends and students to hear. You are Beloved. Everything else in the world feeds you lies, but this one thing cannot be changed, even if you choose to forget it: You are Beloved, and there are incredibly practical steps that you can take toward recognizing and accepting that Belovedness.

It was kind of a big deal to me, because I tend to accept what other people say. I spend a lot of time listening and reflecting, trying to understand why and how people and things work; this may surprise some of you, but I do this more than I talk. I am quick to assume that the next person knows better than I do, which looks a lot like humility and is rather healthy in most conversations.

Sometimes that compliance isn't so healthy, however. After 20-some years, I know exactly what it feels like to hear my failures and others' criticisms sneak up on me and whisper in my ear that if I don't make the grade, I am a bad student; if I'm not around, my friends will forget me; if I'm not interesting, no one will care. This book challenges this way of thinking at its core and begs me - and you, if you read it - to remember:

"These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. The truth, even though I cannot feel it right no, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God's eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity and held safe in an everlasting embrace." (49)

I feel bereft, having 'finished' this book without experiencing all of the profound change it recommends. Life does not afford the time to dwell on every word, but having been read, these words are going to stay with me. Read it, and I pray they will do the same for you.

Who are you voting for? Some conversational advice

I will add to my previous comments about political conversations that this way of talking and thinking is very hard. I wrote that post on a happy afternoon after a long conversation with people whose thought processes are similar to my own, although their conclusions differ wildly. I am quite aware that this is not always the case, and that there are people who make these conversations painful no matter how hard you try. I name no names.

I don't want to seem naive on this point; I interact with enough people every day, even on a small campus, that I know how difficult it is to have hard conversations graciously when the other person seems dead set against that very thing. Even when they are on board with your approach, basic cultural and vocabulary differences sometimes make meaningful conversation practically impossible. So here are a few quick tips on talking with people who disagree with you on politics - or any other sensitive topic:

1. Remember humanity
I do mean that you should remember that you are human and they are human, and for that very reason you will both be wrong about something. However, I also mean that everyone should remember that our conversations have implications for the rest of humanity, for the great questions of life and death, poverty and wealth. If you are in a position to talk about these things, you are probably in a position to do something about them. It's really not about you at all.

2. Benefit of the doubt
I tend to think that I am better at this than your average grad student - why do we immediately assume that because someone believes x, they will also affirm r, e and m? Just because someone thinks differently does not mean that they have sold their souls or that they would affirm the agenda of a totalitarian regime. As you can see, these other letters simply do not follow, except in the word extreme.* 

3. Practice
This may seem callous of me, but at some point conversations have to come down to personal integrity. You're probably not going to convince "the other guy," whoever they are, that you are right and their entire cognitive framework is skewed, unless you have unwittingly stumbled on a great work of the Holy Spirit. Which is possible. In most cases, however, you can talk until you're blue in the face only to discover that they weren't listening to you at all, but instead assuming that you affirm r, e and m as well as x. So do this instead of asphyxiating: get in the habit of communicating what you want to say clearly, concisely, and respectfully. Even if that person never gets it, perhaps the practice you have in this conversation will help you be more graceful and persuasive in your next encounter with disagreement.

I hope to soon write a response to my own question: who am I voting for? Hopefully it will be done before election day, but as I said... if an election is the end of the conversation, then we're doing it wrong.

*see what I did there? 

Whosetory

I was never allowed to celebrate Halloween. Tragic, right? I don't think that I missed much, honestly, and every year was an adventure, hanging dark blankets over the windows and playing very quiet games so that Trick'r'Treaters wouldn't know we were home. Apparently our neighborhood took the "trick" part literally, and they were handy with egg-throwing.

In college I discovered a new tradition. For six years now I have sat in Bible 200 (How to Read the Bible) on October 31 to celebrate Reformation Day. I wish my parents were aware of this tradition when we were growing up - it would have been a lovely counterpoint to the blue velvet drapes. More than that, Reformation Day and events like it have been vital to my faith formation.

That's a strange thing to hear, and sometimes to say. How is a silly party where we dress like we stepped out of the 16th century, eat symbolic foods, and share ridiculous poems about Calvin and Luther helpful for faith formation? The best way I can describe it is history. You know, that subject that you all loved in high school. History gets a bad rap, I think, because we treat it as just that - a subject, no more or less important than learning where commas go in a sentence or how to measure the velocity of a falling object, when it really is much more than that.

Not that English and Physics aren't important areas of study, and more than "subjects" themselves, but History is domething special. Even cultures without written language, where the people are more concerned with survival than with explaining gravity, share stories about where they come from. So why don't we?

Hearing stories about the Reformation never gets old for me, because they help me understand and take heart. Why do we so easily dismiss the faithful men and women who came before us? How audacious of us to assume that our life and times are so much more important than theirs, that we can't spare the time to hear and tell their stories... Maybe it's our individualism that tells us that each life is a free and unfettered start, but we need to get over that. Their stories are our stories, because they are our family, and I, for one, would like to make a habit of learning from their examples instead of making my own mistakes.

Who are you voting for?

Election Season is coming down to the wire, and I hear that tensions over it are running high. On the small college campus of a Christian school, however, it is easy to be insulated from the outside world and the concerns of the nation. For some students, this begins (or perpetuates) a spirit of apathy; between school, clubs, sports and complaining about the food, there is plenty here to occupy young minds. When someone asks our generation to care, don't we normally ask, what difference does our caring make anyway? "It feels like a lesser-of-two-evils decision," and "voting third party is voting for [insert candidate] anyway" are more thoughtful, but express the same sentiment.

A smaller group of students choose to care - intensely. Much like their parents before them, these students know where they stand, who they should vote for, and often what the Bible says about it. The Geneva College Republicans have meetings and t-shirts and an informational table once in a while. There is a quieter, but no less dedicated, group of Democrats furthering their cause on campus. It would be unfair to say that their devotion does no good, but the polarization of their views often lends itself to intimidation rather than honest conversation.

Honest conversation is something that our campus desperately needs, but sometimes the election conversation is ended before it begins because of our fatalistic - or pugilistic - attitudes. This election season, however, I have a new perspective to offer you; new to me, although I can hope that it is not new to you.

Although it sometimes seems that Christians have more to learn about suspending judgment than the rest of the world, there IS something unique about having these conversations at a Christian school, or even more specifically, at Geneva. To summarize the Reformed perspective, we understand the Bible to be God's story which tells us of the good creation of all things, the brokenness of all things, the redemption of all things, and the hope (promise!) of restoration for all things. We, as Christians, are part of the redemption: who we are and what we do, after we have encountered Christ, is inexorably linked to God's love for his creation. It is our duty to represent God well and work toward that final restoration (Romans 8:18-30).

Thinking of the world in this way, therefore, leads me to believe that the real question in our conversations is not, "what do you think about [insert party or candidate]?" It is, "Who and what do you care about?" It is, "How does the current political climate, or a particular election or candidate, impact that thing or those people that you care about?" In the student ministry office we have been drawing attention to the election as often as we can. We frequently disagree - and we know when the conversation starts that we will disagree - but that doesn't stop us from talking about it. None of us questions the others' salvation when we discover that they are registered Democrat, or that they might support a pro-choice candidate, or that they are okay with rich people remaining rich. The discussion is about more than a "position" that can be summarized in one sentence on a political poll. I find it impossible to dismiss the input of a friend when I know that their position, like mine, is driven by a deep love for the poor and the oppressed; our political disagreement grows out of that love, but does not change it.

I find hope in having conversations about politics that end with hope rather than anger, and in having conversations that recognize that one election - or even all elections of all time - will neither fix nor damn the world. Life is bigger than that, and God is certainly bigger than that. In the end, whether there is a Republican, Democrat, or cartoon character in the White House, the things we care about will not change, the people we love will have no less need. Political discussions are important, laws are important, deciding how to vote and discovering the issues is important... but never forget that they are not the most important things.

The conversations that start because of politics cannot end with an election. If we really care about these things, there is no "win" or "lose" for us, only more or less difficult work for us to do as we move forward, with hope, to the work that God has given us:

He has told you, O man, what is good,
     and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
     and to walk humbly with your God? 

                     Micah 6:8 

Firstfruit

I've said before that my family has few traditions. Ice cream for dessert, pizza&movie nights once or twice a week, watching the Steelers, and making semi-annual trips to Ohio (now more frequent) are about the sum of the list. Some that might be on there have been lost in recent years, including one of my least favorites: shopping for Easter dresses.

To be honest, I suspect that it was Grandma's idea - my most vivid memories of said shopping are of the same shoe store year after year. I never had a talent for choosing shoes - still don't - so I wasted time picking out the highest heels and most outrageous colors for her consideration. Her gasp of horror was gratifying, as was Grandpa's quiet smile when I put on a chastised face and went to find more reasonable pumps. Some years Mommy made the dress, but as we grew up we spent more time in real stores; some years were real winners, and some make me just a bit queasy to remember. Bright and early and almost late to church every Easter Sunday the three of us would stand out on the driveway and have our pictures taken.

cheese?

As a child, somehow these early spring events were soundtracked with the voice of Judy Garland, singing about the Easter Parade, which was romantic but always seemed a bit outdated. For a few years between childhood and whatever you call my present stage of life, I questioned the legitimacy of the whole thing - why do we have to dress up to go to church? Doesn't God say that he takes us as we are, that there is nothing we can do to earn his love and forgiveness? If so, why put on the frills, gloves and make-up? (yes, there were sometimes gloves involved) If I had been thinking more exegetically, I might have asked whether we thought that the Marys were dressed in their Sabbath best to approach the tomb - wouldn't they have been in mourning, distraught, and Jesus appeared to them anyway?

It boils down to the fact that I like jeans better than a skirt, and I'd rather not bother with my hair. However, clothes aren't the point. Confusion is the point. Isn't it amazing how easily we get stuck on a detour thinking, like a child, that this thing or that thing is the real thing? When I write I tend to imagine that my audience is a lot like me, so I apologize if you've never gotten caught up in the clothes and expectations and forgotten the simple truth... that we dress up because this is a day of celebration! The other 51 Sundays in the year are days of remembrance of this day, which is a day of remembrance of that day - that day when a man who had been beaten, humiliated and murdered was raised from the dead.

Did you catch that? Raised from the dead.

Resurrected.

Brought back to life.

(BTW, Pastor Eric was great this morning. Objection: "Science says that resurrection is impossible." Answer: "Uh... that's the point!")

In church this morning I considered finding the perfect Old Testament passage to talk about the promises that were fulfilled on the first Easter Sunday; you know, the one that was specifically looking forward to this morning. Silly rabbit, they all do! Jesus' life, death and resurrection were the fulfillment of the Old Testament, the realization of the hope of nations, and the embodiment of the hope that we have.

Last night I talked about the pain that Jesus endured and how he graciously made it possible for men to justify the execution that was necessary for their redemption. Today, I am celebrating what he saved mankind for (and I hope that you are too!). Jesus' crucifixion was the judicial payment for sin; his resurrection was victory over death, but not only over spiritual death. In I Corinthians 15, Paul says

If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men. But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. But each in his own turn: Christ, the firstfruits; then, when he comes, those who belong to him. (v. 19-23, NIV)

Firstfruits. Jesus came back in the flesh. Jesus ate with his disciples. Thomas touched his hands and his side. And Paul tells us that Jesus' resurrection is the promise of what we will also receive at the "last trumpet" (v.52).

Jesus' resurrection was the end of waiting for the Jews and God-fearers, the revelation of things obscured by years and prophecy. And, even better, his resurrection is the beginning of true hope. Not an indistinct, weak longing that someday things will be better, like Mr. Micawber's "something shall turn up!" No, our hope is substantiated, sealed with the demonstration of God's power to reverse the greatest human experience of brokenness - death.

Someday death will be gone. The redeemed will live eternally in a renewed heavens and earth, enjoying real life in resurrected bodies, doing real things: running, cooking and eating, playing softball, building, carving, reading and writing, singing and being silent. Those of us who have people to miss - that is, everyone who has ever lived - will have the joy of seeing our loved ones again. This is the day that we remember God's promise...

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their splendor into it. On no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there. The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it. Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life. (Revelation 21:1-4, 22-27, NIV)

Something old, something new, something borrowed and something... to complain about.

Old news: Spring Break has arrived at Geneva College. It's been a few days, actually, and in a mere four weekdays we will be back to the daily grind. I find it amusing that so many people say "Spring break, already?" Me, I was the exact opposite. Seven consecutive weeks of full-time school and three-quarter-time work wear me pretty thin. I'm all for break in the middle of March.

New news: I went for a run last weekend. Oh, wait, that's not new... the new news is that I sprained my ankle on that run and today I finally made it to the doctor. I have a bright, shiny (well, textured black, so not shiny at all) boot to wear for the next two weeks, and a brace after that. So many things I could say on the topic, but I'll keep it light-hearted: I've learned my lesson about running on the Sabbath.

Borrowed news: So many things to choose from! I suppose I'll go with what I consider to be the most important (and what you will think the most nerdy) - I love Doctor Who. Not because he's British (rather, it's British and he's a TimeLord), and not because it's science fiction (although that definitely helps); because it is so rare to watch a show that is honest about the failures of mankind, our cruelty, thoughtlessness and ignorance, and also takes the time to reaffirm the inherent value and potential of mankind, unique amid the splendors of the universe.

Complaints: If you're going to write that you have particular skills in either communication or English (or both), please proofread your Bible 300 paper before you turn it in. Just sayin'.

Sabbath Reflections

Sabbath has never been a huge deal at our house, although church has always been. We have few traditions, but going to church as a family, sitting together (usually in the same pew) and coming home to have pancakes for lunch is one of them. After the pancakes, however, we go our separate ways, doing our best to prepare for life on the other side of the weekend. Sometimes that means a nap, or a movie, but most of the time it's house projects that need to be continued or completed, or books that need to be read or papers written. I never thought twice about it until I arrived at college as a freshman and found a campus that cares about such things, and as the semesters went by I became more attracted to the idea of "working from my rest" instead of resting from work. The work will always be there but so will God - and I'm thinking he should take priority.

But even if this is a day of rest, there are things that must be done - like eating, for example. So how do I reconcile this work with a day devoted to God and the enjoyment of his creation? I'm not sure yet, but this week it's about reflection on the fact that this is the sabbath. It's also about cooking... not the same old pancakes, something "new and exciting" - something to enjoy.

*****

I never claimed to be a great cook. I've been making dinner for the family since middle school, but I never had the time, ingredients, or desire to actually consider myself a "cook." For the first time, though, I understand the joy so many people find in it. I won't pretend that the recipe I'm using today is at all original; in fact, I'll give you the link: Quiche Supreme Recipe.

If you followed the link, you saw the regular ingredients - eggs, cream, veggies, cheese, meat, crust. Some seasonings. A stove top and oven. Setting it all out on the counter (with the exception of the stove, which is heavy even for me), I realize how blessed I am already to live in this country with so many good foods available to me. The eggs are farm fresh, from the Lutz family at Seven Springs Dairy Farm. I didn't have to do all the work of making the cheese or separating the cream. Finally, it's the middle of January and I have fresh peppers and onions and mushrooms. I also have a father willing to run to the store for the ingredients I missed.

The second layer of this experience is actually preparing all the ingredients. Since I have no schedule (and my father isn't to his "grumpy-hungry" stage yet), I love this part - chopping the vegetables and seeing the colors and textures blend on the cutting board before they go into a frying pan, grating the cheese by hand (it's surprisingly soothing to shred things), beating eggs and cream. Tossing in spices by the "pinch" or "too taste" makes me think of my grandmothers and the way they would pull out a bowl and start throwing ingredients in... and you'd ask, and they'd say they didn't know what it was going to be, but you'd better like it.

See? My amateur attempts at cooking remind me of the love of my family and precious days spent with them. My heritage affects the ingredients I use, too - polish influence demands extra garlic, and who needs ham? We have extra kielbasa from the New Year's celebrations, and it tastes better anyway. I'm wary of the nutmeg, and the vinegar is the only ingredient I measured today (why? because if my dad knows it's in there, he'll be wary of the whole meal).

Alright, enough story; more reflecting. It's all in the oven and the mess I made of our kitchen has been cleaned, so here's what I'm thinking. This morning my pastor preached on Psalm 122, a Song of Ascent, and on the value and necessity of corporate worship. Bad things can happen when a person says, "I'll worship by myself at home" (for further study look up "Joseph Smith) and completely gives up on the Church - you'll notice that despite the many problems of the 1st Century churches, none of Paul's letters includes the suggestion that they should just give up and try another way.

Churches should be like quiche, with different colors, textures and flavors, being honest about their history and cultural influences, and helping others to enjoy the good things God provides. Unfortunately, a lot of them are like my quiche, which will probably be a bit strong on the garlic, light on pepper, and lord-help-us if Daddy finds out about the vinegar. But I'm not going to stop trying because my double "pinch" was too much, I'm going to do it different next time. I hope that we see the church community where we can "do it different next time" and grow closer to each other, because worship is partly about being forgiven and being conformed despite the excess of garlic in our lives.

I will admit, this is probably only the beginning of my day's reflection, but if you've noticed the clock it's about time for me to make sure that the rest of dinner is ready to go with this quiche. Later I'll be making cookies but I won't force you to join me for that. I'll give you the recipe and be out of your hair, but I hope you have a chance to reflect on God's love while you make these awesome Caramel Blossom Cookies :)