Today was an odd day. One of those days that I had to stay in a perpetually socially "on" state, (except for the pilates break after work), and I got sort of moody, and tried to hide it and still be "on", but I never succeed, the moodiness still comes through. So good grief, I am glad the day is over and it is time to go to bed. We did FINALLY get the internet at work, but are STILL waiting for furniture. Our stress level is definitely running higher than usual. It's like we have been hanging in mid-air for the last three weeks waiting to settle in and get back to normal. Then I had dinner with some friends from church... It was good to see Amy, a friend who was a part of our church and young adult class for several years before moving back to her home in western PA. This woman is amazing. She is running and managing her father's dairy farm by herself since he passed away last summer.
And then I went to a new Bible study at a little tea shop in Hummelstown. I got a decaf Chai from the frenchman who owns the cafe, with a huge mustache, and we sat down to discuss Philemon. I am liking this group. It is exciting to be meeting new people, but it is also stressful. It feels like it takes a long time for me to settle in and be comfortable and act like myself... and to learn about the other people too, and who they are and to see them act like themselves with me. I have finally gotten there at church with my Sunday school class. We just know and like each other. But more about that later!
So tomorrow will be pretty much the same. I am heading to work, will have a meeting with my boss Chris from 4:00-5:00, will rush to my car and fight through traffic to get to church E-town, almost an hour away! There is dinner at church, which is such a blessing and then Primary choir, the highlight of my week, and then I am going to hit the bar. Yeah, really. I am meeting with an old co-worker, Stephanie, who called me out of the blue last night (the other huge highlight of my week :-) and we are getting together to chat at a little pub in e-town, and then there is some sort of trivia game, and other people, ironically from this new Bible study come, so I am excited and nervous and trying to decide whether to order a gin and tonic and how to act like I do this kind of thing all the time.
Thank goodness nothing is going on Thursday night. Unless someone gives me a call.
Because really, lately I am so happy to spend time with people. I'm generally an introvert and I like time to myself to do things like write super long blog posts, and I do get stressed and feel awkward being a social butterfly. But sometimes, and rather often, I'll admit it, Me Myself and I are not good company.
So there is the rundown on life these days. It is good. And thank you all for your friendship. Much love, Joanna
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
the church: introduction
The church is a hot topic in blogging and discussion. Both Troy and Susan, my two favorite bloggers, have been writing about the emerging church. I attend a Bretheren in Christ church, which has strong anabaptist roots, but my local congregation has been transitioning slowly to a more liturgical style. My Dad and sister attend evangelical churches, my Dad's small and familiar, my sister's very large and professional. My brother and all of my co-workers are Reformed, and my stepfather, Kurt, is Lutheran. My mom attends church with Kurt, and sometimes they will hop over to a service with me, but she will calmly tell you that she dosen't feel that she fits anywhere, and is just a believer. So the lines smudge and blur quite a lot and I am not simply assigning labels, but as you can see, church comes up...
I have been thinking about this post for the last week, and the subject has just grown and expanded, so I am going to post in "chapters", sharing my history over several periods of time. I have it broken down into three sections, childhood through highschool, then college, and post-college, so stay tuned. This will be an interesting exercise for me as well, simply to think about the path that I have taken... Please feel free to comment along the way.
I hope, though, that what comes through as I write is a clear picture of my love for the church, in all it's frailty, in all it's mundane sunday to sunday repitition. Something huge is going on there, something that blesses when we least expect it. I think it is Jesus's love for his people. And every once in a while, usually a lot more often than we think, it comes through his people too.
I have been thinking about this post for the last week, and the subject has just grown and expanded, so I am going to post in "chapters", sharing my history over several periods of time. I have it broken down into three sections, childhood through highschool, then college, and post-college, so stay tuned. This will be an interesting exercise for me as well, simply to think about the path that I have taken... Please feel free to comment along the way.
I hope, though, that what comes through as I write is a clear picture of my love for the church, in all it's frailty, in all it's mundane sunday to sunday repitition. Something huge is going on there, something that blesses when we least expect it. I think it is Jesus's love for his people. And every once in a while, usually a lot more often than we think, it comes through his people too.
The Church by Don Cohen
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
primary choir
I am co-leading one of the kid's choirs at church this year and I am having a blast. Hopefully the kids are too, but our song selection is getting a bit repetitive... I am not sure the kid's mind, but I don't know I can sing Deep and Wide many more times... Does anyone have any ideas? I am talking about 25 K-2 graders. They also love Lord I Lift Your Name on High... Something fun and contemperary would be good. Or a simple hymn? We have done O How I Love Jesus and Amazing Grace. Anything that has motions, clapping, yelling... Here are the rest of our favorites...
-Give Me Oil in my Lamp (and we already made up our own verse...)
-I am a C... I am a CH... I am a CHRISTIAN...
-Kwake Jesu (Swahili)
-King of Kings
-I've got the Joy (rockin' version)
-Go Tell it on the Mountail (getting ready for Christmas already)
-Little by Little (I remember liking this one as a kid, and have forgotten a whole chunk of the song, but they like it...)
So, any ideas, leave a comment...and if you get a chance, come see us sometime! We are quite a show.
-Give Me Oil in my Lamp (and we already made up our own verse...)
-I am a C... I am a CH... I am a CHRISTIAN...
-Kwake Jesu (Swahili)
-King of Kings
-I've got the Joy (rockin' version)
-Go Tell it on the Mountail (getting ready for Christmas already)
-Little by Little (I remember liking this one as a kid, and have forgotten a whole chunk of the song, but they like it...)
So, any ideas, leave a comment...and if you get a chance, come see us sometime! We are quite a show.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Rain on the windows
It has been a rainy soggy day. Rob commented that the big windows might be a problem in this kind of weather. It felt cold and the clouds heavy. I said that I like it this way. We just moved to a new office and the place is a mess. Our furniture won't be delivered until Friday, so boxes are strewn on the floor. The contents of our files are stacked into huge piles. Our pens, paper clips, stapler, scotch tape and thumbtacks are in a little rubbermaid box on the floor behind my chair. We are also operating without the internet, at least until today when I brought in my laptop and ripped off someone's wireless network.
But the best part of our move, of our new location, are huge floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the Conodiguinit creek, with the trees climbing up from it's banks to our window, and the rusty colored mountains miles away. They are rusty now... They were soft green only last month when we came to see the office for the first time. I got out the windex today and began to clean the windows. There was a strange dusty haze over them, that I didn't even notice until I began spraying and wiping. Wipe and wipe and wipe until the windex is dry and the smudges are gone. I watched the raindrops drip off the branches of the trees as I worked. Dripping like a tear off a childs nose and chin. I almost feel it in my own eyes. I think about the marketing budget that I should be working on and the piles of papers and notes in my office, waiting... But the dirty haze had to go. Almost imperceptable, but entirely unacceptable. There will be no haze on these windows. I need to see the view. I have seen an egret flying down the creek each day, a small downy woodpecker in the closest tree. Rob and I are trying to decide which way the creek flows but haven't yet decided.
On my way home I watched the raindrops hit the windshield. I recently treated my car to a make over, a vacume, a wash and wax, and to finish it off, a friend let me cover the windsheild with Rain Ex. I am mezmorized by the drops gathering and sliding and even after I pull into my driveway I sit and watch for another twenty minutes. Gathering and sliding and sometimes splashing as the big drops hit the resting wipers. I watch and wonder and guess which drop will fill up first and plunge down the glass, leaving an empty trail. Again, I could have gone in and picked up my shoes from the living room and wash last night's dishes. But instead I just sat staring.
And then I went inside and cried. Letting the water gather and slide and drip, warm and wet. There is something about the heaviness rain...about standing in it, about feeling it pour over and into our eyes and mouth. Something that washes us off and makes us clean.
But the best part of our move, of our new location, are huge floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the Conodiguinit creek, with the trees climbing up from it's banks to our window, and the rusty colored mountains miles away. They are rusty now... They were soft green only last month when we came to see the office for the first time. I got out the windex today and began to clean the windows. There was a strange dusty haze over them, that I didn't even notice until I began spraying and wiping. Wipe and wipe and wipe until the windex is dry and the smudges are gone. I watched the raindrops drip off the branches of the trees as I worked. Dripping like a tear off a childs nose and chin. I almost feel it in my own eyes. I think about the marketing budget that I should be working on and the piles of papers and notes in my office, waiting... But the dirty haze had to go. Almost imperceptable, but entirely unacceptable. There will be no haze on these windows. I need to see the view. I have seen an egret flying down the creek each day, a small downy woodpecker in the closest tree. Rob and I are trying to decide which way the creek flows but haven't yet decided.
On my way home I watched the raindrops hit the windshield. I recently treated my car to a make over, a vacume, a wash and wax, and to finish it off, a friend let me cover the windsheild with Rain Ex. I am mezmorized by the drops gathering and sliding and even after I pull into my driveway I sit and watch for another twenty minutes. Gathering and sliding and sometimes splashing as the big drops hit the resting wipers. I watch and wonder and guess which drop will fill up first and plunge down the glass, leaving an empty trail. Again, I could have gone in and picked up my shoes from the living room and wash last night's dishes. But instead I just sat staring.
And then I went inside and cried. Letting the water gather and slide and drip, warm and wet. There is something about the heaviness rain...about standing in it, about feeling it pour over and into our eyes and mouth. Something that washes us off and makes us clean.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
family restaurant
I joined my Dad today on a trip to Boyertown, taking my Grandma to lunch with her brother and sisters. They have gotten together for lunch every couple months for years now. They are spread around from my Grandma in Lancaster Co., the farthest west, to my Great Uncle Dick and aunt Bertie, in New Jersey. Then there is great Uncle Donald with deep smile lines around his eyes, and his wife, Anna, and the oldest sibling Aunt Rachel. The last time I went with them, her husband, Uncle Bud was still living, slowly pushing his walker in front of him. Rachel has a walker now too, and will be ninety on her next birthday. My Grandma, Harvella, is the second oldest. She recently moved into an apartment in a retirement home. She had a mild stroke a week or so later, and is not seeing out of her left eye.
Boyertown is chosen as a convenient halfway point. It is an interesting town, very different from the Lancaster/ Dauphin County area. It appears to have once been a wealthy town, there is a lot of stained glass and wrought iron, and some side streets are still cobblestone. Grandma is very worried on the way that we will be lost or late. This is par for the course riding with Grandma, and Dad continues to attempt to assure her that he knows where we are going. I lay down in the backseat and drift off to sleep. The restaurant of choice for my Grandma and company, is a family restaurant, serving old fashioned, very Pa Dutch fare. It is paneled in dark wood inside, with large bowed beams along the walls like the inside of a covered bridge, and decorated to the nines in jack-o-lanterns and scarecrows. When we all sit down at the table, Aunt Bertie quietly suggests to Grandma that she might like to sit toward the end of the table on the left side, so that she can see down the length of the table with her good eye. Grandma laughs and says good thinking.
I have learned that there are different tastes in food by generation, and perhaps that there are even different passing styles. When I go out I gravitate toward sandwiches and wraps with lots of lettuce and vinaigrette dressings. Think Panera or Isaacs. This crowd prefers lamb and mint jelly, oyster pie, lettuce and hot bacon dressing, corn fritters, pickled beets, coleslaw and jello salad. I listen as they chat about replacing appliances, new washers and sweepers as early Christmas presents. Uncle Donald is in the market for an exercise bike. I enjoy watching the couples. Aunt Bertie elbows and smiles at Uncle Dick when he makes a joke. Aunt Anna interrupts Uncle Donald's stories to finish his sentence. He still finishes it after her, repeating her words to reinforce them. Anna watches him with her eyes, clearly happy to sit beside him, and join in his conversation. Aunt Bertie asks everyone if they remember a place, a home where you could get fresh apple cider, where they made it in the barn behind the house. Aunt Rachel decides that she is not hungry and doesn't finish her lamb, which they try to hand off to me and Dad. It isn't so bad with the mint jelly, though I consumed as little as I could get away with. But Aunt Rachel finishes her entire piece of peanut butter pie, and who could blame her, peanut butter pie beats lamb anyday.
Dad purchases a half dozen of the house special on the way out. Pumpkin donuts, and we split one in the car, though we are both very full. I fall asleep again in the backseat, considering my own life and the choices that I have made myself, and wondering what I will be like in another sixty years, and who I will be sitting down at family restaurants with, ordering a chicken ceasar salad. But tonight I am hanging out with my Dad, listening to Prairie Home Companion, eating pumpkin donuts and popcorn, and baking cinnamon rolls to take to Sunday School in the morning, and life feels sort of painfully and surprisingly rich. It must be melancholy. It must be October.
Boyertown is chosen as a convenient halfway point. It is an interesting town, very different from the Lancaster/ Dauphin County area. It appears to have once been a wealthy town, there is a lot of stained glass and wrought iron, and some side streets are still cobblestone. Grandma is very worried on the way that we will be lost or late. This is par for the course riding with Grandma, and Dad continues to attempt to assure her that he knows where we are going. I lay down in the backseat and drift off to sleep. The restaurant of choice for my Grandma and company, is a family restaurant, serving old fashioned, very Pa Dutch fare. It is paneled in dark wood inside, with large bowed beams along the walls like the inside of a covered bridge, and decorated to the nines in jack-o-lanterns and scarecrows. When we all sit down at the table, Aunt Bertie quietly suggests to Grandma that she might like to sit toward the end of the table on the left side, so that she can see down the length of the table with her good eye. Grandma laughs and says good thinking.
I have learned that there are different tastes in food by generation, and perhaps that there are even different passing styles. When I go out I gravitate toward sandwiches and wraps with lots of lettuce and vinaigrette dressings. Think Panera or Isaacs. This crowd prefers lamb and mint jelly, oyster pie, lettuce and hot bacon dressing, corn fritters, pickled beets, coleslaw and jello salad. I listen as they chat about replacing appliances, new washers and sweepers as early Christmas presents. Uncle Donald is in the market for an exercise bike. I enjoy watching the couples. Aunt Bertie elbows and smiles at Uncle Dick when he makes a joke. Aunt Anna interrupts Uncle Donald's stories to finish his sentence. He still finishes it after her, repeating her words to reinforce them. Anna watches him with her eyes, clearly happy to sit beside him, and join in his conversation. Aunt Bertie asks everyone if they remember a place, a home where you could get fresh apple cider, where they made it in the barn behind the house. Aunt Rachel decides that she is not hungry and doesn't finish her lamb, which they try to hand off to me and Dad. It isn't so bad with the mint jelly, though I consumed as little as I could get away with. But Aunt Rachel finishes her entire piece of peanut butter pie, and who could blame her, peanut butter pie beats lamb anyday.
Dad purchases a half dozen of the house special on the way out. Pumpkin donuts, and we split one in the car, though we are both very full. I fall asleep again in the backseat, considering my own life and the choices that I have made myself, and wondering what I will be like in another sixty years, and who I will be sitting down at family restaurants with, ordering a chicken ceasar salad. But tonight I am hanging out with my Dad, listening to Prairie Home Companion, eating pumpkin donuts and popcorn, and baking cinnamon rolls to take to Sunday School in the morning, and life feels sort of painfully and surprisingly rich. It must be melancholy. It must be October.
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