Yesterday was one of my weepy Sunday's. I walked into church sleepy and kind of down from my late social Saturday night. I hadn't been able to decide what to wear or get my new haircut to cooperate, and I didn't really want to be there. But upon walking late into my Sunday school class, my friend Amy (and I love her forever for this) exclaimed, "Joanna!", and I melted, and smiled and sat down. Then I ate donut holes that Emily and Adam brought, and went and made some tea in the gym, and talked to Karah about her weekend visiting her family, and how great it is to watch a movie with people who laugh out loud, because then everyone laughs. I was already glad I went and wanted to hug them all.
The service yesterday was unusual for several reasons. The first being that Pastor Hall was away. It was the last Sunday that he would be away until he leaves the position in March. This transition time became the theme of the service, using Philippians as something of a template. The second reason that the service was unusual was that there was no long sermon. Pastor Gene, the assistant pastor, led several meditations, using different passages in Philippians. Between each passage we sang a song, or had prayer. Heart of the Lamb is the youth choir, and they led the singing, and there is nothing like them. There is nothing that compares to the freshness and sincerity of the youth of the church leading worship.
And they sang hymns like "I Will Sing of My Redeemer", and then we sang "I Will Enter His Gates", and Karah and I scoured the congregation for our choir kids who just started learning it last week. Then we sang two other hymns that I can't remember (which hymns were they??? The one in the hymnal and the one at the end? Karah? Mom?), and all though the service was the theme of rejoicing. Rejoicing in times of not knowing, and in suffering, and in God's love, and because he made and is making and will keep making us all more like him, and because he is doing it with all of us all there together. And I fought off tears the whole time. This isn't unusual for me. I cry regularly in church, but not ususally the whole time.
So last night I spent some quiet time at my house. I lit a candle and used it as my one light source, and I prayed. Really prayed. And I am not trying to sound proud of myself. I should pray like that a lot more often. But I thought of the verse and used it as a model and a promise,
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Phil. 4:4-7
I stayed home from Hershey Free Church last night, where many of my other friends attend to spend this time praying. It sounds ridiculously snobby to stay home and pray rather than go worship with friends. But last night I think it was what I needed. I had out a lot of stuff with God. But it turns out that they looked at the very same passage this week in a series on prayer. How beautiful is that? And maybe I would have gained a lot by going.
But I will be back to both next week. EBIC is my church in all ways that a church can be. The people there know and love me and I them. Hershey Free is very special too, as I have friends closer to my home here to spend late Saturday nights with, and have learned to run Power Point. But both love God so very much, and I am very blessed to be a part of both, as large or as small as each part may be right now. So that is the church for me today...
And yes, faithful readers, I have finally finished my series... I hope to not preach so many sermons in the future, but I am sure that I probably will.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
Before and After
Before...
After...
Yes, it is like an Italian villa bathroom in a little old farmhouse...
What do you think?
After...
Yes, it is like an Italian villa bathroom in a little old farmhouse...
What do you think?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
the open road
I just got out of the new bathtub. It is still big, which was my main concern, and it feels like staying in a hotel, which is kind of cool. I must have enjoyed my bath a little bit too much though, because I feel overheated and kind of lightheaded now that I am out again. It might be a little bit of melancholy though too, and I thought I would write a poetic post about the dull sort of ache that we all feel sometimes. I had a few great lines in my mind but they kept getting crowded out by song lyrics by poets much better than myself.
My friend Mike made me a fantastic CD of old-time Americana songs, and they do not help a person with melancholy, but they do make you think about who you are, where you come from, and especially where you are going. I have been listening to it almost constantly for a week, and I am about ready to jump in my car and drive south and west until I can't go anymore. Restless, I guess.
I think it is in my blood. The restlessness, and the mountains of Kentucky. My grandmother, Delcie Layne Chafin Ward, what a lovely name, was born in a town called Hode, and the railroad ran right behind the house where she grew up. Her father worked for the railroad, which he preferred to the coal mines. My mom loved to visit her grandparents there every summer, and tells us about pulling water out from the well, and my great grandpa spitting tobacco juice. About purple velvet furniture, always kept covered, and drinking glasses with painted flowers. On one visit as a girl, my Mom ate lunch with a local girl, and my grandma was horrified to learn that lunch was a moonpie and can of Coke. My great grandmother was a midwife, and was known for attending births where the babies lived. Mainly because she knew to be clean. All of these stories have become like legend to me. Even though I saw the house in Hode myself when I was a young teen on a trip with Mom. My great grandparents had passed away and the house was being sold. It was the trip to say goodbye.
But my grandmother, who grew up there hated it. I think of her watching the train cars pass and fade in the distance when I hear lyrics to some of these songs,
"The lonesome sound of the train going by..."
"Come tomorrow, and I'll be satisfied if I can take a fast train and ride..."
When she graduated from high school, she took a bus to Texas and went to college. She studied sociology and married my grandfather and never went back for more than a visit. She hated the music too. My memories of visiting her are in a classy condominium outside of Washington DC. She had a collection of tea cups with gold edges and couch covered with a pattern of pink roses. Her music was classical. She gave me copies of cassette tapes of Mozart and Vivaldi. I so loved her elegance and that she always took what I said seriously, as if it were the most brilliant thing she ever heard.
So now I listen to music from the mountains of Kentucky and think of her. I think of my mom too. Mom loves everything that my grandma left, and would go back in a second. For me, there is a raw and aching truth to these old American songs that there are no words to explain. I want to lean into the harmonies and become like these women who hit the road with their eyes on heaven. I want to be like the matriarchs of my own heritage, who blazed a trail, and knew what they believed in.
I am not always sure that I trust myself, you know? I can be really selfish and impatient. I do not like to wait to know what the right thing is rather than grabbing for what will feel nice at the moment. I can be wishy-washy and change my mind, and watch my emotions ebb and fall with no warning. I can also be bubbly and charming and sometimes I am afraid that I fool myself as much as others, and we'll all find out the the bubble is really just air inside.
Joanna, my namesake, was one of the women at the crucifixion and one of the women who went to the tomb after Jesus had been buried and had risen. My middle name is Layne, after my grandma. Both women loved others, whether in listening to a child or trudging with dirty feet, early in the morning to care for the body of one who was in heaven. Except that he wasn't. He was still here, and he had already hit the road.
My friend Mike made me a fantastic CD of old-time Americana songs, and they do not help a person with melancholy, but they do make you think about who you are, where you come from, and especially where you are going. I have been listening to it almost constantly for a week, and I am about ready to jump in my car and drive south and west until I can't go anymore. Restless, I guess.
I think it is in my blood. The restlessness, and the mountains of Kentucky. My grandmother, Delcie Layne Chafin Ward, what a lovely name, was born in a town called Hode, and the railroad ran right behind the house where she grew up. Her father worked for the railroad, which he preferred to the coal mines. My mom loved to visit her grandparents there every summer, and tells us about pulling water out from the well, and my great grandpa spitting tobacco juice. About purple velvet furniture, always kept covered, and drinking glasses with painted flowers. On one visit as a girl, my Mom ate lunch with a local girl, and my grandma was horrified to learn that lunch was a moonpie and can of Coke. My great grandmother was a midwife, and was known for attending births where the babies lived. Mainly because she knew to be clean. All of these stories have become like legend to me. Even though I saw the house in Hode myself when I was a young teen on a trip with Mom. My great grandparents had passed away and the house was being sold. It was the trip to say goodbye.
But my grandmother, who grew up there hated it. I think of her watching the train cars pass and fade in the distance when I hear lyrics to some of these songs,
"The lonesome sound of the train going by..."
"Come tomorrow, and I'll be satisfied if I can take a fast train and ride..."
When she graduated from high school, she took a bus to Texas and went to college. She studied sociology and married my grandfather and never went back for more than a visit. She hated the music too. My memories of visiting her are in a classy condominium outside of Washington DC. She had a collection of tea cups with gold edges and couch covered with a pattern of pink roses. Her music was classical. She gave me copies of cassette tapes of Mozart and Vivaldi. I so loved her elegance and that she always took what I said seriously, as if it were the most brilliant thing she ever heard.
So now I listen to music from the mountains of Kentucky and think of her. I think of my mom too. Mom loves everything that my grandma left, and would go back in a second. For me, there is a raw and aching truth to these old American songs that there are no words to explain. I want to lean into the harmonies and become like these women who hit the road with their eyes on heaven. I want to be like the matriarchs of my own heritage, who blazed a trail, and knew what they believed in.
I am not always sure that I trust myself, you know? I can be really selfish and impatient. I do not like to wait to know what the right thing is rather than grabbing for what will feel nice at the moment. I can be wishy-washy and change my mind, and watch my emotions ebb and fall with no warning. I can also be bubbly and charming and sometimes I am afraid that I fool myself as much as others, and we'll all find out the the bubble is really just air inside.
Joanna, my namesake, was one of the women at the crucifixion and one of the women who went to the tomb after Jesus had been buried and had risen. My middle name is Layne, after my grandma. Both women loved others, whether in listening to a child or trudging with dirty feet, early in the morning to care for the body of one who was in heaven. Except that he wasn't. He was still here, and he had already hit the road.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Ode to a Bathtub
We got a call at 7:30 in the morning today. It was from our landlord, wanting to replace our entire bathroom. Tomorrow!
So of course tomorrow is the same morning that some author from Italy is coming in to work and wants to check us out and see if we are professional and not a little dinky family Christian business. And he is arriving promptly at 8:00. And I have to tidy up my office and put away all the stacks of paper that I am collecting, so I should really get to work by 7:45.
At least we will have bagels and coffee...
But I am so afraid that they are going to replace my lovely giant old bathtub with one of those little bitty plastic ones that is are shallow that you can't even get all of yourself under the water at the same time. It makes me want to cry and take pictures of it to remember it by. And there are these beautful aqua tiles lining the wall, and the wonderful wrap around shower curtain rod, and I am afraid it will end up all beige fiberglass.
Sigh.
Here I go to say my farewell...
So of course tomorrow is the same morning that some author from Italy is coming in to work and wants to check us out and see if we are professional and not a little dinky family Christian business. And he is arriving promptly at 8:00. And I have to tidy up my office and put away all the stacks of paper that I am collecting, so I should really get to work by 7:45.
At least we will have bagels and coffee...
But I am so afraid that they are going to replace my lovely giant old bathtub with one of those little bitty plastic ones that is are shallow that you can't even get all of yourself under the water at the same time. It makes me want to cry and take pictures of it to remember it by. And there are these beautful aqua tiles lining the wall, and the wonderful wrap around shower curtain rod, and I am afraid it will end up all beige fiberglass.
Sigh.
Here I go to say my farewell...
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Return and Review
Sorry for the long absence. I'm afraid that I have simply been uninspired. Not sure why. I think I have simply been very engaged in real life. I have had some great days at work since the new year, and I have felt like the work I am doing actually matters and makes a difference in the life of the company. And I have been enjoying a lot of time with friends, like the trip to NYC last week, which is a story in itself. But even though real life has been good and meaningful, I am being told that I MUST sign up for facebook. Hmmm.... Maybe.... ;-
But I have been reading this fabulous book, Eve's Revenge, Women and a Spirituality of the Body. I first saw it at Ollie's and was intrigued but didn't buy it, but by luck or grace, it was still there when I went back again a month later and I am plowing through it. It is about living in a body, as simple as that. As the title suggests it is mainly for and about women, but the philosophy that our bodies aren't quite up there with our minds or souls is as old as the sun and has affected men and our culture over the century's just as much.
The other, most momentous thing about this book is that it has been the vehicle for me to post my first review on Amazon. In my job, I have learned that a positive review can make all the difference to a book, and I want to chime in for the ones that I think are really worthwhile. Especially new ones. There are so many books being published that a lot of good ones must but be lost in the fray. So when I find them, I want them to know. So here is my review, as it now appears on Amazon.
I am highly impressed by this book's treatment of the current predicament of women in western culture. But even more, I am surprised at the heart of this book, the revelation of how much our bodies truly effect "who we really are". The topic of bodies is not uncommon for women. We hear and see everywhere the newest exercise craze or most promising facial scrub. But Barger reveals the idea that is so common and so subtle, that who we are inside our body, our soul, spirit, etc. is at odds with the physical body that we live in. We believe that in order to be and express who we really are we must thicken our lashes, pierce our lip, maybe even have surgery to change our gender.
Another facet of this book that has surprised me is the sheer number of ways our body affects who we are as women. It controls our gender and beauty certainly, but also our race, strength, emotions, energy, health, sexuality, and reproduction. All in one body.
I stood in the library several months before picking up this title, and read a page from a little book of meditations about the body, whose title and author I sadly cannot recall. It suggested that we love our body as our most faithful helper and friend, always at work for us. A body as something to care for and love. I think Barger would second this, but she has taken the book even a step farther, and reminds us that in the Christian faith, God decided to become a body too. He didn't manipulate it or struggle to be free of it, but freely chose to live in it as we do, even with it's pain, aging, and awkwardness. The very opposite of what many women, and probably men, would choose for themselves. I hope they find this book and read it.
But I have been reading this fabulous book, Eve's Revenge, Women and a Spirituality of the Body. I first saw it at Ollie's and was intrigued but didn't buy it, but by luck or grace, it was still there when I went back again a month later and I am plowing through it. It is about living in a body, as simple as that. As the title suggests it is mainly for and about women, but the philosophy that our bodies aren't quite up there with our minds or souls is as old as the sun and has affected men and our culture over the century's just as much.
The other, most momentous thing about this book is that it has been the vehicle for me to post my first review on Amazon. In my job, I have learned that a positive review can make all the difference to a book, and I want to chime in for the ones that I think are really worthwhile. Especially new ones. There are so many books being published that a lot of good ones must but be lost in the fray. So when I find them, I want them to know. So here is my review, as it now appears on Amazon.
I am highly impressed by this book's treatment of the current predicament of women in western culture. But even more, I am surprised at the heart of this book, the revelation of how much our bodies truly effect "who we really are". The topic of bodies is not uncommon for women. We hear and see everywhere the newest exercise craze or most promising facial scrub. But Barger reveals the idea that is so common and so subtle, that who we are inside our body, our soul, spirit, etc. is at odds with the physical body that we live in. We believe that in order to be and express who we really are we must thicken our lashes, pierce our lip, maybe even have surgery to change our gender.
Another facet of this book that has surprised me is the sheer number of ways our body affects who we are as women. It controls our gender and beauty certainly, but also our race, strength, emotions, energy, health, sexuality, and reproduction. All in one body.
I stood in the library several months before picking up this title, and read a page from a little book of meditations about the body, whose title and author I sadly cannot recall. It suggested that we love our body as our most faithful helper and friend, always at work for us. A body as something to care for and love. I think Barger would second this, but she has taken the book even a step farther, and reminds us that in the Christian faith, God decided to become a body too. He didn't manipulate it or struggle to be free of it, but freely chose to live in it as we do, even with it's pain, aging, and awkwardness. The very opposite of what many women, and probably men, would choose for themselves. I hope they find this book and read it.
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