Sympathy

“Christ, so the scriptures tell us, bore the sufferings of all humanity in his own body as if they were his own—a thought beyond our comprehension—accepting them of his own free will. We are certainly not Christ; we are not called on to redeem the world by our own deeds and sufferings, and we need not try to assume such an impossible burden. We are not lords, but instruments in the hand of the Lord of history; and we can share in other people's sufferings only to a very limited degree. We are not Christ, but if we want to be Christians, we must have some share in other people's sufferings only to a very limited degree. We are not Christ, but if we want to be Christians, we must have some share in Christ's large-heartedness by acting with responsibility and in freedom when the hour of danger comes, and by showing a real sympathy that springs, not from fear, but from the liberating and redeeming love of Christ for all who suffer. Mere waiting and looking on is not Christian behavior. The Christian is called to sympathy and action, not in the first place by his own sufferings, but by the sufferings of his brethren, for whose sake Christ suffered.”

--Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison

Something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven

"If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line--starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King's Highway past appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led--make of that what you will."

-Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

Writing

I can't write on command. I've never been able to, which is probably why I'd never be able to be a career writer, or at least a writer with any sort of contractual time constraints. If I set out goals and time slots and checklists, I'm done. I might as well throw in the towel and avoid the humiliating failure. Even if I seem to have "all the time in the world," it will do me no good.

No, I'm one of those writers who has to have inspiration hit her in the head, brick-like. I can labor over the structure of a paper for hours and days and weeks until I'm at my wit's end, only to suddenly one morning be eble to plot the whole thing perfectly in 20 minutes. I've done it. I've also gone for weeks without writing, then go to bed exhausted one night only to find that an essay is brewing in my head. I may have to work my day job again in the morning, but the writing can't wait. An hour later, I have a strong body drafted and excited to be edited and finished. (Did you know that an essay can be excited? I can feel it.)

When I put off writing said essay, it consumes me. I write it in my head. I say sentences out loud. I search through my mental resource book on word choice and sentence structure. Yep, I said word choice. Finally, while laying curled up in bed, I resign. The alarm clock says 12:30am, but for some bizarre reason it's time to write.

And so I do. And because my mind is a glutton for punishment and is in hyperdrive, I then (at 1:30am) commence writing about the writing process. Because I can. Because I must. Because I'm a neurotic, obsessive, ruminating writer. And because, clearly, I love it.

Oddity

Or, my aunt just friended me on facebook.

Over the last few weeks, I've been friended by a few family members that make me take a second look at my profile. I don't like this. I don't like thinking that my Aunt Sandy will think less of me based on my facebook profile, or that I am so paranoid about the issue. I like to justify myself by saying that I don't like the way Aunt Sandy, cousin Missy, and Aunt Tina find out how I've changed and now view the world. But, it probably should happen.

Maybe my aunts, cousins, and sister seeing my facebook--and thereby some small part of who I am at this time and place--is a good thing. Maybe it'll make the world (and my family) a more understanding place.

Maybe. But I have my doubts.

Contemplations, commitments, and callings

I'm trying to figure out what to do with myself. Here are general thoughts:

MSW/MTS—Get my master's. This is looking most likely at the moment. Do I know what I want to do with this degree? Nope. I want the theology work, and I want the MSW degree and skills. And hopefully I'll figure out what I can do to be helpful in the world. Hopefully.

Farm—Stay in Pennsylvania. Keep loving the land I already love. Learn to farm, live in a big house with lots of space for others. Keep investing in the community here.

But,...

-I don't know a darn thing about farming.

-I don't know if I can live in Boston.

-I really want to live in the middle of nowhere.

-I want to live near other people I love.

-Can my depression handle Boston? Who knows? My dad doesn't think so.

-Staying the way things are is not an option.

-I have no money to try the farm thing.

-I have no marketability in what I want to do, whether it be in farming, social work, or theology.

-I still feel a pull to spend time abroad.

-I have no idea where that would be or what it would look like.

-Basically every option scares the crap out of me.

-And every option makes me really happy.

-I really just want to live in community and love people. I just don't know what that will look like.

Eek. Have I mentioned that I'm scared??

Why God Never Received Tenure at any University

1. He had only one major publication.

2. It was in Hebrew.

3. It had no references.

4. It wasn't published in a refereed journal.

5. Some even doubt he wrote it himself.

6. It may be true that he created the world, but what has he done since then?

7. His cooperative efforts have been quite limited.

8. The scientific community has had a hard time replicating his results.

9. He never applied to the Ethics Board for permission to use human subjects.

10. When one experiment went awry he tried to cover it up by drowning the subjects.

11. When subjects didn't behave as predicted, he deleted them from the sample .

12. He rarely came to class, just told students to read the Book.

13. Some say he had his son teach the class.

14. He expelled his first two students for learning.

15. Although there were only ten requirements, most students failed his tests.

16. His office hours were infrequent and usually held on a mountaintop.

From: http://funnies.paco.to/GodTenure.html

Conversations

Transcript of my roommate and I this evening, as I watched Planet Earth:

A: Erin, can we get a polar bear cub?
E: First thing tomorrow.
A: Hooray!
E: Do you think we can get them at Agway?
A: Dunno. Ask Renee.
E: Okay, I'll text her.... Do you think Nevin will let us have one?
A: Of course. It's a polar bear cub. Who could say no to that?
E: Right. Because it wouldn't make any messes.
A: Nope. Wouldn't eat a thing.
E: Would you potty train it?
A: No idea.
E: Yeah, you best do your research on that.
A: True dat.
E: Wait, did you just say "true dat"?
A: Uh, maybe...
E: Have you had anything to drink tonight?
A: No!
E: Well we better get some.
A: Wait, why?
E: Because no one should say "true dat" while sober.

Ruminating

Today is a better day. I still hate my job, I still don't have a clue what I'm doing with my future, and I still have carpal tunnel and depression. But today is better. Two from Rumi, that helped center me last night:


"A Great Wagon" [excerpt]

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

~~~

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
don't make any sense.

"Unmarked Boxes"

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round
in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk
now drinks wine and honey mixed.

God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,
from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed.
As roses, up from ground.
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,
now a cliff covered with vines,
now a horse being saddled.
It hides within these,
till one day it cracks them open.

Part of the self leaves the body when we sleep
and change shape. You might say, "Last night
I was a cypress tree, a small bed of tulips,
a field of grapevines." Then the phantasm goes away.
You're back in the room.
I don't want to make anyone fearful.
Hear what's behind what I say.

Tatatumtum tatum tatadum.
There's the light gold of wheat in the sun
and the gold of bread made from that wheat.
I have neither. I'm only talking about them,

as a town in the desert looks up
at stars on a clear night.

The misfortune of inheritance

This evening, after coming home from a rough day of work, I headed straight for the chocolate liqueur. It was completely premeditated, I'd been thinking about it for hours before I busted out the bottle.

Yes, I drank. Despite being on Prozac, and knowing that the alcohol would mess with my emotions for the next few days, I downed it. My roommate, on hearing me get out the ice, warned me not to drink, that I would regret it in the morning. She's right. But I did it anyway.

Growing up, I never thought I'd get mixed up with alcohol. I hated what it did to my aunts and uncles, how changed they became after a few drinks. The thing is, these things run in families. So, the habits of these aunts and uncles became my habits. My grandmother's method of self-medicating her depression has become my method when the Prozac just doesn't stretch far enough to cover the day's stress and hard emotion.

At some point, I hope to be beyond the alcohol and the Prozac. I hope to find a place in which I am at peace, with enough hope and faith and resilience to keep going under my own strength. Unfortunately, today is not the day. So, to forget the alienation, the anger, the uncertainty, and the carpal tunnel, I drink.

There are some things I'm grateful for having inherited. This is not one of them.

What goes up...

Yeah, we all know the old cliche. For about a month, I felt fantastic. I was ecstatic about life, and so motivated to live it well. I thought about going off my antidepressants, and was excited about the future.

Then reality hit again.

Now, I'm struggling with my self-esteem. Having a friend insinuate that I'm fat, seeing guys swoon over another friend, and generally feeling invisible to the world has left me feeling worthless. I'm still fighting, for which I'm proud of myself, but some days it just feels impossible. I'm trying hard to remember the good days, and wondering when I can get back to being "myself."

Whatever the heck that means.