Whenever my sister would get dumped by a boyfriend, it was not hard to predict what her next move would be. Obviously there would be the tears and the heavy reliance on our parents, but then there was also the mall, because nothing made Amy feel better about herself than "pretty underwear" or soft underwear or whatever. Once when Amy was a little girl (the most impossible little girl for a father to dress mind you), I remember my dad threatening to call Mrs. Bradley, our school secretary to tell her Amy wouldn't be coming to school today because she couldn't find the right pair of underwear to wear. Ooh, I knew the kid was in trouble then. I was of course clothed, winter coat, gloves and all, waiting with my backpack and trapperkeeper for my little sister to pick out the perfect pair of underwear and finally get dressed. Every day was difficult with Amy and dressing; even back then she had a distinct taste and style, and even back then, I had none. I digress. My dad was a trooper.

Emily had a car wreck today, and mother called me today seeking counsel, "I'm depressed." And why did you call me? "I'm upset, Emily got in this wreck... she went on with other woes. And poor Emily, she's badly shaken, and this couldn't have come at a worse time for her.

A first year student at William Jewell died this past week in his dorm of seisures. He was a KA pledge who played baseball and apparently danced great for campus sing. The night before he died, Emily called him out in front of everyone and said, "he does it perfectly, everybody watch him dance." And now his body is immoble. They had an immediate service at Grand River the night they found out, and his close friends went. Emily said she couldn't believe the campus minister could stand up there and talk. She was amazed (and a wreck). There was another memorial the next day. Jewell cancelled Campus Sing and all points associated with homecoming this week. So she was already upset about her friend's tragic death and then she totaled her car.

Then there's Amy in med school. Her mac crashed last week, and to retrieve the 9 months of research on the hard drive it'll cost her $1900 and that's after a 10% off coupin, a student discount and a "man I feel sorry for you" discount. She feels guilty about mom and dad always helping out, and for her birthday in 14 days she's asked for no presents because she knows she's already such a financial burden on our parents. Oh the drama.

Parents are amazing. At least mine are. If I can muster up half the patience my father had with amy and her underwear, my mother has with emily's cars, and then there's my mixed up life...plus if I can be kind to my best friend who just lost her brother in a tractor accident (he left behind two high school daughters) and who has to take care of her mom who recently fell, hurting her hip....if I can attend my daughter's best-friend from high school's grandmother's Hindu funeral....If I can be what my parents are to these people...

If I can swing all that with even 1/10 the grace and authentic love, I'll be happy. Even if right now, they're all sad.

At least we have our health. (don't think of Emily's knee - surely it's not that bad)

And at least we all have each other to go through this with.

That's what I told my mother. Those two things. And I meant them.

I left at the funeral two weeks ago in Waco, a woman named Alice: a mother who has burried her husband and now both her children. She has only a grandchild and some great-grandchildren remaining.

We have each other. And we'll have Christmas to have a big insecurity cry fest and then we'll have the best of time making fun of each other, waching or participating in the final decorations (depending on who you are), going to the movies (at least two) and singing chrismas carols as we walk around the neighborhoods. We'll eat at Barbosa's and then we'll eat all of mom's and grandma's and Amy's delicious dishes and I'll gain five pounds. It'll be fabulous. I bought most of your presents in DC, the rest I'll get in South Austin of course.

And it'll be great to be back together again adults and animals alike. Oh the animals. I won't even go there.

But until then, in the wisdom of my younger sister, I will put on my prettiest, softest nightgown tonight and go to bed. So that I feel good enough about myself to take care of my family.

And tomorrow we will wake up to God's day. God's special day. And we will be reminded that through the heartache, the financial troubles, the car wrecks, the life wrecks, we have each other but most importantly we have God, who admittedly will not fix our problems, but help us through them. God's presence is everywhere. Look for Her calm spirit. Feel loved by His open arms. It will be good. Between the jammies and church, we'll be alright.

I love you.

I'm sorry I've been so delinquent in blogging, but every time I've gone to write a blog, my internet has been down at home. Argh. No comment.

What was I going to blog?

Damnit. It was good. I had two posts going in my head last night and now I can't remember them.

Was I going to write about how exhausting Thursdays are? How last night I came home at 10:30p.m. and laid down on the couch feeling like a tired out little kid? I just completed a full day of school learning the dewey decibel system, and then played all afternoon outside on the patio - little house on the prairie - with tricycles. And now I'm asleep on the couch. Will my dad scoop me up, cradle me in his arms and lay me carefully in my bed to complete a good night's sleep?

Will he?

Or maybe I was going to blog about what finally arrived. Not a long awaited package, not a visitor, not a promotion, but a cold front. It finally arrived yesterday at 5pm... a few days late if you listen to the meteorologists. And I slept last night with the air turned off for the first time since I bought my house, and it was wonderful. But today it turned out to be hot again, so that feels like false advertising so perhaps that wasn't what I was going to blog about.

I can't remember.

Tonight I celebrated the birthdays of two friends, so I guess I'll blog to them. Ginny and Bria - love you. Fun parties tonight. Bon chance with all your adventures.

And may your internet always work and if not, may your memory always be keen.

Yep, it's still hot here. I'm going to read by the pool.

The Question: Who do you believe?

The Contestants:

Your parents, who raised you (thank god), and have for that reason witnessed your greatest failings and your greatest accomplishments but, truth be told, not much in between because you've been gone for over 10 years...

Your friends, who have stuck with you through thick and thin, who have also seen you at your worst and best, and don't really give a flying flip about either because they're not that into titles and they think "shit happens" to everyone, but they've also only heard your side of the story...

Or Yourself, who really believes that you are learning to be a mature person; that overall you've made the best decisions for your life. I mean, look at yourself!

You're one of ten chosen pastoral residents in the nation (at least that's what some other contestants told you to put on your resume). You're talented, and you know your gifts and how to use them. You're "cute" (as the old ladies as church like to call you) even if you don't have your sisters' unfading beauty. You're articulate, funny, creative, enchanting and charming. You see needs and you seek to meet them. Thanks to your parents, you have a heart for the marginalized and thanks to your friends, a mind keen on creativity. And heck, you've got a great body even if you're "pushing 30" as your sisters love to remind you.

Dad, you taught me to go for the gold. Mom, you taught me to stand up for my rights. Friends, you taught me that love is unconditional and I am so thankful for you all.

But right now, I'm sticking to myself. I don't even want to be analyzed by my therapist.

I mean think about it. How many people offer commentaries on our lives every day? How many people put themselves in the running for running our lives or our thought processes every day? The commercials on TV want to tell us about ourselves, the media wants to inform us of who we are and who we should be, people on buses listening in on our conversations always have their two cents to add, then there's co-workers, neighbors, bosses, in-laws. Geez! We're constantly offering each other advice and insight, and I'm left with my head in my hands wondering, who do I believe?

And so on a personal note, if everyone could just not ask questions, not offer opinions, just for a little while, maybe for only a week. Please just let me be me with my thoughts and my empty coffee can.

You filled me up, but one day the bottom of that coffee can broke, and the pennies cascaded out the bottom. With your love, I repaired the can, but now every time a penny or a rock or a token or a memory is dropped inside, it clinks loudly, reverberating against the metal, and I'm reminded of how empty I feel right now.

It will take a little while for it to fill back up. Do you understand? So please, continue to love me, but i can't handle any more opinions.

I have to work out these deaths, some literal, some metaphorical, and I have to find the resurrection. It may take three days and I may not recognize it when I see it, but I'm confident when he calls my name, I'll be changed. And I'll believe.

Again.

Again.

But we must be silent and I must go to the garden or I might miss him.

Again.

Again.

This was my short spoken word last night at Beresheth kicking off our study in worship of the Beatitudes...

The Beatitudes. Truthfully, I don’t know much about them. I managed to remember they were at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5, but that was about it. Upon reading it, I discovered there were 8 beatitudes – perfect. That will finish out 8 weeks in October and November for Beresheth and lead us straight into Advent. However, then I discovered they were in Luke too and that in Luke there are only four beatitudes and three woes. Didn’t fit my schedule. Not nicely nestled in the Sermon on the Mount. Sticking with Matthew’s version.

Of course, Matthew’s is different than Luke’s. Whereas Matthew says blessed are the poor in Spirit, Luke just says blessed are you who are poor. Matthew says to the poor in spirit belongs the Kingdom of Heaven. Luke says the poor have the kingdom of God. Are these differences theologically substantial, or are they just different ways of talking about the same thing?

So I looked at what “poor in spirit” meant. According to Song of Solomon the poor in spirit are those “who live in humble acknowledgment of their impoverishment before God and who lift up hopeful prayers.” David Garland juxtaposes the proud with the poor in spirit who “throw pride and caution to the wind in desperate appeals for help.” Likewise, Dom Crossan notes that the Greek word used denotes a desolate situation. And as the quote read states, Jesus called blessed “not the poor but the destitute, not poverty but beggary.” So is that different from Luke’s plain old “blessed are the poor?” N. T. Wright says no. He states, “I do not think there is much actual difference between Matthew and Luke at this point. The contrast upon which we should focus is not between material and spiritual poverty, but between the way of the powerful and the way of the powerless – who are likely to be the poor in all the senses, certainly in first-century Israel.”

And Israel was oppressed. They were all around destitute.

Quite different from the state you and I live in today.

We live in a mostly free country with a mostly ethical sense of morality. My religion isn’t suppressed, my civil liberties aren’t oppressed. In general, politically, we’re doing alright. Not well mind you, but compared to first-century Israel, or to 21st century Palestinians, we’re doing okay. Even the poorest of our poor in America can usually locate a soup kitchen.

But Matthew isn’t talking about money in this passage, he’s talking about spirituality.

Humility, some would say. Beggars before God. One scholar notes that in Aramaic the word poor in Matthew means bent down, afflicted, miserable. Juxtapose that with the word for meek in verse 4 which means bending oneself down, humble and gentle and I get a sense that poor in spirit has very little to do with how we choose to be spiritually. It seems imposed. Spiritually impoverished because we have no choice to be anything but. If I am meek, I move my body into the submission of bowing down, but if I am afflicted, I bend down due to external weight.

And that I get. And that I almost like.

Because it’s nothing I can control.

Many scholars call the Beatitudes the New Testament’s Ten Commandments. Matthew makes many references to Moses with regard to Jesus and there are many similarities. Dreams about their births, the slaughtering of male children by a ruler, people fleeing into exile, both fast for forty days and nights and both ascend a mountain.

There are distinctions too though. Matthew is careful to note these. Whereas Moses is taught by God, Jesus does his own teaching. Moses speaks in the name of God; Jesus speaks in his own name. Moses’ face shines with God’s glory, Jesus is transfigured. And the list goes on and on.

And of course whereas Moses brings Commandments, Jesus brings congratulations.

Congratulations to the poor in spirit! Beatitudes speak of happiness acquired by someone. In the Greco-Roman world it was a lovely bride, excellent children, moral stature, wisdom, wealth, honor, etc. Needless to say, poverty, humility and suffering didn’t generally make their list. But Jesus offers congratulations on these states of being and for what will come as a result.

A new way of being Israel. A new way of being the children of God.

And again Jesus calls to examine our hearts. For a rich old man may be just as spiritually estranged as a poor young boy because external circumstances do not determine the status of our spirituality. They may encourage or hinder it, granted, but what lies inside… hurt by the church, hurt by people, confused by evil, longing to be accepted and made whole… the status of our spiritual health is what Jesus congratulates here.

Congratulations Ann, you can’t make yourself whole so quit trying. Only God can accomplish that.

Congratulations Ann, you alone cannot fill up what is empty, so stop trying.

You cannot make your spirit light, you cannot make yourself powerful, you cannot heal what has been broken, free what was oppressed.

Only God can do that.

Enter the kingdom of heaven. Enter the reign of grace. Enter the policy of compassion.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.

Amen.

Moxi, I love you and I'm sorry about your grandma. Her obituary was beautiful though and mom said the funeral was neat. I wish I could have been there for you Mox. You are in my thoughts though... Miss you.

The world is always changing, it's true. At some times more quickly than at others.

But sometimes, the world stays just the same too.

The same gold, 1980's BMW still pulls slowly out of the driveway next to 2825 where I sit on the porchswing and watch. Around me the chairs are still fixed in a circle from the night before where yet again a community gathered to drink and speak to life and to each other.

Another chair is broken because of my friends on that porch who are all bigger than me, and have all managed to break something of the Eades over the years due their the largeness of their lives.

I cried another hard cry last night because 2825 is a safe place to cry. I was put to bed by the same little girl who greeted me four years ago with welcoming arms balancing books and a little black kitten, who now at 10 years old knew to bring me jammies, turn on the sounds of rushing water, and put allergy medicine and water on the bedside table. I fell alseep in a safe bed with the same cat crawling over my tired body all night long.

I held another black baby in my arms today at the Eades as Holly has taken another child with a child under her wing. I sat cradling another frail bird as her mother mends her broken wings and cleans the house for money Holly doesn't have.

Everything changes and nothing changes. We thank and question God.

Everything changes and nothing ever changes.

And that's why I needed to come home.

Ruth Ann Foster, 59, passed away at her home in Hewitt, Texas, Thursday, Sept. 28, 2006. Visitation will be from 10 a.m. to noon Tuesday, Oct. 3, at First Baptist Church, Waco, Texas. A memorial service will follow at the same location at 1 p.m. with the Rev. Julie Pennington-Russell, pastor of Waco's Calvary Baptist Church, officiating. Ruth Ann Foster, an Ashland, Ky. native, was Associate Professor of Christian Scriptures at Baylor University's George W. Truett Theological Seminary. She earned a Bachelor of Theology degree from Clear Creek Baptist College, Pineville, Ky. in May 1978. She excelled academically and went on to earn the Master of Divinity degree in 1982 and the Doctor of Philosophy degree in New Testament Studies in 1989. She served as an adjunct instructor in the Department of Religion at Texas Christian University (1984-91) and then moved to become Minister of Education at Manor Baptist Church, San Antonio (1991-94). In 1994, she became one of the founding faculty members of George W. Truett Theological Seminary. She was involved in every aspect of the early development of Truett Seminary and was a beloved and effective teacher. She firmly believed that female students attending the seminary should be encouraged to explore their giftedness from God. She was held in the highest esteem and admiration by her faculty colleagues at Truett Seminary. Dr. Foster is survived by her mother, Alice; a nephew, David Foster of Ashland, Ky. and his wife, Annette; a great niece, Beth Foster; a great nephew, Jeremy Foster; a cousin, Connie Marshall and her husband, Roger and her life-long best friend, Jane Kerns and her husband, Ken of Lexington, Ky. Mrs. Foster and her family wish to thank the people of Odyssey Health Care Hospice and the Truett Seminary family for their warm and untiring ministry during this difficult time. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Dr. Ruth Ann Foster George W. Truett Theological Seminary Endowed Scholarship Fund at Baylor University, Box 97026, Waco, Texas 76798-7026. The family invites you to leave a message or memory in our "Memorial Guestbook" at www.wilkirsonhatchbailey.com. September 14, 1947 - September 28, 2006

http://www.legacy.com/WacoTrib/Obituaries.asp?Page=Lifestory&PersonId=19399323

Today is not the greatest day of my life but it is another day in my life; whereas today was the last day of Dr. Foster's.

Ruth Ann was my Into to Theology and Greek professor at Truett Seminary. She was fairly young, quite spunky and even allowed me to submit a prayer request one day in class because i was traumatized that I had to wear all white grandma shoes to my new job at Applebees.

Remember that? Forgive me Ruth Ann, I was only 22.

The insulation man (who finally arrived after two weeks to put insulation in my attic) fell through the ceiling and into my bedroom this afternoon. I laid down on the floor of the FBC office in a state of shock about the hole as Ruth Ann laid down her life and left an even bigger one.

I remember the last time I saw Ruth Ann. It was 11 months ago at Kyle's wake. I had just seen his body, and came out of the room unable to control my tears. I saw her sitting at a table, so I sat down in her safety and sobbed. She patted my back and said she was sorry, but she had no words of consolutation for me. She was going to have to argue this one out with God. Maybe now she will.

A man fell down through my ceiling and Ruth Ann, you ascended up into heaven.

Promise to come back down and teach us all about it.

Please.

I come home to a computer. Not to a person. Not even really to the cats. They've started ignoring me unless I'm feeding them or lying down with a blanket they'd love to sink their paws into.

Granted usually every night someone is at my house. Last night it was Frank. Tonight KC. Tomorrow night Grant and Amy. My house is a safe place for friends, and I think many of them consider 5406 a second home in a lot of ways. My neighbors may think I run a brothal though what with the people who frequently crash on my comfy couches.

But not every day. And tonight KC just came over to prove he could upload my ipod songs to my itunes. He was right of course, but after proving himself, he scurried off to the Side Bar to watch Project Runway and maybe meet a girl who doesn't think he's gay.

But I'm not the only one.

With an empty house I mean.

One of my friends doesn't feel at home at his house even though he has four roommates. I pray for him.
My sister comes home only to a dog and a cell phone, so I pray for her too.

And others have more family than they'd care to admit.

I remember one friend in high school who lied to one of our teachers about her brother. She said she didn't have one. Oh really, the teacher said, knowing she did. Nope. No brother, my friend responded.

I lied once and said my parents had been married before and that in reality I had an older brother by one of my parents first marriages. But I was in grade school. And I was adding to my family, not subtracting.

Still, it was a lie.

And 20 years later I lie on the couch and reflect on family and life and my empty home.

Someday when I stop buying computers and ceiling fans, I'll begin classes for foster parenting. Then I'll share my love and care for a child who desparately needs to learn about family.

Because I've got a lot of love to give the world. And it's just not being fully utilized.

Or at least, that's how I feel when I come home to an empty house with a computer, two cats and a couch.

I need a roommate.

Or I need to join a commune.

Or I need to go visit my family in Missouri. I miss them.

Yesterday, an off day and an odd day. I started it by waking up, a novel idea on most days for me. Then I raked leaves, and Tommie noted that I hadn't been around much. Yeah, I'm a workaholic I said, trying to muster an excuse. It was true that I had worked 8 days in a row without a day off. That at least constitutes one week of workaholism.

After the leaves, I headed for the flowers which I watered and began to pull the weeds away from. However, as I grabbed one large unwanted green apendage to the dirt and wood chips out marched, no flooded, ants ants and more ants.

Now many of you know how I feel about ants in Texas; my feelings initiated one unfortunate night at the edge of an apartment complex in Waco where I held back the hair of a puking roommate and first felt the sting of death. So I hate ants. Nothing has ever relieved my anger. So I marched inside and grabbed the pesticide (don't read this part Michelle) and mixed an appropriate amount with water and headed back outside. My plans were thwarted however, when I discovered that the already dilluted brew had to be hooked up to a hose to spray. Still furious with ants still spewing forth from the ground I yanked the lid off the container and just poured the poison all over those damn ants.

Granted, I probably killed my plants too, there's a chance. But I'd rather kill a plant or two with my anger than myself, and if I can release eight days of tension on some no good nothing poison packin' ants, I'm gonna.

After my yard had returned to dust what with the leaves gone (Lord knows it doesn't have grass) and mother earth easing back into her hole of oppression, I ate lunch with an old friend. Well, he's not old, he's only 20, but I have known him for two and a half years now. That's about par for an "old friend" in Austin. We ate at Pei Wei, a restaurant I mostly associate with an ex-boyfriend, but with very good, not very expensive food. I pulled a fortune that satisfied me out of a cookie and stored it in my purse to take home and put up on the fridge with all the other good fortunes on small pieces of white paper that give me hope.

I had dropped off my car at Groovy Automotive, my favorite car-fixing place in Austin and it wasn't finished yet, so my old friend dropped me off at a new friend's house and new friend and i went shopping! Determined to have a thoroughly productive but fun day, I had decided this oddly off day would be the one in which I would spend the money Grandma gave me for my ordination to buy a computer. She and Grandpa had bought me a computer when I graduated from College, and i've not had a new one since. Needless to say, it was time.

The mac store was a delight and although I received a disturbing phone call regarding my car and $750, I pushed forward determined to anny up on the quality of my life.

On the way home from the mall, I remembered that I had also wanted to accomplish a hair cut since I have to sing in a wedding next weekend. Plus I felt I needed a little lift if you know what I mean even after having successfully shopped. So new friend and I went to his barber shop on South Lamar, and I entered a world of wonder. His styist was booked so I sat waiting for the next available person. He pointed out one barber across the room, "My stylist can't stand her. She does full shaves and cuts, and literally I saw a bushy man she shaved for like an hour sitting there with probably 20 nicks on his face and blood pouring out." Gross, I replied. I don't want her. "You won't get her. She's a barber."

I got her.

Of course.

So I'm already nervous and she then she asks me if I've ever had "the razor." Sorry? Huh? "The razor cuts your hair and makes it fuller than just regular scissors do." Oh. Okay. My hair's naturally limp. So whatever. Let's do it. So we wash and shampoo and I appreciate the head massage and then we return to the chair to begin to chop.

"Could you stand up?"

Sorry?

"I'm a perfectionist and your hair is curling (huh? you are cutting my hair right?) and i think I'd do a better job if you stood.

Of course you would. So I stood for almost 10 minutes with stylists and customers walking around me. It was the weirdest hair cut ever. Eh-ver.

And it took for-eh-ver.

So fun with the new mac that cost more than what Grandma gave me (of course - don't they always), was put on hold a little longer as I retrieved my now $500 fixed car and took off during rush hour to sing with my woman's choir at a nursing home. Sans choir director because she had to move to the piano because we were sans pianist, we performed fairly well. Having resurrected Route 66 from the fall of last year, our audience loved it, singing along with all the old songs. Nothing lifts the spirit more than giving to people who could not be more grateful.

By the end of the show, as I sat outside in the dark quiet air, I felt calm, cut and collected, and I returned home finally to play with my new computer loading music and pictures to my hearts delight.

I sit now in front of my new mac laptop writing my first mac blog. My newest friend asked me today if I had even slept since I last talked to him, but I assured him that after hours of playing on the new computer last night I had indeed gone to bed and to work today. Granted I returned home at 5 and started playing again (even though I should be reading and exegeting Genesis 3 and 4). But that's to be expected. Even ambitious, driven women get distracted by toys, art and beauty.

It's to be expected.

You got that? Expected.

Odd.

And off.

That's me.

Happy Birthday Crazy Carol. Still young and beautiful, just like your daughters. (Remember this pic from Phil's wedding? - that was fun. You should come down and visit again soon) Love, Ann

Ann Richards died, but so did Harley Oldenborg.

Hilary Clinton spoke at Ann's funeral, and my grandma wrote about Harley to her grandchildren.

But she didn't have to. We knew him.

Ann inspired all aspiring women. Harley maintained the land and entertained children.

Harley pushed me high on the tire swing on his farm in Minnesota which neighbored ours. Hands down (or hands up) it remains the greatest tire swing of all time. You can follow Ann and Amy's and eventually Emily's progression in age as each year new pictures were taken during the summer on Harley's tire swing. There was hardly time to unpack our bags and clean up the farmhouse upon arrival before the grandchildren were begging to run to Harley and Evelyn's.

Grandma writes of a time before grandkids when the Makers and the Olderborgs raised their own children together and farmed the land. I love the story of when they had to dig the turkeys out from underneith the snow after one Minnesota blizzard. And grandma just sent me a story of one Palm Sunday when a late blizzard came making it "impossible for them to get on the road to church. That afternoon [grandma] looked out the window, and here down the road trudged the Oldenborgs, in a line, Harley carrying the youngest – all bundled up, and the blizzard raging. [They] spent an otherwise lonesome afternoon together with them."

I would have liked to make the trek up to Minnesota for the funeral, but that was impossible. ACL tickets, friends flying in, college worship service, regular worship service, sunday school, children's sermon. Impossible.

But I said good-bye six years ago when I accompanied grandma and grandpa up to the farm for one final farewell. Our farmhouse was un-livable by then and we stayed with the Oldenborgs. I took lots of pictures of our farm, the old schoolhouse, the Oldenborg farm and old Minnesota friends. Harley pushed me one last time in that tire swing, he in his 70s and me in my 20s . . . and the rope broke.

I fell bumping to the ground and Harley and I looked at each other astonished and apologetic. And also a little sad, recognizing the symbolism in the event.

Six years later, Harley has been lowered into the ground, the earth he spent so much time nurturing.

Thank you Harley for taking the time to nurture us too.

We will miss you Harley.

Okay, so I'm totally ashamed to admit that I'm adicted to Project Runway. I've seen Season Two the whole way through (except one or two shows last week that I missed when I was working on my children's sermon).

My finger nails are way too long. My tolerance is way too low and my joy is beyond belief.

Holy cow.

I love my friends, I love my job, I love chilling at my house watching smut reality T.V.

Does it get much better?

Dear Lauren,

The weather is very nice right now. Not too hot, but cool with a breeze. Doesn't that sound nice? You should come home and feel it to believe it.
Clarence and Tommie added a back sun room to their house. They are very proud of it. Doesn't that sound pleasant? You should come see it. They'd like that.
Austin City Limits is next weekend. There are a lot of cool bands coming to play. Doesn't that sound like fun? You should fly back to hear them.
The trees are turning colors? You got to attend the opening to a new movie? You were invited to a famous guy's after-party last week? And your new apartment kicks ass?
Sigh.
Okay, stay in New York then.

Your friend,
Ann

This is what I "preached" at Beresheth last Thursday (the Sloth sermon was from a couple weeks before that)...

This past weekend, I went to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. I know, that sounds a little sketchy, like I might be “crazed” as the saying goes or obsessive or wanting a death wish, but hear me out on this. First of all, I was invited. And it wasn’t just a courtesy invite. It was a small wedding. So I went. I went to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding and he was glad I was there. I think his new wife was comfortable with me being there and even I was comfortable, happy to watch their union.

It’s a little different, I know. My first major boyfriend promptly got another woman pregnant after he and I broke up and we never spoke again. My last boyfriend kind of wigs me out. But with my ex-boyfriend who invited me to his wedding and gave me a huge hug afterwards, things were different, and I think it all has to do with community.

When I moved to Waco, Texas in January of 2001, I was in complete culture shock. I knew no one in Waco, let alone in Texas, had no family, no friends, just a scholarship to go to school. I moved in with three people I didn’t know and I began a new phase in my life. Does this sound similar to yours? Have you ever started school unsure about your classes, moved into an apartment or dorm unsure about your roommates, moved to a new town unsure about its culture?

Needless to say, I love Waco. Now. I repeat, now. Not then. Then it was full of obnoxious republicans and sexist classmates. Then everyone was a Texas lover and I had to cut through the pride just to get into the doors of the classrooms. Everyone who heard I was from out of state promptly informed me of Texas’ right to succeed from the Union (as if that were an intelligent decision). Doormats and potato chips were carefully crafted in the shape of the state of Texas. But there were other oddities too. Someone invited me to go eat dinner at the place where all the branch dividians died. A basketball player shot and killed his roommate. The water tasted horrible and you weren’t supposed to swim in the river. There were horrible fire ants in Texas that made blisters on my feet and legs. Baylor in all its wealth and glory sat smack dab in the middle of a poverty-stricken ghetto. Then Waco was scary, foreign, peculiar. But now it is beautiful, stable, and I miss it.

And the change in attitude is all because of community.

Because in Waco I found community and it changed my whole perspective on life.

In Waco, I made friends who I know I will remain close to until it’s all I can do to pull myself out of a rocking chair to go to the bathroom let alone get out of a pew to preach. They will be forever with me because of the community we created living together.

Together in community, my friends and I learned what it meant to truly love one another. We saw each other fully, with our faults and our unique blessings. My friends recognized my gifts and quirky personality, but also my downfalls and weaknesses and they loved me anyway. There was no pretension, no judgment. Everyone was always welcome, the door always open and the beer always in the fridge. When I found a cockroach in my bed at 12 am one night, I called my friend Big Phil and announced that I was in the car and on my way over to sleep on his couch. When he was devastated with a broken heart one night, he called me to come take care of him cause he’d had too much to drink. When I was hungry and didn’t know how to cook anything but cereal, my friend Lance would come over and cook me mac ‘n cheese and together we’d eat dinner and talk theology. When I was depressed over men, my roommate Cat and I would go get a pizza and watch Bridget Jones’ Diary, because laughter and grease always help heartache. When I obsessed unnecessarily over an issue, Josie would sit me down and tell me to stop. To stop right there because I was over-reacting. When sorrow was necessary, Julie would let me cry for hours in her bed. When I was in a play, Chris was always there on the front row.

We all provided this for each other. I had a list a mile long of people I could call, even people I didn’t know very well, who I knew would drop everything to help me out if I was ever in danger or in need. They understood community.

Community means sharing meals, talking long hours, goofing off, wrestling with hard issues, supporting each other, sharing jokes, taking each other lightly and taking each other seriously. It means you let your guard down and let someone else in. It means you get new members to your family, even if they aren’t blood related.

Communities are everywhere. We have communities at school, at work, at church, from High School, in our neighborhood. But the important thing to remember is that whoever we choose to embrace into our community deserves our very best. They deserve us: ourselves, our full selves – not the image we want to portray, not what we think they might like in another person, not another acquaintance full of quaint hi’s and how are you’s who don’t listen for an answer.

And we begin to live in union. In America we live in a Union, in a union where the majority is supposed to rule and the minority agrees to continue to live in community regardless. That’s not how we always behave though. And we live going to church, learning about God, talking to our friends and going home to eat with our family. But there’s so much more to church than that. We live 40 hours a week at work or in school interacting with the same people every day, some of whom we don’t even know their name, some of whom we’d just as soon not know at all.

Who is your community? How do you define it? And are you allowing yourself to live fully by choosing to invest in the lives of people around you and choosing to let them into yours?

It’s a risk. I don’t want people to know about my eating disorder, we may say. I don’t want people to know I love Star Wars. I don’t want people to know I like to read classic literature. I don’t want people to know I drink. I don’t want people to know I don’t drink. I don’t want to be back-stabbed again. I don’t want to be lied to again. I don’t want to be overlooked again. I don’t want to hurt again.

It’s a risk.

But it’s a rainbow too, a promise, of a true communion available only through our triune God. True community: three in one.

“May they live in unity,” Jesus prayed. “Just like you and I are one, let them be one.”

Don’t just go in and out of the doors of the church. Don’t just go in and out of the classrooms, the cubicles. Open your eyes and open your heart. Let people love you and love others. Create family out of friends and work hard at healthy relationships and trust and vulnerability. Learn to know when to shut your friends down in love and learn to listen to them too. Encourage one another. Laugh with one another. Challenge one another. Support one another. Take care of one another. Cook organic mac ‘n cheese for one another.

And you may find yourself celebrating the wedding of your life to the lives of those around you.

And that will be a beautiful marriage indeed.

It was a happy ending. The wedding proved a success: tons of friends and a completely in love bride and groom. It was amazing. Surreal actually, to see him so . . . happy.

A "Happy Ending" as opposed to An Interesting Resolution means that your ex-boyfriend will give you a huge hug after his wedding and thank you for coming. It means you can say "my pleasure," and actually mean it. It means you can cry with joy for each other.

And it means you get to see old friends...


Congratulations Jer.

Happy Anniversary Bob and Mary Maker!!! Love from Texas...