I'm not ready.
I'm still processing Christmas; I'm not ready for New Year's.
There are still so many stories to tell, to laugh at again, to reflect upon. There's family history to scrutinize, presents to put away, cars to wash after the long drive home. I'm not ready for resolutions and reminiscing and black eyed peas.
I'm still in Christmas. I'm not ready to move on yet. The world is moving too fast.
Stop the World I Want to Get Off.
My father met my mother during that show. He was the only man and she played one of the many women. I wonder if they feel like that was just yesterday - if just yesterday they were at Jewell acting in plays - if just yesterday they were taking pictures of newborn Baby Ann - if just yesterday they discovered they were pregnant with Emily - if just yesterday Amy was getting accepted into Med School - if just last week was Christmas and how could it already be all over...
That's how I feel.
I'm not ready for the New Year. 2008, day one, and I'm already behind. Quite an unpleasant feeling actually - or that could be the remains of last night's champagne - something else that managed to sneak up on me. "I know it's the day of, but could I get reservations for dinner tonight?" It's daunting to feel left behind - or at least a day late. The party was yesterday. The wedding was last Saturday. Oh, they moved from this house a long time ago. It's like the rest of the world is progressing and celebrating and embracing newness and success and I'm still staring at the Christmas tree wondering when I'll find time or motivation to take it down.
Dear Santa, for New Year's I don't want something New. I just want to savor what I've Got.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Saturday, December 29, 2007
She has arrived
770 miles later, I am back. With 36.5 mpg on the highway my new (to me) toyota corolla has done me well. She is a cousin of the late toyota corolla, BlackBelle may she rest in peace. The Kia Sportage on the other hand is stuck still in Fort Worth. She's in purgatory.
But I'm home.
I left Missouri and the 36 year record-breaking December snow to come home to dust and dirt.
Around Waco I lost the lower register of my voice and by Austin, the tickle in my throat had surfaced yet again. Is it possible to be allergic to a city, because I think I am.
Too bad I like it here. :)
This week brings not only the festivities and required reflection on 2007 and toward 2008, but it brings back work: two sermons to write, auditions to plan, emails to send, meetings to have, people to encourage, love and serve. And of course more Christmas shopping for co-workers since I was sick the week i was planning on finishing that up and handing gifts out. sigh. i'm already behind.
But, Lynnette and Sam will be here because Sam's speaking at my church tomorrow at 9:30 and they both will be leading in worship at 11!! To pick up a copy of Sam's new book, click here! Tomorrow's Sam's B-day, Lynnette's was just four weeks ago and New Year's Eve is upon us. We can't wait to celebrate!!
Only the medicine and computer bags have been unpacked. Always start with the essentials. Surely the rest will fall into place.
Like what in the world I'm going to do with a dead car in Fort Worth.
But I'm home.
I left Missouri and the 36 year record-breaking December snow to come home to dust and dirt.
Around Waco I lost the lower register of my voice and by Austin, the tickle in my throat had surfaced yet again. Is it possible to be allergic to a city, because I think I am.
Too bad I like it here. :)
This week brings not only the festivities and required reflection on 2007 and toward 2008, but it brings back work: two sermons to write, auditions to plan, emails to send, meetings to have, people to encourage, love and serve. And of course more Christmas shopping for co-workers since I was sick the week i was planning on finishing that up and handing gifts out. sigh. i'm already behind.
But, Lynnette and Sam will be here because Sam's speaking at my church tomorrow at 9:30 and they both will be leading in worship at 11!! To pick up a copy of Sam's new book, click here! Tomorrow's Sam's B-day, Lynnette's was just four weeks ago and New Year's Eve is upon us. We can't wait to celebrate!!
Only the medicine and computer bags have been unpacked. Always start with the essentials. Surely the rest will fall into place.
Like what in the world I'm going to do with a dead car in Fort Worth.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Christmas Eve.
After a few fights, a couple glasses of wine, a visit from the neverending neighbor, and a case of Diet Coke (the true spirits of the American family), the Pittman family managed to get to get dressed in our finest attire, attend the Christmas Eve Candlelight service, get our pictures taken and get into bed.
Of course, I have to get you to this point of sugarplums dancing in dreams first. Santa comes tonight, and I've got to get my last bits of goodness out, not to mention the naughty. And so it goes.
As you'll remember, Christmas began shortly before Halloween this year with the decoration change in department stores completely skipping Thanksgiving. The inability to find decorations for the current holiday to hang at your Halloween party due to the display of decorations for the holiday after next, may be indicative that we in America have gone a little overboard with the Christmas thing.
But I'm not a hater. I love Christmas. I politely wait until the day after Thanksgiving to turn on my lights (even if they're hung before), I always abbreviate X-Mas with the understanding that I'm not X-ing Christ out of Christmas, only using the original Greek symbol for his name; I even drink the eggnog (store bought) and don't think twice about the calories.
Neither do I mind the shopping. I admit, this year I had trouble thinking of things for my list. Working in downtown Austin can make one a little self-conscious about asking for things. And since in over two years I still haven't gotten over the fact that the paychecks keep coming in (who knew?) I feel overly blessed.
But after Mother's third menacing phone call, I mustered up a list and have been adding to it ever since.
"How will I know what to get you if you don't ask for a new car, Ann?" she threatened, making fun of the fact that every year since I was 16, I asked for a car for Christmas. Very funny mom. So I put a Vespa on my Christmas list as a joke.
Unfortunately, if any year I should have asked for a car, it's this one.
Four hours outside of Austin, my car overheated.
AND DIED.
Did I take it in to a groovy shop that shall remain anonymous (ahem!) for this very problem not five days earlier when my car overheated on the way to a nursing home? Yes I did. Did they put in a new radiator and radiator cap? Yes they did. Did they do a 72 point check and write down all the things wrong with my car that they found? Yes they did. Did they strongly suggest I get a new battery before I drove to Missouri? Yes they did. Did I buy one at Wal-Mart the day before I left? Yes I did.
Do I have a car now? No I don't.
Because it overheated, burnt the engine and died on the access road just outside of Fort Worth.
"Do you want McDonald's for breakfast or IHOP?"
"Um... McDonald's I guess. IHOP will take too long and if we do McDonald's we will make it by dinner to St. Joe."
"K." We begin to pull off the highway. "Uh... the car... it's hot... it's..."
After pushing the car into IHOP's parking lot and eating the breakfast I hadn't chosen, I began the arduous task of calling my parents.
"Mom, my car is broken. Get on the internet and figure out where I am."
Fortunately, my old friend from Seminary was raised in Fort Worth, so I called her. She called her dad who called a friend who eventually recommended Christian Brothers Autobody Shop. Then I called a tow truck. Then a cab.
Because I had two cats, a dog and a boyfriend stowed away in my car. I kid you not. And the tow truck had a two "people" max for it's cab and refused to "tow" anything living.
I thought the cab driver was going to crap his pants when I started tossing cats into his car, but he sucked it up and dropped us off. In I waddled into the autobody shop with Zorba, Potter and Janie.
When the mechanic came to talk to me about my car, he didn't do it from behind the counter as his did with everyone else who came in during the FOUR HOURS I sat in that shop. Rather, he came out the door into the waiting room, sat on the couch next to me and said remorsefully, "I have some bad news."
Long story short, we arrived in tact in St Joe around 10:30pm on Friday in a rental car without a CD player. "That's okay," encouraged Grandma, "You and your boyfriend can sing together, and talk, and really get to know each other."
Yep, great. Like a freaking CD player would have been too much to ask for after emerging from Hell.
"I was hoping you left Zorba at the mechanic's," Mother said over the phone.
Fabulous.
The cats have been locked in my room ever since because my sister's psycho dog scared the begeezus out of them when we walked into the house.
The other sister was having a party.
I walked into the kitchen after five days of lying ill in bed, two days on the road, $1000 on the credit card, after losing my car and after losing my mind (but not crying once the whole day), and I looked at all those 22 and 23 year olds in their swank clothes sipping on rum and cider, and sighed. "Will someone please get me a beer?"
Fortunately, things have managed to move up from that point. God graced my merciless travels with 6 inches of snow (consequently ruining the travels of the rest of the county) the morning after I arrived. Church was cancelled (hallelujah and forgive me Jesus) the next day the boyfriend who's never seen snow, the sister who never fails to rekindle her childhood, the neverending neighbor and I all went sledding. Amazing. About halfway through we realized that if someone stood at the bottom of the hill and called out to Amy's dog Sophie, she would tear down the hill with us on the leash and the sled behind her, thus doubling our speed and our sheer terror. It was awesome. I haven't done that since college.
And Christmas with the extended family went off without a hitch too. No one brought up Jesus or George Bush, so we all got along fairly well.
With no Sunday morning Church there was no way my sisters and I could get out of going to the service tonight despite our pleas to watch movies, eat out and open gifts. It was another winner, with the man in front of us moving over one seat to avoid my coughs and my mother refusing to allow me to go to the restroom during the prayer to get a tissue for my nose. Amy fell asleep, and Emily snorted, stifling laughter, when the smell of calliflower fart drifted our way. I got tired of waiting for the minister to tell us to eat the bread and drink the cup during communion, so I put my wafer in my mouth to get the ball rolling. With one eye on the family minister, my sisters and mother did the same which resulted in more stifled laughter from the youngest when she realized we were out of sync with the rest of the congregation.
These are not all the terribly normal and terribly disfunctional stories I have from my Christmas vacation thus far, but the confessions have begun and processing it now may save me some therapy time later. :) I will keep you posted for sure.
I just hope Santa still shows up.
After a few fights, a couple glasses of wine, a visit from the neverending neighbor, and a case of Diet Coke (the true spirits of the American family), the Pittman family managed to get to get dressed in our finest attire, attend the Christmas Eve Candlelight service, get our pictures taken and get into bed.
Of course, I have to get you to this point of sugarplums dancing in dreams first. Santa comes tonight, and I've got to get my last bits of goodness out, not to mention the naughty. And so it goes.
As you'll remember, Christmas began shortly before Halloween this year with the decoration change in department stores completely skipping Thanksgiving. The inability to find decorations for the current holiday to hang at your Halloween party due to the display of decorations for the holiday after next, may be indicative that we in America have gone a little overboard with the Christmas thing.
But I'm not a hater. I love Christmas. I politely wait until the day after Thanksgiving to turn on my lights (even if they're hung before), I always abbreviate X-Mas with the understanding that I'm not X-ing Christ out of Christmas, only using the original Greek symbol for his name; I even drink the eggnog (store bought) and don't think twice about the calories.
Neither do I mind the shopping. I admit, this year I had trouble thinking of things for my list. Working in downtown Austin can make one a little self-conscious about asking for things. And since in over two years I still haven't gotten over the fact that the paychecks keep coming in (who knew?) I feel overly blessed.
But after Mother's third menacing phone call, I mustered up a list and have been adding to it ever since.
"How will I know what to get you if you don't ask for a new car, Ann?" she threatened, making fun of the fact that every year since I was 16, I asked for a car for Christmas. Very funny mom. So I put a Vespa on my Christmas list as a joke.
Unfortunately, if any year I should have asked for a car, it's this one.
Four hours outside of Austin, my car overheated.
AND DIED.
Did I take it in to a groovy shop that shall remain anonymous (ahem!) for this very problem not five days earlier when my car overheated on the way to a nursing home? Yes I did. Did they put in a new radiator and radiator cap? Yes they did. Did they do a 72 point check and write down all the things wrong with my car that they found? Yes they did. Did they strongly suggest I get a new battery before I drove to Missouri? Yes they did. Did I buy one at Wal-Mart the day before I left? Yes I did.
Do I have a car now? No I don't.
Because it overheated, burnt the engine and died on the access road just outside of Fort Worth.
"Do you want McDonald's for breakfast or IHOP?"
"Um... McDonald's I guess. IHOP will take too long and if we do McDonald's we will make it by dinner to St. Joe."
"K." We begin to pull off the highway. "Uh... the car... it's hot... it's..."
After pushing the car into IHOP's parking lot and eating the breakfast I hadn't chosen, I began the arduous task of calling my parents.
"Mom, my car is broken. Get on the internet and figure out where I am."
Fortunately, my old friend from Seminary was raised in Fort Worth, so I called her. She called her dad who called a friend who eventually recommended Christian Brothers Autobody Shop. Then I called a tow truck. Then a cab.
Because I had two cats, a dog and a boyfriend stowed away in my car. I kid you not. And the tow truck had a two "people" max for it's cab and refused to "tow" anything living.
I thought the cab driver was going to crap his pants when I started tossing cats into his car, but he sucked it up and dropped us off. In I waddled into the autobody shop with Zorba, Potter and Janie.
When the mechanic came to talk to me about my car, he didn't do it from behind the counter as his did with everyone else who came in during the FOUR HOURS I sat in that shop. Rather, he came out the door into the waiting room, sat on the couch next to me and said remorsefully, "I have some bad news."
Long story short, we arrived in tact in St Joe around 10:30pm on Friday in a rental car without a CD player. "That's okay," encouraged Grandma, "You and your boyfriend can sing together, and talk, and really get to know each other."
Yep, great. Like a freaking CD player would have been too much to ask for after emerging from Hell.
"I was hoping you left Zorba at the mechanic's," Mother said over the phone.
Fabulous.
The cats have been locked in my room ever since because my sister's psycho dog scared the begeezus out of them when we walked into the house.
The other sister was having a party.
I walked into the kitchen after five days of lying ill in bed, two days on the road, $1000 on the credit card, after losing my car and after losing my mind (but not crying once the whole day), and I looked at all those 22 and 23 year olds in their swank clothes sipping on rum and cider, and sighed. "Will someone please get me a beer?"
Fortunately, things have managed to move up from that point. God graced my merciless travels with 6 inches of snow (consequently ruining the travels of the rest of the county) the morning after I arrived. Church was cancelled (hallelujah and forgive me Jesus) the next day the boyfriend who's never seen snow, the sister who never fails to rekindle her childhood, the neverending neighbor and I all went sledding. Amazing. About halfway through we realized that if someone stood at the bottom of the hill and called out to Amy's dog Sophie, she would tear down the hill with us on the leash and the sled behind her, thus doubling our speed and our sheer terror. It was awesome. I haven't done that since college.
And Christmas with the extended family went off without a hitch too. No one brought up Jesus or George Bush, so we all got along fairly well.
With no Sunday morning Church there was no way my sisters and I could get out of going to the service tonight despite our pleas to watch movies, eat out and open gifts. It was another winner, with the man in front of us moving over one seat to avoid my coughs and my mother refusing to allow me to go to the restroom during the prayer to get a tissue for my nose. Amy fell asleep, and Emily snorted, stifling laughter, when the smell of calliflower fart drifted our way. I got tired of waiting for the minister to tell us to eat the bread and drink the cup during communion, so I put my wafer in my mouth to get the ball rolling. With one eye on the family minister, my sisters and mother did the same which resulted in more stifled laughter from the youngest when she realized we were out of sync with the rest of the congregation.
These are not all the terribly normal and terribly disfunctional stories I have from my Christmas vacation thus far, but the confessions have begun and processing it now may save me some therapy time later. :) I will keep you posted for sure.
I just hope Santa still shows up.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Christmas at Ann's House
Putting up my modest Christmas decorations...
Potter likes to climb into the tree and nap...
I added a deer to my outside lights this year!
Potter likes to climb into the tree and nap...
I added a deer to my outside lights this year!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Living Next to the Griswold's
Clarence finally finished his yard. This does not show the plethora of lights in the backyard - please keep this in mind as you feast on what he has prepared...
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Wish List
Dear Santa,
I don't have a fireplace. Most Texans don't. Grandma used to say you came in through the furnace in situations like this. I'm surprised I believed her.
So if it's true about the furnace thing, here's some things I'd like for Christmas...
a wii
new windows in my bedroom (just go ahead and put those in while you're here - i don't mind).
a pet turtle
or a pet bird
gift certificates to Home Depot, IKEA, Big Red Sun
movies: Little Miss Sunshine, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
any cool shoes size 6 women or size 4 children (i'll pass on those pointy things the elves wear though)
funky jewelry (especially earrings or necklaces)
cute long sleeve shirts
plants, especially cactii
I don't have a fireplace. Most Texans don't. Grandma used to say you came in through the furnace in situations like this. I'm surprised I believed her.
So if it's true about the furnace thing, here's some things I'd like for Christmas...
a wii
new windows in my bedroom (just go ahead and put those in while you're here - i don't mind).
a pet turtle
or a pet bird
gift certificates to Home Depot, IKEA, Big Red Sun
movies: Little Miss Sunshine, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
any cool shoes size 6 women or size 4 children (i'll pass on those pointy things the elves wear though)
funky jewelry (especially earrings or necklaces)
cute long sleeve shirts
plants, especially cactii
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Travelers: Following the Story
First came the shepherds. They heard the news, through a chorus of angels no less. With such storytelling devices as bright light and trumpets and being able to fly, it’s no wonder the shepherds left their jobs and scurried off to Bethlehem. They followed the news to a stable - not quite a barn, more like a cave - where they found the child.
I wonder if the stray cats and dogs didn’t beat them to the manger first though. The moo’s and spitting and snorting of the barn animals with the screams of a young girl giving birth probably scared the stray animals away at first. But when the donkeys and sheep settled down and the mother began to rest from her hard work, I imagine the baby crying. Softly… loudly… not at all. I bet that baby’s cry silenced the barn animals and I picture the stray cats, always intrigued by a human’s tears, sneaking in around the stones, through the legs of the stalls and up on a ledge to spy on the newborn child.
Some people knew the story was coming, waiting to be told. They followed the story before they even met the characters or knew their names. Simeon and Anna were two such people. The story tells us that Simeon waited day after day; such was his faith that he would see the Messiah before he died. And without any hint except the urging of the Holy Spirit, Simeon went up to Mary, Joseph and Jesus and added to the story. He said the baby would bring salvation. Maybe he said this because the baby’s name means “God saves,” but he added that the child would be a light to all the people. He predicted pain would accompany salvation, but he blessed the new parents nonetheless. And Mary and Joseph were amazed as the story continued to unfold. Anna soon joined them and brought her prayers and blessing upon the child.
The magi too heard the story. They had to gather bits of it piece by piece. First there was the star. It didn’t seem a part of any constellation they knew, so they began to search for its origin. The learned more of the story of the birth and the location when they met the King of the Jews. And finally, they met the main character of this drama that had brought them from so far away. And they worshipped the young boy. They told the story of a child-king and true to their heritage, they offered the king expensive gifts to honor him.
And the story continued as people began to hear about the baby and follow the news to where the boy, the child, the man was.
Everywhere Jesus went, news of his nature preceded him. “Jesus, we have heard you can heal – heal me!” “Jesus we have heard that you raise people from the dead – raise my child” “Jesus, we have heard you are the Son of God – save yourself if this is true!” Everywhere people followed the story of a baby, the story of a man, the story of a God.
That’s what we do today too, is it not? We follow the story. Sometimes we stand far off and just watch God at work. Other times we gather in close, compelled by the awesome tale, and we peer into its mystery. We watch historical events unfold and we marvel at those stories retelling themselves even in our own lives. We follow the Jesus story just like we would follow any other story: the ice storm in the Midwest, the war in Iraq, what Brittany Spears has done now. But unlike these other stories, this story changes everything.
It doesn’t just change which icy roads we avoid or does it change national border lines… it changes us. It changed history. It changed rules. It changed people. It changed the world.
Which is probably why we keep on telling the story today. Why we follow the good news of a God who demonstrated love by becoming like those he loves. This is why we watch God moving in the world and we pray God will move in us. It is why we peer into ourselves, into our hearts, into our minds and open them to the mystery of God. When this happens, we stop following the story and begin experiencing it ourselves. Instead of just watching the story, we join the story. Like the shepherds we move from hearing the news to seeing the baby. Like the magi we move from one location to another - be it geographically or spiritually - in an effort to honor the king. Like Simeon, we who have waited to be healed, to feel whole, when we encounter the story, in the flesh, in front of our face, we are changed.
This is not just a story to accompany Santa Clause and Frosty the Snowman. It’s not just a picture book you read or a crèche you set up on a mantle. It’s not just a myth to put children to sleep or a fable to get children to behave. It’s the story of an event, of God breaking into human history as a human being. It’s a story of poverty and richness, of oppression and freedom, of love and betrayal. It’s a story we experience every day. And it’s the story that will save our souls.
Indeed this is a story that will change us. It will redeem us and help us to keep on going. It is a story that gives hope and peace. It’s a story we have to work hard at allowing to be the story that defines our lives. So many other stories will compete to define who you are, but stories of loss and shame and bitterness are not the stories God has told for you. God’s story may have elements of those in it, but Jesus’ story begins with a baby and ends with an empty tomb. God’s story begins before creation and calls us good. God’s story trumps whatever we have reduced ourselves to and opens us up to who we can become…and how we can change the world by telling our stories.
And in telling the world our stories, indeed, we are telling God’s.
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
December 13, 2007
I wonder if the stray cats and dogs didn’t beat them to the manger first though. The moo’s and spitting and snorting of the barn animals with the screams of a young girl giving birth probably scared the stray animals away at first. But when the donkeys and sheep settled down and the mother began to rest from her hard work, I imagine the baby crying. Softly… loudly… not at all. I bet that baby’s cry silenced the barn animals and I picture the stray cats, always intrigued by a human’s tears, sneaking in around the stones, through the legs of the stalls and up on a ledge to spy on the newborn child.
Some people knew the story was coming, waiting to be told. They followed the story before they even met the characters or knew their names. Simeon and Anna were two such people. The story tells us that Simeon waited day after day; such was his faith that he would see the Messiah before he died. And without any hint except the urging of the Holy Spirit, Simeon went up to Mary, Joseph and Jesus and added to the story. He said the baby would bring salvation. Maybe he said this because the baby’s name means “God saves,” but he added that the child would be a light to all the people. He predicted pain would accompany salvation, but he blessed the new parents nonetheless. And Mary and Joseph were amazed as the story continued to unfold. Anna soon joined them and brought her prayers and blessing upon the child.
The magi too heard the story. They had to gather bits of it piece by piece. First there was the star. It didn’t seem a part of any constellation they knew, so they began to search for its origin. The learned more of the story of the birth and the location when they met the King of the Jews. And finally, they met the main character of this drama that had brought them from so far away. And they worshipped the young boy. They told the story of a child-king and true to their heritage, they offered the king expensive gifts to honor him.
And the story continued as people began to hear about the baby and follow the news to where the boy, the child, the man was.
Everywhere Jesus went, news of his nature preceded him. “Jesus, we have heard you can heal – heal me!” “Jesus we have heard that you raise people from the dead – raise my child” “Jesus, we have heard you are the Son of God – save yourself if this is true!” Everywhere people followed the story of a baby, the story of a man, the story of a God.
That’s what we do today too, is it not? We follow the story. Sometimes we stand far off and just watch God at work. Other times we gather in close, compelled by the awesome tale, and we peer into its mystery. We watch historical events unfold and we marvel at those stories retelling themselves even in our own lives. We follow the Jesus story just like we would follow any other story: the ice storm in the Midwest, the war in Iraq, what Brittany Spears has done now. But unlike these other stories, this story changes everything.
It doesn’t just change which icy roads we avoid or does it change national border lines… it changes us. It changed history. It changed rules. It changed people. It changed the world.
Which is probably why we keep on telling the story today. Why we follow the good news of a God who demonstrated love by becoming like those he loves. This is why we watch God moving in the world and we pray God will move in us. It is why we peer into ourselves, into our hearts, into our minds and open them to the mystery of God. When this happens, we stop following the story and begin experiencing it ourselves. Instead of just watching the story, we join the story. Like the shepherds we move from hearing the news to seeing the baby. Like the magi we move from one location to another - be it geographically or spiritually - in an effort to honor the king. Like Simeon, we who have waited to be healed, to feel whole, when we encounter the story, in the flesh, in front of our face, we are changed.
This is not just a story to accompany Santa Clause and Frosty the Snowman. It’s not just a picture book you read or a crèche you set up on a mantle. It’s not just a myth to put children to sleep or a fable to get children to behave. It’s the story of an event, of God breaking into human history as a human being. It’s a story of poverty and richness, of oppression and freedom, of love and betrayal. It’s a story we experience every day. And it’s the story that will save our souls.
Indeed this is a story that will change us. It will redeem us and help us to keep on going. It is a story that gives hope and peace. It’s a story we have to work hard at allowing to be the story that defines our lives. So many other stories will compete to define who you are, but stories of loss and shame and bitterness are not the stories God has told for you. God’s story may have elements of those in it, but Jesus’ story begins with a baby and ends with an empty tomb. God’s story begins before creation and calls us good. God’s story trumps whatever we have reduced ourselves to and opens us up to who we can become…and how we can change the world by telling our stories.
And in telling the world our stories, indeed, we are telling God’s.
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
December 13, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Let It Snow... Let It Snow... Keep Your Ice...
"It's worse than the one in 94," my dad said on the phone. "Hold on," he continued, "I think I just caught my pillow on fire."
You may have seen my hometown on the news. St Joseph, Missouri making it big yet again as the recipient of one of the terrible ice storms destroying the midwest.
Mom, dad, grandma and grandpa spent the first day and night huddled around my parents' fireplace trying to find a hotel/motel (all booked) and wrestling with the idea of driving to kansas city (in an ice storm?) to find heat and a place to sleep.
Day two proved more productive. My home church has electricity, so the four of them headed out there for the day. While at the church, the youth minister showed up with a generator as a gift to my family! So last night they slept in heat!
Dad said there was a picture of my neighbor on national news. I guess our street looks really bad because the C Span truck is camped out at the end of our block.
I remember the storm of 94. I was a sophomore in high school and it is one of the most vivid memories I have. The ice makes you feel like you are in a wonderland, while feeling strangely scared at the same time. Everything glitters and glows. And when the transistors blow, a blue light bounces, radiating through all the ice. It's eerie too though because it is silent. Completely quiet. No sound except the sound of a gunshot (a branch breaking under the weight of ice) and then glass breaking (the ice shattering as it hits the ground). I'll never forget those four days in 94 with my family camped out in our living room with blankets and games and the fire blazing. It was surreal: like playing Little House on the Prairie except we didn't have to pretend the weather part.
So thanks to everyone for your questions and concern for my family. So far so good (in an ice storm). And as my dad said, "It's sad watching everything (the trees and nature) be destroyed, but we lost a lot in 94 too and we were surprised at what came back." There's something beautiful about watching something being reborn. Through the fire and now refined. Under the water and now reborn.
Sometimes there must be ice to appreciate the sun.
You may have seen my hometown on the news. St Joseph, Missouri making it big yet again as the recipient of one of the terrible ice storms destroying the midwest.
Mom, dad, grandma and grandpa spent the first day and night huddled around my parents' fireplace trying to find a hotel/motel (all booked) and wrestling with the idea of driving to kansas city (in an ice storm?) to find heat and a place to sleep.
Day two proved more productive. My home church has electricity, so the four of them headed out there for the day. While at the church, the youth minister showed up with a generator as a gift to my family! So last night they slept in heat!
Dad said there was a picture of my neighbor on national news. I guess our street looks really bad because the C Span truck is camped out at the end of our block.
I remember the storm of 94. I was a sophomore in high school and it is one of the most vivid memories I have. The ice makes you feel like you are in a wonderland, while feeling strangely scared at the same time. Everything glitters and glows. And when the transistors blow, a blue light bounces, radiating through all the ice. It's eerie too though because it is silent. Completely quiet. No sound except the sound of a gunshot (a branch breaking under the weight of ice) and then glass breaking (the ice shattering as it hits the ground). I'll never forget those four days in 94 with my family camped out in our living room with blankets and games and the fire blazing. It was surreal: like playing Little House on the Prairie except we didn't have to pretend the weather part.
So thanks to everyone for your questions and concern for my family. So far so good (in an ice storm). And as my dad said, "It's sad watching everything (the trees and nature) be destroyed, but we lost a lot in 94 too and we were surprised at what came back." There's something beautiful about watching something being reborn. Through the fire and now refined. Under the water and now reborn.
Sometimes there must be ice to appreciate the sun.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Transition...
Wednesday November 28…
I am lying in my bed propped up on pillows. My dog sleeps beside me stretched out where a boyfriend or husband should be. It is nighttime and I am processing my day.
A friend texted me this morning, panicking about another mutual friend. He said all these things and it hurt her feelings and he’s being a hypocrite and she can’t handle it and his new girlfriend is affecting their friendship… and finally we are at the heart of the issue. New and old. Just found and always been around.
This afternoon I listened to a son’s confession that his parents were divorcing. He told their story which is inextricably his story. From living quarters to family dynamics, much will be changing. Familiar and unfamiliar. Only known and the unknown.
Tonight I drove to a friend’s house to wish his mother good luck on a very invasive surgery scheduled for this weekend. Her daughter was there with her new baby and I watched my friend’s mom cuddle her grandchild. It was quite the juxtaposition: a healthy baby body held to the breast of a sick, older body. Even with the warmth and optimism of the family, the impending surgery and weeks of recovery reminded me what a transition this time would be in their lives. Everyone adjusts: gets assigned new tasks around the house, new weekends to drive to the hospital in Houston, new prayers to offer up to God.
Transition.
It’s constantly confronting us, is it not?
Starting college means saying goodbye to high school: it means making new friends, improving study habits, making new (to you) decisions, and it means learning to drop the teenage attitude and preparing to live maturely as an adult. Some of the transitions happen quickly like moving out of your house and into a dorm, others may take you the whole four years to process. Starting college means saying goodbye to high school.
Getting a new boyfriend means really letting go of the old one. It means stopping the obsessing over old injuries and giving someone new a chance to do something right. It means adjusting to different mannerisms, different habits, different favorite restaurants, different favorite songs. It means you take a risk to let this be its own relationship – not an extension of one you wish you still had or lament you ever engaged. Getting a new girlfriend means really letting go of the old one.
Losing your job means hunting for a new one and then adjusting to working in that new place. It means accepting terms of resignation and being faced with the option to improve. It means re-evaluating your dreams, goals, and desires in life. It means telling your family and friends, facing old hurts, creating new ones. It means settling for or gratefully accepting a new salary. It means meeting a new boss, new co-workers, discovering who makes the coffee in the office and whether or not it’s too strong. It means learning who to avoid on Monday mornings and who is great to go to with questions. It means taking down the pictures in your old cubby and deciding whether they are still fitting for your new one. Losing your job means hunting and adjusting.
Transition is all around us. And no matter what traditions we uphold to keep the past the present, change will always make its way in. Amidst they hymns come the praise songs; where there once were candles, flickering lights now brighten our tree. Summer of your sweet 16 comes summer of your sweet 26th and some things never stay the same.
This is the perfect week for transition. In most places in the country, the trees are fully colored and perhaps even turning brown. The first snows fall signaling winter and our house decorations experience their own changing of the guard as well. If you have managed to avoid Christmas until after the Thanksgiving holidays, then this past weekend you threw away the pumpkins and brought out the reindeer to decorate your yard. The red, brown and yellow fall leaves scattered across our tablecloths last week have given way to the green and red of holly and mistletoe. Boxes are pulled out, dusted off and emptied while others are returned, put away until next year. It’s transition time. We pull out our winter coats and hang up our jackets. In Texas, we put away our swimsuits and set out our scarves. Transition happens that fast. Toys are changing, new, improved; faster, funnier, fuzzier toys take to the shelves and leave behind the competition.
It’s that time of year.
Transition. It is all around us. Some of it we anticipate, yearn for even – those warm fires, those happy holiday feelings. But some of it comes with the ebb and flow of life and it catches us off guard – almost every time.
Transition. The old is gone, the new has come. And that was just yesterday.
* * * *
The old has gone and the new has come and it has caught us off guard. Sometimes transition is slow and we feel like it is more manageable when we can adjust in small doses, but a death or a diagnosis never falls softer than a rock and even so it never hurts any less.
As the world changes around us, we have several choices. We can reject transition and pretend it isn’t happening. We can resist it with the core of our being and in doing so allow our own destruction, bitter and blinding. Or we can seek an alternative.
To everything, turn, turn, turn. The world is turning, our lives are changing, and we will make ourselves sick resisting transition.
But be transformed, God says, by the renewing of your mind.
When transition is frightening or even just unsettling, we must offer God our minds and our hearts, and in faith, we must allow God to change us and grow us. Transition will not destroy us unless we let it. But if we allow God to work good in our lives, then as transition comes, as the old moves on and the new moves in, we become more like Christ, more dependant on God to carry us through, more enabled to help others experiencing their own transition.
We must look up. When we are afraid, we must look up. When change overwhelms us, we must look up. God is with us and around us and in us and God will not let us live scared of newness and scared of life. Rather, God will give us the courage to face this changing world head on. God has given us community to work with, to encourage us, to love the world. God has given us beauty to give us hope, give us an outlet for creativity, to remind us God is present. God has given us the Spirit to comfort us, to stimulate us, to grow us, to sustain us, to enable us to change the world.
For even as the world seeks to change us, so do we challenge the world to change too.
The world will never stop turning and change will never leave us be. The same old, same old, doesn’t really exist and truly things are always changing. But we do not have to be afraid. We must take courage and be very brave. For in Christ even we are changed and offered the newness of life in Christ. Newness that will never end and newness that makes all the difference in the world…
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
Nov. 29, 2007
I am lying in my bed propped up on pillows. My dog sleeps beside me stretched out where a boyfriend or husband should be. It is nighttime and I am processing my day.
A friend texted me this morning, panicking about another mutual friend. He said all these things and it hurt her feelings and he’s being a hypocrite and she can’t handle it and his new girlfriend is affecting their friendship… and finally we are at the heart of the issue. New and old. Just found and always been around.
This afternoon I listened to a son’s confession that his parents were divorcing. He told their story which is inextricably his story. From living quarters to family dynamics, much will be changing. Familiar and unfamiliar. Only known and the unknown.
Tonight I drove to a friend’s house to wish his mother good luck on a very invasive surgery scheduled for this weekend. Her daughter was there with her new baby and I watched my friend’s mom cuddle her grandchild. It was quite the juxtaposition: a healthy baby body held to the breast of a sick, older body. Even with the warmth and optimism of the family, the impending surgery and weeks of recovery reminded me what a transition this time would be in their lives. Everyone adjusts: gets assigned new tasks around the house, new weekends to drive to the hospital in Houston, new prayers to offer up to God.
Transition.
It’s constantly confronting us, is it not?
Starting college means saying goodbye to high school: it means making new friends, improving study habits, making new (to you) decisions, and it means learning to drop the teenage attitude and preparing to live maturely as an adult. Some of the transitions happen quickly like moving out of your house and into a dorm, others may take you the whole four years to process. Starting college means saying goodbye to high school.
Getting a new boyfriend means really letting go of the old one. It means stopping the obsessing over old injuries and giving someone new a chance to do something right. It means adjusting to different mannerisms, different habits, different favorite restaurants, different favorite songs. It means you take a risk to let this be its own relationship – not an extension of one you wish you still had or lament you ever engaged. Getting a new girlfriend means really letting go of the old one.
Losing your job means hunting for a new one and then adjusting to working in that new place. It means accepting terms of resignation and being faced with the option to improve. It means re-evaluating your dreams, goals, and desires in life. It means telling your family and friends, facing old hurts, creating new ones. It means settling for or gratefully accepting a new salary. It means meeting a new boss, new co-workers, discovering who makes the coffee in the office and whether or not it’s too strong. It means learning who to avoid on Monday mornings and who is great to go to with questions. It means taking down the pictures in your old cubby and deciding whether they are still fitting for your new one. Losing your job means hunting and adjusting.
Transition is all around us. And no matter what traditions we uphold to keep the past the present, change will always make its way in. Amidst they hymns come the praise songs; where there once were candles, flickering lights now brighten our tree. Summer of your sweet 16 comes summer of your sweet 26th and some things never stay the same.
This is the perfect week for transition. In most places in the country, the trees are fully colored and perhaps even turning brown. The first snows fall signaling winter and our house decorations experience their own changing of the guard as well. If you have managed to avoid Christmas until after the Thanksgiving holidays, then this past weekend you threw away the pumpkins and brought out the reindeer to decorate your yard. The red, brown and yellow fall leaves scattered across our tablecloths last week have given way to the green and red of holly and mistletoe. Boxes are pulled out, dusted off and emptied while others are returned, put away until next year. It’s transition time. We pull out our winter coats and hang up our jackets. In Texas, we put away our swimsuits and set out our scarves. Transition happens that fast. Toys are changing, new, improved; faster, funnier, fuzzier toys take to the shelves and leave behind the competition.
It’s that time of year.
Transition. It is all around us. Some of it we anticipate, yearn for even – those warm fires, those happy holiday feelings. But some of it comes with the ebb and flow of life and it catches us off guard – almost every time.
Transition. The old is gone, the new has come. And that was just yesterday.
* * * *
The old has gone and the new has come and it has caught us off guard. Sometimes transition is slow and we feel like it is more manageable when we can adjust in small doses, but a death or a diagnosis never falls softer than a rock and even so it never hurts any less.
As the world changes around us, we have several choices. We can reject transition and pretend it isn’t happening. We can resist it with the core of our being and in doing so allow our own destruction, bitter and blinding. Or we can seek an alternative.
To everything, turn, turn, turn. The world is turning, our lives are changing, and we will make ourselves sick resisting transition.
But be transformed, God says, by the renewing of your mind.
When transition is frightening or even just unsettling, we must offer God our minds and our hearts, and in faith, we must allow God to change us and grow us. Transition will not destroy us unless we let it. But if we allow God to work good in our lives, then as transition comes, as the old moves on and the new moves in, we become more like Christ, more dependant on God to carry us through, more enabled to help others experiencing their own transition.
We must look up. When we are afraid, we must look up. When change overwhelms us, we must look up. God is with us and around us and in us and God will not let us live scared of newness and scared of life. Rather, God will give us the courage to face this changing world head on. God has given us community to work with, to encourage us, to love the world. God has given us beauty to give us hope, give us an outlet for creativity, to remind us God is present. God has given us the Spirit to comfort us, to stimulate us, to grow us, to sustain us, to enable us to change the world.
For even as the world seeks to change us, so do we challenge the world to change too.
The world will never stop turning and change will never leave us be. The same old, same old, doesn’t really exist and truly things are always changing. But we do not have to be afraid. We must take courage and be very brave. For in Christ even we are changed and offered the newness of life in Christ. Newness that will never end and newness that makes all the difference in the world…
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
Nov. 29, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thanksgiving Reflection
What does Thanksgiving mean to me?
I called my sister Thanksgiving morning to see how she was doing. She didn't answer so I called my parents. My dad answered. We chatted for a while about where I would eat lunch, to whose house I had been invited for the holidays, where he and Emily were in the decorating process, the usual. Then he said, "I'm going to tell you I love you, but don't cry - okay?"
"Okay."
Thanksgiving means family, and Amy, the middle sister, is spending her first holiday really alone, away from family. So when my father had his morning chat with her and told her he loved her, she burst into tears. Now she was on the phone with my mom who was trying to pick up the pieces. That's why she hadn't answered. She was talking to my parents.
I remember my first time really being away from home. Moving to Texas and being a poor seminary student didn't allow for the luxury of returning home for such pithy holidays as Thanksgiving and Easter. Only the really big ones like... Christmas and Summer. Since 2001 I've been learning what it means to be away from family, to be away from home, to re-create love in new places, places it perhaps needs to be nurtured, places perhaps where it just needs to be recognized. This love becomes the substitute for love Amy and I experienced as children and adults growing up in our family.
So, friends. Thanksgiving means friends. It means re-evaluating what family means and creating family out of friends. Thanksgiving helps me remember that community keeps us alive. We were designed for it and without it, we will perish. (Has anyone seen Into the Wild?) Community is not only who we "live" with, but also how we live. How we relate to people, how we treat one another, how we care for the downtrodden, how the encourage the excited - all this is community. Community is why I go to church, why I have people over for dinner parties, why I have a roommate, a boyfriend, a best friend. Community is why I tithe, why I pay my taxes, why I donate money to charity.
Thanksgiving means charity too. It means flipping through the World Vision catalogue and wondering which of my gift recipients would rather have 2 chickens given to a family in Uganda for Christmas instead of receiving a new sweater or CD. It means commitment Sunday at church. It means cutting back on consumerism and cutting checks for Compassion children. It means that even as I bask in the love of people in my community and in my family, I must remember there are many who do not have that luxury. There are lonely people in America who may have everything but no one to share it with, and there are family people in Laos who have no means to provide for those they love. Thanksgiving means sharing hope and sharing resources with those who will die without either. Thanksgiving means being mindful of my neighbor. It means sharing.
Thanksgiving means transitioning. It's the time we put away the leaves and pumpkins and scarecrows and pull out the lights and ornaments and light-up-Santas. It's a time that reminds us we are moving, moving from fall to winter, from pumpkins to evergreens, from thanksgiving to rejoicing. It means preparation (which always means transition): getting ready for Christmas, getting ready for winter, getting ready for the coming of the Christ and giving thanks. And transition always means remembering. As we move from one season to another, from one phase in our lives to new realizations and realities, transition teaches us to remember and to look forward. Thanksgiving means remembering to be thankful, being reminded to give thanks. It means remembering our neighbor and our God. It means looking back and looking forward, all at once.
This is what Thanksgiving means to me and so much more...
Thanks be to God.
I called my sister Thanksgiving morning to see how she was doing. She didn't answer so I called my parents. My dad answered. We chatted for a while about where I would eat lunch, to whose house I had been invited for the holidays, where he and Emily were in the decorating process, the usual. Then he said, "I'm going to tell you I love you, but don't cry - okay?"
"Okay."
Thanksgiving means family, and Amy, the middle sister, is spending her first holiday really alone, away from family. So when my father had his morning chat with her and told her he loved her, she burst into tears. Now she was on the phone with my mom who was trying to pick up the pieces. That's why she hadn't answered. She was talking to my parents.
I remember my first time really being away from home. Moving to Texas and being a poor seminary student didn't allow for the luxury of returning home for such pithy holidays as Thanksgiving and Easter. Only the really big ones like... Christmas and Summer. Since 2001 I've been learning what it means to be away from family, to be away from home, to re-create love in new places, places it perhaps needs to be nurtured, places perhaps where it just needs to be recognized. This love becomes the substitute for love Amy and I experienced as children and adults growing up in our family.
So, friends. Thanksgiving means friends. It means re-evaluating what family means and creating family out of friends. Thanksgiving helps me remember that community keeps us alive. We were designed for it and without it, we will perish. (Has anyone seen Into the Wild?) Community is not only who we "live" with, but also how we live. How we relate to people, how we treat one another, how we care for the downtrodden, how the encourage the excited - all this is community. Community is why I go to church, why I have people over for dinner parties, why I have a roommate, a boyfriend, a best friend. Community is why I tithe, why I pay my taxes, why I donate money to charity.
Thanksgiving means charity too. It means flipping through the World Vision catalogue and wondering which of my gift recipients would rather have 2 chickens given to a family in Uganda for Christmas instead of receiving a new sweater or CD. It means commitment Sunday at church. It means cutting back on consumerism and cutting checks for Compassion children. It means that even as I bask in the love of people in my community and in my family, I must remember there are many who do not have that luxury. There are lonely people in America who may have everything but no one to share it with, and there are family people in Laos who have no means to provide for those they love. Thanksgiving means sharing hope and sharing resources with those who will die without either. Thanksgiving means being mindful of my neighbor. It means sharing.
Thanksgiving means transitioning. It's the time we put away the leaves and pumpkins and scarecrows and pull out the lights and ornaments and light-up-Santas. It's a time that reminds us we are moving, moving from fall to winter, from pumpkins to evergreens, from thanksgiving to rejoicing. It means preparation (which always means transition): getting ready for Christmas, getting ready for winter, getting ready for the coming of the Christ and giving thanks. And transition always means remembering. As we move from one season to another, from one phase in our lives to new realizations and realities, transition teaches us to remember and to look forward. Thanksgiving means remembering to be thankful, being reminded to give thanks. It means remembering our neighbor and our God. It means looking back and looking forward, all at once.
This is what Thanksgiving means to me and so much more...
Thanks be to God.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Thanksgiving Part I
Yea! Thanksgiving begins! Janie put on her very cute sweater (although very small!) because guests were coming over.
Chris and Michelle, Gabe and Bethany, Ginny, Frank and Alysa (and Chris and Michelle's dog Brandy) joined me for dinner tonight in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday.
Bethany and Michelle made pies, salad, and homemade fig dressing. All day they cooked in my kitchen. I'm sure the kitchen was happy to be used :)
Even Zorba had a Thanksgiving feast. We saw him out the back door window capturing a mouse, playing with it for a while, and then settling down to eat his meal. I've never actually seen him (or any of the cats) do this before. It was almost fascinating seeing him gnaw on the bone, pulling off the last few pieces of meat. Just like the men do at Thanksgiving and Christmas. One of the many reasons I just might someday be a full fledged vegetarian.
I made "Crazy Carol's Speghetti" as requested. Everyone else brought wine, bread and ice cream. It was a great evening with "old" friends. It really made the day feel special - like the holiday it is - to have Chris and Michelle here. Tomorrow is Frank's birthday. 30. Half of us had been there and half of us are "looking forward" to the glorious year. What a fun time we had. Yea for Thanksgiving! Yea for friends! Yea for dogs! Yea for food!
Chris and Michelle, Gabe and Bethany, Ginny, Frank and Alysa (and Chris and Michelle's dog Brandy) joined me for dinner tonight in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday.
Bethany and Michelle made pies, salad, and homemade fig dressing. All day they cooked in my kitchen. I'm sure the kitchen was happy to be used :)
Even Zorba had a Thanksgiving feast. We saw him out the back door window capturing a mouse, playing with it for a while, and then settling down to eat his meal. I've never actually seen him (or any of the cats) do this before. It was almost fascinating seeing him gnaw on the bone, pulling off the last few pieces of meat. Just like the men do at Thanksgiving and Christmas. One of the many reasons I just might someday be a full fledged vegetarian.
I made "Crazy Carol's Speghetti" as requested. Everyone else brought wine, bread and ice cream. It was a great evening with "old" friends. It really made the day feel special - like the holiday it is - to have Chris and Michelle here. Tomorrow is Frank's birthday. 30. Half of us had been there and half of us are "looking forward" to the glorious year. What a fun time we had. Yea for Thanksgiving! Yea for friends! Yea for dogs! Yea for food!
Monday, November 19, 2007
It Has Begun
This morning I woke up to my neighbor Frank outside. He already had the reindeer and was starting in on the lights.
Ooh that means Clarence is going to be out soon. Sure enough, there he was, trying to get motivated by putting up the red lights. He's been frustrated cause he found a box full of real rats in his shed (which he promptly killed) and is still discovering the damage they'd done (especially to his christmas decorations). Nevertheless, alwasy a trooper (and never wanting to be outdone by a neighbor), he was putting up what lights he had left.
The competition has begun...
Ooh that means Clarence is going to be out soon. Sure enough, there he was, trying to get motivated by putting up the red lights. He's been frustrated cause he found a box full of real rats in his shed (which he promptly killed) and is still discovering the damage they'd done (especially to his christmas decorations). Nevertheless, alwasy a trooper (and never wanting to be outdone by a neighbor), he was putting up what lights he had left.
The competition has begun...
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Eyes Wide Open
I would like to live with my eyes wide open. I would like to live aware of my surroundings, aware of God working, aware of the world’s evolving. I would like to live to see: see people around me, hear what they are really saying, experience how they are really loving… and hating… and see clearly enough to forgive them. And I would like to have my eyes open wide enough to see when they have to forgive me. I would like to live with my eyes wide open so I don’t miss a minute. Not a minute of the sunshine or the storms, the sand or the waves that break upon it. I want to see to love, see to discern, see to be humbled by my place in the world and the grace God gives me every single day. I would like to live with eyes wide open.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The Goo Goo Dolls Might Save Your Life
This is why sometimes it's helpful to listen to pop radio.
I always feel guilty when people talk about listening to NPR or books on tape or when they talk about learning how to speak a new language just by driving home from work.
But today I didn't.
Because today while listening to Fergie or someone finishing up her song I heard my dj say, "If your heading towards the eastside, stay off of 12th in between springdale and webberville... there's a man who's blockaded himself into a building and police have the area blocked off."
Um... did I mention I was driving home? Cause to get home, I take 12th street east, pass springdale and turn left onto webberville to get to my home just a few blocks down.
I'm just sayin.
When I got home (via MLK), I went to Clarence and Tommie's to tell them not to head that direction if they were planning on driving anywhere. And I called church to warn Willard who lives a block closer to 12th than I do. While Clarence and I were talking, we heard voices calling out through megaphones. And two gunshots.
Lovely.
So that's why sometimes it's beneficial to do nothing constructive in the car besides listen to your local pop radio station. Gulp. I said it. So there. Criticize all you want, I'm at home alive, safe and sound.
I always feel guilty when people talk about listening to NPR or books on tape or when they talk about learning how to speak a new language just by driving home from work.
But today I didn't.
Because today while listening to Fergie or someone finishing up her song I heard my dj say, "If your heading towards the eastside, stay off of 12th in between springdale and webberville... there's a man who's blockaded himself into a building and police have the area blocked off."
Um... did I mention I was driving home? Cause to get home, I take 12th street east, pass springdale and turn left onto webberville to get to my home just a few blocks down.
I'm just sayin.
When I got home (via MLK), I went to Clarence and Tommie's to tell them not to head that direction if they were planning on driving anywhere. And I called church to warn Willard who lives a block closer to 12th than I do. While Clarence and I were talking, we heard voices calling out through megaphones. And two gunshots.
Lovely.
So that's why sometimes it's beneficial to do nothing constructive in the car besides listen to your local pop radio station. Gulp. I said it. So there. Criticize all you want, I'm at home alive, safe and sound.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Bump On the Knee: A Child's Thoughts.
When my sister shared the following story with me, I told her I just had to put in on my blog. She responded, "glad your bloggin my life now as well as your own." But despite her sarcasm, I just couldn't let this 2nd grade story go untold...
From "Miss Pittman's" perspective (i.e. my sister...)
"Christopher comes up to me this morning asking to see the nurse. I immediately see he is walking holding up one pant leg while pointing to his knee. He had a tiny bump on his right knee. ( My thoughts... bug bite) Anyway, Christopher could not let this small bump go. About 20 minutes later I see precious little Christopher raising his hand and continuing to tell me that there was a bump on his knee, I decided to send him to the nurse knowing that she would put some sort of antibacterial cream on it which cures every ache and pain in the childs mind.
"I write out the pass, while he stands at my desk and says 'Miss Pittman what if it's, ya know, puberty?' I simply cannot hold it in so I look up and smile while I continue filling out the pass (while there was not a place to check 'tiny bump on the knee' I checked 'other'). Then Christopher continues on, and I can see his mind turning. 'What if I have puberty you know, like when you start to get chest hair?'
"I couldn't help but laugh"
Neither can I.
From "Miss Pittman's" perspective (i.e. my sister...)
"Christopher comes up to me this morning asking to see the nurse. I immediately see he is walking holding up one pant leg while pointing to his knee. He had a tiny bump on his right knee. ( My thoughts... bug bite) Anyway, Christopher could not let this small bump go. About 20 minutes later I see precious little Christopher raising his hand and continuing to tell me that there was a bump on his knee, I decided to send him to the nurse knowing that she would put some sort of antibacterial cream on it which cures every ache and pain in the childs mind.
"I write out the pass, while he stands at my desk and says 'Miss Pittman what if it's, ya know, puberty?' I simply cannot hold it in so I look up and smile while I continue filling out the pass (while there was not a place to check 'tiny bump on the knee' I checked 'other'). Then Christopher continues on, and I can see his mind turning. 'What if I have puberty you know, like when you start to get chest hair?'
"I couldn't help but laugh"
Neither can I.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
All Saints Day Service Beresheth
Tuesday was the two year anniversary of my friend Kyle’s death. He was thirty-three when he unexpectedly died. For those of you who think that’s “old,” consider this – that’s only three years older than me, you college minister and seven years younger than Kevin, your youth minister. And he died; he was electrocuted when he went to baptize a friend. He died in front of 800 people. He died in front of his wife, his parents, and his friends. I tell you this, not to elicit sympathy or to manipulate your emotional perceptions, I tell you this simply so that you know that I understand. On some small level, I understand death.
Well, I understand it insofar as I have experienced it – second hand. I have been affected by death. I have felt the surprise, the grief, the confusion, the denial, the acceptance and the remembering.
The remembering.
On Tuesday I read 36 blogs trying to find someone who would give me one little snip-it of a memory of Kyle or a good story or anything that would make him seem alive – or at least keep his memory fresh. Because I live in a city where no one knew Kyle, it helps me feel connected to hear from other people about my friend. And of course, it helps Kyle stay alive.
I’m sure you’ve heard stories of people dealing with grief, who, in an effort to keep the person around, never change anything in the bedroom of the deceased person, the closet, the desk – everything remains the same. It’s their way of dealing with loss – and perhaps it helps them feel less lost themselves.
There’s something to our inherent desire to keep around those who have passed on. Often we keep a trinket, a photo, a letter, a tee-shirt to remind ourselves of them.
Other times, we fear the thought of it. To quote the Witch on Into the Woods, “When you’re dead, you’re dead,” she says callously, trying to cope with the death of her daughter, Rapunzel. That’s how I felt when my father’s parents, my grandparents died one week to the day of each other. For months, I dreamt they were still around: still sitting at the table at Thanksgiving. Still hovering over the hor d’oerves, still lingering in the kitchen, near the front door, in our house. “Can’t you see them?” I’d incredulously yell at my mother in my dream. But it was like she couldn’t hear me. Finally to my grandparents, to the ghosts/yet-not-ghosts still showing up in my dreams I tentatively asked, and then begged them to leave, to die already, for good – to not come back.
It seems cruel, but it was what I needed. I needed relief from the pressure of losing my grandparents, from the pressure their death put on me emotionally, I needed them gone.
But Kyle, Kyle I need back. He was the first person to let me preach in a church – and not just once, over and over I filled in for Kyle when he was gone, and sometimes when he was there. He helped me develop my preaching voice simply by giving me the opportunity to preach when others would not. And although our relationship was not perfect, I miss Kyle.
Perhaps that’s why Paul or the author of Hebrews says, “take heart my beloved children, you are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses…” Be it Kyle or my grandparents, the witnesses of God’s glory are with us, “with us on our journey” as Burt Burleson asserts in the quote on the wall. They are here. Their stories are our stories! They are part of the great meta-narrative of God’s story in the world. It begins with Adam, or with Heidelberg man or Lucy or with whatever being first evolved and recognized God as her creator. From there we get Abraham and Hagar and Sarah and Joseph and Tamar and Moses and Rahab and David and Jesus and Paul and Augustine and Francis and Julian and Luther and Schleiermacher and John Paul II and Kyle and you and me…
Our stories are all connected and they are all wrapped into the story of God, the story of God ushering in the Kingdom through his Saints, through us. Truly we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. They have passed their strength on to us. Their stories are re-told with our own. Their faith and un-faith have helped created the world we live in today. They are with us! They are the fog that we attempt to see through, to plot out our own story, unable to see past our noses, to set ourselves into the world with the seal of God upon our hearts.
Rejoice, rejoice, again I say rejoice. Blessed are you who mourn because you know what it is to have tasted something good – and you are better equipped to create something more delightful yourself. Blessed are you who love God and love others for you have caught a glimpse of what it means to be children of God. I will weep when you weep for I know what it means to grieve and I will rejoice with you at the chance you had to glimpse a bit of God imaged in another person.
We touch each other – we touch each other’s lives. What we do and what we say and who we are makes a difference. Despite what the world tells us – we matter, we matter to each other. Even when we’re gone, our legacy, who we are in God is not insignificant, rather it may be the most important thing we do – love one other so that we may share the love of God.
And when you feel inadequate, when you feel like no one likes you or your job sucks or your life feels meaningless, put that behind you and look to the great cloud of witnesses who have helped you, loved you along the well – some of which are gone, but most of which are still here with you; vow to be that for someone else. You are a witness to someone else. You help their light shine in the darkness by sharing just a bit of yours.
And so this All Saints Day, we remember the saints, and ultimately the sinners who have gone before us; who have helped light the path only to merge eventually with the Great Light themselves. For them, we give thanks, for the exotically great and for the painfully normal; we give thanks for their souls. We light candles and declare that we remember. We light candles and shun the darkness’s desire to stifle our joy. We give thanks for our great cloud of witnesses.
Amen.
Well, I understand it insofar as I have experienced it – second hand. I have been affected by death. I have felt the surprise, the grief, the confusion, the denial, the acceptance and the remembering.
The remembering.
On Tuesday I read 36 blogs trying to find someone who would give me one little snip-it of a memory of Kyle or a good story or anything that would make him seem alive – or at least keep his memory fresh. Because I live in a city where no one knew Kyle, it helps me feel connected to hear from other people about my friend. And of course, it helps Kyle stay alive.
I’m sure you’ve heard stories of people dealing with grief, who, in an effort to keep the person around, never change anything in the bedroom of the deceased person, the closet, the desk – everything remains the same. It’s their way of dealing with loss – and perhaps it helps them feel less lost themselves.
There’s something to our inherent desire to keep around those who have passed on. Often we keep a trinket, a photo, a letter, a tee-shirt to remind ourselves of them.
Other times, we fear the thought of it. To quote the Witch on Into the Woods, “When you’re dead, you’re dead,” she says callously, trying to cope with the death of her daughter, Rapunzel. That’s how I felt when my father’s parents, my grandparents died one week to the day of each other. For months, I dreamt they were still around: still sitting at the table at Thanksgiving. Still hovering over the hor d’oerves, still lingering in the kitchen, near the front door, in our house. “Can’t you see them?” I’d incredulously yell at my mother in my dream. But it was like she couldn’t hear me. Finally to my grandparents, to the ghosts/yet-not-ghosts still showing up in my dreams I tentatively asked, and then begged them to leave, to die already, for good – to not come back.
It seems cruel, but it was what I needed. I needed relief from the pressure of losing my grandparents, from the pressure their death put on me emotionally, I needed them gone.
But Kyle, Kyle I need back. He was the first person to let me preach in a church – and not just once, over and over I filled in for Kyle when he was gone, and sometimes when he was there. He helped me develop my preaching voice simply by giving me the opportunity to preach when others would not. And although our relationship was not perfect, I miss Kyle.
Perhaps that’s why Paul or the author of Hebrews says, “take heart my beloved children, you are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses…” Be it Kyle or my grandparents, the witnesses of God’s glory are with us, “with us on our journey” as Burt Burleson asserts in the quote on the wall. They are here. Their stories are our stories! They are part of the great meta-narrative of God’s story in the world. It begins with Adam, or with Heidelberg man or Lucy or with whatever being first evolved and recognized God as her creator. From there we get Abraham and Hagar and Sarah and Joseph and Tamar and Moses and Rahab and David and Jesus and Paul and Augustine and Francis and Julian and Luther and Schleiermacher and John Paul II and Kyle and you and me…
Our stories are all connected and they are all wrapped into the story of God, the story of God ushering in the Kingdom through his Saints, through us. Truly we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. They have passed their strength on to us. Their stories are re-told with our own. Their faith and un-faith have helped created the world we live in today. They are with us! They are the fog that we attempt to see through, to plot out our own story, unable to see past our noses, to set ourselves into the world with the seal of God upon our hearts.
Rejoice, rejoice, again I say rejoice. Blessed are you who mourn because you know what it is to have tasted something good – and you are better equipped to create something more delightful yourself. Blessed are you who love God and love others for you have caught a glimpse of what it means to be children of God. I will weep when you weep for I know what it means to grieve and I will rejoice with you at the chance you had to glimpse a bit of God imaged in another person.
We touch each other – we touch each other’s lives. What we do and what we say and who we are makes a difference. Despite what the world tells us – we matter, we matter to each other. Even when we’re gone, our legacy, who we are in God is not insignificant, rather it may be the most important thing we do – love one other so that we may share the love of God.
And when you feel inadequate, when you feel like no one likes you or your job sucks or your life feels meaningless, put that behind you and look to the great cloud of witnesses who have helped you, loved you along the well – some of which are gone, but most of which are still here with you; vow to be that for someone else. You are a witness to someone else. You help their light shine in the darkness by sharing just a bit of yours.
And so this All Saints Day, we remember the saints, and ultimately the sinners who have gone before us; who have helped light the path only to merge eventually with the Great Light themselves. For them, we give thanks, for the exotically great and for the painfully normal; we give thanks for their souls. We light candles and declare that we remember. We light candles and shun the darkness’s desire to stifle our joy. We give thanks for our great cloud of witnesses.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Strike of the Cat
It wouldn't be Halloween without a little blood, right?
So I locked the doggy door so the cats (and the dog) cannot get outside. That's because psychos like to catnap cats on Halloween because they're PSYCHO. So I shut my cats inside. Lord knows I don't need anymore drama.
But Zorba was pissed. Not gonna lie. So after crying for an hour, he finally settled down to sleep on the scrapbook I was working on for my college group at church. Bored and alone on Halloween I took to doing the only available and interesting activity: picking fleas off the cat.
Except Zorba, already irritated, didn't appreciate me digging through his long hair and pulling out the little demonic fleas to crush and crunch beneith my fingers. Grossed out? It's Halloween, get over it. So he stuck and, talking on the phone and picking fleas and not paying attention, I wasn't quick enough to avoid his snap. So I got bit. It's bruised and bleeding.
Sigh.
Halloween.
So I locked the doggy door so the cats (and the dog) cannot get outside. That's because psychos like to catnap cats on Halloween because they're PSYCHO. So I shut my cats inside. Lord knows I don't need anymore drama.
But Zorba was pissed. Not gonna lie. So after crying for an hour, he finally settled down to sleep on the scrapbook I was working on for my college group at church. Bored and alone on Halloween I took to doing the only available and interesting activity: picking fleas off the cat.
Except Zorba, already irritated, didn't appreciate me digging through his long hair and pulling out the little demonic fleas to crush and crunch beneith my fingers. Grossed out? It's Halloween, get over it. So he stuck and, talking on the phone and picking fleas and not paying attention, I wasn't quick enough to avoid his snap. So I got bit. It's bruised and bleeding.
Sigh.
Halloween.
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