Home.

Once I was finished with the semester, I spent a couple of days finishing things around Holland, worked a couple of hours, and then headed off to enjoy my 'free' time.

I was lucky enough to have wonderful and gracious friends in Chicago who let me stay with them for three whole days and two nights, which was probably the single best way to start off break that anyone could have dreamed up. They were all working at different points, which meant that I got some time to breathe, wander, and bond with Biscuit (the cat.) 

Then it came time to drive back to Fulton.

I decided once I got in the car, though, that a pit stop was in order.  I knew it would be slightly out of my way, but I didn't particularly care.

This is where I went:



"The Well"

Major bonus points if you know that this photo comes from Camp Manitoqua, where I spent a large chunk of my childhood summers.

This place was a home away from home for me growing up--it's the place where I was introduced to faith in a way that changed something in me. There, I saw people who loved Jesus not just because that's the way things had always been--but they had real stories, and real lives, and Jesus mattered in them. In a lot of ways, this place is responsible for who I am today.

I hadn't been there since 2007, when I was last a camper, and I probably looked like a huge creeper wandering around on a Saturday in December and taking photos with my phone.

I still don't care.

I wandered past the dining hall, the Well, the chapel, and Cabins A-F, across the bridge, and all the way up to Vesper Hill.  I just stood there for a minute, freezing, and remembered.

That hill, campfire burning on a Wednesday night, was the first place that I said 'yes' to whatever it was that God had in store for me.  I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10, and really had no idea what was going on, but I had a strange feeling that this was right, somehow. 

And it was.

And it still is.

And it always will be.

Obviously, a lot has changed since then. I've changed (thank the Lord!), and the world has changed.  Sometimes, that change is just overwhelming. I deal with change well, I think--I'm sort of used to it--but this year was just ridiculous.  As I drove westward, I spent some time thinking about 2012, and realized just how many times I turned my life upside down because something wasn't quite right. I dropped out of seminary, moved from Michigan to Illinois, got a job, got a different car, quit that job and started a new one, made new friends, reapplied to seminary, quit my job again, moved back to Michigan, made more new friends, and finished another semester.

All of that probably sounds borderline insane. But seeing this place again, and remembering how all of that insanity started--in a specific time and place, where God broke into my life in a very specific way--that gave me back my footing. 

Because it's easy to lose myself and my sense of call in all of this abstract God-talk that goes on in the seminary, I need that sometimes.  I need to remember where I've come from to remember that someone has control of where I'm going. Standing on top of that hill in the cold, I remembered all of those particulars, and all of the times that something entirely ridiculous and strange has happened to bring me here--to this moment, in this place.

Like that Stephen Colbert speech that introduced me to Knox College, or that Facebook ad that got me a job with SummerShine, or the time I spent planning InterVarsity's Large Groups that fostered in me this crazy sense of call. 

And now, I have photos and memories long forgotten from a place that changed everything.  That strange sense of rightness comes along with them.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," says Elwood Blues.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

One year in.

As of Wednesday at 9:30 am, I have finished an entire year of seminary.

It took me a year and a half, but hey--who's counting?

And in the spirit of "thank God I'm done," here are a few things that I've learned over the last year and a half.  I've certainly learned a lot more, but these are the things that come to mind.

One. I'm a giant control freak. I really like to micro-manage everything, which leads to lots of neuroses when you have nothing to micro-manage.

 

Two. I'm a cat person.

 

Three. Living alone is the weirdest thing ever after being surrounded by people all of your adult life. 

 

Four.  I actually like the "real world," whatever that means.  I like being able to wake up and go to work every day and do something productive. On the other hand, I rather dislike waking up and realizing that I have a full day of class ahead of me.  There's only so much that I can fit in my brain in one day, guys.

 

Five. There is nothing more boring than inventory in the library basement. Nothing.

 

Six. What you do affects who you are, and who you are affects what you do. It's a giant circle that just keeps going and going and going.  One can completely derail the other, but they are forever and inextricably intertwined.  This has all sorts of implications for how we make choices.

 

Seven. If you find yourself asking questions related to the above, Desiring the Kingdom by James K. A. Smith is the best book ever. See also: Shaping the Christian Life: Worship and the Religious Affections by Kendra Hotz and Matthew Matthews.

 

Eight.  Humans are weird creatures, who do things like name their children Matthew Matthews. Who thought that was a good idea? 

 

Nine.  Humans also do terrible, awful things. Humans have a penchant for killing one another, it seems, on massive scales.  Humans abuse and neglect their own children, and others'. Humans mistreat one another so often that simple kindness is now a virtue heralded as wondrous.  We don't seem to understand that our lives are bound up with the rest of humanity's, and that we are not simply individuals coming together out of free will.  We are dependent on one another, and that's the way it ought to be.

 

Ten.  "Faith seeking understanding."  Faith seeks understanding without dismissing it because it's inconvenient. This means accepting things that we don't want to accept because they don't fit neatly into our lives. Things like climate change, like Calvin's thoughts on the sacraments, like discussions on gun control laws.

 

Eleven.  I have very little patience in general, and very little patience for purposely unclear messages.  If one has something to say, why not simply say it?  (I'm looking at you, textbook authors.)

 

Twelve.  I'm still a speech kid at heart.  I spent eight years of my life catching a bus at 5 am on Saturdays during speech season, and I miss it.  I still carry a lot of the lessons I learned there with me, particularly to seminary.  Words are important.  Inflection is more important.  Gesture only above your waist, and only when it adds to what you're saying. Be prepared, know what you're doing, and make sure you're on time. When others are speaking, pay attention. I could write an entire list of just the things that I learned from speech competitions, most of which I didn't know I was learning!

 

Thirteen. I'm slightly addicted to Facebook. This might be problematic in 2013.

Humans.

My mother told me for years that "you can't fix people."  I know that in my head, but I still act like I can. I want to make the pain go away, I want to give out hugs like anitbiotics fighting sadness, and I want people to wake up enjoying their lives.

But I can't make that happen.  No amount of smiling, (even though it's my favorite), no amount of holiday cheer, and no amount of wine can make that happen.

This is extraordinarily difficult for me to accept.  I mean, who doesn't want to make people happy?

But we can't fix.  I can't fix things like depression, or illness, or dementia. I can't take away grief, or hatred, or ignorance.  I can smile, I can encourage, I can give out all the hugs I want, I can make food, I can talk, I can argue, and I can simply sit and cry with people. But none of those things will fix the problems that this world brings us.  They just numb the pain a little.

The risk comes when you sacrifice your own sanity to give others happiness.  When you worry that sharing your problems and struggles in life might make someone else unhappy, so you simply keep them to yourself--that's when you've crossed the line. Eventually, you wind up curled up in a ball in your apartment for two days, afraid that calling someone would be an unfair intrusion into their lives.

So many struggle daily with this self-negation.  It's that little voice in your head that says "you don't matter." That little voice that continually says: "you exist only for the benefit of others."

And it's a hard cycle to break.  I'll argue that it's a harder cycle to break in the Church, with all of its (good and rightful) glorification of humility.  We talk about "emptying ourselves" and "giving selflessly." Those are good things to talk about when the problem is pride, but that sort of talk also feeds into this cycle rather easily. The problem is compounded when self-negating people try to out-self-negate one another to help.

What's the theological response to this?  What's a pastoral response? What's a human response?

I have no answers. I would love to just flip a switch and fix it, but...(see beginning of post.)

self-care fail.

Right now, I'm seated in a quiet corner of the library.  I'm working on a chapel service for tomorrow, contemplating the annotated bibliography that's due next week, attempting to work on my Holy Spirit and Christian Worship project due in less than a week, and sneezing all over the place.

Yes, I've caught the cold that seems to be everywhere. 

That's what happens, apparently, when you consume very little real food over the course of a week and drink coffee instead.

This is by far my worst self-care fail since starting seminary.

I am not a college student anymore.  I cannot avoid sleep to work on homework, I cannot consume more caffeine than food, and I must make grocery lists that include vegetables.

Lesson learned.

Worship and life

If you regularly attend a religious service or gathering of any sort (Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, whatever), I have a question for you.

How does what you do there shape what you do elsewhere?  Do you find that you think differently about the world than those who don't share that experience? How so?

God is faithful and good...

...even when I'm not.

"The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair."

falling in love with worship again

Worship planning is what brought me to seminary in the first place--it's where I found my sense of call. This is how I best tell God's story.

I'm not one for much in-your-face evangelism. Although when done well, it can be a really good thing in someone's life, it's just not me.  I'm more of a behind-the-scenes, planning and organizing, covert-messages type of person.

I particularly enjoy worship planning because in the absence of any formal training in theology, Bible, or Greek, this is how we learn who God is and what God's doing in the world.  Worship is not an obligation to add to our weekly schedules, but a gift. 

And this week, as I help to lead chapel for Advent at the seminary and work on end-of-semester projects, is all about falling in love with worship all over again.

Tuesday funnies

This is what happens when two brain-friend seminarians think it's a good idea to do a Google Images search for Jesus' second coming:

"I think Jesus is riding a unicorn!  And look, there's a bald eagle right there!"

on being broken

My life feels like one giant blob of ugh right now.  My emotions are running here, there and everywhere, and I can't seem to pluck up the energy to get anything done. (This is especially unhelpful for the last three weeks of the semester, I might add.)

There are many things in my life that are simply not appropriate to describe in such a public forum, but suffice it to say that it feels like everything I've ever run from has caught up with me in a very sudden and very overwhelming fashion.

But what do I do with all of this lament, this fear, this insecurity--this brokenness?  A therapist would be nice right about now, but those are expensive and I'm a graduate student.

So instead, I try to write poetry.  I fail, but I try.  I find solace in good music, and some less-than-inspired music.  I pray.  Sometimes, I scream at God.  Sometimes, I really want to scream at people.  Sometimes, I cry at my peer group at 8 am.  I bake. I sleep far too much.  I curl up in a ball on the floor for a while. 

I know I'm not alone in any of this.  I know this for a fact, because I've watched lots of people try to make the pain go away in not-so-healthy ways.  Some of them have died, emotionally or physically, in the process. 

My question, then, is where does the Church fit in to all of this?  How does the Church deal with lament, and real brokenness in its midst?

Too often, we simply ignore it. I've been guilty of showing up to church on the verge of a complete emotional breakdown, but still smiling and saying things like "my week was great! How was yours?"  We lie for one of two reasons: we don't want anyone to know that we're not okay, or we think that we should be able to handle this on our own. And that assumes that we show up in the first place.

If we do bring it up at church, we do so quickly and then move on.  It might be a short prayer offered during the Prayers of the People, or the congregational prayer.  It might take the form of a bulletin announcement.  But how often on Sunday morning is there prolonged attention paid to this brokenness? 

This is one thing that I find interesting in my life.  Many of my friends are outright atheists, and not afraid to say so. Some have never entered a church building in their lives.  But to be completely honest, they are so much better at listening than many of my super-devout Christian friends.  They don't feel the need to fix things right away, be it through prayer or some other means.  Many times, they are content to sit and listen to me complain, empathize with me, and perhaps offer some advice.  But more often than not, they just sit with me in whatever I'm feeling. 

And let me tell you, I appreciate that more than anything else in the world.

Prayer is great, don't get me wrong.  Paul tells us to pray about everything. Do that.

But the buck can't stop at praying.  I say that it's time that Christians focused a little more on being the answer to prayer.  And so often, that means sitting with our friends, our brothers and sisters in Christ, and yes--even our enemies, in their laments. Don't fix. Don't give advice. We don't hear you anyway over the sound of our own internal panic. 

I'm not sure what a true service of lament would look like, to be honest.  Maybe it would just be a silent vigil, a show of support, with hugs and prayer and a shoulder to cry on at the ready. Maybe it would involve writing out messages to groups or individuals that we know.  Maybe it would be a service of prayer, with all of the laying on hands and hugs that we can imagine. 

It's nights like these that I miss the simplicity of InterVarsity.  I miss having such free reign over worship gatherings.  In seminary, there are all sorts of rules that apply to this or that, and you can't mix those two things, and you can't do this, this, or this.  I fully realize that we're all simply trying to be faithful to what God has entrusted us with, but really, guys?  Just let the people worship God in the best way that they know how. 

Sometimes, there are tears involved--and those are the best worship gatherings ever.

Getting into You

"When I made up my mind, and my heart along with that, to live not for myself but yet for God somebody said: 'do you know what you are getting yourself into?'

When I finally ironed out all of my priorities, and asked God to remove the doubt that makes me so unsure of these things I ask myself, I asked myself: 'do you know what you are getting yourself into?'

I'm getting into you, because you got to me in a way words can't describe.  I'm getting into you because I've got to be--you're essential to survive. I'm going to love you with my life."

These lyrics have never been more true to my life. So I'm sharing them with you.

Getting Into You, by Relient K.

Thought for the day: what is family?

There are hundreds of people, scattered throughout the world, that I would be happy to call my family.  I would claim them in a heartbeat. 

(I will also claim my biological family, even though we make each other crazy a lot.  Like, a lot a lot.)

But today, I was reminded that not everyone has that luxury.  Not everyone can say that they have somewhere to celebrate, and people to celebrate with this week. 

I caved and got a haircut tonight, and my stylist was a lovely and enthusiastic woman from Thailand.  Her entire family is back there, so she's spending Thanksgiving at work.  It's not a holiday she's used to celebrating, but it's hard, she said, to be without any family when everyone else is with theirs. 

I wish that I could seek these people out and bring them together, somehow, for a real Thanksgiving dinner. Someday I'll do that, I think.  Borrow a church basement, perhaps, and have a giant potluck on Thanksgiving day.  Watch some football.  Come back for round two. Play ridiculous games. Why not extend my family for a day or two?

I've always been a firm believer that family has very little to do with blood.  Family is whoever happens to be at dinner.  Family is whoever wakes up on your couch that morning.  Family is people that you care about, and that care about you.  It might be temporary, like the kids that sleep on the couch for a couple of weeks at a time.  Or it might be permanent, like the child that you legally adopt.

But maybe this will be the push that you need to do what I can't this year: to add someone to your family for a day.  Or a lifetime.  Your choice.

Seminary is....

an exercise in humility.

I've never before fallen flat on my face in so many ways, daily, in the same place.  Making a fool of oneself is great when you never really have to interact with those people again.  I love that--it's so freeing.

Sounding off your ignorance in a classroom full of people?  Not so fabulous.  It's rather embarrassing, actually.

I won't detail all of the ways that I've done this in the past week, nevertheless the entire semester.  That would take hours. 

Rather, I simply beg for the grace of my colleagues and professors as I try to navigate all of this.  I screw it up a lot, I know.  It's pretty obvious that I'm pretty oblivious to most things.  But I can promise you that I'm trying.  I might be failing in a lot of ways, but at least I'm trying.

That has to count for something, right?

Poetry

 I wish I could write poetry.

I used to say that I didn't understand poetry. Therefore, I didn't like it. Simple excuse for a simple mind, right?

But in the last few years, I've come to have a deep appreciation for and love of poetry--all sorts of poetry--as powerful and expressive in the exact way that words should be.  Good poetry is like therapy, like an opening of old, gross wounds that begins the healing process. 

My problem, though, is that I don't know where to find good poetry.  I just keep stumbling across things (mostly thanks to Facebook,) that I really love.

So today, my question for you is this:

If you were to have one book of poetry with you for the rest of your life, wherever you went, what would it be?

Life-struck.

In the middle of my reading for Holy Spirit and Christian Worship, I came across this in Jean Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Religion. It struck me as an incredibly beautiful view of the Eucharist.

"How little confidence can it give you, to know that the Word of God, from which you are at the greatest distance, contains within himself the fulness of life, whereas in yourself, in whatever direction you turn, you see nothing but death? But ever since that fountain of life began to dwell in our nature, he no longer lies hid at a distance from us, but exhibits himself openly for our participation. Nay, the very flesh in which he resides he makes vivifying to us, that by partaking of it we may feed for immortality. “I,” says he, “am that bread of life;” “I am the living bread which came down from heaven;” “And the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world”" (Calvin, 4.17.8)

Some of you know this and many of you don't, but I've experienced depression in big ways--not only in myself, but in friends and family.  That feeling of inexplicable emptiness, loneliness, and invisibility pervaded much of my teen years.

"...whereas in yourself, in whatever direction you turn, you see nothing but death?"

As a child and teen, I found myself in church (and at camp) a lot, for various reasons. And I heard something very much like this:

"But ever since that fountain of life began to dwell in our nature, he no longer lies at a distance from us, but exhibits himself openly for our participation."

This is what gave me life in those times, those places of utter darkness.  This idea that God became human to give us the fullness of His own life, that we may participate in that life with Him. Knowing this didn't make the sadness go away, or fix anyone else's problems, but above all it gave me hope for life beyond those moments. 

This is not, though, how I was used to hearing the Eucharist described. It's a weekly practice here at seminary, which will now be all the richer for me.

"...Nay, the very flesh in which he resides he makes vivifying to us, that by partaking it we may feed for immortality."

Christ's death and resurrection, in which we partake in baptism, is a big theme in the Church and in the Eucharist (as it should be!)  But where is the talk of Christ's 'vivifying' body? Where is the talk of the Holy Spirit that brings us the life which we so cherish?

Or is it, perhaps, that we do not cherish our lives enough to think of it this way?

What are we doing here? (Discipleship, worship, and how we do life)

I've asked myself this question billions of times in the last two years. Why am I doing what I'm doing? What in the world possessed me to make me even think about seminary?  Why do I even go to church?

The answer, I've found, is always the same: "because God calls me to." 

But what would be your answer?

I'm taking two separate classes on worship theology and practices this semester: The Holy Spirit in Christian Worship and Contemporary and Emerging Worship.  The two don't cross paths as much as I would like them to, but they are by far my favorite classes of the year. 

Contemporary and Emerging Worship focuses on 'alternative' churches--places that purposely do worship in crazy, odd, and sometimes just plain weird ways.  (Think drum circles, pop-up tents in the sanctuary, and banks of TV screens.)  We've found, though, that these people aren't just doing worship differently to be different: they're thinking of new ways to express the same timeless truths that the 'traditional' church proclaims.  They're doing worship really, really well.

For that course, I get to (read: have to) write a book review on James K. A. Smith's book Desiring the Kingdom, which focuses on spiritual formation in the postmodern era, and how churches are doing a terrible job of being counter-cultural.  (I'll rant about this later.)

And you know, I just realized something.  I love studying worship not because I love thinking about what goes on in church, but how that worship should affect the rest of our lives.  If we as Christians proclaim a God that is both completely above and other than us, yet is present in our very souls and guides us through this ridiculous maze that is life, then shouldn't our actions outside of church match that?

I'm not talking about standing on corners with signs or broadcasting to the world "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near!"  I'm talking about a transformation in the way that we think about the world. Seminary, I've heard from several people, is like drinking from a fire hydrant.  You're never going to get it all.  But everything I do learn simply blows my mind.  I can see and feel myself being transformed and changed by the concept of reconciliation--that God is working in and through the world (and God's people) to reconcile the entirety of creation to Himself.  We as Christians are called to be a part of that reconciliation--that healing of old, deep wounds.

And that. changes. everything.

So how did I go through my entire life in the Reformed Church in America and NEVER hear this? 

Why do I hear so many sermons about how to live our lives as Christians that have an implicit message of "you suck, try harder?" 

Because sanctification--that transformation that occurs in Christians through the work of the Holy Spirit and makes us look more and more like Christ--is not something that we can do.  We cannot make ourselves act more like Christ through sheer willpower.  We rely on the work of the Holy Spirit. We pray for that work to be done in us, but we cannot do it.

This is all to say that I'm less concerned with what happens inside of the church than what's going on outside.  Sitting through a Sunday sermon on God's mercy doesn't do any good if you're not going to be more merciful when you walk out the door.  Think of it this way: you can go to every single class and seminar on real estate within 500 miles of your house, but if you don't go through the process of actually becoming a licensed realtor and selling houses, then you don't get to call yourself a realtor.  You can call yourself a fan of real estate, or whatever else you like.  But you don't get that title of realtor. 

So why, then, do people think that sitting through a sermon on a Sunday makes them a Christian?  That somehow, showing up is all that God requires of them?

I don't mean for this to be a "hate on church" post, I really don't.  But I get so incredibly frustrated with cultural Christianity that I just want to scream from the rooftops.  If I'm going to identify myself as a Christian, then I want that to mean something. 

Discipleship (being a follower of Jesus) means so much more than weekly church attendance.  That's a part of it, certainly--being in a community with fellow believers that encourage you, call you out when you're being ridiculous, and love Jesus as much and more than you do is SO important.  But that's only one piece of the puzzle.  We are called to be and do so much more in the world than churchgoers that show up.

As Pastor Jeff Petersen once put it: "Jesus did not die so that we could have a well-organized, well-funded building full of people that think the same way about God."

Micah, an Old Testament prophet, says this: "God has shown you, oh humans, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you?  Only this: to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God."

So what is God calling you to?

stir crazy

I have declared Friday to be my sabbath day--I don't do homework, I don't think about schoolwork, and I usually wind up baking, walking, crafting, or sleeping most of the day.

Today, I'm going a little stir crazy.

It's a bit too cold outside to be out walking, and I already spent one afternoon this week baking.  I could crochet or take a nap, but it just seems like I should be doing more with my day. 

Also: I'm going to INDIA in three months!  More details to come, friends.

long walks

Over the past few days, I've spent at least two and a half hours just walking through Holland.  One day, I started walking westward and just kept going until I hit the lake.  Today, I simply meandered through downtown, back towards the lake, and then back downtown.  I dropped by a couple of the shops that were still open, and I talked to myself a lot.

You see, walking and talking is the single best way that I process things.  I think it has something to do with being a tour guide for three years: "keep walking, this way..."

I've spent the last week and a half just trying to figure out what exactly happened over the last seven months that made things so different.  I feel different.  I am different.  But how?  What happened that makes this new me better (or worse) than the old me?

I've spent hours poring over life decisions, made and unmade.  Fretting over things I probably shouldn't have done, and the opportunities that I missed. But I still can't name it.  I still can't figure it out.

In about two weeks, I need to have something to share with my peer group about my life--who I am, how I came to be here, and the people and events that have shaped me most. But how much can I really share with people that I've only known for four weeks?  Sure, sharing the happy moments of my life is easy--but there's no sharing my life without including moments of intense pain, loss, and heartache.  There's no explaining how I came to be here without sharing why I left in the first place: loneliness, a deep-seated sense of inadequacy, and a terrible fear of failure. 

I wish I could say that even now, my life is roses. I'm happy to be here, don't get me wrong--but at the same time, those feelings still linger.  I find myself unable to concentrate on anything for very long before my thoughts drift into "what if?" and other such questions.  I often find my sanity again in Pinterest, the world where everything is DIY, rather than "wait on the Lord."

Seminary's hard. I continuously remind myself that God has to have something absolutely ridiculous in store for me once this is all done, and that keeps me from asking too many questions.  After all, had I known everything that would happen in 2012 when I left Western in January, I probably would have had a panic attack. I might have turned around right then and come back.

But I'm better for those 7 months.  I am different, somehow.  And maybe one day I'll figure out how to say it.

Thought for the day

Time management is very important.

It is also a skill that I currently do not possess, as evidenced by the fact that it's 11 pm on Saturday and I'm still working on the third of four papers due by 8 am on Tuesday, and I still need to read an entire hymnal and create a 10-minute presentation.

I'm also blogging.

This does not bode well for the rest of the semester.

Things I've Learned This Week (and last week)

Okay, I'm a week late on this post.  But I never said which Friday! 

1. Seminary is a lot of work.  This should be obvious, but I had forgotten how exhausting academia is.  There is no rest for the weary here, however, as I have three papers and a 10-minute presentation due on Tuesday. 

2. I was right.  It's hard to make friends here, and it's easy to be lonely. My one-bedroom apartment is a wonderful refuge when I'm exhausted and don't want to deal with the world, but it also makes developing friendships hard.

3. My worldview is still so, so very different from many of my peers. I was raised by a social worker who deeply ingrained in me that "you can't fix people."  I went to college in a liberal, pluralistic environment where Christianity was just one of many religions to be respected equally, or dismissed altogether.  Christian norms aren't normal to me.

4. I remember a lot more Greek than I thought that I would! I barely have to review vocabulary so far, which is fabulous.

5. There is a good reason that I wasn't a philosophy major - I have NO IDEA what philosophers are saying.  What's with the ridiculously flowery language guys?  Be an International Relations major: say what you want to say and be done with it!

Human.

In Christian Ethics this morning, we began to create a foundation on which to build the rest of our ethics, which begins with questions that have no correct answer: what makes us human? How do we know what is 'right' and 'wrong?'  Can we simply reason this out for ourselves using the world around us, or does divine revelation have a place in this chaos?

This is what seminarians excel at: asking questions that seem to have billions of answers. 

A conversation in the atrium with the director of admissions (Dr. Poppen), also made me think this morning.  We talked about random things, like his daughters' musical talents and my lack thereof, and where I prefer to study, but some lighthearted conversation about our mutual tendency to overanalyze EVERYTHING provoked some introspection. 

In several of my classes, we've gone over Descarte's "I think, therefore I am" statement and how it induced a change in the way that humans viewed themselves.  Now, I am a person who, if left to her own devices, will think and re-think and re-analyze every moment of every day.  One of my goals over the past few months has been to think less and to do more, and I've almost succeeded.  But now, I'm afraid that I may have taken the 'don't overthink everything' mantra a bit too far.

You see, in trying to make myself less self-critical, I've actually deprived myself of some necessary introspection. I forbid any self-critique, even when it's for my own good.  Although it's been nice to not have to panic about what I could've done better every moment of every day, I lose out on any sort of self-improvement.

So once again, it comes down to finding a healthy balance between introspection, processing what's going on in my head (and what comes out of it), and intense panic-inducing self-critique.

Balance, however, has never been my strong suit (as also evidenced by the intriguing number of random bruises I continue to find.)  I continue to search for it, however, and will climb back on the teeter-totter for now.

Stay tuned for a 'what I've learned this week' on Friday!

The Story

After reading my last few posts, I've realized that I left out a bit of information--mostly, how I came to be in Holland again. 

It's something that I still haven't fully processed myself, so this may not be the most sensible way of explaining it, but it's a start.

For months, I talked to several people about "when I go back to seminary...", and have always been convinced that this is somehow the right path for me.  The only question was when I would go back.

Now, one of the reasons that I left in the first place was simply that I felt intimidated by and utterly inadequate compared to my peers. Many had previous theological training and I did not, and while I was able to acheive good grades, I still felt that I lacked the proper background information to really process the information that I was given.

That, unfortunately, hasn't changed. 

But here's what has:

First, I am much more comfortable with my many shortcomings.  I've always been extremely self-conscious and more than a little too hard on myself.  (That's the only advice the psychologists gave me after the psychological testing process last year: "don't be so hard on yourself!")  And I've made progress in that arena, now that I am certain that this is really where God is leading me, and that it's a good thing for me to be here.  (The encouragement I've had this time around from others has helped a lot too, to be honest.  It's much easier to affirm this calling in myself when I hear it from other people as well.)

Second, I now know exactly what I'm getting myself into.  There will be no surprises (well, fewer surprises) and the gentlemen that wear a shirt and tie to class every day will no longer annoy the living daylights out of me.  Theological language, while I am still not fluent, will no longer sound just like Russian or Portugese.

Third, I am more comfortable with where I come from.  I've always been hard on my hometown, and I still am in many ways, but having made this my home for a few months, at least, has helped me to see the good things in it as well.  Having this foundation to build on is vital.

Finally, I am surrounded with support.  I have my classmates that I got to know well last year rooting for me, and it's been great to see them and reconnect a bit this week.  I'm also thinking about a monthly-ish prayer newsletter to send out to those who are far away, to give a bit more of a full update than the blog. If this is something you would be interested in receiving, leave a comment here or email me at myfirstname.mylastname at gmail.com. Tell your friends!

All of those things are reasons that I went back to Holland to finish what I started.

I have a vision of working in community development in a small community, most likely as a pastor or in social service administration.  I've been told that I should look into international missions.  Perhaps God will lead me somewhere completely unexpected--and I look forward to seeing what God has in store.  If the past few months are any indicator of the awesomeness that the future holds, then I'll be happy to trust the process.

New Beginnings

Today, I sat through my second year of orientation at Western Theological Seminary in Holland.

I saw many surprised faces, heard "welcome back!" at least a hundred times, and learned very little new information. 

By far the best part of my day, however, was morning prayers.  Lead by the Student Council, it was the first time since arriving in Michigan that I felt that little stir inside saying "yes, this is it. This is where you're meant to be."

Amidst the fear, anxiety, social awkwardness, and feeling slightly bad for all of the departments that had to jump through hundreds of hoops to get me to this point, there was that little island of security and hope. Lord, let's keep that, okay?

I haven't met many of the juniors quite yet, and I'm having a hard time remembering their names, but tonight is dinner at the president's house, which always includes delicious food and dancing.  Dancing makes everything better, I've found.

Someday, I will post photos of my new apartment!  It is absolutely cavernous, as I have the entire first floor of an old Victorian-style house to myself.  (Think 12-foot ceilings, an adorable kitchen, plus several living areas and a small office.)

I also don't have internet access at home yet, so when I disappear from the online world for a few days, don't be alarmed.

And finally, here's how you can pray for me this week:

Pray for the confidence to know that I'm doing the right thing by leaving so much behind to come to seminary.  Pray for this journey to begin well, and pray that I'll really be able to invest in the communities I'm surrounded by--both at Western and at my church. 

Thanks to all who have been so encouraging over the past two months as I begin this journey to ministry again!

well...

I sent my application to seminary in today, applying for the fall.

God,

If this is a bad idea, please make this easy--just let them reject me.

love,

Sarah

I enjoy making my life difficult.

My mother finally called me on it this weekend: I've been talking about seminary for months--what I wish I would have done, how I feel like I should go back but cannot fathom why, what I'll do differently.

So after a long discussion, I sent an email to the admissions department asking what I need to do to re-enroll at Western. 

Two days later, they all but have my bed made. Jill, who is absolutely wonderful, checked with the Registrar, Financial Aid, housing, the director of my program, and the admissions committee by 11:30 this morning, and I need a total of three pages before my application is complete.

They have a space for me to begin again in a month.

And now...I have a massive choice to make: do I do the seemingly responsible thing and stay in the area, get an apartment, and save money until I have enough to pay for seminary on my own, or do I follow this ridiculous gut-feeling that I need to go back and finish what I started?

I know that going back will take a lot of adjustment.  I'll be with people who seemingly speak an entirely different language. I'll be behind in Greek, and I've been out of school for 6 months.  Who knows what sort of mush my brain has turned to?

But I really can't get rid of this instinct. Countless people have told me to go back. Why don't I trust myself?

flying the coop

Yesterday, after months of indecision and fretting, I've decided that it's high time for me to suck it up and rent an apartment in Clinton.  This means I'll need to be here for at least a year, which is somewhat saddening, but it's definitely time to move out of my parents' house.

The search begins!

So far in the running are...

1. A GORGEOUS 2-bedroom apartment in the historic district, which is rather out of my price range.  But hey, if anyone needs an apartment/roommate...

2. A 1-bedroom duplex with a backyard, recently remodeled, and totally within my price range. Downside: I haven't actually seen it yet...

3. A slightly sketchy, but very reasonably priced, one-bedroom in an okay neighborhood in Clinton.

There will be more to come, hopefully, but I'm hoping that this is a decent starting point.

The race begins!

Building a Life

After much indecision, panic and frustration,

I have decided to stay put for a while.

I have far too much work to do before I can even really think about ministry.  Too many issues, too many insecurities, and too few good habits.  The last thing this world needs is another burned-out-before-they-start pastor without much life experience, right?

Have I made a million bad decisions in the past six months? 

Yes.

Will I probably continue to make bad decisions and experience the consequences?

Yes.

Will I learn a lot about myself, about others, and about what ministry looks like on a day-to-day basis? 

You betcha.

My life may not turn out roses, but I can only be the better for it.  I will continue to miss Michigan, and the people that are still studying, ministering, and seeking God's call there, but for now, this is where I need to be.

If and when it's time for me to return there, I will trust God to smack me in the face with it, leaving no doubts that it's time for me to go.

Thanks to those who have encouraged me, who have left wonderful comments or letters here or elsewhere, and to those who remind me daily that God is, indeed, working in my life. 

And now....sleep.

God sightings

At midnight last night, after seeing a late showing of MIB III, I drove home.  I have a habit of talking to myself/praying while driving alone, and last night was no exception.  I've been asking the same questions for over a year: "Where do I go? What do I do?" I'm rather impatient, so I was frustrated. But rather than a location and a job, I heard instead: "focus on being, not doing."

Translation: work on you.  Stop trying to fix everything and everyone else, and work on being comfortable with and confident in your self.  Create a life for yourself.

Love and be loved. Invest in people. Create lasting relationships. Be bold. Speak up--especially for those who need a hand. Be present in conversations and ask good questions.

Then, something rather awesome happened:  the sermon at church this morning reiterated what I heard last night word. for. word.

It's taken four months to get this far. I'm still walking that fine line between building myself up for future ministry and beating myself up because I'm not already there. But this, more than anything else that's happened in the past year, is a sign that I've made good decisions. 

This blog has really become a form of therapy, more than anything.  It will probably continue to be so for the next few months.  But hopefully, by the time I return to seminary, I will be a stronger, more confident, more balanced version of myself. 

Another month later...

I sort of gave up on this blog once I finally had a full-time job, mostly because it was comfortable and I had nothing to post about.

But lately, I've had a bit of time to think.  This is almost never a good thing.

In all of this thinking, I came to this realization: in the past year, have done almost everything on the 'never-do' list in my head.

First, I went to graduate school almost on a whim.
Then, I dropped out.
Then, I moved back to Fulton, Illinois of all places--the only place on earth I swore to never return to.

I proceeded to drop off of the face of the earth, leaving my church, my hobbies, and my sanity behind.

I went on a couple of blind dates that went absolutely nowhere.

I began to imagine a completely new future for myself, working in business after getting an MBA.

Sure, I still went through all the motions of life--I showed up to work, did what I was supposed to, and woke up the next morning to do it all over again. 

But for the last two days, that completely irrational side of me has returned with a vengeance.  Everything in my heart is telling me to go back to Michigan and finish seminary.  It makes absolutely no sense--I've only been gone for 4 months, after all.  I haven't picked up a single theological text or article since last December. Admittedly, I've barely picked up my Bible since I left. Practiced Greek vocabulary? HA! This is all not to mention the financial side of this ridiculousness.

If there were ever a time to question my own sanity, it would be now.  Why do I insist on making my own life difficult?

Tired

That pretty much sums up the last month. I'm just really, really tired.

I got the job at Ashford as a Student Advisor, quit my Direct Care job, and have been working full time at AU for two weeks now.

And, as I should have guessed, all of my best-laid plans have gone out the window.  My plans to be really involved in my home church, my plans to visit Knox, my plans to start running.

I don't want this to sound whiny, but perhaps it already does. I have no reason to be this tired, really. I just can't shake it.

Turning your life upside down is just really, really draining. Meeting new people, re-meeting people you knew a long time ago, and trying to fit into an entirely new place gets rather old when you hit the fourth time in a year.

And yet, I can't wait to do it again. I want nothing more than to move to a bigger city, turn my life upside down all over again, and start over. But I keep thinking about why I came back here in the first place--to make peace with this place and all of the bad memories and insecurity that comes along with it.

Running away is just so much easier.

"Still."

One month later...

I am still living with my parents, which is still frustrating.  I am still at New Choices as a Direct Care Associate, and I've been working on my own for a few weeks now.  I am still looking for something better.

This job is not really what I expected, and I'm not terribly good at it. It is essentially babysitting adults, which is not my cup of tea. I hope that doesn't sound condescending, but it's true. I spend my time making sure that my clients behave well in public, don't destroy things, and don't spend all of their money on Taco Bell and gum.  Throw in the occasional karaoke night, weekly dodgeball, and a whole lot of Lifetime movies, and you pretty much have my job.

I wholeheartedly appreciate the loving, wonderful, caring people that do this job every day and absolutely love it. If there is anything I've learned in the past month, though, it is this: I am not cut out for direct social services.

I am hoping and praying, though, that I will hear from a recruiter at Ashford University this week about an open Student Advisor position, which I interviewed for on Monday! The interview went really well, and now there are just references to check. I might be freaking out a little bit.

Here's to hoping for another new start!

home

For those not following Facebook posts, know that I am alive and well in Fulton. It's a difficult transition to make, going from living on my own and cooking for myself to living with my parents again.  I won't lecture you on the specifics, but it's incredibly frustrating sometimes.

The thing I miss the most, though, is my church.  I was only at Servant's for 5 months, but I really miss the intellectual community there. People here (or at least the ones I know) don't talk about art, don't seem to care about community development, and don't particularly care for theological conversations. I've only been here for two weeks, but I feel ready to explode with questions and conversations.  The internet is full of places to debate these things, but it's just not the same.

A major plus, though, is that I already have a job!  I start Monday as a Direct Care Associate at New Choices, Inc, where I'll be working with people with disabilities as an assistant/caregiver of sorts.  I have several weeks of training before I actually start giving one-on-one care to clients, but I'm rather excited to start this. It's going to be an excellent entry into the social work field, I should think.

I've also decided not to run for political office. Even I don't know what my political views are anymore, and that doesn't look so great on a campaign poster: "Vote for Sarah Juist, because she's as confused as you are!"

I have no idea how long I'll be here, but here's to hoping that I don't lose the rest of my sanity in the meantime!

already and not yet

Theology professors love that phrase.  I'm confused by it, mostly, but it fits quite well into my life right now. 

In case you didn't read the last two or three posts, here's a bit of news: I'm leaving Western Theological Seminary in four days to move back into my parents' house in Illinois. 

The reactions to this news have been interesting so far: they ranged from shock and sadness to "well, I saw that coming..." to a bit of excitement as they realized that my library job was up for grabs.  (Family and friends in Fulton at least feigned excitement at my moving back indefinitely, but check back here in a few weeks to see how that's going.)

The last sentence of my previous post is so true, however: the hardest part is the act of leaving.  Saying goodbye is never easy, no matter how short a time you've spent somewhere.  Despite only being here six months and not really developing a whole lot of deep relationships, I have cried more in the last two weeks than I have since leaving Knox. 

But because I have to explain this to my church on Sunday, here's a short (I hope) explanation of how this decision came to be:

If you've read any of my previous blog posts, you know that I never really felt at home here.  I didn't come in with any sort of theological background, and although I loved my classes, there was always a nagging feeling that I don't belong here.

That triggered a desire to transfer seminaries, and the most likely option was Chicago Theological Seminary.  I looked at MSW (Master of Social Work) programs in the same area, as I feel more and more drawn to that field.  Then, I realized how indecisive I am and unsure of which degree I really should get.  That lead me to apply for several different jobs, mostly in social work/non-profit organizations, to test the field and gain some experience.  Then came a slightly terrifying realization: I would either have to continue attending school and rack up some more student loans while waiting to hear from those organizations, or move back to Fulton--something I swore I would never do.  (That was my first mistake.)

In processing that realization, I also realized that I've been running away from a lot of things and people from my past (read: Fulton) that I really need to deal with in one way or another in order to move on with my life and cease living in this fear of inadequacy. 

It was then that I realized just how much growing up I need to do before I can even think about becoming a pastor.  That solidified my decision to leave, and I began sending emails.  I fully expect to be drawn back to seminary somewhere, someday.  This has been a great taste of what's ahead, thus the title of this post: already, and not yet. 

I have no idea how long I will be in Fulton.  I would love to stay long enough to put down some semblance of roots before I gallavant away again, but I don't know if that's part of God's plan for me.  I could be in any number of places three months from now.  That thought is exciting, exhausting, and terrifying all at once.

In other news: packing is easier than I thought, but my room looks like a tornado went through it. 

the beginning of the end

I arrived in Holland around 8:30 pm last night, after spending a few hours driving 35 mph on the interstate through a blizzard that started directly after I crossed the state line into Michigan.  Suffice it to say that lake effect snow and I are not friends.

Today, I started the withdrawal process.  I knew this was going to be hard, but it's even harder than I thought it would be.  The heavy sighs, wide eyes, and slightly shocked faces don't make it any easier.  I'm already emotionally exhausted, and I haven't notified my classmates or my teaching church yet. 

Tomorrow, I leave for a 5-day Spiritual Disciplines retreat.  Then begins the madness of packing, paperwork, and finishing up projects at the library.  I have probably a couple hundred books to process, both going into and leaving the library's collections.  I also have to figure out how this massive amount of stuff is going to fit into my car all at once.  All of it made it here, right? 

All of that said, I'm tired, emotionally and physically, of moving every three to five months.  Leaving behind people that I've grown to like and trying to readjust to a new place and new people used to be fun and exciting.  Now, I'm simply exhausted and I feel like a drifter--home has become wherever I'm sleeping that night.

In other news, yet another option has been added to the already long list of things I could do with my life:  my father, in all seriousness, suggested that I run for the Illinois General Assembly this November.  I would have to run as an independent, but considering the ridiculousness that is party politics right now, I would be OK with that.  I'm completely eligible, too--I checked. 

I'll post a "things I learned in 2011" list sometime soon.  I'll also update the photos section with the two sets of decent family photos that now exist!

Thanks to those who take the time to read this.  Always appreciated.