There's Always Time

Tis' the season: exams, papers, finals, projects, applications... and for this season, there is always something we would rather be doing.  Being with family, wrapping gifts, celebrating with friends, sleeping.  And time is not on our side, in fact we are chasing after time but never seeming to capture it.  There is never enough and it's always fleeting.  Like chasing smoke, the wind, or falling snowflake.

I do not pretend to be an expert at time management.  I am often late for appointments.  I forget deadlines.  I have started and stopped keeping a planner more times than I can count.  I don't wear a watch (but in the time of cell phones, who does anymore?).  Time rules and ruins my life just as it does everyone else.  I detest the feeling as if I am not in charge of the time that I have.  I will admit, there is a comfort of surrender to the fact that I am not in charge of my time.  I am responsible for making the time I have as saturated as possible with all the things I value: people I love and care about, old friends and strangers, grace, beauty, and abundance of love.  These are inexhaustible resources, when time is lacking.  I am not responsible for the ticking clock, I couldn't stop it if I tried, I am responsible for the fullness I grant to time.  And not a full schedule, but full of what I love and value.

I think about the book of Ecclesiastes,  a piece of Hebrew wisdom literature, when I think of time.  There is a fullness of time presented here since there is a time for everything and a season for every occupation.   Part of living into this, and I am still working here, believe me, is allowing each season to have its fullness and not bringing other expectations to the time we have.  The "I would rather..." ruins the time I have.

So, while I am blogging instead of: drying my hair, studying for my final in two hours, shopping online for last minute gifts... I trust I am right where I need to be.  Today I will try to hold this in mind as I read my friend's status updates which claim much more fun activities then me as I plug away on my responsibilities.  I will be thankful for the fullness of time, in each sense.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to rest and a time to test.  A time to write and a time to refrain from writing.  A time to learn and a time to practice that learning, a time to break down and a time to build up.

May the time we have been given this season be enough.

September Firsts

"No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time." -James Baldwin

I often spill coffee on myself.  Often.  Like, almost daily.  The most embarrassing of coffee spills are the ones going straight down my shirt (due to my faulty drinking skills, a hole in the lip, or a loose lid on my coffee shop paper cup).  Being a <ahem> woman of a curvy persuasion and a Seminary student in the same breath, drawing undue attention to that region has always been a source of anxiety.

Which is exacerbated in times when I am meeting people for the first time.  Impressions are lasting, especially the first ones.  And I, sometimes, flub these up completely.  I once had a good friend from college relay to me our first conversation.  I was absolutely mortified by the words that escaped my mouth.  How she ever decided to be my friend after that, I will never know.  She is a more gracious woman than I.

In any case, this particular morning I was walking to school to greet new, wide-eyed, incoming students.  Ceremonially, I dribbled down my shirt, which was white, of course.  I imagined (and my imagination OFTEN gets me in trouble) scarring the impression of these vulnerable students for the rest of their time at Seminary.  I will never know why I view my opinion of myself to be so important.  When I remember coming to Seminary for the first time, the whole first day was an absolute blur.  The woman greeting me could have been made of coffee and I still wouldn't have noticed.

My first day of classes I spilled again down my shirt, and then hours later on my jeans.  First classes, initial peeks at syllabuses, both warm and cautious greetings to my classmates, all wore on me.  Least of all my own anxieties about beginning another year of study.  I found my study carrel, in the stacks of the library for an hour of quiet.  I cracked the window to let in the late summer breeze.  And in blessing, I spilled three drops on its sunny sill with hope and anticipation for the firsts September brings.

One Big Wilderness, 3 canoes, 6 men, and me.

“While we are born with curiosity and wonder and our early years full of the adventure they bring, I know such inherent joys are often lost. I also know that, being deep within us, their latent glow can be fanned to flame again by awareness and an open mind.” - Sigrud Olson 

I recently returned to normal life after a week in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.  As the title of this blog alludes, for this adventure, I was in the company of four other Seminary students and two knowledgeable, flexible guides.  All of them men.  And me.  I have been to the BWCAW before, but never in this configuration of talents, gifts, and well, gender.  On this kind of adventure, the very best and worst of these people who are formed into a team are revealed, as are the best and worst of the self.

When we started I was tired.  Mostly I was tired of thinking.  I was tired of living in my head; of thinking, wondering, reading, learning... all pieces of my everyday urban-student-life that I love.  But after one very long year of it, I was worn.  I didn't want to think.  I just wanted to be.  And to be challenged in a way that didn't live in my head.  To be challenged not in the depth, originality, or informed-ness of my thinking but in the strength of my body and the ferocious nature of my wonder-ing soul. 

As the trip went on I eased into this different rhythm.  Distractions shifted from ringing phones, bleeping computers, alerts, emails and the cacophony of busy.... to the sound of the water droplets from my paddle, the lap of the waves, the call of the loon.  My eyes feasted on soaring eagles, enormous and ancient evergreens and cedars, rock faces, clear water and sun. And I could just be.  

In between and amidst my unplugging, I plugged into conversation and journeying with (quite literally) my trip-mates.  Over trail coffee (boil the water, throw in the grounds.  Strain through the pot spigot and crunch the grounds.  The added texture just adds to the rocket fuel nature of the brew) we would rest from the day's journey and wonder at where we were, together and apart.  Lines of connection between experiences were drawn.  Thoughts of wonder built upon each other.  We also laughed, which was grand.

And now I am back to my urban life.  Back to work, and study, and a different, but transformed wondering.  What I will not journey apart from is connection and the space between one and the other is sacred and wonder-full ground.  

(Pictures were taken by my very talented new friend and trip participant Jason Mendoza)

making peace with time: birthday thoughts

Today I begin my twenty-ninth turn around the sun.

Today I let my grey hairs show, knowing each was hard fought for.  I trust that my struggles, stress and hardships have shaped who I am.  Today I acknowledge the place the hard stuff has had in my life, while I would choose not to repeat that time, I can still look in the mirror with gratitude.

As I eat my breakfast, I am thankful for the farmers who grew the wheat, sugar, and coffee beans, for those who transported them to my table.  I am thankful for the people behind the food that I eat.  I also remember that there are those who will go hungry today, and I am mindful of my responsibility to use resources carefully and with consideration of my neighbor.

When I walk to school and work, I marvel at my body.  Not with judgments or with other wishes, but with acceptance of what is, gratitude for the health, and the gift of movement.   Today I will deflect thoughts of negativity to myself and my image.  I am who I am, and that is a work of masterful art, which includes my love handles.

I will call my mother and thank her for bringing me into this world.  I will thank my father for holding her hand through the work it took on the day my eyes first opened to this beautiful world.  I will thank them for the gift of being, and thank them again for their part in my becoming.

I will acknowledge also that my becoming is the job of many.  I have been formed by multiple communities, many individuals, and I reflect the beauty of them in who I am.  By the end of the day, I might run out of thank you's enough. (maybe a blog post will suffice)

I am a child of this world, just as I am a child of God.  Both hold a responsibility of being; to live gracefully and with intention to myself and others.  To notice that I am not formed by my own thoughts, but by those around me.  As a citizen of the globe, my family and connections are more than I could ever imagine or anticipate.

And in this day, I will wear gratitude like a garment.  I will sing grace with my words.  In this day, I will look to the world where I live with new, fresh, and open eyes.

On the way

Now that the weather is nicer, with coffee traveling mug in hand, I walk the half mile to school and work.  It's a lovely time to collect my thoughts and daydream a bit as I enjoy the sights and sounds of my neighborhood.  There are also all kinds of ordinary wonderful things to be seen, which are perfect walking partners for daydreaming and organized meandering.

There's a lilac bush on my way, where I picked up a hitchhiking inchworm once, and I picked him out of my hair several hours later.  Near the lilac, is a curious sight I have been wondering about all spring: a tea bag which is tied to a bush branch.  Every time I see it I think of making tea for little songbirds.  It's a rather ridiculous thought, but maybe there's a children's story that could take off from there.

Also on my way is an elementary school, and on every corner from the school to my school is a crossing guard.  Now, having been a crossing guard once a upon a time, I can tell that they are a different lot than I was.  First of all, they mean business.  I would never dream about crossing them (ha) or not following their directions if I was a young walker.  Second, they are so busy!  When I was a crossing guard, there was only one corner in our jurisdiction and we would be lucky if we helped two students and saw a handful of cars.  My memories include getting up very early and getting very bundled up, and then bracing myself against the wind and shifting my weight back and forth-- all the while keeping the flag pole plastered to my boot.  After a while, it froze there I wouldn't have to worry about it touching the ground.

Sometimes I even ask my neighborhood crossing guards if they would help me cross the street, sometimes they relent, though I get the feeling that it's against protocol.  Mostly I just smile, sometimes I say "good morning".  I wonder what they must think of me, walking the opposite way of all their patrons with coffee cup in one hand, book in the other.  Do they think me eccentric or just another part of their morning?  I will be sad, however, when their school year is done and their seriousness, their jeers at one another, and civic responsibility are not my more accompaniment to my morning meandering. 

Where is wisdom?

I spend a significant amount of time trying to sound clever.  As a grad student, its par for the course.  After all, ideas aren't worth a thing unless they sounds good.  And sometimes the sounding good is all there is.  In meaning, in manifestation, in application; words are hollow.

And yet, I really love words.  I think they are playful and vibrant, somber and reminiscent, valuable and weighty. What disappoints me is that they are often, also, cheap.

I recently asked friends where they find wisdom.  A variety of answers followed; from learning from mistakes made, in the shower (inspired by a relaxed mind and warmth), from conversations with elders and friends.  What I wonder about is how, in a world where there is information everywhere, if there isn't also wisdom waiting to be plucked up; like a wildflower among weeds.  Or a penny on the sidewalk.

And how often I would like to shake it off or ignore it, the way I do the small brown ring stain on my desk where, silly me, I forgot to use a coaster.

Wisdom, I wonder, seems to come from outside myself.  It seems to be created in a connection between people, between experiences and between the lines or busy life.  Wisdom is a process of connecting the dots in seemingly unconnected experiences.  It is beyond being clever or sounding smart.  It is born, created, and sustained by being present, and by the vulnerability to be surprised by life. 

Lake Coffee

I grew up next to the heartbeat of Minnesota summer: lake country.  My little hometown swells in population to twice to four times its size, depending on the weekend, during the summer months.  Summertime would be the only time the town would decided it needed to move a little faster than normal; but not ever faster than the average vacationer.

When fall came around, it would settle into its comfortable rhythm again.  And when the snow started falling, it hunkered down further into a cozy hibernation.  In its winter snoozing, dreams of spring (which means mud) and summer sunshine made the frigid temperatures bearable.  My little town dreams, lives, and loves the summer lake rhythm.

Coffee at my parent's house became known as "lake coffee"; and had a very different attitude from its urban counterpart which I usually partake in.  Lake coffee was brewed in the morning by my mother.  It wakes up the house with its bright aromas.  It's usually lighter roast, not as strong as urban coffee, served in earthenware mugs, made by artisans locally.  Lake coffee is refreshed throughout the day, pot after pot. It's primary purpose is to be the medium over which my family will visit over, relax with, and SLOW DOWN from its other days pace.

I once was checking my email (mistake) at my folks house when I put a mug of lovely Lake Coffee on the armchair which was engulfing me (also mistake).  When I got up to move (3rd mistake) I bumped it, causing it to spill dangerously close to my parent's laptop.

Which of course, got me moving quicker towards a towel to mop up the mess, now running unto the carpeted floors.  My mom, on the other hand, kept up her slower pace.  Assuring me it was just coffee.  Just carpet.  Just a computer.  She was more worried on what I had spilled on my pajamas.  Which I was, because of the spill, forced to change out of at noon-thirty.

How is it that coffee in two different contexts can be a medium for two different purposes: urban=speed up, wake up and up-and-at-them.  It's fast, grabbed on the go.  Rural=slow down, make small talk, catch up, connect, and make it meaningful.  The attitude behind the connection is completely different.  And often, so is the quality of the day.  I wonder how to make my urban coffee more like the sweet-homeyness of Lake Coffee.... Makes me a touch homesick just considering it.

Betwixt and Between: On Commuting

There is a distinct difference in being where you are and being where you want to be.  This moving from point A to B is filled with axioms about "enjoying the journey," or "mind the gap".  Most often, this space in between notion is applied to larger life positions; the time between hiring and promotion, the time between knowing and not knowing, the time between your beginning and the ending.

And in between lots of life happens, but we are lost in the anxiety, the waiting, and absorbed in the "I'm not there yet," feeling.

I was on my way to a meeting.  A very important meeting, one where I felt unqualified to be there, but was invited all the same.  So, I put on my most professional duds and skipped out of my afternoon class to be there.  In between the meeting and school, in between the professional calling and my student existence; there was me, my car, a mapquest map, and my constant companion, my travel mug filled with caffeine-filled fuel.  And wouldn't you know, two of my companions betrayed me, my map was wrong and my travel mug leaked onto my lap.  I was now certain that my professional image I was trying for was completely tarnished.  And further ruined, I was now quite late in my lostness.

Transitional times are not an unfamiliar phenomenon to those in emerging adulthood (read: ages 18-30, roughly), our lives are quite littered with them.  Most of life seems as if we are waiting for something better, something bigger, something other than this anxious waiting.  As I think about the transitions in my life, I know that they are not wasted time.  When I am mindful of the transitions, I can see the purpose and preparation in the time spent not being there yet.

In my urban life, commuting has been my daily transitional time.  And my realization and reminder that in even in the time in between, is still important time.

"Life is what happens while you're making other plans" --John Lennon

The other day, I spilled an entire cup of coffee outside the door of my apartment while trying to lock the door.  It was my precious first cup of coffee which was to accompany me to my 8:00 AM class.

I was holding onto to too many things; juggling mittens, keys, backpack, books and the precious coffee.  My mind was holding too many things: deadlines, projects to be started, ideas for that blog I keep meaning to start, books I read last night, things I meant to say and didn't.  Regrets.  Goals.  Ideas.  Inspiration.  More than I have time to think through or write down, but a desire to let all these things be heard.

I will admit, I have clumsy tendencies.  I spill coffee on something nearly everyday.  If I could chronicle the days of my life, I would mark it with coffee stains.  And they, those blobby, brown spots, would tell great stories; about what I am reading and thinking about in grad school studies in the margins of my theology books, on my skirt as I drive down the road, and, on this particular day, on the carpet of my apartment hallway, on a day I was running late and running on low.

John Lennon once said, "life is what happens while you're making other plans."  Mostly I agree, though I think life is made of smaller bits than this.  Life, for me, is what happens when I am too busy or too distracted to see and wonder at the beauty of each day.  And they are best marked by what I spilled coffee on.  Each instance is a reminder to look around and be amazed.

So sure, I was running late to class.  But because of the spill, I could notice the snow lightly falling on half shoveled city sidewalks, gracing down and melting soon after on sleepy walks.  I could be astonished by the small and slow progress of my neighborhood waking up; the buses passing, the people with their heads down in defense, my neighbors with dogs on leashes, the dogs as they pick their paws off the cold concrete and bury the noses in the new snow.  And I could, despite my twenty-eight years, lift up my chin and try to catch a passing flake, and wake, without caffeination, to the wonder of a new day.