EDIT: Photo taken at the Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio in 2007.
EDIT: Photo taken at the Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio in 2007.
Viewing entries tagged
ramblings
EDIT: Photo taken at the Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio in 2007.
“School’s out for summer!”
Yeah, except that it’s started already for Walnut Hills and everyone else’s going back any day now. And I’m freaking out about curriculum and planning for being gone with the baby. What happened to the summer?
It’s late and I’m here at Redeemer typing away to the low hum and vibration of the industrial air conditioning. It may just be my imagination, but I think I can see the fluorescent lights flickering. I am surrounded by bits of paper—Time and Talent printouts, Youth Council agendas with movie lists on the back, magazines I meant to read a month ago which are still open to the fascinating article I bookmarked, Banquet bulletins to correct. I’ve had four back-to-back meetings today and still didn’t get everything done that I should have.
Seems like summer vacation wasn’t very vacation-y. You ever have that feeling? I was sick over my Spring Break, too, if you can believe it. But if I think about it clearly, there were moments—even whole series of moments—when I felt at peace this summer. Days when I didn’t have anything or anyone pressing on my time and I could sit around or work on a project and feel content. Like I could breathe or like a light breeze blew in to cool my skin.
It’s easy to forget those moments—and I know you had them, too—it’s easy to forget that we had some time off, some peace, some chillaxin’, some vacation. It’s easy to forget that in the sudden running around of school starting.
Try.
Yeah, except that it’s started already for Walnut Hills and everyone else’s going back any day now. And I’m freaking out about curriculum and planning for being gone with the baby. What happened to the summer?
It’s late and I’m here at Redeemer typing away to the low hum and vibration of the industrial air conditioning. It may just be my imagination, but I think I can see the fluorescent lights flickering. I am surrounded by bits of paper—Time and Talent printouts, Youth Council agendas with movie lists on the back, magazines I meant to read a month ago which are still open to the fascinating article I bookmarked, Banquet bulletins to correct. I’ve had four back-to-back meetings today and still didn’t get everything done that I should have.
Seems like summer vacation wasn’t very vacation-y. You ever have that feeling? I was sick over my Spring Break, too, if you can believe it. But if I think about it clearly, there were moments—even whole series of moments—when I felt at peace this summer. Days when I didn’t have anything or anyone pressing on my time and I could sit around or work on a project and feel content. Like I could breathe or like a light breeze blew in to cool my skin.
It’s easy to forget those moments—and I know you had them, too—it’s easy to forget that we had some time off, some peace, some chillaxin’, some vacation. It’s easy to forget that in the sudden running around of school starting.
Try.
How often do you lie?
Seriously, though, how often? I was kind of a goody-two-shoes in high school, so I never lied about staying out or who I was with. Well, except that once when my grandmother was in town and I convinced her that my folks were okay with my going on a 5-hour picnic date with my new boyfriend that they had never met. Yeah. But I’m not a big liar—I can’t. I get guilty when I tell big lies and it’s obvious to everyone. Little ones, though… “I really can’t make it.” “You look great in that dress.” “I’m actually helping the sweat-shop worker by purchasing her product.” Those I tell all the time. It’s easy. I know what I want, and I go after it. Even with a little falsehood.
I just read The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible—at one point, he get’s caught in his truth. His toddler son wants English muffin for breakfast. They’re out. Mom says, “tell him the bagel’s an English muffin—it worked yesterday.” Dad says, “I can’t tell a lie. Little buddy, it’s a bagel and it’s delicious.” Toddler son wants none of it and throws a tantrum. So should he lie to his son? I don’t know. It’s a sticky area, but I do know that lies can destroy relationships. There is no trust. There is no connection. There is no love. And when I get away with a lie, I frequently feel crappy about myself, like there’s a stain in me.
What do you think?
Seriously, though, how often? I was kind of a goody-two-shoes in high school, so I never lied about staying out or who I was with. Well, except that once when my grandmother was in town and I convinced her that my folks were okay with my going on a 5-hour picnic date with my new boyfriend that they had never met. Yeah. But I’m not a big liar—I can’t. I get guilty when I tell big lies and it’s obvious to everyone. Little ones, though… “I really can’t make it.” “You look great in that dress.” “I’m actually helping the sweat-shop worker by purchasing her product.” Those I tell all the time. It’s easy. I know what I want, and I go after it. Even with a little falsehood.
I just read The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible—at one point, he get’s caught in his truth. His toddler son wants English muffin for breakfast. They’re out. Mom says, “tell him the bagel’s an English muffin—it worked yesterday.” Dad says, “I can’t tell a lie. Little buddy, it’s a bagel and it’s delicious.” Toddler son wants none of it and throws a tantrum. So should he lie to his son? I don’t know. It’s a sticky area, but I do know that lies can destroy relationships. There is no trust. There is no connection. There is no love. And when I get away with a lie, I frequently feel crappy about myself, like there’s a stain in me.
What do you think?
I got the coolest email today. Ok, maybe not the coolest, but in the top 25 probably.
I go to the Hunger Site every day to click on their “give free food” button. You can also click to help out with literacy, breast cancer research, and all kinds of stuff. It’s really quick and easy and awesome. So today, I got an email from Sharon, our fantastic new communications director, with a link to FreeRice. The way it works is, you get little word quizzes like “maze means: copy, argumentation, detergent, labyrinth”. You guess correctly, you give one grain of rice, then it gives you a harder word.
Now, before you give up in disgust at how nerdy your priest is, I’ll have you know I donated 240 grains of rice in about two minutes. That’s at least a couple cups (though I’ve not sat down and counted it out in my spare time). Think about how simple it is to make a difference in this world. Think about how easy it can be to begin to feed the hungry around the globe. We (and by “we” I mean everyone everywhere) have enough food to feed everyone well—it’s just not in the right places. Our grocery stores are overloaded with choices while many areas have nothing at all. Something like ¾ of the world’s population subsist on rice and beans. If that.
At FreeRice, you’re feeding other people while feeding your mind. It’s a lot like the church community at its best: we come because we are fed and because our presence feeds others. Participating in the community can be one of the most powerful relationships you’ll ever have. But only if you commit to it, only if you find creative ways to participate. We can’t sit around waiting for hunger to go away. We can’t sit around waiting for someone to invite us to participate at Redeemer, in CORe, in the faith. How are you being fed in your life? How are you feeding others?
Maybe you’re already doing this stuff. Maybe you already knew about those cool websites. Keep it up—we can’t stop until everyone is fed.
I go to the Hunger Site every day to click on their “give free food” button. You can also click to help out with literacy, breast cancer research, and all kinds of stuff. It’s really quick and easy and awesome. So today, I got an email from Sharon, our fantastic new communications director, with a link to FreeRice. The way it works is, you get little word quizzes like “maze means: copy, argumentation, detergent, labyrinth”. You guess correctly, you give one grain of rice, then it gives you a harder word.
Now, before you give up in disgust at how nerdy your priest is, I’ll have you know I donated 240 grains of rice in about two minutes. That’s at least a couple cups (though I’ve not sat down and counted it out in my spare time). Think about how simple it is to make a difference in this world. Think about how easy it can be to begin to feed the hungry around the globe. We (and by “we” I mean everyone everywhere) have enough food to feed everyone well—it’s just not in the right places. Our grocery stores are overloaded with choices while many areas have nothing at all. Something like ¾ of the world’s population subsist on rice and beans. If that.
At FreeRice, you’re feeding other people while feeding your mind. It’s a lot like the church community at its best: we come because we are fed and because our presence feeds others. Participating in the community can be one of the most powerful relationships you’ll ever have. But only if you commit to it, only if you find creative ways to participate. We can’t sit around waiting for hunger to go away. We can’t sit around waiting for someone to invite us to participate at Redeemer, in CORe, in the faith. How are you being fed in your life? How are you feeding others?
Maybe you’re already doing this stuff. Maybe you already knew about those cool websites. Keep it up—we can’t stop until everyone is fed.