Dear Friday,
5 Things I’m thankful for today:
1. It’s Friday. The week is over. My brain is fried. I need sleep.
2. The folks are coming this weekend. I’m thankful in advance for a fun weekend with them and friends and the Malbec or Cab we’ll share.
3. Spring. Spring rain. Spring flowers. Morning runs in the spring, smelling flowers, and smelling rain. (as an aside, will somebody please remind me how much I actually do like getting up early to work out. Why I seem to forget this when the alarm goes off is beyond me.)
4. Friends who call/email about job leads for me. (No, I’m not currently looking; I’m still trying to sort out what the next few months will look like for me, but) I’m uniquely grateful for people who take the time to do something concrete and tangible. I appreciate encouraging sentiments too, but there’s something HUGE when that sentiment is accompanied by helpful action. Is that a love language? “action steps” “tangible plan” “strategy consultation”…. something like that.
5. Seedling and seed pickup tomorrow. Time to start the garden is fast approaching!
A hip happy Friday to you!
Julie
Friday, April 13, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Good Friday Five
Dear Friday,
5 Thoughts on Good Friday.
1. I can’t wrap my head around Holy Week – that is, that last week of Jesus’ life. This probably isn’t surprising, given the magnitude of all of those events. But I don’t like not having conclusions – and I’m seeing things from different angles that are unfamiliar to me. It’s uncomfortable. I’ve found myself multiple times during the last few weeks simply saying “It matters.” Like, it matters that Jesus came riding into Jerusalem on a donkey and not a war horse a week before he was killed. It matters that Jesus washed the feet of the very one who would hand him over to his killers in a few short hours. It matters that his mode of death was government-sanctioned execution. It matters that he wasn’t even given a proper burial, but rather a disgraceful one.
2. I’ve been calling myself an “Easter orphan” since Kyle has to work all weekend and our original plans to spend time with some family are therefore not happening. This is not the first time that holidays seem weird because we’re adults and have odd work schedules...
3. In light of #2, Kyle and I are trying to start our own traditions. Since I’m well on my way to mastering the art of yeast bread this week (slightly ironic, I agree), I’ve decided that Easter will involve Hot Cross Buns. Come on over.
4. This thought my fried and yours, Fr. Richard Rohr: “Jesus hung in total solidarity with the pain of the world and the far too many lives on this planet that have been "nasty, lonely, brutish, and short.” After the cross, we know that God is not watching human pain, nor apparently always stopping human pain, as much as God is found hanging with us alongside all human pain. Jesus forever tells us that God is found wherever the pain is, which leaves God on both sides of every war, in sympathy with both the pain of the perpetrator and the pain of the victim, with the excluded, the tortured, the abandoned, and the oppressed since the beginning of time. I wonder if we even like that. There are no games of moral superiority left. Yet this is exactly the kind of Lover and the universal Love that humanity needs.” way to keep me up at night, Richard.
5. My understanding of “Gospel” is evolving. The good news is bigger than I realize, I think. I’m constantly asking myself, “but what would be good news to her?” or “what good news does he need to hear?” Some of the time it’s American evangelicalism's typical-but-can’t-be-overstated-because-it’s-so-wonderful news that Jesus died to pay for our sins. Good news indeed. But I’m finding more and more that if I choose to engage rather that isolate myself from this world’s (this city's, this neighborhood's) harsh realities, the good news is so. much. more. At the very least, it must include the truth that “God is with you.” Like yesterday, my little crying friend on the sidewalk, I think the good news that she needed to hear in that moment was not that "Jesus died to pay for your sins," but rather “Jesus is with you. He was with all human pain when he hung on the cross and he's with you now." I don't mean to minimize the former, but I do think the definition needs to be fuller.
This was weightier than I intended. It's been a heavy week, and I've been struggling to put things in context (my constant quest).
Deep breaths,
Julie
5 Thoughts on Good Friday.
1. I can’t wrap my head around Holy Week – that is, that last week of Jesus’ life. This probably isn’t surprising, given the magnitude of all of those events. But I don’t like not having conclusions – and I’m seeing things from different angles that are unfamiliar to me. It’s uncomfortable. I’ve found myself multiple times during the last few weeks simply saying “It matters.” Like, it matters that Jesus came riding into Jerusalem on a donkey and not a war horse a week before he was killed. It matters that Jesus washed the feet of the very one who would hand him over to his killers in a few short hours. It matters that his mode of death was government-sanctioned execution. It matters that he wasn’t even given a proper burial, but rather a disgraceful one.
2. I’ve been calling myself an “Easter orphan” since Kyle has to work all weekend and our original plans to spend time with some family are therefore not happening. This is not the first time that holidays seem weird because we’re adults and have odd work schedules...
3. In light of #2, Kyle and I are trying to start our own traditions. Since I’m well on my way to mastering the art of yeast bread this week (slightly ironic, I agree), I’ve decided that Easter will involve Hot Cross Buns. Come on over.
4. This thought my fried and yours, Fr. Richard Rohr: “Jesus hung in total solidarity with the pain of the world and the far too many lives on this planet that have been "nasty, lonely, brutish, and short.” After the cross, we know that God is not watching human pain, nor apparently always stopping human pain, as much as God is found hanging with us alongside all human pain. Jesus forever tells us that God is found wherever the pain is, which leaves God on both sides of every war, in sympathy with both the pain of the perpetrator and the pain of the victim, with the excluded, the tortured, the abandoned, and the oppressed since the beginning of time. I wonder if we even like that. There are no games of moral superiority left. Yet this is exactly the kind of Lover and the universal Love that humanity needs.” way to keep me up at night, Richard.
5. My understanding of “Gospel” is evolving. The good news is bigger than I realize, I think. I’m constantly asking myself, “but what would be good news to her?” or “what good news does he need to hear?” Some of the time it’s American evangelicalism's typical-but-can’t-be-overstated-because-it’s-so-wonderful news that Jesus died to pay for our sins. Good news indeed. But I’m finding more and more that if I choose to engage rather that isolate myself from this world’s (this city's, this neighborhood's) harsh realities, the good news is so. much. more. At the very least, it must include the truth that “God is with you.” Like yesterday, my little crying friend on the sidewalk, I think the good news that she needed to hear in that moment was not that "Jesus died to pay for your sins," but rather “Jesus is with you. He was with all human pain when he hung on the cross and he's with you now." I don't mean to minimize the former, but I do think the definition needs to be fuller.
This was weightier than I intended. It's been a heavy week, and I've been struggling to put things in context (my constant quest).
Deep breaths,
Julie
Thursday, April 5, 2012
World
Dear World,
What are you coming to?
I know: I sound like a crotchety old lady.
But seriously, it’s been one of those weeks where I’ve asked myself a number of times, “Why don’t we live on a rural hobby farm run by a small community of pacifists again?” I’m sure you ask yourself this same question regularly too. You’re in good company.
Anyway, back to the three ways I witnessed evidence that the world is falling apart and humanity as we know it is heading towards certain self-implosion:
1. Man shot. On our block. At 9p.m. on a Monday night. 40 yards from our front door. On the well-lit part of the block that I always opt for when walking home or to a neighbor’s around dusk because it’s “safer” than the not-so-well-lit other portion of the block. I guess I’ll find comfort in that fact that our neighbor’s historical block-activity informant told our neighbor who told Kyle who told me that it wasn’t gang related, it was an altercation between two gentlemen who knew each other and he was “only” shot in the leg – not any major life-sustaining organs. Thanks for the comfort, block-activity informant man.
2. A kid crying on the sidewalk. In broad daylight. Without shoes. Because her parents (I presume) were hurling F-bombs (among other threateningly colorful language) at her at the top of their lungs from halfway down the block. As cars whizzed by during rush hour. And she balled those hopelessly uncontrollable sobs which, for the record, are distinctly different than the I’m-throwing-a-tantrum-because-I-didn’t-get-what-I-wanted cries. This sucks. I don’t like that word and I don’t like this all too common situation. I never know what to do. Way to go, bully parents, you made a precious little girl cry.
3. Work. In domestic violence advocacy. SO thankful for this (temp) job. But it can be overwhelming. People are awful sometimes, and when you engage with this stuff 30 hours a week, it feels like there are more awfuls than goods. People are depraved, systems don’t work, and justice seems rare.
Ugh.
I know why a lot of people choose to isolate themselves from reality. Denial seems fairly attractive at times like these.
~Julie
What are you coming to?
I know: I sound like a crotchety old lady.
But seriously, it’s been one of those weeks where I’ve asked myself a number of times, “Why don’t we live on a rural hobby farm run by a small community of pacifists again?” I’m sure you ask yourself this same question regularly too. You’re in good company.
Anyway, back to the three ways I witnessed evidence that the world is falling apart and humanity as we know it is heading towards certain self-implosion:
1. Man shot. On our block. At 9p.m. on a Monday night. 40 yards from our front door. On the well-lit part of the block that I always opt for when walking home or to a neighbor’s around dusk because it’s “safer” than the not-so-well-lit other portion of the block. I guess I’ll find comfort in that fact that our neighbor’s historical block-activity informant told our neighbor who told Kyle who told me that it wasn’t gang related, it was an altercation between two gentlemen who knew each other and he was “only” shot in the leg – not any major life-sustaining organs. Thanks for the comfort, block-activity informant man.
2. A kid crying on the sidewalk. In broad daylight. Without shoes. Because her parents (I presume) were hurling F-bombs (among other threateningly colorful language) at her at the top of their lungs from halfway down the block. As cars whizzed by during rush hour. And she balled those hopelessly uncontrollable sobs which, for the record, are distinctly different than the I’m-throwing-a-tantrum-because-I-didn’t-get-what-I-wanted cries. This sucks. I don’t like that word and I don’t like this all too common situation. I never know what to do. Way to go, bully parents, you made a precious little girl cry.
3. Work. In domestic violence advocacy. SO thankful for this (temp) job. But it can be overwhelming. People are awful sometimes, and when you engage with this stuff 30 hours a week, it feels like there are more awfuls than goods. People are depraved, systems don’t work, and justice seems rare.
Ugh.
I know why a lot of people choose to isolate themselves from reality. Denial seems fairly attractive at times like these.
~Julie
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Poetry Month
Dear Poetry Month,
I'm not a poet really. But I'm an appreciator. That's what I say about music, usually. I wish I had singing abilities, but since I really don't - I'm an appreciator of music. The arts need people like me, thank you very much. Without appreciators, who would be in the audience?
Anyway, back to poetry.
Thanks to my friend Eva, who celebrates you like nobody else I know, I am reminded every year that April is dedicated to you; poetry. (and probably a number of other activites and people-groups and appropriately-colored ribbon causes).
So, I wrote a poem. I didn't mean to. I was merely journaling my thoughts this morning in attempt pray/release/organize them. Writing provides release for me. (That sounds like something a poet would say.)
So, I share my "poem" with you:
Worried. An I keep trying to look around and find ways to
"solve,"
"fix,"
"control."
When I really need to just be. still.
That's this week, right? To experience and remember again how illogical and miraculous God's plans are.
And full of love.
Love first, for sure.
So I'll pray to stop attempting to
crunch numbers,
or rewrite schedules,
or say yes to everyone.
And I'll sit back and look around,
and remember.
-J. Patricia McGillicuddy if I had a pen name, this would totally be it.
I'm not a poet really. But I'm an appreciator. That's what I say about music, usually. I wish I had singing abilities, but since I really don't - I'm an appreciator of music. The arts need people like me, thank you very much. Without appreciators, who would be in the audience?
Anyway, back to poetry.
Thanks to my friend Eva, who celebrates you like nobody else I know, I am reminded every year that April is dedicated to you; poetry. (and probably a number of other activites and people-groups and appropriately-colored ribbon causes).
So, I wrote a poem. I didn't mean to. I was merely journaling my thoughts this morning in attempt pray/release/organize them. Writing provides release for me. (That sounds like something a poet would say.)
So, I share my "poem" with you:
Worried. An I keep trying to look around and find ways to
"solve,"
"fix,"
"control."
When I really need to just be. still.
That's this week, right? To experience and remember again how illogical and miraculous God's plans are.
And full of love.
Love first, for sure.
So I'll pray to stop attempting to
crunch numbers,
or rewrite schedules,
or say yes to everyone.
And I'll sit back and look around,
and remember.
-J. Patricia McGillicuddy if I had a pen name, this would totally be it.
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