Dear George —It is, indeed, a wonderful life. Merry Christmas, dear friends!
Remember no man is a failure who has friends.
Thanks for the wings!
Love,
Clarence
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
A wonderful life
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The Legacy of the Kirk House
This afternoon, I had a great conversation with one of my CCO colleagues. It started as an interview for an upcoming On Campus magazine feature but drifted into other areas as well: calling and vocation, how God works through us and in spite of us, the struggle to discern whether what we're doing is making a difference at all.
I was reminded of this article that I wrote four years ago about my years doing campus ministry in Erie. I promised to send her the article. I'll share it here as well. —alm
--------------------------------------
November 2003
I received a letter a couple of weeks ago from new CCO staff member, Lindsey Smyth. The return address on the envelope was a familiar one to me: 627 Myrtle Street, Erie, Pennsylvania.
"The past four months have been absolutely incredible," Lindsey writes. "I have learned so much about trusting God and diving head first into ministry with Gannon University students." She goes on to describe her experience at Summer Training, her first weeks in Erie, what it's like to co-direct a discipleship house and to be an ambassador of First Presbyterian Church of the Covenant to Gannon students. She writes about the privilege it is to be recognized as an official campus minister by Gannon's Catholic campus ministry office. She talks about her gratitude for the supporters who make her work possible and about how much God is teaching her through the students with whom she lives and works.
I flip the letter over and examine the photos that she's included. There's a picture of the residents of the Kirk House, of Lindsey with her CCO colleagues at Gannon (Sam Van Eman and co-director RC Griffin), of Lindsey with the women in her Bible study. All but one picture was taken within the walls of the Kirk House. Aside from the faces and the furniture (go figure — at some point over the past decade, they've had to replace a couch or two), these snapshots could have come out of my own photo albums. The place looks comfortingly like it did in 1989 when I first moved in.
But it's not the same. Praise God, several generations of Gannon students (and Kirk House directors) have passed through those familiar doors since I moved out of my basement bedroom at 627 Myrtle Street a decade ago. Countless students have gathered there for dinners, for parties and for Bible studies. Some have lived there and others have just visited, but I venture to guess that all have been changed in some small way by encountering Jesus Christ and his body in that sacred space.
I've been in a unique position these last ten years. Even after leaving the Kirk House and Gannon to move into my work at CCO's Pittsburgh headquarters, I've had the privilege of getting to know, in various degrees, subsequent Kirk House directors and to call them my colleagues. Since those four years during which I worked with Eugene, Dave, Jeff and Ty, the baton has been passed to and from Marleta, Jason, Tara, Julie, Sam, Jessica, Clint, RC and now, Lindsey. And that doesn't include the many directors who preceded my years there. It's amazing to realize that the CCO has had a presence at Gannon University through the Kirk House ministry since 1973.
My tenure at the Kirk House was rocky, to say the least. I worked with four co-directors in those four years. When I showed up in Erie, two student residents of the previous year's community had been evicted, and the ripple effect of that controversial decision was felt throughout my first year. Gannon University's campus was unlike any I'd ever encountered up close. Instead of the contained, small-town feel of Geneva College — or my alma mater, Allegheny College — Gannon buildings were interspersed with, and sometimes indistinguishable from, others in downtown Erie. At that time, there were no welcoming student-center-like hang-out spots on campus where I could naturally meet students. It was startling, to say the least, the first time I visited the freshman women's residence hall…right across the street from the prison.
Then there was the whole Catholic/Protestant thing. I'd gone from being a student at a nominally Methodist-affiliated school to my intern year within the conservative Evangelical subculture at Geneva College. Now I was entering a whole new parallel universe. Many of the students I initially met at Gannon had attended Catholic schools all their lives and now had chosen to attend a Catholic university. And many of the Protestant students I met had been raised to distrust the Catholic Church and all that it stood for.
The relationship between Kirk House directors and Gannon's campus ministry office had a somewhat tenuous history as well, with levels of trust and connection pretty low over the years. As always, God's timing was amazing. Even in the midst of interpersonal strife within the Kirk House, the initial rapid turnover of male directors (which became challenging not to take personally!), and my overarching insecurity about what it meant to "reach out" on campus, a spirit of unity and ecumenism was nurtured between Gannon staff and Church of the Covenant employees. (It still thrills me to realize that Sam Van Eman now has a cooperative partnership directly with Gannon University!)
My friend and Gannon colleague, Renée, and I became fast friends. Together, we identified language barriers between our respective traditions and sought to overcome them. I audited a class, taught by an ecumenically-minded priest, called "Catholic Traditions." By my last year at the Kirk House, I often found myself in the surprising position of defender — or, at least, interpreter — of the Catholic faith to suspicious Protestant students. (Although I never did figure out how to succinctly answer the most frequently asked question which Catholic students would pose to me: "So, what do Protestants believe about ___?") I'd feel a sort of linguistic whiplash when catching up with my CCO colleagues at staff seminars — such was the uniqueness of my particular ministry setting.
By the time I left Erie, I was a different person. Stretched and pushed and pulled in my understanding of the depth and breadth of God's Kingdom, I found myself open to learning from people different from myself — culturally and otherwise. So great became my appreciation of the liturgy of the Catholic mass, I fully expected to join an Episcopal congregation when I moved to Pittsburgh. (Much to my surprise, I instead found myself attracted to the small, inner-city, interracial, Presbyterian-but-feels-more-like-Baptist Friendship Community Church. That's a story for another time, but with the same theme of God pushing, pulling and stretching me to become a more faithful, well-rounded disciple.)
I'm not sure how many years have gone by since I last climbed the front steps of the Kirk House, or worshiped at First Church of the Covenant, or hung out in the Gannon campus ministry offices. Every time I visit friends in Erie, I try to find time to drive through Gannon's campus, down Seventh Street, past the church. I hang a right onto Myrtle Street, craning my neck to see if the Kirk House still looks the same. It does.
This article was originally published in November 2003. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2003.
I was reminded of this article that I wrote four years ago about my years doing campus ministry in Erie. I promised to send her the article. I'll share it here as well. —alm
--------------------------------------
November 2003
I received a letter a couple of weeks ago from new CCO staff member, Lindsey Smyth. The return address on the envelope was a familiar one to me: 627 Myrtle Street, Erie, Pennsylvania.
"The past four months have been absolutely incredible," Lindsey writes. "I have learned so much about trusting God and diving head first into ministry with Gannon University students." She goes on to describe her experience at Summer Training, her first weeks in Erie, what it's like to co-direct a discipleship house and to be an ambassador of First Presbyterian Church of the Covenant to Gannon students. She writes about the privilege it is to be recognized as an official campus minister by Gannon's Catholic campus ministry office. She talks about her gratitude for the supporters who make her work possible and about how much God is teaching her through the students with whom she lives and works.
I flip the letter over and examine the photos that she's included. There's a picture of the residents of the Kirk House, of Lindsey with her CCO colleagues at Gannon (Sam Van Eman and co-director RC Griffin), of Lindsey with the women in her Bible study. All but one picture was taken within the walls of the Kirk House. Aside from the faces and the furniture (go figure — at some point over the past decade, they've had to replace a couch or two), these snapshots could have come out of my own photo albums. The place looks comfortingly like it did in 1989 when I first moved in.
But it's not the same. Praise God, several generations of Gannon students (and Kirk House directors) have passed through those familiar doors since I moved out of my basement bedroom at 627 Myrtle Street a decade ago. Countless students have gathered there for dinners, for parties and for Bible studies. Some have lived there and others have just visited, but I venture to guess that all have been changed in some small way by encountering Jesus Christ and his body in that sacred space.
I've been in a unique position these last ten years. Even after leaving the Kirk House and Gannon to move into my work at CCO's Pittsburgh headquarters, I've had the privilege of getting to know, in various degrees, subsequent Kirk House directors and to call them my colleagues. Since those four years during which I worked with Eugene, Dave, Jeff and Ty, the baton has been passed to and from Marleta, Jason, Tara, Julie, Sam, Jessica, Clint, RC and now, Lindsey. And that doesn't include the many directors who preceded my years there. It's amazing to realize that the CCO has had a presence at Gannon University through the Kirk House ministry since 1973.
My tenure at the Kirk House was rocky, to say the least. I worked with four co-directors in those four years. When I showed up in Erie, two student residents of the previous year's community had been evicted, and the ripple effect of that controversial decision was felt throughout my first year. Gannon University's campus was unlike any I'd ever encountered up close. Instead of the contained, small-town feel of Geneva College — or my alma mater, Allegheny College — Gannon buildings were interspersed with, and sometimes indistinguishable from, others in downtown Erie. At that time, there were no welcoming student-center-like hang-out spots on campus where I could naturally meet students. It was startling, to say the least, the first time I visited the freshman women's residence hall…right across the street from the prison.
Then there was the whole Catholic/Protestant thing. I'd gone from being a student at a nominally Methodist-affiliated school to my intern year within the conservative Evangelical subculture at Geneva College. Now I was entering a whole new parallel universe. Many of the students I initially met at Gannon had attended Catholic schools all their lives and now had chosen to attend a Catholic university. And many of the Protestant students I met had been raised to distrust the Catholic Church and all that it stood for.
The relationship between Kirk House directors and Gannon's campus ministry office had a somewhat tenuous history as well, with levels of trust and connection pretty low over the years. As always, God's timing was amazing. Even in the midst of interpersonal strife within the Kirk House, the initial rapid turnover of male directors (which became challenging not to take personally!), and my overarching insecurity about what it meant to "reach out" on campus, a spirit of unity and ecumenism was nurtured between Gannon staff and Church of the Covenant employees. (It still thrills me to realize that Sam Van Eman now has a cooperative partnership directly with Gannon University!)
My friend and Gannon colleague, Renée, and I became fast friends. Together, we identified language barriers between our respective traditions and sought to overcome them. I audited a class, taught by an ecumenically-minded priest, called "Catholic Traditions." By my last year at the Kirk House, I often found myself in the surprising position of defender — or, at least, interpreter — of the Catholic faith to suspicious Protestant students. (Although I never did figure out how to succinctly answer the most frequently asked question which Catholic students would pose to me: "So, what do Protestants believe about ___?") I'd feel a sort of linguistic whiplash when catching up with my CCO colleagues at staff seminars — such was the uniqueness of my particular ministry setting.
By the time I left Erie, I was a different person. Stretched and pushed and pulled in my understanding of the depth and breadth of God's Kingdom, I found myself open to learning from people different from myself — culturally and otherwise. So great became my appreciation of the liturgy of the Catholic mass, I fully expected to join an Episcopal congregation when I moved to Pittsburgh. (Much to my surprise, I instead found myself attracted to the small, inner-city, interracial, Presbyterian-but-feels-more-like-Baptist Friendship Community Church. That's a story for another time, but with the same theme of God pushing, pulling and stretching me to become a more faithful, well-rounded disciple.)
I'm not sure how many years have gone by since I last climbed the front steps of the Kirk House, or worshiped at First Church of the Covenant, or hung out in the Gannon campus ministry offices. Every time I visit friends in Erie, I try to find time to drive through Gannon's campus, down Seventh Street, past the church. I hang a right onto Myrtle Street, craning my neck to see if the Kirk House still looks the same. It does.
This article was originally published in November 2003. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2003.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Dignity & distractions
"The thing I remember most about you is that you always had dignity."
As compliments go, this one seems like a pretty high one. Especially when you consider that the person remembering this about me hasn't seen me since shortly after my 21st birthday, which is, strictly speaking, two decades ago.
Apparently, Joe was in a nostalgic frame of mind when he started typing old college friends' names into Google. (He either has a great memory about spelling, or some accurate source that helped him correctly spell my surname.) A year behind me at Allegheny College, Joe transferred out during my senior year, and as far as my middle-aged self can recall, we haven't been in touch since November 1987. What a great surprise, and welcome distraction, to receive his email when I came in to office on October 18th, the day after the one-year anniversary of my mother's death.
It's amazing to me that a full year has passed already. Thanks to the prayers and sensitivity of many good friends, the milestone wasn't nearly as painful as I expected it might be. A huge arrangement of mums left with a card on my front porch that day moved me to tears; I had no idea that Bryan and Sarah had remembered, and I was so touched by their thoughtfulness. Gestures like that, time with my dad, brother and niece, and a busy schedule helped me to move through the anniversaries of her death, her funeral, and what would have been her 66th birthday (October 24) with relative ease. God is good.
Another distraction has been the new addition to my household: Charlotte the kitten, rescued at age four months (ish) and delivered to me all the way from Philadelphia by Dr. Meredith, my cousin the veterinarian. Be careful what you say while lounging on the beach. Thanks to a casual mention back in July, when were in the Outer Banks together, that I'd been thinking about adopting a cat, I received an email about a month later with news of a little gray tiger-striped tabby kitten in need of a good home. As I type, my affectionate little companion is stretched out next to me on the couch, purring away.
It's been a full several weeks since my last blog entry. In September, I cashed in my 2006 Christmas gift from my dad: an amazing two-week vacation and visit with friends in Ireland, where I also got to celebrate my 41st birthday. It was a reunion of college roommates, as Myrna and I traveled over to visit with Christine, Brian, and their two beautiful children.
Two weeks later, I was privileged to celebrate my dear friend Hank's wedding to Renee, and to serve communion during the worship service. It was an amazing celebration, a wonderful reunion with many old friends, and a privilege to be the one to serve the body of Christ to the bride, the groom, and their two sons, from Renee's first marriage.
So, all in all, life is good. Joe is hoping to travel to western Pennsylvania sometime in the not-too-distant future from his home in northern New Jersey, to visit the city of his birth and reconnect with old friends. Pitt basketball season is about to start (woohoo!), and I am enjoying my favorite season of them all: the autumn leaves are just reaching their peak.
Thanks to those of you who faithfully check in here from time to time, in spite of my abysmal writing record of late. I'll try to do better.
As compliments go, this one seems like a pretty high one. Especially when you consider that the person remembering this about me hasn't seen me since shortly after my 21st birthday, which is, strictly speaking, two decades ago.
Apparently, Joe was in a nostalgic frame of mind when he started typing old college friends' names into Google. (He either has a great memory about spelling, or some accurate source that helped him correctly spell my surname.) A year behind me at Allegheny College, Joe transferred out during my senior year, and as far as my middle-aged self can recall, we haven't been in touch since November 1987. What a great surprise, and welcome distraction, to receive his email when I came in to office on October 18th, the day after the one-year anniversary of my mother's death.
It's amazing to me that a full year has passed already. Thanks to the prayers and sensitivity of many good friends, the milestone wasn't nearly as painful as I expected it might be. A huge arrangement of mums left with a card on my front porch that day moved me to tears; I had no idea that Bryan and Sarah had remembered, and I was so touched by their thoughtfulness. Gestures like that, time with my dad, brother and niece, and a busy schedule helped me to move through the anniversaries of her death, her funeral, and what would have been her 66th birthday (October 24) with relative ease. God is good.
Another distraction has been the new addition to my household: Charlotte the kitten, rescued at age four months (ish) and delivered to me all the way from Philadelphia by Dr. Meredith, my cousin the veterinarian. Be careful what you say while lounging on the beach. Thanks to a casual mention back in July, when were in the Outer Banks together, that I'd been thinking about adopting a cat, I received an email about a month later with news of a little gray tiger-striped tabby kitten in need of a good home. As I type, my affectionate little companion is stretched out next to me on the couch, purring away.
It's been a full several weeks since my last blog entry. In September, I cashed in my 2006 Christmas gift from my dad: an amazing two-week vacation and visit with friends in Ireland, where I also got to celebrate my 41st birthday. It was a reunion of college roommates, as Myrna and I traveled over to visit with Christine, Brian, and their two beautiful children.
Two weeks later, I was privileged to celebrate my dear friend Hank's wedding to Renee, and to serve communion during the worship service. It was an amazing celebration, a wonderful reunion with many old friends, and a privilege to be the one to serve the body of Christ to the bride, the groom, and their two sons, from Renee's first marriage.
So, all in all, life is good. Joe is hoping to travel to western Pennsylvania sometime in the not-too-distant future from his home in northern New Jersey, to visit the city of his birth and reconnect with old friends. Pitt basketball season is about to start (woohoo!), and I am enjoying my favorite season of them all: the autumn leaves are just reaching their peak.
Thanks to those of you who faithfully check in here from time to time, in spite of my abysmal writing record of late. I'll try to do better.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Return to the Outer Banks
It's mid-August already. I seem to recall promising more reflections on Reunion Season. So many thoughts, so scattered.
It started with the campus ministry/Gannon reunion in Erie back in June, which I've already covered.
It continued in July with the Return to the Outer Banks. The first vacation since losing Mom was a good one, largely because of the comfort of being with family, both immediate and extended. There were more than 40 of us gathered at the Cavalier Motel, which for better or worse is little changed since our first excursion there circa 1975. I think the euphemistic terminology would be "vintage." New carpeting, pleather furniture and new bedspreads were the most obvious physical improvements. The beloved wooden Adirondack chairs have been replaced by plastic ones, largely due to wood-rot, I'm told.
Sigh.
My immediate family hadn't joined in the annual beach reunion since 1999, by our best guestimates: the Year of the Sea Lice. It was a particularly hot, breezeless week at the beach, and the ocean was unswimmable due to the biting baby jellyfish. Good times. Mom declared emphatically that this was it for her...we could all return if we wanted to, but she was done with beach vacations. Oddly, my memory of that declaration made it more bearable to me that we were there without her, for the first time.
As we sat pool-side one breezy evening, my cousin Tom commented, "We grew up here together, didn't we?" I was just shy of nine years old in 1975, the first year we went down to Kill Devil Hills for the week. Given the number of times I've moved over the past 40 years, it's safe to say that the Cavalier is as steady a geographical touchpoint as any for me. And long absences between visits make it that much more remarkable to watch the cousins with whom I played and hung out through so many summers now build sandcastles and body-surf with their kids, some of whom are already older than I was that first summer.
Part three of Reunion Season would be the almost-annual Chautauqua gathering in August: a reunion of college/campus ministry friends. That account will have to wait for another time, but I'll do what I can to make it sooner than later. Really.
Meanwhile, I've been enjoying lots of mini-reunions throughout the summer. An overnight visit with Ann and Patrick in Virginia on my way to the beach. A spontaneous day-long rendezvous in Erie with Renee the last Saturday in July. Dinner and ice cream with Jeff, a good friend from Allegheny days, as he passed through town a couple weeks ago. And now I'm looking forward to a reunion with Katie, Dan and family tomorrow. Kate was at the Gannon gathering in June with two of her three little ones. Tomorrow, the whole family travels from Cleveland to Pittsburgh to spend the day at the zoo, followed by dinner with Amy.
Long live reunions!
It started with the campus ministry/Gannon reunion in Erie back in June, which I've already covered.
It continued in July with the Return to the Outer Banks. The first vacation since losing Mom was a good one, largely because of the comfort of being with family, both immediate and extended. There were more than 40 of us gathered at the Cavalier Motel, which for better or worse is little changed since our first excursion there circa 1975. I think the euphemistic terminology would be "vintage." New carpeting, pleather furniture and new bedspreads were the most obvious physical improvements. The beloved wooden Adirondack chairs have been replaced by plastic ones, largely due to wood-rot, I'm told.
Sigh.
My immediate family hadn't joined in the annual beach reunion since 1999, by our best guestimates: the Year of the Sea Lice. It was a particularly hot, breezeless week at the beach, and the ocean was unswimmable due to the biting baby jellyfish. Good times. Mom declared emphatically that this was it for her...we could all return if we wanted to, but she was done with beach vacations. Oddly, my memory of that declaration made it more bearable to me that we were there without her, for the first time.
As we sat pool-side one breezy evening, my cousin Tom commented, "We grew up here together, didn't we?" I was just shy of nine years old in 1975, the first year we went down to Kill Devil Hills for the week. Given the number of times I've moved over the past 40 years, it's safe to say that the Cavalier is as steady a geographical touchpoint as any for me. And long absences between visits make it that much more remarkable to watch the cousins with whom I played and hung out through so many summers now build sandcastles and body-surf with their kids, some of whom are already older than I was that first summer.
Part three of Reunion Season would be the almost-annual Chautauqua gathering in August: a reunion of college/campus ministry friends. That account will have to wait for another time, but I'll do what I can to make it sooner than later. Really.
Meanwhile, I've been enjoying lots of mini-reunions throughout the summer. An overnight visit with Ann and Patrick in Virginia on my way to the beach. A spontaneous day-long rendezvous in Erie with Renee the last Saturday in July. Dinner and ice cream with Jeff, a good friend from Allegheny days, as he passed through town a couple weeks ago. And now I'm looking forward to a reunion with Katie, Dan and family tomorrow. Kate was at the Gannon gathering in June with two of her three little ones. Tomorrow, the whole family travels from Cleveland to Pittsburgh to spend the day at the zoo, followed by dinner with Amy.
Long live reunions!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Taylor the Latte Boy
Here is Kristin Chenoweth from an appearance on The Rosie O'Donnell Show a few years ago. I'm posting it here because it makes me happy. Enjoy!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Reunions
This seems to be the season for them.
This past weekend, I was in Erie, reconnecting with people from what feels like another lifetime. This coming weekend, I'll drive south, to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, to spend a week at the beach with my dad, my brother, my niece, and uncles, aunts and cousins I've known all my life — but hardly know at all in some ways.
I'll save the Nag's Head reflections for later — after I've been back at the vacation spot of my childhood and teen years and taken inventory of how it and I have changed over the past (gulp) 30 years or so.
For now, let's return to Erie.
On Sunday morning, I drove north from Pittsburgh on I-79, not stopping until after the highway did. I arrived at Gannon's Chapel at the corner of Peach and 5th just before mass started at noon, and when I walked inside, I was greeted by former colleagues, long-ago graduated students who were involved in campus ministry back in the day, and even a former boyfriend and his wife and three beautiful children.
"Back in the day" would be circa 1989-93, which were my years as the Protestant Campus Minister at this Roman Catholic diocesan university along the shores of Lake Erie.
I lived in Erie for four years, and they were years of profound self-discovery, growth and humility for me. I was a year out of college when I moved into the Kirk House to do campus ministry at Gannon University. When I moved to Pittsburgh in 1993, I was as a changed person as when I'd graduated from college five years earlier, but the changes were more challenging in many ways the ones I'd undergone as a student. It was a good experience for me to be at Gannon. I was a minority there. I had to figure out how to work as an employee of an evangelical college ministry para-church organization in cooperation with a mainline Presbyterian church, with students and staff at a Roman Catholic institution.
There's too much to write about all of that— far more than I have time or space to articulate at the moment. Suffice to say, I don't like change as a rule, but I recognize it as necessary, and even desirable — especially when it's over and done and I can look back fondly and forget the pain that came in the midst of the process.
Back to reunions.
I got to watch the giggly freshmen and sophomores I knew all those years ago shepherd their children between the picnic tables, bathhouse and beach (that is, Beach 11 at Presque Isle State Park). As I commented to Katie, the mommies they've become are so intricately connected to the essence of their college student personas. There was a comforting continuity and recognition in seeing their humor and care expressed to their offspring, much as it was to each other when they were just figuring out who they are. And these children are delightful, and blessed to have such loving, caring, faith-filled parents.
Sheryl and TG have both reflected on the day's events beautifully on their own blogs. (TG — you certainly DO rock the orange flip-flops!) It was a gift to see students who have become friends, but who live too far away to make regular contact probable. Some of them, I've seen as recently as two weeks or six years ago. Others, not since they graduated 15 years ago. Most drove in from such far-flung locations as Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Buffalo — the Erie Triangle. Sheryl trekked all the way north from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
As always after a reunion like this, I am grateful for the gift of time and space to reconnect with people who were once-upon-a-time so integral to my daily life, and who have, whether they know it or not, contributed to making me the person I am today. I'm already looking forward to next year's reunion, and to reconnecting with those who weren't able to make it this year.
Reunion Season continues...
This past weekend, I was in Erie, reconnecting with people from what feels like another lifetime. This coming weekend, I'll drive south, to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, to spend a week at the beach with my dad, my brother, my niece, and uncles, aunts and cousins I've known all my life — but hardly know at all in some ways.
I'll save the Nag's Head reflections for later — after I've been back at the vacation spot of my childhood and teen years and taken inventory of how it and I have changed over the past (gulp) 30 years or so.
For now, let's return to Erie.
On Sunday morning, I drove north from Pittsburgh on I-79, not stopping until after the highway did. I arrived at Gannon's Chapel at the corner of Peach and 5th just before mass started at noon, and when I walked inside, I was greeted by former colleagues, long-ago graduated students who were involved in campus ministry back in the day, and even a former boyfriend and his wife and three beautiful children.
"Back in the day" would be circa 1989-93, which were my years as the Protestant Campus Minister at this Roman Catholic diocesan university along the shores of Lake Erie.
I lived in Erie for four years, and they were years of profound self-discovery, growth and humility for me. I was a year out of college when I moved into the Kirk House to do campus ministry at Gannon University. When I moved to Pittsburgh in 1993, I was as a changed person as when I'd graduated from college five years earlier, but the changes were more challenging in many ways the ones I'd undergone as a student. It was a good experience for me to be at Gannon. I was a minority there. I had to figure out how to work as an employee of an evangelical college ministry para-church organization in cooperation with a mainline Presbyterian church, with students and staff at a Roman Catholic institution.
There's too much to write about all of that— far more than I have time or space to articulate at the moment. Suffice to say, I don't like change as a rule, but I recognize it as necessary, and even desirable — especially when it's over and done and I can look back fondly and forget the pain that came in the midst of the process.
Back to reunions.
I got to watch the giggly freshmen and sophomores I knew all those years ago shepherd their children between the picnic tables, bathhouse and beach (that is, Beach 11 at Presque Isle State Park). As I commented to Katie, the mommies they've become are so intricately connected to the essence of their college student personas. There was a comforting continuity and recognition in seeing their humor and care expressed to their offspring, much as it was to each other when they were just figuring out who they are. And these children are delightful, and blessed to have such loving, caring, faith-filled parents.
Sheryl and TG have both reflected on the day's events beautifully on their own blogs. (TG — you certainly DO rock the orange flip-flops!) It was a gift to see students who have become friends, but who live too far away to make regular contact probable. Some of them, I've seen as recently as two weeks or six years ago. Others, not since they graduated 15 years ago. Most drove in from such far-flung locations as Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Buffalo — the Erie Triangle. Sheryl trekked all the way north from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
As always after a reunion like this, I am grateful for the gift of time and space to reconnect with people who were once-upon-a-time so integral to my daily life, and who have, whether they know it or not, contributed to making me the person I am today. I'm already looking forward to next year's reunion, and to reconnecting with those who weren't able to make it this year.
Reunion Season continues...
Monday, May 28, 2007
Flowering memories
It's been my favorite kind of Memorial Day holiday so far. I slept late, I enjoyed my coffee while lounging in front of mindless, late-morning TV, and read the newspaper. I'm heading out to Dad's in a little while to enjoy some family time. My youngest brother is in from New York City this week, and my niece finishes up school on Friday; Saturday, she heads south to spend the summer with her mom. We haven't all been together since Christmas.
Yesterday, we enjoyed a mini family reunion down in Bentleyville at Uncle Paul's and Aunt Barb's, and got to visit Mom's grave on the way there. My brothers and Dad got to the cemetery earlier than I was able to, and had planted marigolds at Mom's grave, as well as next to Grandma and Grandpa Hamilton's. I must have just missed them, so this was my first visit to Mom's graveside by myself. It was weirdly emotional and odd at the same time. I'm glad there is a grave to visit, but at the same time, I know she isn't really there. It's very strange.
My friend Peggar came over a little while ago with extra flowers from her own weekend gardening. She planted them for me in the pots in my front yard and back deck. Mom is the one who shopped for those planters with me years ago, and she's the one who first helped me put flowers in.
Mom loved her flowers, and I enjoy them, too, but I clearly did not inherit her farmer's daughter's green thumb. The farmer's granddaughter is hopeless at keeping plants alive. I resolve to try harder this summer not to neglect or over-water these flowers.
The flowers on her grave, in my planters, and in the flower beds at Dad's are all blooming in tribute to my mother. But even after those flowers wilt, her memory will live on. Thank God.
Happy Memorial Day.
Yesterday, we enjoyed a mini family reunion down in Bentleyville at Uncle Paul's and Aunt Barb's, and got to visit Mom's grave on the way there. My brothers and Dad got to the cemetery earlier than I was able to, and had planted marigolds at Mom's grave, as well as next to Grandma and Grandpa Hamilton's. I must have just missed them, so this was my first visit to Mom's graveside by myself. It was weirdly emotional and odd at the same time. I'm glad there is a grave to visit, but at the same time, I know she isn't really there. It's very strange.
My friend Peggar came over a little while ago with extra flowers from her own weekend gardening. She planted them for me in the pots in my front yard and back deck. Mom is the one who shopped for those planters with me years ago, and she's the one who first helped me put flowers in.
Mom loved her flowers, and I enjoy them, too, but I clearly did not inherit her farmer's daughter's green thumb. The farmer's granddaughter is hopeless at keeping plants alive. I resolve to try harder this summer not to neglect or over-water these flowers.
The flowers on her grave, in my planters, and in the flower beds at Dad's are all blooming in tribute to my mother. But even after those flowers wilt, her memory will live on. Thank God.
Happy Memorial Day.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Why?
I wrote in my journal last night, which is something I do too infrequently anymore. But when something happens in the world like the shootings at Virginia Tech yesterday, it seems wrong to ignore it. The problem is, I don’t really know what to say about it.
And so I’ll say just that, and direct you to the brief and eloquent reflection of one of my CCO colleagues, Joshua. He says much of what I’ve been thinking and feeling.
Lord have mercy.
And so I’ll say just that, and direct you to the brief and eloquent reflection of one of my CCO colleagues, Joshua. He says much of what I’ve been thinking and feeling.
Lord have mercy.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Easter Eve
Holy Saturday. The day between Good Friday, the darkest day of the year, and Easter, the celebration of Ultimate Hope. It seems a good time to share my latest newsletter.
Easter blessings, friends. —alm
------------------------------
In June, I will celebrate 19 years of working with the CCO. That’s almost half my life. In close to two decades of writing newsletters to friends, family and supporters, I have never gone a full calendar year between newsletters — until now.
When I last wrote, in April 2006, the news of my mother’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was relatively fresh. In spite of an exciting beginning of 2006 in Pittsburgh — the Steelers won their fifth Super Bowl in early February — my world turned upside down within weeks.
On February 17, I traveled to Washington, DC, to interview staff and students at Howard University for a magazine article I was writing. That same day, my mother was scheduled for a biopsy, after weeks of pain in her back and the detection of a “shadow” on her pancreas. By February 23, just days before the annual Jubilee conference, a typical highlight of my year, the news was confirmed: there was a tumor on her pancreas, and it was malignant. Surgery was suggested as an option, with the first available consult with a surgeon scheduled for March 15.
We came to find out that surgery was not an option after all, and in spite of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, the cancer continued to spread. By the end of September, the day after my 40th birthday, we made the decision to cease treatments and go to full home hospice care. On October 17, my mom passed away. It was a week to the day before she would have turned 65.
As it turns out, 2006 was a very difficult year.
In the midst of the grief and helplessness I felt while watching Mom suffer through her pain and fear, God showed up in some big ways. He continues to show up.
I took intermittent family leave in order to spend more time with Mom and Dad, and by the last month or so, I was pretty much living with them. Thanks to high-speed internet access at their house, I was able to continue my work on the updated CCO website from their house. I was there when Mom drew her last breath — in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, while Dad was in the bedroom by her side.
I am grateful for advice I was given early on to spend as much time with Mom as I could. I am grateful that I took that advice, and that my colleagues at the CCO supported that decision and held me and my family up in prayer throughout those months. I am grateful for my church family, who did the same, providing prayer support and meals. I am grateful for my extended family and friends, who visited and sent letters, cards and emails, and who traveled to western Pennsylvania from as far away as Ohio, Florida and Montana for her funeral.
It is true that 2006 was a difficult year. It is also true that God continues to show up, giving us the strength to carry on after losing someone so very central to our family. My dad, brothers, niece and I continue to navigate a new family dynamic, and we continue to grieve. We’ve made it through several difficult firsts — Mom’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. There are certainly more to come; we approach the six-month mark of her death in April.
As Easter draws near, I pray that you will join me in clinging to the hope of the Resurrection. I have been amazed by the gifts of grace I received throughout Mom’s illness, including a renewed closeness and appreciation for my family. I miss her so much, but I am grateful for the 40 years we shared on this side of heaven.
Thank you all for the gift of your friendship, love and support throughout my life and this past year. Happy Easter.
Easter blessings, friends. —alm
------------------------------
In June, I will celebrate 19 years of working with the CCO. That’s almost half my life. In close to two decades of writing newsletters to friends, family and supporters, I have never gone a full calendar year between newsletters — until now.
When I last wrote, in April 2006, the news of my mother’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was relatively fresh. In spite of an exciting beginning of 2006 in Pittsburgh — the Steelers won their fifth Super Bowl in early February — my world turned upside down within weeks.
On February 17, I traveled to Washington, DC, to interview staff and students at Howard University for a magazine article I was writing. That same day, my mother was scheduled for a biopsy, after weeks of pain in her back and the detection of a “shadow” on her pancreas. By February 23, just days before the annual Jubilee conference, a typical highlight of my year, the news was confirmed: there was a tumor on her pancreas, and it was malignant. Surgery was suggested as an option, with the first available consult with a surgeon scheduled for March 15.
We came to find out that surgery was not an option after all, and in spite of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, the cancer continued to spread. By the end of September, the day after my 40th birthday, we made the decision to cease treatments and go to full home hospice care. On October 17, my mom passed away. It was a week to the day before she would have turned 65.
As it turns out, 2006 was a very difficult year.
In the midst of the grief and helplessness I felt while watching Mom suffer through her pain and fear, God showed up in some big ways. He continues to show up.
I took intermittent family leave in order to spend more time with Mom and Dad, and by the last month or so, I was pretty much living with them. Thanks to high-speed internet access at their house, I was able to continue my work on the updated CCO website from their house. I was there when Mom drew her last breath — in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, while Dad was in the bedroom by her side.
I am grateful for advice I was given early on to spend as much time with Mom as I could. I am grateful that I took that advice, and that my colleagues at the CCO supported that decision and held me and my family up in prayer throughout those months. I am grateful for my church family, who did the same, providing prayer support and meals. I am grateful for my extended family and friends, who visited and sent letters, cards and emails, and who traveled to western Pennsylvania from as far away as Ohio, Florida and Montana for her funeral.
It is true that 2006 was a difficult year. It is also true that God continues to show up, giving us the strength to carry on after losing someone so very central to our family. My dad, brothers, niece and I continue to navigate a new family dynamic, and we continue to grieve. We’ve made it through several difficult firsts — Mom’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. There are certainly more to come; we approach the six-month mark of her death in April.
As Easter draws near, I pray that you will join me in clinging to the hope of the Resurrection. I have been amazed by the gifts of grace I received throughout Mom’s illness, including a renewed closeness and appreciation for my family. I miss her so much, but I am grateful for the 40 years we shared on this side of heaven.
Thank you all for the gift of your friendship, love and support throughout my life and this past year. Happy Easter.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
The Launch
I missed posting on February 17, which, given the new significance of "17" in my life, would have been a predictable date for me to show up here. And since everything tends to point to Mom these days, I would have noted that, not only was February 17 the four-month anniversary of her passing, it was also the one-year anniversary of the biopsy that discovered the cancer.
February 17 was also Jubilee weekend, which is why I wasn't posting blog entries that day. (I won't take the time now to come up with excuses for why I didn't post the other 27 days of the month, or the last half of January.) I was hanging out at the Hilton Pittsburgh, listening to challenging and inspiring speakers, reuniting with old friends, and soaking in the last Jubilee conference to be held at the Hilton. Jubilee has been held there since 1978, but after 30 years, we've outgrown the place. Praise God! There were more than 2,100 people registered for this year's conference. In 2008, we'll convene at Pittsburgh's new Convention Center.
Unlike other years, when I've taken students or had administrative responsibilities at the conference, Jubilee isn't what made my February so crazy at work this season. Instead, I've been consumed with the work involved in getting our newly-designed CCO website to launch. We've been working on content development and design for months, but things really ramped up after Christmas, in anticipation of a late January target date to go live.
After many delays, we finally launched the new site on Monday, and it's so cool!
My work has primarily been focused in the Where We Serve section, which includes pages for each of the 82 schools where there is a CCO presence, as well as a page for each CCO campus staff person. I've also been having a lot of fun posting updates to the staff and student alumni section, as well as the Newsroom, where you can find a wrap-up of Jubilee 2007.
Now that the launch has happened, I need to move back into other writing projects, and then there will be other sections of the site (including a newly-configured "CCO staff only" section) coming soon. Busy at work and beyond, as I look forward to a break in the form of a long weekend up in New York City with my dad, uncle and brother, as we cheer Pitt's basketball team to victory in the Big East Tournament at Madison Square Garden.
As I continue to commemorate 17, I am grateful that life does continue, through joy and through sorrow.
February 17 was also Jubilee weekend, which is why I wasn't posting blog entries that day. (I won't take the time now to come up with excuses for why I didn't post the other 27 days of the month, or the last half of January.) I was hanging out at the Hilton Pittsburgh, listening to challenging and inspiring speakers, reuniting with old friends, and soaking in the last Jubilee conference to be held at the Hilton. Jubilee has been held there since 1978, but after 30 years, we've outgrown the place. Praise God! There were more than 2,100 people registered for this year's conference. In 2008, we'll convene at Pittsburgh's new Convention Center.
Unlike other years, when I've taken students or had administrative responsibilities at the conference, Jubilee isn't what made my February so crazy at work this season. Instead, I've been consumed with the work involved in getting our newly-designed CCO website to launch. We've been working on content development and design for months, but things really ramped up after Christmas, in anticipation of a late January target date to go live.
After many delays, we finally launched the new site on Monday, and it's so cool!
My work has primarily been focused in the Where We Serve section, which includes pages for each of the 82 schools where there is a CCO presence, as well as a page for each CCO campus staff person. I've also been having a lot of fun posting updates to the staff and student alumni section, as well as the Newsroom, where you can find a wrap-up of Jubilee 2007.
Now that the launch has happened, I need to move back into other writing projects, and then there will be other sections of the site (including a newly-configured "CCO staff only" section) coming soon. Busy at work and beyond, as I look forward to a break in the form of a long weekend up in New York City with my dad, uncle and brother, as we cheer Pitt's basketball team to victory in the Big East Tournament at Madison Square Garden.
As I continue to commemorate 17, I am grateful that life does continue, through joy and through sorrow.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Dancing with a banged-up heart
Today marks the three-month anniversary of my mom's passing. I suspect the 17th of every month will hold this new significance for me from now on...and with an intensity through this first year.
It's good to know, in the midst of grief, that while mine is certainly unique to me, it is not unique to the human experience. I am grateful that I grieve the loss of my mother, that we loved each other so deeply, that this love is not buried with her ashes, but lives on in my heart and my dreams. I dream about her often, and when I wake up thinking of her, I remember her telling me how she dreamed about her mother, even 30 years after she died.
And life goes on, and you learn to laugh through (and in spite of) the tears.
It's good to know, in the midst of grief, that while mine is certainly unique to me, it is not unique to the human experience. I am grateful that I grieve the loss of my mother, that we loved each other so deeply, that this love is not buried with her ashes, but lives on in my heart and my dreams. I dream about her often, and when I wake up thinking of her, I remember her telling me how she dreamed about her mother, even 30 years after she died.
And life goes on, and you learn to laugh through (and in spite of) the tears.
"I have survived so much loss, as all of us have by our forties—my parents, dear friends, my pets. Rubble is the ground on which our deepest friendships are built. If you haven't already, you will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and you never completely get over the loss of a deeply beloved person. But this is also good news. The person lives forever, in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through, and you learn to dance with the banged-up heart. You dance to the absurdities of life; you dance to the minuet of old friendships."
—Anne Lamott ("untitled," p. 174, Plan B: further thoughts on faith)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
12 years
I'm wrapping up my work day and preparing to head out to meet my dad, brother and niece for dinner. Today is Katy's 12th birthday. She's 12. How did that happen already?
The first family birthday celebration since Katy's Grandma passed away will be a bittersweet one, I expect. But it's a day to celebrate, and to that end, I offer up again the tribute to Miss Kate's birth in my 1995 essay, "New Life."
Happy birthday, Katy!
The first family birthday celebration since Katy's Grandma passed away will be a bittersweet one, I expect. But it's a day to celebrate, and to that end, I offer up again the tribute to Miss Kate's birth in my 1995 essay, "New Life."
Happy birthday, Katy!
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Thank you, friends
As I ramp up to fulfill my resolution to blog more frequently this year (don't you love the verb "to blog"?), I thought I'd go for two consecutive days. It's a start.
My friend Renee gave me a page-a-day calendar for my birthday, and its theme is friendship. The January 2 quotation is so appropos to my experiences of the past year—thanks to those of you who have embodied this in my life:
My friend Renee gave me a page-a-day calendar for my birthday, and its theme is friendship. The January 2 quotation is so appropos to my experiences of the past year—thanks to those of you who have embodied this in my life:
"Show me a friend who will weep with me; those who will laugh with me I can find myself." —Slavic proverbI am grateful for the shared tears and the shared laughter. Thank you all, for both.
Monday, January 1, 2007
Resolutions
Welcome 2007!
It would be an understatement to say that 2006 was a challenging year for me. In fact, I don't think it would be an exaggeration to declare that these past few months have been among the most painful of my life. They have also been full of signs of God's grace and love. I can't explain that phenomenon, but I am beyond grateful for it. More paradox. Hope in the midst of despair. The ultimate Christmas gift.
Over these last few days, I've been reflecting on the psychology of "happy new year," new year's resolutions and all that comes with the seeming arbitariness of, on December 31st at midnight, "leaving" one year and "entering" another. The symbolism of it all appeals to me, though, and while I'm not prone to making long lists of goals and resolutions, I have been encouraged by friends who have commented on my absence from the blog. And so I resolve to write more frequently in 2007, starting today, January 1.
Welcome 2007. May it truly be a new beginning, full of hope and healing. Happy New Year!
It would be an understatement to say that 2006 was a challenging year for me. In fact, I don't think it would be an exaggeration to declare that these past few months have been among the most painful of my life. They have also been full of signs of God's grace and love. I can't explain that phenomenon, but I am beyond grateful for it. More paradox. Hope in the midst of despair. The ultimate Christmas gift.
Over these last few days, I've been reflecting on the psychology of "happy new year," new year's resolutions and all that comes with the seeming arbitariness of, on December 31st at midnight, "leaving" one year and "entering" another. The symbolism of it all appeals to me, though, and while I'm not prone to making long lists of goals and resolutions, I have been encouraged by friends who have commented on my absence from the blog. And so I resolve to write more frequently in 2007, starting today, January 1.
Welcome 2007. May it truly be a new beginning, full of hope and healing. Happy New Year!
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