True Story

Praying for Haiti

2010-01-16T23:31:00.000-05:00

It's been a busy week, and the news of the devastating earthquake in Haiti on Tuesday has taken a while to sink in. My brother was visiting from New York City when the news broke. Then it was off to a two-day staff seminar, and I was out of my NPR-listening, TV-watching routine. Even so, the earthquake was on all of our minds--one of my colleagues has family living in Haiti, and while he knew that his parents were safe, he had yet to hear from his brother.

Until last night, I hadn't seen any coverage of the aftermath. What I saw last night broke my heart.

I traveled to Haiti with a group from my church in December 2002, and rang in 2003 to the accompaniment of the distant beat of voodoo drums in the eastern wilds of that country. It's hard to put into words the experience of Haiti, or to explain to those who have not been there how this earthquake only brings a more extreme version of chaos to what is already indescribably chaotic. The poverty is staggering. But the joy and hope of the people I met was humbling and inspiring.

In this video from our trip, shot and edited by Jeff VanderMolen, friend, team leader and co-founder of Haiti H2O (that's Hope 2 Opportunity), the single quote from me is, embarrassingly, "I haven't cried once, have I?" I've cried plenty for Haiti this week. And I continue to hold on to the hope that God can deliver the suffering people of Haiti from this most recent, and most extreme, tragedy.

Lord have mercy.

***If you are wondering where you might donate money to help the people of Haiti, I strongly encourage you to consider giving to Haiti H2O. Jeff will be leading a small team to Haiti later this month, after the initial response has passed. Click here to find out more. I can vouch for the integrity of this organization and the way they will use these funds. Their overhead is very low, so almost every dollar you give will go directly to helping the earthquake relief effort.

True stories

2009-12-03T23:10:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow morning, instead of heading straight to the office, I will detour to my local coffee shop for Book Group.

Four of us meet every week, at 8am on Friday mornings. We drink coffee, or lattes, mochas, or tea. We eat bagels, or donuts or chocolate chip cookies, or whatever food item we might smuggle in from home to eat with the beverage we purchase. For me, that might be a banana or a granola bar. For others, it might be a hard-boiled egg.

We spend an hour or more catching up with each other, and at least a quarter of the time, we talk about whatever book we've decided to read together. Depending on how much we are enjoying said book, or how far along the slowest reader among us may be in the agreed-upon reading assignment, we may actually talk about it for half, or even three quarters of the time.

The ratio of book discussion time to overall gathering time depends on several variables, from what other topics of conversation might be more interesting than the book in question to how many friends and acquaintances who are not part of the book group happen to drop by for their respective caffeine fixes. (Who needs Cheers when you can have a cool neighborhood coffee shop?)

Our reading list is very fluid, and very subjective. Over the past few months, we have read A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life by Donald Miller, Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell, The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University by Kevin Roose, and Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace . . . One School at a Time by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. (Confession time: that last one? I didn't finish.)

Tomorrow, we'll be talking about Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy by Gary D. Schmidt. I pretty much read this book, which is marketed primarily to a young adult audience, in 24 hours. I loved it. It's based on a true story, it won a Newbery Honor, and it made me cry.

One of the running jokes among the book group members is my proclivity for memoirs. Whenever it's time for us to figure out what we'll read next, it's a good bet that my wish list will include at least one memoir.

But even if a novel, a "made-up" story, isn't based on a true story, sometimes it rings truer than a so-called non-fiction book. And a memoir may be filled with half-truths and self-delusion.

Something to bring up tomorrow morning at Book Group.

The delinquent blogger

2009-12-02T12:30:00.008-05:00

So, I know I used to have a few faithful readers out there in cyberspace. I know this because some of you have pointed out, in one way or another, my blogging delinquency. I wonder if you check in any more? I have been delinquent for a long time.

I’ve been feeling the itch to change that, but as with most things, I’m not really sure where to begin. I need help.

If you are still out there, faithful readers, could you answer a few questions for me?

   1. Why did you, once upon a time, check in here so faithfully?
   2. If you still do, why?
   3. What is it you’d like me to write about?

As you can see, I’m looking for a new starting place—a jumping-off point, as it were. Thanks in advance for your help! If you’re still out there…

(So yeah. This is also an excuse for a social experiment. Is anybody out there? Anyone? Bueller?)

Writing our stories

2009-11-05T10:47:00.004-05:00

My book group is currently reading Donald Miller's new book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life. It's the first of his books since Blue Like Jazz that I've picked up, and I'm enjoying it a lot.

When Don spoke a couple of years ago at the CCO's Jubilee conference, he was working on this book. I remember him talking about what makes a good story, and wondering what kinds of stories we are all living. If someone approached you and wanted to make a movie about your life, what would your story look like? Would it be compelling enough to bother making the movie?

That's partly what the new book is about. Last night, I was surfing around online, reading and listening to interviews with Don about his writing. In the process, I found this cool video of Don Miller and Steve Taylor, the filmmaker who approached Don about making a movie based on Blue Like Jazz:

From the Director from Blue Like Jazz The Movie on Vimeo.

I love it. (And I'm also now reminiscing about all of those great 1980s Steve Taylor songs. "This Disco Used to Be a Cute Cathedral"? "Meltdown (at Madame Tussaud's)"? Anyone?)

So, this book is sending me on another memoir-reading binge. Seeing Steve Taylor again is making me nostalgic for my Walkman and my old cassette tapes.

And now I am thinking a lot more about what makes a good story. And how I want to continue, as my blog title suggests, to ask "what must I do to make my life a true story?"

Stay tuned...

Bending Time

2009-06-28T15:17:00.007-04:00

I'm checking in after another long absence to share a few links with my faitfhful readers. (Are you still out there?) First of all, here is a link to a fun video shot a little over a week ago, celebrating the 10th anniversary of a local coffeeshop, Tazza D'Oro, where my little book group meets every Friday morning. Representing said book group in the video is my friend Ginger, and you can see my back in a few of the shots (I'm wearing a dark pink shirt).

My friend Katie is now sharing her writing with the world at her new blog, Bending Time. I encourage you to check it out!

And lastly, in light of recent events, is a blog entry by Walt Mueller, President of the Center for Parent/Youth Understanding, reflecting on the recent deaths of Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. I appreciate the perspective Walt offers in his post entitled When Celebrity Dies.

Joel's take on Jubilee

2009-03-23T16:26:00.002-04:00

My friend Joel's video from Jubilee 2009, with a cameo appearance by yours truly. Enjoy!

Jubilee took place February 13-15, 2009 at the Westin Hotel and Convention Center, Downtown Pittsburgh.

Peace

2009-01-08T22:39:00.002-05:00

Your Word is "Peace"

You see life as precious, and you wish everyone was safe, happy, and taken care of.

Social justice, human rights, and peace for all nations are all important to you.

While you can't stop war, you try to be as calm and compassionate as possible in your everyday life.

You promote harmony and cooperation. You're always willing to meet someone a little more than halfway.

What's Your Word?

Five times four

2008-12-18T12:08:00.004-05:00

In 1988, I signed a four-year contract with the CCO, and I remember thinking that June 1992 sounded like it would take forever to arrive. Now it's 2008, and I've spent my entire career thus far working in campus ministry. It's very cool that my earlier dreams of working in writing and editing have been useful to the mission of this ministry which has changed so many lives (including my own) for the better.

Here are some reflections which I sent out in my newsletter a couple months ago.

In May, I was recognized for 20 years of working for the CCO. Twenty years. Two decades. Five times my original four-year contract agreement. I guess those who jokingly predicted that I’d be a “lifer” weren’t so far off the mark. Here is an excerpt of what my friend and colleague Ginger Weeber wrote about me on the occasion of my 20-year recognition:

Amy Maczuzak is a fine writer and editor with a dedicated heart for the mission of the CCO. In all of the work that she does, she is committed to serving our organization and staff members, and to furthering our work.

While Amy would have rather started out writing for the CCO, she did not. She came on staff making a four-year commitment as an intern at Geneva College. From Geneva, she took a position as Director of the Kirk House for First Presbyterian Church of the Covenant in Erie, Pennsylvania. Her good work and relationship with Gannon administration helped cement the CCO’s relationship with the university. She also directed the Erie Summer Project, a summer internship/discipleship program for college students from CCO schools. While working at Gannon, Amy had three co-workers, three CCO supervisors, and two pastors in four years. Transition was the theme of those years.

Amy left Gannon to work in the CCO office in a dual position, as Project Administrator for our Training and Jubilee Departments, and as Writer for the Communications Department. Many were the battles for her time because she did both jobs so well. Now she has the privilege of focusing on working in the Communications Department, making sure our constituents understand in a clear and compelling way what makes the CCO tick.

As staff people, we see some of what she does when we receive the staff e-news and On Campus, see our staff profiles on the website, and read press releases for various events. What we don’t see are the hours she puts into polishing those very works, into interviewing former students for the website, into reading staff newsletters for stories to tell our donors, and into helping various staff people edit their newsletters. I am just touching the tip of the iceberg of Amy’s work.

What I enjoy about Amy is her kind heart, her sometimes-acerbic wit, or appreciation of such, her thoughtful way of listening and offering insight into situations or books or events, and that she laughs easily, even at herself. She is one of those people that makes true the statement that “still waters run deep.” Part of what I enjoy about working at the CCO is Amy as well as her good work. I hope she stays with the CCO another 20 years.

I thank Ginger for her kind words, and I thank you for your faithful friendship and support throughout these last two decades. I count it a privilege to do work that I love for a mission in which I believe so strongly—and of which I am a product myself. Thank you for making it possible for me to continue to participate in the work of transforming college students to transform the world.

Find your grail

2008-06-15T22:49:00.003-04:00

As I'm watching the 2008 Tony Awards show and craving a trip to Broadway, I feel compelled to share my favorite Tony moment ever: this performance from Spamalot, a musical I hope to someday see in person. Enjoy!

Faith and writing

2008-04-17T22:40:00.003-04:00

What a wonderful, life-giving day it's been here at Calvin College. Day one of the Festival of Faith & Writing has drawn to a close...well, for me it has, anyway. I think there are still some activities happening back on campus, including a Caedmon's Call concert, a showing of the film version of Katherine Paterson's Bridge to Terabithia, an a poetry reading. I'm happy to be unwinding and digesting the sessions I did attend today, and am ready for a good night's sleep before a full day of sessions tomorrow.

Besides hearing inspiring messages from likes of Mary Gordon, Mischa Berlinski (whose novel Fieldwork has now been added to my must-read list), Mary Karr (whose memoirs The Liar's Club and Cherry I purchased immediately after), and Michael Chabon, I ran into several friends and acquaintances, in this order: Margie Haack, Kirstin Vander Giessen-Reitsma (editor of catapult magazine), Gregory Wolfe (editor of Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religion), Denise Frame Harlan, Erica Young, Lew Klatt, Dennis Dean and Tom McWhertor. I saw Gail and Andrew Heffner from a distance, and I imagine there will be more sightings, and hopefully opportunities to interact, with many of these folks and more tomorrow and Saturday.

If you're interested in reading more about what's happening this weekend at Calvin College, check out these three live blogs: Thoughts on faith and writing, Rebelling Against Indifference, and I've Only Been Wrong Twice. Enjoy!

Festival time!

2008-04-16T23:36:00.003-04:00

It's Festival time again, and the road trip from Pennsylvania to Michigan is behind us. (Whew!) My friend Renee and I are settled into our hotel room, enjoying the free wireless connection and listening to Nightline's coverage of the Hillary Clinton/Barack Obama debate in Philadelphia earlier tonight and the Pope's U.S. visit.

This will be my sixth Festival of Faith & Writing at Calvin College, and I'm so glad to be back this year. I first attended in 1996, when the conference was much smaller, and I was thrilled at the opportunity to see and hear Madeleine L'Engle and Annie Dillard in person. I've only ever missed one festival since, in 2006, when my mom was battling cancer. I've loved every conference I've attended, and enjoyed hearing from authors like Anne Lamott, David James Duncan, Lee Smith, James McBride, Lauren Winner, Luci Shaw, Katherine Paterson, Barbara Brown Taylor, and so many more. It's a blessing to be back.

Let the Festival begin!

Benediction

2008-04-05T22:48:00.002-04:00

Last night, I joined several fellow members of my church community for an evening of prayer. We spent a couple of hours praying for our world, for our nation, our state, our city, our neighborhoods, our church family and each other. We sang and we prayed — silently, out loud, in a chorus (all praying aloud at the same time), in small groups, as a large group. And at the end of our time, we stood in the center of the sanctuary, holding hands as Carmen gave the benediction, which she read from Eugene Peterson's translation of the Bible, The Message.

Here is what Carmen read:

So let's go outside, where Jesus is, where the action is—not trying to be privileged insiders, but taking our share in the abuse of Jesus. This "insider world" is not our home. We have our eyes peeled for the City about to come. Let's take our place outside with Jesus, no longer pouring out the sacrificial blood of animals but pouring out sacrificial praises from our lips to God in Jesus' name.

Make sure you don't take things for granted and go slack in working for the common good; share what you have with others. God takes particular pleasure in acts of worship—a different kind of "sacrifice"—that take place in kitchen and workplace and on the streets. —Hebrews 13:13-16

April Foolin': Movies an' 'at

2008-04-01T10:29:00.006-04:00

I got a voice mail from an old friend yesterday basically daring me to blog again, and since she and my friend Lisa have started this little game, I thought this might be a good way to get back into it. (Another friend has been encouraging me to write more in general, and since she obliges when I make similar requests, I'm going to try. Really.)

But for now, here’s the deal:

1. Pick 10 of your favorite movies.
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them on your blog for everyone to guess.
4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie.
5. Looking them up is cheating, please don’t.

Have fun!

Ed. note (4/16/08): Thanks and congrats to Lisa, Sheryl and TG for playing along. Time now to identify the rest of the quotes, for you readers who have been dying to know...

1. “Whoopsidaisies. It's a disease I've got. It's a clinical thing. I'm taking pills and having injections. It won't last long.” TG got this one right—"Notting Hill." Great chick flick.

2. “…when you're attracted to someone, it just means that your subconscious is attracted to their subconscious, subconsciously. So what we think of as fate is just two neuroses knowing that they are a perfect match.” Sleepless in Seattle

3. “Oh, but ‘baby fish mouth’ is sweeping the nation?” Lisa got it right! "When Harry Met Sally"

4. “You're born into a family. You do not join them like you do the Marines.” While You Were Sleeping

5. “If some lives form a perfect circle, others take shape in ways we cannot predict or always understand.” Lisa got this one, too: "Message in a Bottle"

6. “I just want you to feel you're doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed.” Sheryl got it! "The Princess Bride"

7. “We're not laughing at you—we're laughing near you.” Dead Poets Society

8. “…is it to be at every meal, or merely at dinnertime, that you intend on leading us all through this rare and wonderful new world of... indigestion?” The Sound of Music

9. “Why do I have to be the responsible grown-up who worries? Why can't I be the cute, carefree Irish guy who sings all the time?” P.S. I Love You

10. “In a conspiracy like this, you build from the outer edges and go step by step. If you shoot too high and miss, everybody feels more secure. You've put the investigation back months.” All the President's Men

A wonderful life

2007-12-25T23:11:00.000-05:00

Dear George —
Remember no man is a failure who has friends.
Thanks for the wings!
Love,
Clarence

It is, indeed, a wonderful life. Merry Christmas, dear friends!

The Legacy of the Kirk House

2007-11-28T16:40:00.000-05:00

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.

Dignity & distractions

2007-10-27T23:10:00.000-04:00

"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.

Return to the Outer Banks

2007-08-13T20:55:00.000-04:00

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!

Taylor the Latte Boy

2007-07-17T19:34:00.000-04:00

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!

Reunions

2007-06-28T12:45:00.000-04:00

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...

Flowering memories

2007-05-28T14:25:00.001-04:00

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.

Why?

2007-04-17T11:35:00.000-04:00

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.

Easter Eve

2007-04-07T17:15:00.000-04:00

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.

The Launch

2007-03-01T10:00:00.000-05:00

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.

Dancing with a banged-up heart

2007-01-17T22:20:00.000-05:00

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.

"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)

12 years

2007-01-11T16:30:00.000-05:00

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!

Thank you, friends

2007-01-02T15:00:00.000-05:00

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:

"Show me a friend who will weep with me; those who will laugh with me I can find myself." —Slavic proverb

I am grateful for the shared tears and the shared laughter. Thank you all, for both.

Resolutions

2007-01-01T21:30:00.000-05:00

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!

Paradox

2006-10-17T23:05:00.000-04:00

My mother passed away today.

At 12:20pm, with my dad by her side, her labored breathing ceased, and God spared her yet another second of pain. I had been by her side, in her bedroom, only minutes earlier, stroking her arm, pressing a cold, wet wash cloth to her forehead, telling her how much I loved her and assuring her that God loves her too. That it was OK to go.

These last few days have made it clear that her time was coming, that she was eager for it to come. "I don't understand why it's taking so long," she said to me on Sunday afternoon. Earlier, she recounted to me and my dad a conversation she'd had with my youngest brother a couple weeks ago, when she said she had lived a full life and she was ready to go. She wanted to be sure we weren't doing anything to prolong her life. We assured her that we weren't; we were only doing what we could to make her as comfortable as possible.

Hospice is an amazing organization. What a blessing.

So this afternoon, as I was unloading the dishwasher in my parents' kitchen, my mother's life ended. This particular chapter of it, anyway. And I am amazed, even though I've heard about this from so many others, by the overwhelming peace and relief I'm experiencing in the midst of the profound sadness. It is one of so many paradoxes that comes with saying goodbye to someone who wasn't really here anymore anyway.

God bless you, Mom. I love you so much, and so does God.

Here is Mom's obituary, drafted by my brother Vern, which will appear in tomorrow's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Pittsburgh Tribune Review, and the Washington Observer:

Janet Fulton Maczuzak (nee Hamilton), of North Huntingdon Township, Westmoreland County, Pa., died at home on Tuesday, October 17, 2006 due to complications associated with pancreatic cancer. She was 64 years old.

A loving wife and mother, Mrs. Maczuzak dedicated her life to the comfort and well-being of her family. Born October 24, 1941 in Washington, Pa., to the late David and Frances Hamilton, she was a native of western Pennsylvania, always returning here from living also in suburban Philadelphia, Cleveland, and South Bend, Ind. Mrs. Maczuzak was active in several Presbyterian church congregations and choirs, and was a member of the Sweet Adelines International singing group, most recently of the River Bend Chapter in northern Indiana.

She is survived by her husband of 42 years, John A. Maczuzak, and was the loving mother of Amy of Pittsburgh, John David of North Huntingdon, and Vern of New York, NY; and the devoted grandmother to Kathryn “Katy” Maczuzak. She is also survived by one brother, John Hamilton and his wife Ginny, of Eighty-Four, Pa., and several brothers- and sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews.

Family and friends are invited to call on Thursday, October 19 from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. and on Friday, October 20 from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at the James W. Shirley Funeral Home, Inc., 176 Clay Pike, North Huntingdon. Her funeral service and interment will be held on Saturday, October 21 at 10:00 a.m. at Pigeon Creek Presbyterian Church, 45 Church Road, Eighty Four, Pa. (Please come directly to the church on Saturday morning.)

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in her memory to Family Hospice and Palliative Care. http://www.familyhospice.com/donations.htm

40 years

2006-09-27T09:40:00.000-04:00

Today is my 40th birthday.

I tried to keep a daily journal for the last month of my 30s (which, arguably, would also be the last month of my 40th year, but I digress). It didn’t work out so well, at least not as a daily exercise. It did get me to write more than I would have otherwise. Given the circumstances of my life, which has been focused around my mom’s illness for months, that’s something.

In the midst of the darkness of this season of life, which has nothing to do with my age and everything to do with watching my mom suffer the pain and fear of cancer, God continues to remind me that I am his beloved. He does it through friends, whose calls and visits and notes and hugs are treasures more valuable than I can express. Thank you all.

And here’s another way He has reminded me—through an email message received on my 40th birthday from a stranger. Here’s just a brief excerpt of today’s devotional from the Purpose Driven Life website, “Only one you” by John Fischer:

…think about the things you have gone through so far in your life — especially the difficult or challenging things where God has met you with his faith. That information is not just for you, it’s for you to empathize with and encourage others who have encountered similar struggles.

God isn’t messing around here. There are no accidents with our lives. Whatever we have received and experienced has shaped who we are, and because of that, we are qualified. There is truly no one else like you…for a reason.

I’m grateful for the first 40 years of my life, and I pray that, with God’s help, the next several decades will be full of meaning and purpose. Even if it’s hard to recognize at the time.

Dramas

2006-08-10T16:35:00.000-04:00

I realize that it's been a while since my last post, so I thought I'd add to my long-neglected blog the latest update I sent to family members this morning about progress with my mom's health. It's been a roller-coaster summer, but I guess that's to be expected, given the circumstances.

I'm on vacation this week, which has been very relaxing. A quick weekend get-away with my friend Lisa (to Dublin, Ohio for an Irish Festival), followed by lots of time with my mom and dad...just permission to not think about deadlines for a whole week: heaven!

I woke this morning to news of the latest terrorist plot disrupted (please God) and was reminded of how many dramas, on every imaginable scale, are being acted out minute-by-minute. Perspective is good.

Anyway, here's the latest in my own personal drama:

It's been a couple eventful weeks since my last update...The visit from [my youngest brother] Vern didn't turn out quite as expected, as Mom was admitted to the hospital the day he arrived (Wed., July 26) and was finally discharged the day he left (Mon., July 31). We spent a lot of quality time in her hospital room, though, and things have improved considerably since then.

Mom was admitted because of dehydration, low appetite, nausea, and lack of energy. We were attributing all of this to the chemo/cancer, but it turns out that the real culprit was one of her heart medications—she had three times the amount of dygoxin in her system than she should have. (Since her valve repair surgery over a year ago, she's been taking this to control her heart rate.)

Now that this has been taken care of, she's been like a new woman. Still some pain, but much more energy, appetite, etc. The doctors suspended her chemo treatments as a result, and she just started a new cycle today. After two more treatments (next week and the week after), they'll finally do the CT scan we've been waiting for so that we can see how the chemo has been working.

Thank you all so much for your love and prayers. The notes and cards really help Mom—and all of us.

Miracles

2006-06-13T16:15:00.000-04:00

"Sometimes in small ordinary ways we experience the presence of God, as in the ability to get out of bed in the morning and keep our children alive. Other times we know for certain in the way a particular thing has fallen out, by its timing and our lack of control over it, that we've witnessed an unusual gift of grace. A miracle really, though we hesitate to call it that."
—Margie Haack, from Notes from Toad Hall (Issue #1 — 2006; Still Winter)

I read this the other day, just before I found out the very hard news that my mom's tumor did not, in fact, shrink as a result of the radiation treatments she endured. Surgery is no longer an option, and new "shadows" were detected via the CT scan, on both her liver and lungs. Since radiation obviously is also no longer an option, she starts chemo again tomorrow. She is exhausted, she is in pain, and she is losing weight.

And we live one day at a time, hour by hour, trusting that God's grace is sufficient.

This past week, I've been recognizing my utter dependence on God in a profound way. This is not a new revelation, but it is something that I can too easily forget when things are going well. Now I am treasuring every breath—the ability to get out of bed and do what needs to be done. I am grateful for the gift of laughter, and even for the tears.

Lots of tears lately, but also lots of love.

I am a beloved daughter of God, and He is showering me with reminders from others that this is true. That this is true for my mom as well. I pray that she feels it as tangibly as I do at this moment, through the notes and phone calls and hugs. And I pray for my dad and my brothers and my niece, and for all the people who love Mom and the rest of us.

I was writing in my journal last night that I feel like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, in the final scene, when his brother toasts him as "the richest man in town."

One friend shows up with a mocha and a hug.

Others, who are hundreds of miles away, assure me that the minute I ask, they'll jump in a car or a plane and make their way to my side.

Many offer prayers and tears and encouragement and funny stories.

One tells me, even as tears are streaming down my cheeks, that I'm having a great hair day. This makes me laugh. Another hears the news and figures out why it is I've been on her mind so much lately, and why she's been so sad. This makes me cry.

I've been prayed for by people I've known for a few months and by people I've known most of my life—and even by someone I knew, very briefly, a long time ago, and with whom I only recently reconnected.

I call all of these things miracles, and I can boldly pray for more—for comfort, for healing, for strength, for peace. For life everlasting.

Let nothing disturb thee. Let nothing frighten thee. Everything is changing. God alone is changeless. Patience attains the goal. The one who has God lacks nothing. God alone fills all our needs. —St. Teresa of Avila

A Groovy Announcement

2006-05-17T09:15:00.000-04:00

Just thought I'd check in with a quick post to encourage you to check out my friend Sheryl's big announcement. A unique and appropriate way to celebrate one's 35th birthday...

Resurrection Sunday

2006-04-16T18:00:00.000-04:00

Now that those of you who read my blog and also are on my mailing list have likely received my April newsletter, I guess it's safe to post it here. I've hinted a bit in previous blog entries about difficult things happening. This explains further.

A blessed Easter to all! —alm
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When I attended Ash Wednesday services a few weeks ago, I was reeling from the news that my mother had just been diagnosed with cancer. A “shadow” detected on her pancreas in early February turned out, in fact, to be a cancerous tumor.

As I write this letter, Mom is beginning her second week of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and her prognosis is much better than we first feared. She will undergo surgery sometime this summer, after this round of treatment shrinks the tumor. But her doctors report that the cancer has not spread beyond her pancreas. They caught it early. Praise God!

This reminder of my (and my mother’s) mortality has rested heavily over me during this Lenten season, even as I have continued to go about my daily work and life. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. I remember. It’s been hard to forget.

Even so, life has indeed continued. I’ve spent the first months of 2006 writing, editing, worshiping, eating, reading, watching TV, drinking coffee, attending my 20-somethingth Jubilee conference, spending time with friends and family, and cheering Pitt’s basketball team to victory (and defeat).

I’ve traveled to the Washington, DC area twice in as many months, to interview the two new CCO staff people who are reaching out to college students at Howard University and George Mason University (whose basketball team fared much better than my beloved Pitt Panthers in the NCAA Tournament, by the way!). Their stories will appear in upcoming issues of the CCO’s On Campus magazine.

I combined the GMU trip with a visit with my friend Jeff and his family in the DC area last week (after more than a decade of promising to do so “someday”), and I went bowling for the first time in many years with Ann and Terri a couple weeks back—and even managed a couple spares and a strike between gutter balls! I have gathered with good friends to pray for my mom’s complete healing.

I look forward to celebrating the Resurrection once again this year, rejoicing and resting in the promise of eternal life assured by my faith in Jesus Christ. God is good—all the time. Thank you for the many ways you continue to demonstrate this reality for me.

Happy Easter!

Third Incarnation

2006-03-29T10:50:00.000-05:00

I just had an article published in catapult magazine! The theme of this issue is "Wonder Years: Reflections on our memories from our teen years and the nature of being a teen-ager today."

I offered up a revised version of my essay about my 20th high school reunion, which was first published by the CCO's now-defunct Ministry Exchange, and then later posted here. I'm glad for the opportunity to share it with a broader audience.

I know my blogging volume has been on the low-to-nonexistent end lately. Themes from Amy's Lenten season 2006: mortality, brokenness, hope and trust. I'll try to flesh out these themes at a later date, but suffice to say, I've not felt compelled to send them into the blogosphere yet.

Meanwhile: I'm alive, I'm well, I'm hopeful, and I'm hanging onto the promise of the Resurrection. God is good — all the time.

Spring is here!

2006-03-20T15:30:00.000-05:00

And it's supposed to snow tomorrow. Go figure.

I know I haven't been around in the blogosphere lately...on the writing side, at least. I have been reading blogs, though. Occasionally.

I heard this commentary on NPR's All Things Considered this past Friday. I thought my blogging friends might find it as amusing as I did. (I'm just grateful it prompted me to post something new in this blog, as it's been close to a month since the last entry...)

I'll try to post more frequent, and more original, entries soon. Really.

Snapshots of Jubilee

2006-02-23T11:45:00.000-05:00

There is more going in my life this week than Jubilee anticipation, contrary to what the blog might indicate. However, it's premature to write about the other "stuff" that's happening, and I really do want to be focused on the coming weekend.

I'm excited to see old friends, and the seminars this year are amazing — it's going to be difficult to choose. I'm particularly eager to greet my new friends from Howard University — I was in Washington, DC this past Friday, along with a photographer, to start gathering information for the fall issue of the CCO's On Campus magazine. It was my first visit to an HBCU (Historically Black College or University), and it was truly inspiring to meet these amazing students and to get glimpses of what God is doing in their midst. As we parted ways on Friday evening, the typical farewell was, "See you next week at Jubilee!" None of these students (or their staff person, Carlous Price) have attended Jubilee before, and I'm praying that theirs is a wonderful experience.

On that note, I'll share some of my Jubilee memories here. I wrote this article in February 2004. Enjoy!
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Snapshots of Jubilee

February 22, 1985
"Wait until you see the view!"

We had been crammed into a 15-passenger van for close to two hours and had just merged from I-79 South onto 279 North, toward downtown Pittsburgh. (These were the Dark Ages of the 1980s, in the days before 279 extended north from downtown to Wexford.) As we approached the Fort Pitt Tunnel, our anticipation hit its peak. Throughout the relatively brief journey from Meadville to Pittsburgh, those upperclass students — who had been talking nonstop about something called "Jubilee" since I'd started my freshman year at Allegheny College back in September — continued to prime the pump.

They were right. The nighttime vista of downtown Pittsburgh is breathtaking when it bursts forth as you emerge from that long tunnel. But that was nothing compared to the controlled chaos that greeted this overwhelmed freshman when she stepped through the lobby doors of the Pittsburgh Hilton.

I paid $65 to attend the conference and stay at the Hilton for the weekend. Having grown up in the surrounding suburbs, downtown Pittsburgh was an exotic land to me — completely unfamiliar and a little bit frightening. (Close to 20 years later, I live six miles from downtown Pittsburgh, and my point of reference — downtown's "true north" — continues to be the Hilton.)

Os Guinness was the keynote speaker. I'd never heard of him, but I remember being impressed by his British accent. The microscopic print in the Jubilee 1985 brochure reminds me that he spoke on the theme of "Mission Impossible? — Christian Calling and the Challenge of Modernity." Huh? (That's the freshman me talking there.)

(I imagine we could invite Dr. Guinness back at any moment to talk on almost the same topic…how about "Christian Calling and the Challenge of Postmodernity"?)

For lack of a more relevant Saturday afternoon seminar, I attended Ken Heffner's journalism workshop. I wasn't convinced that I wanted to be a journalist, but as an undeclared English major, this seemed to me a better fit than applied sciences, business, or politics. (This was also back in the days before "Track One" and "Track Two"; it was all Track Two material then — The Christian in the University.)

I remember squeezing through the crush of people on the mezzanine level of the hotel, waiting what felt like hours for an elevator to my room, dining at McDonald's, and recognizing Becky and Patty — both girls I'd gone to high school with, who were now students at Grove City and Thiel College, respectively. We waved to each other as the current of the crowd carried us off in different directions. I searched frantically for another familiar face.

I can sum up my first-ever Jubilee experience in one word: overwhelming. Several years later, when I was working for the CCO at Gannon University, I unearthed my Jubilee '85 notes and was surprised how thorough and coherent they were, considering how clueless I remember feeling at the time.

February 21, 1986
Back to the Pittsburgh Hilton. This time, I was the one prepping clueless freshmen about the amazing nighttime view of downtown Pittsburgh from the mouth of the Fort Pitt Tunnel. Dr. Anthony Campolo was making his second Jubilee appearance (not that I knew this at the time), and like Os Guinness, I'd never heard of him. He spoke on the theme, "The Kingdom of God and the Lordship of Christ." He didn't have a British accent, but he was really, really funny. Mark Heard provided the entertainment. I'd never heard of him either.

And that's all I remember about that.

February 26, 1988
This was my senior year and my fourth consecutive Jubilee conference. An Ocean City Beach Project '87 reunion. Conversations with Ellie Pruner (soon-to-be Davis) about coming on CCO staff as an intern. Bill Romanowski's farewell "The Heart of Rock and Roll" concert. Bad '80s hair (and I have the pictures to prove it). The student cost to both attend the conference and stay at the Hilton had increased to $70.

This was my best Jubilee conference ever, up to that point — not because of any earth-shattering keynote address or seminar, but because of relationships and connections I'd nurtured over three and a half years. This was a major contrast to my feelings of "lostness" at Jubilee '85. Now I belonged. Serious adrenalin high. I didn't want to leave.

February 28, 1988
Serious adrenalin crash.

Back in my student-slum apartment in Meadville, alone, I watched the closing ceremonies of the 1988 Winter Olympic Games and cried.

February 2004
I'll spare you the blow-by-blow of the 15 Jubilees I've attended as a CCO staff person. That's both for your sake and my own. I used to be able to recite the keynote speakers for each year by memory, but I lost that ability almost a decade ago. I'm now twice the age of the freshmen and sophomores who will attend Jubilee 2004, and I haven't missed a single conference since 1985. This will be my 20th.

As I help prepare for Jubilee 2004 (the program booklet is almost ready to go to the printer), I'm looking forward to the conference this year as much as ever. I never stop learning from the speakers or reveling in the singing and the worship and the contagious excitement that permeates the Hilton every year on the last weekend of February.

On Sunday morning, February 29th, yet another generation of college students will be cordially invited to become active participants in God's Kingdom work — right now, on their campuses, and throughout the rest of their lives.

And as I do every year, I will thank God (with Paul, in Philippians 1:6) that he who began a good work in us will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

This article was originally published in February 2004. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2004.

Jubilee or bust!

2006-02-21T17:45:00.000-05:00

I love Jubilee.

I attended my first Jubilee conference in 1985, as a college freshman, and I haven't missed one yet. Every year for more than two decades now, I show up at the Hilton Pittsburgh at the end of February and enjoy the energy of hundreds of college students, many generations of them now, who gather to learn about why it matters that they follow Christ and how it can and should infiltrate every single part of their lives. The focus of Jubilee is to help college students get a handle on how faith in Jesus Christ should be lived out through their particular fields of study, and ultimately, their vocational choices.

My friend and colleague, Byron Borger, owner with his wife Beth of Hearts and Minds Bookstore in Dallastown, Pennsylvania, describes the conference and its purpose quite eloquently in his most recent blog entry. I found it inspiring to read his late night/early morning ruminations about this annual event, even while preparing to set up shop (literally) at the Pittsburgh Hilton this weekend.

And now, as I look forward to reunions with old friends, meeting new ones, and learning more about how to be faithful in my life and work (and how to encourage others to do likewise), I'm off to join the volunteer pool stuffing registration packets.

Jubilee ho!

The Faithful Alligator

2006-02-09T09:40:00.000-05:00

Finally!

A good friend of many, many years, who is an amazing writer and a very funny person (we'll call her "tomzgrrl"), finally has her own blog. Check out The Faithful Alligator and enjoy.

Only one entry so far. I'm eagerly awaiting the ongoing chronicling of The Adventures of The Faithful Alligator, The Princess, The Dictator and...um...The Dad?

The Pittsburgh Steelers win Super Bowl XL!

2006-02-06T14:35:00.000-05:00

Now here's a CNN Breaking News announcement I was happy to receive:

From: CNN Breaking News
Sent: Sunday, February 05, 2006 10:07 PM

-- The Pittsburgh Steelers win Super Bowl XL, beating the Seattle Seahawks 21-10 Sunday night.

What a great night! I attended a Superbowl party at my parents' house, along with my brother and niece, my uncle, aunt and cousins, and my friend Lisa and her family.

I was 13 the last time the Steelers won a Superbowl, and living in eastern Pennsylvania, where the Philadelphia Eagles rule. And I could have cared less about football.

What a fun time to live in the city of Pittsburgh. Go Steelers!

More Breaking News

2006-01-31T09:15:00.000-05:00

Back in September, I wrote a blog entry marveling at the range of news items that make the cut for CNN's Breaking News email messages.

Three have already popped into my inbox this morning (which is three more than I tend to receive on any given day). Just thought I'd share.

From: CNN Breaking News
Sent: Tuesday, January 31, 2006 7:03 AM
-- Female ex-employee kills six people, self, in shooting at postal sorting offices in Goleta, California, authorities say.

Sent: Tuesday, January 31, 2006 7:31 AM
-- Coretta Scott King, wife of slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., has died, a PR company for the King family says.

Sent: Tuesday, January 31, 2006 8:54 AM
-- "Brokeback Mountain" leads Academy Awards field with eight nominations, including best picture

The Wall

2006-01-28T20:02:00.000-05:00

As I got dressed this morning, I listened to Scott Simon on NPR's Weekend Edition Saturday, as I try to every Saturday morning when I'm home. The final interview, which aired just before 10 a.m., was with Rosanne Cash, about her new CD, Black Cadillac. She wrote the songs for this release during the two-year period during which her father, mother and step-mother all died.

I like Rosanne Cash's music, and I think I'll probably purchase this CD. Beyond that, though, I found myself moved by the conversation. The real emotion, the lingering grief that she clearly feels...by the end of the piece, I was crying.

There was this insight, from Rosanne:

"It's an odd feeling to become the wall between death and the generation behind you, between my children, you know... It's comforting to feel the wall ahead of you, with your parents, and when they're gone and you're the wall..."

Then the piece closes with a recording of Johnny Cash's voice, saying, "Roseanne, Roseanne..." and Roseanne's child's voice responding, "Bye, bye, bye."

I saw the movie I Walk the Line on Thanksgiving Day, with Myrna, during my Utah visit a couple months ago. I always associate Johnny Cash with my dad, and my childhood, and Myrna even commented to me, before knowing this, that she's always thought my dad looks a little like Johnny Cash.

I'm grateful that my parents are still The Wall. May that continue to be so for many years to come.

Here we go!

2006-01-23T16:45:00.000-05:00

Pittsburgh's going to Superbowl XL*!

*That's 40, which is almost the number of years it's taken for me to become a football fan. Who knew?

Go Steelers!

New Life

2006-01-11T21:15:00.000-05:00

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my
mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” —Psalm 139:13-14

It was a dark and stormy Wednesday afternoon.

The date was January the eleventh.

The time was 2:30.

I was sitting at my office desk, catching up on some paperwork, having just returned from a meeting at Geneva College in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, where I was making arrangements for the Coalition’s two-week Spring Institute in May.

My phone rang.

It was my brother John calling to tell me that he and his wife Chris were at the hospital. It was two weeks before her due date, but after months of mandatory bed-rest and what had been a difficult (and seemingly eternal) pregnancy, Chris was finally going to have this baby!

“The doctor says it could be a long night,” John told me. They had broken her water, but it could be 12 to 14 hours before the baby would be born. “Can you call Dave and tell him what’s happening?” Did he want me to bring anything? “A camera!” they’d experienced so many false alarms, it hadn’t occurred to either of them to take a camera when they left for Chris’ doctor appointment that day.

No problem. I called my cousin Dave, who was working at home in Shadyside that day, just a couple of miles from my apartment. I needed to take care of a few things before leaving the office, but arranged to take the next day off. Dave and I decided to meet at my place at 4:30, at which point he would follow me to Forbes Regional Hospital in Monroeville (where just a little more than a month before, my friend Lisa had given birth to her second son, Christopher). Mom and Dad had been notified and were preparing to drive in from Cleveland that evening. We were all prepared for an all-night vigil.

John had given me specific directions on how to find him and Chris once we arrived at the hospital. Delivery room 7, all the way down the corridor, last door on the right. Dave and I, clutching dripping umbrellas, having survived a rainy Pittsburgh rush-hour, managed to navigate ourselves to what we thought was the correct destination. By now it was a little after 5:30.

In the front door. Take a left. Down this hallway.

Here we are: labor & delivery, 7.

Voices, bodies, activity. The cry of a baby. From 7?

Dave and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised. A nurse turned and saw us; she pulled a curtain shut—not that we’d seen anything aside from a cluster of people’s backs blocking our view of the bed. I strained to recognize a voice…John’s? Chris’?

“It’s a girl…” The doctor?

Then, Chris’ voice, then John’s. I don’t remember what either of them said, just that it registered that we weren’t standing outside the wrong delivery room.

I turned to Dave. “I have a niece,” I said.

The nurse who had pulled the curtain came into the hallway and asked if she could help us. I identified myself as John’s sister; she smiled and pointed us in the direction of the waiting room. Dave and I headed back up the long corridor, bypassed the waiting room, turned around to backtrack and saw John walking toward us.

As we got closer, I saw that my brother was crying.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

And then John and I shared the longest hug in our 25-plus years of siblinghood.

***

Kathryn Noel turned 11 years old today (11 on the eleventh), a rainy January Wednesday, very similar to the day she came into the world. I just returned home from her birthday dinner in Monroeville, the city of her birth, at the Shogun Japanese Steakhouse, site of our family’s habitual birthday celebrations.

I wrote the above in April 1995, just three months after Katy was born, and sent it out to friends and family with an Easter card. Here’s how I closed the letter:

***

Have you ever thought about how amazing it is that an event like childbirth is so commonplace and yet so miraculous? As exciting as it is to hold any newborn, how much moreso it must be when that baby is your own offspring. The closest I’ve come to this experience is holding my first [and so far, only] niece, little Katy, when she was less than thirty minutes old.

This Easter, as I celebrate the miracle of the resurrection of Jesus the Christ, I’ll also be celebrating the miracle of every new life, and especially the new life of Katy Noel.

“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” —1 John 3:1

Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Hallelujah!

***

Happy birthday, Katy Noel.

A Time Between

2006-01-05T11:45:00.000-05:00

For the past couple of months, I have been working on a project with a few of my fellow CCO staff, headed up by my colleague Jennifer Rash.

During her recent (and current) sabbatical, Jennifer was inspired to invite interested colleagues to work with her to produce a devotional booklet covering the period between Easter and Advent, appropriately titled A Time Between. Working with the Revised Common Lectionary, each of us were assigned a few weeks' readings upon which to reflect and write.

One of my assigned weeks was July 30, 2006, the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. (Ordinary Time. I love that.) The passages all have to do with God's extraordinary provision, and while the Matthew 25 passage about feeding the hungry, clothing the naked and visiting the imprisoned was not among that day's readings, it kept popping into my mind, and therefore, found its way into my draft of that day's reflection.

I just received an email from my cousin John today, in which he offers a new perspective on that same passage:

The bread which you do not use is the bread of the hungry; the garment hanging in your wardrobe is the garment of him who is naked; the shoes that you do not wear are the shoes of the one who is barefoot; the money that you keep locked away is the money of the poor; the acts of charity that you do not perform are so many injustices that you commit. —St. Basil

This theme keeps cropping up for me. I suspect there's a reason for that.

In this season of New Year's resolutions (of which I've made none, at least not formally), it seems fitting to contemplate the power of these words. And to start living like I believe them.

Drinking the Cup of Life

2005-12-29T11:45:00.000-05:00

The discipline of silence, word, and action focus our eyes on the road we are traveling and help us to move forward, step by step, to our goal. We will encounter great obstacles and splendid views, long, dry deserts and also freshwater lakes surrounded by shadow-rich trees. We will have to fight against those who try to attack and rob us. We also will make wonderful friends. We will often wonder if we will ever make it, but one day we will see coming to us the One who has been waiting for us from all eternity to welcome us home. Yes, we can drink our cup of life to the bottom, and as we drink it realize that the One who has called us "the beloved," even before we were born, if filling it with everlasting life. —Henri J. M. Nouwen, from Can You Drink the Cup?

My colleague, Lindsey Smyth, included this quote with her Christmas cards this year, and I found it both moving and inspiring.

I pray that we all may "drink our cup of life to the bottom" in the coming year and, as Lindsey writes, "gain an even greater understanding of our 'belovedness' in Christ Jesus, our Lord."

Amen.

Page 123

2005-12-21T10:55:00.000-05:00

I'm borrowing this from Michele's blog:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.

Here's what I found:

"She worked on overcoming her timidity, but discovered eventually she had the gift of serenity." (from Becky Pippert's Out of the Saltshaker & into the World)

So, what did you find?

Spiritual Journeys

2005-12-14T10:55:00.000-05:00

“The more I tune in to the source of my own being..., the more anger, sorrow, and fear seem confined to the shallows of my personality, while my true self — and yours, and that of every being — is like a sea whose depths are always tranquil, however troubled the surface may become. Pain reminds me to return to the deep, calm, gentle sea, so that I find myself crying because I’m happy, and because I’m sad, but never because I’m in despair. Once you’re sure that God is waiting in the acceptance of every true thing, even pain, I’m not sure despair is even possible.” —Martha Beck, Leaving the Saints: How I Lost the Mormons and Found My Faith, page 303 (hardcover edition)

During my recent visit to Utah, I purchased a book I had been hearing about for a while: Martha Beck's controversial memoir, Leaving the Saints: How I Lost the Mormons and Found My Faith. I was about half-way through it by the time I was jetting home to Pittsburgh (feeling a little self-conscious about revealing the spine to any passers-by in the Salt Lake City airport), and it took me a while to finish once I got home, what with all the busyness that greeted me on this side of the continent. During our afternoon in Park City, I purchased a copy for Myrna; so many of the insights I was reading — and reading aloud, to her — were eerie echoes of observations she had already made to me about life in Utah Valley, either in person or via her blog.

There is a lot to say about this book, which I may or may not address some other time. I found it a fascinating, entertaining and disturbing read. For those unfamiliar with the book, here is an excerpt of the summary published at amazon.com:

“When graduate student Martha Beck’s son Adam was born with Down syndrome, she and her husband left the chilly halls of Harvard for Utah and the warm, accepting embrace of the Mormon community. Determined to assimilate back into her childhood faith after years of atheism, Beck’s disenchantment resurfaced when censorship from the church heavily influenced the curriculum at Brigham Young University where she taught part-time. More disturbing was Beck’s eventual belief that her father, a virtual celebrity in the Mormon Church, had sexually molested her as a child.”

My own interest in Utah and Mormons started a long time ago. I was nine years old when I “fell in love” with Donny Osmond, who was then exactly twice my age. At 8 p.m. every Friday night, I faithfully parked myself (and my clunky tape recorder) in front of our remote-control-less TV set to watch the Donny & Marie show. (During the pre-VCR era of the mid- to late-1970s, I was resourceful!) Often, my friend Lisa — and her tape recorder — were parked right there beside me. And my younger brothers can tell you about the ban on conversation during those hour-long variety shows, lest my recordings be polluted by their commentary. Instead, they were polluted by every loud “SHHH” I uttered each time someone in the room dared to cough, sneeze or — heaven forbid — speak.

Anyway, back to Utah and Mormons.

Any true blue Osmond fan who read as many issues of Tiger Beat and 16 Magazine as I did knew full well that Donny was a devout member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and his future wife would be one, too. My pre-adolescent brain reasoned that Mormonism couldn't be much different than Presbyterianism. I would happily convert, should Donny propose to me.

Of course, this never became an issue. In true Mormon tradition, Donny got married at age 20, breaking many young hearts. I was disappointed, but not heartbroken. Let’s face it: I was only 11 years old. I heard somewhere that many of the fans who were deeply disappointed by Donny’s marriage, and by the marriages of his many brothers, had actually converted to Mormonism. Donny and his singing brothers and sister may have never embarked on the traditional two-year mission that most young men in the LDS church serve, but they did reach thousands with their own testimonies. (For the record, I'm still worshipping in a Presbyterian congregation.)

By the time I started junior high, I was embarrassed to admit my earlier crush on Donny. I didn’t give much thought to him or his religion for many years. It wasn't until 1993, when I took a CCO Spring Institute class in “cults and alternative religions” taught by Dr. Ruth Tucker, that I discovered what Mormons actually believe. My immersion in orthodox Christian theology gave me an actual framework through which to view the doctrines and legalisms of the LDS church. Spending almost a week in Mormon country last month has added new dimensions of understanding and insight, as has reading Martha Beck's memoir, dismissed as fiction by many faithful Mormons.

I'll let any interested parties pick up this book or read the many online reviews (positive and negative, from both LDS members and “Gentiles” alike) for themselves. After finishing the book, I'm curious about how Martha Beck would describe the faith she ultimately “found” after leaving the LDS church. She’s not very specific about it — by design, I suspect — but it certainly seems to be a more grace-filled spirituality than what she left behind.

The Gender Genie

2005-12-07T16:41:00.000-05:00

OK, this is just weird.

(Oops — I forgot. I apparently shouldn't be using the word is. Or the. Or something. Because those are masculine words. On the other hand, actually, like, because, too and since are feminine words.)

My friend Lisa just sent me this link, which assigns you a gender based on how you write.

As Lisa instructs: "Paste in a blog entry (preferably at least 500 words) and click the submit button. Based on some weird algorithmic formula, it will then tell you if it thinks the blog entry was written by a male or female."

Only once has it correctly identified me as a female. Granted, it claims an 80% success rate, but still. I'm not sure what (if anything) to make of this.

Thoughts?

A Utah Thanksgiving: Pickles, Duke and the Outlaw Café

2005-11-25T15:15:00.000-05:00

It’s 10:30 (MST) on Thanksgiving evening, and Myrna and I just returned from seeing the new movie, I Walk the Line, a biopic of Johnny Cash. We aren’t sure exactly when this movie opened—last weekend, maybe?—but it was packed. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who thought a Thanksgiving movie night was a good idea.

Myrna was still full from our Thanksgiving feast (which we enjoyed with a group of folks from her church) but I decided to indulge in popcorn and cherry Coke. While in the concession line, we noticed the menu: popcorn, candy, nachos, pickles.

Pickles?

Is it just us, or is a pickle that least likely movie snack you can think of? Popcorn? Check. Junior Mints? Check. Chilled, garlicky, preserved cucumbers? Not so much. But the guy two people in front of us actually ordered one, so apparently, it’s popular movie food in Utah. In Provo, anyway. (We’re assuming this item wouldn’t be on the menu if this is the only guy purchasing them.)

I arrived in Salt Lake City late Monday night—sadly, my luggage did not. Myrna greeted me at baggage claim, where we left information with the nice lady who deals with lost luggage, then headed to Denny’s for a midnight snack (for me, anyway—it was only 10 here, but literally midnight where I came from).

Tuesday, Myrna went to work while I slept in; later, we took a drive into Provo Canyon—looked for Robert Redford at Sundance Resort (no sightings). We drove north to Salt Lake City again—went in search of the actual lake (which we found, but right at dusk, so not much to look at). We found our way to our ultimate destination: the Sugarhouse Barnes and Noble in the city, where former President Jimmy Carter was doing a book signing. We naively hadn’t anticipated the long lines that wound around the block to await entry into the bookstore, but quickly decided that going to dinner was probably a more useful endeavor than finding the end of the queue. So instead of meeting Mr. Carter, we enjoyed a delicious meal at Mazza, a Greek restaurant a few blocks away. (When we finally arrived home, so had my luggage. Woohoo!)

Wednesday, we headed south to Moab, but only made it as far Wellington, where we met Duke at the Outlaw Café. We ordered lunch and asked the waitress about Nine Mile Canyon, which was close by, and were referred to Duke, who sat at a nearby table, sipping coffee while his daughter finished up her meal. A self-proclaimed “font of useless information,” Duke at first joked that he wouldn’t advise a trip back there if we valued our tires, but he and his daughter agreed that it would be a more worthwhile trip than a visit to Canyonlands, which was our original destination. (That or Arches National Park.)

On Duke’s recommendation—and with his business card in hand, should we break down and need to be rescued—we decided to take a chance on the dirt roads of the 40+-mile so-called Nine Mile Canyon. (It was a nice gesture, but we did not end up needing his assistance, which is a good thing as we had no cell reception for most of our drive.)

So now it’s after 11:00 on Thanksgiving evening, and Myrna is reading the Entertainment Weekly article about the movie we just saw, and I’m typing to the accompaniment of Johnny Cash in the CD drive, and we’re still figuring out what tomorrow holds.

Note: It is now Friday around 1:15 p.m. (MST), and so far, this day has held a lazy morning at Myrna's place, and a fruitless search for an open library at which to post this blog entry—both here and at M's blog. Apparently, library employees in Utah get to enjoy Thanksgiving Friday as a holiday, as the three we visited, in Springville, Spanish Fork and Provo, are all closed until tomorrow. So here we are at a Kinko's in Provo, paying per minute to use the computer. And we're soon off to find lunch and explore Park City. My Utah sojourn is coming to a rapid close...more once I'm back in Pennsylvania!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2005-11-21T12:59:00.000-05:00

In just a few brief minutes, I'm off to the airport to catch a flight to Salt Lake City! I thank God for my many blessings, and especially for loving friends and family members. May you have a blessed Thanksgiving celebration, wherever you may be.

Stranger in a Strange Land

2005-11-14T10:35:00.000-05:00

My friend Myrna moved to Utah in September. Temporarily. She is spending the year working with an environmental testing company, making as much money as possible to pay off graduate school debt and to replenish her dwindling savings.

I'm excited to report that this time next week, I'll be getting ready to head to the airport to board a plane for Salt Lake City! I'll be spending Thanksgiving week with Myrna, exploring this foreign-to-me part of the country.

Speaking of which, Myrna has started a blog to share the impressions of Mormon country through the eyes of a (non-Mormon) western Pennsylvania native. If you're interested in reading some of her observations, you can check them out here. Stranger in a strange land, indeed.

Road to recovery

2005-11-13T17:05:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post to let everyone know that Mom was released from the hospital yesterday (Saturday). By early afternoon, she was on her way home, and her prognosis is good. She just needs to take it easy and, according to her doctor, "not fall again."

So much for being kept in the hospital "through the weekend"! We'll take it, though.

Thanks again for praying.

Through the weekend

2005-11-11T12:45:00.000-05:00

The latest word about the saga of Mom's ruptured spleen: sounds like they'll be keeping her under surveillance at the hospital through the weekend. Which we're interpreting as "at least through Monday."

While she'd certainly rather be at home, we agree that it's better to be safe than sorry, and the hospital must be where she needs to be for the time being. She's feeling relatively OK, but I'm not sure what progress has been made toward the spleen healing itself. Maybe there will be more word later today. It's a waiting game.

Thanks for praying!

Monitoring the situation

2005-11-10T13:40:00.000-05:00

A big thank you to all who have been keeping my mom in your prayers. No big news to report today, except that she is still in the hospital and probably will be for the next couple of days. After a CT scan this morning, all seems to be at status quo, but it's obviously serious enough that the doctors want to keep a close eye on her, and they moved her to yet another room so that they can hook her up to heart monitors and such. I don't know why, exactly, but am trusting that the doctors know what she needs. We continue to hope and pray that surgery won't be necessary and that the ruptured spleen will heal on its own.

She would much rather be in the comfort of her own house and away from needles and other hospital paraphenalia, but Mom is hanging in. Thanks again for your concern and prayers.

Privacy

2005-11-09T14:57:00.000-05:00

I just got a call from Mom a little while ago to let me know that she's been moved out of the ICU and into a regular room. She sounds like she's in good spirits, and she's definitely appreciating a more comfortable bed and relative privacy. I'm looking forward to visiting with her after work this evening.

Thanks for the prayers!

Rupture

2005-11-09T09:40:00.001-05:00

Dad and I went to visit Mom last night in the hospital for the allotted 30 minutes (plus 10, since they didn't kick us out at 7:30 on the dot). She seems to be doing very well, considering. She's still in ICU and will hopefully be in a regular room tonight. Which means that she'll be in the hospital until tomorrow, at least.

And I had been under the impression that her spleen was "bruised," which I suppose is true, as far as it goes. But the terminology of "ruptured spleen" came up in our conversation last night, in direct relation to what happened to hers. Is it just me, or does "rupture" sound far worse than "bruise"?

I'm praising God that surgery looks to be an unlikely scenario. And I'm amazed by the human body's ability to "heal itself."

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made..." —Psalm 139:14

Prayers for Mom

2005-11-08T14:45:00.000-05:00

Back in March, my mother had open heart valve repair surgery. She's been doing great ever since, and just the other night when we attended an exhibition basketball game between the University of Pittsburgh and Slippery Rock, I mentioned to her how relieved I was not to be visiting her in the hospital. (Her surgery took place during March Madness, shortly after we attended the last basketball game of last season, in the hospital right across the street from Pitt's Petersen Event Center.)

Mom went back into the hospital yesterday, not because of anything heart-related, but because of a fall she took last week. She's been experiencing quite a bit of pain since then, and apparently, the impact of her fall bruised her spleen. So she's back in the hospital, in the Intensive Care Unit, where visiting hours are limited to a half hour twice a day and where she has no direct telephone access. The latest report from Dad is that she's doing well enough for them to consider moving her out of ICU and into a regular room. We aren't sure they'll actually do that, though, as they can moderate her condition more effectively in ICU. Either way, I plan to get my half hour visit in later this evening. And so far, praise God, it doesn't appear they'll need to operate.

So. If you're inclined, please join me in praying for healing and comfort for my mom. Thank you.

It’s about incarnation, or “My friend Ginger”

2005-10-31T12:05:00.000-05:00

If the contents of this post sound familiar to some readers, that's because I am republishing the October 2005 newsletter which I sent out to friends and family last week: posted for the benefit of readers who have not already received (or read) it. —alm

I first met Ginger Weeber in the mid-1980s. She was a campus minister at Edinboro University of Pennsylvania and I was a student at Allegheny College, 20 miles south.

In May of 1988, a couple weeks shy of my college graduation, I remember standing in a Geneva College dorm room, holding Ginger’s two-month-old daughter and sharing my excitement and apprehension about joining CCO staff myself. Ginger and her husband Dave were attending the CCO’s annual Spring Institute. I had driven down to Beaver Falls from Meadville to meet with my soon-to-be Geneva College colleagues.

In 1989, when I moved to Erie to work with Gannon University students, Dave Weeber became my new supervisor. I joined First Presbyterian Church of the Covenant, Ginger’s home church, where I ended up worshipping and playing in the bell choir with Ginger’s mom, Peg Herrod.

In 1990, the Weebers moved from Edinboro to Pittsburgh so that Dave could attend graduate school. While raising two small children, Dave resumed student life and Ginger continued to work with the CCO, supervising Pittsburgh-area staff people.

When I prepared to move to Pittsburgh in 1993 to work at CCO headquarters, guess who was instrumental in finding me a place to live? Ginger not only connected me with two great roommates — Lynne was a grad student at the University of Pittsburgh and Sarah worked for the CCO at Chatham College — but the townhouse we shared happened to be just a few doors away from the Weebers’ home. The “Beacon Street Community” was born and remains vital to this day, even though none of us live on Beacon Street anymore.

The baby I remember holding in a McKee Hall dorm room is now applying to colleges. Ginger recently celebrated 25 years on CCO staff, and since 1990, she has served as Regional Director, as Director of the Intern Program, and as Director of New Staff Training. She has done work around leadership development within the CCO, and she currently holds the position of Development Associate, raising money for the CCO's General Fund.

Not too long after coming on staff, I remember attending a Staff Seminar where Dave and Ginger were recognized for a decade-plus of ministry at Edinboro. That seemed like an eternity to me at the time. I was moved to tears by their testimonies of God’s faithfulness in the midst of steadfast commitment to a single campus community over the long haul.

The CCO was only 17 years old then. I’ve now been on staff that long. And Ginger Weeber and I, after so many serendipitous intersections of our lives, are now collaborating on various projects to strengthen the effectiveness of this ministry we both love so much.

The CCO is twice the size today as when I joined staff 17 years ago. Even though I haven’t held the number or diversity of positions that Ginger has, my work has changed significantly since 1993. I still do a lot of the same jobs that I was doing back then. I write and edit brochures and magazine articles. I facilitate inter-staff communications. I proofread my colleagues’ work. But over the past 12 years, I’ve had to become much more computer-savvy — I wouldn’t have recognized the term “Web site” back in 1993. The CCO is now a 34-year-old, 21st century ministry with close to 200 employees, and it requires more of its support staff today than it did in 1971 or 1988 or 1993.

I have learned how to write and distribute press releases. I send “Weekly News” emails to all of our staff members. Lately, Ginger and I have been working together to compose a new case statement for the CCO. Why do we exist? What needs does this organization meet? Why should anyone financially support this ministry?

We have also been tracking down former students of CCO ministries to find out what is going on in their lives. We ask them how they imagine their lives might be different today had they not been involved in the CCO’s ministry when they were in college. What influence has the ministry had in how they pursue their vocations, raise their families, contribute to their churches and communities?

Here’s the not-so-surprising discovery Ginger and I have made as we’ve worked together and talked with student alumni of the CCO’s ministry:

It’s about relationships. It’s about friendships and community. It’s about people caring about one another, encouraging one another, challenging one another, and pursuing faithfulness together. It’s about the incarnation: God with us, Emmanuel, Jesus Christ.

Ginger Weeber herself has illustrated this for me, so naturally and with such constancy that it’s taken me half a lifetime to recognize how deeply she’s influenced my life. Those of you receiving this letter have also been that for me — caring, loving, encouraging friends and family members. Thank you for the many ways you support me and the work I continue to do through the Coalition for Christian Outreach: transforming students to transform the world.

Welcome, baby Jack!

2005-10-25T09:20:00.000-04:00

My mom celebrated her 64th birthday yesterday (Monday, October 24), the same day my friends Sarah and Jeff welcomed their third child into the world. Little Jack joins two sisters, Alison (who turned four in August) and Taylor (who turns two on Christmas day).

Welcome, baby Jack!

And happy birthday, Mom!

The Other Side of the Bridge, or “2 Good 2 Be 4 Gotten”

2005-10-03T11:10:00.000-04:00

My archive of previously published articles is not exhaustive, and for that reason, I hesitate to post them all too quickly, should a serious writing drought strike sometime in the future, as it inevitably will. But this essay is timely, and so I'm posting it now.

This past weekend marked the one-year anniversary of my 20th high school reunion. (For those keeping track at home, that means I graduated from high school in 1984: The Orwellian Year.) It was a really enjoyable, if surreal, event, as I had not seen most of these people in the full two decades since we had tossed our mortar boards into the air and scattered to our colleges (or other destinations) of choice. I was especially excited to be reunited with Deirdre and Jenny, two women I had completely lost track of and to whom I was close at different points in our brief high school career.

I was amazed by the number of people who greeted me and whom I barely remembered, considering our graduating class number didn't even reach 200. I was particularly startled to step into a room full of almost-middle-aged men and women who bore little resemblance to the kids with whom I'd gone to school. Where were the upturned Izod shirt collars and Tretorn sneakers, once so prevalent in our preppy little corner of the world? Feathered-back hairstyles had been replaced by sleeker and more mature coifs...or, in the case of several of the men, gone altogether, compensated by varied styles of facial hair.

Many of these people are now spouses and parents, with respectable careers and full lives which greatly exceed the limiting identities we adopted and assigned to one another two decades previous. The event was way too short to get a full glimpse into their lives, and many questions were left unanswered. And I don't really have any idea what, if anything, my classmates thought about the 20-years-older me. I only know that I was glad to have the opportunity to participate in this time capsule of a weekend.

Below is the essay I wrote a little over a year ago, in anticipation of attending my 20th high school reunion. Enjoy! —alm
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“To Amy, you're a wonderful girl. We had great times in Health. You will never find the answer to my prom question. Eric '83”

“Amy, to a girl I met in 1st period. For all the help you have given me in Spanish. Steve”

“Amy, Remember our senior year and all the fun. It's been great knowing you and I know you'll achieve everything in life. Take care and see ya this summer. RMA Linda (We're out of here!!)”

I never will know the answer to Eric's prom question. In fact, I'm unlikely to ever remember the question, since I have no clear recollection of Eric himself.

I'm glad I was able to help Steve with Spanish. De nada, Steve. (Steve who?)

I am relieved to be able to say that I do remember Linda. But I'm fairly certain that I never saw her the summer after we graduated, let alone in the two decades that have passed since June 6, 1984, when we marched forward to the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” to claim our high school diplomas. (They did give me mine, in spite of the principal initially skipping over my name during the graduation ceremony. Apparently, he couldn't see me for the flag obstructing his vision, and so he announced it — and probably mispronounced it — only as I was returning to my seat, correct diploma in hand. I could easily have been voted “Least Likely to Want the Spotlight,” and I was the only person in my high school graduating class of 176 people to receive an ovation that evening.) As for whether or not I've achieved “everything in life” — whatever that means, exactly — well, that remains to be seen.

As you have probably figured out by now, I've been perusing my high school yearbook lately. I will attend my 20th high school reunion on October 2nd. This is the second reunion for the class of '84, and I missed the 10-year gathering. I wasn't sure that I was going to participate in this one either, but in recent months, as I've reconnected with a few of my long-lost classmates, the curiosity factor alone makes it an appealing event.

In the survey posted on the website through which most of us have RSVPed, members of Quaker Valley 's Class of 1984 are asked to “describe what you have been doing since high school.” There is space provided to list the name of your spouse or partner, names and ages of your children, any songs you'd like the DJ to play at the reunion party, and whether you think we should have a 30-year reunion. There is also an opportunity to express “warm wishes to someone in our class.” The most interesting question by far to me is the first one.

Twenty years is a long time, and if my former classmates are like me, questions about whether there will be a pop quiz in history class or if tomorrow will be a snow day — or at least, please, a two-hour delay — have long since been replaced with weightier concerns. (No pun intended.) When a high school friend and I reconnected via email a few months ago, she wrote, “I just realized that I've lived more years since I knew you than I was years old when I knew you. Frightening thought!”

Over the last two decades, at least three of the girls I remember from the early '80s — Wendy, Libby and Karen — have reportedly passed away. Two, and possibly all three, died from cancer. According to the survey, many of the class of 1984 are married with kids, but I'm not sure of the percentages on that one. It's been an interesting guessing game to figure out from email IDs who people are, especially when the women forget to identify themselves by their maiden names.

Considering how I often feel as though my life really began in September 1984 with the advent of my freshman year of college, I'm intrigued to find out what ever happened to the people I knew in my “previous life.” Who have these people become? What is important to them? How do they measure success in their lives? How do I answer those questions for myself?

In my work with the CCO, I often emphasize the need for ministry to college students by talking about what social psychologist Sharon Parks once identified as “the critical years.” The ages between 18 and 25 have been identified as the bridge between adolescence and adulthood, a period during which we begin to make decisions which will affect the kinds of people we ultimately become and how we will live the rest of our lives. Because I didn't really start to take my Christian faith seriously until I was a college student, at which point I began considering how what I believed about God needed to influence all of my life, this emphasis on the critical years resonates with me in a very personal way.

When I recently told a friend that I was planning to attend my high school reunion, she shuddered and told me, “You are the most secure person I know.”

Me?

Clearly, I'm not the only one who thinks back on high school and conjures feelings of insecurity, inadequacy, and uncertainty. In fact, when I think too much about the upcoming reunion, my palms start to sweat just a little. Junior high was the more painful time for me; in high school, I just felt sort of invisible. Not one of the popular kids, but not really unpopular either. Just…there.

Within the first few weeks of my freshman year at Allegheny, I remember showing my high school yearbook to Chris, my first “almost-boyfriend” in college. He noticed how many pictures of me were in there, and he commented, “Wow, you must have been really popular.” This seemed to impress him, and while I tried to correct his misinterpretation (“No, I was just good friends with one of the yearbook photographers”), I could tell that he didn't believe me. I stopped trying to convince him otherwise.

My closest friends today, with one or two exceptions, are people I met after September of 1984. They are people who love me for who I am, not for any image I tried — successfully or not — to project. They met me during the most open and adventuresome, honest and impressionable years of my life. I met many of them when we were, together, crossing that bridge from adolescence into adulthood.

As I read through the autographs in my high school yearbook, I look forward to catching up with people I actually do remember, even if most of the inside jokes referenced in their scrawled messages are now a complete mystery to me. I hope that, during our brief reunion time, we're able to catch at least a glimpse of who we have become and what transformations took place on the bridge.

And I pray that the true Source of my security will shine through from me to them.

This article was originally published in October 2004. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2004.

September 27

2005-09-28T11:45:00.000-04:00

Here is another post-birthday blog entry, as I never got around to logging on yesterday, the actual anniversary of my birth.

Just shy of my eighth birthday, I was the new kid in school (for the first, but definitely not the last, time). I met a girl in my third grade class named Lisa, and while we did not immediately hit it off—mostly because we were competing for the attention of another classmate, Michelle—we did find common ground almost right away.

We were born on the same day: September 27, 1966.

In that same spirit of competition and third grade curiosity, we compared times of birth and established that Lisa was five hours and 40 minutes my senior (a fact with which we were obsessed during our younger years, when we were constantly—and ironically—measuring which of us was the "more mature" of the two).

Thirty-one years later, neither Lisa nor I have the foggiest idea what has become of Michelle. We have, however, maintained the long-ago "best friend" status that we achieved after we got over our initial reticence with one another. In spite of my many moves and several mutual life changes, we stayed connected—except for the five-year hiatus of the late high school and early college years, during which we lost touch. Today, though, we are very much a part of each other's lives.

For me, yesterday marked our 39th birthday. For Lisa, yesterday signified the dawning of our 40th year of life. Semantics, mostly, because it all adds up to the same thing, right? While I'm not really dreading the Big 4-0, I'm happy to bask in this last year of my 30s, for whatever that's worth. Lisa has a more fleshed-out philosophy of aging, though, which you can read about here.

Happy (belated) birthday to us!

The aim and the way

2005-09-28T09:30:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday. To commemorate the occasion, my friend Jenn treated me to dinner at my favorite Thai restaurant. (Thanks, Jenn!) The bill arrived with the requisite fortune cookies, and mine read as follows:

The aim is useless without the way.

Deep.

I think.

(Seriously, my first response upon reading this was, "Huh?")

Meanwhile, here are a few inspirational quotations I stumbled across recently which seem appropriate to cite on the occasion of having completed almost four full decades on earth:

The great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do. —Walter Bagehot

One's philosophy is not best expressed in words; it is expressed in the choices one makes. In the long run, we shape our lives and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And, the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility. —Eleanor Roosevelt

Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows. —Michael Landon

And then there's this one:

Thomas said to him, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him." —John 14:5-7

Hm.

The aim is useless without the way.

On Ships, Harbors and Sailing into Uncharted Territory

2005-09-21T09:45:00.000-04:00

New blog entries from me have been few and far between lately, so it seems prudent to pull another article out of the archives. This one was originally published two years ago this month, when I found myself reflecting on my first job out of college. Enjoy! —alm
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I've been a little bit emotional lately. Between returning to Allegheny for homecoming and missing that place and those people — especially missing the feelings of being known, recognized and loved, and being totally familiar with my environment — and the uncertainties about my position here, things have been a bit rocky inside.

I recently read this passage in one of my old journals. It documents the spring I graduated from college, the summer I participated in CCO Summer Training, and the autumn I arrived at Geneva College as a full-fledged "campus minister." It reads like a coming-of-age novel…well, a poorly-edited coming-of-age memoir, maybe. The above reflection was recorded on October 11, 1988, a little over a month into my time at Geneva.

A few months earlier, on June 8th, just before graduating from Allegheny College, I had made this notation:

A ship in the harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are built for.

These words were printed on a poster which hung on a friend's bedroom wall. I'd seen it several times before, but reading these words just days before my college graduation added a fresh poignancy.

The transition from college student to working woman was predictably uncomfortable. Even my relative familiarity of the CCO couldn't cushion the very real fact that my carefree undergraduate days were now a thing of the past. Even if your first job out of college is to work closely with college students, the fact remains: you're not in college anymore.

Going into Summer Training, I believed that I was well-prepared to minister to college students. After all, I had been an active participant in the CCO-advised Allegheny Christian Outreach all four of my college years, attending large-group fellowship meetings and leading Bible studies and discipleship groups. The summer before my senior year, I immersed myself in the Ocean City Beach Project, and it was at OCBP that I discovered that I just might have what it takes to do campus ministry. A year later, I found myself with 17 other new CCO recruits at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, preparing to fulfill a four-year commitment to this ministry which had changed my life.

And then I arrived at Geneva College.

I was an intern at Geneva, which, at that time in CCO history, meant that I would move on to spend three years working at a different campus after completing my first year on staff. It also meant that I had a very fluid and flexible job description to allow for extra meetings and the study to which I had committed through the intern program. Ultimately, it meant that many Geneva students never quite figured out who I was or why I was there.

Was I a resident director? Not exactly — although I did end up filling an abruptly-vacated RA position shortly into my first semester at Geneva. I also supervised a group of upperclass students who served as mentors to the entire freshman class via small groups. (The irony here was that I was piloting a brand new freshman orientation program while basically feeling like a freshman myself.) When the mentoring program wrapped up at the end of the fall semester, I transitioned into my new duties — assisting the Assistant Chaplain (CCO associate staff member, Brad Frey) in administrating Geneva's arts and lecture series.

And through all of this, I was learning how much I had to learn about doing campus ministry.

Beaver Falls may only be 75 miles from Meadville, Pennsylvania, but as far as I was concerned, Geneva and Allegheny Colleges may as well have been different planets. At Allegheny, I freely visited friends of both genders in their residence hall rooms at any hour of the day or night. At Geneva, I was expected to patrol the halls, making sure dorm room doors were propped open during the occasional (two or three per semester) open house, when men were allowed to visit women in their rooms. Drinking and dancing were regular practices among Allegheny students, and strictly forbidden at Geneva. And then there was the whole Geneva College Sabbath-observance thing — no sports, no studying, no doing laundry on Sundays. (Is it even necessary to suggest that this would not compute at Allegheny?)

The external differences between my alma mater and my first-year ministry setting were merely symptoms of the biggest challenge of all. My experience as a college student had taught me that being an evangelical Christian meant being in a distinct minority, a member of "the remnant," part of a fellowship which was merely tolerated as a recognized student activity, not encouraged. At Geneva, RAs were trained to lead Bible studies, close to 300 students showed up for the first Sunday Night Fellowship meeting, and we took turns leading devotionals at student development staff meetings.

At Geneva, even if a student did not necessarily embrace the Gospel message, she knew enough to "talk the talk" — whether or not she chose to "walk the walk" as one of Jesus' disciples. How to minister to her?

And that illustrates one of biggest lessons I learned as I left the harbor of my undergraduate experience for the uncharted waters of campus ministry.

I learned that ministry is not about formulas or programs or doing-it-the-way-I've-always-seen-it-done. Ministry is about real people — individuals created in God's image. Ministry is about God's power working through my inadequacy.

Ministry is about leaving the harbor and taking the risk of sailing into choppy waters…and trusting that the One who can walk on water will be right there, keeping me safe and doing the real work of ministry — softening hearts and changing lives.

This article was originally published in September 2003. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2003.

Breaking News

2005-09-12T15:29:00.000-04:00

A couple of years ago, I signed up to receive CNN.com's Breaking News E-mail Alerts. These one-liner news bulletins appear in my email box even before the actual stories have been composed and uploaded to the website. If you were to click over to CNN.com upon receiving such an alert, what you would see is a red banner with a bold headline at the top of the web page, reading something like this: "Developing story: Hurricane Katrina Devastates Gulf Coast."

Weeks and months can go by without ever receiving any alerts at all. Of course, these things are cyclical.

But who at CNN makes the call as to what is newsworthy enough for such an alert? There are certainly plenty of life-changing events happening on a daily basis throughout the world. Terrorist threats and hurricane warnings notwithstanding.

Is it just me, or is there a weird disconnect between "Thousands feared to be lost in hurricane aftermath" and "Bob Denver, Gilligan, dies at age 70"?

Lost

2005-09-01T10:15:00.000-04:00

Before going to bed last night, I found myself (again) glued to television images of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. I was watching whatever ABC news special they produced at the last minute, and at one point, I hit a button on my remote control. The description for the program that was originally scheduled to air at that hour flashed on the screen: "Lost."

The irony was almost too much to digest.

I talked to Sheryl on the phone yesterday. She was back at work, where power has been restored. She still has no electricity in her apartment, and no idea of when she will. But she still has an apartment, and for that she is grateful. She has also resumed adding entries to her blog. It must be surreal, to say the very least, to live in a city that has become one of the headquarters for post-disaster relief efforts. It's heartbreaking to think of all who have lost their lives, their homes and jobs in the blink of an eye.

Lord have mercy.

Katrina

2005-08-30T14:19:00.000-04:00

What's left of hurricane Katrina is working its way toward Pittsburgh as I type. We're braced for a wet and windy afternoon and evening, but certainly nothing like what the people of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama have already experienced. My prayers go out to all of them in the wake of the devastation.

I received a handful of email messages from my friend Sheryl, who now lives in Baton Rouge and who also posted her pre- and post-hurricane concerns on her blog. I haven't heard from her since early Monday morning, so am assuming that she is still without electricity. When you get a chance to read this, Sheryl, know that you've been in my thoughts and prayers. And drop a line to let me know how you're doing!

Musings on marriage

2005-08-24T13:15:00.000-04:00

I am finding an intriguing pattern in my blog postings. Starting with this one and progressing all the way through to this one, isn't it interesting how themes of marriage, singleness, and divorce continue to weave their way through my thoughts and into my writing? I can conjecture as to why this is, but that's sort of beside the point right now. It just is.

I got a phone call last night from my friend Karen, announcing her engagement to a reportedly wonderful man named Scott. Although I've yet to meet him, I am so excited for them. It's been fun to hear about their "whirlwind" romance. When Karen was in Pittsburgh in February to attend the CCO's annual Jubilee conference, they had not yet met. They made their engagement official this past Saturday and are hoping to marry in October or November. How quickly our lives can change!

Today, as I was doing a Google search for a particular writer, Margie Haack, I stumbled upon the latest issue on the online catapult magazine, where one of her articles is published. In the sidebar of the catapult homepage, this introduction appears:

Summer schedules usually include at least one wedding or anniversary party, hence issue of musings on marriage.

"Coming Down Now" is the title of Margie's offering, and the teaser in the table of contents reads: "Learning to live together in a house built on a foundation of public promises."

Barbara Zielinski writes a poignant piece entitled "The death of a marriage." It starts like this:

There was no ceremony for the death of my marriage. There was no casket in which to place the dreams and ideals I had held so close for so long. There were no mourners to shed tears with me as I said goodbye to the last of my hope. There was no ritual way of asking for forgiveness, for experiencing forgiveness, for being released from my vows. Nor was there much attention paid to the process of divorce—and all of the pain and anger and humiliation it added to the weight of my soul. There was no ceremony when my marriage was buried.

As I continue to follow the thread of this theme, I commend to you these articles, and the others in this issue.

Throwing things

2005-08-18T15:00:00.000-04:00

I attended my friend Deborah's wedding in June. As it became clear that bouquet-tossing time was fast approaching, I leaned over to my friend Brenda (married now for 20 years) and informed her that, as I had no intention of answering the call to join "all the single ladies on the dance floor" when the invitation was issued, to please not push me in that direction. She didn't. Not that she would have. But you never can tell.

I did catch a wedding bouquet once. Ten years ago tomorrow, actually, at Sarah and Jeff's wedding.

Note that I'm still single.

And I'm fine with that, even if I wasn't feeling that way then. Even so, the only reason I caught that bouquet was because word spread quickly through the "single lady" crowd that the bride didn't want anyone ducking out of the way. "If the bouquet comes to you, catch it," she had requested. Firmly. "I don't want to have to throw it more than once."

Interesting that this would be a concern.

Three years earlier, at a cousin's intimate wedding reception, I was in the bathroom when I heard The Invitation over the PA system. This was not a premeditated escape on my part, but it certainly was a welcome one. Or so I thought. I had just made the decision to stay put until I was certain this part of the reception had passed, when, to my amazement and dismay, I actually heard my name over said PA system. The emcee was paging me. I was only one of four single women present at this affair, so there was no escaping it. This time. Even if I didn't catch it. (I wonder if we all let it drop to the floor? I don't recall.)

The reason I bring any of this up is to introduce two very entertaining articles I recently read, from both female and male perspectives, about the whole wedding bouquet-and-garter-tossing traditions. Start with "Toss This" by Camerin Courtney, and then move on to "Airborne Under-Things" by Todd Hertz.

It's comforting to discover that I'm not alone.

Being Known

2005-08-17T11:45:00.000-04:00

I just returned from a week of visits with old friends. While I have thoughts and reflections to share about that, they haven't completely jelled yet. Add to that the need to catch up on work after the better part of a week out of the office and my guilt for not blogging for over two weeks, and I thought I'd dig into my article archive for something to post here. Even though I wrote this essay just over a year ago, it captures much of what I'm feeling today, in the wake of my most recent vacation. —alm

I just spent Memorial Day weekend with two old and dear friends, Hank and Myrna. I've known both of them now for close to half my life. Hank was a junior at Allegheny College when I was a freshman, and Myrna was one of my roommates during my senior year.

I feel compelled to pause here and point out that, with names like “Hank” and “Myrna,” one might assume that they're older friends than they actually are. Case in point: we met a 32-year-old fellow Allegheny grad this weekend who, when she first heard their names — before actually meeting them — assumed that they had to be from the class of '45, rather than the classes of '86 and '90, respectively. Of course, her name is Nancy, which isn't such a hip, 21st century name itself, but that's beside the point. Or maybe not.

But I digress.

Hank lives in northern New Jersey, an easy commute into Manhattan, and Myrna and I drove east to hang out with him for the weekend. We decided to go into the city for church on Sunday; we worshipped at Redeemer Presbyterian Church's Sunday evening East Side service at Hunter College. Rev. Timothy Keller's sermon was based on Psalm 139.

“O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.”

We were walking through Greenwich Village and Tribeca an hour later, searching for an open restaurant on a holiday weekend Sunday evening. Pondering the recent sermon, one of us commented on the intrinsic paradox between our desire to hide from God and others the ugliness of our lives and the deep need we all have to be fully known. Fully known and fully loved, in spite of the ugliness of our lives.

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”

I started my college journey 20 years ago this September, which means I've known Hank almost that long — which would be more than half my life. We joined CCO staff together 16 years ago, making us not only friends but colleagues.

As the three of us sat on Hank's front porch this weekend, we talked about everything from reality TV, environmentalism, and where we wanted to eat dinner that evening to our relationships with our own family members, the current state of the world, marriage, singleness, divorce and dating. It occurred to me that few people know me better than these two old, dear friends.

The evening before the church service in New York City, we stayed up late talking about our current life circumstances and reminiscing about the “old days.” At some point, we realized that 15 years ago this weekend, Hank and I were participating in our end-of-first-year-on-staff Spring Institute wilderness trip. That trip had something to do with “community, identity and spirituality,” and its purpose, as I understood it then, was to reflect on and debrief the first year of ministry, to get us to step out of our comfort zones, to experience group process, to bond…all in the context of hiking, backpacking, caving, rappelling, rock-climbing, and camping.

For reasons that have become clearer to me over the years, I spent a lot of that week in tears. One colleague belatedly nicknamed me the “weeping wilderness woman.” Hank remembers — he was there. Myrna remembers — I debriefed the experience with her ad nauseum.

“It's so bizarre,” I wrote in my journal during that week in May 1989. “I have always considered myself to be uncomplicated, open, easy to get to know, willing to be vulnerable.” Ha! “But I'm realizing how high on my face my mask is around these people. Except for the interns, perhaps, and especially Hank.

"I am prideful. I don't like to admit my weaknesses and I hate to cry in front of large groups of people. ...I guess my prayer for myself and for all of us is to find out exactly why we feel we need the masks and what exactly those masks are covering. I'm becoming increasingly aware that there is a lot going on inside of me that I don't even know about, and I guess it kind of scares me to realize that others may recognize it before I do.”

My 22-year-old self was able to articulate what my 37-year-old self is still struggling to be and to do. As we were walking up Broadway, trying to find our car after our night hanging out in the Village, I made the connection between what we had talked about the night before and what we had heard in church a few hours earlier.

And as Myrna and I drove back to Pittsburgh on Memorial Day, we thanked God for the blessing of old and dear friends, and the comfort we can occasionally find when we are truly known — the good, the bad and the ugly — and still loved.

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

This article was originally published in June 2004. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2004.

Anniversaries

2005-08-02T15:45:00.000-04:00

Nineteen years ago today, I was a bridesmaid for the first time. I was 19 years old, and my cousin Lauren (pictured to my left in the photo) married her husband David on a hot Indiana Saturday in 1986. My dad, whose younger sister is Lauren's mother, was unable to attend the wedding because of a labor dispute at the steel mill where he worked at the time. We took extra photos so that he could feel a part of things.

Lauren is two years older than me, and we've known each other pretty much all our lives. But it was during the summer of 1978 that we really connected for the first time, at the family reunion that also signified my first-ever airplane trip. I was just shy of 12 years old, and Lauren was 14, and after we said our goodbyes that summer, we became pen pals. Somewhere, I'm sure I still have a shoebox full of letters with her distinctive handwriting.

Lauren went off to college a couple years before I did, and I remember looking through a scrapbook of photographs from her freshman year. Right then, I was inspired to buy a 35mm camera to take with me when I started college, which I made very good use of. (My college friends can attest—grudgingly, I'm sure—to how ever-present that camera was throughout those four years!)

I vividly remember reading the letter that Lauren sent to me at the end of my freshman year in college, telling me about her engagement and asking if I might be available on August 2, 1986, and how I felt about "dusty rose" tea-length gowns. I felt pretty great about them, actually! I was so excited that, at age 19, I was finally going to be a bridesmaid! (Who knew then that I would collect seven silk/satin/taffeta bridesmaid dresses over the next decade or so?)

Today, Lauren and David have three beautiful daughters, and in spite of the distance we live from one another, I've been privileged to get to know Lindsay, Katie and Michaela, to varying degrees. Lauren and I are still pen pals—just more high-tech these days as we resort to e-mail. Three summers ago, Lauren was the first member of our generation to volunteer to host a family reunion. How fitting that she should draft me to the committee of three (along with her younger sister Beth), since a family reunion is what drew us into friendship in the first place.

And how wonderful and amazing that, besides being related by blood, we have also been drawn together by our common faith; we are sisters in Christ.

I got to see Lauren and the rest of my extended family a couple of weeks ago at yet another family reunion. Lauren's daughter Lindsay is around the age we were when we first really got to know each other, and I'm older now (if barely) than my parents were back in 1978. Still, somehow these events make us all feel 12 again! We couldn't have known then what our lives would look like in 2005. And who knows what the future holds? I pray that, whatever transpires from this day forward, that God would see fit to continue to strengthen our friendship.

Happy anniversary, Lauren and David!

Summertime

2005-07-19T11:57:00.000-04:00

It would be easy for us to simply fill up a summer with meaningless activity, but I believe that the summers are meant for healing, growing, and preparing for what is ahead. May the Spirit be in all that we do.

This how my friend Chloe, who works for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, closed a recent e-mail message. It made me think about my own perceptions of summer, especially recently, as heat and humidity levels have been almost beyond bearable. A friend recently confided, "I feel guilty for wanting summer to be over already. We're not even halfway through July, but this weather is getting on my nerves!"

Heat, humidity, air conditioning and global warming aside, I can relate to this sentiment. Summer is not my favorite season, but as with all seasons, it has its place. There is a more relaxed feel, which I like. Even though I am no longer intrinsically tied to an academic calendar, this can still be felt in other areas.

TV schedules: reruns.

Vacation schedules: it's not likely that the office will be at full capacity again until after Labor Day.

Work schedules: not so much. In some ways, I feel like my workload becomes a little heavier over the summer, as we in CCO headquarters work to gather and update information, reflecting which staff have departed, which staff are coming on board, whose job titles have changed, and so on. Lots of transition. My world is all about Web updates this month.

I am looking forward to my own vacation getaways, coming up soon. This weekend, it's a long-awaited family reunion, for which I only have to travel 40 miles or so. Over the next several weeks, I'll be driving to eastern Pennsylvania, western Virginia (not to be confused with West Virginia), and western New York to spend time with different groups of friends. As relaxing and enjoyable as those times will be, they will undoubtedly be tiring as well. All that driving!

I believe that the summers are meant for healing, growing, and preparing for what is ahead.

It seems to me that it takes a bit of intentionality for the healing, growing and preparing to take place. I find myself longing for sweater weather, if not for shorter days. Maybe it's because I was born in September that I love that month so much, with its paradoxical mixture of new beginnings and returns to comforting routine.

Perhaps I should resist living for the future long enough to allow space to heal, grow and prepare.

A Green Party at the White House

2005-07-18T12:40:00.000-04:00

My life changed when I attended a green party at the white house. Anyway, it started to change.

It was September 1984, the end of the first week of my freshman year at Allegheny College. Karen, a senior and my SOA (that is, Student Orientation Advisor), asked me if I wanted to go with her to "a green party at the white house." It went without saying that the "white house" to which she referred was not the White House, Meadville, Pennsylvania being a good distance from Washington DC.

It had already been a week of new experiences. First there was the matriculation ceremony and residence hall bonding of my first day of college — and the tearful farewell to my parents. (I was okay until I had to hug my mother goodbye.) Then there were meetings with my new faculty advisor and the chaos of registering for my first term of classes. There were mixers between the freshman women of third-floor Walker Annex and the freshman guys of first-floor Edwards, complete with flashbacks to youth group ice-breakers. We actually lined up, boy-girl-boy-girl, and passed an orange from one end of the line to the other, tucking it between our chins and our necks — no hands allowed. And who can forget the Video Dance where I won a Madonna LP (yep — this was the pre-compact disc era), featuring favorites like "Holiday" and "Lucky Star" and "Borderline"? (I gave that record away within the week. It skipped.)

It's possible that the "Freshman Teas" happened that week as well. That's when all of the first-year women were escorted in groups, by residence hall floor, from one fraternity house to the next. We were all dressed up, and the brothers from one of the fraternities even presented each of us with a single red rose. Some of us were naïve enough to believe that this was the kind of chivalry we could expect all the time. Most of us had been clued in by upperclasswomen as to what was really going on. The "meat market" had begun.

Anyway, when Karen issued her invitation, I was in my first-week-of-freshman-year adventuresome mode. I had no idea who lived at "the white house" and hadn't a clue as to what a "green party" might be. (In 1984, Ralph Nader's political aspirations were unknown — at least, to me.) But I rounded up a few friends from my dorm and off we went.

It turned out that a few guys that Karen knew lived in the white house, a college-owned building which was white (go figure) and which was used as residence hall overflow. These guys — Kevin and Carl and Tim — happened to be student leaders of something called "ACO." ACO was a student organization which met every Friday evening, and Karen proudly told me that she had never missed a meeting. I eventually discovered that ACO stood for Allegheny Christian Outreach.

The living room of the white house was crowded with students, most of whom I had not yet met and all of whom were very friendly. Many of them were dressed in varying shades of green, and objects were strategically placed around the room — on the coffee table, the mantel, the floor — which were also green. A bottle of Scope® mouthwash, a comb, a bowl of M&Ms®. Eventually, between the so-what's-your-name, where-are-you-from, have-you-picked-a-major-yet threads that we freshmen were getting a little weary of, someone swooped in with Styrofoam bowls and gallons of (green) mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Then the door flew open and a man wearing bright plaid golf pants and a grass-green blazer appeared in the archway. He was older than the rest of us, and he was very colorful — both figuratively and literally. "Rock and roll!" was a refrain that punctuated most of his conversations, that night and throughout the year. He worked the room like a politician, making a comedic welcoming speech and shaking hands with all of us — those he knew and those he didn't. His name, I learned later, was Arlan Koppendrayer, and he was a campus minister; worked for some organization called the Coalition for Christian Outreach. But I didn't put that together until much later. For weeks, my friends and I simply referred to him as "the rock and roll guy."

That's pretty much all I remember about the green party at the white house. And to be honest, that event in and of itself was not particularly life-changing. In fact, I'm not sure it even made it into my journal at the time.

I remember it now because it's September. The back-to-school buzz is contagious, even when I'm not going back to school. I drove through Pitt's campus last week and saw the boxes and old furniture stacked up on the curbs. It's hard not to reminisce about what it was like to be a college student — half a lifetime ago!

And it's hard not to be grateful to the senior who took me under her wing and invited me to an event that I'd never have sought out on my own. That weird little party provided me with an entrée into a fellowship of people who ended up having a profound effect on my life — and many of them remain an important part of my life today. Those students encouraged me to grow deeper into a faith that I barely knew I had. They nurtured leadership abilities in me that were as yet untapped. They allowed themselves to be used by God, and God eventually called me into a field of work that I didn't know was an option when I first set foot on Allegheny's campus.

Thanks, Karen!

This article was originally published in September 2002. Copyright Coalition for Christian Outreach, 2002.

Everything old is new again

2005-07-18T12:27:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of process vs. product, I thought I'd take a suggestion from Denise and repost previously written articles here. One at a time, as the Spirit moves. And not necessarily in the order in which they were written.

Most were originally published at the CCO site, when I edited the monthly Ministry Exchange online newsletter, which ceased publication in December 2004.

Stay tuned!

Hit Me Baby One More Time

2005-07-14T22:56:00.000-04:00

I was having coffee with an old high school friend last week, when it hit me. Again.

I am getting older. And everything old is new again.

J. and I reconnected last year, shortly before our 20th high school reunion. Until that weekend, it had been probably 18 years since we last saw or heard from one another. We spent a surreal and fun day together back in October, leading up to the reunion that evening, then we saw each other again over Thanksgiving weekend, when I was able to meet her husband.

Fast forward to summertime, and J. and her husband were in town again, visiting their families for the week, and we managed to carve out a few hours to spend catching up. Having just consumed way too much food at a suburban Italian chain restaurant, we were enjoying dessert at a nearby Starbucks.

As we sat at the little cafe table outside the coffeeshop, sipping our drinks, we started talking about one of this summer's reality/nostalgia TV shows, Hit Me Baby One More Time, in which musical acts from the 1980s reunite to perform one of their hit songs. (In some cases, their only hit song.) From the single episode I watched (J. had not seen it at all), during the second half of the show, the singer/group appears again, singing a cover of a current pop song.

The night I watched, I saw a middle-aged Greg Kihn perform "The Break-Up Song," Billy Vera dusted off his hit, "At This Moment," which was made famous on the TV sitcom "Family Ties," and Club Nouveau sang their late '80s cover of "Lean on Me," which was an anthem of sorts for me and my senior-year college roommates.

I have concluded that the studio versions of these songs, recorded two decades or more ago, are both more polished and appealing. And there was something just, well...disturbing about seeing these once-young-and-hip musical acts back on stage with their receding hairlines and middle-aged spreads. I guess for those who have managed to more or less stay in the spotlight throughout the years, like the Rolling Stones or Billy Joel, these physical effects of the aging process aren't so startling. But as I watched Greg Kihn sing, I had the same sensation I had at my high school reunion last fall. "That's so-and-so? He looks like a middle-aged man!"

Oh yeah. He is one. And I'm a middle-aged woman.

Anyway, as I was telling J. about this show, we started reminiscing about the days when MTV really was about showing music videos 24/7, when VCRs were the size of microwave ovens, and about which songs conjure high school memories for us. "Total Eclipse of the Heart." "When Doves Cry." "Oh Sherry." And we talked about the Live 8 concert, which had just occurred a few days ago, and how we remember watching the Live Aid concert back in 1985, the summer after our freshman year of college. We tried to list which artists performed at both concerts. Paul McCartney. Madonna. U2?

At the table next to ours, four high school girls, dressed in halter tops and low-rise jeans, were talking about boys as they sipped their lattes and mochas, beverages I had never heard of, let alone tried, when I was their age.

Suddenly, one of their cell phones started ringing. Well, not ringing exactly. Singing, sort of. The tune?

"Girls Just Want to Have Fun."

No kidding.

Process vs. product

2005-07-11T15:20:00.000-04:00

In the spring of my junior year of college, I took a fiction-writing class. This was possibly one of the most exhilarating and terrifying experiences of my undergraduate career.

There were probably about 20 of us in this class--it was a very in-demand course which, each term that it was offered, filled to capacity very quickly. We met two or three times a week, and we'd sit in a circle, reading drafts of each other's stories, offering praise and criticism. Probably more criticism than praise, but we were often reminded to offer a positive before enumerating the negative--or the "could-be-improved."

I've never been one for sharing my deepest secrets to large groups of strangers, and that's pretty much what this felt like. Writing is such a personal, self-revealing endeavor--fiction or not--and I felt so vulnerable offering up my writing efforts to this group of my peers. It may have been different had I actually known and trusted them all as individuals. Or not.

My preference through the years has always been to write and publish, without the median experience of critique. Even as an editor of others' work, I'm more apt to proofread and reword sentences, making the prose technically more readable. I'm much less likely to offer suggestions on content and direction. I've never thought much about why this is, but I suspect it has something to do with the whole "do unto others as you'd have them do unto you" mentality. I don't want to be told by someone else what it is I'm trying to say. And I don't want to tell others what they're trying to say either.

I know that there's a fine line here. Critique is and should be a good thing. Iron sharpening iron. Two heads are better than one, and all that. And there are different kinds of writing, which is something I deal with daily--the writing I do for myself vs. the writing I do for my job, which is supposed to fit a certain formula to meet the needs of the organization and to communicate the mission. Even then, I am prideful enough to resist editorial advice, no matter how gently it's given. But I ultimately concede that it's necessary, and usually on target.

Back to the fiction-writing class. I remember one day, the professor asked us which we preferred--to write or to have written? There was a split decision there, but the consensus was the latter. Our professor confessed that she found the act of writing "torturous," but that it was a complusion that she could not escape. I'm not sure I completely related to that, then or now.

It's never been particularly cut and dried for me. When I'm "in the zone," there's nothing so exhilarating as the process of writing. But there's something particulary wonderful--a sense of relief, even--to have completed a project: an essay, an article, a newsletter.

So, how about you? To write or to have written? Process or product? Or both?

Worth the effort

2005-06-30T13:40:00.000-04:00

A few days ago, Over the Rhine provided me the inspiration to finally come up with a blog title I liked, inspired by a quote from one of Linford's writings posted on their website. What compelled me to surf over to their site in the first place was an article published recently on the Christianity Today website. It was an interview with Linford's wife, Karin, in which she candidly discusses the difficulties that their marriage has undergone in recent times and how they came to decide it was worth the effort to save it.

I was touched by this interview. From what I can tell, Karin, Linford and I are all around the same age, and while I, a 38-year-old single female, have never been married, many of my friends have. Many still are. More than I would have expected are not.

Over the last 20 years, I have been a bridesmaid in seven weddings. Four of those seven couples are still (happily?) married, two have divorced, and one is heading toward divorce; they have been separated for almost two years. (The subject of what makes a "happy marriage," or what role happiness plays/should play in how we make big life decisions, I'll save for another time. Or for a more ambitious blogger than I, whichever comes first.) For whatever all this is worth, most of those individuals, at least at the time they married, would call themselves committed Christians. (Which brings to mind the statistics indicating that the divorce rate in the Christian community is not much different than that in the general population, but that too is a discussion for another time.)

And one more disclaimer: the above number only counts the weddings where I served as a bridesmaid. Two more divorces come to mind immediately if I count weddings of friends where my role was, ironically, as Scripture reader.

I have walked through some pretty dark places with these friends and family members, and I've grieved the death of each of these unions to varying degrees. I've dealt with my own anger and disillusionment in the midst of it all, which only emphasizes the ripple effect that a couple's divorce has on the community at large. It's a myth -- a lie -- that convinces us that such a decision only affects the couple at hand. Whether or not they have children, other people -- family members, friends, church members, and so on -- will be caught in the crossfire. Because, more likely than not, those friends and family members have invested in that marriage as well, to varying degrees.

I don't mean to pass judgment or to act as if I know firsthand how challenging marriage is. I don't want to pretend that I've been as good or faithful a friend as I could have been to those who have suffered through the heartbreak of divorce. I may or may not ever get to experience the sacrament of marriage firsthand. (Even if I am not Catholic, I recognize the "institution" of marriage to be sacramental.) But I recognize that, even as an unmarried woman, I am a part of a community of witnesses who promise to never separate (or "put asunder") that which God has joined together. I continue to wonder what it means to hold couples accountable to vows that I have witnessed them making to one another, before God. A tricky business in our individualistic society.

All this is to say that I applaud Karin's and Linford's courage, their willingness to say no to good things in order to attend to their marriage. What a witness this is to those around them -- those who know them well and those who only know them by their music.

Who knew?

2005-06-30T13:05:00.000-04:00

You're the United Nations!
Most people think you're ineffective, but you are trying to completely save the world from itself, so there's always going to be a long way to go. You're always the one trying to get friends to talk to each other, enemies to talk to each other, anyone who can to just talk instead of beating each other about the head and torso. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, and you get very schizophrenic as a result. But your heart is in the right place, and sometimes also in New York.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

OK. I just want to go on record here by saying that I don't plan for this blog to be all about these weird online diagnose-your-personality quizzes. I truly do have a clearer sense of myself than that. However, when I saw this one at Sheryl's blog, I couldn't resist. And it's relatively accurate, I think. So far as it goes.

On the other hand, I'm not going to post the results of The Book Quiz, because it's just too weird, and no matter how many times I take it and try to manipulate the answers, it never comes out anything close to what I think is accurate.

Hm. Think maybe I have some control issues? =)

I'll be back soon with a real post. Honest.

I belong in Rome?

2005-06-24T17:30:00.000-04:00

OK, so I'm not convinced that this is exactly a part of my "true story," but it's accurate so far as it goes! But I'm good to go if you replace the cappuccino with a mocha latte. Which you wouldn't be likely to find in Italy, as I've learned from experience, having actually been privileged enough to visit Rome, almost seven years ago to the day.

(And hey--if you happen to take this quiz, feel free to report back and let me know if I'm the only person who found it difficult to choose among the multiple choice options offered for some of those questions. I just live in a parallel universe from the quiz writers, I guess.)

You Belong in Rome

You're a big city girl with a small town heart
Which is why you're attracted to the romance of Rome
Strolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in hand
And gorgeous Italian men -- could life get any better?

What City Do You Belong in? Take This Quiz :-)

What must I do to make my life a true story?

2005-06-23T18:10:00.000-04:00

This blogging experiment never seems to get completely off the ground for me, as evidenced by the date (almost four months past) of my one and only post. But I've been on a blog-reading binge lately, and am therefore inspired to add my own musings to the cybervoid.

So here I am.

And I think I've finally come up with a blog title I like, inspired by a visit earlier today to the website of one of my favorite musical groups, Over the Rhine. Linford Detweiler, the male half of the duo of Detweiler and (Karin) Bergquist, published a poem/essay hybrid there called They Put This Microphone In Front Of Me. Toward the end of it, he writes this:

They put this microphone in front of me and it's a story problem, remember story problems? It's a story problem because as usual, I don't have much of anything to say. But I ask myself, What must I do to make my life a true story?

What must I do to make my life a true story?

Stay tuned...

Starting fresh

2005-02-08T14:30:00.000-05:00

This past Sunday, it became official: I am now serving my second term as an elder in my church, as made official by my installation during the worship service.

I was first ordained and installed as an elder in this same church five years ago, at which point I served my first three-year term. After a two-year break, I was invited to serve again. I accepted the invitation after much internal debate and prayer. How to discern whether or not I am saying yes (or no) out of a sense of selfishness, obligation, guilt, flattery or genuine calling? I suspect that my ultimate decision -- I did say "yes" -- can only be attributed to a combination of motives. My theology tells me that, as a human being living in a good-but-fallen world, that's the only real possibility.

As I stood on the chancel of the church with Marc, Marion and Tom, who were also being "re-installed" to eldership, I was humbled by the liturgy found in the Presbyterian Church (USA) worship book. We were reminded of Jesus' life and his call upon our lives. To be last is to be first, to be a leader in His Church means to be a servant of all. And as I subsequently served communion for the first time in over two years, I was awed by the words I was privileged to speak to my fellow worshippers: "This is God's body, broken for you."

I'm not so good at the servant thing, but I want to be. It's a blessing to be reminded that serving on session isn't really about meetings and paperwork and long lists of things to do. It's about using my God-given talents and gifts to serve those in this congregation and ultimately, those who need to hear the good news that Jesus loves them right where they are, faults and all. It's about stepping up to the plate, stepping out in faith, putting myself in a position where God can use me. It's about opening myself to the possibility that I can be God's instrument, bringing new life and transformation, even as He continues to breathe His Spirit into me and draw me closer to becoming the person He created me to be. Perhaps I am meant to serve in this place at this time.

God, help me to make myself completely available to you, to serve you fully, for such a time as this.