PSA
From the eight year-old: “You know, Mom, wearing your hair that way makes you look stressed.”
47 days
This is the beginning of the end. And while there are many facets to this end, I have to blog on them one at a time. It’s too much to think about it all at once. I’m still sorting out what it all means. You know? No, you have no idea what I’m talking about.
Three weeks ago I came home from my preaching class to be told that I should probably chat with my boss–that she had called while I was out to let me know a decision had been made regarding the fate of the bookstore. Long story short–the school I attend has decided that it is no longer in their best interest to support the deficit the bookstore runs and will be closing us down at the end of the semester. We were asked to sit on this bit of info until a cross-campus announcement could be made. However, this kind of news rarely stays contained and a week later it was announced: The
Bookstore is Closing.
It’s been an interesting three weeks. Moral on campus is already low–this has only compounded that reality. And showing up to work is seriously depressing. Students, faculty, and administration have been filing in to register their grief, their anger, and their disbelief. What is a Seminary without a bookstore? What indeed. They are concerned with what will happen to my boss. What will happen to them. How will they get books for classes. Where they will buy a coke. And in the entire mess, I stand there shaking my head, commiserating.
But I’m not commiserating exactly. Because what seems lost on them is that in the closing of their beloved bookstore, I am losing my job. I stand there absorbing their grief all the while trying to
contain my own. Even my closest friends are oblivious. They can see the importance to someone like my boss who is “Losing her livelihood.” But my student position, is just that to them. And
when they emerge out of their fog their response is, “Well, you can get another job, can’t you?” in a tone that suggests that whatever anxiety they might have, I should abate it by answering, “Yes, I can. Don’t worry.”
What is completely unrecognized is that not only am I losing my job, I’m losing the funding for my internship, and I am leaving what has been my ministry site for the past three years. I don’t even have the luxury of just leaving but I must preside over its death and burial. And this, this is the heart of what it means to be in ministry. You stand and absorb the grief of others. The irony here is that I am at Seminary and am surrounded by people who should know this. The pastoral care coming my direction is all but non-existent. And what I want to shout out to the entire
campus is this: THIS IS YOUR FUTURE.
When I have properly mourned my own fate, I will stand back and be saddened. Saddened that this campus is losing a central location for people to gather and a valuable service in the bookstore.
Saddened that as a community we couldn’t communicate effectively enough to save something before it was too late. Saddened that so many future clergy people haven’t learned to stand with people in grief and still choose silence when they don’t know what to say.
But that all comes later. Right now I am grieving. Grieving the loss of my job. Grieving the loss of my Internship. Grieving the close of a ministry into which I poured my whole self. Grieving alone.
Thank You
I’ve promised news and I will get to it. Just not today. Instead, my thoughts and prayers are a world away. A great man is passing–and for his contribution to our world, I am truly grateful. Thank you, Karol Wojtyla, thank you.
Just Call Me Paula
Ok, so my brief… BRIEF brush with fame came this week when I was given a chance to judge the NY vs EXPATS writing challenge over at Bathroom Reading. They stage a writing contest every week or so, and I had thechance to render the final verdict this week. The entries, based on photos or a scenario given at the beginning of the challenge, tend to be well written and great entertainment. I don’t write that kind of thing, so why not get in on the fun and judge?. Especially if it gives me a chance to exercise my naturally sarcastic “wit” (I use that term LOOSELY). My verdict is on the front page right now. But I wasn’t kidding about the brevity of my fame: Bathroom Reading blogs often and my little contribution will disappear off the front page ASAP. Delusional girl that I am, I’m pretending that I submitted a wonderfully written piece and it’s just been picked up by a big paper and is being published. My imagination runs full throttle these days. Have fun!
(more…)
Who’s in charge here anyhow?
There is so much more I should be blogging about: news, news, news. Things are changing radically around here. But frankly, all the drama is just too much at the moment. So,
instead, I offer this email conversation. Enjoy.
Subject: Movies
Me wrote: Could you get Closer and Spanglish? Thanks.
IZ wrote: Spanglish was already in the queue but I added Closer. Would you like me to create a queue for you that you can control–sort of your own channel?
Me: You could. Or I could just keep ordering you around.
IZ: We’ll keep it this way for now–makes you feel like you are in charge of somebody. 😉
Me: Oh yeah? Well then. . . go to the store and get some more donuts. Kay? Gee, I like being in charge!
IZ: I said you could be in charge, I didn’t say I would be an enabler. Besides, you have a powdered sugar donut with your name on it. Should go nicely with Mochas!
Me: Um, I kinda ate that already.
IZ (coming downstairs and throwing away an empty donut box): I see that. You could just talk to me you know.
Your turn to talk to me: I promise to talk back.
It’s the REAL Thing
The church is alive and well in Russia. Evidently so is religious fanaticism. Yuri Samodurov, curator of the Sakhavrov museum in Moscow, and his colleague Lyudmila Vasilovskaya were charged last year with inciting religious hatred after an exhibition they staged was defaced by an angry mob of young men. Caution!Religion caused so much angst that the museum was forced to shut the exhibit down–apparently before any decent photos of the sacrilege(which included an interactive Icon that allowed the visitor to pose as the icon and a Coke label with Jesus’ face that proclaimed, “This is my blood”) could be taken. Sadly, the exhibit only came to notice of those pesky Western reporter types after the “art” was branded blasphemous with what appears to be black paint. Here are the sad remains:
Samodurav and Vasilovskaya were both found guilty today and fined 100,000 roubles.
And the French were worried Jesus would turn up selling socks! I always suspected Jesus preferred Coke to Pepsi.
Semaine Sainte
Leave it to the French to be offended by this:
In rare form, as French judges tend to be, the court ordered the posters removed with what can only be assumed as unintentional irony: “The French judge in the case ordered that all posters on display should be taken down in three days.” Three days. Not four, not five, but three. Somebody’s been reading their New Testament. However, not closely enough, or they might have realized that the offending tableau is based on “Art” not “Scripture.” Which begs for the can to be opened, “Isn’t it all art?” But I refuse. It is after all, Holy Week. You on the other hand can blaspheme away:
Annoy Christopher Hanson
Evidently, Mr. Hanson does not understand that the true motivating force behind blogging is narcissism. Which, in my opinion, can include the use of glamor shots. If Mr. Hanson thinks the
blogosphere is too self involved he clearly hasn’t spent time in Seminary. In any case, here is my contribution.
This is me after! But, shhh… please don’t blow my cover.
Ides of March
I should update–I’m honestly working on a piece about preaching class vis a vis American Idol. Ok, I’m thinking about that piece. I have to tell you, this week (and next, ok, make that MARCH) has been simply awful. And while misery often inspires great writing (or at least great whining) I’m just not motivated. Part of that is due to that fact I’ve been pouring all my creative energy into
under-appreciated sermons. Joy, joy. But mostly, my life feels like a poorly written Country Western Song. Here are the highlights:
- The Dentist took a peek into my mouth today and I swear I heard an audible “Ching-Ching” sound. I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just say that my mouth alone should be covering his kid’s tuition to Harvard for the semester.
- Thursday, I delivered a well researched, well crafted sermon. Unfortunately, the delivery wasn’t “WELL” and I’m kicking myself over it. Because this week’s sermon was longer than last week’s and because I only had a week to work with it, this week’s sermon was not as well rehearsed as it should have been. So, I carved out what rehearsal time I could find and headed up to Stewart Chapel 1.25 hours before class. Unfortunately, half way through
the first run-through my instructor shows up and proceeds to hang out and listen. And then offer advice. At this point, I gave up any notion of practicing ALONE in the space. What I should have done was find some quiet, empty room to practice until class began. Or better yet, locked the door! I was kinda hoping he would get the hint and you know, take a nice walk in the sunshine. ARG. So, when it was time to evaluate my sermon and my performance, you can imagine the feedback. What you can’t imagine are all the pitiful dreams this inspired last night. Just be glad, that even in my desperation for entertaining content that I’m not resorting to POD Casting my sermons.
- And finally, as if all that wasn’t enough, I came home from Preaching yesterday to be informed that I don’t have a job as of June. Yep.
I’m a poor flosser and should be flogged. I’m a terrible sermonizer and should just shut up, except to open my mouth to floss. And I’m poor. Poor. Poor enamel. Poor flosser. Poor. And did I mention, I lost my job.
So. No. No new content. Not even this optimist can spin this week into sunshine. I know when I’m beat. And people, I’m whipped.
Nouveau White Trash
We are the new white trash–instead of our front yard being littered with junked up cars and rusted out tractors, our living room is a debris field of computer parts. IZ and I have both abandoned our offices and set up shop in front of our television. His excuse is that he has no room to set up his new TOY (Mac mini) in his office. Don’t go there. My excuse? I have a laptop, I can sit anywhere I damn well please, thank you very much. Besides, there is the added benefit that with all the available surfaces occupied in the living room, laundry must now remain in the dryer. Life just got
simpler, if a bit more wrinkled.
Back later with an update on Preaching Class vis a vis American Idol.
Hello ~ Welcome to Evidently
- Introvert and word lover and Christ seeker
- Currently learning Swedish just in case
- ISFP... what are you?
No one really leaves comments any more. But if you did, you'd be my favorite. At least until someone else came along. I'm fickle like that.
Patron Saint
