But we rebel against the impossible. I sense a wish in some professional religion-mongers to make God possible, to make him comprehensible to the naked intellect, domesticate him so that he's easy to believe in. Every century the Church makes a fresh attempt to make Christianity acceptable. But an acceptable Christianity is not Christian; a comprehensible God is no more than an idol.
I don't want that kind of God.
What kind of God, then?
One time, when I was little more than a baby, I was taken to visit my grandmother, who was living in a cottage on a nearly uninhabited stretch of beach in northern Florida. All I remember of this visit is being picked up from my crib in what seemed the middle of the night and carried from my bedroom and out of doors, where I had my first look at the stars.
it must have been an unusually clear and beautiful night for someone to have said, "Let's wake the baby and show her the stars." The night sky, the constant rolling of breakers against the shore, the stupendous light of the stars, all made an indelible impression on me. I was intuitively aware not only of a beauty I had never seen before but also that the world was far greater than the protected limits of the small child's world which was all that I had known thus far. I had a total if not very conscious, moment of revelation; I saw creation bursting the bounds of daily restriction, and stretching out from dimension to dimension, beyond any human comprehension.
I had been taught to say my prayers at night: Our Father, and a long string of God-blesses, and it was that first showing of the galaxies which gave me an awareness that the God I spoke to at bedtime was extraordinary and not just a bigger and better combination of the grownup powers of my mother and father.
This early experience was freeing, rather than daunting, and since it was the first, it has been the foundation for all other such glimpses of glory. And it is probably why the sound of the ocean and the sight of the stars give me more healing, more whole-ing, than anything else.
Showing posts with label moving on. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving on. Show all posts
03 January 2008
For Christmas, my parent's gave me a copy of a fantastic little day book called Glimpses of Grace. It is a collection of Madeline L'Engle's writings compiled and edited by L'Engle authority (and retired Elon professor) Carole F. Chase. This is the piece for January 1st. It's fitting for us now because in this time of horrors and despair, we have the hope of the stars and in the God who created them.
01 September 2007
Getting Oriented
I just finished up two days of Seminary orientation.
And I have to say I'm getting excited about starting. But that's not because of orientation. Well, not directly, at least.
I'm getting excited because I'm meeting people. Crazy people. Fun People. Out there people. And right in line people. And it feels good, and right.
Our first day of orientation involved dressing up for our contextual education (or ConEd) site placements. I have been placed as a Chaplain at Scottish Rite Children's Hospital. We met in our groups, after a dreadfully boring morning (even though they tried hard), and prepared to visit our sites.
Soon, people were piling into vans. Not us. Nope. We didn't get to go. I can't say that I can be particularly angry about this. I totally understand why. Not all of us had been cleared by employee health (we had to do TB tests, screenings, etc). And, to make sure we didn't put anyone in danger--particularly a "vulnerable population"--we became oriented at Candler.
I was a little disappointed. At first, I have to admit, I felt a little self-righteous. I had gotten my stuff together. I went and did the tests, and peed into the cups, and gotten stuck by needles, and filled out more forms. Why should I be held back?
But, as my friend E. says, be generous. And she's right. We ended up having a good conversation, getting to know each other, learning more about our placement, and going over some important stuff. So all was not lost.
The first day was followed by a shorter, but information-packed day. We took a library tour, heard from everyone under the sun, and had worship to end the day.
I really liked that. So often, worship is a routine thing (in the ordinary sense), but at seminary it becomes so much more than that. Starting a morning off with morning prayer focuses the mind on the day ahead, and the reason for the day ahead. Ending the work day with worship brings us back to square one. It was nice.
All of these past night have been spent meeting new people, hanging out, and wondering just what is ahead.
None of us know that answer yet.
But come Tuesday, when classes finally start, we might find the answer. Or, more likely, fall deeper into that question.
Happy Labor Day Weekend,
blessings.
jon.
And I have to say I'm getting excited about starting. But that's not because of orientation. Well, not directly, at least.
I'm getting excited because I'm meeting people. Crazy people. Fun People. Out there people. And right in line people. And it feels good, and right.
Our first day of orientation involved dressing up for our contextual education (or ConEd) site placements. I have been placed as a Chaplain at Scottish Rite Children's Hospital. We met in our groups, after a dreadfully boring morning (even though they tried hard), and prepared to visit our sites.
Soon, people were piling into vans. Not us. Nope. We didn't get to go. I can't say that I can be particularly angry about this. I totally understand why. Not all of us had been cleared by employee health (we had to do TB tests, screenings, etc). And, to make sure we didn't put anyone in danger--particularly a "vulnerable population"--we became oriented at Candler.
I was a little disappointed. At first, I have to admit, I felt a little self-righteous. I had gotten my stuff together. I went and did the tests, and peed into the cups, and gotten stuck by needles, and filled out more forms. Why should I be held back?
But, as my friend E. says, be generous. And she's right. We ended up having a good conversation, getting to know each other, learning more about our placement, and going over some important stuff. So all was not lost.
The first day was followed by a shorter, but information-packed day. We took a library tour, heard from everyone under the sun, and had worship to end the day.
I really liked that. So often, worship is a routine thing (in the ordinary sense), but at seminary it becomes so much more than that. Starting a morning off with morning prayer focuses the mind on the day ahead, and the reason for the day ahead. Ending the work day with worship brings us back to square one. It was nice.
All of these past night have been spent meeting new people, hanging out, and wondering just what is ahead.
None of us know that answer yet.
But come Tuesday, when classes finally start, we might find the answer. Or, more likely, fall deeper into that question.
Happy Labor Day Weekend,
blessings.
jon.
28 August 2007
The Last Farewell
I've been thinking a lot about Elon today, and what I've left and what I've started.
With those thoughts on my mind, I stumbled across this column I wrote during my freshman year of college. It's a little long, but now that the time which I wrote about has passed, and is passing, it seemed appropriate to visit it again.
The Last Farewell
“Fare thee well/ My own true love/ Farewell for a while/ I’m going away But I’ll be back/ Though I go 10,000 miles”
-Mary Chapin Carpenter, 10,000 Miles
I hate goodbyes. Leaving home this past August and moving to college signaled a great change in my life. I went from a total semi-parasitic dependent to a somewhat independent young adult. And in the process of gaining this great title of young adult, I lost the certainty of my past. I no longer have the safety net of home, at least not how it used to be.
When I went home for fall break I was shocked. My Waffle House, the one I had spent countless hours sitting and chatting in, the one I read in, the one I would eat pecan pie in at 1 in the morning, was nothing but a pile of old crumbled ruble. That place was like my comfort zone.
Upon arriving at college, many of my new friends had never heard of Waffle house. If they had, they hadn’t eaten there. They would ask me “don’t they only serve breakfast there” or “isn’t it closed” when I would ask if they would accompany me at 1:30 am to the nearest yellow and brown house. “Ignorance can be cured, stupidity is forever.” The immortal words of my father echoed in my head. All they needed was to be introduced to the Waffle House experience.
In my high school days, Waffle House, or Wa Ho as we called it was just another part of growing up—like nightly homework or daily practice. There were three waffle houses within a mile of my school—all three on the same road, Virginia Avenue
I suppose that some of my readers don’t understand my connection with this place; I guess that can have the best guess at how I feel about this restaurant are my fellow Atlantans. This is where I came upon the “great teenage revelations.” It was here that one of my best friends brought her fiancé the night before the wedding to hang out. It was here that I said many goodbyes.
And where did all those memories go? Sure I have a menu from the eatery that a waitress gave me once, and I can order my hash browns the same way at any Waffle House, but will it be the same? No, it never will.
That’s what makes me the saddest about leaving home. It’s not so much missing my family and friends as it is missing me. Missing the way I and life used to be. I may be able to fly back to Atlanta, but I won’t get to light the Jack-o-lanterns each night or help to decorate the house for Valentine’s Day or even do something as simple as feed the dogs.
This past May, I gave a speech to my church. One of my goals was to figure out exactly how to bid the congregation and this place I had grown up in goodbye. I tried. I couldn’t.
Instead I thought of an old family friend, whom, when one left a visit, would not allow you to say goodbye. You would have to say “I love you.” That’s what I told my church. But I can’t do that with my past. I can go back to that church. I can’t live in my past. I feel almost like I have lost a home.
And that is why I am dreading my last farewell in May of 2007. I don’t want to loose this home too. I’ll say it. I’m scared. And any person who claims they aren’t just a tiny bit worried is lying—even those graduating in may this year.
I’m sure it’s completely natural to have these fears. But it’s more than just fear. It’s disappointment as well. There is so much hype that leads up to a graduation. You wait excitedly for the appointed day. Finally, it arrives, and you walk up that stage, grab your paper that makes you king of the world for 2.3 seconds, then its over. You just spent so much of your life working towards that sheet of paper and in under three seconds, it is finished. All the reading, writing, studying, worrying, and sleepless nights were for one sheet of paper and three seconds.
Granted this piece of paper hold the key to success further down the road, there is some sort of let down that is involved.
When I received my high school diploma, it was the end of an era for me. I had attended this particular school for fourteen out of my eighteen years. As I reached my hand out for that single certificate I shut a door on the life I had known for over a decade. I put the final stamp on my career as a highschooler and it was the beginning of having to move on with my life.
My Scoutmaster, with whom I worked closely during past summers at a summer camp and who graduated from the same school, probably put it the best. He said that “when you leave, its like having a door slam shut behind you. You can’t go back.” That is so hard to hear sometimes. What if I want to go back? I can’t just hit the back button on my internet web browser or retype the address into the address bar.
I do miss high school. I miss having friends that I saw daily, but could easily get away from by retreating home. I miss my mother’s hugs and my dad’s jokes.
But now I am at college and meeting fantastic, loving, fascinating people. The bottom line is that I am having the time of my life. But deep within me, I know its all going to end…again. I will have a new family and then I will be forced to say goodbye one more time.
Friends remind me that I have four years (well, a little over three now). That is just it, I have four years. I only have four years to make friends, to live college, to have fun before I have to grow up for good.
It’s a harsh reality. One that is not fun in the making. You might say that life is full of goodbyes, that there never really is a last farewell. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to look forward to them.
To all those who are counting down the days until you bid Elon farewell, just remember my old friend--the one who wouldn’t let you say good bye, only “I love you.”
With those thoughts on my mind, I stumbled across this column I wrote during my freshman year of college. It's a little long, but now that the time which I wrote about has passed, and is passing, it seemed appropriate to visit it again.
The Last Farewell
“Fare thee well/ My own true love/ Farewell for a while/ I’m going away But I’ll be back/ Though I go 10,000 miles”
-Mary Chapin Carpenter, 10,000 Miles
I hate goodbyes. Leaving home this past August and moving to college signaled a great change in my life. I went from a total semi-parasitic dependent to a somewhat independent young adult. And in the process of gaining this great title of young adult, I lost the certainty of my past. I no longer have the safety net of home, at least not how it used to be.
When I went home for fall break I was shocked. My Waffle House, the one I had spent countless hours sitting and chatting in, the one I read in, the one I would eat pecan pie in at 1 in the morning, was nothing but a pile of old crumbled ruble. That place was like my comfort zone.
Upon arriving at college, many of my new friends had never heard of Waffle house. If they had, they hadn’t eaten there. They would ask me “don’t they only serve breakfast there” or “isn’t it closed” when I would ask if they would accompany me at 1:30 am to the nearest yellow and brown house. “Ignorance can be cured, stupidity is forever.” The immortal words of my father echoed in my head. All they needed was to be introduced to the Waffle House experience.
In my high school days, Waffle House, or Wa Ho as we called it was just another part of growing up—like nightly homework or daily practice. There were three waffle houses within a mile of my school—all three on the same road, Virginia Avenue
I suppose that some of my readers don’t understand my connection with this place; I guess that can have the best guess at how I feel about this restaurant are my fellow Atlantans. This is where I came upon the “great teenage revelations.” It was here that one of my best friends brought her fiancé the night before the wedding to hang out. It was here that I said many goodbyes.
And where did all those memories go? Sure I have a menu from the eatery that a waitress gave me once, and I can order my hash browns the same way at any Waffle House, but will it be the same? No, it never will.
That’s what makes me the saddest about leaving home. It’s not so much missing my family and friends as it is missing me. Missing the way I and life used to be. I may be able to fly back to Atlanta, but I won’t get to light the Jack-o-lanterns each night or help to decorate the house for Valentine’s Day or even do something as simple as feed the dogs.
This past May, I gave a speech to my church. One of my goals was to figure out exactly how to bid the congregation and this place I had grown up in goodbye. I tried. I couldn’t.
Instead I thought of an old family friend, whom, when one left a visit, would not allow you to say goodbye. You would have to say “I love you.” That’s what I told my church. But I can’t do that with my past. I can go back to that church. I can’t live in my past. I feel almost like I have lost a home.
And that is why I am dreading my last farewell in May of 2007. I don’t want to loose this home too. I’ll say it. I’m scared. And any person who claims they aren’t just a tiny bit worried is lying—even those graduating in may this year.
I’m sure it’s completely natural to have these fears. But it’s more than just fear. It’s disappointment as well. There is so much hype that leads up to a graduation. You wait excitedly for the appointed day. Finally, it arrives, and you walk up that stage, grab your paper that makes you king of the world for 2.3 seconds, then its over. You just spent so much of your life working towards that sheet of paper and in under three seconds, it is finished. All the reading, writing, studying, worrying, and sleepless nights were for one sheet of paper and three seconds.
Granted this piece of paper hold the key to success further down the road, there is some sort of let down that is involved.
When I received my high school diploma, it was the end of an era for me. I had attended this particular school for fourteen out of my eighteen years. As I reached my hand out for that single certificate I shut a door on the life I had known for over a decade. I put the final stamp on my career as a highschooler and it was the beginning of having to move on with my life.
My Scoutmaster, with whom I worked closely during past summers at a summer camp and who graduated from the same school, probably put it the best. He said that “when you leave, its like having a door slam shut behind you. You can’t go back.” That is so hard to hear sometimes. What if I want to go back? I can’t just hit the back button on my internet web browser or retype the address into the address bar.
I do miss high school. I miss having friends that I saw daily, but could easily get away from by retreating home. I miss my mother’s hugs and my dad’s jokes.
But now I am at college and meeting fantastic, loving, fascinating people. The bottom line is that I am having the time of my life. But deep within me, I know its all going to end…again. I will have a new family and then I will be forced to say goodbye one more time.
Friends remind me that I have four years (well, a little over three now). That is just it, I have four years. I only have four years to make friends, to live college, to have fun before I have to grow up for good.
It’s a harsh reality. One that is not fun in the making. You might say that life is full of goodbyes, that there never really is a last farewell. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to look forward to them.
To all those who are counting down the days until you bid Elon farewell, just remember my old friend--the one who wouldn’t let you say good bye, only “I love you.”
Goodbye Elon, Hello Emory
Classes started today at Elon. It's the first time in 4 years that I'm not there for that. I didn't move to a new place. I didn't go and buy books, or print off my schedule or visit my favorite people on campus.
Instead I got my hair cut.
I know that moving on is necessary. And, I was quite ready to be done with the work and some of the drama that invade my last two months there.
But, I know I'm gonna miss it. It was home. And, I definitely left a piece of me there.
Yesterday, I ventured onto Emory's campus to run some errands. I bought books, visited some fun folks, filled out more forms, and got my ID made.
I bummed around with two friends (one new, one old). Later that evening, a group of us first-years made our way to Decatur and Virginia-Highlands. Good company. Good moments.
And it really began to sink in that I was starting the next chapter.
And I'm glad for that.
And that is a good place to be.
Instead I got my hair cut.
I know that moving on is necessary. And, I was quite ready to be done with the work and some of the drama that invade my last two months there.
But, I know I'm gonna miss it. It was home. And, I definitely left a piece of me there.
Yesterday, I ventured onto Emory's campus to run some errands. I bought books, visited some fun folks, filled out more forms, and got my ID made.
I bummed around with two friends (one new, one old). Later that evening, a group of us first-years made our way to Decatur and Virginia-Highlands. Good company. Good moments.
And it really began to sink in that I was starting the next chapter.
And I'm glad for that.
And that is a good place to be.
27 August 2007
friends
The past days have been filled with friends, old ones and new ones.
It’s really been a comfort. After two weeks of focusing on the condo, I was drained and pretty lonely. Being a pretty extraverted person, I thrive on the energies that others bring into my space. Not having that regularly was at first resting. But now, and I bet my parents would never believe this (wait, maybe they could), I’m just plain bored.
I did meet up with some old friends and my mom came by a few times, but those sporadic moments of interaction weren’t quite enough to
Thursday changed that. Two of FTE friends came over for dinner. It was my first dinner gig at my new place, and was easily one of the highlights of my summer. We joked, laughed, ate freshly baked cookies, and drank. (Relax, Milk with the cookies, duh. right.).
The next night I met more new folks (that went sort of well), but Saturday took the cake. Mom and Dad came over to help be do a few bigger-than-I-could-handle fix-it chores, then I had dinner with my a close and dear friend (at Waffle House, which, as always, really hit the spot). Then I headed over to Decatur.
After getting lost to the point that I had to talk to two people to find my way there (Who knew decatur could be so confusing?) I found just where I was supposed to be. I joined some Columbia kids (the PCUSA seminary in ATL) at a bar which had a great folksy/blues band playing. And we sat and talked and laughed. And it was great.
So here’s to the weekend of old friends and to new ones.
The more I sit with my decision to move to ATL instead of NYC, the more it feels right.
blessings.
jon.
It’s really been a comfort. After two weeks of focusing on the condo, I was drained and pretty lonely. Being a pretty extraverted person, I thrive on the energies that others bring into my space. Not having that regularly was at first resting. But now, and I bet my parents would never believe this (wait, maybe they could), I’m just plain bored.
I did meet up with some old friends and my mom came by a few times, but those sporadic moments of interaction weren’t quite enough to
Thursday changed that. Two of FTE friends came over for dinner. It was my first dinner gig at my new place, and was easily one of the highlights of my summer. We joked, laughed, ate freshly baked cookies, and drank. (Relax, Milk with the cookies, duh. right.).
The next night I met more new folks (that went sort of well), but Saturday took the cake. Mom and Dad came over to help be do a few bigger-than-I-could-handle fix-it chores, then I had dinner with my a close and dear friend (at Waffle House, which, as always, really hit the spot). Then I headed over to Decatur.
After getting lost to the point that I had to talk to two people to find my way there (Who knew decatur could be so confusing?) I found just where I was supposed to be. I joined some Columbia kids (the PCUSA seminary in ATL) at a bar which had a great folksy/blues band playing. And we sat and talked and laughed. And it was great.
So here’s to the weekend of old friends and to new ones.
The more I sit with my decision to move to ATL instead of NYC, the more it feels right.
blessings.
jon.
watching paint dry
Mom came over today and helped me to finish the last bit of painting. A week ago yesterday, we were painting away in the master bedroom, but after a long day of cleaning and painting we didn’t quite get the closet finished.
[Insert bad gay jokes here.]
So today, we spend the morning in the closet, painting the walls, avoiding painting the floors (again), and waiting for the paint to dry.
And it’s thrilling.
I guess I’m just ready to be done moving. I’m ready to be still enough to let these roots sink into the ground. At least for a while.
But with every change comes having to watch the paint dry. Those moments of unsure transition when you’re not sure what to do except the obvious.
Better get back to it.
blessings.
jon.
[Insert bad gay jokes here.]
So today, we spend the morning in the closet, painting the walls, avoiding painting the floors (again), and waiting for the paint to dry.
And it’s thrilling.
I guess I’m just ready to be done moving. I’m ready to be still enough to let these roots sink into the ground. At least for a while.
But with every change comes having to watch the paint dry. Those moments of unsure transition when you’re not sure what to do except the obvious.
Better get back to it.
blessings.
jon.
Welcome Home
Well, it’s official. I am a homeowner.
I also am in way more debt than I ever wanted to be.
But, c’est la vie.
We closed on Monday, painted and cleaned Tuesday, and moved wednesday. And I have to say, I am totally exhausted.
Yesterday, after my folks had left, my friend Mariah came over and helped me unpack. It was good to have a new good friend help create a new good home.
As I left the house I grew up in, I have to admit that my eyes got a little teary.
It hit me, as I pulled out the driveway, that I was leaving for the last time. Sure, I’ll go back, but it won’t ever be the same. My home, now, is in Atlanta. And my parent’s home is in Fairburn.
And I’m sad for that. And I’m glad for that.
And I’m excited and scared and joyful and grateful and hopeful. Above all I’m hopeful.
And that is a good place to be.
Welcome home.
blessings.
jon.
I also am in way more debt than I ever wanted to be.
But, c’est la vie.
We closed on Monday, painted and cleaned Tuesday, and moved wednesday. And I have to say, I am totally exhausted.
Yesterday, after my folks had left, my friend Mariah came over and helped me unpack. It was good to have a new good friend help create a new good home.
As I left the house I grew up in, I have to admit that my eyes got a little teary.
It hit me, as I pulled out the driveway, that I was leaving for the last time. Sure, I’ll go back, but it won’t ever be the same. My home, now, is in Atlanta. And my parent’s home is in Fairburn.
And I’m sad for that. And I’m glad for that.
And I’m excited and scared and joyful and grateful and hopeful. Above all I’m hopeful.
And that is a good place to be.
Welcome home.
blessings.
jon.
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