An Ode to Facebook

This isn't really going to be in ode form, but I have been thinking about Facebook a lot lately. Could be because I work at a college and it is the best way to communicate with students (that is, if you don't count actual real-live-face-to-face conversations). But I really think it is because this fall is coming up on my One Year Anniversary with Facebook. This weekend it will be exactly a year ago that I headed to East Africa for a bit, and it was while there that I finally folded to the pressure to join. Honestly, it was part peer pressure and part loneliness as the actual moment I joined came as I sat at my friend's kitchen table one morning and remembered that I did have friends somewhere on the other side of the world. I mean, nothing like a cyber-counter of how many friends you actually have to make you feel loved, right?

So thus began my love/hate relationship with the social networking phenomenon of the century. One of my favorite (and least favorite) aspects of the thing is the "Status Updates." Usually my pattern when I check my account is to look at the Status Updates to keep up with the going-ons of all my "friends." And then I usually think, "hmm, maybe I should update my status." And if I am feeling particularly clever or particularly fired up about something I might change it. And I'll admit: I have been one of those people who has changed their status more than once in a day. But I also have times where I'll go through a phase where I won't update it because one, I am not feeling particularly clever or two, I'm not sure that people really desire to know that I am about to grocery shopping.

More so, perhaps, is that I don't really feel comfortable posting what "Kate Davelaar is" really thinking/feeling/doing. Clearly some people are very comfortable--one might argue too comfortable--with sharing with fellow social networkers what their true status is. And I get it, if the point is to really help others feel connected there should be some level of honesty. But if I was always honest my status would be updated constantly with statements like Kate is emotionally eating (again), totally confused, wonders if a pair of jeans exists that would magically make her butt look firmer, checking her email for the bazillionth time today, has a heart that aches, feels like a fraud, perhaps put too many flax seeds in her cereal, amazed at some of the cars that these students drive, exhausted, trying her damnedest to keep her fern alive, inspired, so nervous she might vomit, contemplating putting tequila in her morning OJ, actually happy to be in Holland, in love with the new basket on her bike, thinks she could perhaps get a gig as a speech writer...anyway, you get the point.

The tension that exists in my life right now is that I do desire to be real, to be known, to trust that regardless of whatever thought/feeling I have, I will be accepted, liked and loved. And at the same time, recognize that my life is quite an enmeshed web of relationships both personally and professionally, and so sometimes complete and utter honesty is truly not an option. So I suppose the trick is to learn to live in the tension and be grateful for the spaces and places that exist where I know I am accepted, liked and loved.

That being said, Happy Anniversary Facebook. And though I can't decide if I feel less or more connected to others because of you, I do thank you for giving me an outlet for my innate ability to procrastinate. Can't wait to see you on the big screen.

Reality Check

A friend of mine recently commented on her Facebook page “it’s all becoming a bit too real.” She, her husband and their 3 month old recently moved back from living in the Dominican Republic for 6 years, 13 years and 1 month, respectively. I remember that feeling very distinctively. When you first move back it’s hard. You are drained from saying many goodbyes, you are living out of suitcases until you settle into your new “home” and simply thinking about grocery shopping in a land where there are just way too many choices is down right paralyzing. And then after a couple months it becomes even harder as you realize: wait, I’m not going back…this is where I live now.

Ironically, the first time I experienced this phenomenon was when I first moved to the Dominican Republic after graduating from college. I had moved down in June and it was about mid-August when my mind naturally kicked into “I’m kind of excited to buy new pens for school” (yes, I was one of those kids who always loved to go back to school) and “I can’t wait to be with all my friends again.” And then I realized: wait, this is where I live now.

I recently discovered a list I drafted back in January entitled, “Options After I Graduate.”

Here the list:

1. Work for Young Life International
2. Work for Borderlinks
3. Start a union at Wal-Mart
4. Become a “Madre” (sidenote: we were at a conference in Tijuana and had just met the coolest nuns)
5. Work for World Council of Churches in Switzerland on the Decade to Overcome Violence initiative
6. Hope College Chaplain Department
7. Be a pastor—ACC in Tanzania?
8. Convert to Catholicism
9. Get more involved with social justice in the RCA
10. Move to Colorado
11. Move to San Diego
12. Move anywhere

I don’t think the list was in any particular order of preference but I do think that number 12 was the over-arching thought behind all of them. Except for, obviously, numero 6…which is what I am doing with my life. I remember hesitating as I wrote this option on the list because it conflicted with number 12. Life….so funny sometimes.

It’s mid-August. And while my new job affords me the luxury of buying new pens and being able to expense them (!) the reality that my friends are not coming back to Holland and we won’t be heading down to Lemonjello’s to do a group crossword anytime soon is setting in. The reality that I no longer can claim Student as my occupation but somehow became a Reverend is setting in. And the reality that when I wake up in the morning I am in my very own apartment, not merely house-sitting is setting in. This is where I live now.

This is a good place to be…and if you ever want to visit you are more than welcome.

Fight or Flight

2007 was the Year of Running in my life and after a solid year of really running, I have since retired. I was thinking about 2008 being the Year of Swimming but it is July and I have yet to step into a pool. I blame this partly on attempting to find a suit suitable for athletic swimming sometime back in February, which for some of us in Michigan is also known as the season of pasty white skin. I rediscovered that there might not be anything that makes me feel as aesexual as a Speedo in the middle of winter, and decided that the Year of Swimming might need to be put on hold.

I have been thinking about the Year of Running for a few reasons lately. One, it was about exactly a year ago that I participated in my first major race (for all my friends who run, you may either choose to suspend your concept of a "major" race or stop reading this post). My friends Will and Lauren and I decided to run in a Bastille Day run in Chicago. And so we, along with our chauffeur/cheerleader/tour guide/booking agent (my father...who earned the nickname Cubby Bear that weekend), headed to Chicago for a fun weekend. The race was just my style: a 5k where the finish line takes you right into a block party complete with live music, beer, and people handing out free Dove chocolate. It was great.

At the block party...

Cubby Bear with the Dove chocolate women...

Another reason I have been thinking about running lately is because there have been multiple times in the past couple of weeks where I have wanted to run. Not in the sense of putting on shoes and heading out the door (unlike many athletes these days, when I say I retired, I meant it) but more in the sense of not wanting to deal with my life. In the course of the week I found myself looking for flights to Colorado, Minneapolis, Virginia, Georgia, San Francisco and even South Dakota. Anywhere--I was ready to go and be anywhere--but here. And I started thinking about that Psych 101 phenomenon of "fight or flight." And I knew that hopping on a plane wasn't really a solution but more of an escape and so I didn't buy a ticket.

Sometimes I think it is okay to opt for the escape. I have done so in some respects in the past couple of weeks, mostly in the form of hopping in the car and heading out to the beach as we are now in the season in Michigan that is known as "ahhh yes, there are some reasons I am thankful I live here." But there are other times where you just have to deal with it even thought it isn't always pleasant or comfortable. But as a wise person once told me: at times, the only way out is through. So just as I retired my running shoes, for the time being I am going to retire my thoughts of running away. And, who knows, maybe one of these days I'll actually get that Speedo.

Ch-ch-ch-ch Changes

My life has changed a bit in the past few weeks. I finished school and now can no longer claim "student" as my occupation. I helped my friends pack up their houses and gleaned a stocked pantry/freezer/cleaning supplies/furniture for my new apartment. I moved into my new apartment, which is the first time I have lived in my own space since moving back from the Dominican Republic...three years ago. I became a Reverend and officiated my first wedding ceremony two days later. I made my first major purchase in my life as an adult with a salary: a mattress; and found the bicycle of my dreams at a garage sale. And now have about a week before I start my new job as a chaplain at Hope College.

I was told after my mandatory psychological testing upon entering seminary (yes, despite what it may appear like at times, they actually do try to keep as many complete whack jobs out of ministry as possible) that I "don't do well with change." That times of transition are "especially difficult for me." I don't think I needed to spend 3 hours of my life filling in countless dots with a number 2 pencil to figure that one out, but in some respects it was helpful to hear this from a "professional." It helps me to feel like a bit less of a nut job during times of transition when in a matter of seconds my thoughts can waiver from "It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. Life is great!" to "the only reason I am getting out of bed right now is because the cookies I baked are all the way in the kitchen." It is then I can reassure myself, "that's right, times of transition are hard for me. I am not going crazy."

Since I graduated from seminary, I decided that it might be a good idea to again start taking some time for devotions/reflecting/meditating/whatever you prefer to call it (sidenote: could someone tell me where the phrase "Quiet Time" came from? This is not a contest...I genuinely have been trying to figure it out). I mainly embarked on this because I knew I was going to need something to ground me. Something that kept me a bit sane(er) and something to (hopefully) look forward to. And for the most part, it has been this.

One of the days I felt most affirmed in this endeavor was the morning some of my friends left to move back to Colorado. I opened up my book and the reading for the day was all about 'weeping.' The very first sentence was "weeping may, in fact, be the best indicator we have of what life is really all about for us." And continued on to say that tears are more than sadness, but that tears expose us to ourselves and to others...what we cry about is what we care about.

I have wept more in the past year than I ever have before, and that previous night as we said goodbye was no exception. I have mentioned these friends before and as much as I talk about them or try to explain what they have been for me, I find that words just don't quite do it justice. These were the people who helped me transition into living back into the States by affirming that Holland (MI) can induce quite a bit of culture shock. They taught me about love as I watched them in their marriages, in their relationships with others and in their relationships with their dogs. They were the ones who sheltered me and kept me from becoming completely undone as I tried to navigate the shifting family dynamics that come from divorce. They encouraged me to go to Africa, while at the same time let me know that I would be missed and graciously allowed me to slip back into our circle of friendship effortlessly when I returned. They grounded me. So that morning that they left, when the reading in my devotions was all about weeping, I was affirmed that just because they were leaving didn't mean that I was going to come completely undone.

I meant to write about this three weeks ago when it actually happened...but remember, "transitions are hard for me" and every time I sat down to do so, I just couldn't work it out. But lest you be super concerned about me...don't worry. There are many great and exciting things in my life right now too (really, you should see this bike I found). And I do know that I will continue to learn and relearn the things that keep me grounded. And, perhaps most importantly, I just baked cookies yesterday. So despite having one of the most comfortable beds in the world, I am managing to make my way out of it in the morning...

The One Where My Sister Offers Me as a Guilt Offering at an African Wedding (Photo Edition)

My sister is in town. She is quite fun to have around and her presence usually becomes the genesis of new stories to tell. Which is quite fitting, because she loves hearing stories/telling stories/remembering details of stories that most of us refute. Having her here reminded me that I never posted pictures from the time where she offered me as a guilt offering at a wedding in Kenya. I posted a blog about this a while back if you need a refresher of the exact story (this is one where I think my details are less fuzzy than hers) but I think the pictures tell the story quite well...


Sarah, after receiving a minor guilt trip: Oh...I'm sorry that we didn't invite you to our wedding...


...but to make it up to you, I brought you my sister! (I am not even lying, that is a direct quote).



And thus began a looong evening...

This One's for you Tracy

About a month ago my friend Tracy "tagged" me in one of her posts. I had no idea what that even meant. Apparently I was supposed to follow the lead of her post and respond to the following questions. At the time I balked (remember, I don't like peer pressure) but currently I am "studying" for my classis exams tomorrow and am obviously desperate for distractions. So here we go:

4 Things I Did 10 Years Ago (1998)
...lived in a house with 16 other women with barely any drama.
...got caught streaking by Hope College's Public Safety (I completely blame Elizabeth, Libby and Jenny B. Amy, you, as our fearless get-away driver did your best).
...had a crazy Young Life summer which involved a month at Windy Gap, followed directly by a week hiking in Colorado, followed directly by a week at Castaway.
...was asked to lead a spring break trip to a country I had never heard of before: the Dominican Republic.

4 Things I Did 5 Years Ago (2003)...
...was in my third year of working for Young Life in Santiago, Dominican Republic.
...survived the first mass exodus of my close friends in the DR.
...navigated the insurance system in the DR after getting in a car wreck.
...spent a month eliminating as much English from my life as possible in hopes to learn more Spanish. This included watching the dubbed version of Blue Crush many, many times.

4 Things I Did Yesterday...
...went to church.
...tried to figure out if I had food poisoning or just my normal odd digestion (yes, that seems like an oxymoron...welcome to my life).
...walked on the beach with three good friends and three crazy dogs.
...went to a concert at a coffee shop.

4 Shows I Love To Watch (in no particular order)
...So You Think You Can Dance
...The Amazing Race
...The Office
...LOST

4 Things That Make Me Really Happy
...sunshine (especially when sitting in it).
...my friends (especially all those with crazy dogs).
...cookies (especially oatmeal chocolate chip).
...sitting on the beach (especially during that time of day when the light makes everything look extra beautiful).

Fired Up

It's been a while, and I had pretty much resigned myself to being done with the blog. The main reason being that I couldn't figure out what the purpose of blogging was. When I first started this sucker it was to keep people in the loop about Africa (and save me from writing email updates). And then I kept it up due to peer pressure (which is never a good reason to do anything). And then I stopped to prove that I don't always fold to peer pressure. Plus I started getting squeamish about posting my thoughts (I mean what I really think) on the internet. Especially thinking through being a chaplain at Hope College (yes, I have now mastered the divine and have a job). I have been thinking through what public life versus private life looks like as a person in a smallish community with a fairly public profile (these thoughts, by the way, may someday become a post in and of themselves...it will be entitled: "Longing for Days When People Didn't Try to Sneakily Look Into My Cart to See What I am Buying at the Grocery Store").

So why this post, this morning? Because I read this on the internet this morning and I got pretty internally fired up. I mean, you have got.to.be.kidding.me.

This is the point in the post where I am supposed to explain more fully and eloquently why this has fired me up and why I think it should fire you up too. Or question again why the heck it is that I live in this country? But I'll let you do your own thinking. Plus, I have been waiting for an incentive to get a new car and so I need to get on the road to go and take advantage of this offer given that it expires at the end of the month...

Thank God for Soap Operas

My sister is right, I really don't want my last blog post to be about cold showers. I haven't written because first I didn't have anything to say, and then I found myself with too much to say.

Yesterday was again one of those days that didn't start how I thought it would. I was on my way out the door of the 4th house I have "sat" in 2008 when my friend Lauren called. Lauren, Will, Ben and Katie had all gone out to Colorado for Winter Break to visit family and explore future job stuff. I decided to let it go to voice mail so I could get out the door and start the day, figuring she was just calling to say hi and see how all the dogs were doing (sidenote: THE dogs are basically like their kids...and while I did not have the pleasure of being their official dogsitter--being occupied with sitting another house at the time--I did arrange the current dog sitters so I felt a bit responsible). But, I was wrong. She was calling to let me know that our friend Ben's father had passed away that morning. I drove around the block back to the house because suddenly going to the coffee shop to study didn't seem like the right thing to do. I wasn't sure what the right thing to do was. I cried. I called Lauren back. Sent Ben a text. Swore. Cried. Swore some more and then called Kate.

An hour later Kate and I were sitting at the cafe in Alpen Rose. She came into town because we needed to be together. I am not sure how to explain the depth of all of our friendships, but it is deep. The kind of deep that comes from shared grief, seeing each other at our worst and gently reminding each other that it is bound to get better at some point. Don't get me wrong, we are fun and we laugh a lot too...but we have seen each other through some serious shit. Kate and I mostly sat. Talked. Ate the cookies that Kate had brought because times like these always call for cookies. We pretended to do some school work. Brainstormed the best way to get out to Colorado. Talked about how life just flips on you so fast sometimes and how quickly all of our lives have shifted at one point or another. Ate another cookie and then decided to go walk the dogs because we felt it would somehow make us feel closer to our friends in Colorado.

In the midst of our sitting and talking I looked up at the TV screen on the wall and there he was--the guy with the patch on his eye from Days of Our Lives. I have never been a huge soap opera buff but I have flipped through TV enough in my life to know that this guy has been around for a long time. And I am pretty sure has been dead or missing in the storyline at least once or twice. I kind of laughed and said, "good to see that guy is still around." Kate replied, "Yeah, at least some things in life are constant." Thank God for Soap Operas.

Cold Showers

Today was one of those days that just didn't start how I thought it would. After hunkering down in the Arctic Blast yesterday I knew I would have some shoveling to do before I was able to head to class this morning. My plan was to get up early, shovel and make it to the library at 8:00 so I could do my Greek translation before class. It was a stupid plan from the start: what on earth is motivating about getting up early in the morning to shovel in almost sub-zero temps only to go study Greek? I realized the plan was flawed and slept in until 8:00, still hoping to make it to the seminary by 9:00. I, however, severely underestimated the time I needed to shovel...forgetting that since we had the Arctic Blast not only would there be crud at the end of the driveway from the snowplows, but it would frozen. After battling the frozen crud,I head in for a quick shower (a necessity because I hadn't showered in two days and the class I was going to has a strict "no hats in class" rule). So I turn on the water for the shower, thinking it would take some time to heat up...but it was taking a lot of time to heat up and I began to fret about global warming, water resources and wasting water and, I was reminded of Mother Antonia.


I was in Tijuana a few weeks ago for a Developing Hearts that Yearn for Justice conference on immigration (I know, I know...I am wasting my time writing about life in Holland when I could be writing about this?!). We spent one morning visiting with the Servants of the 11th Hour, an order of nuns started by Mother Antonia. The nutshell version is that she was a socialite in Beverly Hills who after raising 7 kids and having 2 failed marriages decided she wanted to do something more with her life. So she moved into one of the most notorious prisons in Tijuana to minister to the inmates and their families. You should really get to know her. She has taken cold showers for the past 29 years.

So, I bit the bullet and took a cold shower. I figured, if an 81 year-old second-career nun in Tijuana can do it, so can I.

si, se puede

There are certain things in life that always get to me...get to me in the eyes tear up/goosebumps kind of way and you feel overwhelmed, excited, fearful, hopeful and nostalgic for something...something that you aren't even sure what it is because you aren't sure that you have ever fully had it but for a split second you are given a glimpse of what it might be.

THIS has become one of those things.

Watch it. Read the commentary about it. Watch it again. And regardless of where your political views lie, try to tell me that it doesn't get to something in you too.

The Yellow Dress

I spoke at Hope College today and pulled out a show stopper...The Story of the Yellow Dress. Ahh yes...one of my more embarrassing moments from junior high helped me connect with some college folks today. When you start communicating about "the awkward years" everyone can relate. I relayed the story of my 6th grade all-city orchestra concert in which I donned The Yellow Dress. I was so proud of this dress, not even minding that it came from the Roger's Women's Big & Tall Shop (who was the one who thought that was a good name for a store?). I was simply pumped that it fit and (I thought) accentuated my thin(ner) waist line. In case you need more of a visual:

So there I was...in The Yellow Dress, making my way into the Holland Civic Center for the Springtime All-City Orchestra concert. Thinking I was looking festive (nothing says "spring" like a yellow dress!) when I looked around and realized there was a protocol to orchestra concerts: you wear black. Oops. Somehow I was the only one who missed the memo on that one. And when we were reviewing the VHS tape of the concert later it became even more evident to me how much I stood out--I was a bright yellow blob of a person in a see of black blobs. Some called me "Buttercup" for weeks.

You know, I remember at the time being quite deflated. And quite self-conscious. And, even a few years ago probably wouldn't have been gutsy enough to post this picture on the internet or in front of a bunch of college students. I am not sure where this new found freedom in flaunting my awkward years has come from. Perhaps it's because it always reminds me that things change. I've changed. And it reminds me that even when life is awkward, you will eventually grow out of it.

Back by demand.

I am not sure it is popular demand, but I am back on the blog by demand from at least one person. What can I say? I am a sucker for peer pressure. Truth be told…I do not mind writing on the blog (blogging , if you will) it is just that I had always thought it was kind of lame. I had a hard enough time swallowing my pride to start a blog in the first place (see blog entry numero uno) but I justified it by telling myself that people would want to know about my adventures in Africa.

But my adventures in Holland, Michigan?

Today the day started out with a bang when I heard via 1450 AM that the seminary was closed (okay, okay so maybe there is one perk to living in a land where there is winter). The day continued. I made coffee. Blew my nose about 57 times. Watered some plants. Overdosed on Vitamin C and fell asleep while watching Planet Earth. And now I am procrastinating schoolwork by writing this blog about how I think it is a bit odd to write about daily life on a blog and thus probably offending the 5 people who still read this and also have blogs about their daily lives (this, by the way, is directly against the advice you receive while navigating the internet dating world: “never make jokes about the fact that you are on a website because it shows your insecurity and indirectly offends others”).

And on top of it all, I now feel this pressure to say something deep, funny and/or reflective about my daily life in Holland.

But, like I said, I am a sucker for peer pressure…so I guess I’ll give this a whirl…