Fitting In

This summer I have spent Monday mornings hanging out with this little lady:


Harper Lain Schoon Tanis…soon to become one of the World’s Greatest Women.

Last week I was heading to the park to meet my friend Elizabeth for a “play date.” In the six short blocks to the park I managed to have a bit of an identity crisis. It started as I pushed the stroller across the street in front a cute guy in a car and realized, “he thinks I’m a mom.” Which then turned into, “I’m meeting a friend my age (who really is a mom) for a play date. This could be my life….a mom.” As I neared the park and saw a Mom Pack (similar to a Wolf Pack, but slightly less vicious) standing watch over their children playing I developed sudden anxiety because I hadn’t yet put sunscreen on Harper. I imagined the Mom Pack watching me and thinking, “what kind of mother is she?!?” Wait. I’m not a mother. I’m a baby-sitter. A 31-year-old baby-sitter. It wasn’t quite noon but I was definitely ready for a drink.

I’ve been re-reading some of my favorite books lately and just finished Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I first read it when I went to Africa. As I read it again I became even more convinced that we could (should) be great friends. She eloquently explains part of the reasoning for the quick onset of my identity crisis (which, to be quite frank, happens more often than I’d like to admit as a single woman in her thirties in this lovely Midwestern town).

“To create a family with a spouse is one of the most fundamental ways a person can find continuity and meaning in America (or any) society. I rediscover this truth every time I go to a big reunion of my mother’s family in Minnesota and I see how everyone is held so reassuringly in their positions over the years. First you are a child, then you are a teenager, then you are a young married person, then you are a parent, then you are retired, then you are a grandparent—at every stage you know who you are, you know that your duty is and you know where to sit at the reunion. Until at last you are sitting with the ninety-year-olds in the shade, watching over your progeny with satisfaction. Who are you? No problem—you’re the person who created all this. The satisfaction of this knowledge is immediate, and moreover, it’s universally recognized. How many people have I heard claim their children as their greatest accomplishment and comfort of their lives? It’s the thing they can always lean on during a metaphysical crisis, or a moment of doubt about their relevancy—If I have done nothing else in this life, then at least I have raised my children well.

But what if, either by chose or by reluctant necessity, you end up not participating in this comforting cycle of family and continuity? What if you step out? Where do you sit at the reunion? How do you mark time’s passage without the fear that you’ve just frittered away your time on earth without being relevant? You’ll need to find another purpose, another measure by which to judge whether or not you have been a successful human being. I love children, but what if I don’t have any? What kind of person does that make me?” (Eat, Pray, Love, 95).

Before you get too concerned: I am not really having a crisis over whether I want to have children right now or not (I don't); nor am I about to take any drastic measures to fit more comfortably in this culture as a 31-year-old woman. But I have been giving a lot of thought lately to where I “fit” here as most of my contemporaries are in the Mom Pack or at least not having to give thought to whether they should or should not take a date with them to a wedding. Granted, I have been trying to find where I "fit" ever since I moved back from the Dominican Republic 4 years ago…and though there have been moments where I’ve thought that I had found my niche, life keeps on keeping on and I am forced to find new niche.

Thankfully, I have good people in my life to encourage me and remind me that I am indeed a normal person and that I am not (despite my mind’s best attempts to convince myself at times) going to end up a crazy woman with lots of cats and almost-completed-cross-word-puzzles lying around my apartment.

Though...at least then people (myself included) would know then where I fit: in the Crazy Aunt category. Again, as my should-be-friend puts it:

"Last summer, my five-year-old niece had a little friend over to my sister’s house to play. I asked the child when her birthday was. She told me it was January 25.

"Uh-oh!" I said. “You’re an Aquarius! I’ve dated enough Aquarians to know that they are trouble.”

Both the five-year-olds looked at me with bewilderment and a bit of fearful uncertainty. I had a sudden horrifying image of the woman I might become if I’m not careful: Crazy Aunt Liz. The divorceé in the muumuu with dyed orange hair who doesn’t eat dairy but smokes menthols, who’s always just coming back form her astrology cruise or breaking up with her aroma-therapist boyfriend, who reads the Tarot cards of kindergarteners and says things like, “Bring Aunty Liz another wine cooler, baby, and I’ll let you wear my mood ring…” (Eat, Pray, Love,96).

Ahhh...that's funny to me. And, I have always wanted a mood ring...

Spring Cleaning Season is Finally Over

For some reason this year Spring Cleaning seemed like a good idea. Not exactly sure why (as my mother pointed out, "I have no idea where you learned that"). And, after spending 4 hours on the first (and smallest) room turns out that Spring Cleaning was more fun to think about doing than to actually do. It sounded like a really good idea in my head the last few weeks of the school year when all I wanted to do was something that made me feel like I actually accomplished something. I would sit at my desk and dream up a plan for cleaning...would it be smarter to take it room by room? Or should I wipe/dust all the baseboards at once?

In the end I went with the room by room strategy. There was a moment of Spring Cleaning Truth early on in the venture when I looked down into a vent. You should understand that I live in an older home so the vent is really a large hole in the floor with a wooden slatted cover. While it isn't an endless abyss, it easily could be a hiding place for a small child. As I looked down and saw a cat toy (there hasn't been a cat in the apartment for 2 years) and some other random objects I realized I had a choice: to really Spring Clean or not. I seriously paused for a good bit staring at the vent and then, somewhat proud and annoyed with myself at the same time, took the time to take off the slats and clean out the vent.

I won't bore you with the rest of my Spring Cleaning adventure that spanned about a month and at one point caused a friend to ask me, "Kate, do I need to do an intervention?" Throughout the month, however, I kept thinking about staring down into that vent (especially when I was at similar breaking points: do I clean behind the stove too??) and wondering what it was that compelled me in that moment with the vent to truly Spring Clean. Because, truth be told, there were other moments along the way that I chose the alternative (i.e., while I did move the stove, I didn't even bother with the top of the kitchen cabinets and I am well over thinking it would be a good idea to clean my screens).

In one of my new Favorite Books of All Time it says: "true religion is radical; it cuts to the root (radix is Latin for root). It moves us beyond our "private I" and into reality. Jesus seems to be saying in the Sermon on the Mount that our inner attitudes and states are the real sources of our problems. We need to root out the problems at that level. He says not only that you must not kill but that you must not even harbor hateful anger. He begins with the necessity of a pure heart (Matthew 5:8) and knows that the outer will follow. Too often we force the outer and the inner remains like a cancer" (Richard Rohr,Everything Belongs).

I want to be radical. And I want to want to do the work it takes do so. I think that one of the things that can be so discouraging about it is that there is always something to be rooted out. I am someone who wants to get things done (quickly if possible) and cross it off the list (for good). What I am learning, however, is to be patient with myself...patient with others...to remember that while my screens may still be filthy, I did clean the dang vents and perhaps next spring (please tell me there isn't such a thing as Fall Cleaning??) I will do the opposite.

Welcome to My Brain

I truly did have intentions on starting to blog more regularly…apparently, however, I haven’t been able to muster up the discipline to do so. I think I also got a bit discouraged when I read in some article somewhere that some woman somewhere makes more money than me annually simply from blogging. Normally I am one who is up for any type of friendly competition, but for some reason rather than light a fire under my butt it just made me think, “really???” And that “really???” thought turned into “damn, she must have some super insightful/witty/intelligent things to say in order to make that much money,” which turned into, “damn, I wish I had more insightful/witty/intelligent things to say in order to make that much money from blogging,” which probably led me to drink a beer or eat a cookie cookies to try to muster up some more insightful/witty/intelligent things to say.

I think I thought of some. But the work of trying get those thoughts into printed form seemed like a bit too much work. Like I said, what I really need to muster up is some discipline.

Besides the lack of discipline is the fact that I have a fast brain. Now I’m not trying to toot my own horn (though I did kick butt in 3rd grade ‘speed math’ competitions, which made up for being picked last for most PE events…well, almost made up for), it simply is a fact: the only thing my body manages to do quickly is think. Again, these thoughts aren’t necessarily all insightful/witty/intelligent. For example, the other night I was sitting at an outdoor concert under this h-u-g-e white tent and at one point my thoughts drifted from wondering why the tent was so huge, to wondering what on earth I would ever want embroidered, to wondering why I always think of that Rick Moran movie Honey I Shrunk the Kids! when I stare at the grass, to wondering if I ever really want kids, to wondering if my now divorced parents ended up buying burial plots next each other and if so what happens with that now, to wondering what kind of chemicals were in the treats that Joel bought at the party store, to thinking that the concert was much more enjoyable now because of said treats. And this was probably all within 15 seconds.

See, I don’t necessarily stay on one thought too long. Wellll, that’s not entirely true. There do seem to be some thoughts in my life that—despite all my best efforts—have outstayed there welcome. The point is, however, that I have had many thoughts of relatively insightful/witty/intelligent things to write since my last post but before I get a chance to write them I am on to something else.

But I am determined to become more disciplined. And to realize that not every blog needs to be super insightful/witty/intelligent (I once simply posted a picture from a menu for crying out loud!) because the reality is that I am never going to become a self-employed blogger.

So here’s to yet another attempt to become more disciplined…which I’ll get to it as soon as I bake some more cookies.

A New Reason to Invest in a Thigh Master

If you have been wondering where you stuff all that fear and anger that you think you have gotten rid of, you might want to check your thighs. I was at my first “neuro-skeletal-muscular-structuring” appointment yesterday (think slightly-less-than-relaxing massage with the intent of straightening your body) and after having my body assessed (always fun) she was beginning to work on my ‘structure.’ I won’t bore you with all the nuances of what is off with my body but as she was working on my quadriceps she inserted this tidbit: our thigh muscles are where we store the emotions of fear and anger. Interesting. She went on to say that I shouldn’t be surprised if I felt “off” later in the day, perhaps like I was PMSing. She then told me of someone who had had this done and came back the next day and said, “I don’t know what it was, but for some reason last night all I wanted to do find you and kill you.” Interesting. Thus, she likes to give the disclaimer before one might feel that way.

I must say, the rest of the day I did feel somewhat irritable. I wondered if it was just a matter of self-fulfilling prophecy. But then again, I have felt somewhat irritable the past few days so it wasn’t anything too particularly out of the ordinary. And I have been trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that has been off, so to be able to blame it on tbe fear and anger that had been hiding in my thighs was somewhat of a relief. Like when you get your period and think, “ohhhh, that’s why I’ve been so funky.” I realize to those who don’t have this monthly luxury this may seem odd—I mean you should see it coming, right? Doesn’t this happen every four (or so) weeks?? Yet, and I don’t know why, for some reason it can be like a monthly memory lapse. What I do know is that it is usually such a relief to be able to pinpoint what the heck was the culprit of the ability to shift from inconsolable sadness to inconceivable rage in a split second (note: lest you think it a good idea to suggest to someone they might be suffering from a monthly memory lapse, think again. This is only appropriate if you too are capable of PMS).

The point is this: sometimes it is nice to have a concrete reason as to why you feel the way you do. And while my current reason is perhaps counterproductive in some ways, today I am perfectly content to place the blame on my thighs. And yeah, yeah, yeah, I have taken enough counseling courses over the years and been in enough counseling to know that the real work is trying to figure out why my thighs had some fear and anger to begin with. At this point, however it has been more fun to ponder why it is your thighs that store these particular emotions. Really, of all the emotions to be stored in your thighs, how funny is it that it’s these two? I’m guessing (unfortunately) for most women, it wouldn’t be quite fitting to have your thighs store contentment and happiness.

So the next time you are feeling extra anxious or angry and are looking for a reason why, you might want to consider dusting off your old ThighMaster or doing some squats followed by some stretches, and then you will and least have the option of blaming it on your thighs.

And We're Back

I’ve decided to stop simply giving lip service to the fact that I want to work on my writing and actually do something about it. The reasons I stopped blogging a while back are vast, but that was then and this is now. To ease back into it I thought I would give a synopsis of what has been happening in my life via a compilation of my Facebook statuses. Warning: it is by no means grammatically correct and chronologically works its way backwards to my very first status. So if you are more Team Smart than Team Fun this might bother you, as it is somewhat counterintuitive to a proper update to start with the latest news and I am all over the map with capitalization.

That being said…here is a window the past year and a half of my life in Facebook Status Form.

Kate Davelaar…

... love really does win.... loves that KST loves spam.... 100.... moves to click her ruby shoes.... flinging spring.... no meal is complete without dessert.... loves her friends.... is excited to sleep in my sleeping bag tonight...in the Pine Grove.... is pretty proud to be the first one at the committee meeting this morning. that never happens.... loves that I just heard a piece on NPR about Kelly Clarkson.... wishes Winter would just give up already... has never been too particularly fond of jelly beans... is thinking of her friends in CO... thinks the multiplication factor in the scoring is ridiculous.... who knew a milk frother would really make the mornings that much better?... mac attack!... is back on top.... the 'year of the concert' keeps getting better and better... loves the madness.... is still in love with the DR.... is going to pico escondido for a week...you should come visit.... is drinking hot beverages all day long... so many things to love about march!... woke up this morning and smiled at the rising sun... isn't sure if she was just rained on or snowed on... thinks the kates' hour is the happiest.... would like a donut in honor of fat tuesday.... can't stop thinking about slumdog millionaire.... has a vague recollection of being tan.... troubleshoots.... somehow manages to over/underestimate people at the same time... is only happy in the sun... keeps losing her favorite winter hats.... 70s and sunny, here I come... was just given a kitchen aid...reinforcing: best week ever.... best week ever... found her sense of humor.... welcomes 09gonnabefine... heading to dublin to welcome the new year by kicking butt in nertz.... is getting a lesson in banket making.... for some reason has really been into listening to 104.5 lately.... is going to spend most of the day in the kitchen and couldn't be happier about that.... is thankful for the Schoon-Tanis internet cafe.... is about to get reinspired by Sydney Bristow... needs a beach—one that comes with palm trees.... hopes.... had her computer stolen from her kitchen table. No joke.... misses many things: summer included.... wait wait don't tell me... it's a sunshine day.... about this time every week remembers how long Tuesdays are... may have just shoveled more leaves than snow.... fruit basket upset.... highly doubts her car battery is going to make it through the winter... going to head back north where it is ironically a touch warmer... will someday own a cello again.... just remembered that she is not very good at maneuvering in the snow... is watching her nephew take out his sugar-high on the basketball hoop... is required to be judgmental tonight... can't believe how nice it is outside right now.... has assembled her own transition team.... is going to stop being a canary in the kitchen—as soon as someone can explain what that even means.... is thankful that the noro-days are accumulating faster than the snow... norovirus is a close second to a national holiday... viva la vida.... www.givestudio.com.... dreams really do come true.... appreciates really right answers.... should not have looked at the 10 day forecast.... could use some change she can believe in.... is not going to miss you like a child misses their blanket because that would be ridiculous.... is tired.... is trying to read too many books at once... rocky mountain high... finds it slightly ironic that she is trading a weekend of 70s and sunny for 50s and rainy... thanks the Cubs for reminding her that some things in life do stay the same... go cubs go... finally figured out what to get elizabeth for her birthday... can't decide who she is more thankful for: Jon Stewart or Tina Fey.... loves her bike, even though it just ruined her new jeans... fue a la playa y ahora está feliz... is trying her best to be an adult... tulipanes.org... is finally reading the Sunday paper.... is in need of a deck of cards. First person to bring one to the Keppel House wins…something.... flew over to tanzania a year ago today... might end up drinking too much coffee today... loves her job, even on Labor Day.... thinks Barack might have a crush on her since he sends her so many emails... is way more productive when it is cloudy... wants everyone to go eat at the new taqueria on 16th st.... being quite excited to paint, may have eaten lunch way too quickly... august? how did that happen...... wishes someone could explain the logic behind the new setup at Meijer... act your age not your shoe size... is getting things done.... thought she was pretty handy, until almost electrocuting herself... has finally been stimulated by George W.... wishes her windows at home were shut.... for the record, has never lived in New York.... is sitting in her new office... is thrilled to be as old as Ben & Jerry's... is baffled by our postal system... accidently bought 100 stamps and now that she actually needs one has no clue where they are... is considering a career in customer service... is going to the zoo... saw a woman walking her two parrots. don't worry, they were on leashes... is thrilled to be sitting in her new apartment... is a Reverend (with a capital R)... go Cubs go...... graduated.... is graduating.... does anyone out there know anything about redaction criticism?... go cubs go.... is jealous of Kathy S-T... is writing a paper. or, at least trying to... 3 years later is still failing to adjust to cooking with an electric stove...go Cubs go.... is slightly excited about presidente, flipflops and palm trees... is going to the Dominican Republic manana.... is so sick of shoveling... you know it's bad when you are looking forward to it being 30 degrees later in the week.... learned today that my ability to procrastinate has reached a whole new level... was actually considering living in Michigan after graduation...until stepping outside an hour ago... slept better before becoming convinced that yes, yes we can... loves that today is both super and fat... YES WE CAN... thinks if you make less than $6000 in a year you shouldn't have to file tax returns... is a nicer person when the sun is shining... is completely comfortable with the fact that she drives like an old lady in the snow....hopes everyone is aware of what has been going down in Kenya this past week.... is trying to solve the deadly combination of fleece jackets and dog hair.... just discovered the difference a high-speed internet connection can make uploading photos... realized it can be just as hard to run errands in the States...especially during the yuletide.... is thinking there might be something living in her stomach... is not looking forward to having to wear boots instead of flip-flops in about 24 hours from now... is still trying to figure out what makes running errands in developing countries so difficult... is wondering why turkey eggs don't receive a lot of hype... is trying to avoid going up and down stairs after hiking for 16 hours yesterday... is hoping that she doesn't get blisters from her new hiking boots... is thinking she has reached her limit on how many cups of chai and pieces of meat she can eat in one day... is wondering if anyone was going to tell her that she spelled 'signing' wrong or if people really thought she was somewhere in Africa "singing" up for Facebook... is still wondering if singing up for Facebook was a good idea.

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...