diary of a church hopper (pt. 2)

I know you may all have been looking forward to an entry on St. George's or something Episcopal. I never knew I had so many Episcopalian friends! For that reason, I'd been looking forward to the service as well. But, as one friend remarked, an Episcopal church is not a place to meet people. And, to get down to it, I'm getting pretty desperate for people. I'm an introvert to an extent, but there is a line between introversion and the hermit's life that I am quickly crossing and life has become extremely frustrating and canned because of it. For those latter reasons, I went for the quick-fix service. My best bet. Sorry, God.

When you're church hopping and really want to find something that's comfortable, start with what you know, right? There are approximately three Reformed churches in the area. (There is also a Christian and Missionary Alliance church in the area, but hey, let's not encounter that mess unless we need to.) One of those, you may remember, I visited about three weeks ago. That was the church that was on a stage with stage lighting and lots of P&W. Jesus praised in lime-green PowerPoint. I'd decided to tackle the other two RCAs in the coming weeks. This week was the second.

What made me choose this one second was that it meets in a Lutheran church, and their Web site didn't have a cheesy intro like the other one did.

The service, according to the site, started at 9. Go figure, and Ariel begins shutting off her alarm in her sleep again and wakes up at 8:24. But I was determined to go to this church, determined to be really optimistic. Prayed ahead of time that someone here would be friendly.

Somehow, somehow, found the church. Had no idea really where I was going. Knew what street I was looking for but not even which direction it went. As luck would have it, the service started at 9:15 and and I arrived at 9:14. But, since they were Dutch, it really started at about 9:12.

As you go in, men hand you hymn books. Since three different churches meet in the sanctuary, each keeps track of their own version. The sanctuary was very light -- bright white walls, a huge cross-shaped window on the side. There may have been some skylights as well. Lots of stained glass, but it was the new kind that's extremely colorful and depicts things like one dove and the sunshine that have symbolic meaning you're unsure of.

They had real pews! I miss pews.

Squeezed in between an elderly man at the left end of the pew and a family at the right end. Planted there in the middle. People all around me.

The service was very traditional. We sang four or five hymns all told to an organ, and all the songs were extremely familiar (i.e. Lead on O King Eternal, 'Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus). The organist played confidently and fairly accurately, though he seemed to have his own idea of tempo.

The congregation of around 150 was fairly aged, fairly. Most parishioners seemed to be middle aged. There were a few families with children, most of them small families with blond heads between 5 and 11ish. One newborn. No one really "my age." That was noteworthy but not a strikeout. I could go for some people of any age.

I took particular note of their system to welcome visitors. If I did not feel welcome in the end, I was considering writing the pastor a letter to tell him that I was a Christian looking for an outstretched hand and found none.

At the beginning of the service, there was a general welcome to all in attendance, especially visitors. That's pretty standard. Everyone had to sign a friendship pad, and the liturgist mentioned that you should read the names as it comes back to learn who visitors are and greet them after the service.

There were a few young teenagers. Most were scowling. That really should mean something, I felt. Often, the youth are the heart of a church. The fire. Perhaps for its small size, that was not the case here.

I noticed at one point that the person sitting at the end of our pew was a NW student, who actually lived on my floor this year. But she doesn't like me, I don't think.

This is the church I grew up in, I found at one point. The demographics were about the same. We had no youth program then. We sang old hymns to an organ. We had the children's sermon and...yeah. It was really similar. But it doesn't seem like enough, now. The sermon didn't seem like enough. The preacher was pretty good, kept my attention fairly well, had good intonation and had it all memorized. But...I wanted more depth. It was a pretty standard loaves and fishes deal. I wanted there to be another layer to the loaves and fishes that I didn't know about. I want, I want, I want. The pastor mentioned that maybe the few loaves inspired people to share what they'd brought with each other, and that's how there was more than enough. Maybe. But...I want more. More application. More meat. You're not a baby, dear. Find your own food.

The service ended: time for the true test. Funny that my true test of a church should be after the service is over. Is that screwed up? Please let me know what you think.

I was hoping the older man on the end would talk to me. He smiled at me once during the service, and I saw that he lives in one of the towns in my paper's coverage area and has the same obscure last name as our family doctor. But after the benediction he picked up his hymnal and left. That was it -- I held out no more hope.

Waiting in line to get out, the 50-something man next to me said hello. Asked me if I was a visitor. Why I was here. My name, how I found out about them, what I did. Introduced me to his wife. It took a few minutes to get out of the sanctuary, so we had a few minutes of awkward small talk. Their son graduated from NW. His name rung a bell, mostly because the surname was Dutch. Wished I knew him. He gave me a brief history of the church. They broke off from this third RCA body because they wanted to have 100% contemporary services there, and this church wanted tradition. Typical. I don't want to go to the third church now.

Mark(?)'s wife Kathy asked if I was familiar with Toastmasters. I said I'd heard of it but knew nothing. She said there is a group of them she thought I might like that meets tomorrow morning at 6:45(!) at the Godfather's in the next town south. I'm not really interested in the toasting but she said it's a great way to meet people, and it was so nice just to be invited to something.

Shook the pastor's hand on the way out. Mark told him I was a visitor and NW grad. Pastor was too.

As for the church...mm. I miss the Lynettes and Kathys and Jennifers. But I also miss learning things in the sermon that are fresh and exciting. And I should probably be looking for friends my age...

Next week, stay tuned for maybe St. George's. Maybe the third RCA contemporary megachurch where there are sure to be 20-somethings but maybe not depth (ooh, that's harsh). How do you even look for churches?

lying for God

A strange fascination with World War II has been part of me since about the Number the Stars age. Two of my favorite pieces of literature from that era are The Hiding Place, the story of a Christian family who hid Jews, and a historical fiction series called The Zion Covenant, about a group of people, mostly European Christians, who took part in early resistance movements.

One ethical problem that pops up from time to time with Christians in Nazi eras -- sometimes they need to lie or deceive. In the Ten Commandments, there's no conditional statement added onto "Thou shalt not lie." So, technically, isn't it a sin for Corrie ten Boom to deny that their are Jews living in her bedroom? Getting down to the nuts and bolts, it might be, but I chose to ignore it. God will understand.

On the other hand, is choosing to lie to get out of a dangerous situation like putting God in a box? Do we believe he can manage to get us out of a tight spot if we are faithful to playing by his rules?

Corrie's sister, Nollie, had a problem with lying under any circumstances. Once, she was hiding some men in a hole in her kitchen that was covered by a rug and a table on top of the rug, which she was sitting at. Soldiers came in and asked her where her men were. Unwilling to lie, she told them they were under the table. The soldiers looked under the table (but not under the rug), smacked her, and left. She had principles and abided by them, and God seems to have honored that.

If you're still reading, the point is now coming: people in the Bible lied for God, and he blessed them. The Hebrew midwives in Egypt told the Pharoah some lies about Hebrew labor habits. There's Rahab, too. Probably others.

Apparently "Thou shalt not lie" has some unwritten subsections and amendments. Or maybe I just need a better definition of "lie." All these women did intend to deceive. But their deception was not just in order to save their own skins -- it was to help others.

But I want God to be bigger than that. I want him to play by the explicit rules every time. I want some black and white lines. I want, I want, I want.

you're upside down, stupid

It never fails to blow my mind when I see how much reprogramming our minds need. The things that seem good in life are on my list of things to convince myself to avoid. And the things that bring me pain or I’d much rather avoid are the same ones I’m supposed to wring joy and beauty out of.

Romans 5 I used to repeat as a mantra of where I need to be. I pasted it and its variants all over my desk in efforts to lure myself back out of “moods.” It’s another example of the radical gospel.

We continue to shout our praise, even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next.

Pain means good.

The suffering won’t last forever. It won’t be long before this generous God who has great plans for us in Christ – eternal and glorious plans they are! – will have you put together and on your feet for good.

Alternate version: After you’ve suffered for awhile, he himself will mend that which was broken.

Suffering is okay. Broken is okay.

I’m still getting used to this idea that I was born upside down with these things called instincts that don’t come oriented properly. It takes a whole life time to get them recalibrated. (And calibration is painful. But pain is okay.)

Chocolate seems good. But chocolate equals calories. Calories are bad.

Friends are great. But fuel costs are not.

Having happy churches with happy praisers is a blessing. But ignoring the sheep outside the fold is wrong.

Scars are ugly. But they indicate healing.

Waiting is frustrating. But necessary.

Death is terrible. But death leads to life.

Writing is good. But saying everything that comes to your mind is not.

Does the standard-issue brain come miswired? Or was a result of the fall a blown fuse in Adam's head that we're all lucky enough to acquire through genetics?

Miswiring is good!

A caveat to some of these things is moderation... "too much of a good thing." But still...

We learn some lessons so many times, don't we?

wake up.

something's wrong.

what's wrong?

it's just not right.

you're fine.

i can even feel it -- in the tight stomach, tense shoulders...

we are so not doing this today. you're fine. so you had to wake up. so you don't feel like going to work. maybe life isn't 100 percent rosy-cheery. that's NORMAL. that's what every day has been like to date, remember? we don't need to go off the deep end.

i don't want to feel like this.

honey, just go start life today. you'll forget all about it and the feeling will go away. it always does. why are we always making these huge mountains out of tiny little not-fantastic moods? in twenty minutes you'll have forgotten all about this.

maybe Corrie has something to say -- just what i need to hear.

well...it can't hurt. but don't be disappointed if it isn't. it doesn't mean God doesn't love you or something. you are so irritating. you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. you're FINE.

"Remind us that You are always with us, Lord.
Thank You that even our smallest problems concern You. You answer our slightest need."

(tear.)

i guess i better wear shoes to see the governor, i told Johnny. i stepped out of my flip-flops and exchanged them for "proper" sandals.

and then i went to see the governor.

there was a conference at the local country club with three local governors. i just needed a picture, and kelly could have just gotten one for me (since he's running a picture and a story), but it's always good practice to go to press conferences. and i'd never met a governor. or actually been in to a country club. sad, yes.

i walked into the ballroom and was overwhelmed by suits. they were everywhere, unexpected. i was really, really glad i hadn't worn the flip-flops. i was definitely the most underdressed. but i also didn't really care -- i was the youngest. and didn't need to be there. at least i was wearing a dress. an awkward dress, but a dress nonetheless.

the fourth person i saw was my boss, and was i glad. he looked a little silly -- his shirt under his suitcoat had a print on it. i wonder if susan saw him before he left the house. but he checked in with me and told me to pick up a booklet -- spiralbound 30-page job -- and find a seat. there were several seats right in the third row. took one of those. got some prelim shots of the governors. was really glad i learned how to turn the sound off the camera yesterday.

jotted down a bunch of thoughts for y'all. then left them at work...

-underneath these suits are people thinking about other things. Kelly is thinking about his dad. Bruce is thinking about his kids. that guy over there...maybe he's having car troubles.

a former professor from my school, now a state senator, was seated two rows in front of me at one point. i was so excited to see him, though i don't know him and he doesn't know me. he was a connection of two lives that often seem quite separate.

after the regular conference was a press conference. and after the press conference, Bruce had me and Kelly get our picture taken with the South Dakota governor. that was a little funny because Kelly and i both live in Iowa, and i'm technically a Minnesota resident. but he shook my hand and wished me luck in my job and sucked up to journalism as a profession.

***
Hamburger Helper. Many people I know and trust eat Hamburger Helper and go on to lead perfectly normal lives. I should really try it. But…I expect to be poisoned with unfamiliar preservatives and disappointed with the taste and texture.

***
-whom are you going to dance with?
-with you, if you will ask me.

mr. knightley, i fall for you every time... (emma, the movie. and the book.)

-then i came to see that i do not admire him as i once did -- i love him. so dearly, so greatly. .. i knew that no one must marry mr. knightley... but me.

-dear lord, if he cannot share a life with me, is it wrong to ask that he not share it with anyone? i would be content if he would just stay single, lord. that's it -- if he would just stay single. that would be enough for me to be perfectly satisfied...almost.

it seemed too much to hope that even harriet smith could fall in love with more than three men in one year.

and as i left he asked if he could see me next day ... and on the day after that, he asked if he could see me all the days ever after!

Meet me here in ten minutes. It's nice, hm?

the writing wench

i am a writer. i gather information from sources, reorganize it, and regurgitate it for an audience. i have the freedom to experiment with voice and tone and whatever the heck i want.

to an extent.

because i am writing to please people. and there is a totem pole of people to be pleased.

at the top is the advertiser, should the writing be an advertorial. though the businessperson may never have graduated from high school and may not be able to spell, i have to graciously ask for and use their revisions.

the next highest is the publisher. he pays the bills, so what he says goes. but this isn't typically even an issue -- i often get free reign even to revise his stuff.

then comes the editor. they pay him "the big bucks" for a reason. he usually lets me do what i want, too.

the audience...where do they fit in? after all, if the audience doesn't like our stuff, we're all out of work. maybe they are the totem pole. each of the above individuals instructs me according to what they think the audience needs or wants.

the bottom of the pole is me.

but that's writing for money!

the swingingest post on this blog

a friend lended me a benny goodman cd. got me thinking back to the swing dancing fad in high school, the swing tracks rusting away on cds burned from (sniff, sniff) napster.

an old personal favorite: goodnight, my love with benny goodman and ella fitzgerald, 1937. at this site, if you scroll down to the very bottom and click on the globe, you can hear most of a quiet recording.

big band music reminds me of summer -- it must be the heaviness of it. the soft dragging of the brushes on a trap set, the weighty offbeats from a brass section enjoying the breeze the plunger effect creates, a tune with unbelievable range, clarity, and accuracy emerging from a clarinet or a mysterious lady. they all make me think of a humid august evening.

sultry summer music

http://www.npr.org/programs/asc/archives/asc89/index.html#holiday

(sorry, forgot how to html links!)

check out especially Billie Holliday

the sleazy men post

-This is a marriage, not a Barney the Dinosaur song.

-I don't need you to tell me I'm a son of a bitch. Been one for a long time. I like it -- the hours are good and there's no heavy lifting. But I'm a son-of-a-bitch whose wife was shot by somebody else.

-If I allowed the police to search the home of every man who owns a gun, hides money from his wife, and doesn't love her anymore, there'd be a line around this courthouse.

-Tweed -- it conceals a multitude of sins.
-Like attempted murder?
-Like spilt gravy. It's fresh, smell.

-I understand you've been promoted from assistant district attorney to supreme deity.

The writing from the early seasons of Law and Order has a great zing to it. The characters, though you know little about their personal lives, have real personalities.

Tonight I'm watching one of my five tapes of the old shows (six one-hour shows per tape). They were, at once, category tapes. One tape for episodes with mobsters, one for episodes with my favorite attorney -- Claire. This week is Claire's week. The episode I'm on is the one where this guy is accused of trying to have his wife killed. He has this crazy wit, but does a great job of making you just hate him. He gets acquitted in this episode. In a couple of years, he does another episode and is accused of killing his second wife...

Speaking of sleazy men...


Decided to grab dinner to go from a posh bar and grill near work with part of a gift certificate my boss gave me.

Go up to the bar to order a pricy little wrap sandwich. Wait for the bartender to look at you, stand near the cash register. The cash register is surrounded by bar stools.

A 45-ish man is sitting in the stool nearest the register with a pint and a meal, watching ESPN on the big screen across the room. His cell phone's on the counter. He's tan. He looks at you as you stand there. You notice and look away fast, because of the code of not acknowledging strangers.

He speaks.

"Have you ever overnighted..."

Suddenly remember a need to be anywhere else just then.

"...a package with EHO from New York to Sioux City?"

Try to shrug off the conversation. No, you haven't. Yes, you're sure they're a terrible service. Wonder what on earth the bartender is doing. Think about eating supper later.

Bartender arrives, seems confused by your order. Scribbles something down and walks away. Does he know by looking at you that you are not adept at ordering things at bars? Does he only like bar-people? Does he like anyone?

Wonder if you're supposed to stand there and wait for the bartender to say anything to you. After a minute of sleazy old man looking your way again, decide you really need something out of your car.

Ten minutes later, you're holding your meal in an unclassy plastic bag, waiting at the register again for bartender to return your gift certificate. Sleazy old man is still there.

"Why don't you take a seat here while you're waiting?" He kicks out the stool a bit.

"Ah, no thanks, I'm on my way out."

Take the gift certificate and run, scaredy cat.

more jars o' clay fun

jars of clay continues to serve me well in moods of feigned apathy. ("silence")

p.s. Erin -- the last song was jars', also
p.p.s. anyone who hasn't heard "worlds apart" in the acoustic version -- it's incredible. maybe i'll try to link it on here later.

take
take 'til there's nothing
nothing to turn to
nothing when you get through
won't you break
scatter pieces of all i've been
bowing to all i've been
running to

where are you?

did you leave me unbreakable?
leave me frozen?
i've never felt so cold

i thought you were silent
i thought you left me
for the wreckage and the waste
on an empty beach of faith

was it true?

yes, i got a question
where are you?

scream
deeper, i want to scream
i want you to hear me
i want you to find me

i want to believe
but all i pray is wrong
and all i claim is gone

well, i got a question
where are you?

running through my head

I am the only one to blame for this
Somehow it all adds up the same
Soaring on the wings of selfish pride, I flew too high
and like Icarus I collide
With a world I try so hard to leave behind
To rid myself of all but love
to give and die
To turn away and not become another nail to pierce the skin of one who loves
more deeply than the oceans,
more abundant than the tears of a world embracing every heartache

Can I be the one to sacrifice?
Or grip the spear and watch the blood and water flow?

To love you - take my world apart
To need you - I am on my knees
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - broken on my knees

All said and done I stand alone amongst remains of a life I should not own
It takes all I am to believe in the mercy that covers me

Did you really have to die for me?
All I am for all you are because what I need and what I believe are worlds apart

I look beyond the empty cross, forgetting what my life has cost
and wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain

More and more I need you now
I owe you more each passing hour
the battle between grace and prideI gave up not so long ago

So steal my heart and take the pain
and wash the feet and cleanse my pride
Take the selfish, take the weak, and all the things I cannot hide

Take the beauty, take my tears
the sin-soaked heart and make it yours
take my world all apart
take it now, take it now
and serve the ones that I despise
speak the words I can't deny
watch the world I used to love fall to dust and thrown away

lyrics du moment

my roommate got married about five weeks ago. her now husband sang a song to her during the ceremony. i was a little skeptical at first because i had seen this done before -- usually the groom cannot make it through without breaking down. and her husband did choke up partway through one phrase, but otherwise he did fine. even more important, it was a kind of nice song; i had never heard it before and it has some nice images in it. i could believe it as he sang it to her. since that day, i hear it all the time. it doesn't help that it is in the iTunes library on my work computer -- not my doing. the song is by steven curtis chapman, who i also tend to be skeptical of. but...here's what's playing here right now:


tomorrow morning if you wake up
and the sun does not appear
i will be here

if in the dark we lose sight of love
hold my hand and have no fear
because i will be here

i will be here
when you feel like being quiet
when you need to speak your mind
i will listen

and i will be here
when the laughter turns to quiet
through the winning, losing, trying, we'll be together
cause i will be here

tomorrow morning if you wake up
and the future isn't clear
i will be here

as sure as seasons were made for change
and lifetimes were made for these yeras
so i will be here

i will be here
so you can cry on my shoulder
when the mirror tells us we're older
i will hold you

and i will be here
to watch you grow in beauty
and tell you all the things you mean to me
i will be here

i will be true to the promise i have made
to you and to the one who gave you to me

just as sure as seasons were made for change
and lifetimes were made for these years
so i will be here

unplanned beauty in a planned area

just a nice-looking tree. a tree you notice.
the trees in the background are in Nebraska...




a nice flower.
the flowers in the background are in South Dakota...

'hairy' situations

*In memory of all those suffering from thick, wavy hair in humid settings
*Inspired by a piece read at a school creative writing outlet

Yank brush through hair still damp from a post-run sweat. Turn on the shower.

Should I cut my hair? It just won’t do anything anymore.

Work in the pre-shampoo shampoo necessary for a frizzy, uncooperative head.

Of course it won’t do anything anymore – it’s been so humid out. Cutting it is the last thing you should do. You’re better off having it long – it’s easier to just put it up until the humidity goes away.

Rinse out the official shampoo. Reach for the alleged miracle-working conditioner. Imagine each strand crying out in joy for the life-saving potion.

I’ve got time. I’ll dry it really well and straighten it and use hairspray and everything. If that doesn’t work out, then I’ll cut it.

Towel dry. Dab on the latest face cream Mom swears by. Notice how much it’s not working. Comb through the wet mop. Stop to stare in the mirror.

See how nice it looks? It’s so smooth when it’s wet. Straight, just like you could trace around my head. Just like hair should be. Why can’t it stay like this?

Go turn on the iron. Make a lunch. Put orange juice in a coffee mug. Track down all your gadgets for work.

I’ll just be really patient with it, blow dry as long as it takes.

Look at the clock. Realize you wanted to be on the road in ten minutes.

Look in the mirror, cringe at the waves already forming. Turn on the hairdryer. Realize it would take an hour to dry this mop.

Try using the cool setting like the hairdresser said.

Try drying it upside down like your roommate does. Miss getting ready every morning with her. Laugh at her habit of matching her underwear to her clothes.

Turn right-side up. Cringe. Brush.

Pause drying. Put on makeup.

Remember Nicky’s comment about how you never wear any makeup. Wonder why you waste time every day doing it. Pick at mascara clumps. Plug in straightener. Change your mind, unplug it, and plug in curling iron.

This is ridiculous. Why do I even bother? Where is that barrette?

Attempt drying phase two. Give up. Rub in the alleged de-frizzer. Do something with it, anything, so you can run out the door.

Look at your head in the car window – notice how big the frizz already is.

Notice after lunch how it might seem to your coworkers you never attempt to groom yourself. Notice that your co-worker has no frizz, might as well live in a different climate.

Start calling hair salons for openings that evening. Find everything booked for the next week. Wonder if that's a sign.

recycled comfort

alarm went off at the crack of dawn this morning -- for once in a long while, it awoke before i did.

woke up here, on this couch. the same couch i watch tv on, type on, read on, eat on.

tuesday -- production day. i was in for it. needed a morning pick-me-up. it was time to find corrie (each new day -- click on link at right).

sifted through the no-longer-bound pages, without bothering to turn a lamp on, to find a july 12 entry. stopped to rub my eyes a bit. they're getting bad again. (i have this bizarre eye problem where i have double rows of eyelashes, and some of them grow backwards into my eye from time to time. the solution is having the optometrist pluck them out -- they're too tiny to see.)

above the day's entry was a red pen circle, likely evidence of a malfunctioning utensil.

the same red pen had marked up within the entry as well. an extra heavy line went through some of it.

Jesus is able to untangle all the snarls in your soul and to banish all complexes. He will transform even your fixed habit patterns, no matter how deeply they are etched in your subconsciousness.

"If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask God, who gives to all men generously and without reproaching, and it will be given him" - James 1:5 RSV

We have habits we think we cannot break, attitudes we cannot change. Give us the sense to ask for Your answer, Lord.

now, maybe this is the gospel with sugary-sweet coating on it. maybe it's boiled down too far, without the complexities it truly has. maybe it's far too me-centered and not nearly enough about Him. maybe those snarls serve purposes, will do me good. will do Him good.

but i want to believe it, need it to be true. and it has brought me much comfort before, on at least one other july 12, so it seems. what was happening then? was a subconscious pattern broken?

how does the same God give generously and turn women into salt pillars? why am i spared and not her? i would have turned, too.

i shouldn't be in this for the pick-me-ups.

16% of studies contradicted by later studies, new study finds

collection of thoughts

• it's easy to say too much and not enough at the same time.
• cars hate me. why?
• "i have problems i don't want. and i can't get the problems i do want. and this is a problem within itself." -- the wisdom of Johnny Shelby
• is God speaking? did i miss out on the standard-issue listening device?
• what would a world be like without mothers?
• what would a world be like without hugs?
• what if you tell all your secrets?
• i wish i could have a pint with James Herriot.
• i wish i liked pints.

Welcome, friends

Above is a scene from a nature preserve a few minutes from my office.

I find excuses to run out there to take photos.

This morning I spent an hour wandering about,

trying to capture butterflies,

robins,

cranes,

and one stubborn blue bug.

Most of the preserve is simply prairie grass and trees.

The area is enormous. Enormous enough to hold all sorts of secrets.

I can't help but want to get lost back in that third row of trees.