Sunday, January 31, 2021
Saturday, January 30, 2021
Friday, January 29, 2021
Long ago, when we first set up our COVID check in station, I started making a card each day with the date and a quick sketch. I thought people would need to know the date, and rather than answer the question multiple times, I'd make the card. Some days I sketch a scene, while other days it's more abstract. Some days, it's a scene with abstract elements or a scene, sketched abstractly:
There are days I wonder if I should still do this. After all, most people have a phone with a date. But people do look at it, and it does bring a spark of joy into my work day as I do it.
Last week, I didn't have much time to make Friday's sketch, so I created this:
My colleague and friend had been having a tough week with her dog who was in the last stages of life before dying on Friday. I had dogs on the brain, but truth be told, I was only trying to capture the essence of a dog, not her particular dog. Still, my friend told me that it meant a lot to her. Later, she made this picture her Facebook picture:
Since my first sketch meant so much to her, I decided to create a better sketch, based on the photo:
She wants to keep the date card. She had me sign it:
When I first started this date card with sketch practice, I didn't anticipate all the directions it would take me. To be honest, the me that I was in May, when I started, would be surprised that we're still doing this as January moves to February of 2021. Even though I didn't realize I was starting a daily practice, I'm glad that I have.
It's brought me joy, and I'm glad that it's brought joy to others. And I'm happy that it's brought solace. When I used to say that I had vague longings of being a hospice chaplain, I wasn't thinking of this approach. As I look at much of my life in the past few years, I often get the sense of God saying, "You want to be a hospice chaplain? I have work for you to do, sweetie."
Thursday, January 28, 2021
Even though I took Monday off, this week has felt endless, and I'm not sure why. Nonetheless, I was relieved to get through a Wednesday in 2021 with nothing historic happened (nothing historic happened, right?). Think about it: Jan. 6 was the assault on the Capitol, Jan. 13 was the impeachment decision against Trump (second impeachment--first time a U.S. president has been impeached twice), and Jan. 20 was the Inauguration.
If we feel like we've been living through historic times, we have. And in January, it's felt both speeded up and endless. And I feel fretful that the pandemic may yet take a turn for the worse that will leave us thinking back wistfully to the times when we only worried about getting vaccines into arms and speeding up the production of N95 masks (yes, still a year later, and we're still not producing the simple stuff we need).
It's also a strange time for me on a personal level. I'm at a campus, and we know that the campus will be closing within a year. We're down to a skeleton crew at the campus, and there's at least several moments each day where I reflect on how well we're working as a team and how much I'll miss these people.
On Tuesday, I made this Facebook post:
"In the office beside me, one of my Vet Tech colleagues is listening to the soundtrack to "Hamilton" while doing class prep, and I am overcome with love for humanity, a hunger for history, and a longing for live theatre."
And last week, I made this Facebook post:This morning, we talked about the beautiful coats and clothes worn by various women during yesterday's Inaugural coverage. I looked at my Thursday outfit: black velveteen skirt, pumpkin colored shirt, with olive larger shirt for a finishing garment. I said, "My fashion statement for today seems to be Mossy Autumnal Forest."
I am surprisingly comfortable with that as both fashion statement and mission statement.
Wednesday, January 27, 2021
Yesterday as I was working, I got several messages from people asking about seminary and me. Yes, on the same day. I realize it's just a coincidence, but it's one of the kinds of coincidences that make me say hmm. I revisited the various websites of seminaries and programs. The one that looks most interesting to me is a program focused on theology and creativity at a UCC seminary--but that program doesn't lead to ordination.
Many Lutheran seminaries now offer scholarship programs so that seminarians can graduate with no debt, which is great. Of course, there would still be bills that need to be paid.
I'm writing to colleagues from the community college in Charleston where we were all faculty members together in the 90's--we're exchanging haikus on a daily basis. What fun! Yesterday I wrote this haiku:Seminary thoughts:
daydream or question or call?
Am I too far gone?
My friend wrote me 2 in response. I loved them so much that I want to record them here:
For daydreams you plan.
Questions and calls you answer.
It’s never too late.
It's a risk we take.
Cool headed logic versus
The pursuit of dreams.
the call and the discernment.
You will find your way.
Tuesday, January 26, 2021
In all the Inauguration news of last week, all the various work ups and downs, I forgot to mention a publication. I was happy to get my copy of Gargoyle, which published one of my Cassandra poems.
Cassandra is one of the figures from Greek myth to whom I return again and again. As I was thinking about this poem's publication after I got my contributor copy of the journal, I got the idea for another one, Cassandra visiting her spiritual director and trying to use centering prayer--so let me note that, for a day when I feel like I have no more poems to write ever.
I was thinking of this poem, of Cassandra in the modern age, of the idea of the future in a time when the future seems so fraught with peril. Does the future always seem fraught with peril? It has in my lifetime, although the nature of the peril has shifted.
Would Cassandra, with her vision of the future, keep her eggs? This poem attempts to answer that question:
Saturday, January 23, 2021
The future is still bright and ahead of me--there's just not as much of it as there used to be."
Friday, January 22, 2021
Thursday, January 21, 2021
Yesterday was a day of highs and lows, as I expected, although the lows were brief. As I was about to leave for work, I realized that Trump was about to leave the White House, so I turned on the TV. Sure enough, there was the helicopter, waiting to take Trump away from D.C., away from the Inauguration, which he had decided not to attend. I waited, watching, while the helicopter rose. Some of the camera shots were amazing, including one of the helicopter and the edge of the Capitol building.
Throughout the day, I would feel weepy as I saw footage of D.C. How I love that city! Throughout the first 45 years of my life, my path wound back there: we made annual pilgrimages there for my dad's reserve service week-ends and weeks, we lived near there and made trips there for cultural enrichment and to see family friends, and my parents moved to the Virginia suburbs when I was in college and lived there for the next 25 years. I spent college summers doing social service work in the less desirable parts of the city, back when the city had the highest murder rate in the country. We almost always went into the city when I came back as a grown up to visit my parents.
As I drove to work yesterday morning, Trump arrived at Joint Base Andrews and said his final remarks. I was amazed when he said, "Honey, would you like to say a few words?" I was stunned--both that he used a term of endearment that I've never heard come from his mouth before, not to his wife, not to anyone, and also because he shared the stage.
I got to my office and did some of the work of the day that had to be done. I zipped over to Office Depot to pick up the spiral bound self-studies that needed to be in the mail by the end of the day--our Vet Tech program is having a site visit in March, and those documents need to be received by accreditors by Jan. 27. I answered e-mails and re-set a password so that I could access the fingerprint checks for our incoming students. I did some troubleshooting with a program chair.
In short, even though it was a momentous day, we still had work to do. Just before I shifted my attention to the Inauguration, I made this Facebook post: "As one administration shifts to another administration, we do the work that must be done, no matter who is in power: we shepherd the students, we write the e-mails, we get the accreditation documents ready to go, we donate to the food pantries, we check up on the people who need us, we meet the deadlines, we do the work."
At about 10:30, I got a phone call from a colleague who said, "Where are you, Dr. K? You're missing it all!" So I went to her office and realized that people were arriving for the inauguration (capitalize this word? can't decide). I watched a bit, thinking I would come back closer to time for swearing in--but I didn't want to miss the swearing in of the first woman to achieve such high office--sure, it's not the presidency, but I'll take this crumb!
At some point, one of us suggested we move to the conference room, and we did--we had a much bigger monitor, and we could spread out, so it was a good call. Every so often the live feed would fail, which was frustrating, but we coped. I had thought I might watch the ceremony alone in my office, but it was so much better to cheer and weep with colleagues.
I loved hearing the national anthem--it moved me more deeply, given the assault on the Capitol just 2 weeks earlier. I am still just astonished that I'm writing these words. Four years ago, I was expecting armed assaults, but I imagined that Trump would take the path of other dictators and start foreign wars to solidify support and power.
I loved the swearing in--tears again and again. I loved Biden's speech. I realize that he trotted out familiar themes for inauguration day, but what a relief to have a president who understands why these themes of unity are important. What a relief to have a president who wants to inspire us, not divide us.
I loved the music and the musicians. I loved that Jennifer Lopez sang "This Land Is Your Land"--a Woody Guthrie song so perfect for the day! At one point, when Garth Brooks was singing "Amazing Grace," he turned to the camera and said, "At home, sing along." One of my colleagues murmered, "Are we going to sing?" And we sang softly together.
I loved the poet, although I found her hand motions distracting. Will her poem become my favorite? No--but no inaugural poem so far will be my favorite. I'm always just happy when a poet is invited to be part--it sends a message that is so important to me.
I even liked the closing prayer, although including prayers in these events makes me queasy. It's so easy to go wrong. Yesterday's prayer seemed inclusive to me in a way that other prayers don't.
And then it was time to get back to the work of the day: back and forth to the UPS store, getting mailing supplies, preparing the mailing, getting to the UPS store to realize I had forgotten the zip code on one of the packages, back to the office, back to the UPS store. I was fairly exhausted by the end of the day.
I ended the day with my online Mepkin journaling group--we are all of like minds, both politically and spiritually, so it was good to be together, even though I journaled more about the events of the day than the material we were scheduled to discuss/journal.
Late in the day, I made this Facebook post:
"Earlier today I was trying to remember if I had ever seen an inauguration in school when I was a child. Then I remembered that back then, TVs were huge and expensive and one couldn't put them on rolling carts. It was before the age of VCRs, so one wouldn't tape the inauguration so that students could watch it later and analyze it. And we couldn't stream on our computers--a computer took up a whole room, and you communicated with it by way of punch cards.
Wow, I am old. And wise."
I've spent some time this morning reading blog posts from the early days of the Trump presidency, and I was as clear-eyed as I remember, although I wouldn't have anticipated the mob attacking our own Capitol--at least not in the open, post-a-Selfie way it happened. I am both relieved that we survived, and anxious that the next time we won't be so lucky. Trump was fairly ineffectual, and thus, anyone paying attention could learn some valuable lessons about what not to do and what might work.
But for now, let me rest and breathe--and assemble the tools that will be needed to mend this tattered country.
Wednesday, January 20, 2021
Tuesday, January 19, 2021
milkweed blooms, monarchs visit
other species fed
Decomposing Christmas trees
Warm breath of future
If I had to title this one, I might go with this: Inauguration Eve.
Monday, January 18, 2021
Sunday, January 17, 2021
On Friday, my onground intensive ended with a commissioning service for the class ahead of me that was finishing the program. It felt strange for the experience to end at 5:45, to turn off the screen and wander around the house. It should have been a later service that ended with a champagne reception--or a Saturday morning service where we headed out into the world with our talents.
But as we were doing the service, I thought about how it was profoundly moving in unexpected ways. As each person's name was called, we all stretched out our hands to our individual cameras--so the Zoom session was a series of boxes of hands. That approach also made it easier to find the graduate we were blessing.
And in our care packages, each graduate got a vial of consecrating oil. So even though the candidate had to do self-anointing, we were able to hold onto that element of the commissioning service.
As each part of the body was mentioned, the graduate touched the oil to the body part: "The servant of God, (name), is anointed to a ministry of spiritual direction. May your mind always be attentive to God. May your ears be attuned to the words of those whom God sends your way and to the promptings of the Spirit. May your mouth under the guidance of the Spirit speak deep wisdom that is not your own. And may your heart be centered in the love of God. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."
Saturday, January 16, 2021
Yesterday I was aware that if it had been a year ago, I'd have been arriving at the seminary campus for the first onground intensive in my journey to be certified as a spiritual director. At the end of that intensive, I was in great spirits, ready for where the future was taking me, even as I admitted that I wasn't sure what I envisioned.
Little did I know what was about to fall on our collective heads . . .
I do think that there will be an upsurge in demand for spiritual direction in all its variations once we get past the worst part of this pandemic. Times of plague often lead to times of change, some of it tumultuous, some of it rewarding. I'm thinking about the Renaissance that came after the Black Death. In generalizing hundreds of years of history into a single sentence, and all the risks inherent with that condensation, I could argue that the the 30% death rate during the first outbreaks of the Black Death led people to question religious authorities and to move in directions they would not have if there had been no plague, directions that made them more free.
But I digress.
I have spent the last 3 days, at least part of them, at the second onground intensive, but because of the pandemic, we met online. This morning I thought, well, at least I don't have a 10 hour car drive today. But I also don't have that surge of energy and enthusiasm that comes from time away.
I missed the opportunity to have deep conversation with people along the way. Last year, I stayed with grad school friends before and after the intensive, and during the intensive I had great opportunities to talk with people, even though one purpose of the intensive was to explore the idea of solitude.
This year, I stared into a computer screen, hour after hour after hour. We had some small group sessions, which were great, but not quite the same.
Also not quite the same: the worship. They felt more like sessions than services. They were well done, with beautiful slides and music. But it wasn't the same as going to the chapel with its beautiful stained glass. And we didn't have communion.
What I missed most was the chance to be away--I missed it, even as I realized that it was much easier for me to participate online than onground this year. Had there been no pandemic, it would have been tough for me to get away. My request for leave was only granted early this week.
On Wednesday, I needed to be at the office, or at least I thought I did. My school is being bought by a Brooklyn school, and on Wednesday, the new owners were visiting my campus. So on Wednesday, I tuned in for the morning prayer and the opening remarks. I was able to be part of the instruction sessions and one of the 2 small group sessions. I stayed at the office so that I could tune in for Vespers. It was strange.
On Thursday and Friday, even though I was taking leave, I went to the campus to help open it. We only have 3 people with all the keys to open the campus, and one of them was out on unexpected bereavement leave. Each day, I opened doors, took temperatures, answered questions, did a few tasks, and then headed home. It was much easier to focus on the intensive at home, but still imperfect.
Throughout I tried to adopt the attitude that it was better to have an online intensive than a canceled intensive. We were supposed to have this intensive back in June. But I also wrestled with my feelings of disappointment. A year ago, I thought I had found a way to be at more peace with my feelings of displacement. This past year, I've been feeling more displaced than ever.
It's a spiritual displacement. In literal terms, I'm rooted in South Florida: I have a house, a job, and friends. But in the past few years, most of my South Florida friends have moved away, and it's become clear that I can't count on my job the way I once could, and that global warming is moving much faster than I anticipated, which means that my house is in constant danger.
My spirit yearns to live in a different place, and last year, I was thinking that by working towards this certificate, I'd have more chances to get away to places that soothe my soul: the seminary campus, Lutheridge, time with friends as place. This year, I have no idea what's coming our way.
In a way, it could be worse. At least I didn't enter into this program with a rigid idea of my expected trajectory--that might make it harder to make adjustments.
I've continued moving forward. I've lived long enough to know that sometimes it's best to just keep going, even if one has lost one's nerve/faith/certainty. I'm reminded of the advice given to those who have lost a spouse to death or divorce--don't make any big decisions leading to big changes for the first year after the traumatic event.
For at least the next year, that's the advice I'm following, even with the knowledge that I may not have the luxury of being the one making the choice.
Friday, January 15, 2021
I had an unsettling mystical experience yesterday. That's a sentence I didn't anticipate writing. I thought I might write many observations about my onground intensive to become certified in spiritual direction, but not that.
Thursday, January 14, 2021
Yesterday was my first day of the onground intensive for the certificate program in spiritual direction. This onground intensive being held online. By now, I've done so much online that I thought I didn't have many discoveries to make about what it means to live chunks of life online. I've been teaching online since 2013, and I've also been a student here or there. I've been a part of more online communities than I can count. In the past year, I've been part of worship services that are online--that was a first for me across the summer, but not now.
Yesterday I thought that I would be distracted by all the other online activities that might beckon to me. That's often what happens when I'm online, regardless of how fascinating any one individual activity might be.
Yesterday I was at the office, and it was all the other school stuff that was very distracting. We had some visitors--we are in the process of being bought by another school, and one of their teams came to our campus mainly to look at equipment. There were issues of students on externship and students who can't go on externship and deadlines. There was work on an accreditation document in advance of a virtual visit. I tried to only do this work during breaks for the onground intensive, but the school work bled into the intensive work.
Several times as the group came back together, we did a centering through breathing exercise. This practice isn't new to me. I'm deeply aware of the benefits of being aware of one's breath. Like so many benefits, just because I am aware doesn't mean that I actually do them.
I was surprised yesterday by how calming this practice was. I felt quite frazzled at certain points, but having someone count breaths for me really helped, although it did take me a few breaths to get into the rhythm.
I had been feeling a bit of sadness for all the ways that this year is not like last year. I was most sad about all the distractions that come from all directions. I will be logging on from home today, and while I imagine there will be fewer distractions, it still won't be the same as if I had driven to the campus in South Carolina, far away from all the home and work distractions.
I'm also feeling sadness about the fact that we're not having a chance to have meals together and to get to know each other in other ways. I'm sad about the fact that this experience is less like a nourishing and restorative retreat than the experience yesterday. I'm trying to resist the feeling that it's just one more thing to do in an already busy schedule.
I am glad that I participated yesterday. In so many ways, participating in the kinds of experiences that I tend to reserve for retreats might turn out to be one of the best benefits. I usually go to retreats, learn about techniques, come back home and promptly get immersed in all of the hectic life stuff that makes me yearn for a retreat.
Maybe yesterday's experience points me to a different direction/way to learn these things.
Wednesday, January 13, 2021
A week ago, I was finishing this sketch and looking forward to a typical Epiphany.
Tuesday, January 12, 2021
I have had this lingering sadness mixed with grumpiness mixed with dismay mixed with jolts of pure rage and a tumble back down into despair--but who hasn't? My pandemic mindset (the negative kind, not the grateful I haven't gotten sick kind) seems to be triggered most by events that either aren't happening or are happening in a different way.
This past week, as I've started working my way through the modules for my onground intensive for the certificate in spiritual direction, I've felt the negative pandemic mindset struggling to root itself in my brain. I try to root it out with gratitude for the fact that it's still happening at all--in June, the intensive was simply cancelled, which has added 6 months to the program.
But this is so NOT what was making me thrilled a year ago when I went to the first onground intensive at the seminary last year. I was so happy to get back to a campus that has a traditional feel, to explore an amazing library, to meet new people and to room with an old Create in Me pastor friend. The coursework wasn't unfamiliar to me, but I was glad to hear the concepts again and in a new context.
An in-person onground intensive isn't practical in a year when a contagion continues to wreak havoc. And to be honest, I'm not sure I'd have been given permission to leave my full-time job this week to travel to the seminary if it had been a traditional onground experience, so in some ways, this works out for the best.
But there's a very different energy to sitting in front of my computer working my way through video modules than the energy that comes from being in a classroom. Not for the first time, I realize how easy it is to be distracted when sitting in front of a screen.
Yesterday a UPS truck pulled up, and I wondered what this could be. All of our Amazon orders have already arrived. The delivery person handed me a package. It was a care package from the seminary. It contained a variety of treats, many of them made locally in South Carolina, plus some instructions:
I was blown away by this care package, and I continue to think about why. After all, I could buy these kinds of things myself. I often don't, but I could.
But it's more than that. It's the fact that the people in charge realize that we could use this kind of boost. Many of us yearn for the situation to be different--and the care package shows an effort to mark this time as special, as sacred even. We may need to be separate, but we can drink the same tea and coffee, light similar candles, trace our fingers around a finger labyrinth at the same time.
During the past 9 months, I've seen various teachers create care packages for their students. I've read the comments of those who go online, looking for suggestions for a box of inspirations sent to creative writing students or poems sent to literature students, art supplies and self-care items and all sorts of other items that can be delivered by a variety of methods.
If you're a teacher and you wonder whether or not the extra touches have meaning for your students, speaking as a student, I'm here to tell you, yes they do. Your students may not ever tell you, and you may not know for sure, but I am profoundly moved by this gift.
Sunday, January 10, 2021
I am about halfway through a program that will leave me certified to be a spiritual director. I loved the original design of the program: 4 onground intensives (2 in June, 2 in January), with one book to read a month. It seemed doable with my life.
Well, here it is, one year later, and how life has changed. One onground intensive, June 2020, was cancelled, and the one this week will be held online. We've been given all sorts of resources to explore in advance. I thought those resources would be written resources, but most of them seem to be videos--with all sorts of ancillary readings, if one is so inclined.
I've just watched my way through a series of videos on silence; the irony is not lost on me. While the ideas are not new to me, I'm happy to be reminded of them. But as I was watching, I did wonder if there was an angle we might be missing.
We were told to experiment with silence first by finding a place and time when we could be silent. For me, that's a stumbling point, and if it's a stumbling point for me, a woman with no children in the household and a supportive spouse and an office door that I can close at will--if I'm having trouble visualizing that, imagine how difficult others would find it.
I thought back to a piece of wisdom that I discovered about meditation. I have tried meditation through the years, but I have similar issues with meditation. I can't empty my mind. I can't sit cross-legged. My back wants to slump. If I close my eyes I go to sleep, but if I leave them open, I'm distracted by all the dust.
In one of Julia Cameron's books, she mentioned that Western minds have trouble with the kind of meditation that mandates that we sit in a quiet space and empty our minds and think of nothing. She recommends writing as a means of meditation. It gives us something to do, which helps quiet some part of our brains. And for many of us, writing gives us the space for some inner wisdom to bubble up, wisdom we might not be able to access any other way.
I wonder if the same might be true of silence. If we write, might we be more successful?
But for me, writing is a kind of noise too. It's a good kind of noise, but how can I be sure I'm hearing God?
Maybe instead of sitting in silence, we should exercise in silence. For those of us who want to focus on a single image, we could do that, if we were working out on a machine. For those of us who need to move through space, we could do that too, by walking or jogging or cycling.
I'm also thinking that knitting or crocheting or making a series of lines on the page could be useful.
This line of thinking has made me wonder how many other spiritual processes we might need to rethink. How many traditional methods of practice might be opened up to many more people if we widen our approach?
Saturday, January 9, 2021
I am a bright, shining star."
Friday, January 8, 2021
I've been reading much analysis of the events on Wednesday. I haven't read much that startled me out of complacency, that made me want to think further and more deeply, but this article on the NPR site did. Sociologist Alex Vitale says we shouldn't be focused on the police angle but on the larger issue of justice in society.
But he's not talking about justice the way most of us have been talking about justice. Most of us want people punished, want people put in jail, want officers fired. Vitale says, "Well, look, Americans are deeply committed to their retributive impulses. The United States has become a gigantic revenge factory. So obviously, people are falling back on these impulses — imagining justice as a question of punishment. Imagining that accountability is going to be measured in years of incarceration."
But then he pivots--he doesn't leave us drowning in our retributive impulses. He sees that we have a 2 year window to deepen the conversation. He says that in the past, we've been content to turn a variety of problems over to the police: homelessness, drug abuse, mental illness. The police aren't equipped to handle those issues, and as a result, we see the fractured and broken society that we have today.
He also notes that the people in charge along with the people who benefit--white people, to be specific--prize order over justice. If we commit to justice, we have to tolerate some disorder, some messiness.
I see two issues here, the one of what to do about this specific group of people who rampaged through the U.S. Capitol building and the issue of how to craft workable public policy that works for more of us. In terms of punishing Wednesday's rampagers, I have a vision of education, not prison. Let them read the books that were on the smashed bookshelves. Give them a choice of whether or not they'd like to serve their sentence in prison or in the U.S. Congress, being useful to Senators and Congress people and the Capitol police. Make them write research essays about the artifacts that they trashed.
The question of public policy is even thornier.
We've had decades of public policy crafted by wealthy white men, mostly for the comfort and benefit of wealthy white men. What would happen if we started to listen to other groups? Not just black, brown, and indigenous groups, which would certainly be a good start. But what if we listened to mothers and fathers? What if we listened to immigrant groups and those seeking shelter from ruinous policies in other countries? What if we listened to artists? What if we listened to members of religious groups that aren't mainstream Christian groups? What if we listened to mainstream Christian groups? What if we listened to poor people?
I could continue to list types of groups that haven't been a major voice at the table when public policy has been made. But what I really want to think about is the kind of public policy that might benefit more of us, the type of public policy that could lead to a society that is more aligned with principles of justice than vengeance.
I have the glimmerings of an amazing vision. And these kinds of societal transformations start with a vision. Let's dream it today.
Thursday, January 7, 2021
Of all the things I thought might happen yesterday, a mob storming the U.S. Capitol and gaining access and ransacking the building was not one of them. I kept an eye on national news yesterday because I was interested in the outcome of the Senate run-off election in Georgia on Tuesday. I saw photographs of what was happening, but I didn't see videos until later.
When I thought about possible coup attempts, I wasn't expecting people draped in the skins of wolves and other animals. I didn't think that an invading army would be made up of fellow citizens, and I didn't think an army that breached the U.S. Capitol would then wander the halls taking selfies, rifling through possessions, taking lecterns.
We may spend days arguing about what we've seen yesterday. Was it a coup? Was it insurrection? Sedition? A rally/demonstration/protest gone terribly wrong?
We may spend days arguing about who is responsible, and there's plenty of blame to go around.
I spoke to my parents a few days before Christmas, and we agreed to call on Christmas morning. My dad said, "If we're not all under house arrest by then." We laughed nervously.
My dad is the kind of conservative who worries about the national debt, who thinks about the best ways to defend the country and the Constitution. We've had our disagreements through the years, but we've always agreed on some basics. We've had much more common ground in the past 4 years, as we've both been shocked/stunned/horrified at Trump's actions.
As I followed the news yesterday afternoon, I wasn't worried at first. It's been a year of protests, and I thought this was going to be fairly typical--a big group, fairly peaceful with spurts of violence at the margins, while the work of the Congress went on inside.
When news came that the Capitol had been breached, I was confused. I have always assumed that people who didn't submit to the entry check point would be shot. I have always assumed that an invading army would be met by military force.
Perhaps it's different when it's an army of citizens. Perhaps it's different when the President of the U.S. invited his followers to invade.
But I'm guessing that there was chaos and that protectors of the Capitol building didn't want to escalate the encounter. I am grateful for the quick thinking actions of the ones who grabbed the electoral votes as the members of Congress were moved for their safety.
I am happy the the members of Congress met again when it was safe and affirmed and accepted the electoral votes. I am relieved that Joe Biden has officially been declared the next president.
I am not sure of how I feel right now--relieved, yes, but shaken. One of my friends wrote that she was "stunned but not surprised, if that makes any sense," and I responded that I had felt that way for most of the last 4 years.
A coup in wolf's clothing--I am stunned, but not surprised.
The U.S. Senate flipped--I am stunned, but not surprised.
Wednesday, January 6, 2021
Perhaps I will write about Georgia later. Perhaps by then, others will have written eloquent pieces about Georgia. Perhaps by then we'll know for sure who won each race. Right now, one race has been called by the AP for the Democrat, who happens to be the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, Martin Luther King Jr.'s church. He will be the first black senator to serve Georgia (I think).
Perhaps I will write about what happens in Congress today later, when I know what happens in Congress today, a day when Congress accepts/affirms the certified election results from the Electoral College. There will be Congress people who object to the results, which is just unfathomable to me. Did they not take a vow to protect the Constitution? Do vows mean nothing to people anymore?
As I've been paying attention to national politics and the pace of the pandemic, I've also had Epiphany on the brain. The Feast Day of the Epiphany celebrates the ways in which the incarnation of God in the person of Jesus is revealed early in the Christ story. More specifically, the Feast of the Epiphany celebrates the arrival of the wise men from the East to see and bring gifts to the baby Jesus.
We may or may not remember the rest of the story. This year, even more than other years, I am thinking of the murderous Herod. I am thinking of those travelers, those academics who studied the stars but not human behavior, who inadvertently set a crisis into motion. I am thinking of Herod, unbalanced Herod, so threatened that he killed all those children who might have grown up to be a threat to him.
Literalists may protest that there's no shred of evidence that this massacre actually happened. Surely history would have recorded this slaughter, this genocide. The story about Herod's murder of toddlers and babies may not be literally true, but it wouldn't be behavior that would be out of the realm of possibility for Herod.
Like many stories in the Bible, even if it isn't factually true, the story points to a larger truth.
These past years, many of us have had a closer look at the behavior of old white men who have felt threatened, and it's not a pretty sight. We see many people killed in the crossfire and killed by the fall out. We see lives diminished and potential stamped out.
We see the truth of that proverb that warns us that without imagination, the people will perish.
Would old white women have behaved the same way? Who can say? Women have never had the kind of power that old white men get to have throughout history. It is hard for me to imagine this kind of behavior if women did have that kind of power, at least not in the same kind of widespread way. Maybe after women have had that kind of power for thousands of years, maybe after that kind of power has sapped all empathy.
But even if we don't think that Herod's story speaks to us, it offers a powerful testimony to the corrosive effects of power. We would be wise to think of our own power, our own feelings of inadequacy, how we attempt to control the elements of our lives or how we don't.
We would be wise to think about all the strangers who show up to tell us of a different way, a different paradigm.
We would be wise to keep our eyes trained to larger vistas.
Tuesday, January 5, 2021
I saw an interesting exchange on Facebook the other day, a discussion of the appeal of the PBS artist Bob Ross, especially his appeal to today's youth. One woman wrote, "He's the Mr. Rogers of painting." She didn't mean that as a compliment. Others wrote about how they'd watch him when they needed a nap, and I do understand that his soothing voice is part of his appeal--or part of what drives people crazy.
As one who has written about wanting to be the Bob Ross of theology, if PBS ever decided to branch out in that direction, I've thought about this discussion thread more than it warrants. I've also wondered why this thread irked me so much.
I did not respond with snotty comments of my own, along the lines of "Some of us want to be gatekeepers who keep the riffraff out and some of us want to be midwives who help people deliver new life where they didn't expect it."
I am the type of artist who wants others to experience the joy of creation. If it's imperfect creation, so what? And what do these terms mean? Imperfect/perfect? I have an academic background, so I know that artists who have found acclaim in their own time are often not treasured later. What we see as perfect now, future generations may see as flawed--or may not see them at all.
I'm someone who believed that if we all created every day, we'd have happier citizens and a better society. And if Bob Ross helps people do that, what's the harm?
If someone like Bob Ross can create a corner of the marketplace doing that, well then, hurrah for him. There might have been some jealousy in that comment thread, but it sounded like an aesthetics discussion more than a "he's a sell out" discussion. But there was that tinge of gatekeeper discussion too--the idea that people might think they can actually paint, might call themselves painters if they follow his techniques. Gasp! Clutch pearls!
I don't understand this approach. It's not like many of us will make money or win wide acclaim for our creative offerings. But that's not the point.
I remember working in a for-profit commercial art school where my view was the minority. I was surrounded by skilled visual artists who spent hours discussing these issues, both amongst themselves and with their students. They weren't always interested in helping students find their own vision, but in fairness, in a commercial art school, as opposed to a fine arts program, the students have to learn to create with an eye to the marketplace.
We also spent a lot of time discussing that marketplace--and then there were people like me who argued for art for art's sake, education for the sake of becoming a better human, not a more employable human.
I realize that I'm a bit prickly about the value of visual art because I've always wanted to be a visual artist, and in fact, I've spent the last 5 years stepping up my efforts. But would my former colleagues recognize what I'm doing as art or would they sneer at me too?
Let me add one last memory of a faculty development day years ago. I used to play with poem ideas to keep myself from seeming too disrespectful. I could write on paper and look like I was taking notes. I didn't need to pay too much attention at the large general meeting, because I had already been part of a management team that had spent weeks and months on the issue. During one meeting, a fellow writer colleague and I traded prompts, and a poem spilled out of me.
One of the painters sat near by and asked if he could read our poems, and he was a friendly sort, so of course, we said yes. He looked at me with astonishment and said, "You mean, you just wrote this?" He was not dismissing it. He was genuinely impressed with my poem.
There's something to be said for regular practices.
Monday, January 4, 2021
Sunday, January 3, 2021
My sister invited me to be part of her team for the Winter Warrior Challenge. I'd been feeling the need for something different, although I wasn't sure what that should be. My Fitbit died weeks ago, and I had decided not to replace it. Although I loved it at first, as the months and years went on, I wasn't motivated by it the same way I once was. For example, it would buzz to remind me each hour if I hadn't gotten 250 steps in. When I first got it, the buzz would startle me; lately, I didn't feel it.
So when my sister suggested that we put a team together, I said yes. I've signed up for the long run challenge, even though it's quite a challenge from my starting point: 20 miles a week. The short run challenge is 10 miles a week, which wouldn't be the same kind of challenge. I had been close to doing that mileage until early December, when my running fell apart. Or was it November when my running fell apart?
No matter. It didn't fall apart because of injury, and I did keep walking. I could have done more to be prepared, but I'll start where I am. I've covered 4 miles each day of 2021 so far.
I thought I'd be motivated by not wanting to let my teammates down, and that's happened. But I'm also surprised by how much I'm wanting to maintain my place. On Saturday morning, I returned home from my run, logged my miles, and checked the results page--I was #2! And then, as I watched, someone else logged her miles, so I slipped to 3rd place. My first impulse was to go out and run some more, even though I had just returned from a run. Later on Saturday afternoon, when I had slipped to 8th place, I thought about going out for a 3 mile run.
Those of you who have read my blog for any amount of time at all will not be surprised to see my competitive streak rise up this way. I like to think that I'm not competitive, but in fact, I am. I can be motivated by a good prize, but even when there's no prize at all, I want to prove myself. But I'm also motivated by being on a team, by not wanting to let my teammates down. And I can also be motivated if there's a teacher whom I want not to let down.
I'm looking forward to seeing what I can do with this challenge in the next 3 months.