Writing, Parenting, and Working in the Mess: Authentic Spirituality and Social Justice

Yesterday I saw the bare ground where my garden was last summer for the first time; today it's covered again by at least four inches of snow, and the snow is still coming down. When I told my soon-to-be daughter, who will be moving here in less than a week, she said she couldn't believe it. Even after her visit during the coldest week of the year here, when temperatures dropped to 20 below (that's without wind chill), she has trouble imagining snow at the end fo March. Living in west central MN teaches us to expect the unexpected. My future daughter has started acting out in preparation for her move next week. She's doing things she hasn't done for years, and she's totally aware of this and even knows the reason--she is testing me and others to make sure we will still care for her if she messes up. I had not expected the conversations we had this week, had not expected to be dealing with some old behaviors so early in the move, even though plenty of people and ...

When I Tell You I’m Adopting a 14-Year-Old Foster Child, Here’s What You Should and Shouldn’t Say, For Future Reference: 1. Don’t tell me what a “beautiful” or “kind” or “amazing” thing I’m doing, and don’t call me a saint. To say these things—whether hesitantly or suspiciously or with complete honesty--is to show a deep and profound disrespect for my future daughter, who, after all, is a human being. Like all of us, she will likely bring both grief and joy to everyone she loves. 2. Don’t say, “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” or some derivation thereof (“Do you know what you’re getting into?” “Have you thought this through?” “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” “Are you sure your heart’s not bigger than your head?”) The answer is, no, I have no idea what I’m getting myself into—but neither do you. Tomorrow you could be diagnosed with cancer or shot or hit by a bus or called upon to act in heroic ways you can’t e...

When Lawrence King, an out 8 th grader in California , was shot by Brandon McInerney, another boy in his class, my future daughter, who is also in 8 th grade, was visiting me for the first time. Larry was shot because he told the other boy he had a crush on him. The murder came after several weeks of harassment based on Larry’s sexual orientation. The week Lawrence King was shot, a group of 8 th grade girls generously agreed to meet my future daughter. They weathered her inability to look them in the eye. They were kind, made jokes, tried to make her feel at ease as best they could. S. is a strange child; she has difficulty making social connections because of the years of trauma in her life. She regularly makes off-the-wall comments. She’s a messy eater, she’s uncoordinated, she’s strange. And yet, at the end of the visit, she said, “I have to move here now. I don’t want to disappoint my new friends.” The week Lawrence King was shot, my cat Snowbee hissed at S. I had warned her tha...

...They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord! If only this vision could come true. If only all of us who truly love peace, who are truly committed to non-violence, could do enough, individually and collectively, to make this prophesy true. The most beautiful image, I think, is the image of changing the use of a weapon into a tool used to nourish, to feed the hungry. I am thinking today about reversals, about how we are most often blocked not by what we actually have but by how we view--and then use--what we have. A student interviewed me this week about teaching basic writing. She asked me what I thought of the stigma attached to the course. She wanted to know if I could think of a name other than Fundamentals of Writing for the course that might have less stigma, or if I had any thoughts about why ...

I don't know enough about how the weekly verses are chosen to understand why there are two gospels for today: the story of the birth of John the Baptist, and the story of Jesus' encounter with the thieves crucified on either side of him, one asking him to prove his supremacy, the other asking to be remembered at the time of the world's salvation. Perhaps it makes sense that on the Sunday before the start of Advent, we should encounter two gospels that reflect, in a way, the whole of Jesus' life, from his birth, foretold through the miraculous signs surrounding his cousin John's birth, to his crucifixion. The circle continues and returns to the image of rebirth in the Easter story, and each year, we live through that life over and over again through the church calendar. I am focusing today on the image of circles. Sometimes, the circular nature of our lives remind us, again and again, of how we must learn and relearn the same lessons in new ways. Our country faces th...

I decided that starting Friday, the day after I was officially chosen to be S's parent, I would tell anyone who asked me directly that I was planning to adopt a 14-year-old girl, even if the person was not someone I knew well. Most people who know me at all know I'm in the process of adopting, but I have only told a few the details of my decision about S. Although it's not a "done deal" yet, it is time for the community to get used to the idea--and in a small community like ours, S is likely to have contact with many people who live here in one way or another. And, in any case, more people may know about my adoption than I think--I have no idea how many people from my community are reading this blog (though I suspect not many, as most of the people who respond to it via e-mail are friends living in other places). This weekend, I ran into a community leader who knew I had been planning to adopt, and I told her my plans after she asked. Her first question was, ...

Yesterday, I learned I had been chosen to be S's parent. I had been conferencing with students all day, starting at 7:30, and I was in the last conference of the evening, around 5:30, when I got the call. Last night I e-mailed a big group of friends, too overwhelmed to figure out who to call. I got a couple phone calls in response, and a friend and I went out to eat. I had a beer and tried to talk about how I was feeling, which was relieved, overjoyed, scared shitless, and sad for the other family, all at once, without much success. Then I went home and prepared for another long day of conferences. Now, I wait while S. learns about me, decides what she wants to do next--talk on the phone, meet where she lives, meet where I live. Anything could go wrong, of course--we could not get along in person, she could decide she doesn't want to be adopted after all and would prefer to be moved again to another foster home (her fate sometime before April if the adoption does not work out)-...

We had come to the end of a path in the woods, to a chasm of trees below us, and in front of us, a narrow railroad bridge. I don’t remember where we were, exactly, or whose idea it was to cross that bridge, but I do know that Jen went first, putting one foot in front of the other, steadily. Kris and I were more cautious. I went next, giggling from nervousness, and Kris, behind me, said, “Don’t even think about laughing, or you’ll fall, and if you do, I’ll reach out toward you without thinking and fall right along with you.” This only made me laugh harder. “I’m serious,” Kris said, and I could hear a little trembling in her voice. When I stopped laughing and steadied myself, I realized Jen was already far ahead of us. She was humming to herself, swinging her hips. She had always been the bravest one among us. The image of her walking steadily across that bridge is seared into my memory. She is wearing one of her signature hippy skirts with black combat boots and a ratty t-shirt. Her fin...

Haggai 1:15b-2:9 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17 Psalm 145 Luke 20:27-38 I remember encountering this verse for the first time as kid. It terrified me. I didn't like Jesus' answer to the Sauducees' question about marriage. They are trying to trick Jesus, as always, with questions that will prove he isn't as smart or as knowledgable as his followers believe--so they ask him about the afterlife. If a woman has seven husbands, marrying each in succession after the previous husband dies, whose wife will she be in the next world? Jesus answers that in the next world, we are all God's children, and so there will be no need for marriage. I didn't want to believe this. If marriages wouldn't exist in the next world, then what human relationships would exist? This seemed especially perplexing when I thought about my mother. Whenever I met her again in the next life, I wanted to encounter her as the woman I'd known her to be, to be loved and cared for in the same way ...

Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4 Psalm 119:137-144 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12 andLuke 19:1-10 What does it mean to welcome another human being into one’s life? This question is at the root of the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector. Zacchaeus climbs a tree as Jesus is passing in the midst of a crowd because “he wanted to see who Jesus was.” This is a laughable image, to say the least—a grown (though very short) man scurrying up a tree. He was risking embarrassment, no doubt, by doing so. What did he expect to gain, anyway, from a glimpse of Jesus? The story is too brief to offer an answer to this question. Somehow, Jesus sees Zacchaeus. He looks up and says, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” And so Zacchaeus welcomes Jesus—but he doesn’t stop there. He goes on to give half his possessions to the poor, making amends for the greedy life he’s lived up to that point. He promises to pay back anyone he has cheated “four times” the amount the person lost. And Jesus ...

Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago, but just now finally got my computer at home up and running again, thanks to the help of a computer-savvy student...and hopefully I'll be posting weekly again! I was finally ready, I thought, to come back to this blog, after an exhausting month of multiple professional and personal challenges, but when I read the gospel for October 7, I became physically distressed. Jesus tells his disciples, “Suppose one of you had a servant…would he say to the servant when he comes in from the field, ‘Come along now and sit down to eat?’ Would he not rather say, ‘Prepare my supper, get yourself ready and wait on me while I eat and drink; after that you may eat and drink.’ Would he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’” This passage bothers me for multiple reasons. Perhaps most viscerally, I have known too many wo...

Sorry, folks...after the sixth e-mail (but I'm glad people are actually reading!), I decided to post to let you know I'm not posting for awhile. Numerous reasons...one being that UMM AFSCME workers are on strike, which means I have to figure out a way to keep the service-learning program going while also supporting the striking workers...and teaching three classes. Also, my internet access is down again at home, and coming into the office to post on a Sunday doesn't sound like much fun...but I'll return as soon as possible! Still finding time to reflect (or else, I'd be going insane!)...just no additional time to share my reflections.

Isaiah 5:1-7 Psalms 80: 1-2, 8-19 Hebrews 11:29-12:2 Luke 12: 49-56 I planted okra for the first time this year. I had no idea it could grow in Minnesota. When I was in Greece in 2005, my aunt Bethlehem taught me how to cut off the stems diagonally and stew the blossoms in vinegar, oil, onions, and tomatoes, all of which came right out of the garden. It was the best stew I had ever tasted. Last night, I harvested onioins and okra and tomatoes from the garden and lovingly, attentively, made this stew, praying for my mother, who would have been 73 yesterday, my Thea Bethlemem, who would have been about 80, and thinking how lucky I was to have this concrete way to connect to those I have lost, through gardening and cooking. The whole house filled with the familiar smell and took me right back to my aunt Bethlehem's kitchen. But in the end, the okra were much too tough to be edible. I managed to eat the stew anyway--I cut open the tough blossoms and poured the seeds into the stew, and ...

I just finished teaching English in the Gateway program, a program designed to provide incoming students of color with an opportunity to get to know the UMM campus before everyone else arrives. (I didn't manage to post last night because I was busy grading--and then busy enjoying the Stevens County fair). The program includes academic components, workshops on college life, and fun activities. Teaching in this program is one of the most rewarding parts of my job. This year, I wrote the students a letter on the last day. I've included it below because I think it is relevant for anyone who teaches or takes classes; it also references some of my favorite short stories and essays. Dear Gateway students, In lieu of sharing a poem today, I decided to write you a letter explaining why I chose the readings I chose for this class. I hoped that they would lead you to begin your time in college with some questions in your mind, questions that do not have an easy answer but that I ho...