the blank page

new website

2009-07-01T08:23:00.001-07:00

Hey folks,

I neglected to note last month that I have a new website. I've started using iWeb on my Mac because it gives me the freedom to be a little more creative with my format, photos, etc, without having to actually know much about web design ;) The new address is: web.me.com/meghanpauline. check it out!

Book review published!

2009-04-08T04:23:00.000-07:00

Check out my featured article here: www.confessio.org

poem-a-day

2009-04-06T05:14:00.000-07:00

I really enjoyed this morning's poem-a-day email, so I thought I'd share it for those who haven't followed my suggestion and subscribed yourselves:

Ludwig Van Beethoven's Return to Vienna
by Rita Dove

Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn,
or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me....
The Heiligenstadt Testament

Three miles from my adopted city
lies a village where I came to peace.
The world there was a calm place,
even the great Danube no more
than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscape
by a girl's careless hand. Into this stillness

I had been ordered to recover.
The hills were gold with late summer;
my rooms were two, plus a small kitchen,
situated upstairs in the back of a cottage
at the end of the Herrengasse.
From my window I could see onto the courtyard
where a linden tree twined skyward —
leafy umbilicus canted toward light,
warped in the very act of yearning —
and I would feed on the sun as if that alone
would dismantle the silence around me.

At first I raged. Then music raged in me,
rising so swiftly I could not write quickly enough
to ease the roiling. I would stop
to light a lamp, and whatever I'd missed —
larks flying to nest, church bells, the shepherd's
home-toward-evening song — rushed in, and I
would rage again.

I am by nature a conflagration;
I would rather leap
than sit and be looked at.
So when my proud city spread
her gypsy skirts, I reentered,
burning towards her greater, constant light.

Call me rough, ill-tempered, slovenly— I tell you,
every tenderness I have ever known
has been nothing
but thwarted violence, an ache
so permanent and deep, the lightest touch
awakens it. . . . It is impossible

to care enough. I have returned
with a second Symphony
and 15 Piano Variations
which I've named Prometheus,
after the rogue Titan, the half-a-god
who knew the worst sin is to take
what cannot be given back.

I smile and bow, and the world is loud.
And though I dare not lean in to shout
Can't you see that I'm deaf? —
I also cannot stop listening.

(from Sonata Mulattica, published by W.W. Norton)

Thesis Madness

2009-03-31T10:37:00.000-07:00

Clearly I have no time to write actual posts here, hence the random photos and tidbits of information. The photo of the day exhibits some of the many facial expressions which flit across my face while trying to make sense of Kierkegaard's pseudonyms.

I am writing away at Caribou Coffee in Chapel Hill. I recently started taking advantage of the Robertson Bus, which runs between Duke and UNC every day, for a change of scenery. As far as chains go, Caribou is my favorite, though the canoe hanging on the ceiling is a bit much.

National Poetry Month

2009-03-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

National Poetry Month begins Wednesday! Go to poets.org for info on what's going on, new poetry to check out, and to subscribe to the poem-a-day email list for the month of April.

new macbook

2009-03-19T15:45:00.000-07:00

I got a new MacBook in January, and I am only just now discovering the fun of having a camera in my computer with fun effects. Enjoy some of my silliness!

pandora

2009-03-18T12:08:00.000-07:00

I'm a little slow on new technology, and was recently made aware of www.pandora.com, where you can create your own "radio stations" that play music by artists similar to those you enter in. I am now addicted. I recommend that you check it out.

Ps...It's spring in Durham!

Words

2009-03-06T07:22:00.000-08:00

It is Spring Break already, yet this is my first post of the new year. “Why the long silence?” you might ask. Many reasons, which I have been pondering a lot lately. Don't be too quick to jump on the bandwagon with the usual assumption people have made of me lately (“I never see you any more because of your boyfriend...”), because that would be to drastically over simplify matters. It's my last semester, and I am in some intense classes, so that accounts for a lot of it. I've always studied a lot, and this semester is no exception. It's more than that, though. I think, in semester four of four at Duke, I spend so much time reading and trying to think with other people that I am too tired to try to think on my own, and to share those thoughts here. I am too tired even to be social at times. Yes, it's really that simple. I am tired.

That being said, here is something I have been thinking about lately:

In what ways have our academic communities – and specifically our Christian academic communities – become deeply tied to capitalism? There are some obvious large scale answers to this question, relating to politics, power, and prestige in the University. I am not primarily concerned with those large scale examples at this point, though. I have simply bee observing that the relationships between professors and students (and perhaps students and their peers, though that is a question for another day) are not relationships whose primary focus is learning, but that they are merely an additional way in which we participate in a world run on production and consumption.

Let me clarify what I mean by considering what it is that I do when I write an essay for a course. Do I consider a question that has some relevance to humanity, or specifically to the church, thus sharing what thoughts I have on a certain topic, offering them as a gift to my teacher, so that we both might grow in our consideration of the questions at hand? Or, do I carefully consider what my teacher wants, thus producing the product demanded by my professor, who then determines it's value on a numerical scale?

On the other hand, how do I understand what happens when I listen to lecture given by a professor? Am I present because “I pay a lot of money to be a student at this school,” as many students frequently remind themselves when tempted to skip class? Do I show up to consume my professors lecture, the product I have paid for, and consider it my right as a student to complain if the lecture I receive is not the product I was expecting? Or, do I come to hear the fruits of my professors labor, to try and understand her thoughts in order that I might receive the gifts of her God-given mind, and grow as an intellectual – and as a Christian?

This semester, though I have gotten the best grades thus far of any semester at Duke, I have also become more of an academic machine than ever before. I know how to read and find the main points of an argument without ever pausing to understand that argument as a whole, much less why it might matter. What I hand in to my teachers each week is a product designed to fit their specifications, and most of the writing I have been doing has little bearing on what I consider to be the purpose of Christian scholarship (though what I think the purpose of Christian scholarship is, is a question for another day as well).

I don't know if it is possible for our academic institutions to operate on a gift economy; I often fear that it is not. I do know, however, that during the last 18 years or so that I have been in school there have been classrooms in which I was not alienated from my work, nor was it my work alone, but work done together, with my classmates and teachers. In those classrooms, the time passed together was a gift, which enabled me to risk words, written and spoken, not to impress or flatter, but to contribute to the thought lives of my own community.

I don't know what to do with myself...

2008-12-12T13:20:00.000-08:00

Yes, when the semester is over, I really just don't know what to do with myself. So, I sleep a lot. And then I pick up a book for FUN. Here's a quote from Wendell Berry's essay, “Men and Women in Search of Common Ground,” from p. 138 in The Art of the Commonplace:

"Some time ago I was with Wes Jackson, wandering among the experimental plots at his home and workplace, the Land Institute in Salina, Kansas. We stopped by one plot that had been planted in various densities of population. Wes pointed to a Maximilian sunflower growing alone, apart from the others, and said, “There is a plant that has ‘realized it’s full potential as an individual.’” And clearly it had: It had grown very tall; it had put out many long branches heavily laden with blossoms – and the branches had broken off, for they had grown too long and too heavy. The plant had indeed realized its full potential as an individual, but it had failed as a Maximilian sunflower. We could say that its full potential as an individual was this failure. It had failed because it had lived outside an important part of its definition, which consists of both its individuality and its community. A part of its properly realized potential lay in its community, not in itself."

Just a little something to ponder on this chilly December afternoon, as I am sipping a Chai Latte, sitting on a cozy leather couch at Copa Vida (Durham's newest coffeeshop), enjoying the freedom of a day with no direction.

It’s been awhile...

2008-12-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

My last update was just before school began, and now classes have ended for the semester. All that remains are a few papers and exams before the semester is over on December 12.

My semester has been different from the last two, in many ways, but one particular difference that I have been pondering is the loss of a consistent Sabbath practice. Starting in my senior year at Hope, up through the end of my first year at Duke, I sabbathed from schoolwork on Sundays, and this fall I haven’t done that even once. For the first twenty-two years or so of my life, this practice was unfamiliar to me, so in letting it slide a bit this fall I don’t think that I really anticipated a drastic change in my way of being in the world. It’s a small thing, really, practicing Sabbath, and I have taken days off here and there to rest.

Sabbath, though, isn’t the same as merely taking a day off, as I have often needed to remind myself. Some words from Abraham Heschel might be helpful here. In The Sabbath, he writes, “He who wants to enter the holiness of the day must first lay down the profanity of clattering commerce, of being yoked to toil. He must go away from the screech of dissonant days, from the nervousness and fury of acquisitiveness and the betrayal in embezzling his own life. He must say farewell to manual work and learn to understand that the world has already been created and will survive without the help of man” (Heschel, Abraham Joshua. The Sabbath. NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2005, 13).

The world has already been created, and its survival does not depend on me. This, primarily, is what the Sabbath teaches me: I am creature, not creator. All of the work that I do the rest of the week, all my little attempts at creating some worthwhile piece of scholarship, already rest on this truth. There are more books that I can ever read, more questions than I can ever ask (much less answer), more papers than I could ever write. Yet this knowledge doesn’t paralyze my work, it doesn’t make it insignificant. It puts it in its proper place. Practicing Sabbath teaches me to trust that, if I do the best that I am able to do in my creatureliness, that will be good enough. The weight of the world was never meant to rest on my shoulders.

While it teaches me to remember the creator/creature distinction, practicing Sabbath also orients my entire rhythm of life in an entirely different way from an ordinary, human conception of time. Heschel writes, “What we are depends on what the Sabbath is to us” (Heschel 89), emphasizing Sabbath as the climax of living. In practicing Sabbath, all of my work and play the rest of the week becomes oriented towards a different goal – not a human goal, not some worldly idea of success, or a break that I have “earned” by my hard work. Rather, the week points towards God, and on the seventh day we cease striving, allowing God to help us “mend our tattered lives” (Heschel 18).

So, as I reflect on the lack of Sabbath rest in this past semester, I can see in my daily life from week to week a distinct disorientation, which has made it difficult to remember why I am working in the first place. Not only that, but it has made it nearly impossible at times to trust that anything good could come of that work, either. In trusting in my own creatureliness, I’ve found it to be imperfect; what I forgot is that I was never meant to be perfect. Sabbath rhythm frees me from living out of necessity – it teaches me what it means that, as Dr. Jennings phrase it, “You don’t have to.” What don’t I have to do? Any number of things, including saving the world by all of my own efforts. The strange thing about realizing that I don’t have to though, is that it frees me to work, and to work well. Whether I have succeeded or failed, at the end of the day I can go to sleep in peace, because the next day rests in someone else’s hands. When it comes to my studies, this means that I know that the big questions will still be there in the morning, and that I can try again tomorrow.

III. Paradox: The First of Many

2008-08-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

As explained in Brazil posts I and II, we spent day one exploring the main sights of the city, the “seen.” Day two we were down in a favela, the “unseen.” At the end of that challenging second day, we returned to our hotel, spent some time debriefing, showered and dressed in the some of nicer clothes we’d brought (in my case this just meant adding earrings and a scarf to dress up my usual uniform of blue jeans), and boarded the bus again to go to Baby Beef, a high class Churrascaria (Brazilian steakhouse) in S-ão Paulo.

If I were to make a list of the nicest restaurants I’ve been to, Baby Beef would be at the top. (Granted, going out to eat for me usually consists of Chipotle or Elmo’s Diner here in Durham, but I have on occasion been to some fairly high class dining establishments.) Marble statues, glittering chandeliers, absolutely incredible food, wait-staff who helped me into my seat.

Talk about a jarring transition.

Sitting at that long banquet table, laughing and talking with my fellow travelers, eating sushi, fresh asparagus, and various new foods I’d never tried before, repeatedly saying “Nao, obrigado,” to the offer of dripping slabs of beef brought around by the waiters (though I’m sure I would have really enjoyed them if I weren’t a vegetarian) I asked myself, “How many of the Brazilians I am meeting would EVER go to a place like this?” This seemed like a restaurant for that tiny portion of the population with disposable income – and for rich tourists. So what exactly were we doing there? Don’t misunderstand me; of course I enjoyed myself. Good food, good company, a chance to relax after a couple of very full days. But in the back of my mind, I was always thinking that if we want to express solidarity with the poor, we might need to begin by examining the excess in our own lifestyles.

In many ways, the simple meal we had eaten with our new friends at Vila Andrade earlier that day tasted far better than sushi on fine china ever could. Food that is cooked with love, the hospitality of friends newly met – these are priceless gifts. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that eating at expensive, classy restaurants is wrong in and of itself (though I obviously wonder about the implications of doing so, when one is also expressing a “commitment” to the poor). I will say, though, that all of that fancy food turns to ash in my mouth when compared with so many of the simple meals we shared with our hosts during our sojourn in Brazil.

II. Coffee and Soccer: Love That Transcends Language

2008-08-19T10:19:00.000-07:00

I watched the sunrise over the city of São Paulo from the terrace of my hotel room on Friday, August 25th. I saw silhouette of the skyline intensified by the pale pinks and golds, as the darkness dissipated and electric lights turned off. I breathed deeply of the slightly smoggy city air.

Downstairs, later, I sipped wonderfully strong coffee, with hot milk (café and leche are two Portugese words I quickly learned and applied), and ate bananas with flavor for the first time in my life.

And while enjoying this breakfast, I re-read these words, copied into my journal after my first day in Brasil: “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words...”

These words from Paul’s letter to the church in Rome sustained me on that day, and every day that we were in Brasil, as on so many levels I found myself unable to speak. Not only was I unable to speak Portugese; often I was unable to say anything articulate in English about all that we saw each day. So, speechless even in my own language, I listened.

We spent this particular day at Vila Andrade, a church in a favela in Sao Paulo. We listened to Pastor Marcelo and others tell their stories, walked the streets of the favela and talked with the children there (many of whom participate in education programs at Vila Andrade, others of whom are on the very, very long waitlist to participate), shared a meal with our Brazillian sisters and brothers…

And played soccer.

It may seem odd that, in telling the story of an intense day of interacting with an impoverished community, I would focus on a game of soccer. Let me explain: we were able to attend and participate in the soccer program run by Vila Andrade on that Friday afternoon, after a very full, very stressful day, in which my eyes and ears took in much that I couldn’t make sense of, and in which I was continually frustrated by my inability to communicate. As we walked the streets of the favela, I was overwhelmed by the sense that I was entering someone else’s space, that I was observing problems I could not fix, entering into wounds I could not heal, and because of that I found in myself a fear that perhaps I would not be welcome there. I did not (and still do not fully) know how to dwell with my sisters and brothers in their pain.

But I can see so vividly in my mind the face of one small Brazillian boy that afternoon as he excitedly grabbed my hand, and pulled me onto the field to be on his team – he was so thrilled to play, so pleased to include me in the game. Neither of us couldn’t understand a word the other said, but we could play the beautiful game, together. Silly as it sounds, I knew I had made the right decision in coming to Brasil, because of that little boy, and that soccer game. His face is what enabled me to continue listening in the following days, as I slowly entered more deeply into the world’s deep wounds, intentionally resisting the urge to move to quickly, or too easily, from pain into hope.

I. São Paulo and the Myth of Human Self-Sufficiency

2008-08-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

As I have been struggling to decide where to begin my story, I’ve been asking myself the following questions: Should I tell it chronologically? Should I trace a specific thread and certain themes through our various locations? Should I tell random stories of isolated events as they come to mind in a stream of consciousness way, trusting that the themes will emerge on their own? Should I attempt to describe things as an abstract observer, or as an existentially present human being? Should I relay my observations and allow my reader to draw conclusions, or should I attempt to begin the analysis now?

Given what I know about myself, and my own writing style, it’s likely that I will write in all of these ways at one point or another. For the time being, then, I will begin at the beginning, with our arrival in São Paulo.

Upon our arrived at the airport in São Paulo late on Wednesday night, July 23rd, after everyone has collected their bags and we finally connected with our friends and guides for the Pilgrimage, Sueli & Sam, we made our way into the city. That first night is a strange, surreal blur in my mind – I remember it vividly, yet it seems very, very far away. Before checking into our hotel and falling into bed, we ate dinner at Habib’s – a fast-food chain in Brasil, which serves middle-eastern food. Yes, fast-food hummus, tabouli, and the like! This was Brasil’s way of making a good first impression on me, I think, since these are some of my favorite foods. Exhausted as I was, I appreciated seeing photographs of familiar foods on Habib’s menu, even if I couldn’t understand the words written underneath, and needed Sueli to order for me (this was to become a trend throughout the trip, though by the end I could at least order my own water or coffee, if not my food). New flavors could wait until I’d had a good night’s sleep.

Our first morning was spent sharing bits and pieces of our own stories – i.e. where we are coming from, and why (to the extent that any of us can really answer that question) we are here. After that it was into the bus and off to the mercado (market) for lunch, followed by a tour of the city. This was probably the day I felt the most like a tourist, as all of the new sights and sounds were somewhat overwhelming at times, and I was still getting used to my inability to verbally communicate with anyone. That, and our group’s tendency towards constant photographic documentation of our journey. We ate fresh fruit and pastels (basically a fried meat pie, or in my case, cheese) at the mercado, and had our first taste of guarana, a popular soft drink in Brasil. We also went to the top of the building that used to be the Banco de São Paulo, to see the view of the city in all directions. It wasn’t until then that I realized just what 10 million-plus actually means in terms of the city’s size. I lived in London – a city of 7 million – for a semester, but somehow that seemed like nothing compared with this. The picture above is only the view from one direction. The city spreads out that far on all sides from my vantage point while taking this photograph. The crowds we walked through to get there were unbelievable – similar to what I remember of Piccadilly Circus on Saturdays, only in this case, packed with real people, not just tourists, everybody moving, headed somewhere, and unconcerned with the jostling chaos around them.

One of the things that Sueli pointed out to us on the bus that day which struck me the most was a huge building in the process of construction. Eventually, she told us, this building would hold not only peoples homes, but also their places of employment, establishments for all kinds of shopping, and basically everything one needs to live comfortably. In other words, it attempts to be a completely self-sufficient community, in which people can isolate themselves from society, from violence, drugs, and crime – from reality. This community stuck in my head throughout our time in Brasil, and came to symbolize for me, both literally and metaphorically, the walls we build between ourselves, and the brokenness of human existence. (Note: when I say “we” I am speaking both making observations about Brasil in particular, as well as broad analysis of humanity in general, and realities which are every bit as true in the U.S. as they are elsewhere.) If we don’t see the world’s deep wounds – if we don’t see poverty, racism, classism, sexism – then we can pretend they do not exist. We can pretend that we are in control, that we are progressing towards perfection, that we are successfully escaping pain and death, while outside our doors most of the world is bleeding. In a country without much of a middle class, where the gap between the poor and the wealthy is very clear, this observation was more clear to me than it has been in the past. In the U.S., with a large middle class, it is (for myself, at least) easier to ignore poverty in some ways, because there is not the same stark contrast. That is not to say we are any less guilty of ignoring the poor – on the contrary, one might argue that in a “developed” country like the U.S. we have even less of an excuse for allowing people to fall through the cracks. That being said, we continue to ignore not only the pain of others, but the futility of our own existence with its material pursuits and temporary gains. All the while, if only we would step outside our front doors, cross the street, jump over these walls we ourselves have built, the hope of a world where peace and justice reign is possible.

Instead, we keep the doors locked, and by ignoring the pain we become unable to understand hope.

Pilgrim Shoes: A Prologue

2008-08-10T13:56:00.000-07:00

I am back from Brasil, and there is so much to say that I am unsure of where to start. My intent is to write an entire series of posts about different locations, experiences and events from the journey, since it would be impossible to sum everything up (or at least to sum it up well) in one. Doubtless additional connections and stories will continue to pop up in posts in the coming months, as well, as I try to make sense of my experiences in a larger context.

That being said, I want to begin by simply expressing what a joy it was to finally GO on such a journey as this. One of the tensions I live with as a budding scholar is between what can be overly simplified as “thinking” vs. “doing.” It is important to note that in reality I believe that there is not and should not be such a dichotomy, but I also know that certain existential realities can make it seem as if there is. This is especially true if a person is currently spending the majority of her time in a university setting, as opposed to being in the Peace Corps, Teach for America, or other similar programs. On both ends of the spectrum, the thinking and the doing can and ought to be informing one-another. (I assume my Peace Corps and TFA friends can testify to this, as well, based upon the stories they have been sharing with me through the past year.) Nonetheless, I’ve experienced a deep sense of frustration in recent years as to what the role of the academy is in a broken world, and have often wondered why – when I have a strong desire to see, smell, taste, feel, and hear the stories of my sisters and brothers around the world – I also find myself believing that my skills will best serve the world when applied to academic pursuits. I feel pulled in very different directions at times, and in the past few years many opportunities to study, travel, and work overseas have fallen through (or been abandoned) for various reasons, and while this has always worked out well in the end, it is a blessing to finally have had a suitable short term opportunity to step outside of the ordinary, and see the world anew. I know that the way I view the world, both philosophically and theologically, has been and will continue to be shaped by these past two weeks. What that actually means is what I hope to begin exploring, now that I am home with the luxury of time to process everything.

Many blank pages have yet to be filled, but for today I offer only this prologue. Chapters one through x, forthcoming.

Preparations

2008-07-20T13:37:00.000-07:00

It is Sunday afternoon and I am listening to Joanna Newsom while sipping a latte at Café Meghan (note to self: I must come up with a more creative name for my apartment-turned-coffeehouse). Recent economic strain has limited my visits to actual cafes, but my thrift-store espresso machine (on loan from Ms. Thea Neal, who is currently residing in Namibia) and the breakfast bar by my window provide an excellent alternative. My latte skills are improving, which will be helpful later in life if I give up on various other plans and decide to just make people happy with coffee for the rest of my days. I make a darn good muffin too, if I do say so myself.

After church this morning I attempted to begin packing for Brazil. After a week of being asked repeatedly, “Are you ready?” I was beginning to feel as if the answer was, “NO”. Really though, aside from packing, what do I actually need to do? Granted that learning Portuguese would have required beginning months ago, three days before leaving what am I actually supposed to be doing? How does one mentally prepare for a “Pilgrimage”?

When it comes right down to it, I just need to pack and get myself to RDU by 4:45a.m. Wednesday, and trust that the rest will take care of itself. It’s that whole cliché about “showing up.” Seriously though, if I show up, and I am present to my location, to the people around me, to the events I am observing and participating in, I know I will experience and learn what I need to experience and learn. Still, as I put miniature shampoo and conditioner bottles into my bag, and pray that I can fit everything into my small carry-on suitcase, I can’t help feeling like maybe I’m forgetting something important. I am a very efficient packer, and I think I should be able to avoid checking a bag for this adventure fairly easily. Perhaps, if I want to stretch this metaphor a bit, my life & travel philosophies are not unlike my packing philosophy – keep is simple, take only as much as you need, and if you forgot something it probably wasn’t that important to begin with.

So, I’ll pack my suitcase with clean clothes, my journal & a pen, my camera, my passport, my credit card, and not much else. Whatever unfolds throughout these two weeks, I’ll be paying attention. Does that mean I’m ready? For what it’s worth, in my opinion it does.

pet names and pet peeves

2008-07-13T13:31:00.000-07:00

I was reading on a friend’s blog the other day about something that bugs her, and it got me to thinking about my own pet peeves. You know, those little things that seem like nothing to other people, but somehow seem to drive you mad. So, what are my pet peeves? And why exactly does a woman with as much patience as people have told me I seem to have let these things drive her nuts? The first question is the easiest to answer.

People surfing the internet during class. You’re wasting your time and money, insulting the professor, distracting your classmates, and dare I say missing out on potentially life-shaping lectures and discussions…all to check your Facebook profile. Do us both a favor, and leave the laptop home.

Men who honk at women they drive by on the street. Really, do you think we find that attractive? NO. Do you think it makes us feel attractive? NO. Basically it’s pointless on both ends, and if you honk at me on a bad day I just might yell something back at you. Why not save yourself the trouble and just keep driving?

Cappuccinos served in paper cups. When I order a four-dollar cup off coffee – two shots of perfectly brewed espresso, steamed whole milk and that lovely cloud of foam – I want to sit and savor it, from an actual cup. If I don’t say, “to go,” don’t put it in paper.

Being called “sweetie” by restaurant servers, bus drivers, bar tenders, or basically any male employee at any establishment I visit. I don’t have a problem with pet names in general, though I could do without them and be quite content. However, being called sweetie by a man who doesn’t know me is just plain patronizing. Case in point: I ordered a gin martini at The Symposium on “Martini Monday” once, because I am not a sugary-sweet, pink-drink kind of girl. Instead of simply taking my order and bringing my drink, the server felt the need to comment upon my choice, saying, “That’s my kind of woman.” While I don’t relish such commentary, at least he didn’t call me sweetie, so I shrugged it off with an awkward laugh and went back to conversing with my friends. Later on in the evening, having finished my martini, he checked in to see if I needed anything else: “Can I get you another drink, sweetie?” And there it was. If I had been thinking about a second, which I wasn’t, that one word would have been enough to change my mind. Illogical? Perhaps. That’s why they call it a pet peeve. The fact is, I think that I ought to be able to order whatever drink I want to without commentary from the waiter. Am I hard-core for choosing a gin martini over a cosmopolitan? Maybe, though I doubt it, but even if I am, apparently that is not sufficient to overcome the reality that I am a five-foot-one female – a real “sweetie,” it seems.

Broad gender-stereotypes. I greet any sentence that begins, “Men are…” or, “Women are…” with a high level of skepticism. Stereotypes are sometimes based upon reality to some extent, I’ll grant that, but socially conditioned gender norms are by no means absolute truths, and they both can and should be questioned.

People who say, “Oh, I love that movie!” in response to the title of a BOOK. For the record, Pride and Prejudice did not begin as a film featuring Keira Knightley, thank-you-very-much. Ugh.

Married couples who act as if they are older (and somehow more complete) than their single friends of the same age, as if one can only truly be an adult (not to mention happy and content) if one has a spouse.

People being shocked by or scared of my relatively safe and normal Durham neighborhood. (For my Michigan readers who have never seen where I live, it isn’t much different from the neighborhood I grew up in, in Kalamazoo, safety-wise.) The idea that Durham is somehow exponentially more dangerous than other places seems to me to be something of a self-perpetuating myth. No, it’s certainly not Cary (thank God), but I’m not going to be abducted in broad daylight walking down the sidewalk with my grocery bag next to a four-lane road during rush hour traffic, either. I’m in more danger of dehydration than anything else in that situation.

Perhaps I’d better stop there. I could list more, of course, and I’m sure mine have reminded you of a few of your own. (Post! Share! I know I’m not the only one with things that drive me, sometimes irrationally, c-r-a-z-y!) Complaining about things that annoy us to far more fun than it probably should be.

In any case, having partially answered the first question, I feel no closer to answering the second: why do these things get to me? I wonder if my pet peeves drive me nuts because, simple as they are, they’re linked to deeper, more serious issues that I find deeply troubling. The ideological underpinnings of every action or reaction described above could be parsed out into something legitimately upsetting, I think. Maybe it’s just me, maybe I take things too seriously, but somehow I’m not quite ready to relinquish my belief that our actions are tied to philosophical ideas we often aren’t even aware of.

Next time you’re served a cappuccino in a paper cup, give it some thought. What drives you nuts, and why?

Television Isn't All Bad

2008-07-12T20:50:00.000-07:00

I've been watching some old episodes of Northern Exposure on DVD, and the following quote (spoken by John Corbett, who I wish were on MY radio every morning) struck me:

"Well, you know, the way I see it, if you're here for four more years or four more weeks, you're here right now, you know, and I think when you're somewhere you oughta be there, because it's not about how long you stay in a place, it's about what you do while you're there. And when you go, is that place any better for your having been there?"

Also: "Feisty women never get boring."

Ain't that the truth.

midsummer

2008-07-06T10:53:00.000-07:00

It’s odd that with so much more free time lately I’ve updated my blog less than in some previous months. I’ve actually been writing a lot lately, though not here. I’ve been working on some poems, journaling nearly every day, and I’ve started a couple of essays, though they have yet to turn into anything significant. I have missed writing freely as much as I have missed reading literature, and needless to say I’m enjoying the opportunity to do plenty of both.

Things have been busy at the Women’s Center, because we’re in the process of laying out the next issue of Voices, which needs to be finished in time for freshman orientation. It’s the good kind of busy, though, because the work is creative and I am really starting to enjoy it, the more I get the hang of things. Still, the work is tiring and often I don’t have a lot of imaginative energy left to put into my own work on the days that I work at the WC, so some of that has been put on hold for the moment. Even my pace of reading has slowed in the last two weeks. I am still stubbornly working on The Brothers Karamazov, ever so slowly, and I am going to start Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo as a reward when I finish Book 5 of the aforementioned beastly-yet-brilliant Russian novel.

Last weekend Brandy and I took a little road trip to Marion, NC, to visit Bobby, who is doing his field education at a church there. It is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but that’s part of it appeal, I think. I don’t know if I could ever live in such a small town, but I think I am beginning to understand why someone would. In any case, we got to taste a little slice of Bobby’s summer in Marion, see the mountains, and play a lot of dominos, as well as spend an evening in Asheville, so it was a fantastic weekend all around.

I have to admit, I am rather selfishly looking forward to everyone coming back from field ed. It’s nice to slow down and have some time alone, but this summer has had a little too much time alone. In two and a half weeks I leave for twelve days in Brazil with a group from Duke, though, so that gives me something to look forward to amidst the somewhat monotonous days at my campus jobs, and evenings with Maisie Daisy (who is, for the record, healing nicely from her sprain). For the moment, though, spending some time with myself is just fine.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Jonny Lang today, a long-standing favorite who I hadn’t played in awhile. I also pulled my french press down from the top shelf of the cupboard for the first time in months, and even made some vegan blueberry muffins – yet another thing I hadn’t done in awhile. It’s a good day for old favorites.

The only problem? There’s a good chance I’m going drink this entire pot of coffee myself, not to mention eating all of the muffins.

pet worries

2008-07-03T09:40:00.000-07:00

Today's post is in honor is Maisie Daisy, who is trying very hard to be brave while at the vet getting X-rayed. This is a draft of a poem I wrote two years ago, from the perspective of my cat. Enjoy.

Maisie Daisy, my cat

Why did you leave? When I first came to live with you
you came home everyday, sat on the living room carpet,
tossed my catnip mice, read a book in mom’s big, blue chair
while I sniffed at your teacup. If you filled your water glass
at the fridge, you always left an ice cube for me
to bat around on the floor, until –
it disappeared.

You held me in your lap after vet visits, while I cried, and you
said everything would be all right. We’d be home, soon.

Now you come for a couple of days at a time. Maybe a week
here and there. You say that when you graduate you’ll take me with you
to Boston or to Princeton or across town.
I believe you when you say you will take me
with you, but don’t fool yourself into thinking it will all be
the same when you’ve put my basket and new pink blanket in the corner
of your apartment.

You left. And every time you leave things change
a little more. I change – you change – a little more.

slowing down

2008-06-17T14:23:00.000-07:00

I hope to write a more substantial update tomorrow, since I have the day off. For the last three weeks I've been working three jobs, so needless to say I'm a bit exhausted. So, rather than getting to deeply inside my head, today I offer up some summer reccomendations of various kinds:

READ: Jagged With Love, by Susanna Childress
WRITE: A postcard to a far-away friend.
WATCH: The Namesake.
LISTEN: Carney (formerly Reeve Carney and the Revolving Band. New EP under the former name, live album under the latter).
EAT: A popsicle.
DRINK: Magic Hat Circus Boy.

Now go. Read, write, watch, listen, eat, drink...sing and dance and enjoy summer with people you love.

PS...if anyone knows why my blog title is appearing twice instead of once, and how to fix it, let me know. Unless it's only doing that on my computer. Hmmm.

What they don't tell you during orientation...

2008-05-29T17:13:00.000-07:00

Summer is underway, and my body is hard at work at the library during the day, while my mind is free to roam as it pleases for the most part. Finally, almost a month after completing final exams, I’ve started to reflect on the school year, to ponder the things that I wish I’d known in August, as well as the things that I’m glad to say someone somewhere along the way had the wisdom to share with me. So, with both seriousness and humor, the following is a bit of advice to incoming divinity school students.

Don’t be afraid to live alone; but if you do, don’t let yourself become a recluse who does nothing but study all the time and lives off of ramen noodles. It is good to have a space to return to after a long day at school that feels like your space. True, it can be frightening to be so alone with your own thoughts, not to mention the lack of a roommate to split the rent and utilities with, but it’s worth the risk of getting to know yourself. If you are aware of the dangers of retreating too far into your own head, you will be fine.

Expect that some of your expectations will not be met. In fact, hope for it. Whatever grand ideas you may have dreamed up about what your life as a divinity student will be like, the reality will more than likely be both more and less than you imagined it would be. There will be disappointments – in classes, in relationships, in yourself – but you will also find the gifts of education, joy and friendship in the most unlikely places, perhaps just as you’ve stopped looking for them. You will find that you are capable of far more than you thought. You will also, hopefully, find that you need other people far more than you thought as well.

Remember that your grades do not reflect your worth as a person. Whether you get all As, scrape by with Cs, or even dare I say fail a class at some point in your academic career, don’t ever let a professor or classmate convince you that you don’t have something worth saying that others can benefit from listening to. Trust yourself and your own thoughts enough to share them. Grades cannot measure passion, spirit, creativity, joy, or sadness; they cannot predict what blessings, small or large, will flow from your life as it unfolds in the coming years. I'm not entirely sure that they even measure intelligence very well.

Ask the questions that you’re not “supposed” to ask in church. If you don’t, how will you ever have a truthful conversation with a student, or a member of your congregation, when they ask you those same questions? Refuse to blindly accept easy answers. It strikes me as highly unlikely that the easy answer is always the right answer; yet be aware of the pretentious academic tendency to over complicate things, as well. Believe that truth exists, and pursue it, though its completeness will always lie just out of reach.

Augustine says, “Love God and do what you want.” I take that to mean that if you’re pursuing God faithfully, your desires will be shaped by that in such a way that despite the troubling questions that you live with each day, living itself is actually quite simple. That is, if you’re willing to learn to trust – which is more easily said than done.

Don't be afraid to defy conventional stereotypes of femininity in the church. Be a bold, intelligent, wise, compassionate leader, and don't apologize for it. There are cracks in the glass ceiling, but be prepared to have to make a few more.

Get eight hours of sleep a night as often as possible. Practice the Sabbath. Both of these things are completely contrary to what nearly every graduate student around you will be doing, but resist the urge to run yourself ragged for the sake of a few extra points that often only mean the difference between a B+ and a B.

Blow bubbles, jump rope, play hopscotch. In other words, don't take yourself too seriously.

Call your parents. Call your siblings. Call your best friends from undergrad. But also call that interesting person in your Church History class who seems like he or she might be a kindred spirit, and get a cup of coffee together sometime.

Invite people over for dinner, even if your apartment is small, and kind of messy, and you have to ask several of your guests to sit on your bed because there aren’t enough chairs. You will become better friends because of it.

Always have at least one book, preferably poetry or fiction, that you are reading just because you want to read it. This guards against the danger of forgetting why you came here to study in the first place. There is nothing so frightening to me as a brainy interlocutor who has misplaced his or her imagination. You will be a better academic if you keep your own imagination active, but more importantly, you will remember what it is to be alive.

Learn to appreciate the merits of cheap beer. But please, please splurge on a pint of Guinness occasionally.

If you find yourself wondering, “What the hell am I doing here? What was I thinking?!” often during your first semester, don’t worry. Nearly everyone of my closest friends and I here have asked ourselves those same questions, at least once. We’re still here. Acknowledge that no one is making you stay, and that you are not trapped, but also give it time. You may find after awhile that despite the imperfections of the new life you are creating, you actually like it quite a lot.

Clip coupons. Seriously.

Learn to live without a car. Graduate student life leaves little time for exercise, but walking or biking to campus insures that you get enough physical activity to maintain both your sanity and a reasonable amount of health.

Eat breakfast before you go to class.

Journal. Keep track of all the thoughts, feelings, classes, questions, discussions, and even parties that make you happy, sad, angry, or intrigued. “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forward,” as I have often been known to quote from Kierkegaard. Most of what happened in my first year at Duke didn’t make much sense at the time (and plenty of it still doesn’t) but life just keeps on going. Keep track of things, and maybe someday you’ll be wiser for it.

Don’t feel like a loser if sometimes you’d rather stay home and study on Friday night. Even if you like to, though, don’t do it every week.

Always keep a frozen pizza on hand for those nights when you just cannot handle the thought of cooking. Also, embrace the sack lunch (you can get a pint of Guinness with all the money you save by not buying your lunch on campus all the time!).

Remember that the same admissions committee that let everyone else in decided to let you in. You are neither more nor less intelligent than your classmates. Learn from them, and offer up what you can for their enrichment as well.

Drinking more than one pot of coffee in a day is probably not advisable.

If you’re thinking about learning Greek, do a cost-benefit analysis of some sort before the drop/add period ends. You might save yourself a lot of misery.

Wear jeans and t-shirts to class. You’re no smarter in a blazer than you are in your favorite pair of Levi’s.

Every once in a while, do something social on a weeknight. I don’t care if you have an 8:00 a.m. class the next day.

Don’t try to do all of the reading for your classes. You’ll kill yourself trying. One of the most important skills you’ll learn in graduate school is how to discern what should be skipped, what should be skimmed, and what should be read thoroughly and pondered for years to come.

Choose paper topics that you care about.

Be thankful that your full time job is to be a student. Not everyone who wants to gets the opportunity to do this, and it’s ironic how much of our time as graduate students we spend complaining about school, when in fact we get to do something that we love every single day.

Remember to breathe.

Summer classes are a silly idea.

2008-05-14T16:42:00.000-07:00

I intended to audit Spanish 1 during the first summer term, which began today and lasts until the end of June. Why? Mostly personal interest, sparked by the simple reality that if one is going to learn a second (well, third, in my case, but really Greek doesn’t count since you don’t speak it) language, Spanish is the most useful. But, after getting up at 6:30 this morning, drinking my coffee, eating my breakfast, feeding the cat, packing my lunch, and trekking to campus, I realized something very important:

IT’S SUMMER. And it is not going to be any fun doing this five mornings a week, and then going to work, and THEN going home to do homework. Heck, I still haven’t fully recovered from all of this year’s Greek trauma! So, I dropped the class. Picture me yelling, “Freedom!” William Wallace style, or maybe sounding a barbaric “YAWP!” from the Duke chapel steps, and you’ll have captured a little bit of how good it feels to say that when I get home from work at 5:30 every night this summer I can read all the novels and poetry I want to. I may love school, but I need a break from it, too.

For the record, as you may have gathered, my interviews last week were quite successful, and I now have two jobs – I am the new layout editor for the Duke University Women’s Center’s magazine, Voices. Also, I am becoming an expert book-shelver (plus whatever else they ask me to do) at Lilly Library. Lilly is where all the Philosophy books are, so that’s kind of a nice perk, since it can be somewhat mundane work. At least I can peruse the merchandise while I work. I’m allowed to wear my ipod too, which helps a lot. New music recommendations will be greatly appreciated as the summer goes on, I’m sure!

I’ve already finished one book from my stack of summer reads – The Sirens of Titan, by Kurt Vonnegut. A fantastic read. I’m not sure what to start next. I have some Flannery O’Conner, another Vonnegut book, Middlemarch by George Elliot, The Brothers Karamazov (which I am determined to actually finish this time – ha!). All good books. All to be read at leisure.

Oh, summer!

reading week

2008-04-25T10:09:00.000-07:00

They ought to call it "writing week," because that's all we do.

To do: finish an ethics paper on Bonhoeffer and Hegel. Then, enjoy Friday night before diving in to Greek exegesis tomorrow. Not to mention those pesky little things next week called exams.

All the work has hit me like a slap in the face upon my return from the midwest, so a longer post on my adventures will have to wait until after May 1st. It's good to be back, though.

In other news, I have a job interview next week. Finally, some progess.

some thoughts from M.W. on a Sunday afternoon...

2008-03-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

Has it really been so long since I last posted? I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing well how busy I’ve been, that I haven’t had time to write anything other that close-reading papers and exegeses, yet somehow I am shocked to see how few of the details of this semester have been recorded here.

Spring break already feels as if it were a year ago, and I am plumbing the depths of my motivational resources, praying that there will be enough to carry me through the last three weeks of class. Three weeks, followed by reading week, and exam week. Is that all? I am almost half way done with my MTS. Almost, but not quite. And the last stretch is always the longest.

It’s raining today in Durham, and the grass outside is looking greener as I write this from a warm, dry, cozy coffee shop. It’s Sunday, and I am reading and writing whatever I want this afternoon. With three papers due last week, and a variety of crises in the lives of my friends here, the past couple of weeks have been emotionally and physically draining, and it feels good to play hooky from my homework for an afternoon.

I’m in the process of making summer plans, choosing what courses to take in the fall, and eagerly looking forward to jetting off to the midwest in a few weeks for the APA conference in Chicago. As busy as things are, there seems to be very little to report, which is yet another reason for the lack of updates lately. Books, lectures, lunch dates, quizzes, discussions in dark, smoky pubs over pints of beer, blowing bubbles on the front lawn of Duke Chapel to remind myself not to take myself too seriously…the last two weeks have been full to the point of overflowing, with all of the aforementioned activities interspersed with even more important times of helping, crying, praying, and trying to understand how best to support friends when life takes unexpected, painful turns.

It is odd to wake up and realize that my life is, more and more, in Durham, though it never ceases to be connected to the people and places I’ve come from, either. In an strange way, it's the hard times make me realize this, even more than the joyful times; it's in the hard times that you need other people the most, and it's sometimes a surprise took look around and realize that you have a beautiful, messy community to walk with you in the valleys as well as on the hilltops.

lost post

2008-03-30T11:30:00.000-07:00

Here is a post I wrote on my way home from Florida a few weeks ago, but then forgot about. A new post will follow soon:

Friday, March 14, 2008

Spring Break: On the Road

I’m writing this update from the back seat of Brandy’s Toyota Prius, on my way home from Panama City, Florida. There’s nothing quite like a spring break road trip with friends for good laughs and good memories.

Brandy, Amy, Cassie and I spent the last week in a cute little cottage in Panama City, with the beach for our front porch. We were definitely the “old women” of spring break, with our latest night out being 9:30 (and that only because we decided to go out for ice cream after a late dinner one night). Most days consisted of laying on the beach (in our modest-we-are-not-barbie-dolls-swimsuits, of course) trying to ignore the chaos of MTV spring break (who were stationed an eighth of a mile or so down from us), reading and napping, and evening fun cooking, eating and drinking together. It was a really relaxing week, though I’m glad to be heading home now.

The Decaffeinated Desert: Lenten Reflections on Virtue, Vice and Legal Addictive Stimulants

2008-02-10T14:18:00.000-08:00

The rhythm of the liturgical year is difficult to ignore as a divinity school student, and with the beginning of Lent this past Wednesday (which was Ash Wednesday, for any of my readers who didn’t notice that their classmates and coworkers seemed to be blissfully unaware of their dirty foreheads) I found myself engaging in a variety of activities and conversations relating to the season that I associate with human frailty.

First of all, Brenda and I went to the DDS chapel service, which quite frankly is not a regular part of my weekly schedule. It was the first time I’d gone this semester, a fact that I may elaborate on at some point in the future. Suffice it to say, for now, that as a divinity student who is also semi-involved in a church, I’m basically inundated with religion, both in theory and in practice, constantly and midweek chapel services feel like overkill. But it was Ash Wednesday, so we went, and I found there an important reminder of the tension between despair and hope that this season represents.

Second, there were conversations with classmates about wearing the ashes. It is a question I often feel conflicted about myself, not the least because I didn’t grow up in a tradition where it was practiced. As I have moved gradually towards high-church liturgical traditions in the past couple years, I have found such traditions to be powerful reminders of religious truths. To visibly wear on my forehead the sign that “from dust you come, to dust you will return” is humbling, even as it simultaneously pushes me to look forward, to long for the life that will follow the season of dryness.

The question raised by friends was whether or not it is exhibitionist to wear ashes, perhaps exhibiting a sort of popular piety grounded in something other than religious convictions. It is a fair critique; in fact, it is part of what I observe about chapel attendance in general at DDS. When I am walking in the direction of the library, rather than Goodson Chapel on Wednesdays at 10:00am, I am keenly aware of it. On a day like Ash Wednesday is it magnified, because those who were in chapel have a mark on their bodies to prove it. Still, for the reasons previously stated, I wore ashes myself, in part as a reminder of exactly this question of motivation raised by my friends and I. Self-deception is far too easy, and I won’t pretend to know if my motives were pure or not. What I do know is that every time I looked in the mirror that day I was aware of being bent, though not broken.

Third, there were the many conversations about practical Lenten decisions: what are you going to give up (or in some cases, what good practice are you going to add) for Lent? Pondering this question was interesting, because it began with the awkward realization that the common vices of our culture are not particularly prevalent for me. Let me explain. Some people give up TV; I don’t own one. Some people give up red meat; I am a vegetarian. Some people give up soda/pop; I rarely drink it anyway. These things aren’t vices for me, though that certainly doesn’t mean that I am without vice. The one thing I could think of that would be really, really, really difficult to give up, and would remind me of Christ and his forty days of fasting in the desert, was coffee.

Of course I said that would be impossible. My excuses? I don’t drink that much coffee (yes, I do). It will hurt my schoolwork (will it, really?). I know I could, so I don’t really have to (there’s that self-deception again).

Basically, all of my resistance made it crystal clear to me that as much as I would like to think that I am a model of the virtue of temperance, I actually have a serious coffee addiction, which is linked to occasional academic intemperance as well (a subject for another day). So I gave it up. From now until Easter I can only have coffee on the Sabbath. The idea of Sabbath delight has taken on a whole new meaning, obviously, and I think that today is the first time I’ve felt awake since Wednesday!

I have been worshipping at the Starbucks alter for far too long, it seems.

Now, I know it’s questionable to post such a thorough explanation of what I’m giving up for Lent; the whole “motives” question, again. But I defend it because I found the process of deciding what to do illuminating, and thus worth sharing. We all have our vices, and perhaps we could stand to admit them to ourselves, and others, a little more often than we do in the church.

The point, by the way, isn’t that coffee is somehow bad in and of itself; the point is that my relationship to the coffee is disordered. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

After all, if you’re giving up coffee, you might want to replace it with a new vice, right?

bits and pieces

2008-01-30T14:09:00.001-08:00

I apologize for the sporadic, short updates. The last two weeks have been intense, culminating with my Greek midterm today (yes, we did indeed have a midterm on January 30th, due to the fact that we finished our grammar text and are moving on to new things). In any case, that's over, and it went as well as can be expected given my relationship with Greek. By my new (lower) standard, I might even say it went well!

My goals for the semester: (1) Actually read the biblical texts for my OT and NT classes. (2) Study in a way that reflects how much the ideas matter, and how little the grades do.

Did you catch that? THE GRADES DON'T MATTER. This is my mantra -- not as an excuse to slack off, but as a reason to focus my studies on the things that are really important, and to study those things hard. With all of the stress of Divinity School, there is a horrible temptation to forget why I am actually here in the first place. (Not that I’m always entirely sure what that reason is, of course.) The more I am caught up in grades, the less I really learn.

Now, I’ll step down from my soapbox, feed my cat, and get back to work.

baby, it's cold outside...

2008-01-21T12:33:00.000-08:00

It is cold outside (by North Carolina standards) and I am staying in. It is good weather for books (which I have lots of), cats and hot cocoa.

There isn't much to report -- just the usual homework and a fun Sabbath potluck with friends. I finally saw Juno last night, which is incredible! If you haven't seen it yet, you should definitely check it out.

Also, I found a great recipe blog here: http://foodiefarmgirl.blogspot.com/

I made some wonderful cupcakes yesterday with a recipe I found there. I ate one for breakfast today. Yes, breakfast.

procrastination

2008-01-17T20:55:00.000-08:00

Here is the second installment of the virtual tour of Meghan's studio. It is the kitchen-dining-office corner.

In other news, I made a last minute decision to apply to work at the Duke Youth Academy this summer. It's a two week program in July. Only problem? The application is due tomorrow. So, in the midst of studying for a Greek quiz and preparing for my first New Testament precept, I am also updating my resume and answering essay questions.

If I make it to 5pm tomorrow whole, I'll be too tired to write a more detailed update. Hopefully instead I'll be celebrating surviving (and sometimes thriving) over a pint.

All in all, a busy week...but a good one! Stay tuned.

A room of one's own...

2008-01-16T19:01:00.000-08:00

I finally have some pictures of my little graduate student hide-away to share, but since I'm technologically challenged and having trouble figuring out how to format things to make a bunch of pictures look nice in my post, I'm only posting one at a time. Today you get to see the living-bedroom corner.

I'll post something a little more wordy in a few days.

Friday

2008-01-11T13:41:00.000-08:00

I have now been through all four syllabi for the semester quite thoroughly. That’s what I love about the first week of class: you don’t have to do much yet, and you can just listen to your professors lay out the semester, their approach to the materials, the textbooks, etc. A slow start.

I had Greek homework already, of course, but that’s to be expected, right? After talking with my professor I feel much better about my decision to stay in it. That class today was exciting (“What a nerd…” my readers think) and it reminded me that soon we’ll be doing fun stuff, rather than strictly studying grammar. I’m glad I’m taking Ethics this semester, though, since my other three courses (OT 12, NT18, and Greek) are going to be so focused on exegesis. I may be a divinity student, but if all I studied was the Bible all the same I think I might go crazy. Besides, Professor Amy Laura Hall is pretty much my new hero.

In any case, it’s Friday, and I am off to enjoy a relaxing afternoon before having some fun tonight with friends. Cheers.

Back...

2008-01-07T13:01:00.000-08:00

…in Durham.

The sun is shining, I am at my favorite café, I am listening to one of Thea’s “Kick-ass 90s!” mix CDs, and my apartment is almost clean again. It is good to be back!

There is something wonderful about coming back to a place that was so strange four months ago, and finding it familiar. Even though I’m disappointed about not going to Germany next year, coming back to Durham has reminded me that I’ve started to build a life here, and it’s good to know I can settle in for at least the next year and a half. I am tired of living in transitions, and I want to be here. Now. Today. In Durham.

Now, I am off too figure out my class schedule, buy books, and figure out the latest academic existential crisis! In Rebecca’s word, “oh megHan. You enjoy learning too much.”

A short update

2007-12-28T09:28:00.000-08:00

Happy Christmas!

I have been quite lethargic (that's a nice word for lazy) most of the week. I have, however:

-finished reading Vonnegut's _Slaughterhouse Five_, AND Nafisi's _Reading Lolita in Tehran_ (both of which I reccomend).
-watched "Little Miss Sunshine," "License to Wed" ( I do not reccomend the latter, for the record, but the former is a personal favorite), and several episodes of season two of "Friends."
-listened to Sufjan Stevens "Songs for Christmas" several times (which I also reccomend).

That's my media update. Can you tell that I don't have time to enjoy such things during the semester?!

I also started working on a piece to submit for "All of the Above," a theatrical production comprised of monologues written, performed and directed by Duke women about Duke life. I'm quite excited about what I have so far, though I need to do some serious editing.

Also, I pierced my nose -- a lovely, tiny, sparkly green stud. I like it a lot.

Holland: Revisited

2007-12-23T15:51:00.000-08:00

As promised, the details of my trip to Holland.

I noted previously that I had a wonderful time, which is true. It was strange though, at the same time. The phrase that kept running through my head all week was, “You can’t go back.” You can visit, and you can wander the halls of Lubbers and greet professors and old friends. But they are no longer your professors, and it is no longer your school.

Hope is my alma mater, and Duke is my school. I used to live in Holland, and I’m in the process of building a life in Durham.

I was reminded of this quote that Laura sent me this summer, from Reading Lolita in Tehran: "You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place, like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and place, because you'll never be this way ever again." That is how I feel about leaving Holland, about graduating, about moving to Durham. It’s not just about geography; it’s about change more broadly. I will never be the person that I was during undergrad ever again, not exactly. I will continue to be a person shaped the four years I spent there, I will continue to learn and grow and love my dear friends from Hope, but it will be in new, different ways, because they will not be who they were then, either. In Laura’s words, “sometimes I miss me.”

While in Holland I was able to visit with several of my closest friends from Hope, and spend some time in my old haunts: Lubbers, Uncommon Grounds, JPs, the Good Earth, Student Development, the Keppel House, Treehouse Books, Trygve and Kristen’s house. I had long talks with Laura, Lisa, and Sarah, and went to the Curragh for “Drink like an Irishman” night on Thursday with Laura, Sarah, Kristin and Analisa (one of Laura’s roommates). Thursdays were always my favorite night to visit my favorite Holland pub, because my favorite, Guinness, is a dollar off. By the end of my junior year I’m pretty sure the bartender knew Jen’s and my name, we were so regular. That’s what happens when you don’t have Friday class!

Although the visit threw me into something of a melancholic funk, it was refreshing, too. There is something so beautiful, and so safe about being with friends who already know most of your faults. These are people who lived with me, studied with me, went to chapel with me, drank gallons of coffee with me, struggled through existential crises with me – people who loved, and love me, in the best and the worst moments. To find people who are unrelated to you and yet maintain such unconditional love is a rare gift.

Loving where I’ve been, learning where I am, and wondering where I’m headed next.

Snowed In

2007-12-23T14:42:00.000-08:00

Finally, it feels like home.

What do I mean by that? I mean that I woke up this morning and it was twenty degrees outside, and the power was out from the high winds last night. The power came back on at about 3:00pm, but now it’s starting to snow. For the record, you know you’re from Michigan when a power outage is no big deal because you just put everything in your refrigerator out on the back-porch in a cooler. It's colder out there than in the fridge, anyway. Then, put on an extra pair of socks, light the gas stove with a match, boil some water for coffee, light a few candles and you’re ready to face the day. This is winter in Michigan, my friends.

There were times last winter in Holland when I wouldn’t leave my apartment for days at a time. We had a well stocked larder, a nice view of the snow on 8th street, plenty of homework to do, and ingredients for hot toddies…what more could a person ask? I would leave to go to class, or to brave the three-block trek to JPs (down the heated 8th street sidewalks – though they couldn’t keep up with the snow sometimes!), and that was about it. I lived my life in wool, goose down, and silk long underwear. Revenge on the beautiful people, Trygve called it, because no one can look good in Michigan during the winter.

Oddly enough, I miss it a little bit. Just a little, mind you, but even that may seem surprising, especially if you’ve experienced a six-month long Michigan winter. The force of the wind and snow and the frigid temperatures are a reminder of human frailty. The cold draws people together, imposing a bizarre sense of community on our lives, reminding us that there are some things that remain beyond our control, and that we do in fact need each other more than we are willing to admit.

Besides, even when the excitement of the first snow drags on, turning into the despair of February blizzards, there is always the hope of spring, and regardless of the weather Lake Michigan draws me to her shores.

Will I be pleased to return to North Carolina in a couple weeks? Probably. But I’ll miss complaining about the weather everyday.

"Table for one!"

2007-12-22T21:17:00.000-08:00

Holland was glorious, Chicago was an adventure...tonight, though, I'm too tired to share the stories. Patience. Tomorrow, I hope, I'll spend the day writing (among other things) a significant blog update.

Tonight I just want to share a couple things. First, a quote shared by Kenzie:

“We are not interested in the love of truth *as against* the truth of love. This does not mean we are not interested in the love of truth…[but] the love of truth without the truth of love is usually cold and cruel, I have found. The truth of love can sometimes be irrational, absurd, and yet it is what makes us grow toward maturity, opens us to joy.”
-- Madeleine L’Engle, in “The Summer of the Great Grandmother”

And second, an interesting website with factoids about those with INFJ personality types:

http://www.ransdellassociates.com/INFJ.htm

I am an INFJ, myself. Granted Myers-Briggs personality type assesments can only say so much about a person, and certainly don't define a person entirely, but it is still fascinating to me how accurate they can be. So, I post the above link for your contemplation. My favorite is the note about INFJs being unlikely to list "watching sporting events" as a leisure activity...true of me, unless you're talking about soccer! There are always exceptions.

Lastly, since it is break, a reading/listening/watching update: I am reading Kurt Vonnegut's *Slaughterhouse Five*, listening to Feist's *The Reminder*, and a few nights ago I watched *The Royal Tenenbaums*...it is marvelous to be enjoying non-scholastic media.

home

2007-12-17T20:58:00.000-08:00

Here I am – Kalamazoo, Michigan. How beautiful and how strange to be done with my first semester, to be back in the Midwest, to have snowy shoes, and to be wearing a wool sweater! There were times last week that I didn’t think I’d make it through exams. There were times Saturday that I didn’t think I’d make it home through all of the snow. There were times today that I thought, “I should be studying.”

No! No, I should not. I made it. If, as Simone Weil writes, prayer consists of paying attention, my “prayer life” is far better than it might appear, because for the last week I was definitely paying attention. How are such stress and such joy so closely intertwined? Exam week makes me crazy, yet somehow I thrive on its intensity. I think to myself, "You are doing what you are meant to do. Don’t give up now. Not when you are so close." It’s a challenge for me, at the end, to keep the level of focus I have for the first twelve weeks of the semester, especially since lately I’ve been more easily distracted than I normally am, for a variety of reasons.

A couple weeks ago I re-read the short piece I had to write for my MTS application, reflecting on a book/essay/etc. that I had read recently and on how it was shaping me theologically. I wrote about Weil’s essay, “Reflections on the Right Use of School Study With a View to the Love of God.” Re-reading it, almost a year later, what I wrote continues to ring true – as do the frustrations I was living at this time last fall. The same questions, doubts and fears are here, but the same faith, hope and love, as well.

I spent today around Kalamazoo, with my mom, Grandma, and Aunt Carol – it is so good to be with family, to be in the city that will somehow always be home, no matter how long I live in other places.

Tomorrow I am going to Holland to stay with LP, who is basically my other half – how do I even begin to express the joy that brings me? In Kenzie’s words, I need to get my feet back on the ground, and I’m excited about being with some of those who know me best (and somehow love me, faults and all). Kindred spirits reside in both Michigan and North Carolina, I’ve decided, but it is the Michigan ones my soul has been longing for of late.

Friday I’m taking the train to Chicago – my soul may be craving good friends and Lake Michigan, but my stomach is craving Chicago-style pizza. And of course there’s the Art Institute…I could sit in front of the Chagall window all day. Not to mention Picasso, Cezanne, van Gogh, Kandinsky, Klee, and Hopper. (Art speaks truth that words cannot express, my inner philosopher cries!) Besides, there is something marvelous about getting on a train, by myself, and going wherever I want to go. It’s that independent streak, that travel bug, that yearning for freedom. It’s just Meghan, really, when it comes down to it.

Nine more days...

2007-12-06T10:22:00.000-08:00

Perhaps I should make a paper chain and tear a link off for every remaining day from now until Christmas break?

I spent the first part of Reading Week resting, writing a paper, and enjoying fine fermented beverages with friends (I've more than made up for all of the weekends I spent doing homework this semester, let me tell you!). Now it's time to get down to business. I have exams on Monday, Wednesday and Friday of next week -- all cumulative, and test taking is not my strong point. This could be interesting.

I need to start a Greek study group.

Poems

2007-12-03T11:19:00.000-08:00

Today, I am unable to find the right words myself. Instead, I borrow the words of the poet Mary Oliver:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

An Unexpected Break

2007-11-24T15:14:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving!

My holiday unfolded in a rather unexpected manner: first, I wasn’t going to go home. Then, I was. Then, I wasn’t again. Then, I was again! And finally, I wasn’t. Instead, I was going to have dinner at my cousin’s. But she got the flu. So I was going to spend Thanksgiving with my cat. Luckily a friend came to my rescue and I got to give thanks on Thursday with a lovely group of fellow Div students and their friends. All is well. Don’t worry, Maisie Daisy got an extra treat for dinner too! Today I even took her outside on a leash for a pleasant autumn stroll -- there’s a reason they call me a crazy cat lady, after all.

And now, there is one remaining week in my first semester of graduate school, to be followed by a reading week, exam week, and a twelve-hour drive home. I’m sure that over Christmas break I’ll write a longer reflection on the semester as a whole; it’s too hard to understand life when you’re in the midst of living it. (What’s that my favorite philosopher says? Oh yes, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards...”)

I only have one more paper to write this semester, which is not at all what I’m used to. I do, however, have plenty of paradigms to memorize for Greek, not to mention hundreds of vocabulary word to review. It’s a blessing that Church History, Old Testament and Pastoral Care have been so manageable, since I basically need to eat, sleep and breath Greek from now until December 14th when I take the final.

I am currently taking suggestions for Christmas break reading: leave me a comment if you have a title you’d like to recommend. You know you’re a nerd when the most exciting part of a break from school is that you get to read books of your own choosing. I’m also open to suggestions of films to watch – I promise not to read my whole break away.

In any case, it isn’t break yet. The last stretch of the race is always the longest, somehow, and right now I must persevere! As is my habit, I’ll close with an image of my daily life in Durham: tonight, you’ll find me translating a passage from Mark while sitting at my kitchen table, by the window outlined with twinkle lights, sipping hot cocoa or tea, explaining yet again to Maisie that though I love her she cannot sit in the middle of my homework, and humming along to Over the Rhine’s Christmas album, “Snow Angels,” or perhaps the latest Irish and Celtic music podcast. It’s cooling off outside, and I might even turn on the heat when I get home.

Missing home, family and friends, but happy to be right where I'm supposed to be.

Procrastination skills

2007-11-10T08:20:00.000-08:00

I'm working an a paper right now, but somehow updating my blog seems a bit more appealing on a Saturday morning than Anselm's ontological argument for God's existence.

An addendum to my previous post: having no driver's license stinks sometimes, especially in a city like Durham, I admit. I'm going to live in a large city with excellent public transportation for my next degree, I've decided. (You see, I stand by not having the license -- I suppose you could say that it's the driving culture that bugs me.)

Another addendum to various previous posts: North Carolina in the fall (though it took a long time for fall to arrive, and the colors aren't nearly so brillant as at home) is lovely. How many 60 degree, partially to mostly sunny days can you have in a row? Oh my word. It's not Michigan (there's no lake, and I don't anticipate much of the fluffy white stuff) but it has it's advantages.

Last night I got my guitar out and played for the first time in awhile; it was a nice change of pace from all of the academic work. My life has definitely been feeling a lack of art lately. Anyone up for Romeo and Juliet tonight? Or Leon Fleisher next Friday? I can't remember the last time I went to a poetry reading, either. I may need to do some sleuthing as to the state of the Durham literary world because, to paraphrase William Carlos Williams, people dies miserably everyday for lack of what is found in poetry!

Perhaps I will write my Anselm paper in verse. I'm sure that would go over well.

A Day Late...

2007-11-06T07:38:00.000-08:00

It’s Monday evening, and at this exact moment I would rather explore some of the thoughts that have been simmering in the stew pot of my mind for the past few weeks than plough through one hundred pages of Anselm of Canterbury. My theory is that if I allow myself to write for awhile, I will settle down to read Anselm with a higher level of attention than if I tried to do so with a million fragmented thoughts swirling around in my head.

Since arriving at Duke, excited and scared, I’ve had a chance to get to know at least a little bit of what this community, both academically and spiritually, is actually like. Some of my pre-conceived ideas have proven correct; others have been smashed to pieces. One might borrow the old adage and say that the honeymoon period is over. My initial enthusiasm for this place hasn’t entirely disappeared, of course, and Duke remains an excellent institution with some incredible faculty and students – I am blessed to be here. But with time you come to see a place’s flaws, and to realize that even top universities are not perfect places. Nor is everyone in them as brilliant as one young woman from a small Christian college in the Midwest might have hoped or feared.

I noted awhile back some of the interesting stereotypes that come along with being an MTS student – raised eyebrows, awkward comments, and the like. I was concerned about being, “one of those.” The past few weeks, though, I’ve realized something important: I am one of those. I don’t mean that I am one of those arrogant fools who are too smart for their own good, the cynics, those lounging in the “seat of scoffers,” as the Psalmist says. I hope and pray I never become that sort of person. I am, however, a scholar; or at least a budding scholar.

It is difficult to express just what I mean when I say that I am a scholar, and honestly it is a task I may leave for another night. I’m learning, yet again, that I’m different, and learning, yet again, to embrace that. It easy to want to be angry, to wish to be normal, to wonder what it would be like to not have this sense that I simply see the world through different eyes, that I am asking different questions and seeking different answers than those around me. Would I change it, though? Not for anything. The difficulty is learning to exist like this, to be who I believe God made me. Living into these tensions is easier said than done. I hope that, despite its flaws, I’ve come to a place that will bring me into contact with other people who understand this thing about me that I can never quite put into words. I think, slowly, I’m finding some of those people, though the fact is that while one can form a social circle rather quickly, true friendships take a long time to grow.

Aside from that, I’d like to throw out a few interesting observations. I’ve been pondering the differences between wants and needs, between luxuries and necessities, quite a bit over the past year or so, and experimenting with the virtue of simplicity. In light of this, I’ve noticed lately how often people say things like, “I can’t survive without [fill in the blank.]” or “How do you live without [fill in the blank]?” about things that are, quite frankly, unnecessary. For example, without fail, every time someone hears that I don’t have a driver’s license they immediately ask how I can possibly survive in Durham without one.

For the record, here is the answer: quite easily. From my apartment, it’s a 15-minute walk to campus, a 15-minute walk to the grocery store, and a 5-minute walk to my favorite coffee shop. There are numerous restaurants on campus and a few near my apartment, and the bus stop is a two-minute walk from my building.

Not only do I have access to everything a graduate student needs (and a lot of things I just simply want, too, like pizza, and mochas, and the comfy couch at Shade Tree Coffee…), I get my exercise in this way as well. For that matter, some people have to walk as far to get to the Divinity school from the parking lots on campus as I do from my apartment. Ironic.

Granted, having a license would make life easier in certain ways (for example, sometimes I am just lazy and don’t want to walk to the store!), but getting along without one is far from impossible. It just requires me to be intentional about things like living near campus.

Another example: “I can’t survive without my computer…” said in response to the news that one might need to leave his or her computer with the techies on campus for a few days to be fixed. Ten years ago every graduate student did NOT have their own laptop, I am quite sure, and for that matter for my first two years of undergrad I didn’t have one myself. Some of my friends at Hope never did. And do you know what we did? We used the computer labs that are everywhere on most college campuses. Imagine that! When did my generation decide that having computer labs provided for us all over campus is, rather than a blessing, a nuisance, because it means we can’t be in our own sterile little writing environment?

I love my laptop. It makes my life as a student much easier, and it helps me to keep in touch with family and friends who are far away, but I don’t need it. I could write my papers, email my friends and update my blog at the library if I had to. At Duke we don’t even have the problem of library hours to deal with, because Perkins and Bostock are open 24 hours! (Which is an interesting cultural note that I’ll analyze another day.)

Part of this whole wants/needs distinction is determining how this should effect my life. I think it’s great that I have a laptop, and I don’t intend to get rid of it, but at the same time I think it’s very important to understand that if my computer went crazy tomorrow and stopped working I would be fine. It’s dangerous to become so reliant on our things that we let them define everything about who we are and what we do. Can I still pursue my calling without a laptop, without a driver’s license, living in tiny (but oh so cozy, mind you) studio apartment? Can I have a life rich with good books and music, good friends and a wonderful family, even if I don’t have the kind of material wealth our culture values so highly? Of course. In fact, sometimes I think we’re better off without that. “There are two ways to be rich,” William Sloan Coffin wrote, “one is to have a lot of money. The other is to have few needs.”

I would much rather need people and ideas than material possessions, any day.

In Brief

2007-10-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

I am quite busy. A lengthly update will follow at some point, but this is just to say that I am still alive and kicking.

Classes are really picking up -- my brain is full of St. Augustine, Greek verbs, Deuteronomistic history, and feminist theology, all of which I'd be happy to explicate further at some point.

Durham is rainy today, so be glad for our draught stricken planet!

Some wondering questions for you (which are on my mind, begging to be shared): Do words and ideas really matter? If so, how? In what ways does our language shape our reality? How do the limitations of language affect what we say about God? Why does our culture seem unaware that right action can only follow right thinking? (or, would you disagree with me on this point?). One thing that I love about studying patristics (as frustrating as it can be on some levels) is that the early church leaders understood the importance of words, and how language really matters, really shapes our ideologies and practices. I think we've lost that. And one area where I think it shows is in gender language. More on that later, I hope.

To my non-philosophical/theological readers, if that last paragraph was annoying, my apologies. Consider it a little window into my brain on a average afternoon, midweek and in the thick of academic life.

Now, home for a nap! And then, the history of ancient israel! What an exciting life I lead :)

midterm musings

2007-10-13T10:06:00.001-07:00

It is October 13th, and only just beginning to feel like autumn around here. The sun is shining as usual, but a cool breeze is blowing and the temperatures are in the 70s, making for cool nights with open windows, and pleasant afternoons in the Duke Gardens.

This past week was the Divinity school's mid semester reading period -- a.k.a. "fall break." Now, for students such as myself, reading week is an excellent chance to catch up on any course work one is behind on, and hopefully get a head start on all of those papers looming in the not so distant future. It is also a chance to be really, really lazy. I've done a little of both.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday was the Pastors' Convocation, during which I happily sat in on several lectures and conversations by Norman Wirzba, Wes Jackson, and of course Wendell Berry! Wendell did a book signing, so I was able to briefly meet him, and have my copy of "Given," his newest poetry collection, signed. Honestly, I was besides myself with excitement -- he is one of my favorite poets and essayists, and his work has probably influenced my theology and philosophy more in the last two years than any other author currently living.

Other than the Pastors' Convocation, there's not much to tell. I slept in a lot. I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies one night, acorn squash on another. I read "Reading Lolita in Tehran" instead of my homework, and watched the short film "The Danish Poet" (it is wonderful and I highly recommend it!). I drank a lot of tea and loved Maisie Daisy. I watched season one of "Friends" in its entirety. I also managed to do some work here and there, and as lovely as this week has been I'm looking forward to life having some structure again beginning Monday. It's a blessing to rest, but it is also a blessing to like your work enough that you kind of miss it when you're taking a break.

Right now though, I'm enjoying a cup of coffee and a banana chocolate chip muffin at Nosh, taking it slow and letting saturday wash over me like the lake michigan waves that I miss so much. It's strange to be half way through my first semester here. Already people are making plans for Christmas break, and talking about registration for next semester. Today, though, I'm not too concerned with plans for next semester, or even tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Today, I'm going to finish reading Leviticus and start Numbers for my Old Testament class, review some Greek vocab, give Cyril of Alexandria a quick skim, and experiment with cooking a spaghetti squash for dinner. Yum :)

what season is this?

2007-09-29T17:22:00.000-07:00

There are only a couple of days left in September, but today felt like summer to me. I took my homework, a peanut butter and banana sandwhich, and a blanket to the Duke gardens, where I set up camp under a magnolia tree. Even in shorts and a t-shirt I found myself sweating. It was a beautiful day -- clear blue skies, a cool breeze blowing, sunshine smilling down on me -- and reading a good book was a wonderful way to enjoy it.

Still, I am craving autumn. Changing leaves, apple picking, bonfires, cider & donuts...it's not quite the same, down here. I am looking forward to the weather changing eventually, at least, even if the colors are less vibrant. Perhaps I'll make apple crisp tomorrow in honor of my home state.

Now I am sinking into a leather armchair at my favorite Durham coffee shop, Shade Tree, enjoying a decaf mocha -- I do believe you could fit two of me into this chair, but as it is I like having it to myself. It's been an introverted weekend, what with almost everyone participating in the grad school basketball ticket campout. It's been awhile since I've had any time to recharge, so I'm glad I opted out of that. (My thoughts were something along the lines of "No sleep? No homework? No way." I'll be a women's basketball fan, thankyouverymuch.) It's good to know yourself well enough to realize when you need to pull away. Sometimes it's good to be alone.

In contrast, tomorrow I'm going to a local Episcopal church with a friend from school; somehow, going to church alone strikes me as contrary to the purpose of the whole endeavor. Common worship, done alone, seems a bit of a paradox, doesn't it?

That's all from me tonight. No big news, but sometimes it's the simple things that are most poignant, I suppose.

an epoch

2007-09-24T12:23:00.000-07:00

I just handed in the first paper of my graduate school education. I've written some short reflections, taken some quizzes, written an un-graded paper for the first year writing evaluation, but this -- this is the real deal. It makes me a bit nervous, but it's exciting, as well, to be doing good work and seeing small fruits from my labor. The paper is on Origen, a philsophopher/theologian of the early church. He was eventually condemned as a heretic, I think, but I must admit I find him fascinating. I jokingly told a friend last night that I was going to title the paper, "Fun With Heresies in the Early Church!" I didn't, of course. Though I did have some fun with the heresies, myself! What I love about Origen is his posture as a speculative philosopher. He asks the difficult questions and, granted that sometimes his answers are a little off, I can't help but admire a fellow question-asker. Especially one with such an impressive knowledge of Christian scriptures.

In contrast to all of that heady stuff, I am now going to proceed home to feed my cat, sweep my floor, do my laundry, and go grocery shopping. Life has a certain rhythm to it like that -- studies, Sabbath rest, and the quotidian mysteries of daily activities like cooking and cleaning. All have their place.

Durham is sunny and warm, as the late summer weather is hanging on longer than I am accustomed to. It's a review day in Greek on Wednesday, so between that and handing this paper in, I can breath a little more deeply for day or two, and sleep a wee bit more I hope.

A closing note, to anyone who is interested in the new monastic movement and intentional Christian communities, such as The Simple Way: on Sunday afternoon I went with KJ to visit Rutba House, a community here in Durham. We talked to a young man who lives in the house about what they do, how they do it, why they do it, etc...and since Shane Clairborne was in town for a speaking engagement the night before, and knows some of the people at Rutba House, he was there for awhile, and I was introduced to him. It was really quite humorous, since just that morning someone had reccomended his book The Irresistable Revolution to me. I like knowing that people who I hear about on NPR, and whose books are shaping the lives of people around me are, well, real people. It's encouraging in so many ways.

Cheers, my friends.

Looking for a song to sing...

2007-09-17T12:43:00.000-07:00

My apologies for the lack of updates for the past three weeks or so. Needless to say, life has been a whirlwind ever since classes began!

Where does one begin, with three weeks’ worth of ups and downs to tell of, with pages upon pages read and pondered, numerous lectures taken in, pages of notes taken down, not to mention all the pages to be written in the coming weeks? I will share some bits and pieces, and fill in the details upon request.

First of all, Tally and Lisa, two of my dear friends from Hope, came to visit over labor day weekend. Since I had only been here for a little over two weeks at that point, it was fantastic to have some familiar friends around, to just be together. Tally and Lisa being who they are, they wanted to be sure to leave me more settled than they found me, so we spent the weekend running around Durham (getting very lost, but always finding ourselves eventually) searching thrift stores for furniture for my apartment. We made sweet potato/black bean quesadillas (a undergraduate favorite of ours) for dinner one night, and smoothies with the new blender Tally got for me as an apartment-warming gift, and spent some time in the library here, working, since they are both in graduate school as well. Sunday we went for a walk in the Duke gardens, and to church at Duke chapel. It was a relaxed weekend, which was exactly what it needed to be, I think. There is something about being with people who just know you so well…what did I do to deserve such wonderful friends? They actually spent over 18 hours in a car to spend a mere two nights with me!

From there, I jumped right into the rhythm of life as a graduate student, though not without some dissonance here and there. My classes are, for the most part, wonderful. In particular, my Old Testament class is incredible – I leave every lecture just enraptured by all of the interesting things Dr. Chapman has brought to light, and all of the new questions he’s raised. We are reading a book for precepts (the small group discussion section of the course, since it is a 200-plus lecture) by Peter Enns called, “Inspiration and Incarnation: Evangelicals and the Problem of the Old Testament.” It is such a refreshing book; Enns puts forth a very different way of reading the OT than any I’d encountered before. His viewpoint is neither conservative nor liberal (theologically speaking, by the way – the terms don’t mean the same thing in all contexts, though people tend to politicize such things). Rather, he questions the underlying attitudes and assumptions we bring with us to the text, exploring how we might discern what the texts themselves tell us about how they should be read, instead of how we want them to be read. His fundamental point is that the bible is incarnate – just as Christ is incarnate – and that it can’t be read merely as a human or as a divine book. It is both, and in reading it we have to take that into account, instead of either dismissing it as irrelevant due to its human inconsistencies or ignoring the human aspects due to a stubborn belief that it dropped from heaven in one perfect volume. Having experienced both extremes in biblical scholarship, I find Enns’ book to be a very important one. That, of course, is a very brief summary of both the book and my thoughts, but it gives you an idea of the rigorous study both my brain and my faith are encountering of late. Expect to hear more about that as the semester goes on.

My Church History class is going well, and I think Greek is finally beginning to click. That latter has left me in a distressed state for the past three weeks, but we had a quiz this morning and I think I actually did okay. Also, in the lecture that followed the quiz I think I actually understood what my professor was saying! Imagine that! I am sure the struggle isn’t over yet, but it is so amazing to see how, even after only three weeks, this knowledge opens up my understanding of the New Testament in so many ways. Needless to say, we’re moving at a very fast pace, which is part of why I find my brain unable to keep up with all of the information, but every once in awhile I have an “Aha!” moment, and then I know it’s going to be all right. My fourth class, Cross-cultural Pastoral Care, has been rather disappointing so far. I am hoping it will improve; it has so much potential and is such an important topic! I’m taking it for my Church Ministry requirement; all MTS students have to take one such course (MDivs take a lot more, I assume), and I thought it would be good to do it at the beginning of my program. Now I’m regretting it a little, I admit. I will suspend judgment for the time being though.

For the most part my life here consists of the rhythm of school and rest. During my down time, I spend time with my cat, walk in the Duke gardens, read for pleasure, and have fun cooking in my own kitchen. I mostly do these things on Sundays, after church, since I’m continuing to observe a Sabbath from school work, a practice I began last January. My apartment is finally feeling like my own space, too. Still, even as the weather cools down, and my new life starts to take shape, there is a sense in which I remain unsettled. It takes a long time for a place to really become home; it takes me a long time to open up, to know and be known by those around me. I am experiencing the reality of having my roots transplanted from one community to another, and the transition is definitely still in progress.

There is a sense, though, in which all is well. I have found a wonderful church home at Duke Chapel, I am finding my academic niche in the Divinity school, and I am slowly getting to know the people around me. Did I mention that Trygve and Kristen Johnson will be here next weekend? Trygve is going to be preaching at Duke chapel. I am excited for a little taste of home and Hope, and look forward to spending some time with them.

This has been a long update! I will try to write a little more frequently from here on out, as there’s plenty I haven’t even begun to tell about yet. Grace and Peace, to all. And thanks to all who’ve called, e-mailed, and even snail-mailed me of late – it always makes my day.

orientating

2007-08-24T10:49:00.000-07:00

So much has gone on during these past four days that I don’t know where to begin!

Orientation has been alternately thrilling, terrifying, overwhelming, joyful, exhausting, confusing, helpful, and affirming (among other things). MTS orientation was Tuesday, which was helpful since there are only twenty-one of us in the program. It was a nice way to start things off, although it was also a bit intimidating in some ways, since I now realize just how competitive this program is. I’m glad I didn’t grasp that fully when I was applying (though of course I had a vague idea; it’s Duke, after all) because I think I would have been afraid to try (just as, for example, I was afraid to apply to Yale, even though Jack suggested it and I knew it would be a great program). The demons of doubt have certainly attacked me of late, as the voices in my head repeatedly ask, “Who made the mistake of letting ME in?” Yet I know it was no mistake. Again and again these past four days, whether as I heard the incredibly varied backgrounds and goals of the other MTS students on Tuesday, as I have begun getting to know my first year Spiritual Formation group and met other theology nerds who may be kindred spirits as well, as I listened to Dr. Verhey and Dr. Hauerwas lecture on the Divinity School Covenant yesterday morning, as I bought five hundred dollars worth of books yesterday afternoon, and even as I huffed and puffed my way home in the August heat with a bag of them in each hand. My fingers are blistered. But my heart is glad.

Again and again I have been struck by the reality that this is a community whose vision for scholarship and ministry is one that I resonate with deeply. This is a place that cares about thinking and living rightly, about talking TO God as well as about God; it is a place that, if it does what it says it seeks to do, cultivates both a love of learning, and a desire for God.

One of my deepest fears is that I could (as I have sometimes been in danger of doing) become the kind of person who is so wrapped up in the systems and the practices, in the books and the theories, in the grades and the papers, that I forget why I am studying in the first place. That I could forget that this is more than my own passion, but rather a calling, and answering, as I follow those little hints and guesses, finding a sense of purpose that lies outside of myself. If I did not believe in the depths of my being that our God is living and active, present and powerful, personal and loving, why would I choose to orient my whole life towards discerning, and doing, the will of God here and now as I dwell in God’s world, with God’s people?

All that is to say that, despite numerous fears for the semester, I have a sense of peace as well. The books on my shelf are calling my name, waiting to be introduced, added to the growing list of new friends I am finding here. I am taking Church History (Ancient and Medieval), Old Testament, Greek, and a course on Cross-cultural perspectives in ministry. The professor who teaches the latter works with a lot of gender questions in Christianity, which is something I am particularly interested in, and since I’m hoping to do the Div. School’s certificate in Gender, Theology and Ministry, I excited to combine that with explorations of cross-cultural ministry, something I haven’t been able to study much yet. The history class, I think, will be a lot that I am familiar with (names like Origen, Aquinas, and Augustine are not new to me), but that is all the more reason I am excited for it. We’ve been introduced, those church fathers and mothers and I, but we have much left to converse about. That is, after all, why I am here – to be in conversation with the church, past and present, to understand where we are by understanding first where we’ve been.

Today was the last day of orientation, of which I admit I am glad. I am ready to find rhythm again, to begin my studies in earnest. I have already scouted out some of the study nooks on campus; the coffee spots, cozy chairs, and large tables for spreading out books and outlines and notes. The libraries are amazing here. Everything about campus, really, just calls me to a posture of attentive study.

For now, though, I have a few items of business to tie up before classes begin Monday; financial aid statements, opening a new bank account, grocery shopping, spending some quality time with Maisie Daisy. The poor cat has missed me quite a bit this week, I think, so my Friday night may include some catnip mice and tuna. It is nice to have someone to come home to, after all!

down south

2007-08-20T12:28:00.000-07:00

It's odd, suddenly realizing that I am the one with the accent. But when the cashier at Goodwill (where I managed to find a drop-leaf table and a chair for my apartment, by the way!) pronounced the store name as if it were, "Goodwheel," I realized that I must have sounded rather strange to her. Very "northern," if you will.

Still, other than the fact that the current temperature is 97, and has been like that every day since I arrived, I am adjusting quite well to my new location. I found the post office, the grocery store, several thrift stores, two coffee shops, and of course, campus. My apartment is even starting to look lived in, though I can't quite call it "home" yet. It's sparsely furnished, of course (besides that table and chair, I have a bookshelf...and a mattress on the floor), but that's okay. Simplicity is underated. Anyway, I'll post pictures of myself and Maisie Daisy (my cat) in our new digs, as soon as I take some... :)

I'm looking forward to orientation beginning tomorrow, mostly because after four days alone in my studio with the cat, I'm in need of some human interaction. I kept myself busy, though, by reading the final Harry Potter installment, and re-reading Eugene Peterson's "Eat This Book: A Conversation in the Art of Spiritual Reading." The former was, needless to say, a marvelous source of escapism for someone who cannot accept that fictional characters aren't real; the latter is required reading for all entering students at Duke Divinity. I happened to have read it Junior year at Hope, when I was part of the Dead Preachers Society, but it's been wonderful reading it again, as I think I'm understanding it a lot better this time around. When I finish it, I'll explicate a little more on why I think it is an incredibly important book, and why I am glad it is the sort of book my new school would require me to read.

Before my parents headed back to Michigan we took a stroll through campus, found the Divnity School, and went in the Duke Chapel. I was just in awe. The campus and the chapel are just so beautiful, and marveling at all of it got me to think about what an incredible opportunity this is. I get to go to Duke. I get to study theology with some of the brightest minds in the field. I get to be with other theology nerds, every single day. For two more blessed years, my job is to be a student ("...and a damn good one," as a wise friend once reminded me).

I am, of course, intimidated beyond belief, though I tend to think that's a good thing. It guards me from developing a sense of entitlement; it keeps me grounded. At Hope I was a big fish in a small pond, as they say, and especially during my last semester I noticed many of my friends (who are, admittedly, very, very intelligent people) getting quite used to the idea that they are, in fact, "Hope College's best and brightest." I am wary of becoming too comfortable with such lables, and I'm looking forward to the challenges Duke will offer, although I'm a little scared my brain won't be able to keep up with all of the intellectual activities around me. Still, theologians are people too, and when all is said and done I think I will probably learn to love this place.

p.s.

2007-08-08T18:44:00.000-07:00

Also, in response to Robin's question, yes, I'm okay with eating meat from animals that I know where raised in an ethical manner. (For example, my parents had a free range, organic turkey this past thanksgiving, and I had some of that.) Beef is another story, since there's also an environmental issue there, so I don't eat that at all.

I've been asked at least once or twice why I think it makes a difference, anyway, since one less person eating chickens raised in little boxes isn't going to change the system, and one less person eating cows isn't going to force anyone else to pursue more sustainable forms of agriculture. To this, my response is that you are right. It won't make a difference, not in a quantitative sense. But if I made all my ethical decisions based upon that kind of logic, would you respect me more...or less? If I believe it's wrong (i.e. bad stewardship of God's gifts, of which we are called to be caretakers) to treat animals in such a way, why would I want a single cent of the resources I've been blessed with to support such actions? Basically, I reached a point where it seemed hypocritical for me to continue eating meat. My thoughts weren't lined up with the way I was living, and that's a problem, I think.

If you don't feel convicted about it, fine. Keep eating your angus burgers, chicken fingers and BLTs. I can't, and all I ask from those who disagree with me is that we can respectfully agree to disagree. This has been a bit of a tangent from Robin's original question, of course, but since it's been a frequent topic of conversation around me this summer I thought this would be as good a time as any to say a few words on it. So, thanks for asking, Robin :)

On Goodbyes

2007-08-08T18:09:00.000-07:00

I wasn't ready to pack. I wasn't ready to come home. I wasn't ready for all the "last" things. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I thought I was, but when the time came I wasn't. I don't understand how I could have been so burnt out, so frustrated, so exhausted, and yet so unwilling for it all to end. I cried three times in one day; tears no one saw, of course, in true Meghan fashion. Always keeping up the pretense that I am tough, even though we all know that's ridiculous.

It didn't really hit me until after I said goodbye to one particular friend who I've been on staff with for four summers. We hugged, said a few words, and I turned my back and walked away. Halfway back ot my cabin, I burst into tears, thinking: this is it. You can never get this time back. All those years, all those memories are in the past now. Nothing will ever be the same here. It really is a goodbye.

I'm afraid that many of my entries this summer have had a similar tone, because I've been in perpetual transition since graduation. It has made it hard for me to write about anything other than all of the weirdness of change. And here I am, getting ready for the next big change -- sorting, cleaning, packing -- a little unsure about whether I'm any more ready for this one than the most recent one. It doesn't help that I'm also holding on so tightly to relationships with the people around me, trying to figure out how to be present in one anothers lives from a distance.

I read a book this summer called, "Is it I, Lord? Discerning God's Call to Be a Pastor." Speaking of seminary, the author, James Chatham writes, "Somewhere between five hundred and a thousand pages to be read in every course, tests, research papers, exegeses, theory, practice -- you will know you have been to school. But you are chasing the meaning of your existence, the purpose in why we are here, and the wisest way to spend out brief moment." What does that look like, to chase the meaning of existence? The wisest way to spend our brief moment? I want to know. I want to be that person. I guess that's what keeps me going, even though in all honesty right now I am scared to death of this whole endeavor. I think, deep down, I still don't believe I am actually a graduate student. At Duke, of all places. It sounds so sophisticated, so grown up, so smart.

But I am still me. The same Meghan who likes listening to Hanson, eating indian food, watching mystery science theater and re-runs of friends, sipping Guinness, making homemade pizza, reading predictable mystery stories, knitting, irish music, reading Kierkegaard on the weekends, playing in the rain, and a million other random, ridiculous, human things. It helps, on the verge of something new, to remember that I'm still me, even as I step into a new context. I'm confident, most days, that this is where God wants me to be; of course, knowing what you want to do, what you should do, doesn't make doing it any easier, now does it?

Life is so full of possiblities right now. Fears aside, I really just want to live into each and every one.

The first day of the last week

2007-07-29T16:24:00.000-07:00

I greet this day with a sense of sadness, but mostly with an intense relief. The summer has been something like what I imagine a marathon is like for a runner – only my main event is cooking. I haven’t totaled up Micah’s and my final pancake count, but at last count it was over 3000. Not to mention the omelets, french toast, grilled cheese, homemade rolls, cookies…and all of the meat, though of course I try to block that out. It has been good, but I am ready to say goodbye.

My cabin was invaded by the kitchen staff and lifeguards yesterday, as we are all bunking together for the last week. I thought I was looking forward to this, until they came in and basically took over my space. Rather than sharing the place that has been my home for the summer, I feel like I’ve been displaced. Kicked out, if you will. Just one more thing that will make bittersweet goodbyes a little bit easier.

I’m ready to be in my own apartment, I’m ready to grocery shop and cook what I want; I’m sick and tired of cooking food I can’t eat, and being mocked for being a vegetarian. The friendly teasing is fine, but the complete lack of respect some staff members have for my decision makes me sick, honestly. You wouldn’t think that I would have to put up with such a contempt for my ethical decisions at a Christian camp, of all places; even if people don’t agree with me (and I’m careful not to preach at them) you would think they’d at least have the decency to leave me to eat my vegetables in peace.

Still, it hasn’t been all frustrations. An old camp friend dropped by last night, and we reminisced about a heated debate we had over Christmas break in which he determined to convince me that being a vegetarian is basically ethically pointless. He did not win the argument. Since then, he said he’s taken a deeper look at what he eats, thinking about how it was raised, whether is was injected with hormones, raised free range, organic, etc…in other words, though he still doesn’t agree with me entirely, our little bull session made him think about it a little more, a little differently.

That’s what I love. I think, or at least I hope, that I’ve been able to take part in similar conversations throughout this summer. That makes the frustration worthwhile. The long days, the theological disagreements, the occasional chauvinist remark, even being made fun of for putting my money where my mouth is and refusing to support farming practices that I think are unethical – in the end, we all think a little differently, we all refine our questions, and hopefully get a little closer to thinking and living rightly. Even if there are only three or four staff members who I’ve really connected with – especially if there are only three or four staff members who I’ve really connected with – it’s worth it. It’s worth it because they know they’re not alone in the questions they’re asking. I’m glad I’ve been able to be Miracle Camp’s resident philosopher this summer, even if I’ve felt a little misunderstood most of the time.

It’s hard to say goodbye, to put another period at the end of another sentence so soon, but in this case I’m ready. I’m excited and scared for what’s next, but I’m ready.

Jen & Aaron's Wedding

2007-07-15T19:07:00.000-07:00

This weekend was filled with such joy and community.

On Friday I traveled by train from Kalamazoo to Milwaukee, via Chicago, and Jen, Heather, Betsy and Mers picked me up from the train station. Since I was awkwardly a day early, hanging out with the wedding party, I was glad when Jen asked me if I’d be willing to hand out programs on Saturday with Katie. Throughout the weekend I was assigned a variety of small tasks – everything from pinning flowers on ushers to hemming Betsy’s bridesmaid dress –which helped me to have a sense of purpose in arriving so early. It was definitely a blessing to be involved in the weekend instead of simply observing the ceremony. Jen & Aaron certainly have amazing family and friends supporting them as they begin their marriage, and I am so glad I could have this glimpse into parts of their lives that are so easily missed when you only interact with college friends in your usual college context.

The wedding was such a celebration – I only wish I could describe the glow in Jen’s parents faces, the awkward fun of the Hope crowd being the only ones on the dance floor with the newly weds for much of the reception, the tears that would well up in my eyes as Heather gave her toast, and all of the memories I have of these dear friends over the years.

The wedding was just so Jen & Aaron, right down to the food (all of which was donated, prepared and served by their church family – how incredible is that?): there were wonderful pasta options, fun salads, some sort of beef (I didn’t pay attention to what since I don’t eat it), a chocolate fountain, and even (this is my favorite part) “Nuptial Nachos,” because that is their favorite snack. The paper trays the nachos were served on were stamped with their names and the date of the wedding. It was just so cute, not to mention quite tasty!

The church was decorated just beautifully; classy, without being pretentious. Everything looked so perfect, yet it was cute and comfortable, just like Jen – pink Gerbera daisies, pristine white linens, coffee labeled “decaffeinated” and “full strength” (I found that especially fun, though it may have been unintentionally so).

Instead of clinking glasses for them to kiss, Jen and Aaron had a punch bowl that they asked people to put dollar bills into for Shane Claiborne’s organization, The Simple Way, because they wanted to use it as an opportunity to do give something back, communally. What a wonderful thing to integrate into your wedding; I think that says something important about the kind of couple those two are. I just feel so blessed to call them my friends.

After we bid them farewell, we Flying Dutch women and men made our way to our hotel for the night, where we hung out until the wee hours of the morning, and this morning Heather dropped me off at the train station in Milwaukee. The whole thing is just so surreal; are we really this grown up? Jen and Aaron are the first of my Hope friends to get married, and though it makes sense on so many levels, it’s odd to think we are all old enough for it to happen. It is yet another way that I can feel my life transitioning into a new season. I am more aware than ever of the reality of my own adulthood, yet I am also aware of just how young twenty-three really is. Even as I write this I am listening to Ben Folds “Still Fighting It,” wailing along to the lyrics “Everybody knows, it hurts to grow up…” It does hurt, though it’s beautiful to, when you get to grow up alongside such wonderful people.

For now, I am headed back to the daily grind at MC; these three days off were much needed, and with three weeks left in the summer I hope that I can finish strong, despite all of the things on my mind of late (not the least of which is that I am moving to Durham in one month!). It’s an odd juxtaposition, this wedding and camp, because camp is so much a part of the season of my life that if drawing to a close. As tired as I have been of late I am looking forward to the next three weeks as a chance to bid farewell to a place where I have done a lot of growing up. God knows I am growing there still, though it is summer number four.

On days like this, I am just glad to know that I am not finished yet.

Sabbath

2007-06-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

After seven straight days of working twelve-plus hours, today was my sabbath. I slept in until 9:30 (that three to four hours later than normal), made a pot of coffee, went to church with Sarah and Lisa and met up with the rest of the camp staff there, and went to PO meeting for the first time all week (normally they meet at 7:30, while I'm busily making breakfast). It was good to reconnect with the PO, since I barely see them all week, so I am glad I made it to the meeting even though it was my day off.

After that I headed home to do laundry and spend some time with my family. It was an uneventful day, but those are often the best kind -- Holly and I went to Qdoba and had a nice talk, I visited the kittens mom is taking care of right now, and talked on the phone with Laura for the first time since leaving for camp.

Now, I'm back at camp, trying to process week one, trying to plan for week two, praying and hoping and loving my staff. Week one was a hard week -- for me, because I often had several people asking me questions at once, and half the time I didn't know the answers, and for them because the reality of their position is sinking in. You see, I knew what I was getting myself into -- early mornings, long hours which often feel as if they go unnoticed, working Saturdays when everyone else is off, missing staff meetings, repetitive kitchen tasks like refilling the salad bar and mopping the floor -- but they didn't. "Kitchen staff and assistant counselor? Okay!" It sounds simple enough. And in some ways it is.

Obviously, in some bizarre way, I love this job -- I wouldn't keep coming back if I didn't. There is no denying that it is hard and often discouraging, though, and in my position of leadership it can be even more so, because though I am okay with the realities of the job, I take the burdens of my staff as my own. My sense of purpose in being here is that I care about them, about teaching them to value the simple, practical tasks before us as a God honoring, valuable, even a sacred work in some ways. I know that some lessons have to be learned the hard way, though, and I can't save them from that. They will crash and burn at various points this summer, and I will be there to help pick them up and dust them off, to provide a listening ear and maybe even a shoulder to cry on sometimes.

Often I feel so inadequate for the tasks before me, yet even as my own self-reliance is broken down my reliance on God is built up. Yesterday was Dave's day off, so I was solely in charge, and amazingly everything went smoothly. There is an immense satisfaction in getting three tasty meals out on time, for one hundred-plus people -- simple as some tasks are, the sum total of having everything perfectly cooked and ready at the right times is by no means easy. Quite frankly, I tend to be very tense on Dave's day off! I'm an amateur, and I have a healthy respect for what he does, so it stands to reason that I would have some feelings of trepidation when it comes to filling his shoes. It is a joy to be able to lighten his load, though right now I am still getting into the swing of things.

For now, I'm off to bed. Tomorrow's breakfast is scambled eggs, bacon, hash browns and biscuits, so I'll be waking up at six a.m. As Thea reminds me, "Everyone has to eat," and I had better be up to make sure that happens!

"No Place Like It"

2007-06-07T17:06:00.000-07:00

I've been at Miracle Camp for two weeks now, though it feels like much longer. "Longer in a good way, or a bad way?" you might ask; the answer is, I don't know. It's been two years since I've spent any significant time here, and I am realizing, everyday, how different I am from the young woman who first worked on the Kitchen Staff here four years ago. Yet in contrast with all of the changes in me, this place remains the same. That is part of why I love it, but it is also why I find myself floundering around, unsure of who I am in this place. It's as if someone took a box labled "Meghan" and is trying to shove me inside it, but I don't fit anymore. I am glad I don't fit in that box, but I am definitely struggling to define my role this summer.

Program Office prep week was helpful for getting back into the camp mindset, but both then and even now that the staff have arrived I've been having a difficult time with the lack of structure in our schedule. That will all change on Sunday when the first group of campers arrive on Sunday, though. I appreciate the rhythm of the kitchen schedule; it's not "mundane" or "repetative" to me, though it is predictable. I think I will be less tired when things get rolling, even though there will be more to do.

A couple days ago we made crepes, and it just felt so good to be back at that huge grill, flipping tasty breakfast food again. I felt silly for being so excited, yet relieved to still find so much joy in such a simple, practical task, particularly since so much has been frustrating to me lately. The job that I am here to do I know I am not only capable of doing, but also excited to do. In the PO I sometimes feel as if my gifts are not fully understood or utilized, but in the kitchen I'm free to lead (with some direction from Dave, the cook, of course). The men and women on my staff are a fantastic group so far, and I am so glad to have the chance to mentor them this summer. I am sure I will learn a lot from them, as well, and I am simply excited for their friendships.

I wish I could write more, but things have been so busy of late, and I am so rarely alone that my mind hasn't fully processed a lot of what's happening. When I find time to write often I don't know where to begin. I miss Hope, my friends and my family, but I am with several good, old friends here, and beginning to build new relationships. Also, I'm looking for an apartment in Durham, and it's been a little rough so far. Yet another thing roaming around my fragmented thoughts!

It is good to be here, despite the ups and downs. Growing up, this was a place where I always felt safe and loved, and it is a gift to be able to create the space for other children to experience that, too.

Graduation

2007-05-15T12:21:00.000-07:00

One week ago, I graduated. One week ago, I wore a royal blue cap and gown, my parents clapped, my sister took photographs, and my friends and I walked across the stage and recieved our diplomas. One week ago, I packed up my things and moved out of Hope College housing for the last time, closing the door on a place that has become, over the past four years, my place.

Finals week was a prolonged goodbye. Caught in the tension of wanting to drink in my last moments as an undergrad and an intense desire to finish strong as a student, I filled the week with a mix of napping/guitar playing/picnicking in the pine grove, departmental dinners (three of them), writing (at the library, at JPs, in my apartment, in Lubbers, on the porch of the Kepple House), trips to the beach and the Brewery. I drank coffee with Laura, and the Poet with Rebecca, Margaret and Kenzie; I danced with Thea, visited the Alpaca with Sarah, sang Hanson songs to anyone who would listen, philosophized with Lea, and cried when I was alone.

In a way, Commencement came as a relief; long goodbyes are the hardest kind. It's not that I wanted it to be over, but you can only live in anticipation of the end for so long before you have to make a break. It's a bittersweet end, but it was time.

The whole day was a blur, from Baccalaureate, to brunch in Phelps, to Commencement itself -- I remember it, I was present in the moment when it happened, yet the memories are surreal. Am I really a college graduate? A Bachelor of Arts? A soon-to-be graduate student? People can say that it is easier for me, since I know what I'm doing in the fall, since it is "more of the same", but I know that it's not. There is, as one wise friend described it to me a few weeks ago, "a period at the end of the sentence." Something beautiful has come to a close, and something new is beginning.

So, I am Kalamazoo with my family. My first week as a college graduate has been anticlimatic in all of the best ways. I have slept until 10 or later every morning (me, who considers sleeping until 8 "sleeping in"!), read an entire novel (Crossing to Safety, by Wallace Stegner), attempted to unpack, visited both of my Grandmothers, gone treasure hunting at the Goodwill with my aunt, hung out with my younger sister and her new boyfriend, watched movies with my mom, napped with my cat, walked around the neighborhood I grew up in, and sat in the sun -- doing absolutely nothing. In short, I am taking a holiday.

For the record, I took an entire day off from reading anything at all, and I haven't read any Kierkegaard since I finished my last paper (after which I went directly to The Peanut Store and bought whatever I wanted!). Rest isn't my strong point, but it seems that I am getting better at it.

In closing, some words passed on to me by my older sister, Heidi. First in French, then her translation:

"Je cherche mon territoire sur une page blanche; un carnet, ça tient dans un sac de voyage. Alors, partout où je pose mes valises, je suis chez moi."

"I seek my land on a blank page; a notebook fits in a travel bag. So wherever I rest my baggage, I am home." - Fatou Diome

There and Back Again

2007-05-10T18:39:00.000-07:00

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
until it finds some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And wither then? I cannot say.

(J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, p. 82-83)

Welcome to my new blog! I decided that this would be an opportune time to switch over from xanga, since everything else in my life seems to be changing all at once as a result of graduation. I'll post updates here from time to time about my summer job at Miracle Camp, as well as my move to North Carolina in August. Occasionally I'm sure I'll ramble on about what I've been reading and thinking about; casual observations about the human condition and the meaning of life will likely appear here, as well :)