Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Hope: A literary triad

Three snippets of poetry and prose have been circling in my mind lately. All three are about the work of being a good human, and how it can at times be tragic, difficult, and painful. And all three are about the persistent hope therein. 
May they stir in you as they do in me.

---

At the core of our animal beings, something is bleeding. If we stop and pay attention, we can feel the wound. In the wound lies the hope.

-Paul Kingsnorth, "The Axis and the Sycamore," Orion Magazine (full essay here)

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Here is the world.
Beautiful and terrible things will happen.
Don't be afraid.

-Frederick Buechner

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The Real Work
by Wendell Berry

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work
and that when we know longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Musings on the second semester of grad school

Here's the thing:
I frickin' loved my budgeting class, y'all.

I think focusing on academic disciplines that other people find inherently horrible runs in my family. My mother has a PhD in theoretical mathematics. My sister is a chemistry major. My father is a financial adviser who enjoys reading about investments as a fun hobby, a fact I once found so hilarious that I laughed until tears ran down my face. And now I've completed a class called Public Budgeting and Finance, which I loved. I genuinely enjoyed using Excel to formulate a budget from a complex word problem. In other words, I am a huge nerd (a revelation that will likely astonish very few).

Actually, this family tendency may extend beyond academic disciplines, now that I think about it. My dad is also a marathon runner.

And while we're talking about weird changes that accompany grad school: "This final paper is only supposed to be ten pages, so it's really not that long" is an actual sentence that came out of my mouth the other week. The weirdest part is that it was true.

Life is surprising.

About two or three weeks before the end of the semester, my motivation tanked so dramatically, the whole experience can best be described as temporarily losing my mind. I forgot about everything. (Well, thankfully not the grade-producing assignments, but it was a near miss.) My conscious mind went on vacation. My critical thinking skills hopped a train to the beach, joyously entering summer mode, while the rest of me wandered aimlessly through the halls of my former routine, trying to remember how to book and laptop and research.

I attribute this phenomenon to a classic explanation: the disparity between expectations and reality. You see, I had come to believe that all my big assignments would be turned in by the end of April. But then a couple of unsolicited extensions came along. And then a couple of assignments I had forgotten about cropped up. And then it was the second week of May and I was still trying to schlep my weary self through the paces. Just another reminder that our disappointment and satisfaction usually have more to do with how our expectations jived with reality, and less to do with what actually happened.

Anyway, I'm now officially on break, academically at least. Another change that accompanied this semester was my dropping of the Nonprofit Management concentration. Upon realizing that I was enjoying my non-nonprofit-oriented classes this semester more than I anticipated (looking at you, Budgeting), I decided not to complete the NPM concentration and instead focus as broadly as possible. The Master of Public Administration degree will prepare me to work either in the nonprofit sector or another public organization, and since my work experience thus far is with nonprofits, I didn't want to limit my future prospects. I already have a bachelor's degree in a field I don't plan to work in. As fun as that is, I'm aiming not to do that with my master's.

The completion of this semester brings me to 18 credits: halfway to MPA. I'm looking at 1-2 summer classes (depending on how other job prospects post-Service Adventure pan out), 2-3 fall, and 2 the following spring, one of which will be my capstone project. I'll be graduating a year from now. In some ways, it feels like I've come to the halfway point extremely quickly: a year ago, I had only just decided which program I was going to enroll in. But when I think about how much I've learned and grown since August, it doesn't feel strange at all. Time is like that, I suppose.

Here's to the future, and to life's many surprises.

Monday, May 15, 2017

Photo update: Spring in CO

It's been a while since I've had time for a photo update, so here's another selection of highlights from the past three or four weeks. And by highlights, I mean highlights that I remembered to photograph.

We were in a rainy/snowy stretch for quite a while (typical Colorado spring weather), but it's mostly faded into gloriously warm and sunny days now. Thus, we've been making good use of our fire pit. Most recently, David and Marle showed us how to make stick bread.


A good friend in need of a post-semester project graciously decided to help me build a new (better) compost bin out of free pallets.


Now it looks like this.


I've been doing some sectional coaching with violin and viola students at a nearby middle school, and last Tuesday was their concert. I've never felt so proud while sitting in a junior high gym before.


At the Faith & Life Forum (an event of Mountain States Mennonite Conference at which Drew Hart was the featured speaker), we were given the opportunity to make lunch for everyone as a fundraiser for Service Adventure. Despite it being the first time any of us had cooked for a crowd, it turned out great.


Another weekend, we took a day trip to Denver to show the housemates around. This is the view from a walkway in the Denver Art Museum.


Sand mandala (also at the art museum).


Thread art.


It was a gorgeous day for lazing around in City Park in the middle of Denver.


And we stopped by Hammond's Candy Factory for the free tour too.


Tis the season for birthdays in the Service Adventure house. All four of the participants have birthdays within a month and three days: April 23-May 26. For Marle's, we went out for ice cream in our party hats.


For David's, we surprised him by cooking bacon for breakfast.


Now that it's warm -- and now that I'm on break between spring and summer semester -- this is my view most days. Porch time is an underappreciated blessing hearkening back to my college days living in Parkwood Apartments, and I'm so glad it's still a part of my life.


From my porch to yours -- happy Spring.

Friday, May 5, 2017

On inhabiting the darkness

I called Representative Lamborn this morning, as I so often do these days, this time to express my disappointment that the American Health Care Act passed through the House yesterday. And was met on the other end of the line by a mansplainer who interrupted me to tell me how I was wrong.

It was bound to happen eventually, I suppose. I'd just been so pleasantly surprised by the abundant friendliness and courteousness of all the other Lamborn staffers I've talked to.

I'm no stranger to mansplaining, but today it hits me harder than usual. Today, when yet another innocent brown child has just been senselessly murdered. When people with mental health conditions can have guns, but not health care. When our elected officials are sexual predators. When we're slowly killing our mother earth, and by extension, ourselves. When our vulnerable populations are voiceless. When our structures and systems are inherently violent toward marginalized communities.

I am just. so. angry.

In a season of springtime, of new life and new birth, I find myself still entrenched in the desolation of death and darkness.

While reflecting during Holy Week a few weeks ago, hearing again the story of the crowds clamoring for Jesus' crucifixion, I was wholly aware of how passionately we still riot for the death of goodness. We cry out for the murder of Christ in our world, here, today. And I wish I believed that we know not what we are doing.

On Easter morning, it felt like an extreme act of will to choose the joy of the resurrection. I feel so distant from the abundant hope and triumph of the living Christ. The weeping of the night is still in me and around me.

Today, on a gorgeous spring morning, I'm listening to this song, wanting so desperately to see the morning dawn.


If you, too, are spending this season in the night -- know that I am with you and for you.

Morning will come for us someday.