St. Brendan's

When I Was a Young Warthoggggg!

It's official. My relationship with St. Brendan's Anglican Church in DC is official. No more dating around. Or being ecclesiastically celibate. I'm done being the hen in my relationship with church & ready to be the sow. (That's a Grey's Anatomy Reference. In case you missed that episode, I've imported the script:


George: You and me: We're like ham and eggs. I was the chicken, I just want you to know that, I know that I was the chicken. You put yourself out there, you were committed and I was just puttin' the eggs on the plate. Not the ham because you were the pig. (this catches Callies attentions and she glares at him) I was just involved, but now I'm committed.


Callie: Did you just call me a pig?


George: No...as a metaphor.


Callie: Calling me a pig?


George: No, the point is that you're not the pig anymore. Now I am the pig. I'm the pig. I am the pig. (Callie glares at him and walks away) I...am the pig.


End scene.)


So, context provided, I am ready to begin the transformation process. Into "the pig." It's been (hmmm...?) 2.5 years since I've been a pig at church. Guess I didn't like how that last go turned out. That was the case for many of us exiting that community, and I worry about the others sometimes. How nice it would be to have an art therapy session together someday. In the meantime, I have caught a glimpse of something beautiful in the community at St. Brendan's. Rich & reflective teaching. Can I use the word dialogic? Songs of worship boasting lyrics directly from Scripture & a posture of engaged reverence for a Holy God. Participants diverse in ethnicities, socioeconomic statuses, levels of education, careers, life stages, etc. But uniform in hospitality and acceptance. 


I haven't felt such ease at a church in four years. It probably helps that St. Brendan's meets at a homeless shelter off U St. And given, we've only had four dates. But I have a good feeling. First impressions are telling. As a new friend so eloquently wrote, "a luminous countenance needs little buttressing." True dat, I say. Let's see how the interaction plays out, but I am brimming with gratitude for this first advance. Flowers smell sweeter. (Who am I kidding. DC is flower-less.) Coffee tastes better?

My Mind's (Crossed) Eye

Hunger may have been the reason my brains started falling out my ears tonight, after 5 hrs in the GWU computer lab, but I suspect it is something else. My recent struggle to synthesize and crystallize vast amounts of information has been causing me to question my intelligence. If I can't make sense of all these courses in International Education - then why the H am I wasting my time?

Then it struck me, my strength is "Connectedness." And my strength (though the Strengths Finders assessment failed to confirm it) is "Ideation."

Ideation: My brain postures itself like a butterfly catcher. Hyper-vigilant, all senses attuned to catch a glimpse of a brightly colored wing - and then POUNCE! That's how I feel about ideas. Every day, the hope of snatching a new specimen for my collection sets me on the edge of my bus seat & keeps me a little breathless. Today. Today I felt the thrill. Uncovered the most unbelievable concept. Rushed to tell my Male & Female "Creative Partners" & they validated my twitching excitement. My brain LIVES to excrete lovely ideas. But this activity often distracts me from synthesizing ideas, because instead of building up I reach out...

Connectedness: My brain builds bridges from new information to old information, problems to solvers, needs to givers, etc. etc. etc. Any one thing I know is connected to every other thing I know (or is blindly reaching out to be). So instead of being like a file cabinet, sorted and orderly, it's like a blind spider building a Guinness Book of World Records size spider web using only its sense of touch. And while the threads all cross each other, they don't build something strong and sturdy. Just a fragile ever expanding network.


I'm not going to give up on my education. Thinking is generally a very pleasant task for me. But today just exhausting. At least I've reached some conclusions about why. May new ways of learning & synthesizing reveal themselves to me, so I can add them to my mental toolbox before I graduate! Fingers crossed.

Baseball Cards and Ice Cream

For the first time since I lived in Malawi (?), I made ColdStone-style ice cream at home. The peanut butter and granola mixed perfectly into the Dreyers that was sitting in my freezer. This is the longest a carton of ice cream has survived in my freezer - I usually don't have this caliber of self control. It makes me feel justified in having bought it. Ice cream seems so sweet to me lately, though, that I almost have to work up the courage to eat a scoop. The same way I feel when I jump in the pool for the first time, when I'm still dry through and through.

The last month has been completely disorienting - in an enjoyable way. Truly like one of those Grab Bag's you buy at weird stores & they have all kinds of surprise trinkets in them. Those never were my style, because I hate gambling and always suspected I'd get the one full of cotton balls and twigs.

BUT... those 50 cent baseball card slot machines - now that was a gamble I could get behind. Eames and I ended up  with a lot of crap cards that way at Larry's Card Shop on Taylor Road. But the thrill was worth it and Larry always put out. (I'm not referencing the fact that he was later charged with child molestation.) There were few places I'd rather be as a pre-teen than at Collector's Paradise, opening surprise packs of MLB cards. The brands Fleer, Upper Deck, and Topps still make my heart skip a beat. Why did I love baseball cards so? It's a mystery to me.

Exorcism

Just because you wake up at noon doesn't mean you get to eat peach pancakes AND a tuna melt. That was a bad idea. Brunch is one meal not two. Two meals in one makes it impossible to do pilates without retching. So I won't do pilates just now. Also, I hate how foggy my water glasses get. They need a good scrubbing. What I'd like to know, though, is what the hell the Grey's Anatomy writers are going to do with the good looking blue eyed black Mercy West surgeon. His minor character status gives me a twitch. I'd also like to give up coffee witch makes me twitch. But if I don't drink it and don't twitch will I get any work done? I think it's strange that INFJ's like me are the smallest segment of the population. Is it 1.5% or something? I was thinking about that when considering the type of a boy. He has the same type as one of my ex-roommates. I like her and I like him. But differently. What is this apartment going to look like when all the excess furniture is gone? There will be space to twirl and teach a yoga class if I want. Minimalism is what I've always wanted. My dream is just around the river bend. I'd like a record player and records. I'd also like to cut half of my hair into bangs grow the rest to my waist. I'd like to live at the beach for a month without American anxiety over unproductiveness. P.S. If you are mean to me, I will take your face out of my picture coaster. But if you are nice I will put it back in.

Talking in My Sleep

Dream: I am killing monsters & trying to protect a beloved group of people. But I am feeling great guilt every time I strike one of these monsters, because I sense that they are really just people dressed up in monster costumes. No one else seems to be aware of this, though. So I keep charging ahead, supressing the conviction.

Interpretation: Last night, during my reading, I finally found a shred of empathy for the European settlers who felt the need to civilize the savages. They were trying to protect their families and order, and considered gross human rights abuses and cultural (sometimes complete) genocide to be the only strategy to accomplish that.

Conclusion: WTF

Violent Voice of Weather

When the weather works this hard to get your attention, you sure as hell better pay attention. This blizzard has turned my life upside down and inside out, baptizing me in its flurries and drifts, and never will I be the same. Hallelujah, amen.

This storm revived
the awe-inspired child in me,
the love-struck but quickly broken-hearted teenager,
the professionally motivated East-coaster, the fun-loving Californian,
the bibliophile,
the spiritual mystic,
the photographer and painter,
the sensualist and the idealist
both greed and selflessness.

Every facet of myself roamed the space of this unexpected vacation from "real life." Of course, it felt more "real" than normal life ever does. Must this upheaval end? Keep snowing, generous sky. You have returned to me my broken parts, and for that I am grateful. Stay.