#grateful

for Harrisonburg.
that I have so many homes.
that I know so many lovely human beings.
that there are so many churches in the world that feel like home.
that the elephant ear plant is still growing.
that the bag of potatoes made it from lancaster to harrisonburg to here.
that R said, i like to think you are my friend. 
for the way morning light falls slanted and bright through the windows.
that I have gained a little confidence since I first set foot in Hburg.
that I can see this in myself.
for friends that ask how I feel about Syria.
for weekends.
for brothers.
for drinking tea in the dark.
for The Housemate.
for the car full of strong women.
for the conversations we had during the drive.
for tomatillo seeds.
for letters.
for hiking.
for the tiny salamander I held in my hand.
for children, and the stories they tell.
that I am here.
that I am alive.

JoHoYo (or, Mennonites are weird)

I had been thinking about this all day, yesterday, and then I forgot to write it down.

---

A few weeks ago I ended up finding myself at the same church as my boss, a funky little Mennonite church outside DC. And I've kept going back (usually). This week he asked me if I was a church over the weekend, which I wasn't (I decided reading through Matthew in the sun in the park was the best possible use of my time, haha); and when he learned I wasn't, proceeded to tell me that the sermon had been about John Howard Yoder. 

"I think I'll have to go back and re-read some of those books," he said. "I read The Politics of Jesus. Good stuff."

I almost laughed. I was having flashbacks to classes at EMU, hearing classmates fondly refer to "JoHoYo." 

I really am in a subculture. Mennonites are weird. But I have to admit I'm thankful... JoHoYo did, after all, give this intern an interesting (obscure) point in common with a tenured PI. :)


EDIT// to clarify, by saying "Mennonites are weird," I mean, "isn't it strange that two Mennonites from different generations can end up working in a government funded lab and know immediately what's going on when the name John Howard Yoder comes up?"

so many thoughts in my head

this is what happens now that I don't have schoolwork to occupy my time.

1.) last week was a bit discouraging at work. I felt like I was disappointing my boss, etc., etc. The Housemate gave me a rousing peptalk and said, "well, emily, at least you aren't delinquent."

right. as long as I just keep showing up. just keep going, I told myself. no feeling is final. and wouldn't you know, both The Housemate and Rilke were right.

2.) sometimes I despair of ever being as wise as the family I come from. when I was home the other weekend I was talking with my dad about some of my questions and thoughts and fears about money, power, growing-into-a-person-I-won't-like...

I think Bethesda is so weird, sometimes; driving along River Road down to the C&O Canal is weird. I've got no other word for it. I think about what River Road means in Lancaster, that drive down to the Susquehanna; "trailer trash," banks of weeds, the muddy waters of the Pequea running sluggishly with kids floating in inner tubes. Here, River Road means wealth, the kind of money that buys you thousands of square feet on each floor, turrets and gated driveways and double rows of pine trees planted between your property and everyone else.

I say these things to my dad, and he says, "don't paint with too broad a brush."

he says, "it's like what Paul wrote, about being content when you have little and content when you have much."

is it really so easy? I thought, jiggling my leg anxiously under the table. the thought's been sticking in my head these pasts several days. it can't be that easy. but yes, maybe - it could be -

Actually, I don’t have a sense of needing anything personally. I’ve learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I’m just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I’ve found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am. 

(Philippians 4:11-14, The Message)

3.) ...and man, I love when thoughts about God and how to live and this really important stuff intersects with art and poetry. 

Our hands full or not:

The same abundance.

Our eyes open or shut:

The same light.

-Yves Bonnefoy

4.) I also despair of ever being as awesome as my grandparents, who have, for a time, extended a very generous helping hand to some folks in need. Oddly enough, one of the things that's been banging around in my head in regards to this (quite interesting) development in my family's life is a quote from Tolkien's The Two Towers. Funny, how those books stick with you.

"One who cannot cast away a treasure at need is in fetters."

I am constantly having this feeling that I am almost seeing what God is saying about the kingdom being at hand. It still doesn't quite make sense; it still is hazy, like far-off mountains on the day of a summer storm. 

But it is coming in to focus, and the bits I am seeing keep hinting that it is like what Linford told me, one time on cross-cultural, maybe even on the streets of Damascus (oh, unreal city, may peace visit your streets). That  abundant life is found in giving things away, giving your life away.

...In the re-creation of the world, when the Son of Man will rule gloriously,

you who have followed me will also rule...and not only you, but anyone who sacrifices home, family, fields - whatever - because of me will get it all back a hundred times over, not to mention the considerable bonus of eternal life. This is the Great Reversal: many of the first ending up last, and the last first.

(Matthew 19:28-30, The Message)

5.) Sometimes at the end of a day of work I remember a little sticky note I saw tacked up on the Redmond House fridge. "Everyone wants to start the revolution, but no one wants to do the dishes."

Ah, adult life. How tedious and boring you can be! May I learn patience and perseverance in the midst of this dryness. 

6.) "I'm feeling like it's time for a blog post," said The Housemate. 

"Yes," I said, "I think so, too." 

in memoriam: seamus heaney (1939-2013)

today, i am sad. i used to imagine meeting him someday. it's strange, because i haven't read much of his work. but what i did read (mid term break, singing school, gifts of rain), i adored. he wrote lines that stuck in my ears for days.

so i wrote him a poem, as the overly invested fans are wont to do. a double-acrostic, even, because i needed a wall to push against.
here it is.

--

elegy

“The main thing is to write for the joy of it.”

-Seamus Heaney

and so, these things remain - but no cascade of light//

no gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear//in the porch//

dark blobs burned/like a plate of eyes. inter alia.

the world is tending towards stillness, my love. towards quiet.

heat death, they call it, the whole universe one mass of low

energy. you know. your words carry the weight. momento mori.

jesus christ, son of god, have mercy. have mercy, spirit, my will

often weak; my spirit crying out in this thin time, in this thin place. will

you remind me, a chuisle, a chroí; what is poetry for?

once, he said that there is holy force to art. and the words were

full of power. yes, they were. I believed him.

I am not a scholar of the written word, nor a

teacher, nor author. I am only a writer, and I

am also only learning. even so, I knew right from when

lines jumped from page to ear to pulse, warm

like wine hitting my blood, letting me dance, setting my

yearning loose; I knew, sitting strangely in that stranger

evening, crowded around desks on a tuesday night, the              

sweat cold on my palms, classmates reading poems where burqa                 

enters walmart, horses run under the sky, husbands          

vow to love their wives, oh, I knew I would read more, two

easy poems not enough. I knew he knew things. my throat feels tight. in

no living world, now, will I meet this man, whose picture I saw       

staring out at me, it seemed. it isn’t fair. sláinte. good health.

oblige me. lift the glass. now tilt your mouth up, smile just a little wry.

it's the little things...

yesterday The Housemate said to me, "tomorrow evening looks like rain. let's make good food."

so far i've done most of the grocery shopping & cleaning, and she's done most of the cooking, and we've ended up with:

tomatillo salsa
spicy chicken tofu soup
pesto
peanut butter chocolate banana smoothies
banana pudding pie

I think I should make note of this; rainy day = food prep time.
mmm. now it's time to tackle the dishes. ;)

(it's sooo good. try it! try it! I even left you the recipe!)

EDIT:// apparently it's true that cooking can bring good conversation into the kitchen; i was just telling the story of when i learned to make a chocolate angel food cake with my nana last year. and then i asked The Housemate if she had ever heard of the dessert graham cracker fluff (also called wooflepoof, i told her, to which she said what? wifflepuff? and then i said never mind) and when i did a google search for the dessert to try to explain it, this is the first thing that came up. oh, what a small, small Mennonite world.

on not going back to school

I realized today while I was eating lunch that this is the first time in 18 years that I'm not 'going back to school.'

I'm still trying to figure out how to define myself outside of the system that for years, for all of my conscious life has fed me gold stars in exchange for high test scores and a raised hand in class.

My current internal monologue is something like well then, kiddo, what does it actually mean to be successful, huh?

And, actually, I don't know, because my measuring stick is gone; because the measuring stick of the world I'm working in seems kind of strange, kind of warped; because I am still learning, even if I'm not in school.

Today I think success looks like remembering to write a postcard blessing for a friend's new apartment, like having the dishes done by 7:30, like having homemade granola for dessert. I'm not sure, yet, what I'll think success looks like tomorrow, but...one day at a time.

a few scattered thoughts on following christ in the midst of power

When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth. Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” 

When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, “Who then can be saved?” 

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Matthew 19:22-26

I've been doing a lot of thinking recently, and the thoughts that have been circling through my head feel important but also fragmented and hard to articulate. 

1.) When I was down in Harrisonburg a few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend who had just completed a two year term with MCC in the country of Colombia. She brought a Colombian friend with her, a woman who spoke only Spanish. During our conversation, she asked, is it okay if I translate while we talk? I nodded, not thinking much of it, and later she said thanks - I know it probably doesn't mean much to you, but it's important. She doesn't mind observing what's going on, but then it's just sort of watching a bunch of rich kids hanging out; it means so much more for her to be able to be part of it, you know?

I felt startled. What do you  mean, a bunch of rich kids? I'm used to seeing myself as pretty solidly average, like: sure, I have a car and a college degree and I grew up going on vacations and going to summer camp and going boating on the Susquehanna, but - I went to public school! I buy dried beans in bulk! The litany in my head is something like there's never enough there's never enough there's never enough.

So odd, that shift in perspective. A Colombian woman sees me, my average self, and thinks: rich kid. 

2.) I told Thia, that weekend, that I thought maybe Early Church had ruined me for normal life. I was thinking of my home group, of Brian and Rachel, a couple who are married with a year-old kid. They live in a tiny apartment and don't own a car; they don't seem to want much of anything. I don't think I'm any happier than they are, I told Thia. There I was, a week into my new 40+ hour a week job, living on my own in Bethesda, one of the most expensive places to live in the U.S., starting to realize for real that money doesn't equal happiness.

3.) It's strange, I told Meg. It's strange to live and work in a place that hums along just fine without paying any attention to spirit, to soul, to sacredness. I'm not sure what to make of it.

4.) I went to church in Maryland for the first time this weekend. A woman from NIH who graduated from Goshen contacted me and told me about a Mennonite church near D.C. So I checked it out and I like it; everyone was friendly, they invited me to the potluck after the service. It felt familiar, like a blend between CMCL and something from EMU. I felt cheerful on the way home; fond, almost, and I didn't even mind the few miles on the Beltway. It was strange, because usually I hate driving in this area.

What to pull from these scattered threads...I've been thinking, I guess, that the Christian life ought to be seen not as rules, but as a path towards thriving. It is very hard for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven, and I am learning this new each day. I don't think that God means don't have money, but - it makes sense to me, to be wary of it. I think that Brian and Rachel are more free than I am, although they have less. The words of the gospel make sense in their context in a way that they don't in Bethesda. I feel that very clearly. The lives that my friends live in that little community in Harrisonburg don't make much sense in context of wealth and power, in context of this wealthy suburb of Washington D.C. 

[I told Thia, that weekend, that the people I rub elbows with every day might look at people from Early Church and pity them, but I can imagine Brian and Rachel showing up to visit me and pitying the people living in the huge houses around me, thinking they don't understand what life is about. (I am afraid, maybe, of growing into one of those people, of becoming someone, someday, that my friends from Early Church would pity). And so there God is, leveling the playing field, raising the weak to challenge the strong. And yet: how impossible it would be to explain this to anyone I work with!]

How to live with integrity, I've been asking myself. What does that mean? 

In regards to attending church, I guess it's easy to feel like it's an obligation, like it's a rule. Christian? Go to church. But the feeling I had coming home today makes me think, again, that the Christian life is just a path towards thriving. It is not good for (wo)man to be alone. It is good to be connected, to be loved... I was happy to be at church today, and happy on the way home. I will go back, I suspect, because I want to be thriving, because I want my spirit to feel whole.

Who then can be saved? I wonder, looking around at the power and money flowing through the streets of the D.C. area. Me? Can I? Can I be saved?

With man this is impossible, Jesus is saying to me, but with God, all things are possible.