A Long Goodbye

This is my final summer working in middle Georgia with the bear project, and my final summer as a graduate student.
In 2013, I wrote a blog about coming here; much of my sentiments could be reversed in this post.

This is my fourth summer here, and I could fill a book with everything I have learned here, in this dirt and on this ground. I hope to do just that, someday.  But in the meantime, I'm trying to get my head around the idea that I'll be leaving here soon, and leaving the life I've built here.

The first few days I came down to the field site in June, I was here alone.  It's a good thing, because I was an emotional mess.  I was minding my own business, organizing supplies in our brand new storage building, when it hit me that all these supplies, the storage building, the check station, the trailer, the dirt I was standing on...was about to not be "mine" anymore.  This place has been home for my summers, some autumns, and some winters.  It's been the place I ran to for comfort, for mud, for bears, for new experiences, and for peace.  There's nothing that quite replaces sitting on the front porch watching the sun rise through those oaks in the front yard.

It's been a hard fought four years here: lots of blood, sweat, tears, pain, joy, dirt, rain, bugs, love, and laughter.  Before coming here, I'd never driven a truck (consistently), never driven a four-wheeler, never driven in mud, never handled barbed wire, never hauled a trailer, never touched a bear, never cried so much over bears, never plugged a tire, never cursed so frequently, never loved so profoundly, and never suffered loss so profoundly.

It feels like I've grown up here, even though I was in my twenties when I came.  In a way, I have grown up: I've learned what it takes to be a technician, crew leader, boss, team manager, research coordinator, go-fer, hunter, listener, and doer.  I've learned to deal with conflict that involves me, is because of me, and doesn't involve me at all.  I've learned how to talk to all sorts of people from all sorts of walks of life, and I've learned how to earn their respect.  None of these things have I done perfectly, and some I haven't even done well...but I've tried above all to be aware of opportunities to take lessons from every day I've spent here.  Whether it be learning mechanics, or history, fungus or tracking, hunting or wine-making, I have tried to keep both my eyes and both my ears open, holding my hands out palm up, waiting for whatever someone passed to me.  Not to say that was easy, or always fun.  It hasn't been only sunshine and rainbows.  But, my time here has been invaluable to me.
I think what has struck me the most has been the genuine spirits of everyone I've met.  If they like you, they'll give you the shirt off their back...if they don't like you, you know it--which I think is better than pretending.  Everyone I've come to know here is eager to talk about what they know and how they've learned it, especially if you're eager to listen.  I am forever in debt to the people here for taking me in, teaching me things, and pulling me out of trouble more than I'd like to admit.

***

I've successfully defended my thesis now, and all that remains are last-minute edits, format checks, and wrapping up the fifth and final season here.  After that, we'll all have pulled up our stakes from Ocmulgee dirt and moved on.

Only thing is...I don't know exactly to where I'm moving.  For the first time in my life, I have little direction.  I have, mostly, always known exactly what my next step is.  Now...I could take a step in any direction, and make something of myself.  It is terrifying.  It is also terribly freeing.  The world is my oyster right now: I could go anywhere, and be anything.  Some days I am okay with it: my free spirit soaring at the thought of riding into the sunset.  Some days...I wish to go backwards in time to when I had a singular path.  I know, though, that right now is exactly where I'm meant to be, whether I know what the future holds or not.

I keep telling myself, in my moments of panic, that as long as I can wake up each morning, remember how it is that I'm here--not through abilities acquired on my own, but through what I've been given--give thanks to God for what He has done, and step out of bed knowing that I. can. do. this.  It's not going to be easy, or straightforward, but it will be good, so help me God.

"9Now about your love for one another we do not need to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love each other.  10And in fact, you do love all of God's family throughout Macedonia.  yet we urge you, brothers and sisters, to do so more and more, 11and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you, 12so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody." 1 Thessalonians 4:9-12

Let it be so with me.

Forever Family

Aunt Mary Jane gives the best hugs.

You can ask anyone who knows her, family or not.  She gives you a big ol' squeeze that's long and heartfelt: one of those hugs where you immediately understand what it is to be truly loved, one of those you kind of wish you could pull out of your pocket anytime you need encouragement, one of those where you feel welcomed home, even if you're the one welcoming her into your house.

Good hugs are great, but great hugs can be life changing.  Every time I get the chance to see her, or any of the Ashley family, the reunion is full of hugs, kisses, and standing with our arms slung over each others' shoulders.  These are universal signs of acceptance, pride, protection, support, grace, and love.  Upon first observation, it might be assumed that we are just a touchy family: some people just are that way.  However, upon first-hand experience of the Ashley love, I'd bet money you'd change your mind about it being that simple.

***

We come from Quincy, FL, by way of Gadsden, AL and somewhere in Virginia.  Grandpa was one of 11 kids in Alabama, and Grandma was from a blended family--her step-sister we have always called Aunt Claire, and to all of us, she really is that.

Grandma and Grandpa raised 4 kids in Quincy, living in the same house for...ever...next to the Anderson's.  We shared meals with the Andersons often enough that I (and everyone who knew her) vividly remember Lulu's cookies and pound cake, and Mr. Anderson is kind of like a great uncle to me, even today, years after both Grandma and Grandpa are gone.

I'm the daughter of their youngest son, so my brother and I were always much younger than the rest of our 6 cousins.  However I can tell you that I always felt like an equal among my family, even though I was far smaller and younger than they.  We sat around the dinner table late into the night playing Cribbage: I on someone's lap, everyone else cracking jokes about terrible hands, amid shouts of "fifteen two, pair for four, ain't no more," and jovial threats of getting skunked.  As an adult, I've found a few friends who know this game, but none seem to have experienced the great joy we had playing as a family.  It's easy to turn Cribbage into a gambling, cutthroat game, but even Michelle, our star player, is the sweetest winner you'll ever meet; it's actually a joy to lose to her.

I could write pages on the memories I have of that house, this family, the experiences we had there: wallpapering the kitchen, playing in sun-catcher rainbows, building the backyard fence, playing tag, raking leaves to jump into them, eating muscadines out of the pool after throwing them at one another, collecting sweetgum balls for Grandma (and watching her actually put them into a vase and set them on the table), or hiding my stuffed animals for fear that Grandpa's threat of rabbit stew would come to fruition...but the undercurrent of all these is a fierce love for one another, a forever love for family born and family chosen.

Grandma and Grandpa weren't rich or powerful in the traditional senses, but you run into anyone in Quincy, even today, 18 years after he's gone, and they'll tell you how Grandpa always whistled when he delivered their mail, from where they knew him or Grandma, how he always helped the high school with homecoming floats, or what his nickname for them was.  Grandpa was famous for his nicknames...the good, the funny, and the loving.  

(Mine was Sweetpea, and to this day no one else calls me that.  If they did, there's a good chance I'd melt into a nostalgic puddle right in front of them.)  

I won't pretend that they were perfect: I've heard stories about the younger years.  But I can tell you that my and my cousins' memories of our grandparents were overwhelmingly beautiful.  I can tell you that if you ask anyone about them today, they are remembered as wonderful, giving, people.

They were both famous for their practical, kind, steady, servant-heart kind of love.

And I am so, SO grateful that this kind of love was not lost when we lost them.  It lives on in their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.  It lives on in our hearts and actions because they taught us how, and because we can honor them through serving and loving others.  It's an Ashley trait now, to welcome all and love people.  Yep, I have pride in my family.  But more than my feelings of pride are my feelings of gratefulness for being born into this, and humility to be called an Ashley next to these beautiful people who also share the name.  It's a blessing to be born into an family who's understanding of family is so broad it covers anyone we meet.  It's an honor, a privilege, and a gift to be part of a family who's collective mission is to love on one another and love on you with those fabulous hugs.  

***

But (my favorite word), it's not just because of the grandparents that we are this way.  It's because of what the grandparents, and we, believe.  Today, of all days, this resonates with me.  Today, we remember the Last Supper, but more importantly--for me, anyway--we acknowledge that Jesus was indeed a servant King.  He first gave us the example of what it means to humbly love others.  

He first.  We later, and poorly.  

It is astonishing to think that even my grandparents couldn't touch the servant love of Jesus, for even 18 years after the death of Grandpa, I still cry to think how much we loved him, and how much he loved...everyone.  What an honor that I have his likeness in my own father!  And what an honor that my own father has the likeness of Christ in him! 

Oh how wonderful to know that this gift is not reserved for the Ashleys, but for all who would see, and likewise humble themselves!

I am overcome.

***

"So, if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.  Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.  Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.  

Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.  

Do all things without grumbling or disputing, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain.  Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrificial offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all.  Likewise you should also be glad and rejoice with me." - Philippians 2:1-18.

Unless

This day comes around every year, and every year it makes me nostalgic for kid's books, summers rolling in the grass, and a strong sense of discomfort.  Seems a strange combination, no?
Today is March 2nd, Dr. Seuss's birthday.  Every year on this day, I read The Lorax, and every year that book and what it stands for becomes more important to me.
I'll try not to spend time re-typing it, or quoting a ton of it, except for the ending:

"That was long, long ago. 
But each day since that day 
I've sat here and worried and worried away. 
Through the years, while my buildings 
have fallen apart, 
I've worried about it 
with all of my heart. 
"But now," says the Once-ler, 
"Now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. 
UNLESS someone like you 
cares a whole awful lot, 
nothing is going to get better. 
It's not. 
"SO... 
Catch!" calls the Once-ler. 
He lets something fall. 
"It's a Truffula Seed. 
It's the last one of all! 
You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds. 
And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. 
Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. 
Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. 
Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. 
Then the Lorax 
and all of his friends 
may come back." 

I cannot read that without being filled with fear...and hope.  Today, especially today, after our -ah-interesting Super Tuesday, the Lorax's message screams to me.  Yes, I know that Dr. Seuss was primarily talking about deforestation, preaching a preservation message, railing against consumerism, but every year, this passage speaks to a different place in my life.

Sometimes it's about our natural resources: we are soon to be in dire straits in the energy and climate discussion.
Sometimes it's about relationships: we forget to nourish one another quite often.
Sometimes it's about faith: the seeds of truth should be planted and nourished, helped to grow in love and mercy, and flourish.

Sometimes...like this year...it's a little bit of everything: our environment is in trouble, our relationships are struggling, our integrity as a people is failing...
It's no wonder the Lorax lifted himself up by the seat of his pants.
It's no wonder the Once-ler hides in his Lerkim on top of his store.
It's no wonder our culture wants more, more, more!

Part of me wants to run away with the Lorax,
to disappear into the air with one sad, backwards glance.

But.  (That's my favorite word, "but," there's so much potential, so much hope in that one little word.)

But, I can't.  I can't just leave.
While I identify with the Lorax, and speak for the trees,
I can't just leave, because
I'm also in charge of the last Truffula seeds.
So are you, and you, and you!

Whether it's nature, or faith, or people, or space,
It's up to us to improve this place.
We use what we have,
and learn what we don't.
and hope that one day...
the Lorax, he won't:
won't look at us with those sad, oldish eyes,
won't look at us in a way we're despised,
instead he and his friends,
they'll come back.

The Valentine

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.
Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.
We know that we live in him and he in us, because he has given us his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in him and he in God. And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.
God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgement, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.
We love because he first loved us. If anyone says, "I love God," yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who did not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen. And he has given us this command: Whoever loves God, must also love his brother. -1John 4

The whole world cries out.  Hear us: we need you. We love you. We long for a higher calling, a greater purpose, a perfect end.
The earth trembles with anticipation at each sunrise, each fresh breath of air.
People yearn for it. We look everywhere for it.
Look around. The earth is proof of your Valentine. The mountains, the valleys, they are here for you, for your heart. Look and see, his love is written in the stars, the sun, the moon. Open your eyes that you may see how great the Father's love for us.
On this day, the world celebrates love. Lord help me remember how I know true love. Lord you made it possible. You are love. And perfect love drives out fear. Oh Lord let me be your messenger of love and mercy, and let not my intentions stand between your message and the world.

Love Letter(s) to the World

Beloved,

There are times I wish that I didn't love so much.  There are times I wish it were easier to separate myself from the joy, hurt, heartbreak, fear, hope.  Yes, there are many times I am grumpy, unapproachable, and rude.  There are times when I do not want to interact with other humans, regardless of how joyous they are.  But mostly, I just love ya.  All o' ya.  

When I look at you, I see daughters, sons, cousins, parents, friends, aunts, godparents, godchildren, dog-moms and cat-dads, widows, and siblings.  

I see creators, thinkers, adventurers, teachers, artists, writers, singers, builders, and discoverers.  

I see no two alike.  

I see beauty in the blue eyes, the brown eyes, the green eyes, the grey eyes, and intelligence there, too.  

I see eyes that have seen nothing, for they are new.  I see faces that have seen much, for they are old--some in years, and some in life experiences.  There is beauty in both the hope in newness, and the careful skepticism in experience.  

There is beauty here, and there is much pain.  

I see the lines in faces of fights between friends or lovers, between parents and children.  I see lines in faces from a long weary road of hardships: suffering, trials, failures, and perseverance.  

I see clouded eyes from long days in the sun, or long hours of working for sustenance.  I see clear eyes, bright with the hopes of academia and a future full of promise.  

I see hands calloused from years of manual labor, speckled by the sun.  I see knobby, arthritic hands, that still strive to complete blankets, scarves, and hats for those in need.  I see baby soft hands, searching, learning, exploring the world which is still new and beautiful.

Every line in every face is beautiful.  Every line, every eye, every hand tells a story.  A story of who you are, where you've been, what you've done, how you've seen, what you know, and for what you still search.

Yes, a line is a symbol of a struggle, a trial, a pain.  But it is also a remembrance that you've come through it.  Some tattoo these remembrances on their bodies: a symbol of a past period of their life through which they've come.  But some trials are undeniably written on your body with an ink no laser will remove.  And it is beautiful, even if it is also painful.

It has taken me time to understand that paradox: beauty from pain.  I do not think one necessitates the other.  There is beauty in something brand new, that has not yet experienced failure.  There is also beauty in the face of someone who has lived through a great trial: a world war, persecution, starvation, illness, or broken relationships.  

I look at you, and I see myself.  I see things we struggle with together.  I see the things I will never understand, or that you will never understand in me.  

But most of all, I see hope.  Or more precisely, I see you through hope.  This is different than "rose-colored glasses."  I am frightfully aware of how much imperfection is in this world.  I choose to hope in spite of it.  It is because of this lens that I know there is beauty here: in pain, in trial, in success, and in ordinary life.  It is because of this lens that I have perseverance for tomorrow, despite how dark it looks out my window.  It is because of hope that I know, in my deepest heart, that it will be okay.  You.  We.  We will be okay.  And we are beautiful.

Love,

   Annaliese

. . . 

Beloved,

I would be remiss if I were to leave the letter above standing alone.

My hope in you, in us, does not stem from some whimsy, some ephemeral desire of things being better in the future.  No.  My hope is rooted, rather unshakably, in a bigger picture.  One in which there is Right, there is Perfection, and there is Hope that we can find it all.  

Why do I understand this to be true?  If I can quickly lay out my understandings, I will try:

  1. I believe in a perfect God, who is the epitome of good, love, justice.  Who is eternal, and all powerful.

  2.  I believe that #1 has allowed His character to be accurately portrayed in the Bible.

  3.  I believe the new testament's statement that the only way to perfection is through belief that Jesus has the power to wipe the record clean of my shortcomings.  

From this standpoint, I see a hope for the future.  I see hope for erasure of the pain in this world.  I see hope for an eventual understanding of why we all have lines on our faces and callouses on our hands.  From this standpoint, I see the pain as a sharpening, a refining process for myself--and I hope it is such for you.  

Am I not a wiser person for having experienced the cocktail of trials and successes in my life?  Are you not a more beautiful person for having triumphed through that decade of fear and self loathing?  Without a gauge, for me I cannot compare who I was prior, to who I am now.  

For me--and I recognize it is not so for all--I require this measuring stick.  For what am I hoping?  Something I have accomplished?  Something I have seen you accomplish?  No.  I hope for it all.  My eyes are open, I see the hurt and the mistakes--yes.  I have made them, Lord, I have made them--I see the world for what it is.  

But because of this lens, because of a hope for things not yet seen, I see beauty in it all.  For in everything, there is hope of achieving that for which you strive. (1) 

Because of this hope, I will never give up on loving you.  On telling you you're beautiful.  Ever.

Love,

   Annaliese

(1) Much of this is spurred by Romans 8, but that is not the only place in the Bible that speaks of this stuff.

Disagreement *Should* Not Presume Disdain

I consider myself to be a pretty calm individual.  It takes a lot to get me angry to the point of getting into a fight with another individual.  In fact, I can probably count on my hands the number of knock-down-drag-out fights I've had in my life.  However, that doesn't mean I have no opinions, or that my opinions shift to match whoever's opinions are being spoken.  No.  I have opinions, stances, and a belief system of what [I understand] is right and wrong.  I try not to shout it from the rooftops, expecting everyone to arrest their own thoughts so that they might hear mine, but I do have them.  I disagree with folks, more often than my fight-record would indicate.

But my disagreement doesn't presume disdain toward the other party.  Just because we don't understand a topic in the same way, or have drawn different conclusions, doesn't necessitate that the other is stupid.  It shouldn't necessitate to the other person that I am stupid.  (This, of course, assumes that both opinions are backed by something other than "because I said so.")  It merely is an indication that our thought patterns, belief systems, or interpretations of a thing are different.  It does not require that we immediately hate one another, or hold each other at arm's-length after this realization.  In fact, in my mind, your relationship with that person becomes more valuable: differing opinions or understandings to your own can create an opportunity for all sorts of conversation!  Aristotle purportedly said, "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."  After a little digging, maybe he didn't say exactly that...but for my purposes, this serves.  The premise is still fine: discussion is possible without hatred or judgement, without a conclusion of one mind being altered forever.  Disagreement is possible without disdain.

How?  Why is it so polarizing to make your opinions known?  Make a comment on Facebook, only to be quickly defriended by someone who disagrees with you?  I've done it, I've also probably been defriended because if this, too.  There are a bunch of trite quotes I could include about what opinions are like, but you know them, and they are overused...so, consider them said.  However, some of my favorite conversations with people have arisen from fundamental disagreement on how a thing works.  What makes these conversations different than the inflammatory "conversations" that riddle social media today?

For starters, respect is present on both sides.  Long ago, I made a decision to (try to) respect everyone with whom I came in contact.  They are people like I am a person, their lives aren't any less important than mine.  I believe this includes everyone: those who are my superiors, those who are my peers, those who I disagree with, and those I don't understand.  By the same token, I would hope I conduct myself in a manner worthy of respect from others.

At any rate, respect is essential to having a discussion without a blow-up.  So is patience.  If you are too busy waiting to shoot someone down that you don't actually take the time to listen to the words coming out of their mouth...how do you expect them to give any more weight to your words than you do to theirs?  Makes sense to me.  Be patient, let them finish their sentence (or paragraph) before you jump in with a rebuttal.  Take a second to think about what they say after they say it, before thoughtfully responding.  To me, this comes easily.  I thank my parents for that: they raised me to always listen to what they were saying, or what my little brother was saying, before responding.  It's annoying when you're six, as everything you have to say is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER, but that lesson stuck...a lesson for which I am exceedingly grateful, now.

And, the greatest of all: love.  If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or clanging cymbal.  

If I walk into a conversation hating the person...what will I gain?  Proud indignation when they do not to agree with me?  Alienation of a person with differing thought?  Loss of that person's respect?  None of these things are things I desire, or aim for...ever.  Nothing positive is accomplished with these outcomes: not in my mind, anyway.  I'm not saying that you should automatically assume the other person is right, and I'm not saying you always assume that you're right: I'm simply offering the possibility that two individuals with differing opinions can walk away from a discussion on controversial topics still liking one another.

So what, Annaliese, why the self-help blog?

It did turn out that way, didn't it?  I could say that I didn't mean it to, but I'm not surprised.  These are things I've found to be useful when talking with people, I figured it couldn't hurt to share.

But what got me thinking about it?

The current sociopolitical climate is tricky to weather (pun intended...haw haw).  Tides are shifting from recent historical times: inclusion and acceptance are proclaimed much more fully here than they have been in the past.  Inclusion is awesome!  Acknowledgement of different types of people is cool!  There's a great line in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves about that: "Allah loves wondrous variety."  People are different, period, end of story.  They look different, sound different, act different, and think different.

---I don't want to get into particular topics here, as I recognize that I have conservative, white, Christian privileges, and I'm not sure how much I want to bet on successfully maneuvering around them: failing success, I run the risk of losing some audience for this point.  (Sidenote: hopefully you'd respect/recognize my intent, regardless of success or failure in that...but that's an entire tome of topics, not for now.)---

My concern has, and always been, that in an attempt to include something previously excluded, that something previously included gets ostracized.  Please let me be clear here: this doesn't always happen, nor will it always continue to (sometimes) happen.  I have seen cases come out both ways, regarding a number of topics.  That's right, I read inflammatory comment sections and wall post threads: I want to know what makes people tick...or get ticked off.  What is it that a person finds so intolerable that he cannot abide to be facebook friends with someone who's opinions differ?  What is it that she finds so angering that she cannot follow someone's posts, or that he chooses to lecture an unknown individual on the internet?  Personally, it's hard for me to find something that elicits that reaction.  Probably because I hate to hate people.  It's hard, takes a lot of work, and it's draining.  Life is hard enough when you are trying to love everyone...I can't imagine life trying to hate some people and love other people.  It's confusing, and it's scary: do they hate me?  What about this person?  Is he going to hate me if I share my opinion?  Is she going to stop coming to my office if I speak my mind?

I can't hate.  I won't.  It's not worth it.  Besides, I very strongly agree with this:

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.  Anyone who does not love dos not know God, because God is love.  In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him.  In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins.  Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.  No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us...  
There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.  For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.  We love because he first loved us.  If anyone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.  And this commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother."  

Lays it out pretty simply (well, minus the repetitive words):  love each other.

It doesn't say: "love people who look like you," or "love people who sound like you," or "love people who vote for the same presidential candidate as you," or "love people who only like their grits the same way you do," or "love people who speak the same dialect as you," or "love people who 100% always agree with your opinions."

It says "love one another."

Please, let me love you.  I'm not asking you to love me back.  I'm just asking that you let me love you for who you are, because that is who I am.  And I'm not changing that because you think I'm crazy.

Transparency or Translucency?

Recently, I've been mulling over some things.

Okay, a lot of things.  But this one in particular:  when is sharing good, and when is it too much?

I'm not talking about sharing your crayons, or your food, or your car, or your clothes.  I'm talking about sharing your thoughts, opinions, experiences, emotions, and fears.  Everyone has people in which they confide: significant others, friends, parents, dogs...but how much is too much?  Is there a line?

For instance: there's lots of people who have opinions on when to say "I love you" to that person you've been dating.  Some say, wait until you're ready to marry them, wait until X number of months, or whenever you really feel it you should let it out.  But, saying "I love you" carries power, no matter at what point in the relationship you say it.

I think secrets can hold that same power.  Or, semi-private parts of relationships that you share with others.  Secrets shared between friends give a lot of power to those friends.  I believe it's very important to have those friends in which you can confide: those friends also keep you accountable when you get weird.  I've been blessed with a great group of girlfriends I feel incredibly comfortable around: we share our fears and triumphs together, and it is so wonderful.  Having been in a place in my life where I didn't feel like I could share things--well, really where I refused to share things--it is awesome to have that freedom once more.  And while I do not fear my secrets being used inappropriately, I wonder: do we share too much?  Is there a line?

We often joke that nothing is sacred...should it be?  Do we hurt or hamper other relationships by sharing too much of them with others?  Or does transparency keep us honest?  What happens when the person you just fought with finds out a group of your friends now knows about it?  What happens when that thing you've been struggling with isn't 100% secret?  Do you get offended?  Do you have a right to get offended?  It's your secret.  But it's been shared among loving people, who love you too.  Does that kind of transparency make it okay?  It seems that it would still rankle, even if only a tiny bit.

But...people are built for relationships.  People are wired to share things.  We need people to lean on in times of trouble, to rejoice with us in times of joy, people to talk us through tough times, and people to love us when we make mistakes.  If we aren't at the least translucent, we don't have that opportunity.  By the same token, we need to express our feelings toward others.  We need to share emotions so that we may further understand them, and not keep them bottled up inside ourselves.  Even so, we are cautioned in Song of Songs, a story of a pair of lovers,"I adjure you...that you not stir up or awaken love until it pleases" (2:7, 3:5).  We are cautioned to "Keep your heart will all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life," (Proverbs 4:23).  We are cautioned not to declare our disagreements in the streets, but to amend quietly with one another so as not to dishonor our friends.  Where in all this do you calculate friendships, bosom buddies?  When does it stop becoming sharing and start becoming gossip?  When the hearts of those sharing shift focus from love and respect to judgement and disdain?  Even if the heart of the people still means well, does that make it right?

Internally, we all have a line.  There are things I choose to keep to myself: perhaps for only a time, perhaps for eternity.  I assume that is the same with others.  If it's not, do those who are transparent pages of emotions need to learn to keep some to themselves?  Or do us translucent individuals need to share it all, damning the consequences?

My parents, for many years, have prayed that I would have discernment and forbearance.  I now have a vague understanding of both these terms, but I too pray for continued maturation of both.  Discernment to know right from wrong, wise from unwise, and forbearance to know when to pick your battles.  I think that transparency and translucency in our emotional lives could do from--at the least--a vague understanding of both of these.  Is it wise to share the nitty gritty of the fight you just had with your husband?  Is it right to share with your new girlfriend your moments of very strong feelings for her?  Is it honorable to share with the girls what you struggle with in your relationship?  Is it respectful to share it all?  Forbearance tempered with discernment, when heeded, provides much of this guidance, I believe.  There is a time for everything to be revealed, it's just up to us to fumble for our pocket watches, decipher the dials, and pray that it's telling the right time.

Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord

I've always been fascinated by the character John the Baptist.  He's the crazy dude at the beginning of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John that ate bugs and honey and ran around in camelskin clothes.  He was born about 6 months before Jesus was born, by one of Jesus's parent's cousins.

In all 4 accounts, he is mentioned right at the beginning as the "voice of one crying out in the wilderness, 'Make straight the way of the Lord,'" a quote from the book of the prophet Isaiah.  He is the man sent to warn people of the coming of Jesus, his Messiah.

"Prepare the way of the Lord."

This command is very heavy in my thoughts during this time of the year...every year.

The Western Church celebrates this time of year as a season of Advent:  meaning a season of preparation and expectant waiting for the [memorial of the] birth of Jesus.  It is a celebration of the beginning of Jesus's journey...and thus, the beginning of ours [Christians'].  According to the church calendar, Advent began last Sunday, on the 29th, with the first candle lit on the advent wreath: hope.  Typically, bits of Scripture regarding the bloodline of Jesus are read during the lighting.  Because of this tradition, I do not allow myself to be actively grouchy about the excitement of Christmas once Advent has begun.

Well...not aloud, anyway.

I've gone to craft stores twice this week to find candles for an advent wreath in my home, and other simple decorations (a plain pine garland?  Impossible to find without glitter and fake cranberries and snow).  Both times, I nearly got into multiple wrecks, I had to maneuver around crazy parking jobs, and I had to fight crowds to get in the door and down the appropriate aisles.
Once I reached my destination, in both Hobby Lobby and Michael's, I was accosted with pop covers of already pop-y Christmas songs, people disagreeing over ornamentation, empty shelves, disheveled half-full shelves, flashy figurines and santas, reindeer lists painted craftily on canvas, and SO MUCH GLITTER.  So much.  I didn't speak to anyone--not that I'm normally in the habit of speaking to strangers in craft stores--and yet I still found it hard to maintain a neutral facial expression.

It doesn't matter what aspect of Christmas we talk about, I can usually find something about which to be disdainful:
It's about giving!  Do you ever give without expecting anything, not even thanks, in return?
It's about family!  Ever had a Christmas family gathering without failed expectations?
It's about the decorations!  Glitter. 'Nuff said.
It's about Jesus's birth!  He was probably born earlier.  Also most of our decorations are things we took from the Pagan celebration of the winter solstice/birthday of the unconquered sun.

This does not make for pleasant, kind, graceful, uplifting conversations with...well...anyone.  So I do my best to keep it to myself.

Why then, share it here on the interwebs, for everyone to see the ugly internal dialogue I have with myself every December?
Because I hate it.  I hate that there is this much hatred within my heart for a season that brings people back to what is important to them.  I hate that I am the downer at the dinner table that spreads vitriol instead of good cheer.  I hate that my face does not reflect love and mercy when I see someone clutching handfuls of sparkling ornamentation for her home.  The rest of the world literally is on their best behavior during this season (we'll ignore the US shootings for now...subject for another time), why am I on my worst?

I need an attitude adjustment.

"Prepare the way of the Lord."

The intent of Advent is to prepare yourself, your home, your life, and your heart for the (symbolic) reception of the gift that is the birth of Jesus.  There is much preparation occurring all over Athens...as is evidenced by the forever-empty shelves in stores across town, and the forever-clogged streets.  We prepare for the coming of family, the exchange of gifts, the (hopefully) colder weather, the end of the year, the end of the year sales, the huge amounts of food we'll cook and consume...the list goes on.

Everywhere I turn I am bombarded by loud, gaudy, and commercialized gifts, sales, songs, stores, buildings, and parties.  All of those things are already against my natural inclinations...no matter what month it is.  All of those things are exponentially compounded in the month of December.  All of those things appear to me to be focused on a show that is a product of Christmas becoming a business.  The fact that any holiday can be so cheapened by--paradoxically--pouring millions of dollars into it repulses me.  The fact that our culture as a whole spends so much time with the outward signs that shout "hey look at us preparing for Christmas!" breaks my heart, because it shouldn't be about your outside.  It should be about your inside.

Jesus made it pretty clear in Matthew 6 that we are supposed to give, pray, and fast quietly so that it is a secret, not shout it from the roof or trumpet it in the streets.  Obviously, he wasn't talking about Christmas, because he wasn't quite that meta, but I would pose that his stance would be the same on this: he was pretty consistent.  This time of preparation should be about your own heart, and the hearts of those you love.  John the Baptist, that crazy, homeless, bug eating hippie, asks the most poignant question for this time of year...and for any time of year: are you ready?  Are you ready to receive the only gift perfect you'll ever receive?  Here I am, a voice crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord, make his path straight.

Are you ready?  Am I ready?  Based on my grinchy attitude, I'd say "no, not yet."  So, I'm going to continue to sit in my decoration-less closet until I am.

The Power in Vulnerability

Clearly, as is evidenced by my recent blog topics, I've been dealing with some heavy-hearted stuff lately.  Family health, personal growth, personal trials, and heartbreak make for deep, occasionally dark, posts.  Hate to do it to you again, but here's another one.

Laying your inner self open for the eyes of another is terrifying.  I've discussed this ad nauseam, I'm afraid.  However, just as your inner self is a complicated thing, so is the topic of vulnerability.

Dictionary.com defines vulnerability as such:

In some discussions (relationships in particular) vulnerability is regarded as a positive thing: it means you trust the other person enough to be open, honest, and true to yourself.  But, it makes me feel a little justified in being fearful, when I look at definition 1.  Capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon.  AND definition 2.  Open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc.  AND definition 3, even if it is discussing a building and not a person.  Open to assault, difficult to defend. 

None of these things particularly inspire me to become vulnerable...at all.  Self preservation is a very strong instinct across the entire animal kingdom:  we encounter this daily.  Physical exercise, sports, martial arts, the military, education, seat-belts in vehicles...all these things encourage us to be knowledgeable and physically able to preserve ourselves.  But then, in relationships, you are taught to do an about face:  let that person in, let them see the real you that you hide behind those walls.  For some, this is easier than others.  Some individuals do not have walls, they are fully themselves all the time, open to whatever life throws their way.  This works out well for some, and for some it yields lots of scars.  Some individuals have a maze inside, only the most determined can find the heart: this protects from lots of scars, but it also causes them to "miss out."  (On what, sometimes I am not sure.)

However, I have experienced another side of this dilemma: when you are presented with vulnerability by another.  When someone lays themselves bare before you, trusting you completely.  Being presented with this is often more frightening to me than becoming vulnerable myself.  This gives you great power.  Great.  Power.  Here, that overused Spiderman quote comes unbidden into my mind: "With great power comes great responsibility."  It rings true (as it always does).  When you are presented with this gift of a person's heart laid bare in their hands, you have been presented with a huge responsibility.  

"My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely." Song of Songs 2:14

Your heart, tender like a bird, is given to me with open hands, brought out from your hiding places among the rocks.  Hollow bones, fragile feathers, tiny feet: these deserve to be treated with gentle, compassionate hands.  

My hands sometimes are not gentle.  

One wrong move, the dove might lose a feather.  Not a huge deal.  Keep making mistakes though, and I can crush bone.  This, this is great power.  A power I do not relish.  A power I never wish to use for a strategic advantage, a power which I hesitate to accept at all.  Being vulnerable, myself, is one thing.  Accepting the vulnerability of another is entirely another.  A thing that frightens me to the point of freezing.  I have loved and I have severely hurt.  And while I do not run from the first, I am terrified of experiencing the second, ever again.  

Some tell me that I cannot hold the blame for that kind of hurt.  It's not my fault.  I hear those words, and I think they are somehow true, but it does not change the fact that it was my hands that broke that bird.  It does not change the fact that I--we all--have that capability to crush hearts when presented with vulnerability.  Is that the price of mutual openness?  I give you my heart, you give me yours, let's hope I don't squeeze it to death?  Maybe my opinion would be different, if I had my heart broken.  My track record, though, I'm the one who does the breaking.  This.  This gives me pause.  This arrests my step forward.  It is not that I lack the courage to jump: it is that I am afraid to catch another.  Afraid to bungle it, again.  

"Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." Proverbs 4:23

I suppose, though, you cannot refuse a gift.  Which, really, is how this kind of thing is presented.  You cannot force vulnerability.  You are presented with it, once you are trusted.  I suppose the giver knows you are imperfect, bound to bungle something, someday.  I suppose that is part of the weighing process:  do I roll over?  Do I trust that this person will respect, edify, challenge, protect, and love me?  Do I believe they will do their best to tread carefully, carrying this precious gift?  Yes?  

This is where trust, the trust I've spoken of before, comes in.  I have a perfect example to follow.  1 John, too long to quote here, lays this out quite clearly.  Lord help me emulate that perfect love.

"...And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.  God is love.  Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.  In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him.  There is no fear in love.  But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.  The one who fears is not made perfect in love.  We love because he first loved us." 1 John 4:16-19

A Village

"It takes a village to raise a child."

Everyone has heard this saying, and everyone probably agrees.  I still want to talk about it...so just grin and bear the trite beginning, because I think there's some new goodness to be found in it.

I have a 16 month old godson.  He's the greatest.  He's happy-go-lucky and smart.  Everyone who meets him instantly loves him.  His parents are part of my "village" here in college, so we do many social events together.  They bring FJ with them often, which no one minds because he's already one of us, even at such a young age.  But it has really hit me at the last couple of events he's attended, that it doesn't matter where he is, he is always being looked after by everyone.  It's not just his parents that are trailing him around, it's everyone.  Whoever we meet or spend time with happily becomes part of the FJ "monitoring," not that he needs much, he's a fairly independent kid.

For instance, on Saturday night I had roughly 20 people in my house, and every time I saw FJ he was talking to or being held by someone else.  He "read" to people, he helped people grill, he helped them plug or unplug their various cell phones, and he definitely helped cook and eat all the food possible.  Not only does his parents bringing him to things enhance his social skills, it also gives them a chance to be blessed with an assurance that they aren't solely responsible for chasing after him.

Everyone helps, because he's one of us and we love him.

I'd like to suggest that it doesn't' only take a village to raise a child...it takes a village to just be.

This is where I insert another trite saying about how "I don't know who I'd be without my friends," but I legitimately mean it.  I have made many mistakes, taken wrong turns, fumbled through conflicts, but I manage to come through it by the grace of God and the love of my friends and family (those things are not mutually exclusive).  If it was just me out here in this Post-modern world, I wouldn't be able to pull through what I have already overcome.  It takes a village for emotional support, yes, but also sometimes just to make dinner come together.

Saturday was an Oktoberfest party.  I planned out pretzel bites, various dips, pumpernickel, potato salad, potato pancakes, chicken schnitzel, pork schnitzel, sauerkraut, bratwursts, kielbasa, two types of cheese strudel, apple pie, and black forest cake.  One cannot do that alone, especially if the food is going to taste good and be fresh.  I had wonderful friends bake the desserts and other baked goods, as my oven is temperamental and bakes unevenly.  

But I thought with careful planning I'd be able to handle the rest alone.

Wrong.

Thank the good Lord I had two amazing helpers ALL DAY Saturday, who were graciously at my beck and call.  They stood alongside me in the kitchen washing, peeling, slicing, dicing, tenderizing, boiling, mixing, whipping (as in, just with a whisk!), cleaning, organizing, and keeping me sane with simultaneously deep and hilarious conversation.

By 45 minutes before go-time we thought we had it handled...then a breaker went...in the kitchen.

The fridge, water heater, stove, and all the kitchen outlets went down.  We had 10 pounds of raw chicken and pork in sitting in the dead fridge waiting to be breaded and deep fried.  After much breaker flipping, nothing happened, and guests began arriving.  I was in full panic-mode.  But again, thank God I was surrounded by people who rose to the occasion.

Some of them moved the deep-fryer into the living room and began a relay system: a breader in the kitchen, a runner, and a fry cook.

Someone else managed to get the circuits working again.  Another guest started frying the potato pancakes without being asked: he just took it over.  It all came together: hot, fresh, delicious, authentic, and 100% a group effort.

It's humbling.

I had a grand plan to have everything done precisely by 7pm, when people were supposed to arrive.  I had friends show up early ready to help, and I had friends that were problem solvers when I was too absorbed with how this was not working out the way I had envisioned.

The rest of the evening was filled with glorious laughter, great food, conversation, dancing, and such a love among everyone that it was palpable in the air.  Mind you, this wasn't a village who'd known each other for decades.  Some of us had only known each other for 2 years, or 2 minutes.

But between the food, the kid, and the compassion for one another, what we experienced that night was something special.

It was a beautiful reminder that who we are is defined, yes, by what we do, but also with whom we do it.  I am who I am because of the influences in my life, for better of for worse.  Okay, just for the better. ;)

FJ will become who he is because of who he's with, and how they treat him.

I think if he's with this village, he'll turn out pretty okay.