I Have a Dream

Or perhaps two or three. 

Since I'm not traveling, I suppose it's not appropriate to post on my blog. Then again it's my blog. 

It's fun to dream, to create, to let one's mind wander and explore endless possibilities. It also opens up a can of worms....a large one!

Here are some dreams/ideas as of late:

1. Explore the role of autism in mental illness such as schizophrenia (I attribute this one to having just seen The Soloist (great story. poor cinematography))

2. Explore the role of music in helping children at risk (orphans, refugees, etc. ) and children with developmental disabilities

3. Evaluate whether or not music could be used as a "potential space" for adults to cope with traumatic events and memories

4. Use schools in developing countries as a means of promoting health (stole this idea from PREDISAN). Perhaps we shouldn't send bags of food. Perhaps we should send bags of seed and establish drip irrigation programs and school gardens at every school in Africa (what a concept!!). If you give a man a carrot, he may eat it in a few minutes. If you give a man a bagful of carrot seeds, he might be inclined to plant a garden and give himself a chance at dignity. (google Malawi Project for some interesting ideas about sustainable development)

5. Incorporate non-happy songs into worship in an attempt to restore the reality of the continuum of emotions that exist in life. The Psalms express these. Jesus probably sang the Psalms. Aren't we supposed to do what Jesus did? 

6. Attempt to encourage people not to use the words "horrible, awful, terrible" and the phrase "those poor people." I think we're all of the intelligence to create more realistic expressions of our feelings and those whom we serve (I suggest learning the names of the people you serve. "Victorina," "Marvin," and "Alvino" are more fun to say than "poor people.")

7. Develop a trauma-prevention/resilience-building program for the community health aides and schools in Alaska, specifically those in the Norton Sound Region.

There's some of my ideas. Any feedback, funding, or funny comments are most welcome. Cheers!

"UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." - Dr. Seuss

Missed the boat?

According to my personality type, these are the careers I should be: Hmmm.

• Career counselor
  

• Special education teacher

• Alcohol and drug addiction counselor

• Universal design architect

• Holistic health practitioner

• Diversity manager/trainer

• Speech/language pathologist

• Environmental attorney

• Director of religious education

• Therapist

• Editor / art director (web sites)

• Writer

• Mediator / conflict resolver

• Planned giving officer

• Religious educator

Think I'm Caught Up

My journal has a tea stain on it. Half the pages have separated from the binding, a result of three months of repeated openings.  On the outside corner of every page the ink mixed with spilled perfume to leave a diluted seal of authenticity and smeared words.  It was the one thing I wouldn't come home without. Here's some more excerpts:

C'est la vie. I've heard so much about trauma, about the tragedy of life of which poets write and of which musicians sing. One of my classmates made a good point: How do you grieve the loss of the desire that was never fulfilled or the part of you that will never be?

For me I think every trauma is inherently linked in some way to sin. The ambivalent, free-flowing attitude toward sex in the 60's coupled with the lack of communication and committment fostered by the promotion of "the pill" contributed to the increased rate of divorce which is now felt by my generation. We don't want to marry. We don't want to commit. We've seen the consequences of the sins of our fathers and they lie unacknowledged in our laps. But perhaps relationships break because we fail to realize the brokenness we each bring to the relationship. The brokeness of unattained dreams, of lost people, of those words that slit our hearts while sticks and stones left our bones unscathed.

....

"We come to the wall, touching it, lifting up our prayers toward the temple mount. We stand in the presence of the essence of God, feeling the power and taking the power out away from the core, the center of God's head, God's heart. We carry it out to the world. 

....

"But with beauty comes sin. You know Satan was beautiful. The most beautiful of all the angels. Crusted with jewels. But he fell. And now I think he distorts the beautiful. If you think about the most beautiful places in the world, they are usually also the largest cesspools of humanity."

...

Simplicity. We try to make our religion complex with ornate rituals, mosaic-tiled churches, robes, incense, icons, pews, positions, building funds, cookies, projects, softball leagues. Perhaps they cloud the simple image of the cross. We find simplicity in sharing in the bread and the wine, the staples, the items offered to Abraham by Melchizideck. A common gathering to share common staples...I think peace is found in simplicity, I think peace is found in fellowship, I think peace is found in the story of Christ: the divine living simple, caring greatly, teaching often, and loving always. Here on the shores of Galilee.

...

If one is not to throw pearls to pigs, then one certainly shouldn't throw food scraps to pigeons. Without signal, after one pigeon had found a crumbe I had inadvertently dropped, 20 more quickly waddled into my vicinity. Such opportunists!

Wandering the streets of London is like having an infinite number of potential spaces in which to let ones thoughts wander and sort, using the people as imaginary actors to sort out the situations of life. I think the best way to resolve ethnocentrism is to ride the subway and to rub shoulders with every walk of mankind, to observe and ponder the life of everyone from the man on the street corner distributing newspapers to the Royal Queen herself.

  

More Excerpts

In no particular order...

"I suppose to see the fingerprints of the divine, we must leave the footsteps of man. Yet existing on a planet where so many walk, it's almost impossible to extract ourselves from the mundane."

"There's a difference between beautiful and exploited places and peaceful places. I'm looking for a peaceful place."

"When we lose our sense of rest, our sense of refuge, we lose our ability to appreciate the small moments of life."

"Our time in the ivory tower ill prepares us for submersion in the community."

"Sometimes we have to remove ourselves from neatly contrived boxes of success and employment and hop on a train that takes us past the gym we visit everyday, past our usual stop, and up to the mountain air. With a clear view and a fresh perspective we can gaze down upon our life and see what a bloody orderly wreck we've made of it."

"We are continually being created, renewed, and destroyed."

"Perhaps the greatest things of beauty are those living statues of humanity that pass us on the street."

"You can succumb to the stress of the city--or see it as an infinite possibility of creativity."

"I love reading the Psalms. Like panes in a stain glass window, each one gives a tiny glimpse of God."

"Stones. 1000's of them. Like a little child I scooped up a handful before the next wave carried them away...I sat. I watched. Alone....I did nothing. It was glorious."

"Anxiety, fear, and timidity rob us of the opportunity to received whatever potential blessing God may have for us."

"God has a sense of humor. He leads me to an unbeautiful place only to show me the beauty of humanity."

"Solitude is not merely an absence of words or pursed lips. It is not merely audible silence. It is an  intentional setting aside of those visual and audible distractions so that our soul may settle and find its place."

If Heaven's Not My Home...

...then take me back to Gimmelwald...

Perhaps the message of the gospel should start with: God is kavod. He is incomprehensible. He is unable to be contained or completely perceived. I'm staring at a mountain and I cannot comprehend it. My eyes follow the rivulet of water coursing through the rocks but divert to the glaciers above, muddied from summer runoff. Yet, I'm still left with the grass carpeting the rocky escarpments or the forests of trees. I cannot contain the mountain within the confines of my mind. 

I used to wonder what glory meant. I thought that maybe it meant that I should sing louder in church or maybe I should try to ponder solemnly on the words of the song or think about God more often. I didn't have a clue about glory. I still don't. I think glory can be like tonight, lying on my back on a cold bench in a middle of a small village in the Alps, watching the stars appear one by one and then occasionally fall out of the sky like the last embers of a Roman candle. 

I'm glad I've taken God out of a box. He makes more sense as a mountain. Christ is our reconciliation, our means to appreciate God's glory. Communion isn't a ritual. It's the celebration of this reconciliation where we can look at one another and recognize the return of the prodigal son in each of us...

...Though we have to go to the desert at times, we cannot remain there. We have to deliberately choose to set aside time to look up at the face of God and contemplate his glory. ...

...Being holy then ceases to become the ends of perfectionism, the goal of legalism. Rather, it becomes our offering to reflect the glory of God.

"May God's face shine upon us so that his ways and salvation may be known throughout the earth." Psalms 67

Another Journal Entry

Still catching up...here's another one from August:

Every noise and every conversation is a possible intrusion or conflict to the reminder of God's goodness in our lives. I wonder about the lives of those who lived in places like Castle Chillon. How did the church, which earned 1/2 million francs per year, functioning as a social and political entity, affect the lives of those around it? Does church still affect our lives more as a cultural entity or as a life-transforming power?

I think we've adulterated the idea of missions. We've turned the concept of doing the best with whatever God has given us into this idea that we have to go somewhere and be something. We have to "take" Jesus to people groups who are "lost." They're not lost; they're just not aware of the goodness of God that dwells in and around them. Are we? 

We praise and magnify the name of those serving in a foreign country while the work of the saints at home goes unnoticed. We use souls as benchmarks and instead of trying to elicit God's goodness from each other, we attempt to push people into our mold of Christianity.

Talk is meaningless unless it brings life to the soul. Everything we do engages us in the pursuit of life or death, including our speech...

...

In my very best French accent, using a few of the previously mentioned 20 or so words I knew, I told the man at the train station, "I'd like to buy a ticket to Gimmelwald."

"Where?" he asked. 

"Gimmelwald," I said, this time in English with my attempt at a German accent.

"Oh, you mean ____wald," he replied, the missed word sounding something like he had just choked on a baguette.

"Ummm. Sure."

He began to print the ticket when I noticed that the ticket was for "Grindlewald" not "Gimmelwald." 

"No," I interjected. "Gimmelwald not Grindelwald."

The man behind the counter stared at me for a moment, confused. "It doesn't exist!" he proclaimed. "I've never heard of it."

Refraining from discussing the logic of his statement I said, "Of course it does! I have reservations to stay there tonight."

Still looking confused, he returned to his computer. After a minute he raised his eyebrows and said, "Oh...I guess it does," handing me a ticket to "Gimmelwald."

Catching Up

I think I'm officially over jet-lag and culture shock, justifying a new post. I thought I'd share a few thoughts from a journal excerpt or two from my trip. I had lots of time to think...and write...

Here's one of my last entries in it's typical stream-of-consciousness style:

"This is first class, madam. Your ticket is for second." the porter said in stilted English with a slight German accent. I looked around, but the only difference I could see was the color of the seats. Still breathing heavily, having barely made the train and only due to the assistance of my new friends guarding my suitcase and running to the ticket office with me, I obliged and traded my red seat for a slightly worn blue one...

The clouds this morning hovered in the valleys like sleepy children under the covers, refusing to arise to the morning sun. It was a beautiful ride to Clervaux. I arrived at the Abbey shortly before mass. As described, the architecture resembled Cluny, only brand-new and unruined. The ceiling with its massive gothic arches lifted toward the sky. An elderly couple sat near the front, slightly resembling the monks with their kyphotic backs and trench coats for habits. 

The monks filed in one by one and began to lift their voices in Gregorian chant. In Latin. Proclaiming the Psalms. God's word manifest in the unified monotone of human voices. The power to come together and create something holy, something lovely and something that united them before God was almost palpable in the all-but-vacant sanctuary. Yet, by the time it reached me, it seemed somber and lifeless. Dissipated. I closely watch their faces as they filed in and out. Very few smiled. We shared the sign of peace with each other, yet I didn't feel peace present.

As I left, I stopped by the gift shop to purchase a token postcard. The monk behind the counter said something in French that sounded like "1 + something." I handed him 1 Euro 40 cents. Surely a postcard would cost less than a Euro. Again he muttered something in French. I handed him a few more cents, beginning to think that this postcard would cost more than I had expected or perhaps he needed exact change. More French. Using 5 of the 20 French words I knew, I told him I didn't speak French. 

"Italiano?" he asked.

 "Espanol," I replied. 

"Ah, you're Spanish!" he said, his eyes lighting up. 

I didn't even try to explain.

.....

Throughout my trip I have seen how insignificant my life seems to be--amidst 1000's of years of history. Yet I have also seen how important one life could be. Just one person. St. Wilibrod, St. Columba, Hitler, Jesus, the Queen. All single people amidst 1000's of years of history. History is stories. I think that's what I love about Europe. It's not just places. It's people. It reminds me that my story matters and so does the story of others. 

I finished the day watching clouds lazily move across an almost cloudless sky as the sun sank lower toward its meeting with an earth that had already donned its autumn palette. I love fall. The colors. As if its creation's last hurrah before ceding to the bleakness of winter. I wonder if farmers ever look at the fields and think of it as a creation, as a work of art. A piece of art that gives life to others. Farmers as artists--what a concept. I thought the field I saw today was a lovely painting. 

In quietness and rest we find our confidence in God, in taking time to watch a sunset, to appreciate the faces of humanity. Taking time to realize the joy that the Creator finds in His creation.