Christmas Surprise

I went home to see my family this Christmas. Almost as soon as I walked in the door my parents insisted that I sit down and close my eyes. I could not figure out what was so important. I had not even taken off my coat or given them a hug. They were very insistent and urgent about the whole matter. I obliged and closed my eyes. Soon I felt something warm and furry in my lap. I knew immediately it was an animal of some sort, but I was puzzled as to why my parents would get a new pet at this point in their lives – they are retired and traveling. But when I opened my eyes I thought I was having a very strange dream.

It was my cat who disappeard a year and a half ago. We had assumed he was dead because he was old and his health was failing when he went missing. It was very surreal to see him. He is older and even more frail. When they found him under one of their bushes a week ago he could not even walk. We don’t know where he was or what happened to him. But he came back and has picked up like nothing ever happened. He sleeps in the same spots in the house and has the same habits. Bizzare.

I keep looking for some deeper meaning, some message from God in all this because it is so out of the ordinary. I haven’t found it yet, except to say that home is always home no matter where you go – it is always good to come back. My cat recognized it and I do too.

Dreaming of Equatorial Life

All I'm saying is that walking to work with -5 degree windchill is one way to get you going on Monday morning . . . .

Thinking of moving to the equator . . .

Young Adult?

So, I'm in the process of becoming a United Methodist. This is a very big step considering my strong Baptist identity. However, I realized in seminary that I agree as much with the Baptist church as I do with the United Methodist and since it is a UM church where I have found my home here in the Big Apple, I am going to make the switch.

I say all this to explain what I was doing at a "charge conference". It's one of those Methodist things where the district superintendent sits over what I would call the "annual meeting". (Baptist typically handle this with no outside authority - autonomy of the local church and all that . . .) So, I was sitting at the charge conference as the slate of names for nomination was being read for this committee and that committee when the district superintendent notes that we need at least one young adult on certain committees. I thought, "that's cool." Then he defined what is considered a young adult by the UMC: 18-30 years old. ugh. So, now I am in mourning over my lost young adult-hood. I am no longer apart of an exciting demographic. I am just a plain vanilla adult. I don't know if I can handle this or not. I may have to take up sky diving or something . . .

So, when can I pull it?

I was standing on a packed train this evening. It was one of those bizarre nights. For some reason Mondays are ten times worse than any other night of the week. There was a fire on the tracks in our station, but everyone seemed loathe to report it—probably for fear of delaying the trains any more. So . . . at any rate I get on the train and am stuck facing the emergency cord. I think I took more note of it this time due to the recent fire. Underneath the wooden handled cord was a set of instructions for different emergencies: Fire, Medical, Police and Evacuation. Every single one lists as the first instruction “Do not pull the Emergency Cord” (except “Evacuation” – for which I would assume the cord had already been pulled). Now if you shouldn’t to pull it in cases of fire, medical emergency or crime – exactly when should you pull it?? Extraterrestrials? I have no idea.

Election Day

There’s something about voting. I don’t know if it’s pulling that lever or what, but I feel powerful and I feel proud when I do it. I feel blessed that as a woman I can vote with no controversy and that as a citizen I can vote with no fear or threats. This is one of those patriotic experiences for me. I know that some in my state have decided not to vote because they think New York is pretty-much decided as it is, but that is not the point. People died for our right to flip those levers, I think that the least I could do is to show up and let my choice be known.

Mr. Ing

Mr. Ing is the homeless man who took up residence on Catherine Street between Henry and Madison Streets in Chinatown. He’s been there for a little more than a year now. He sits under a pile of blankets wearing a huge coat so that all you can really see is his head and hands coming out of this mound of cloth. I would wonder if he had legs at all if he didn’t appear on different sides of the street every day following the sun: seeking shade in the summer and sun in the winter. I did actually see him walk once. He just stood up and all his blankets lifted with him like a 200 pound skirt.

Mr. Ing has always been a curiosity to me. You don’t see many homeless Chinese people. Most people are connected to family in some way. I wonder about his story and why he seems to be here all alone. He sits and reads what seems to be a dictionary and makes notes. He is almost always reading that book. I wonder what it is. I wonder if he is really that interested in a dictionary or if he is just in need of something to do. I see him mend his coat and tend the sores on his hands with little white plasters. He does not beg—at least not that I know of. He seems to have food. I see people give him a cup of coffee or tea here or there. Sometimes I see him eating food someone just brought by. I would love to talk to him and find out what brought him to this place and why he stays, but we don’t speak the same language. I think about bringing him a cup of hot tea or pint of congee on a cold day, but then I question my own motives: is this to help him or make myself feel better? So, instead, every day we exchange our tight-lipped smiles and nods as I walk past him to and from work.

Memoirs of a Suburbanite

Being a suburbanite living in an urban world takes some getting used to. One big thing is getting used to walking . . . a lot. Walking to the grocery, walking with all your laundry to the Laundromat, walking to work, walking in the sun, walking in the rain, walking even after it gets dark--this is where it starts to get uncomfortable. As the days get shorter and shorter and as Daylight Savings Time ends (wah!) walking alone after dark is a fact of my new life.

Although I do not travel through any seriously dangerous neighborhoods on my way home from work, I still have points where I feel less safe than others. At those times I review in my head how I would deal with a potential attacker. This seems to give me some confidence. I think about my martial arts classes. I think about possible weapons I might be carrying. Then I form a plan for the evening. Somehow this makes me feel safer, even though it is a rather morbid method. For example, the last two days have been rainy. So I carried with me an umbrella, which gave me great confidence as its dual use a possible weapon. Today, however, I was carrying persimmons. I had not even noticed my new habit of planning a way to fend off attackers until I caught myself pondering the dangerous aspects of persimmons. I was carrying four of them: they weren’t heavy, hard, or sharp. So, my plan for the night suddenly became more realistic: give the guy my purse and try to stay calm.

Complacent vs. Content

I’ve never been one to “stop and smell the roses,” as they say. I can look back to last summer and say how nice the roses were then and I can look forward with hopeful expectation about how beautiful the roses will be. But as for the roses I have right now, unfortunately they often get neglected. I’m one of those people who is always working towards the next best thing. Granted, this attitude has brought me lots of wonderful opportunities and experiences, but it has not brought me much satisfaction.
Complacent and content . . . I’ve always gotten these two words confused in how I live my life. Even Merriam-Webster places them very similarly – they both mean satisfied. But one is a good kind of satisfied (content) and one is a lazy kind of satisfied (complacent). As I understand it, content is to be happy with what you have yet still ready to move on when the right time comes and complacent is being comfortable with what you have such that you do not ever want to change for fear of being uncomfortable. So, even with my own personal definitions in place, I still seem to get them mixed up. I end up feeling like if I sit still and stop looking for where I am going to go next, I am not doing what I should be doing.
For the last four or five years I have been focused on one goal – getting through seminary. I had something to look forward to. Something to strive for. Something better on the horizon. Now that I am here, I am finding it hard to be content. I’m not doing what I had planned to do. I am not living where I thought I’d live. And every time I try to make a change I hit a brick wall. I feel God telling me to stay put, sit tight, and enjoy this ride. God is telling me to be content with what he’s given me. God is saying that this is my portion and my cup is indeed full and running over I just need to stop looking back and hoping forward to enjoy right now.
So, this is my wish for you, dear Reader, as well. We are living in an age that tells us to never be content with what we have to always be looking for the new best thing and instead of perfecting our lives we are polluting them with gizmos and goals and things that do not satisfy. Be satisfied. Be blessed. Smell your roses and encourage me to stop and smell mine, too.

What makes a house a home

A few days ago I finally had my housewarming party. I never really had one of those before. Until then the only people who had seen my place were those who helped me move in and a couple of others who came by for one reason or another. My apartment felt to me to be a place I slept. But not really a home and not really my home. That is until everyone came over and really warmed it up. I don’t know why, but having people come and eat with you in your house makes it feel more like home.

God and Jenga

I’ve been thinking a lot since Ho-Tay’s lesson on Jesus being the cornerstone a little over a week ago. His lesson really struck me because I got a visual image of a large cornerstone and then all theses little rocks that were leaning down on it. But when I pictured my life I saw the cornerstone and a lot of little rocks, but they all were not leaning on the cornerstone. Some of them were depending on some larger rocks that were in there. Such that when the larger rocks were moved the whole structure of the house shifted. And I have felt like my house has really shifted. I can look back, especially over the last three years at how God has been moving those rocks around. As I pondered this metaphor a bit more I got a little angry at God. Because those big rocks were things I really liked about my life and I didn’t want them to be completely taken away.

So . . . I bet you’re wondering when I’m going to get to Jenga . . .

Well, after a few days of reading and hearing about idolatry and how that can ruin our relationship with God. And after a week of thinking about God taking away my big rocks i.e. my idols that took my attention and my dependence away from him I realized that God was more playing Jenga than pulling out the rocks. In Jenga you remove blocks from a structure and then replace them at the top. When it’s played well the structure gets really high and maintains its balance through the center. The balance isn’t spread out over multiple points. I can look back at how God has been doing this for me. Three years ago he took my job that was my life and moved it to a different place so that I was not so dependent on it for my identity. He took my apartment that I so loved and moved me to a community where I lost some of my independence but gained a new idea of what it means to live as an individual in Christian community. This list could continue. But I can look and see how God is not taking those precious things from me; he is just moving their place in my life so I can be properly balanced on the center of my life which is him.

Domestic Goddess

This morning I set aside time to do some cleaning. More than just regular pick up the place, but some serious cleaning. I define that as: doing the floors. My most loathed task.
So I put on the tunes (Lenny Kravitz) I put on my domestic goddess clothes, grabbed my mop and went to it. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be. About half-way through, my mop broke. Not just something small popping off. Nope. It broke. I tried to fix it and even improvise a solution because I was not going to get around to domestic goddess mode again for a long, long time. But to no avail. I refused to be discouraged so I plugged in the vacuum. A minute or two into it, there was this burning smell and the vacuum came to an abrupt stop. hmmmm I am beginning to feel like there is a conspiracy. I flipped over the vacuum to find ENOUGH HAIR TO MAKE ANOTHER PERSON wound around the brush roller at the bottom. It was disgusting. It was all mine, too. How could I lose that much hair on my carpet alone (this does not count what is in my shower drain or in my hair brush or in other, uncarpeted parts of the house) and still have hair on my head? How did it find its way there? I am thoroughly skeeved. Wow. God must be busy keeping count of the hairs on this head.

The Monster Under the Bed

We all have those fears that we keep locked up tight. Some we entertain from time to time, knowing that the probability of them ever coming true is slim to nothing. There are others that make us uncomfortable, but we know that we could handle it. Then there are those that are so deep that they are nearly forgotten. To even acknowledge their existence would make them real. It is these animals that we dare not entertain lest they grow and not fit back into their prison cells.
Recently, I’ve had to acknowledge the possibility of one of these deep-seated fears. The ripple of its reality has left little untouched within me. And while my faith in God has not wavered, my trust in people has.
In these days of trying to make spiritual sense of my very human predicament I read in My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers:
“Bring all your “arguments and . . . every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ” regarding the matter and everything will be come as clear as daylight to you (2 Corinthians 10:5). . . . Even the very smallest thing that we allow in our lives that is not under the control of the Holy Spirit is completely sufficient to account for spiritual confusion and spending all our time thinking about it will still never make it clear. Spiritual confusion can only be conquered through obedience. . . . when our natural power of sight is devoted and submitted in obedience to the Holy Spirit, it becomes the very power by which we perceive God’s will, and our entire life is kept in simplicity.”
So this is my prayer: that my sight will not be through the lens of fear and the source of death, but that it will be through the lens of the Spirit the Creator and Sustainer of all life. For God did not give me a spirit of fear but of love, power and a strong mind. 2 Tim 1:7.

Punch Buggie

This weekend I went out of town with my #1 guy (not that there is a #2 guy or anything). We had a great time riding around in his bug. I didn't think it was true. I thought it was one of those things only for commercials . . . but people really do punch each other when they see a bug drive by. It was pretty fun to watch.
We started our own game, which seemed very, well, for lack of a better term, circular. I am not sure if you can actually play punch buggie from within a bug. Shouldn't the game then become one to spot cars different from yourself, say, like "High Five Hummer"?

The Quest

Last Christmas a friend of mine gave me some bath products from a store called Lush. I LOVED them, but alas, there is no Lush in Philadelphia. There is one in DC and one in NY, but not in Philly. So, ever since I moved here I have been meaning to go. Lush is located at 34th and Broadway right on my train line, so it would be very convenient for me to go.
Today, for some reason I decided to go after work. I guess I had a case of amnesia regarding the Republican National Convention because 34th and Broadway puts me smack dab in the middle of the mess. I naively got off at 34th to find police blocking the 34th and Broadway exit. (It still doesn’t dawn on me what this might be about.) So, I roll my eyes, mutter to myself, and walk to another exit. When I surface, low and behold it seems the less sane half of the world is all there: the streets are barricaded, police are every where and TV cameras abound. I figured that I already spent the $2 to get there, I might as well experience this piece of life going on around me, and so I continue the Quest. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find a place to cross the street. Everything is blocked off. I can see Lush, I just can’t get there. I end up walking down 35th to 6th to cross the street and come back. On my way back up 35th a caravan of police vehicles come whirring past. The cops jump out simultaneously, keep their doors open and don riot gear. They begin marching toward the crowd I just walked through not 5 minutes ago. When I was there, a few random people were shouting. Now, it was a whole chorus of anti Bush slogans and the police were at the ready. But, I am on a quest so I watch for a minute, thank God for good timing and keep going. I finally get across the street to my mecca of bath products. The lights are on, sales people are inside, but the door is locked. I try it again, thinking, “This can’t be so. When they see I am not a crazed protester, they will let me in and I can experience all the lushness that is Lush.” Just then an exasperated sales person points to a sign on the door. “Lush will close today at 6:00 for inventory. Please come again tomorrow during our regular hours.” AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
THE QUEST WAS IN VAIN!!
Ahh, but no! I am next door to Daffys and Macy’s and H&M. I continued my shopping—but remained slightly distracted because of the lack of Lush-ness in my life.
I will continue the Quest another time. But I think I’ll wait until the RNC is over.

Forgiveness

I read a sermon by Marvin McMickle tonight in Living Water for Thirsty Souls. It’s book on exegetical preaching—I doubt that most of you will ever encounter this in your day-to-day book reading. However, I do recommend reading sermons on occasion, they make wonderful devotional material.
At any rate, I was reading this sermon on Luke 23:32-42 titled “Father Forgive Them”. It’s all about forgiveness. It is a very powerful message. In one section he writes:
“I have argued in the past that even Judas could have received this gracious forgiveness and a second chance in the service of Christ, if he had not failed to understand the message of Jesus. The tragedy of Judas is not what he did to Jesus, but what he did to himself. He took his own life. He committed suicide. He hanged himself by the neck until he was dead, all because he never understood what Jesus was saying in those parables about the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. The very essence of God’s mercy and grace is giving undeserving sinners a second chance. Judas could have been forgiven. If he couldn’t be forgiven, then neither can we. For who among us has not, on more than one occasion betrayed Jesus in word or deed?”
Well, I’ve just been put in my place. I’m knocked off any pedestal I’ve managed to put myself on today. Me and Judas – both in dire need of God’s unending mercy.

Getting from Point A to Point B

Everyday I take what is known as an “express” train to work. I put express in quotes because for some mysterious reason this train moves remarkably slowly. When I commute in from Queens I take two local trains for a greater distance and get to work faster. I am not sure if there is some sort of time warp between Brooklyn and Manhattan or if this train is just prone to: more suspicious packages, more sickness, more police investigations, or anything else your imagination can conjure up. Boy howdy, I can’t wait for the Republican Convention to cause even more creative delays.
The train makes me think of a large serpent lurching its way through the streets and tunnels of New York, inhaling and exhaling people through the gills that run the length of its silvery body. On my way into work it gradually inhales more and more people until it is full to capacity and then all the sudden when we cross that magic bridge into Manhattan it quits holding its breath and quickly exhales so that people spill out of its gills.
When I’m dumped out in Chinatown I’m in a world very different from the one I left. I hear high pitched fluted music coming from the park. As I walk past there are scores of people of all ages practicing dance, Tai Chi, swords and fans. They all sway and move in slow motion to the rising and falling sounds of the chimes and flutes coming from speakers I am yet to locate. Past the park I walk through the streets, past delivery trucks carrying all kinds of wares. The other day I saw two men carrying dead pigs over their shoulders.
In Brooklyn I walk down a row of auto mechanic shops that are lively in the morning and closed when I come home in the evening. But in the midst of all the garages is a church that is always open. No matter what time I walk by I can see people in front the altar praying. It is an Orthodox church with a beautiful Icon painting of Jesus in front of it. The gilded depiction always catches my attention and reminds me of my purpose for the day. On some evenings the church doors are open and I can smell the incense wafting outside. It is as if I can smell the prayers of the people. The very presence of this church ministers to me at the opening and closing of every day.

A Place to Think

I have always thought of people who blogged as people with an exhibitionist streak. It’s something that I have mentally said I would not do. However, while thinking these thoughts I frequent my friends’ blogs and enjoy what they have to write. I enjoy them more so now that I live in New York and most of these friends live in Philadelphia. It’s a way to keep track of what’s happening in their lives and what they are thinking about—things that don’t always come up in phone conversations.
So here I am writing my very first blog (excluding my online “journal” from when I was in Thailand). I’m here for two reasons. I just returned from a weekend visiting friends in Philadelphia and I spent the weekend answering the question, “How’s New York?” and my answer of “good” did not seem to suffice. So, I thought that just as I keep up on their lives through their blogs, I’d return the favor. Secondly, I realized that something I miss from seminary is having a forum to share my thoughts with others and hear their responses. In other words, this is a place for “Deep Thoughts by Michelle.” (If you did not get the SNL reference there—you just made me feel old.)
So to begin to answer the “How’s New York?” question. I can reply that it is not what I expected. Not that it’s bad. It’s just not what I expected. It’s like planning for a day at the beach and then finding out you’re going to play Frisbee in the park. Frisbee in the park is fun, too. But it’s a little hard when you’re in your swimsuit and you’re wearing flip-flops instead of sneakers and you brought a beach towel instead of a Frisbee. It’s a good plan, you’re just not totally prepared for it.