Thought Deposit

Redwoods

2010-01-26T22:59:00.004-05:00

The trees stood tall and strong
Roots deep
Green limbs reaching to the sky
Unswayed by wind or rain
Living in the fog
A testimony to God’s goodness
God’s creativity

Lightening strikes twice.

The crack, crash, moan of splintering wood
The weight of their being
Plummeting to earth
Clearing a path
Across the stream
Up the mountain

The giants lay in the mossy peat
Their roots, deep below
Still alive
The cords that tied these giants to the earth
That fed them as they pointed boldly to God

These roots give new life
New giants in the making
A circle
A testimony
A remembrance of what they began
Continuing the work to bridge heaven and earth

For Sam and Clint

Advent

2009-12-09T23:31:00.004-05:00

The four weeks of Advent leading up to Christmas is all about preparation for Jesus’ coming. It is a seasonal reminder of the work we should be about all year long. We are preparing for the coming of the Christ – the One who ushers in God’s Kingdom here on earth. We are in a life-long season of Advent as ones who are living between Jesus’ first and second comings.

This preparation takes some hard work that is done with unwavering hope that Jesus is coming; God’s Kingdom is coming, that we will be restored in our relationship with God, with each other and with the earth.

These are all big concepts that I’m talking about. But Advent is a big thing.

If I were to take a picture of what I think Advent looks like, it wouldn’t be of a heavily-pregnant Mary, a donkey, or even a stable. It would be this image here. I took this photo a few years ago in Darfur. It’s the tail end of the dry season and everything is as dusty, hot and dry as it gets. Yet, the farmers are plowing the earth and planting seeds in spite of the seemingly impossible.

These farmers in South Darfur have stuck their fingers to the wind and studied the signs of the weather. They know that the end of the dry season is near its end and the life-giving rains are soon to come. So they are preparing what seems like barren ground for a fruitful harvest. In a few months this field will be full of millet, stalks heavy with grain that is a staple of the Sudanese diet.

This is the real story of Advent. Trusting God to do his good work and making way for it to happen.

Seismic Shift

2009-08-03T20:29:00.000-04:00

What causes this seismic shift?
When certainty turns into a precipice
Some small thing and feather light tips the balance
And doubt looms large

What turns the future into a question mark?
When those things set in stone disintegrate
Some crack appears in the solid plan
And confidence dissolves

What happens when the trap door opens?
When the rabbit hole is long and dark
Some expectation is blown to bits
And true north cannot be found

What keeps the tree standing tall and full?
When the winds of change are unrelenting
Some small rain is yet to fall
And the taproot of faith sustains it

Enjoy the Ride

2009-05-30T10:26:00.001-04:00

I have figured out that I spend anywhere from 2-4 hours a day on average riding the NYC subway. Sad, but true. I’ve been doing this for nearly 5 years, now, and have developed some solid coping skills.

One thing that’s hard when you depend so heavily on something that you have absolutely no control over is the unknown: When will the train come? How crowded will it be? Can I get a seat? Why is the F train running on the A train again? Will I make the transfer?

You get the picture.

I get stuck worrying about the wait instead of enjoying the ride. And that makes me a miserable person. I can literally feel the weight of each wasted second adding to the scale of my impatience.

However, when I set aside my worry and try to accomplish something during my ride, it goes much smoother. When I read, write, listen to music, or even enjoy the garden of people around me, the time flies by.

I learn things from kids, “look Mommy, the pterodactyl and Pink Panther can be friends!” I take in the beautiful Manhattan skyline from the bridge. I enjoy mariachi music. I get a chuckle out of teenage angst, “did you hear that Tom told Claire that I said Linda likes Marc?” There’s a lot to take in on a New York City subway.

I got to thinking that life’s a lot like this. There can be a lot of worry in the waiting and it makes time pass slowly and painfully while we wonder when x, y, or z will come to pass.

And then there’s enjoying the ride. When life gets lived with confidence that the next thing will happen. It’s not ignoring that the work needs to get done, but just living with the knowledge that we’re not the ones driving this train.

Here’s to no more worrying about the wait and enjoying this ride we’re all on.

Ode to Savasana

2009-04-16T09:58:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I had a beautiful yoga class. The boundaries of my body are moving outward inch by inch and I can feel myself getting stronger. When it came time Savasana—the pose where you lay there like a corpse and just breathe—I was in my bliss.

In a Bikram yoga class, Savasana comes at a time when you are sure you are going to either spontaneously combust from the heat or drown in your own sweat. It is at that near breaking point that mercifully you get to stop, lay down for two minutes, and just breathe.

It’s harder than you’d think. You want to fidget, bend your knees, wipe sweat out of your eyes and do a dozen different things, but that is not your job in that moment. Your job is to lay still and breathe.

My Savasana yesterday was incredible. The sun was shining and through my sweat-clouded eyes everything was sparkly and I just breathed deeply and . . . relaxed. So good.

If I could paint, I would paint that moment. But, alas, I am not a painter. I am a writer. And so I offer this: a haiku in honor of this most minimalist pose.

Oh Savasana
My sweat-stunned body rests, at last
I have found my breath

Patience

2009-04-08T22:29:00.002-04:00

God’s been working on my patience since probably birth. There has never been a shortage of “time challenged” people in my life. It is typically those closest to my heart who make me wait, turning me into a slightly less crazy and more patient person—at approximately the same rate as water carves through rock.

Over the years I have developed certain coping mechanisms like lying about starting times and inching clocks ahead a few minutes . . . I don’t want to give away my whole bag of tricks here, let’s just say it’s a very large and deep bag.

So . . . I sometimes think God sent me to the city because, well, you can’t manipulate a whole city. The bag of tricks isn’t big enough to goad 8 million people to do things on schedule. I can’t ensure that a sick passenger in the train ahead of me doesn’t stop all the trains on the route. I can’t make the hordes of tourists make way for a late local. I can’t fix the fact that it takes me about an hour to get anywhere on public transportation from my “affordable” neighborhood in Brooklyn.

I think I’m a few iotas more patient than I was when I moved here five years ago, but I still get caught up with the rush. I forget about God’s timing.

I foolishly think that I’m still in control. That, if it’s perfectly reasonable in today’s society to have 24 hour customer service, then why can’t God just get on with it and give me what I’m asking for? It’s not a whole lot, just a husband, 2.5 children, a well-balanced work and home life, and financial freedom . . . seriously, I’d be happy with one . . .well maybe two or three items on that list.

Some of it— possibly all of it—will come to pass. But it won’t be on my time or New York’s time, but in God’s time . . . kairos time. It’s when some minutes are made up of agonizing seconds or when whole days and years seem to go too fast with too little to show for them. But, it’s also the fullness God’s perfect timing—something that those of us who can’t gain perspective on all of eternity know nothing about.

Patience . . . Michelle . . . Patience . . .

Prayer

2009-03-30T14:45:00.002-04:00

I was at a meeting in Mexico this last week. A prayer attributed to Sir Frances Drake was shared that really made me think. I thought I'd share it with you:

Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true because we dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst for the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life, we have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, to venture to wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars.

We ask you to push back the horizons of our hopes;
And to push back the future in strength, courage, hope and love.

All I can say is, Amen to that!

Sandcastle Lessons

2009-03-21T23:18:00.001-04:00

My family went to the beach for a week almost every year of my life. In fact my parents still do and any of us kids and our various appendages be it husbands, children, friends, or significant others are welcome to join them. These were sun-filled weeks of sleeping in, lounging around, eating what felt like decadent lunches of grapes and Muenster cheese. Mom even bought Pringles. The memories of all the summers run together like so many watercolors. Even after all these visits, the ocean still is a place of great comfort and fear, of mystery and familiarity.

I love the beach still.

I’ve learned some of life’s biggest lessons at the beach—sandcastles wash away, holes get filled in, everything changes all the time, the sun burns, the water will eventually make you cold, and no one will love you or hurt you more than family. I learned how to ride waves, find the surface after wiping out, to dive under rough waters.

One thing I learned was that no matter how big and how sturdy I made the sandcastle and no matter how deep the moat, it would all wash away with the tide.

To get around this, I tried to make sandcastles with security systems. Sometimes to make them last longer I would dig a deep moat. That way the waves that reached the castle edges would pour water into the moat, instead of washing away my hard work. But deep moats reach the water table. The water eats away at the surface, filling in the hole and destroys the castle faster than if I had just left it moatless and vulnerable to the waves.

Another option would have been to build a castle higher on the beach—out of the water’s reach. However, the sand there isn’t good castle-building sand. It’s dry, coarse and just won’t hold together. To build a good sandcastle you have to build it down where the sand is fine and moist. You have to build down where the waves will reach it when it’s time.

Ultimately, I learned that nothing worthwhile is either easy or permanent. Fighting these two facts is futile.

You have to take risks for beauty. You have to build near the water.

Blessing

2009-02-21T22:19:00.000-05:00

The other day I was walking through the hustle and bustle that is Chinatown. I had heavy bags and I was growing weary. It had been a long week and I was carting home a bunch of work for the weekend.

I was beginning to feel like people were bumping into me on purpose—as if their goal for the day was to annoy me. I was growing a bit smug in thinking how much more courteous and better human in general I was than those who seemed to be part of a grand conspiracy to ruin my day: take “my” seat on the subway, jostle me, block me at the turnstile, etc, etc. Around the time I was beginning to enjoy my wallow in the puddle of self-righteousness, I looked up and saw an unusual piece of graffiti. Scrawled across a storefront under construction was the word, “blessing.”

Blessing. It was written in black script across some worn plywood. The word made me stop in my tracks.

It was as if the voice of God – the one that can crack the cedars of Lebanon—had cut clear through my heart. Snapshots of my day flashed before me. All of those moments when I forfeited my opportunity to be a blessing came to mind: holding an elevator door, a smile, an extra dose of understanding, some money for the street performer.

It’s so easy to be a blessing to someone else—to extend a little grace in a city teeming with millions of people in need of a simple act of kindness. Yet, how often do I let these opportunities pass me by? I’m no better for it in the end. It’s the days when I do extend myself a little bit more that are always the best.

A Christmas Poem

2008-12-20T22:36:00.000-05:00

Why do we do it,
This hustle and bustle?
The cards. The gifts.
The garlands that rustle.

Everything’s perfect
For the One we’re expecting.
Not Santa. Not Rudolph.
The One we’re forgetting.

It’s Jesus who came,
A vulnerable child.
He left heaven’s comforts,
For a world that’s gone wild.

The ultimate gift!
The one we try to out-do.
As each year we forget,
That he gave his life, too.

‘Tis the season of expectation,
Remembrance, and awe
For the one who loves us,
So much, he gave us his all.

Finishing the Race

2008-11-02T23:26:00.000-05:00

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” 2 Timothy 4:7

I stood at the finish line of two races this weekend. One was the New York Marathon, the other was at the end of a well-lived life. At both, people were shattered, but limping and staggering home, confident of their ability to heal.

A dear member of our church family died more that a week ago. Although he hasn’t been at worship for nearly a year because of his declining health, he is still dearly missed. He brought a sense of humor and an uncommon passion for justice to our church family. As I listened to the comments of his friends and family throughout the service, I realized that I knew only on small part of this person who took great risks and went to great lengths to live a life obedient to God’s calling.

That was yesterday.

Today, I cheered on marathon runners at mile 25. A friend and I handed out water to exhausted, staggering and bleeding runners. As the day wore on, the runners who came past our station were more worn out. The seasoned marathoners had finished hours ago, the folks who were now passing the water station were running not out of physical strength, but out of sheer willpower. You could see the determined set of their eyes as they dragged their feet along this last mile pavement. We yelled every encouragement we could to these warriors as they passed. We hoped to empower them to finish the race.

The marathon inspires me every year, but this year it was different. I was watching through a mourner’s eyes—As one reflecting on the metaphorical race we all run in life. I watched the runners pass: Each battling their own demons telling them to stop. Each one finding the strength to take another step.

I don’t know how I will look at the end of my race. But after today, I know how I want to be – determined, single-minded, always faithful to the goal, and never ever loosing hope.

When is a train not a train?

2008-06-05T22:20:00.000-04:00

According to one young rider, a train just isn’t a train unless someone says “all aboard!”

It was a recent weekend and I was stuck on the slow boat to Chinatown (read: express trains running local into Manhattan). A father and son walk on. The boy is about four years old and very excited to be riding New York City Transit with his father.

The conductor announced “standclearoftheclosingdoor,” the doors closed and the boy looked at his dad and said, “I though we were riding a train?” His tone was that of someone seriously betrayed.

His dad told him, “We are”

“But they didn’t say “all aboard.” They have to say “all aboard” on a train,” he said. He was most-likely reviewing every Thomas the Train episode he’s ever watched in his young mind.

The father tried to explain to his son that “all aboard” was not necessary, but his son would not be moved. “All aboard” was a requirement for the train riding experience according to the boy.

After some whining at his father’s attempts to reason with him, the dad had a brilliant idea. “Why don’t you help the conductor out by saying “all aboard” for him, since he seems to have forgotten?”

And so, at every stop—every blessed stop on this local train with many stops—the little boy said with all the enthusiasm he could muster, “All aboard!”

It was cute at the beginning, but soon became less so as the stops wore on. And so I was forced to think about why this was so important to the boy. God and the MTA know I had a particularly long time to think about this as the train inched its way toward Manhattan.

We’ve all had our expectations of something be completely blown like this boy’s expectation of what happens on a train. And we have a choice. We can deny reality with all our might and become angry, bitter and whiney in our inflexibility. Or, we can make it into something else and yell “all aboard” to all of life’s surprises and make them our own.

He is Risen!

2008-03-22T22:39:00.000-04:00

Someone I once knew told me about her family’s Easter tradition. When they were young and all living at home, her father used to wake them up on Easter morning proclaiming, “He is risen!” Even as they grew up and moved away, he would call his children on the phone on Easter morning greeting his children with, “He is risen!” Her father didn’t just say it; he proclaimed it as if it was the first time. As if this wasn’t the expected. As if Easter was new to him each year.

I often lose this newness—I allow the Bread of Life to go stale. I take for granted the mystery of Easter, of salvation, of activity of God in the life of someone such as myself. It takes work to keep any relationship fresh, even and most especially, one’s relationship with God. It wasn’t until I attended Good Friday service at my church, which was a Taize service this year, that I realized I had once again lost my wonder of it all. It is a wonder how the King of the Universe would continually and consistently see relationship with people like me.

To Grandpa

2007-12-28T23:03:00.000-05:00

I remember you with a smile, a mischievous grin
weaving a tale of times long past
teasing us to show your love

I remember you with a sparkle in your eyes,
amazed at God’s world
tender with memories

I remember you with a deep belly laugh
knowing no strangers
banishing silence from the room

I remember your strong plumber’s hands
fixing to everyday problems in crazy ways
winning 42 long after they began to tremble

I remember much about you, Grandpa.
I can still hear you laugh as you tell a good story
I can still see that look in your eyes when you remember something precious.
I can imagine how you’d solve my uneven floors

You brought a lot into this world, filling it with laughter and tales, setting examples of hard work and faithfulness. And all you brought, you left behind a thousand fold in the lives you touched and the generations you taught.

Working Together

2007-04-02T21:58:00.000-04:00

As a Christian, I am often embarrassed by the squabbles that occur within the church. Tangential issues suck up the time, energy and creativity of churches instead of seeking to be the powerful agents of change that we could be. Today I learned of a unifying issue of real significance: ending slavery. The campaign called The Amazing Change is joining together organizations, churches and individuals to bring an end to the terrible forms of slavery that still exist in our world.

This is an issue close to my heart. When I was in Thailand I saw the sex trade in action. It is quite pervasive there. I spent time with girls who had been saved from this degrading life and I learned how they can never go home again. I played with children who were orphaned by AIDS because their mothers contracted the disease in a brothel. Although slavery feels far removed from our shores—it is here, too. I see signs of it in the “beauty parlors” with darkened windows in Chinatown.

I’m not saying that the church in ineffective or that this is the only unifying issue. In my work at religious non-profits I’ve seen amazing things happen through the church and through cooperative church efforts. I am refreshed; however, to be reminded that we are still able to pool our resources and creativity to do God’s will in a very big way.

Indoc"train"ation

2007-03-22T20:43:00.000-04:00

It seems that all native New Yorkers have completely internalized the entire subway system. They never seem surprised by service changes and always know an alternative way to get to where they are going without checking the few and far between maps posted in the stations. Some even have the vast bus system equally memorized. I have wondered if all children born in the city have a chip implanted to give them intimate knowledge of the MTA. After three years here, I am still learning new ways to get places that are second nature to my New Yorker friends.

This morning I saw just how early the training starts. A child, young enough to be in a stroller with a sippy cup, asked his mother “is this where we get on the 7 train?” His mother replied, “no, this is where we get the N train.” She then repeated it till he understands that this is the station where the N train is and the station where they catch the 7 train.

At his age I was barely aware of trains beyond the Little Engine That Could.

Passion

2007-03-18T09:11:00.000-04:00

I’ve often wondered what exactly my passion is. I know people who are passionate about ending hunger, passionate about giving the small business person a chance, passionate about evangelism, passionate about music, photography, dance, travel . . . the list could go on. They manage to order their lives around this one thing. They become experts it in and seek opportunities for it.

This week I saw a 15 year old on Good Morning America who found his passion. I was inspired. Zach Hunter is a modern-day abolitionist. At 15 he speaks to large audiences with the composure of a well-seasoned preacher. He just wrote a book about slavery. And here he was on Good Morning America talking to Diane Sawyer. I was shamed.

What if we all caught that kind of passion about something . . . . anything? Can you imagine what our world would be like?

So, I’ve spent the last few days thinking about my passion. I don’t think it’s as defined as Zach’s. I do have one, and that’s making sure people know God loves them. Right now I do that through my work at an international relief agency praying I hope that the people who are helped come to know their worth in the world, I do it through my work at church, and, I hope, through my friendships. I often forget my passion and let other things crowd it out. That is the difficulty—keeping focus.

I do wish I had a more specific passion like ending hunger or war or homelessness. I do want all these to end and I have seasons where I work passionately toward their end. But when it comes time to step up beyond speaking to my friends and family about it and throwing some money at the cause, my spine gets a little weak. So, I’ve decided to work harder on my passion and give it some more attention and nurturing just to see where it takes me.

What’s your passion?

Something New

2007-03-15T22:26:00.000-04:00

I tried something new today—belly dancing. It’s offered through my gym and I’ve been meaning to go, but for some reason was a bit afraid to do it. So, today I went and had a great time. It was great fun to be in a situation where you’re supposed to wiggle your giggly bits. Granted I think I looked a bit more like a chicken having a seizure than a mysterious woman gracefully shimmying to the beat with mesmerizing arms. But hey, everyone’s got to start somewhere. I also liked it because it loosened me up—something I desperately need. I can be so stiff sometimes and I hate that. Anything that can make me even an iota less self conscious is worth its weight in gold.

Note to self: try new things more often.

Converting to Pedestrianism

2007-02-03T22:41:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid I misunderstood the street signs that said “Pedestrian Crossing” to be “Presbyterian Crossing” and asked my mom why Presbyterians had to cross there, and I wondered where we Baptists could cross the street. I had never seen a “Baptist Crossing” sign. My mom explained through her laughter what the signs meant and the Presbyterians and Baptists can use the same crosswalks.

This week when my mechanic called me saying that what I thought was a routine problem with my 13-year-old car was far from routine and extremely expensive, I decided to become a pedestrian. I sold my car to the shop. This was a huge step for me. I have hung on to that car many years longer than I should have. It carries in it 13 years of memories. Driving to Kingston Canada, to Ft. Lauderdale and everywhere in between with me singing to the radio at the top of my lungs.

Living in New York makes having a car a convenience and not a necessity, so I’ve decided to try out the pedestrian lifestyle. It means I’m going to be waiting on a train tomorrow morning to go to church. But it also means I can sleep in since I don’t have to get there an hour early to get a parking space. It means I’ve given up a level of independence—I can’t just hop in my car and go places when I want to go. And that’s going to take some getting used to. I’m not one to give up her independence easily. But on this week when we heard that global warming is very real. I think it just might be a sacrifice worth making.

Advent

2006-12-03T21:55:00.000-05:00

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. I love Advent. The church I attended when I was young had several Advent traditions: songs, banners, candles and wreaths. Even though where I've attended since has had only abbreviated versions of this season of preparation and anticipation of the Christ, my heart is still warmed when we sing O Come Emmanuel.

This is a Christmas poem I wrote several years ago as a reminder of what this season is really all about.

You came to us, a vulnerable babe
Wrapped in cloth and in a manger laid
You came to us in human form
As one who is earth-born
You felt the sorrows of living by the land
In the end You felt the pain as a nail pierced Your hand

You came to us, Lord of Light
You spoke to us and cast out the night
You came to us, Prince of Peace
And invited us to the heavenly feast
You taught us how to live our lives
So that Peace on Earth may one day thrive

Oh blessed Lord, Creator of the Earth
You are the One who gave us new birth.
You, who placed the stars in the skies
Lived among us and heard our cries
This Christmas season let us remember You
The One who made all our lives new.

© Michelle Scott 2006

TV is Eating My Brain

2006-11-26T19:49:00.000-05:00

When I moved into my new apartment at the beginning of September, I decided to cable TV along with my cable internet connection. I haven’t had cable for seven years, so this was an exciting prospect for me.

I’ve noticed over these last months that I’ve felt less and less productive. I don’t seem to get as much done at home and I feel like my creative energy is virtually gone—I don’t write or journal nearly as much as I used to. Sadly, it took me quite some time to realize what was different: Cable. Yup – TLC, Food Channel, Discovery, National Geographic, they are all sucking up my productivity and creativity under the guise of teaching me more. I need to develop more responsible TV habits or the cable has got to end. So, this week I’m going to try keeping my remote on top of my very tall bookshelf, so I have to think for a second before I transform myself into a full time couch potato.

Gotta Love This Place

2006-11-05T22:39:00.000-05:00

So, I’ve had a few comic relief moments this weekend that make up some of the reasons why I like living in New York—it keeps me laughing.

Reason #1

R train on Saturday night. A gang of high school kids come on. One girl was so quotable. Just three lines I overheard with muffled giggles:

"If we could do that it would be the best liturgical dance ever!"

"Belgians? I love Belgians! I mean I really love Belgians!"

"This is like, deepest, darkest Brooklyn!"

Reason #2

I’m walking through the NYC pre-marathon crowds on my way to the train. It’s not even 10 in the morning but the steps of the local funeral home are full of marathon watchers drinking beer. Yep, funeral home, sports spectators, and morning beer—gotta love it.

To build or to go? That is the question.

2006-11-01T14:19:00.000-05:00

Over the summer I listened to a sermon from Pastor Joe and the Vision Church www.visionchurch.org. I had heard a lot about his messages, so I decided to download one and see what the buzz was about.

I don’t remember the title of the message, or even the passage on which it was based. What I do remember is his statement that in our relationships with other people we have a choice to build their crosses for them or to go to the cross for them. He was making a point about how we welcome people into the church—especially those who are different from the rest. We can either stand back and judge them (build their cross) or take a risk and build a relationship with them, possibly risking our own reputation in the process (go to the cross). It was a powerful image for me: literally constructing the cross for others as I judge them, or being willing to go there myself out of love—the love that God gives me.

At the same time, I was being challenged by the actions and choices of some people around me. I had been quite comfortable in the saddle on my high horse where I sat in smug judgment: Can you believe her? What was he thinking? I would never do that! Pastor Joe’s words knocked me clean off. I realized that I was comfortably sitting on a hillside with my pile of nails and wood happily hammering crosses together without thought for that person as someone God loves too.

I'm Baaack!

2006-10-08T22:12:00.000-04:00

So, I’m back after a long break from blogging. I inadvertently took all of spring and summer off. Kinda like my gym membership . . . .

I’m teaching a Bible class once again, which always gets my creative juices flowing; it’s just a matter of taking the time to write them down!

Since I last wrote I passed the second anniversary of moving to New York, and the first anniversary of that “freefall” my life took last year. I’m still working on becoming a “New Yorker.” I don’t think I’ll ever truly be one. But I can say that the city teaches me something new all the time.

I plan to be back soon to whip this neglected blog back into shape!

One Thing at a Time

2006-03-07T22:58:00.000-05:00

I was at the gym tonight, huffing and puffing at the elliptical machine when a woman walked in and asked if I minded if she changed the TV channel to the news. I told her “no problem.” So she changed the channel to CNN, opened the New York Post, took a bite of a Snickers bar, hooked up the ear piece to her cell phone and started walking on the treadmill. I couldn’t help but watch in amusement as I saw this woman try to exercise, eat junk food, catch up with a friend and be abreast of the latest news through two mediums all at the same time. Needless to say, she did not do any of these things very well. She had to keep stepping off the treadmill to hear her friend, the newspaper fell off and the TV was ignored for the most part.

This woman is in the advanced stages of multi-taskitis.

This is the disease of our age that locks us into mediocrity. We have put priority on the number of things one can accomplish over the quality of one’s work. Just look at our cell phones: they are now phones, cameras, MP3 players, and PDAs, but when bundled this way it’s hard to find one that does all of these things well. It’s a simple case of quantity over quality.

I admit, I have a case of multi-taskitis as well. Just today I thought I could read for a class while waiting for something to download and eat lunch all at the same time. Now, I can’t remember what I read, I got distracted before I installed the program, and dropped part of my lunch in my lap. This is what happens when I try to do too many things at once. Reading on the train is one thing, even washing dishes between commercials during my favorite TV show is reasonable, but somewhere me and many, many others have crossed the line between reasonable expectations for what we can do at once and what we cannot.

The frenzied woman in the gym reminded me of this. At first I laughed at her, but then I realized I’m not that different, and neither are many people I know.

So, tonight, I am trying to concentrate on one thing at a time. It’s harder than it sounds.

© Michelle Scott 2006

My Valentine

2006-02-14T20:31:00.000-05:00

I walk past a florist shop on my way to the train each morning. This morning they were loading a van up with flowers and balloons to be delivered. I couldn’t help but think about all those people who are going to be reminded that they are loved. It put a smile on my face.

This Valentines Day was one in which I held out no hopes of getting flowers. And I am more than okay with that. I rode to work listening to worship music thinking about God’s awesome love for me, and that is more than enough.

In fact that is a better gift than I had ever received on a Valentines Day when I did have a love in my life. On those days, I placed the desire of my heart into the hands of someone who couldn’t fill them. On this day, I placed it in God’s hand. Instead of finishing the day crestfallen, I am closing the evening joyous. Happy for my friends who got flowers today and are having romantic evenings. Filled with joy because I know I am loved by One whose love is not fickle, does not fade, can weather any of my storms—even the strongest tempest, and will always seek the best for me.

What more could I ask for?

So, today when people asked in their most sympathetic voice, “How are you handling today?” I say “never better!” Not to make them feel good, but because it’s the truth.

© Michelle Scott 2006

Perfection

2006-02-05T22:00:00.000-05:00

I went to sleep around 10:00 last night. Ten o’clock on a SATURDAY night. Actually, I crawled into bed at nine, watched TV then went to sleep for 10 whole hours. Those who know me well know that this is Extremely Rare. You’re probably wondering if I’m sick or something of the sort. Nope. I was just exhausted.

This morning I was thinking about why I was so tired after a relatively uneventful Saturday. Then I realized, I’ve been trying to be perfect all week, and being perfect takes a lot of energy. I don’t know if I can keep this up.

For some reason I got inspired to do all these things I’ve been putting off. Instead of being smart about it and doing one thing a week, or even month. I did them all last week. Yup . . . I brought lunch every day, joined a gym (and went 3 times!), got a totally new haircut (have to do double-takes in the mirror), got a new phone and service, AND took a step toward my future as a writer. All this while getting up an hour earlier for work to make time for all these extra activities. Whew! All these good habits might just kill me.

© Michelle Scott 2006

Subway Prophet

2006-02-03T15:30:00.000-05:00

It’s a rainy Friday morning here in New York and I am bone tired. I really didn’t feel like coming in to work as there’s a lot to do, but none of it is very interesting. Nevertheless I dragged my self out of bed (after a few extra hits on the snooze alarm). And went and stood in the rain waiting for the bus. If it wasn’t for a meeting today I would have toyed with the idea of calling in sick.

The subway seemed to move as slowly as I did this morning. It lurched and halted along. At some point I decided to just close my eyes and try to sleep just a little bit longer as the train ambled uptown. Somewhere between West 4th and 59th street what I call a “subway prophet” entered my car. Subway prophets are those who have a John the Baptist complex and feel the need to call all people in the transit system to repent. To be honest, I have no problems with evangelism in general. I do have problems when it is combative and theologically incorrect. So many times I have heard terrible things said in the name of Christ while riding public transportation. As a Christian, I am embarrassed and often angered because it is experiences like this that turns so many people off to even hearing who Jesus is. They think they know, but really they’ve been fed half-truths.

Well, back to today’s subway prophet . . . At first he is selling newspapers. I close my eyes and feign sleep because I know he will eventually come by me and ask me for money and that always makes me uncomfortable. So, to escape the discomfort I try to go somewhere else in my mind. But then he stops hocking newspapers and starts saying “Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming back!” I really close my eyes tight, then. Somewhere in my mind is this fear that in a fit of uncontrolled rage I will stand up and rebuke him for heresy. So I shut my eyes and hoped he would just go away and not say anything too terrible.

This man stands in front of a White passenger in a business suit (I know because I peeked) and says, “Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming back! And he’s gonna come back as a White man.” He laughs to himself and then almost mockingly says, “He’s coming back as a White man with blonde hair and blue eyes. That’s right, Jesus will come back as an executive in a suit—because no one would know him if he came back as a Black man. If he came back looking the way he really did with dark skin and wearing ragged clothes.”

Then the subway prophet went back to selling newspapers as if nothing had been said. I kept my eyes closed, willing my mind to sleep the rest of the way in to work. A minute later, he stopped near me and said, “You’d better wake up because Jesus is coming back. Open your eyes because he is coming.” My physical eyes did not open, but the ones in my heart did.

I got to thinking: How often do I shut my eyes to Jesus hoping he’ll come knocking at a more convenient time with easier things for me to do?

Desperate

2006-02-01T22:28:00.000-05:00

(Forgive me if this sounds preachy.)

I got to thinking about Desperate Housewives and realized they’re not that different from me. In fact I think the show is so popular because it zones in on one big truth: We are all desperate people and will go to great lengths to get what we want.

I would go even further to say that we are all looking for the same thing; we’re just going about it differently. That thing is love.

Sometimes we think we’ve found it, but eventually it shows its imperfections and we walk away disappointed. We go through a lot to get this one thing to fill the void in all our hearts. We seek it in bottles and in pills. We look for it in other people. We try to find it in hobbies – hiking, cooking. We try to attract it through wonderfully complicated rituals: of looking right, acting right, owning all the right gizmos and gadgets.

We think if we drive the right car, earn the correct degrees, balance the scales and speak three languages – love will come our way. Satisfaction will come in a marriage, a house, 2.5 children and possibly a family dog and picket fence. Happiness will be here when the bills are paid and that vacation can be had. All these things may come to pass, yet the longing continues.

Yet our heart groans for more—tugging us toward something else. Something we cannot name nor grasp so we try to fill our lives with more and more of what we think will make us happy. We are like hamsters running on an eternal exercise wheel. We get nowhere in our quest because we have looked everywhere for the perfect love except for up.

It is only in God that we find the love that will not disappoint. It is only God’s love that will quench our thirst. This is the only “thing” that will satisfy the longings of our hearts. We feel the constant nagging of hunger because we have tried to fill our lives with the things that the world tells us will make us complete. We walk away with hunger pangs. It is only by feasting at God’s table are we truly satisfied.

© Michelle Scott 2006

Fog Horn Dreams

2006-01-13T12:36:00.000-05:00

This morning I awoke to the sound of fog horns releasing their low, slow bellow out in the bay. I know they really are the sound of warning. But I love the sound. They seem to speak to me as I lay in bed: sleep, sleeeep. It’s hard for me to stir out of my slumber when I’m under the influence of their drone. I know it’s going to be a dreary morning before I even look outside. I am not inclined to get out of my warm cozy bed, but I do, I have to work.

Before I broke free from the heavy tones holding me in my bed I pondered my dream from last night. I had heart surgery in my sleep. It’s strange, I don’t often remember my dreams, but this is the second night in a row I’ve recalled them. The night before I dreamed I was pregnant again while I already had a newborn. I just kept having babies after babies after babies and I didn’t know what to do with them all.

I don’t know much about dream interpretation. For all I know these could be the result of indigestion. But, they make sense for where I am in life. I have had a new creative energy. Some of which is coming out in my more frequent blogging. I have been producing more creative works. It is something I haven’t done in a long while. I am enjoying it, but sometimes I feel like I have fire shut up in my bones and if I don’t make time to release some of it I will explode.

I am birthing many kinds of children these days in the form of words and thoughts and new ideas. I am also undergoing a kind of soul surgery. Things are being removed from my life and other things are being added to it. Just like any recovery process, sometimes it hurts to laugh. Others, it hurts to cry. But each day the healing continues and I am amazed at the new work God is making in my life.

© Michelle Scott 2006

Isaac's on the Altar

2006-01-09T22:33:00.000-05:00

I just finished reading a great book called Ruthless Trust by Brennan Manning. My soul was just ripe for its message. At the conclusion of the book he writes that trusting God comes down to laying the Isaac in your life on God’s altar.

I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve had to do that recently and I got mad when there was no “ram in the bush” to take the place of my offering. I thought if I was obedient in my offering, God would relent at the last minute and reward my obedience by replacing what I had laid on the altar with something else. God didn’t. And what was so dear to me is gone.

I tried to explain to God that this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. There’s supposed to be a replacement. I really shouldn’t have to give this up. But here’s what I learned, God will do what will make you trust him more. If it’s supplying a ram in the bush, he will do it. If it’s allowing you to go through with the original sacrifice, he will allow it. That’s how God works. He always has the big picture in mind. He looks beyond our immediate pain to the good things that are down the road. The things we can’t see just yet.

That’s where trust comes in. We have to trust that God is good. There’s a lot of proof of that. Just look at God’s creation, or the miracles he’s worked, the good things he’s already done in our lives. Most importantly, look to the cross where Jesus endured incredible pain and loss so that we could have the good things God has in store for us.

In this process I’ve spent a lot of time shaking my fist at the sky asking God “Why?” And God replied to me much the same way he replied to Job. God reminded me of his great glory (see 12/28/05 entry) and his incomprehensible nature. Even if God were to answer my question, I do not have the capacity to understand it. My mind cannot begin to grasp the ways of God. And as one of my favorite preachers, Tim Keller, said – Is God someone you should treat as your assistant? In other words, I cannot ask God to be accountable to me. I am accountable to him and as such I have no grounds to ask the Creator of the Universe why part of my life didn’t work the way I wanted it to.

So, what is left is trust. Trust that God did the right thing and will continue to do so. Trust that God has better things in store for me. Because this is what he promised, to lead us, to be our Good Shepherd and supply all our needs.

© Michelle Scott 2006

Shout Out

2006-01-06T22:29:00.000-05:00

I wanna give a shout out to Stacy at Rite Aid. My asthma is acting up and I ran out of medicine so I called my doctor to get a new prescription. She said, “No problem, I’ll call it in.” So, I go to Rite Aid the next day to pick it up. They dug and dug and finally found the order. The cashier told me there was a problem with my insurance company and they were going to call again about it. I thought it was no big deal since it’s early in the New Year and this happens a lot at the beginning of a new calendar year. Then Stacy called me over. She explained that there was a typo in the prescription and the insurance company declined it. They’ve been trying to straighten it out, but the insurance company is not answering their phones because they are overwhelmed with the Medicare changes.

So, Stacy let me take the inhaler home without paying. She just asked me to come back in on Monday to settle the bill. I couldn’t believe it! Actual compassion! Her kindness carried me through several other interchanges with less-than-kind people. I just thought to myself . . . remember Stacy. There ARE nice people after all.

© Michelle Scott 2006

Christmas Reflection

2005-12-28T17:01:00.000-05:00

During last weekend’s Christmas events I had wonderful opportunities to spend time with friends and family. They were very full few days and I felt blessed. Driving home in the wee hours of Christmas morning I found myself contemplating what really happened that night some 2,000 years ago. After spending an evening singing about warm fires, good cheer, and “tidings of comfort and joy,” I looked over to see a lit manger scene in front of a house and realized that while there was some joy that night, there was little comfort. In fact, there was probably much fear: shepherds frightened by angels, an inn with no room, a newborn child laid in scratchy straw, a young girl turned mother with no women around to help and support her, a husband beholding a child that was not his own. No, there was little comfort that night.

The word for glory in Hebrew is “kabōd.” It carries in its meaning the idea of weight something very heavy. It’s a new way to consider God’s glory. It is not all happiness and light—it is a weighty matter. God’s glory is too much for us to bear. This is why God only allowed Moses to see his back (Ex. 33:21-23). It also explains the seriousness the Israelites had when they beheld just a tidbit of God’s glory. They knew it was enough to crush them.

Just like when a heavy brick breaks through a pane of glass, God’s glory breaks into our lives. It leaves nothing unchanged, no stone unturned. It is an uncomfortable feeling. The world looks completely different. You have to reorient yourself.

On that first Christmas night, God’s glory came to earth in the tiny babe named Jesus. From that moment on, nothing was the same: a virgin gave birth, Jewish shepherds and Gentile kings were equally welcomed, a carpenter’s son became a man of great renown, a guiltless man was crucified, and all of humanity was offered the gift of forgiveness.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Food Amnesia

2005-12-07T22:38:00.000-05:00

So, I bet you’ve heard of a food coma. Today I determined that I must have food amnesia, meaning I forget why I no longer eat stuff.

I recently met a milestone in the battle of the bulge and decided this morning that I would give in to my craving by eating a bacon egg and cheese bagel for breakfast. Well, that bagel sandwich made me like a stuffed turkey till about three this afternoon.

After work I went to the grocery this evening to shop for my annual cookie extravaganza which will commence this weekend. Problem was, I was soooo hungry from not eating lunch I kinda forgot what I had for breakfast and thought I could use some serious comfort food. I picked up my favorite frozen meatloaf dinner with about a zillion calories and a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies to take home. Misery again. (No, I didn’t eat the WHOLE bag . . . ) I did this to myself twice in one day – how stupid can you get??

All this is stuff I used to eat with pleasure – and some lingering pain . . . . I should have known better. This isn’t the first time I paid the price for eating this stuff. Am I doomed to a life of healthy eating? Oh, to just be able to enjoy something really, really bad once in a while.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Head above Water

2005-11-26T20:37:00.000-05:00

Grief is a funny thing. It comes in crests and troughs, it washes over you in waves, sometimes when you least expect it. Like a strong current it can knock your feet out from under you. It can pull you under with the tide. It can disorient you in the undertow. After awhile you get to better understand the ocean called loss—you know its high tides and low. You can judge how rough the waters will be by the season and the weather. You’re able to stand up and keep your balance better.

Just when you think you’ve charted this terrain what seems to be a small wave on the horizon turns grows to a tidal wave of longing. It crashes down around you and sucks you under so hard and turns you so that down feels like up and up feels like down and it seems you’ll never breathe again. But then you break the surface, plant your feet on the ground, and suck in sweet lungfuls of oxygen and realize, it’s all gonna be ok.

© Michelle Scott 2005

A Work in Progress

2005-11-21T12:06:00.000-05:00

Good Enough

O God I am so tired of not being good enough.

Not smart enough, skinny enough, rich enough, patient enough

Not spiritual enough.

O Lord, it’s so hard to be so close, yet so far from the goal.
to not make the grade, to miss the mark
be the last one picked for the team

But that’s where your spirit comes in
And fills the space between

not enough
and
more than enough

Because I am not good enough
not enough for your love
for your perfect, eternal embrace
Yet, you hold me anyway.
With a love that cannot be erased
by my shortcomings, my falls,
the clumsy way I get around this life
You weep when I weep, rejoice when I rejoice
Calling me daughter
Naming me friend
Claiming me as your own.

For in my weakness you are strong.

And that turns, not enough
into abundance

In this cosmic equation
Your mathematics of grace
my shortcomings
my faults

Are the joints that make me move
Lubricated by the oil of your love
Held by the ligaments of grace
Powered by the fuel of your fire

You equip me to run this race.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Freedom!

2005-11-06T21:11:00.000-05:00

I’ve had an unlimited metro card for about a month now. I had no idea how much of a difference this would make in my life. I go where I want to, when I want to. I don’t have to calculate how much I’ll spend on each trip. I make stops on my way home. I go see friends on a whim. Shop, explore. I love it!! So much so, I’ve been pondering getting rid of my car and joining ZipCar (www.zipcar.com) . However, I’ve put a moratorium on big decisions like this until 2006. Also, ZipCar does not have any cars located near me. Maybe when I move this spring . . . It would be nice to not to worry about my car anymore. No oil changes, no insurance, no fear of the timing belt breaking . . . I hate car care and I love my new metrocard.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Honesty

2005-10-25T23:08:00.000-04:00

I spent this last weekend in Philadelphia visiting some of the people nearest and dearest to me. In the course of the weekend I got in a discussion with a friend about TV shows. I admitted that I LOVE Boston Legal. My friend didn’t. I couldn’t but my finger on exactly why I like it so much until tonight.

I was riding home on the train and two guys were talking about all the women in their lives – those they are using, those they used, and those who won’t stop calling. It was a real degrading conversation to be subjected to—as a woman.

In the course of their conversation one of their cell phones rings. They guy looks at the number and says, “I shouldn’t even talk to this one. I tell her not to call anymore and she just doesn’t listen.” He then picks up the phone and talks to her in his nicest voice. He tells her he’ll be right over, etc., etc.

So . . . back to Boston Legal. I figured out why I like it so much. It’s full of dreadfully honest people – so honest that they have to be eccentric or we couldn’t deal with it. Allan Shore tells women he’s involved with that they enter the relationship at their peril because he is a deeply flawed man. Coworkers are honest about their motives. Friends are honest with each other about short comings and short-sighted behavior. It’s a comedy because it’s so brutally honest, we have no choice but to break out in nervous laughter.

So, I got to thinking, what would our lives, our relationships be like if we just let our intentions and short falls be known all along?

© Michelle Scott 2005

Freefall

2005-10-17T23:01:00.000-04:00

Cool autumn weather has arrived to NY. So, I’ve begun preparing for colder temperatures by taking out my window fans and air conditioners. I called a friend to help me take out my really big, really heavy AC last Saturday. We moved the furniture away, took down the tape that was plugging the cracks and prepared to hang on to the unit when I opened the window.

We were hanging on with all our strength when I opened the window just a crack. In a split second, the AC took a dive out the window. Me? Well I guess I thought I had developed superhuman strength and tried to stop it. This included hanging on to the electrical cord with all my might as the AC plummeted to the concrete below. I can still see it falling. And I can still remember actually thinking I had stopped it when the plug slipped through my fingers. I won’t go into the details of what my fruitless efforts to save my air conditioner did to my hand. We’ll just say, I’ll have some scars to remember this event for quite some time.

My friend and I then went downstairs to assess the damage. Much to my surprise, most of the unit was still intact. In fact, with some repairs, this thing could actually work. There was no discernable damage to the coils or the compressor. It’s now sitting in my kitchen floor waiting for that trip to the repair shop.

Now, because I see most of life’s events through the lens of metaphors, I got to thinking about that air conditioner.

Something recently happened in my life that sent me in a free fall out of what I thought was a secure place in the world. I had no idea that the place I had made for myself was so tenuous and so dependent on one element in my life. The window opened just a tiny bit, and I went flying into what felt like an uncontrollable tailspin. I too saw a concrete slab below and expected to shatter into pieces when I landed. Funny thing is I didn’t. I mean, I have some sore places and some bruises, of course. But, the bottom line is, I didn’t fall apart. The core of me, the most important part of me, is intact, unbroken, and undiminished.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Waiting for the Inevitable

2005-09-23T10:53:00.000-04:00

As Chuck told me last week, these seem to be dark times. Many of our friends and family are experiencing difficulties and loss. I’ve been to two wakes in the last two weeks alone: one for Chuck’s grandfather and one for a friend’s father. I think this, coupled with the grim reports on TV about Hurricane Katrina, have combined to give us that feeling that these are indeed dark times.

A little over a week ago, my own grandfather collapsed. It is now apparent that he is in the last days of his life. My parents are with him in Texas making him comfortable and being present with him as he passes from this world to the next. Grandpa used his last days of coherency to say good bye to those he loved. And now, as his mind dwells more and more in a place far removed from his hospital room, we wait. We wait for the inevitable.

At the same time as my Grandfather is making his exit, another massive hurricane is making an entrance, Rita. Preparations are nearly complete: people are evacuated, supplies are in place, repair and recovery teams are at the ready. Now, as the storm makes it slow approach, there is still more waiting and wondering—what will be left at the other side?

The watching, waiting, worrying, and plan making that is happening at a national level for Hurricane Rita is a larger depiction of what is going on in my own family. It is an anxious time. But these are things that are out of our control: hurricanes and death, among other things. That is what makes them so scary. But God reminds us that although these things are out of our control, they are held in the palm of his hand. God knows what is on the other side of all things and will sustain us in all circumstances. This is why Paul says, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7.

This is my prayer for myself, my family, and all those who are waiting with anxious heart about what Hurricane Rita will bring – that the peace of God will rule in us instead of the anxiety of powerlessness to change what is to come.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Renewed

2005-08-23T22:28:00.000-04:00

At the beginning of this month I went to my church’s summer camp. The theme was Renewal. I knew I needed that, but I was also working on the teen program which didn’t leave much personal time. However, I was optimistic that the teens would not take up too much of my energy—wrong! I arrived at camp tired and worn out, more spiritually than physically, and it seemed that there were those determined to make me feel even more that way. We got off to a rough start and I was asking God where was I going to find the strength to continue not only in teen leadership but in the other ministries I had agreed to take on in the fall. If I can’t handle this one thing, what was I going to do with more? I just felt like I had nothing more to give to the teens or anyone. I hated that feeling and I hated how it made me act towards others, but I didn’t know how to resolve it.

On Sunday evening we had a worship time in which God gave me a vision. Not a vision as in “the angel of the Lord appeared to me . . . “ but more of a metaphor for where I was (dry) and where God is.

I thought of wells. Each of us has our own well to drink from and to share with others. When you well gets low, the water gets muddy, so you find someone around you who is willing to share their clean water with you until the water level rises again in your own well.

I felt like that person whose well only had mud in the bottom. However, the other people who would normally give me a refreshing drink were low on water, too. I was getting possessive of what little water I had and was tired of the muddy water others offered me.

But then I realized that there was a well in the center of us all: God’s Well. God’s Well is always full of fresh water and always ready to share. In fact, you can take more than a cup of water to drink at God’s Well, you can bring buckets back to your empty well and fill it with fresh, clean water to replenish it.

Once you find God’s Well, you never have to worry about running out of water. You can share freely and drink freely and never have to drink muddy water again.

Since God has given me this vision of his unending and inexhaustible love, I have indeed felt renewed. When I feel at the end of myself, I close my eyes and imagine taking a long drink from God’s Well. I realize that nothing I do is on my own strength, skill, or talent—it’s all from God’s good gifts to me. I just need a long refreshing drink from God’s Well.

The Power of Cheese

2005-08-11T21:10:00.000-04:00

Last week Chuck and I took a “Wine 101” class. It was a three hour class giving you an overview of wines and cheeses. The goal of the class was for you to figure out what kinds of wine you like and a little bit about what makes the flavors of wine. It also was set up for you to try some cheese pairings. I was all into the wine aspect, but the cheese . . . well I was not looking forward to that. I call myself a “cheese wimp” because anything beyond cheddar is pushing it for me. I will eat brie or swiss (only melted) but just about everything else is out of my league. I know so many people who enjoy cheeses and I never understood the wimpyness of my palette, so I decided to be brave and plan to try all the cheeses no matter what they brought out.

When the time came for the cheese plate to appear, all kinds of crumbly, hard, and mold-marbled slabs were placed before me. I thought this plate of enormous slices were to share, but noooo, they were all for me: Two goat cheeses, one sheep, one stinky and one blue. I was thinking of backing out. But I decided to hang in there. We started with the goat cheese (the “milder” ones) and worked our way to the blue. All night I stared at the blue cheese, telling myself that those dark veins were really spinach and not mold. I pretty-much suffered my way around the plate, however most of them were not as bad as I expected, though I still did not enjoy them. Then it came time for the blue cheese—the thing I had been dreading all night. Someone came around with slices of more blue cheese because most people had already eaten their first helping with relish. She got to me and she gave me this look of surprise when she saw my untouched triangle of moldy cheese. I said, “I think this will be enough,” and gulped. For my first bite I spread just a teeny tiny bit of blue cheese on my bread because my past experiences have not been very good. I took a bite and . . .I liked it. I really liked it. I even began eating forkfuls without bread. Now, I don’t know if it was the wine pared with the cheese, the really good quality cheese, the 13 wines I had beforehand, a new-found love for blue cheese, or heroine injected in the cheese itself, but I woke up the next morning craving it. Maybe my cheese wimp days are over.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Anniversary

2005-06-11T10:44:00.000-04:00

As of last Sunday I have lived in New York for one whole year! In some ways it seems incredibly short, in other ways this year has felt unbelieveably long. It’s taken a lot more work that I expected to adjust to living in this great city. A friend of mine who was a missionary in the Congo during the 60s used to say that God sent her to Africa to teach her patience. I think God sent me to New York to do the same. It’s hard living with so many other people.

There are a lot of perks to living here, but there are a lot of disadvantages, too. I still miss being able to hop in my car and drive out to run my errands knowing that #1 I will most likely be able to do them in one or two stops (ahh, the wonder of strip malls) and #2 be able to find parking when I get there. But alas, that is not to be found here.

There are wonderful other experiences to be had. Like last week when I had a couple of hours to kill between appointments. So, I just started walking down Broadway. I found the Museum of Biblical Art (free!) and cruised through that. Then I found a beautiful spot to sit, drink my coffee an just people watch around the park. Wandering about like this is something I would never be able to do in the ‘burbs. First of all—there are no sidewalks!

Well, that’s my brief reflection on my first year in NYC. This place is growing on me. After a recent trip to visit my old neighborhood in PA, I began to realize that New York may be ruining me for other places.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Subway Rant

2005-05-18T22:49:00.000-04:00

I realized today while watching a woman meticulously apply all of her makeup on the train while being forced off of a pole because of a “leaner” that I have developed a long list of what should be common sense social etiquette regarding subway behavior. So, to help people out, I have composed a list of things to avoid. I have witnessed all of these at least once (and I am sure there is more weirdness to come).

There are other people on the train with you . . .
Don’t lean on the poles, other people need them. The only reason I can find for someone to willfully to continue leaning after people are trying to find a space to hang on is that you want to be groped. (ewwww I just grossed myself out!)

Your down time on the train is NOTa perfect opportunity to test all the ringtones on your phone to decide which one you like best. I experience this at least once a week.

Neither do we want to listen to you try and pick up a girl (see previous post 5/10/05)

Please do not attempt to bring three instrument cases on the train and set them immediately in front of the door, THEN act confused when people have problems leaping over them on their way in and out of the train.

The train is not a spa . . .
I understand putting on some lipstick or powdering your nose, but doing the whole shebang from foundation to eyeliner on the train is a bit outrageous.

Nail polish and nail polish remover stink worse than the train already does. Have a heart.

Clipping your nails . . . . come on!!!! Those shards could land in my coffee. No one can really keep them under control.

Eyebrow plucking can get dangerous. Where do the tweezers go when the train comes to a sudden stop?

Flossing . . . .no commentary needed.

Common sense . . .
Aerosols should be avoided—like testing that can of spray paint on your jeans.

Polishing your shoes is on the edge of reasonable, but wiping the excess polish on the seat where someone is going to sit, is just plain mean.

Casting spells and curses on innocent train riders is generally not a good way to start the day.

Denying a seat to a pregnant woman because you’re saving it for your friend — who is getting on at the next stop is not nice.

Oh! And it really does “speed your ride” when you wait for everyone to get off the train before getting on.

I realize that some seasoned New Yorkers will read this and laugh at my naiveté. But this stuff is not normal.

© Michelle Scott 2005

Waking Up Right

2005-05-13T10:40:00.000-04:00

This morning I was sooo good, and now I feel good. I don’t know why I can’t seem to make myself do this more often. What I’m talking about is getting up an hour earlier, exercise and have some quiet time before starting my day. It makes such a difference. I have the intention nearly every night when I go to sleep, but when that alarm goes off at 6:00 I can normally think of enough excuses to sleep in and the other stuff gets put off until that evening, or not at all. I just wish I could remember how good I’ll feel afterward and get my butt out of bed more often.

So, since I was out of bed so early, I watched some news. They are doing a special on finding “cheap” or “reasonably priced” apartments in Manhattan. One woman was looking for an apartment for $1,000/month. The local news could not find one for her, but they did find one for $1,195. She was so excited, talked about how spacious it was, etc, etc. Okay, then they showed the place. It is a basement apartment that has (drum roll please) 400 square feet. Spacious?!?! Affordable?!?!! This place is crazy.

© Michelle Scott 2005

How NOT to pick up a woman

2005-05-10T10:13:00.000-04:00

All I have to say is: the subway is not a single’s bar. That’s it. I don’t think it should be that confusing. It’s morning. You’re on a train. We are all slogging our way to work, and most of us just want some peace and quiet. Normally, people oblige. Today was not one of those days, I sitting in front of a nice looking woman who apparently, the man standing behind her mistook for someone looking for a date.

The conversation broke into my consciousness when the woman refused to give the man his name. His name is, “Mark, for what it’s worth. Are you sure you can’t tell me your name?” So, about four stops later he runs out of his rehearsed stories, planned to charm any woman about meeting celebrities on the train and how women in New York are either beautiful or nice, but never both (how was that supposed to make her feel??) and his aspirations of directing, acting and screen writing. He starts to move on to finding out more about her.

“So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a bookkeeper.”
“Fascinating,” (At this point, I am involuntarily rolling my eyes) “Maybe one day you can be my bookkeeper when I become rich and famous. You know, I’ll need someone to keep track of all that money for me.” (I’ve nearly rolled my eyes out of my head by this point.)

So, I just need to get this out there: Guys, we KNOW when you’re lying, we KNOW when what you’ve said is well rehearsed. And FINALLY it’s not nice to try to pick people up in front of a train packed with people trying to mind your own business.

I got it!!!!

2005-04-30T10:01:00.000-04:00

This is very belated. I got the job!! AND I love it!!!!

Anticipation

2005-03-09T22:23:00.000-05:00

For about a month, now, I’ve woke up with a feeling of anticipation; wondering if today is the day that I get “the call”. You see, I interviewed for a job about a month ago. It is one I want really, really, really badly. I felt great about the interview and I found out that I am going to be called back for a second one. I am just waiting on the committee to set a date and call me.

So, in the meantime I wait for a call I know is coming. I am also mentally preparing for the interview—learning more about the organization, thinking of possible reasons to take time off work for the interview, drafting my resignation letter . . . . The problem is that the more days that pass without “the call” the more anxious I get and the more “worst-case scenarious” I think of. I have quickly found myself consumed with what will happen and when it will happen. Let me tell you, it’s not a nice thing to do to yourself. I’ve been more and more self-involved.

This morning I was thinking about my situation and what I should be learning from it. The anticipation and active preparing reminded me of how I should be preparing and anticipating Christ’s return. I should be learning more and more about my God and Father so that I am ready to have a relationshp with him so that I know how to work for him and how to let him work in me.

It’s a good reminder to keep my priorities straight.

© Michelle Scott 2005

The Power of My Voice

2005-02-26T12:42:00.000-05:00

This past week someone tried to steal my purse. In the past I had shared my ruminitions about the dangerous properties of persimmons (10/20/04) and other things I might be carrying with me in case I needed to use them as weapons. On this day I was carrying hot tea and dried squid (the squid was not for me). I was not on a desolate street as I had imagined, but on a crowded sidewalk when I felt a hand on my purse and the other on my back. I didn’t realize until afterward what was happening, but my reaction was to yell, “HEY!” And for once in my life my big mouth did me some good. He dropped the purse and disappeared into the crowd. And so it was not the things I was carrying with me that helped me, but the power inside of me.

My sister was not as lucky this week. Off in a very different environment—a small town where people keep their front doors unlocked and their car keys in the ignition—she had her car window smashed and her purse and other belongings stolen. As we talked about all the calls she had to make I thought I’d share with you what both of us have been reminded of this week:

1. Know what’s in your wallet. Photocopy its contents or write down all your credit card numbers and phone numbers to call in case they are stolen and keep this in a safe place.

2. Don’t carry more than what is necessary.

3. Know the numbers of the three main credit bureaus and call them asap if your wallet is stolen. They are: Equifax 800-525-6285
Experian 800-301-7195
TransUnion 800-680-7289

Weekend Trains

2005-01-08T17:28:00.000-05:00

I learned something today . . . never, ever, ever take a train to Brooklyn on the weekend. Everytime I try, there are unforseen and unpleasant adventures. As I was taking my normal express D train home I was surprised that it was making local stops. The announcer said that the N was running express so I transferred over thinking this would save me some time. On a normal weekday the N can take me most of the way home where I could then transfer back to the D. But as the N rolled into 36th street there was a very unpleasant announcement:

"This is the last stop for the N express train, the D train will be making all local N stops across the platform."

What??? Two trains, two different tracks what was happening here. So I poked my head into the D train to hear what the conductor was saying there . . . "This D train will be making all local stops on the N track."

I thought, oh, maybe another D will come that is running on the D track so I asked someone about it and the following conversation ensued:

Me: (to no one in particular) "Are there any D trains running today, then?"

Mr. Helpful: "This is the D train."

Me: (thinking I'm clarifying what I am looking for) "Yeah, but it is making N stops."

Mr. Helpful "Yes, but this is the D train."

Me: (noticing that he is not getting it) "I know that, but I am looking for a D train making D stops."

Mr Helpful: "This is the D train, but it is running on the N track."

Me: (growing frustrated, but still think there is hope of finding an answer) "I am aware of that. I would like to know if there are any D trains running on the D track. I'm guessing not."

Mr Helpful: "This is the D train."

Me: (finally realizing that he is just not going to get it) "Thanks for your help."

So, now after hearing repetitively that I was riding a D train following the N track and making N (not D) stops I realized that this D train was really an N incognito. Why the secrecy? Why the mystery? Why not just say - "No D trains outside of Manhattan"? Why send me confusing messages that give me hope of getting home without riding a bus? That's all I want to know.

Death on Schedule

2005-01-06T21:10:00.000-05:00

Modern medicine for all its miracles has created so many situations that I think we as people are just not equipped to deal with because . . . it just ain’t natural.

The other day as I was standing outside waiting on the kids to be dismissed from school one of the teacher’s aides I know passed by me. We said our greetings as normal and she said, “see you next week.” Now this was a Tuesday and so I took the cue and asked if she was going anywhere. She said, “I am having problems.” And then it came out. Her mom had been in the hospital and was supposed to be removed from life support that afternoon. She was sad, angry and confused. She was angry because she felt that her mom had a chance and the doctors were taking that away by saying that the family has no choice, her mother had to be removed from life support. She was also confused by her brother’s acceptance of this. He apparently had already gone and made funural arangements. She told me, “but my mother isn’t even dead, yet. It just seems wrong.” I talked to her for a few minutes. My chaplain intern training came in handy. I had attended dozens of deaths and had a good idea of what was to come. I told her I would keep her and her family in my prayers, and I have.
As I’ve thought of her, I’ve thought about dying. It’s not the same anymore. More and more people are dying the way this woman’s mother did. It was not a surprise, but a decision and one that happens according to a hospital schedule.

Christmas Surprise

2004-12-27T21:33:00.000-05:00

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

2004-12-20T13:06:00.000-05:00

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?

2004-12-14T19:32:00.000-05:00

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?

2004-11-08T22:30:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-02T19:56:00.000-05:00

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

2004-10-25T21:23:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-20T20:06:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-12T21:08:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-05T20:02:00.000-04:00

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

2004-09-25T13:03:00.001-04:00

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

2004-09-19T02:43:00.000-04:00

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

2004-09-18T02:37:00.000-04:00

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

2004-09-07T01:41:00.000-04:00

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

2004-08-31T16:05:00.000-04:00

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

2004-08-23T16:04:00.000-04:00

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

2004-08-23T02:28:00.000-04:00

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

2004-08-23T02:01:00.000-04:00

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.