Idle and Blessed

What is it that makes us run from our pain? Turn our backs, avert our eyes. We are shy of ourselves. We hear the rumblings of the deep and sense the darkness that lies beneath our surface, a darkness that quickens the heart and the feet to run. Why? The murky blackness of our souls is something we are prone to sleep through, like the blackness of the night. There is mystery and terror there. There is the fear that if we face our pain it will rise up and flood our whole self, like an ocean the shore can't stop. I have felt this fear. I see it everywhere. And we turn off our awareness of the dark, we turn on every light in the house, anything to keep away the black corners and keep the monsters under the bed. "Go back to sleep," we tell ourselves, and during the day, "Don't slow down." Run and run and run. Sadness and slowness and darkness and fear are ushered out to the prisons and hospitals, and when our own evil breaks out in the streets, like in Fe...

In the certain corner of Christian life I encountered in Tennessee, the sweet and good and true corner I call home even while trudging out beyond it, I learned the way to true compassion for the Other is to be in relationship with them. At my home church, we did missions that way and I was raised on it. Those summers in Russia, as my dearest and oldest blog readers know, were the days I learned that lesson best. I learned that Christian love and ministry is nothing but solidarity with the hurting, although solidarity can have a thousand faces. Our small and me-centered perspectives are always insufficient and the only cure is to go live from someone else's side for a while. I learned what Russian culture is, how the politics play out in people's lives, and what the prevailing opinion on America is from Eurasia, but what really shapes the person I am today are my friendships with them. They are my family. I miss them like I miss my own parents. And never in a million years wou...

It has either been a million years or 44 days since I last posted. The blog says the latter. Not sure I trust it. It's been one heck of a long, full summer. Actually the whole year has been long and full, and I can't help but look back wide-eyed at how far I have traveled literally and metaphorically. I never thought I had it in me to be a pilates instructor or an ultramarathoner. I didn't know I could actually pursue a PhD or teach a bioethics class in a state prison. I didn't know I was capable of managing a thriving studio or living in a city like this, and yet here I am. It all makes me feel so young sometimes. Like I only barely know what I'm doing in any given area. The best part about being 23 is having the freedom and energy to do all the scattered things you enjoy doing while having full creative license to dream about the future. I dream about a career in ethics, living in places like Colorado and Chicago and Vancouver, hiking the Appalachian Trail and...

As a young female runner, I've been programmed to be afraid of certain types of people. There's a level of profiling that happens when I'm alone on the city streets. Even in daylight there are places I won't go and people I will avoid by crossing the road. Car honks and cat calls, among worse things, reinforce my suspicion that I am never truly safe. And then every so often in Atlanta, Georgia, one of those fear-inducing people will start cheering me on from the bus stop, and it really gets to the heart of what heaven will be like. Sometimes I can't believe it's coming, but I still look for the day when I will not be afraid, when I will not stereotype my brothers and sisters, and when we will all surprise each other with hope.

I'm not one for over-analyzing everyday happenings. Ok, that's a total lie. But I've gotten pretty good at letting things simmer for a while before extracting the meaning from them. Most of the time life is more like a crockpot than a microwave, and contrary to my Gen Y instant-gratification tendencies, there are certain things I put in the back seat until time gives me the perspective to resolve them. Church is one thing I am parking right now. That car is parked. I'll figure out my ecclesiology someday, but that day is not Friday, June 20, 2014. Stem cell research is also parked. I could go on. But there are some things that are in high gear right now for me, I'm telling you - try being a 22 year old woman in Div school studying social ethics and you'll see what I mean. The Bible, women's roles, healthcare access, immigration, incarceration, and all the bioethics you can imagine are moving along in my brain. Full steam ahead. Things are a'c...

Loneliness is nearly always a stranger. When it comes knocking I start to ask questions. It’s just that I’m used to having so much going on externally that I need to shelter my inner world. Protect my energy, ration it. There’s only so much I can store up for a day. I use it up on the people I really care about, the ones I am invested in. The members of my “home team” usually, or the important things like school and work. The problem with this phenomenon called introversion is that it can look like being antisocial or boring or whatever, but I really think that says more about the dysfunction of an extraverted culture than anything else. Boundaries between the self and the other are a natural part of human dignity. It’s a healthy thing to be able to protect the life force inside of you, to be able to say, “here is the line where my energy is at its limit today.” When I get lonely it can mean I have energy to spare, but not usually. Usually it means I’ve been ...

These are the days for putting thousands of miles on our cars. These are the days we live out of suitcases. These are the days for reading books by the pool, and spending our weekends dancing. These are the days for spending money on travel, for taking roadtrips when we want. These are the days for sleeping under the stars. These are the days for being a little reckless. If we are ever going to be poor, it should be now. If we are ever going to check off the bucket list, why not now? These are the days for calling it all "adventure." These are the days for getting lost on purpose, for memorizing all the lyrics, for failing some tests, for running out of gas. These are the days to be young. "Youth is wasted on the young," but I would add, "the young who are trying to be old." Who told us we had to act 45 after college graduation? Why are we so anxious to get "a real job," a 401k, a spouse, a white picket fence? There is so mu...