where will you lay your head April 29th?

If you've never heard of Invisible Children, please click on this link. If you don't know about the Global Night Commute, there is still time to get involved here. It is happening this Saturday, April 29th, in cities across the globe.
Probably in one close to you - whether or not you can make it to this demonstration, I urge you to become familiar with the longest running war in Africa and it's devastating effects on countless children. It needs the world's attention. I know that more often than I'd like to admit, I shut down when I hear stuff like this. I withdraw and look away, because the pain going on in this world is just so huge. There are far too many tragic conflicts, starving children, threats of disease and war. If I hear of one more heartbreaking situation, my heart might...break. It is so hard to pursue knowledge of such immense suffering.
But I don't want to live insulated by the comfort of ignorance. I keep screwing it up and retreating into my tiny corner of experience, but I am prying my hands off from my eyes again(and will have to many more times).
For the sake of these children, please join me in looking at this crisis. Really looking.

Thinking of Someplace

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.


William Butler Yeats

Re - do.

Almost three years ago, I put my newborn daughter in the car and took a crazy road-trip with my mom. I had heard on NPR that there was a feature film being made on Mackinac Island. My only acting experience was some theatre in high school, so I did the natural thing and decided to track down the details and try out for this film. I had no idea what I was doing. My dad recorded a demo for me(it was a musical) and I dragged my tired postpartum self to the upper peninsula with baby in tow for what I thought would be the craziest thing I'd ever do. I remember every moment of that audition..I had stepped into a foreign world - I (clumsily) read the selected scene with the director, thanked them and left. I knew that I hadn't done well. I knew that I would not get the part.
But I was elated.
I had done something that terrified me - I had made a fool of myself doing something risky and random and out of my comfort zone. And though I had not performed impressively, I knew I had tried wholeheartedly.
I can't remember all the auditions I've bombed since that afternoon three years ago, but every time I showed up to face my fears, I came out less afraid.
Next week, I may have the chance to sort of look in the mirror and gauge how far I've come(and how far I have to go!). The film, it turns out, has been delayed for all this time, and they need to recast several roles. Including the one I auditioned for. I'm taking another road trip with my mom(no baby this time)...I'm perplexed and grateful that I get a chance to read for the same part after all this time. So much life and grief and courage have passed through me since that day. It marked the beginning of an adventure that I plan to spend the rest of my life exploring..it will be interesting to come full circle and see how it feels to stand in that place again.

I know a little more about acting now..and have more confidence. But really I still have only two things going for me: I know I'll try wholeheartedly, and I know I'll come out less afraid.
Auditions are a beautiful opportunity to fail, and survive, and get brave.

A while back I visited a church that closely resembled one I attended as a kid. It brought back alot of memories.
While one of the leaders was giving announcements, a man on the stage began to scream in tongues at the top of his lungs. I had forgotten how.. startling.. that can be.
After the last scream echoed through the room, the man giving the announcement calmly finished.
I don't remember what he said, though. The Screaming-In-Tongues guy was chuckling sheepishly to the person next to him on the stage.
It struck me that his expression looked just like a kid who had passed gas loudly in public: slightly embarrassed by the noise but pleased with the attention.

I felt completely out of place there. Actually, that's how I've felt in every church I've been a part of.

As a follower of Christ, I am devoted to him. But over the years, I have grown increasingly afraid of the organized church.
One part of me says, " Jump back in. You can't learn to swim by staying out of the water."
The other part answers, "Are you crazy? That's where I almost drowned. I can still feel the water in my lungs. "


I'm not looking for a perfect community, and I recognize my own shortcomings. I want to be part of the solution to the problems in the body of Christ..I'm just being honest.

I don't miss much of what I experienced within the walls of churches. The posturing, power-struggles, gossip, abandonment, hypocrisy, hardness, expectations, manipulation.
There are things I do miss. And I look forward to a time when the memories of those good things and kind people will loom larger than the hurtful ones. I thought it felt wierd to be a pastor's wife; it was hard to find others who related to that experience. The end of my marriage seems to have now put me in an even smaller(and wierder feeling) category: women who used to be married to pastors who are now afraid to attend church but are trying to work through that fear. Life is crazy.

very small.

I walked to the lake today.
The sun was high in the sky, and so was the moon. I love it when that happens..
As I walked along the beach, a cold, persistent wind pushed me from behind. It was so strong and constant, I could actually lean back into it quite far without falling.
Through the whipping strands of my hair I watched the ground in front of me. The top layer of the beach was being lifted, carried, sifted...rushing along at the wind's insistence. I felt like one of those small grains of sand, and forgot that I was cold...it was just..movement.
Forward.
Just grateful to be a tiny grain of sand in all that beauty.

"I want you to get deep into the beautiful melancholy of everything that's happened.."
(Spoken by Claire. One of my favorite lines from 'Elizabethtown'. Probably slightly misquoted.)

....................................................................................................................................

It is a strange place I've been suspended in for the past while..
I turn my head from side to side occasionally, watching two women. One of them paces incessantly, counting and recounting...she is trapped in a small room with a very low ceiling. The distance between her responsibilities and her resources has exhausted her, but she finds very little rest. She feels old. The past year has been filled with pain she would have thought impossible before. She has no car, no income, no more savings, and a lot of sadness.
The other woman stands outside, with her face turned to the sky, laughing. She knows exactly where she wants to go, exactly what she was made to do. Amazing opportunities have been placed in front of her, one after another. She has been able to do things in the past year that would have seemed impossible before. She dances with her children, and feels healing spreading through their connected hearts. She progresses with confidence, and gratitude, and hope for their futures...but only so far before she turns back. She sees the woman trapped in the room, too.

And she can't move forward until she finds a way to get her out.