Lover of the Month

My tenth grade English teacher was eccentric, but in the semi-good way. She was known to go off on tangets, but it was also in her English class that I met two of my favorite books: A Separate Peace by John Knowles and Boy's Life by Robert McCammon.

Some of her tangets including learning rituals she did will growing up. The first could only happen the night of a full moon. You would go outside with your wallet, open it up and say, "Fill her up. Fill her up. Fill her up." This ritual would bring you unexpected money during the new moon cycle.

Another ritual she taught was Lover of the Month (LOTM). Lover of the Month did not just become part of high-school sleep overs, but  a ritual at Lutheran Outdoor Ministries of Florida, even when I was not on staff. 

Here are the rules of Lover of the Month:

1. This ritual is performed on the even of the 1st of the month.

2. Take a sheet of paper and tear it into 7 small pieces. 

3. On 6 of the 7 pieces of paper, right down names of potential lovers. Camp rules allowed for much creativity on this part. It was not uncommon for one's lover to be fictional. Of course, I do not like to sway from tradition.

4. On the last piece of paper, put a question mark. 

5. Now, crumble all 7 sheets into small paper balls. You should not be able to tell one apart form another.This part works best with a friend. Have a friend shake up the pieces in their hands, a pot, cup, etc. 

6. Select one of the seven balls of paper.

7. Place the selected ball of paper under your pillow. No peeking!

8. The six remaining pieces of paper need to be destroyed. This can happen in a bunch of creative ways -- burning, flushing, recycling, boiling, etc.

9. You will now sleep on your love of the month.

10. When you wake-up on the 1st of the month, rush to find the slip of paper. The name on your piece of paper is your lover for the whole month. If you receive the damned question mark, you lover of the month is still a mystery.

This all seems so ridiculous, I know it, but I loved the ridiculousness of taking part in this ritual with friends. 

Hey, Africa!

I've never been the one to spend more than a couple minutes of YouTube, unless it is the Kerrigan-Lowdermilk Channel, but this video changed it all. I'm not sure why. It could be my wanting to study in Africa or it could just be the homemade hilarity.

P.S. Okay, I should have made this disclaimer. Once upon a time when I worked at camp we created some homemade hilarity. It's hidden on YouTube. 

Brené Brown on Vulnerability

I first came across the TED Talk below over a year ago. I am still in love with the words -- "Maybe stories are just data with a soul." This may have been what sparked my own passion for qualitative research.
Brené Brown is a research professor at University of Houston, speaker, author. She has given her attention to vulnerability, courage, worthiness, snad shame. Her latest book is Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead, and is currently being neglected on my bookshelf because of course reading.

As we continue to fear vulnerability, Brown states that "vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change." We know that vulnerability is something we have to deal with, yet we hide away from any conversation that has us think about vulnerability and shame in our own lives.

Take a look at the video, and check out some of the additional resources, including an event in the Twin Cities Metro involving Brown.

Want to continue the conversation:

Brené will be part of the Faith and Life Lecture Series on Thursday, October 11th at 7:00 pm at St. Philip the Deacon in Plymouth. Her lecture is entitled - Faith & Daring: The Courage to Be Vulnerable in Life, Love and Parenting. I am not a parent, yet feel compelled to hear what she has to say and the interconnectedness of this all. More information can be found here.

Brené blogs at Ordinary Courage. Her blog is also part of her personal website that includes books, articles, events and even some of her favorites in the world of photography and creativity. I admit, I stalk her website a lot.

The Morning Bus Stop

Typically, my morning begins with me reluctantly waking up from one of the nine alarms I've set the night before. Eventually, I'll crawl out of bed, put on my gym clothes, brush my teeth and drag myself out of my apartment to the gym.

Sunday night, I decided that I was not going to the gym Monday morning. I have a weird cyst on my eye that I did not want to make any worse, and I still had some reading to do for my morning seminar. But like every other day, I woke up at 6:00-ish from one of the nine alarms I set. Like planned I did not go to the gym, but headed to Starbucks. 

As I was driving to campus from Starbucks, I realized I was hungry. I dug through my bag hoping that I had a Luna Bar hidden in one of the many pockets, yet I was out of luck. Knowing the food I had in my apartment was limited, I continued to campus. It was going to be easier to park on campus and walk to Speedy Mart, a small corner store near campus, to pick up a just-in-case snack for class than to scavenge my apartment. 

As I was walking to Speedy, I heard my name. I knew that voice. It was Isaiah, a member at one of the congregations I serve with, yelling, 'Sandy!' He was taking part of his normal morning ritual of waiting for the city bus at Speedy to take him to school. 

As I was instructed to cross the street by the local student crossing patrol, I was greeted by Isaiah and his young sister, who was also waiting for the bus.  I was greeted  with a genuine welcome.  I am not aware of what the emotion on my face showed, but I can also assume it was happiness. I continued to be filled with simple joy as we stood there and engaged one another in conversation.

This was not part of my morning schedule, nor did I expect anything like this to be part of my day. And  I may have ended up running back to campus as I feared being late for class, but I did not care. I needed those ten minutes that morning. I needed that simplicity of human connection. I needed the  welcome in the ordinary. And more than anything else, I needed that experience of grace in my everyday life.

You Lost Me

You Lost Me asks the question, "Why are younger Christians leaving the church and rethinking their faith?" David Kinnaman's research with The Barna Group shows that those within the church have failed to equip mosaics (Kinnaman's term for those 16-29) to live in but not of the world. Check-out this video that gives a glimpse into You Lost Me.

Want to continue the conversation:

After reading You Lost Me, I asked the question, Is there a connection between emerging adults and Rumspringa. This post has also reached over two thousand hits.

Attend a free half day training session with the author of You Lost Me, David Kinnaman. You Lost Me: Live! will be in Minneaptolis on Tuesday, October 16th. Find more information here: You Lost Me: Live! and Registrar here: You Lost Me: Live! -- Minneapolis.

Academic Pep-Talk

I've been sitting at the coffee shop for over four hours. I am learning to embrace the freedom of not working and taking classes on Friday, but that does not mean I have given myself the freedom and space to sleep past seven or sew all day long. I feel obligated to read, and then read some more.

And don't get me wrong, I love learning. I want to be student, yet for one of the first times in a long time I want to give-up. I wouldn't mind sleeping in past seven just one day a week. And I would not object to dedicating one day a week to sewing all day long. I know that I will see these days again. I'm very confident that I will, but days like today, those dreams seem so far away.

Like I said, I've been sitting in the coffee shop for over four hours, but I am having a difficult time determining what I have actually accomplished. There is a stack of books to my left and an empty coffee cup to my right. It is quite possible that my greatest accomplishment today has been making the right decision as the barista asked me what I would be having today.

I know I'm going to sit here and re-read page seven of By the Renewing of Your Mind for many more times than I am willing to admit. I have lost confidence that the words my eyes see are anything more than words. The processing, understanding and translating is a lost art today.

The notes in the margin, the highlighted words and the scribbles on post-notes will seem very foreign, especially come seminar on Monday morning.

Maybe it was the glummy Morning, or the overwhelming feeling that there is still so much to accomplish in all arenas' of my life, I'm not sure. But today, I fear the worst.

My Legally Blonde Nightmare

This happened to me. I arrived to class having no clue that I should have reading done. I arrived early, like I always do for a fear of being late, and took what I thought was one of the best seats in the room. I was ready to go. The professor then began to make reference to the readings for today and the email responses that he had received. I felt my hands becoming sweaty, and I started to panic. And then it happened.

The professor called on me looking for an answer. It seemed like five minutes passed by before I was able to muster out, 'What?' I was caught, even though I had planned to confess following class. I saw the look of disappoint. Followed by the wondering of how has she gotten this far. I saw the rest of my classmates give the look of disapproval with a mix of sheer joy as they knew they had not made the same mistake. The professor then called on another student, the Vivian of the class. He asked her, 'Did you know there was assignments today?' She answered with a mixture of snark and sass, 'Of, course I did. It was clearly in the emails and syllabus.' Before I had the chance to defend myself by saying I never received emails and cannot view the syllabus because the registrar had not officially added me to the course, he asked the whole class to take a vote on whether I should be allowed to stay. A unanimous vote had me packing up my books and heading for the door.

Okay, the parallel to Legally Blonde is all in my head, but I did spend most of the class frustrated and terrified that I, Sandy Kathleen, had not done my reading. I pride myself on being that student that has completed all of their reading. And there I sat, the slacker.

And tomorrow, it's going to happen again. I just know it. It is my first PhD seminar. I've read the syllabus multiple times, but my Legally Blonde nightmare is going to come true tomorrow. I'm going to arrive to class, sit down and within the first five minutes I will have another shared experience with Ms. Elle Woods.

West on 1-94

Late Thursday night I began my drive west on 1-94 for a long weekend in Moorhead. I knew this drive. I'd even say that I mastered this drive. I knew the not so secret hide-outs of the highway patrol, and I knew where I could find the best prices on gas. I knew Exit 178 was where I would find Fritter Bread and donuts the size of your head, and I knew Exit 103 was a Fleet Farm Gas station. One semester I found myself doing this drive at least once a week. So when I began heading West late Thursday night, this all seemed normal.

But the reality is, this is all rather bizarre.

You see, I left that life that I only knew how to get to by heading west on 1-94. I left it because I was lonely and frustrated. I left that life because I needed the city. I left that life because I was called to something else. And here I was, on my last 'free' weekend of the year, returning back to a place that I like to pretend is very much in my past. This was not normal.

I thought that I could forget this route, because like I said, this was my past. This was a place I experienced by myself, alone, and almost in a mode of survival. And now I was returning, and by choice. I counted down the weeks, the days and then even the minutes until I could go to Moorhead. And as the days got closer, I made a list of things I wanted to see and do -- margaritas at Zorbaz, shopping at Scheel's and sitting on the beach while pretending it was the ocean.

But this time, I was not experiencing this all on my own.

You see, one of my best friends now calls this place on earth home. From Ohio to Washington D.C. to Philadelphia to Boston to Moorhead, Minnesota. This place I once knew, is the place she now lives.

You see, the reality is, this is all rather bizarre.

Chris and Mike, the Vicar and the Sexton, have recently moved to Moorhead. They married about two months ago and are now learning life in Moorhead. Chris is a first-call pastor in a large Lutheran Church and Mike is a graduate student in creative writing. This place that was once my past, is once again the present.

As we experienced all these things together, I kept thinking how bizarre this all is. It was common for me to spend a day-off wondering around Fargo-Moorhead, and here I was doing that once again, but not alone. I was in the embrace of people that are active parts of my changing, ridiculous and bizarre story, which is a good, good thing.

As I headed down 1-94 for my home in St. Paul, I found myself reflecting on this intersection of the past and present. And it was good.

It has been in the last year that I have begun to identify with these feelings of community and embrace that have been part of my writing palette. And sometimes it makes me take a step back and say, yes!, I'm in the midst of this all.

Here is a glimpse into my weekend filled with Chris' instillation, Zorbaz, Dutch Blitz and Yuengling: